I am continuously reassured that I am loved and supported by the females in my life.

While driving my girls to school this morning, the ad for the retreat came on the radio. Within seconds of the commercial starting the girls grew silent. They listened. They ooohed.  They aaahed. They cheered simultaneously.

I tried to not let on that they made me feel proud. But secretly I imploded with gratitude.  They rally around me, and know how hard I am working. 

There is nothing as powerful as the magic created when women reach out to support and listen to each other. Something mystical happens. Defenses come down. Milestones are achieved. Spirits are nourished. Cups are filled.

Women share something really special. 

A couple of weeks ago, when I was feeling challenged in business, it became really apparent that what I needed was to feel connected to a strong group of women walking the same entreprenuerial road. When I am feeling low and fragile I have friendships and sisterhoods that offer compassion and gentle care. Even when nothing is wrong, just to share, to be validated, to be heard.  Precious.

Alyson, Adrienne and Shelley challenge me to grow through mentorship and friendship. They're supportive, brilliant, vivacious and generous with their time.

The 'magazine team' (for lack of a better descriptive statement) Penny, Leah and Darlene bring creativity, laughter and humanity to my day to day.  We share stories, successes, failures and vision.

My mom continues to be my role model. Still. Poor thing. It's true, once a mother, always a mother. I subsconciously am watching every move she makes. She is genuis, comfort, direction, support, cheering squad and now I see, where I've obtained my obsessive nature. I thought I was cursed, turns out it heredity.

My sisters, Jenna and Leah, are my grounding. The calm. Solidarity. A united front. They are the women who know me and don't let me get away with stupid shit. Accountability. Friendship. 

Then there is Kerri, whom lives on the opposite end of the world, yet is my soul sister. The one who if I had $2000 and ten days off I'd fly off to do nothing really together. Shop. Giggle. Share. Plan. Dream. We've got plans to share a wooden swing at the old folk's home, where she'll smoke and we'll laugh like old goats.

I come from a long line of strong women. Each relationship holds special meaning and purpose. Each one is a gift. 

Reaching out to each other is what women are good at. There is healing in words of comfort. Renewal over a cup of tea. There are shared secrets. Worries, raw spots and self-doubts confided. 

My female relationships are the ones that pull out all the stops. (Don't get me wrong, I my husband is my rock, my partner and my love.) But my 'sisterhoods' are the ones that keep me sane, let me be bitchy and stoke the inner fire that fuels my desire to be and do better.  

Including my girls. Those perfect works of art that are watching every stumbling, fumbling, brave, crazy, obsessive, driven, loving, brazen move I make. They're learning from me. And through my relationships.

To listen. To support. To nuture. To share. To parent. To uplift. To love. To be sisters. To be powerful.

Wow, it's all good.

P.S. See the BestFriends contest on the main page of the website... Contest Deadline April 30, 2008

I learned something new today.

A teensy tiny tidbit of information that has forever been seared into the precious white matter of my brain.

M.I.L.F.

As in MILF.
Cool MILF.
Hot MILF.

Do you know what MILF means?
Mom I'd Like to Fu@k.


Isn't that clever?


Obviously, I've been in the dark. Apparently, this word is a common term made popular through the movie series "American Pie."

It's meant to be a compliment. Can't you tell?
Let's all aspire to be MILFs in the eyes of our teenage kids' friends.

(Lighten up, Kim)

Don't get me started.
Same with the term, 'YummyMummy'.


What genius came up with that?


In all the ways that women contribute to the world, the goals we aim to achieve, the success we savour... there is satisfaction in the recognition that accompanies the term YummyMummy??

Now there's a term I'd be proud of. I would bet that it is the deepest wish of my 15 year old son and 14 year old daughter for their almost fourty year old mom be called YummyMummy.

Ew.


Confident.
Sexy.
Bright.
Motivated.
Ambitious.
Creative.
Supportive.
Strong.
Beautiful.
Leader.
Healer.

Those are the words that best describe me. If that means I'm not a MILF or a YummyMummy, believe me, I'm okay with that.

I wonder at what age, you lose the look of a YummyMummy and become a COUGAR. And at what age after 'cougar' does a woman lose her sex appeal, by the standards of society. What's the magic number?
40? 50?

No wonder women are continually dying, colouring, covering, erasing, fixing, trimming, toning, lipo-suctioning, botoxing. Every media message we receive enforces the ideal 'preserve, primp and preen' in order to maintain your value.

And there is not much scarier than discovering you no longer have value.

(Lighten up Kim.)

Some will read this and agree.
Some might protest that their love of make-up, fashion and beauty is genuine and pure delight.
Some will contest and say I'm over-reacting.

That's okay for them.
But it's not okay for me.

MILF.
Self-worth summarized in an acronym?

When I was a younger woman, 'lost' in my twenties, I had a very small, tight circle of female friends.

Three to be exact.

Two that were my night-life carousers and one who was a recovering alcoholic and drug user.

We met in dark circumstances, shared the night life and mixed up priorities of bars and men, searching for 'diamonds' in the deep, black bottom an oil slick. (Who ever found a diamond in the bottom of an oil barrel? - Not many, if any. And only if you’re real lucky.)

During those 'lost' years (which for me was between 19 and 29), I sputtered along.
I honestly have no idea how I survived.

Between 17 and 21 I shuffled in and out of a highly toxic relationship. I was 'out' of the relationship for several months when my dad died suddenly, three weeks after Christmas, leaving a gaping hole in our family. In the midst of the family's collective pain, I spun out of control, and back 'in' to that terrible relationship.

And within 10 months, I was a mother at 22. Several months later, living in that nightmare of a relationship, I found myself pregnant again. By three months into that pregnancy, although I hadn’t loved myself enough to get out permanently, I knew I absolutely could not stay. Those kids wouldn’t stand a chance.

So I took my little boy and moved a couple hours away to the city, where I lived on welfare and prepared for my role as single mom of two under two.

By the time I was 26, I was working one full and one part time job, walking (pushing a double stroller in the summer and pulling a tobaggan in the winter) to and from work, daycare and the grocery store. I was up every day at 5:30am and spent many, MANY nights in the company of 'friends' until 2 or 3 in the morning. I looked for the love of my life in all the scuzzy corners of smokey bar-rooms and made way too many mistakes.

It was easy to get 'lost'. And there were times I didn't want to be found.

But one day, after I'd made too many bad decisions; after the smokey bar-room became the circus where I was the freak show; after I'd struggled, muddled and fudged my way through a daily painful existence, by the Grace of God, I was offered a way out.

I'd reluctantly agreed to move in with my new boyfriend. He was a handsome and strapping young roughneck who was as good a catch as any in a small nowhere town. We'd moved into a trailer overlooking the golf-course. I knew in my heart of hearts, it wasn't a good move when the move was in progress, but it was too late then to stop the wheels in motion. I pushed forward, ignoring the red flags. There was big trouble a foot.

About a month after the move, I gave up. I knew I was in trouble… AGAIN. And I was tired. Every decision I made had been wrong. The choices I had made had again jeopardized my children and our home. I was mad. I was exhausted.

And I was ready for someone else to take over and take charge of my life.
After all, the way I'd been doing it was NOT working for me.

So I got down on my knees and prayed with more feeling and meaning and emotion than I had ever prayed before. I prayed, 'I need help. Please help me. I promise that I will do it YOUR way, because MY way just hasn’t been working for me.’ And that was all I said. (Mind you it was really long and drawn out and there was a lot of snot and tears and sobbing, but that's it in a nutshell.)

Within three days, me and my 4 and 3 year old kids were living in a friend's basement on the other side of town. Everything I owned (which wasn't much) was in the trailer, with a raving lunatic strung out on cocaine holding them as hostage. I even had the privilege of police escort (bullet proof vests and all) to get my stuff out of the house. What a mess!

How was this the better way?
How was this chaos the help that I’d asked for?
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t care.
I had wholeheartedly placed my life in God’s care. I totally trusted that he knew best.

A week after we moved into that dark basement, I started to read THE BOOK THAT CHANGED MY LIFE. ‘In the Meantime’ written by author Iyanla VanZant. The book’s chapters were segmented as levels of a house: basement, mainfloor, upstairs, attic – that kind of thing.
But the analogy that I clung to was called “the wrecking ball.”

She wrote that when you are in the basement of your life and you finally get to the point where you are really ready to get out of the basement that’s when the wrecking ball comes in and takes things down to ground level.

She said that when you mean it to the core of your spirit, that you are ready to be open to change; when you recognize its you who is at the root of your problem; when you totally take responsibility for where you are in your life and ask for help -- you'll get it.

But it doesn’t always come in the form you want it or expect it to.
It comes as a wrecking ball.

You can’t build a solid, healthy, strong ANYthing on a weak, cracked and broken foundation.
You need to get in there and clean it out.
Dig it down to fresh, solid ground and start to build all over again with new materials and a strong base.

So when you’re REALLY ready, and you trust in the goodness of a higher power, and you ask for help… you get what you need.

A clean start, forgiveness, healing, confidence, love and hope.


Three months in the basement (literally and figuratively) taught me more than I'd ever learned before.

Six months after I found myself in the basement I met a charming, healthy, supportive and gorgeous man who thought I was all that and a bag of chips.
We’ve been together for almost ten years.

It doesn’t mean it’s been easy. It doesn’t even mean that I like him all that much some days.
Some days, I revisit the basement.
Some days I forget to let the Good One be in charge of my life.

Those are the days when I feel like I am swimming up the stream.
When everything is hard.
Like I am missing something.
Like I have it soooo much harder than anyone else… (whine

And then slowly I come around to surrender.
And I remember that only when I ask for help and then let it go am I peaceful, happy and confident that I am going where I am meant to be.

Just cause it’s not MY plan, doesn’t mean it’s not THE plan.
Hell, my life only got good when I gave it up and said “PLEASE TAKE OVER!”

I just need to remember this more often.

So if you read my entry from last night, you know I was feeling pretty wretched.

This morning was not really better. But as I dropped off my kids at school, and the van got really quiet, I prayed hard.

"Dear God. I need help. Please help me get clear. Please help me."

AND THAT WAS ALL I ASKED FOR.


Then I arrived back at the office where I met up with my wonderful new SMART grade 12 work experience student who is a DREAM come true (she finished organizing my receipts for yearend from last year in two mornings! WOW) and then I got a call from Colette from Heaven Sent and www.meteoriteintroductions.com and she said the most profound and wonderfully simple thing to me.


"You have to throw up to feel better."


LOVE IT.
Ridiculously simple, makes me laugh, so true.

Thanks Colette.

Thanks, God.

I'm exhausted.

I am so tired that I can't even put a whole thought together.

On top of that I am officially the world's shittiest mother, I don't like my husband today and

well,

I suck.


My days evaporate into my work on the magazine.
I am trying hard, but after a whole year of building, planning and growing I don't know what to do next.

I am trying to connect to some sort of inner voice - and I can't get my brain to shut up. I am dizzy with my to do list and my shoulders ache from business stress. It is the first time that a hot bath and a good night's sleep doesn't solve anything. I am not sure how to get clear.

What pisses me off is that in a different way I am back at this pivotal point of hard work - I am standing at the bottom of a mountain looking up at it thinking - 'you want me to go where?' I feel like I am slogging along putting one foot in front of the other to try to get ahead. And my boots are heavy with mud.

Even that doesn't make sense.

When I was a single mom and worked three jobs I felt like this.
When I found out that the boyfriend I moved in with had a cocaine problem and I lost all my furniture I felt like this.
When I was depressed I felt like this.

Clouded. Stressed. Unclear. Unsure. Uncapable. Exhuasted.


And I am right pissed off about that.


Yes, I want this to be easier. I want to succeed. I want MORE.
I want a bank account that has money in it.
I want to know that there is money in my bank account to pay my power bill.
I want to feel like I am getting somewhere.
I want to take a holiday with my kids.
I want to not worry about money.

Why does everything in the whole world boil down to money? I can understand why money drives people to do terrible things. Because there is nothing in the world quite like lack.

Then I am pissed off some more because I have everything a woman could want.

Four beautiful healthy children. (that I feel as though I ignore)
Friends. (that don't want to spend time with me because I have a one-track magazine mind)
A husband. (that I don't want to talk to because we are both so stubborn that the longer we spend not talking and not connecting the easier it is to say - fine, who needs you

I should be completely happy and at peace.
And instead I am struggling.


Is this normal?
How did I get here?
Does everyone feel like this?
Or am I cycling through something?

I saw my kids for less than two hours today.
I had a meeting at 4:30pm and a practice at 7:00pm.
I didn't want to come home.
I feel like I want to run away and run until I can't run anymore.
I feel like I want to breakdown into a puddle.
I want someone to scoop me up and treat me like I'M the child.
I want help.
I want time alone.

When I got home my eight year old daughter said, "Mom, will you come to the school at 10:45 and celebrate Spring with my class?"
One more time I say no.
"No, Lydia. I have appointments in the city tomorrow. I can't come to the school tomorrow. I need to go to the city for meetings."
And I turn her down.

And then I am pissed off at me.
Because I am turning her down for people who are turning me down.
And I am tired.
And I feel guilty.

This is what I preach about.
All I have is this second and this second and this second.
Seconds I can never get back.

And I am trying not to be pissed off about that.

I warned you -

This too shall pass?