Yesterday was d-day (deadline day).

The SneakPEEK Issue has gone to the printer. I felt just a little bit sick sending it off. (Control Freak After several edits, and re-edits, I finally had to just cut it loose and let it go. I also had two other people edit it as second and third sets of eyes. After seeing the words SOOOO many times, I worried I was beginning to read over things that maybe mistakes.

I had to make peace with the fact that it wasn't going to miraculously look any different or get any more polished, and remain on schedule. So I gave it a kiss and sent it off. It's in the printers hands now.

The response to the initial concept of this project has been overwhelmingly positive. I have had more women interested in contributing and advertising and subscribing and supporting that I ever imagined at this point.

The biggest learning lesson about the creation of the SneakPEEK issue was that contrary to my own popular belief, I AM NOT SUPERWOMAN.

Imagine that?! Here I thought I was. Honestly, I am surprised I haven't had a complete and total physical breakdown. My workouts (which is my mental health time, seriously) have taken a nosedive. I have had a knot in my back that would cripple Atila the Hun and me (the Snorer Galore) haven't been sleeping well. I've got a day or two to try to unwind and work my kinks out, and then back at it. September will be here before I know it...

Secondly, the importance of knowing when to say WHOA!!!!

I had so many people interested in contributing and so many little tidbits of information that I ended up trying to squeeze it all (and there was NO way I could) in to the SneakPEEK.... which should remain just that.... A PEEK. A little glimpse of good things to come. If I had my way I would have kept adding and changing. I need to practice timelines and deadlines.

Hmm, what else?? I am grateful for the support of my husband (XO) and children, who have watched me spin in circles putting it all together; my mother and John (http://www.thebusinessactioncentre.com) for knowledge, advice and encouragement; and the lovely team of women (LEAH, PENNY and DARLENE) who have come together to build this project. They have sacrificed family time from their own busy lives to 'get 'er done'. It has NOT gone unnoticed.

I'M LOVING IT.
Gotta Keep Runnin'.

My sister and I had lunch yesterday.

We were talking about magazines and she was sharing with me her observations in the latest issue of a leading Canadian women's fashion magazine. As we are Turnbull women by lineage, the dicussion quickly became a highly opinionated debate on the effects of media on our culture.

She noticed that the current fashion trend seems to be a very youthful (oh, there's a shocker) model, dressed in baby doll dresses, with big Kewpie doll eyes and pouty drawn on, bright lips, painted on high arched eyebrows. While this style is wildly popular on waiflike models, actresses and preteen girls, it is not entirely practical for women our age, our size, our profession or our global location. (Snow here today again) While I appreciate the 'art' in fashion and certainly am draw to current styles, particularly in shoes, bags, belts and jewelry... I don't always 'get' what it is that designers are going for... (On this note: saw The Devil Wears Prada... didn't love it...)

Anyways back to this trend of the innocent-mod-waif-look (whatever they call it)... It once again becomes apparent to me as a woman, how inappropriate and often degrading current fashion trends can be.

As females we are surrounded by images of what the perfect female looks like...

Tiny, buxom, beautiful, tall, slender, doe-eyed, luxurious hair, pouty lips, high cheekbones, swan like neck, milehigh legs, size two, stilettos, tanned, wrinkle free, self-tanned, collagen injected, cover-your-gray, silicone implanted; whatever the word you choose to describe, we could add it here.

Think of the toys we see for girls. Bratz dolls are the perfect example. The have big hair in every color from jet-black to bleach blonde, these huge sex-pot eyes with long fake eyelashes and a ripe full pouty mouth. They are dressed in the latest trends, micro-minis, low-rise pants, footless tights, a collection of bags, makeup, cellphones, high-heeled shoes and fashion boots.

Or what about television? The new reality show 'The Search for the Next PussyCat Doll' is the perfect example of this. My thirteen year old daughter (AND my fourteen year old son) routinely watch this program. A group of 17 - 20-something beautiful young women are competing for the position of the next PussyCat Doll. Every week, they dance and sing, strutt and pose their way towards the dream of becoming that all desired, famous, sought after, sex kitten that is the newest and hottest member of the group.

My daughter came to me last week after watching the latest show and asked if she could join dance lessons again. She is honest with me that she equates popularity, success and making her life's dreams come true by being thinner and sexier, dressing like a pussycat doll and learning to bump and grind her way through life. (and if you look around at junior high fashion trends - she isn't the only one led by media)

Anyone who tells me that young women do NOT come away from watching that program HATING themselves is full of horseshit.

Then we take a look at tabloids. Several young females (former child stars, starlets and pop princesses) have been photographed in public with their dresses hiked up (which isn't too difficult in a micro-mini) and NO PANTIES IN PUBLIC.

Hey, its cool with me if you prefer commando, but try not to flash everyone else. WHAT'S WORSE, is that their private areas are completely shaved clean! Don't get me wrong, maybe you prefer the feel of a close shave, but follow me to the end on this.... please.

So here we have all this information directed at us as females: girls, teens, young and middle age women...

Be beautiful, be sexy, be vivacious, be fashionable.
Do your makeup. Whiten your teeth (anyone seen the cover of Chatelaine this month - this famous mother's teeth are SO white they are almost gray! They are whiter than her tiny daughter's young teeth Color your hair. Lift your booty. Lift your boobs; more cleavage. Tighten your abs, tighten your rear. Do more pilates. Wear the right clothes. Eat less.

Look younger. Be more youthful. Fill your wrinkles. Plump your lips. Get bigger breasts. Get a tummy tuck. Get botox injections.
Tan your hide. Loofah your dryspots. Moisturize more deeply. Shave your armpits, shave your legs, shave your 'cookie' completely bald (not unlike that of a child - and then our SOCIETY WONDERS WHY we have men who lust after teens, pre-teens and children and why pedophilia is rampant.

HOW IS IT POSSIBLE FOR WOMEN (AND GIRLS) TO LOVE THEMSELVES, THIER BODIES, and THEIR LIVES WHEN EVERY DIRECTION THEY TURN THE MESSAGE THEY RECEIVE IS: 'You are not good enough just the way you are.'

Just an opinion.

How many people work in your office?

If your workplace is like any standard small to medium company - there is a 'pecking order'.

The Boss (the owner or big dog).
The executive staff (the VP, Assistant Manager or Boss's Son or Daughter... you get the point).
The upper associates (the big earners - the ones who pull hard for big dollars for the company - sales teams or company leaders. In schools, banks or hospitals, they are the teachers, the nurses and the tellers...)
The 'life-rs' (meaning ones who have worked there for a hundred years in the same role).
The maintenance personnel. (the ones who keep the building looking shiny and running tip top)
The regular joes... people who are there to collect a paycheck and barely do more than come in on time, brush their teeth and tie thier shoelaces.
Then there is the pond scum, the mold that grows on pond scum and the spores that oozes out of the mold that grows on pond scum.

And then...

there are secretarys, executive assisants and receptionists.

(Hey, I am one and I've been one for a long time... It might be a tad dramaticized but it isn't far from the truth of the work force.)

We all know a great office assistant. This role is like the matriarch or mother of the family. They are the one who knows where the proverbial 'lost sock' is. (You know - who does the man of the house yell for when he can't find his good dress sock...'Honey, where'd you put my socks???') And like the matriarch of the family, it is publicly professed that she is the most appreciated person in the household but in truth not one tenth of what she does is known by those around her.

She is the one who directs traffic, answers calls, leaves messages and follows up to be sure everyone has returned those calls. She stocks the cupboards and fills the containers; orders the resources and invoices the companies. She is the 'banker' ('hey, ya got change for a five???'), the accounts receivable and accounts payable departments. She makes the deposits, orders the flowers, plans the Christmas and retirement partys. She is the forefront of the office; the first impression, the relationship builder. She remembers the names of the important clients as well as the names of their wives and where their children are attending university. She is the lead communicator, the computer expert and the office equipment repairperson. She probably does some advertising, or maintains the webpage and knows how to check the bloody voicemail. She makes the world greatest coffee and plans the occasional favorite lunch for those who are working so hard. She is calm under pressure, adept in first aide and the occasional illness, maintaining a stocked medicine chest for company use. She ensures that birthdays and special events are not missed and don't go unrecognized AND makes sure there is enough toilet paper and air freshener in the restrooms for the using pleasure of all. On top of that she is quite often the office counsellor (' Susie, YOU see how hard I work, he NEVER notices what I do!!!'), the last minute delivery person or driver... and the lovely one who gets all the crappy jobs that everyone else thinks that their day is too busy and important to accomodate. Like filing their own paperwork.

And she does it all for a fraction of the pay of the rest of the staff.

Being the office assistant is much like being a mother.
They are both roles that can be deemed as lower level or mediocre.
They are both roles that can go unnoticed, unappreciated and unrewarded.
They are both roles that require execptional flexibility, organization and commitment.
They are both roles that if you CHOOSE them as your path, you could be viewed as less educated, not driven or results oriented or achievement motivated and most certainly not as important as anyone else in the room.

Why is it that support roles such as these are so undervalued?

In a culture that insists on compensating people based on performance, why is it that these positions are ones that should be done with an open heart, a smile on your face, for the good of all others however, the person IN the role must have FEW expectations and be willing to accept unfair compensation for their efforts?

How's that for a rant?

I set my alarm for 5 am this morning because I thought I would get and hour and a half of extra work in before I had to rouse kids.

I hit snooze every 6 minutes between 5:00am and 6:58 when I finally reached over and shut off the clock.

Last night, my 4 year old squealed out in the night. I flew out of bed completely disoriented (not) thinking, 'it must be about 4:30'. I opened the door to my bedroom and stared bewildered into the blackness of the hallway and hissed, mostly incoherently, 'go back to sleep I am busy working on the magazine.'

I'm a nut.

Chronic sleep deprivation does weird stuff to people.

As a mother of four, I have been sleep deprived for fourteen years. If I had kept count of peaceful night's rest over the years, they might total 27.

Researcher's now can prove a good night's sleep is crucial to a life well-lived. Chronic lack of sleep is linked to everything from obesity (it has to do with a hormone you produce in your brain while you are asleep) to ADHD (they think that a good majority of children with ADHD are chronically sleep deprived) to the body's ability to heal itself (it takes at least seven to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for the body to rejuvenate and heal cells).

According to 'The National Sleep Research Project' which you can find in full at http://abc.net.au/science/sleep/facts.htm here are a few facts discovered about the effects of chronic sleep deprivation:

- Anything less than five minutes to fall asleep at night means you're sleep deprived. The ideal is between 10 and 15 minutes, meaning you're still tired enough to sleep deeply, but not so exhausted you feel sleepy by day. (IF MY HUSBAND STARTS TO BRUSH HIS TEETH WHEN I CLIMB UNDER THE COVERS, HE IS TOO LATE FOR LOVE. I CAN FALL ASLEEP IN UNDER TWO MINUTES)

- One of the best predictors of insomnia later in life is the development of bad habits from having sleep disturbed by young children. (THIS IS DEPRESSING)

- Exposure to noise at night can suppress immune function even if the sleeper doesn’t wake. Unfamiliar noise, and noise during the first and last two hours of sleep, has the greatest disruptive effect on the sleep cycle. (I GUESS THIS SORT OF EXPLAINS WHY EVERYONE COMES HOME SICK AFTER A WEEK OR TEN DAYS ON HOLIDAYS)

- After five nights of partial sleep deprivation, three drinks will have the same effect on your body as six would when you've slept enough. (THAT EXPLAINS A LOT)

- Some studies suggest women need up to an hour's extra sleep a night compared to men, and not getting it may be one reason women are much more susceptible to depression than men. (THAT IS BECAUSE MOST WOMEN ARE WORKING THEMSELVES TO DEATH)

- The extra-hour of sleep received when clocks are put back at the start of daylight in Canada has been found to coincide with a fall in the number of road accidents. (DOES THIS SURPRISE ANYONE WHO LIVES UP HERE


I am fine now that I am awake and mobile. I'll have a productive day, complete with a run... and I am starting to wallpaper my son's room tonight.

But it is only 9:30a and I am day-dreaming about bedtime.

I have been blessed with the greatest kids. My oldest are 14 and 13, and I am so proud of them. They are wise beyond their years; smart, sensitive and savvy. My youngest are 7 and 4; bright, bubbly, busy and beautiful.

I was twenty-three and two months pregnant with my second baby when I made the decision to leave my oldest two children’s birth father. It was a bumpy period to say the least. The break wasn’t a clean one. Guilt made me feel like I should maintain a familial bond for the children. Fear kept me chained to the relationship for another eighteen months after she was born.

Even though I lived in a separate city, I maintained regular contact with the children’s father and his family, although I was aware that they considered me a traitor. I was different than they were. They thought I came from a better bloodline, was snotty and demanding, with unrealistic expectations about what a 'real' family looked like. I was told on numerous occasions that the ‘perfect’ family I came from was not the norm in life. The relationship I had with the children's father was what average people’s lives looked like.

When I finally left him, I didn’t even leave to save myself. I just recognized that my children deserved a better life than what we would have had staying with their father. According to his family, he wasn’t perfect, he was simply a good old boy not quite ready to grow up. But there were bigger problems afoot.

When they were still small, just three and eighteen months, I severed the relationship completely with a restraining order and police intervention.

He terrified me then; chronically drunk and binging, calling me names in public, threatening me, watching me. I slept with a piece of my vacuum cleaner beside my bed, horrified that I might wake up to the sound of shattering glass in the night and hands around my throat. The same fear and guilt that held me tightly in the noose of the relationship, I now carried as the ‘bitch’, the ‘deserter’.

Years of emotional garbage bound me to the 'promise' that I had made. I swore to him that I would never hurt, leave or abandon him as others had done. Yet I ended up doing it anyways, and took his children from him to boot! So fearful (real or imagined) was I of the repercussions of my actions and what may happen should I choose to keep his children from him, I ensured that he could see his children every second weekend. It was dysfunction at its peak.

When the kids were really tiny, I knew that when they went to visit him, they were not being kept in any routine. Bath-time and bedtime were out the window, fast food was on the menu and the house they stayed in was unclean, smoky and filled with people I didn’t know. But they seemed to enjoy him and I rationalized that they deserved whatever love he would offer.

His battle with alcoholism and addiction remained steady. The years passed slowly, with power struggles, angry abusive telephone calls, threats and fear that one day he would harm me, and worse yet, them.

I know that they have seen their share of late night binges, been subjected to impaired driving, crude and vulgar language and late-night low-life buddies, reeking with smoke and beer on their breath. Stinking and stoned. Even now after all these years as I write this I have sick feelings and guilty emotions that run through me, tightening my stomach.

By the grace of God, those babies are now wonderful, active, healthy and respectful teenagers. When they visit him about twice a year, I know that their stay revolves around his late night and work schedule, strange ‘buddies’ and constant boozing.

They have been able to articulate to me what it is about him that they worry about (that he is slowly killing himself with his smoking and drinking), what it is that they feel badly for (we are all he has - he is so alone) and what he does that frightens them (sometimes he yells at his brother or dad (or them), they've seen the cops show up in the middle of the night, he has driven drunk, and they have seen him fist-fight).

They realize all too acutely that they are his be-all and end-all. He continues to blame other people for the state his life is in. He manipulates them and expects that they should always do what he wants when they go to visit him. He is suspicious of my influence on them and feels I must be telling them bad things about him, making them secretly fearful of him.

Yet they have loved him. There are cherished photos of fishing trips and Christmas mornings. There have always been many gifts, video games, money and shopping trips. Not to mention all the junk food and candy; goodies that any child would desire.

And so I am the balance on a weighted scale; evening out the crazy making stuff with a calm and solid home.

I married a wonderful man when they were 5 and 6. He offered (and still does) everything that a good and loving father does. Unconditional love with boundaries and rules. A chore list, hugs and encouragement. But best of all, he shows them how a man treats the people he loves, with dignity, kindness and respect. There have never been any silent treatments. No late-night arguments. No drunken stupors. No childhood life at the hands of an abuser.

So for almost 8 ½ years my children have had the blessing and the curse of having two fathers. One stable and one continually unstable.

They also have two tiny sisters that have come into their life as the result of this marriage. Not half sisters. Not step sisters. But sisters. Two lovely little girls that they adore and who adore them.

As I watch my older two navigate all of the important relationships in their lives, it occurs to me that who they really are in their heart of hearts is reflected in the faces of their relationships with those two tiny girls.

Their patience, their love; the resiliency and adaptability they have cultivated as a result of their own growth over the years, in good part due to their own difficult relationship with their dad. As with all sibling relationships, there are ups and downs, tears and laughter; but I sense that these bonds are very strong. The kind that will serve them all throughout their lifetimes.

I was very clear from early on, that my children would need to draw their own conclusions about the man that is their biological father. I have often thought about how I could never forgive myself should something horrifying happen when they are with him. The alternative was to outrun him, try to lose him, punish him,(and them) driving myself crazy with worry and fear that when he finally caught up to them, at six or sixteen or twenty-six, I would have to pay the price for my choices.

What purpose would that selfishness have served? Selfish because I wanted to hoard them to myself; to share love only with them and to keep all their love solely for myself. Instead I chose to let go and allow them the opportunity to walk their own paths and love whom they chose. I offered guidance where I could, tempered with honesty and firm support and sent them on their way with a prayer in my heart.

My daughter (who is much like me) suffers from a great deal of anxiety and made a decision at the age of nine to not go back to visit dad. She spent the ages of nine to almost thirteen staying as far away from her birth father as she possibly could. When she finally decided at nine years old that she couldn’t bear to spend time with him a moment longer, I supported that choice. I watched her struggle with the worry, the feeling of disloyalty, the fear of rejection for her choice. I aided her however I could, reassuring her that he was the adult and she was the child and she could not bear responsibility for the condition of his life.

I also made the conscious decision to support my son’s choice to continue to travel off at ten years old and spend a month a summer with him. I had always maintained that as long as they wanted to see him, I would make an effort to assist in that relationship. If ever they chose to stay away, I would respect that decision and never force them to go. The same way I never forced them to stay. And so it has been.

My sweet daughter went to her birth father’s house half way across the province, for the first time in almost four years this past Christmas. It was a real challenge for her to follow through with this decision. However, she was the one who controlled that decision and has had to learn exactly what those choices mean for her. I try to teach her to pay attention to her gut; her heart. I encourage her to trust herself and that she must listen very carefully to that voice inside, because that is the only one she needs to listen to and count on. The wise one.

My son at fourteen, feels a strong need to bond with his birth father. He loves to fish and play video games; to savour whatever relationship is in existence between them. He is a smart kid who feels a deep and responsible loyalty at the core of his being to be the care-giver of this man.

My heart tells me that somewhere inside my lovely young son, he feels so responsible for his father’s welfare that he goes to simply make him happy and prove to him that he has love somewhere in this world. What a huge act of unconditional love he offers to someone whose choices and behaviors sometimes don’t warrant or deserve kindness and empathy in the eyes of all others.

I am in awe of my children. They have done a tremendous job at playing the cards dealt to them by adult hands. I acknowledge my part in this lifelong journey they are on. I've made bad choices along the way too that have impacted their journey. Maybe that is the cruel truth of parenthood.

Yet, they amaze me with their strength, positivity and maturity. They have been able to express to me that they are desperately concerned for him, yet they know they cannot control his actions or choices. They choose to love him and spend time with him and nurture him the way that he should be nurturing them. They know that is not the right way for a parent child relationship to go. But they continue to choose to make him happy first by spending a total of a few weeks a year being his pride and joy.

It makes me crazy sometimes, but I deeply respect their admirable approach to their relationship with him.

Could I have done this all differently? Most definitely.
Am I sorry that I didn’t keep them from their father and protect them from the danger that I've seen there? Absolutely.
Do I have regrets along the way about the choices I have made on their behalf? YES.
Will they understand someday that I did the best I could as their mother? I certainly hope so.
Will they survive their relationship with their dad? I pray they do.
Do I forgive myself for the path I placed them on? Not yet.
Will I ever? Yes, but only because they are gracious enough to allow me to.

My head feels like it is about to launch off my body.

Like a bottle of pop that has been vigorously shaken... watch out... cause when the lid comes off... things are going to get messy! All this tension in my shoulders. Up the back of my neck. My eyes feel like two pee-holes in the snow. I didn't even comb my hair today! (Guess what?! I pasted it back off my face with a headband - there's a pretty picture.)

My day didn't start this way...

I woke up today nestled in the arms of my sweetheart. Warm under the wieght of my comfortor. I stretched lazily and shook off the sleep just enough to reach up and pull the retractable window blind above my head. The blind took off like a shot and I closed my eyes tight to shield them from the brightness of the morning sunrise. A beautiful yellow morning. Crisp and frosty. But sunny. I opened one eye at a time, slowly at first... little by little; half smiling at the thought of seeing blue sky and the sun.

AAWWWWWWWW MAN!!!!!!!!!! Come ON!!!! Another bleak, dreary, overcast, gray day in central Alberta. I ALMOST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!

I throw the covers back over my head and sneer.

I am so SICK and TIRED of winter. AND SNOW.

Sunday and Monday brought another almost four inches. We had just nicely seen the earth. NOW more snow. I don't know about anybody else but I seriously think I am losing my mind.

Even the birds that WERE chirping last week, have disappeared. The poor little buggers are frozen to a twig in my back yard.

DOESN'T ANYBODY ELSE FEEL THIS WAY ABOUT THE WEATHER??? My sweet Lord, I need to see a blue sky. I want to feel the sun on my face and be able to walk without 12 extra pounds of clothes and scarf fuzz up my NOSE.

Normally positive by nature, I am finding it hard to be hopeful that spring will ever actually arrive. We have had snow since October.
November.
December.
January.
February.
March.
April.

Okay, well I will admit that six months WITH snow in Canada is not unusual... but is it TOO MUCH TOO ASK FOR A LITTLE SUNSHINE?

How about a blue sky?

Please?!?

I'm not a complete lunatic....
some parts are missing.

It has come to my attention that some people may be wondering what makes me think I am capable of starting a women's publication. How it is exactly that I think I am wise enough to be able to 'offer advice' or 'tell other women how to do things' in such a public forum? I must be egomaniacal; thinking that my intelligence and personal path has been such that I am in a position to offer counsel to anyone.

That isn't the point of Real Woman on the Run Magazine. Nor is it remotely what I have set out to do.

This path we walk as women is a shared journey. Regardless of our age, the color of our skin, the amount of money we make (or our spouse makes), the size of house we live in, the kind of car we drive. Personal beliefs may be different but the fundamental journey is the same.

We are born. We grow. We learn. We live. We create. We hurt. We give. We nurture. We build. We age. We share. We love. We die.

It's called life. The human experience is a rich and ripe and beautiful collection of all those things.

We all do them, have done them or will do them. If you haven't done them yet, there is a damn good chance that you will! There is no choice about it.

Some of us are acutely aware of our experiences. Others keep the blinders on; they don't want to talk about 'it', they don't want to share 'it' and they definately don't want anyone else to know about 'it'. Still others think only other people do 'it'.

The 'it' of course, is LIFE.

Life is made up of good choices, bad choices, losses, gains, addictions, illnesses, births, deaths, joys, sufferings, struggles, celebrations, ups and downs. We all have our own life experiences. Our own perspective.

That is what I am interested in recognizing, sharing and celebrating.

We all have a unique perspective about life. We all have stories we could share. We all want to gain more knowledge, live bigger, love more deeply, grow in spirit - whether we are aware of it or not. It is what the human experience is all about.

I want women's stories.
I want knowledge.
I want positivity and strength.
I want to spread it around.

I want all women to feel like someone SOMEwhere 'gets' them. Somebody that doesn't pass judgement on where they are at in their life, where they are going or where they have been.

I see the women around me who are running households, raising families, running companies, heading up businesses, making a difference through volunteering and being leaders in their communities. I also see the ones that are hanging on by the skin of their teeth, trying so hard just to keep up with it all.

Life is a shared journey. Sharing stories is a way of connecting with others and healing our own hearts. Your story may shine a light on something that is troubling me. Your ideas may be something I never thought to try before. Your experience may inspire someone else to not give up. My story may be so embarrassing you don't feel so bad about yours anymore.

I am genuinely interested in bringing women's stories together. To inspire and to be inspired.
Women are powerful. I see it all around and think that it is worth recognizing and celebrating.

It's just my opinion.