Putting off until tomorrow...

originally printed in the Waterloo Region Record on Tuesday, March 31, 2010.

Even though I did my best to introduce my kids to the benefits of tackling and completing tasks early, it’s a habit we continue to avoid establishing and maintaining.

My husband and I refer to our 14 and 11-year-old kids as “master procrastinators” when they display a knack for neglecting inevitable tasks that are often interpreted as way less important than…well, way less important than just about anything else.

But, like anything else, before attempting to solve the problem, we first need to understand what the problem actually is, and in this case, the consequences, real or perceived, of plummeting into the deep dark abyss of lifelong procrastination.

If you live in the same house but belong to a different generation, there may exist a disparity in perception of the importance of jobs and responsibilities. Though, occasionally – in a somewhat distorted way – the older and younger among us may actually perceive the importance as similar. This is the case when my kids practice, with remarkable skill and acuity, the fine art of “positive procrastination.”

When exercising positive procrastination, the kids’ creativity and resourcefulness often render me silent, which is different than exasperated and vocal…which I usually become when “in a minute” or “just a sec” are offered instead of compliance when I suggest a change of activity while they watch TV or play a video game.

As an enthusiastic and committed piano student, my 11-year-old daughter never has to be urged, cajoled or otherwise convinced to sit down and practice. She loves to play, and I am conscious of not suggesting she move on to something else while she plays. I don’t think she’s entirely aware how this works in her favour, especially when it’s past her bed time and she is overcome by the creative urge to compose what is certain to be the modern day answer to Mozart’s 5th…only longer.

With household chores and responsibilities looming, my 14-year-old son has been known to exhibit a keener-than-usual interest in training and playing with the dog. Whether it’s a cool new trick and the dog’s on a roll, or it’s a game of fetch outside, his enthusiasm to spend time with his new best friend is palpable.

But really, isn’t anything delectable compared to the gruelling activity that is being avoided?

…which brings me to another point. Most adults I know, when choosing to do an activity that is enjoyable, are neglecting something else. Even though a task may not require urgent attention, it’s always there, taunting us in the background.

So, is it really procrastinating when you simply don’t have time to deal with that which seems un-doable, unappealing, or otherwise unworthy, or does it always suggest something favourable? Because when I “choose” to spend time dusting the furniture, in favour of say, vacuuming the floor, I fail to see where the illicit pleasure comes from!

Of course, some people produce their best work when under pressure with an imminent deadline, and thrive on, what others may consider a crushing sense of debilitating doom. Maybe it requires time spent in adulthood to realize the benefits of, and to learn to avoid experiencing this sense of doom.

For now, what childhood has taught my kids (among other things, I hope!) is that there is one positive procrastination technique that enables them to get just about anything past me. When they actually get along, and settle in to play a game or do an activity together, enjoying each other’s company, I won’t interrupt for anything.

Instead, I tell myself they are learning the benefits of not procrastinating getting along together.

14...and counting

originally printed in the Waterloo Region Record, March 16, 2010.

In the past two months, my family has celebrated two birthdays. Our son turned 14, and our dog turned two.

Dog owners seem to have a tendency to translate the number of dog years into people years, as naturally and easily as they might convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, or kilometers to miles.

I don’t generally use any of these conversions, but recently when employing the
“dog years X 7 = people years,” calculation, I came to an interesting and amusing realization: my son and my dog are the same age!

There are numerous canine quips and expressions that fly around our household, many of which are also applicable to people, and in our case, to the companions that share the same age.

For example:

Were you born in a barn?
In fact, yes, our Australian Shepherd, Dingo was born in a barn. Nick the boy was born in a hospital under sterile conditions, though he now inhabits a room that sometimes resembles what the typical parent might refer to as a “pig sty.” Other offenses that lead to this rhetorical question include: doors left open, failure to remove shoes in the house, dishes not cleared…

A dog’s breakfast
With a mouthful of metal straightening his teeth, our son threatens to flash the macerated dinner debris coating his braces that looks like “a dog’s breakfast.” …except that Dingo’s food isn’t really so bad, and her breakfast can sit for hours and not change form, or generate bacteria. Not the case with Nick’s teeth.

Dropped the ball
Although more unbelievable with one than the other, both dog and boy actually throw the ball more than they drop it. When Dingo wants to play, she winds up with what can only be referred to as her “throwing neck,” lets the ball fly, and then looks up, urging us to take our turn.

Having a ball
Nick has earned the name “Party Boy” as he is always organizing a road hockey game, sleepover, bike riding outing or a gathering with neighbourhood families. Dingo simply has a ball…with a hole from which treats drop when rolled just so. Manipulating this toy, I believe, is how she learned to “throw.”

Throw me a bone
I am certain this constantly goes through Dingo’s mind when she knows she has done a good job listening and she waits patiently for a treat. I too, wait patiently for any small nugget of information from my human teenager, especially when I’m really digging deep for dirt, with intrusive questions like, “How was your day?”

Dog and pony show
The dog will frantically try to impress me if the above-mentioned bone is not thrown quickly enough. In a frenzy, she’ll speak-liedown-rollover-sitpretty, and if that still does not produce an airborne crunchy cookie, she’ll walk over and head-butt my knee. Nick’s routine is comprised of strategic jokes and anecdotes, surrounded by seemingly well-rehearsed reasons about why he didn’t get his school assignment done sooner…though he hasn’t yet discovered, “the dog ate my homework.”

Get your paws off!
Dog: paws off the furniture, the guests, the freshly laundered pants.
Boy: my wallet, your sister’s dessert, your dad’s car keys (OK, so I’m just practicing for that one)

Yanking my chain
Though I can’t be sure, I don’t think the dog possesses the intellectual sophistication to employ the humour that my son uses for his good natured teasing. But, at 14, each seem to both require and resent a short leash, which, though tempting to over-use in “training,” will clearly only make my life more difficult in the long run. Sigh…teenagers!

originally printed in the Waterloo Region Record on February 16, 2010.

People who are hyper-critical, narrow-minded and over-judgemental really, really drive me crazy. As I sat watching the Grammy awards a few weeks ago, I barely recognized myself, brow furrowed and lip curled, hurling criticisms and insults at the TV.

I don’t usually watch awards shows partly because most of whom I’m interested in seeing aren’t usually included. But I thought I had heard that my all-time favourite artist would be performing and announced my plan to watch, much to the amusement of my husband and kids.

Soon after the show began, my armchair became a soapbox from which I heckled and disparaged.

I had been looking forward to Neil Young, but instead, fell victim to an assault on my senses by… Lady Gaga. In an understatement of unbelievably huge proportion, it could be suggested that these two performers’ styles are different. Although, I’m not sure Neil Young even has a style….which is part of what makes him great. His song writing, singing and guitar playing lack nothing, and leave his audience wanting more of the same, but not more theatrics.

I have seen the odd (yes, pun intended) picture of Lady Gaga and was still taken aback by what she was wearing and her strange performance. (As a talented piano player and singer, she did, however, redeem herself somewhat during her duet with Elton John.)

My 14-year-old son had joined me to watch and I suspected he would be as shocked as I was by this performance. Attempting to gauge his reaction, I nonchalantly remarked that the peculiar design of her costume made her look like a Jetson. Judging by his non-reaction, my comparison went over like a rock at Fred Flintstone’s place of employment, Mr. Slate’s quarry.

Next, a singer named Pink wowed the audience as she was dunked into what I assume was a pool of water, emerged soaking wet and was then suspended, spinning above the stage. It did look kind of cool – for a circus performance. But as the speed with which she spun increased, and the water splattered from her, I thought of the centrifugal force of my salad spinner. That, and how she could possibly keep her voice steady and not throw up.

Both these women have amazing voices, and I was puzzled about why, as “singers,” that didn’t seem to be enough.

It became a bit clearer when my thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my son’s cell phone and he began a text-conversation.

I think it’s possible that I was downright over-stimulated by the performances at the Grammy awards. Like a baby with too much going on, I became cranky and irritable. My son, equipped with iPod, cell phone and computer rarely out of reach, was not fazed at all.

Perhaps my middle age brain, having not developed with constant connections to these sources of texting, surfing and chatting, simply does not allow all of those simultaneous stimuli to register. I do, however, take pride in my reasonably proficient multi- tasking skills; I can watch TV, fold laundry and apparently, hurl insults at the TV.

A friend once gently suggested that it might be time to expand my musical tastes, given that my iPod is filled with much of the same music my cassette player screeched out 20 years ago. I briefly thought that there might be some value in those words. Then I remembered that I’ve also been married to the same man for 20 years, and nobody seems to think that’s a bad thing. After watching the Grammies, I know, without a doubt, I’ll stick with both!

originally published in the Waterloo Region Record, February 2010.

I have become aware of a cruel irony especially apparent at this time of year, as many of us recognize the need to engage in more, or fewer activities that affect our health. Although I hesitate to call mine a resolution, I am trying to incorporate more exercise into my schedule because, even though it sounds good, I don’t believe that “running around” is providing me with the health benefits I should be considering at this age. The irony, of course, is that when I was younger, I needed less exercise and had time for more, and now that I am older and requiring more, I have much less time.

I have begun attending a Zumba class. If you’ve never head of it, I’m not able to tell you much, since – and this is why I don’t call such plans resolutions - I have only been twice. From what I can tell, the instructor uses simple dance steps to provide a cardio and core workout. And just as I have great difficulty actually getting to the classes, once there, the degree of difficulty in performing said “simple” dance moves does not decrease.

Both classes I attended with a friend who is a certified fitness instructor, and as the first began, I was struck by an obvious realization: if I didn’t want to look completely ridiculous, it was probably a bad idea to take a spot beside somebody who receives actual training in, and has been instructing similar classes for more than a decade.

Fortunately, I consider my heart health more important than the risk of looking like an idiot, and thanks to my 14 and 10 year old kids, I have become really quite good at laughing at myself. The manner in which I run - or throw, catch or do anything else that requires coordination - are all great sources of entertainment for my kids. I can’t say I ever actually looked good participating in these activities but I am pretty sure that such manoeuvring of my younger self would not have caused quite the hilarity that it does now.

As the music began, my friend, who knows me well, offered some advice. “If you can’t get the steps,” she began, “just shake it.” I had forgotten about her gruelling enthusiasm for fitness activities, and her ability to get the absolute most out of every move…and how I used to curse both from the back of the class when I attended hers.

As I considered her words, I could conclude nothing else but the only time the words “Just shake it” would be worthwhile advice is if I were standing behind a well-stocked bar preparing a martini. But on a gym floor, I thought it no coincidence that her suggestion of “shake” and my reality of “stiff”, would actually combine nicely. Surely, a drink mixed with those two descriptions would render me…umm, much better able to keep in step!
Another problem this type of class exemplifies is that my limbs don’t always perform the way evolution intended. The swinging of my arms does not seem to naturally match (or, oppose?) my steps. When I actually have to think about and plan for this to happen, I have serious concerns that my issue goes much deeper than lack of coordination.

There is, however, one instruction we are given, that seems to be the only action at which I excel, and can achieve without any trouble at all. It’s intended to be a reminder of sorts, but to me, it’s a source of pride that rests well within my realm of ability.

Breath!

A Meal of Minor Sports

originally printed on January 19 in the Waterloo Region Record

Perhaps you’re familiar, as I am, with the tendency to have had strong opinions about parenting before actually being one. You know, the opinions that prompt verbal expression about those thoughts, only to find yourself later eating those very words? My biggest feast to date includes a healthy helping of minor sports.

Before I had kids, what I did have was all the necessary information to raise them. (Luckily, the aforementioned “meal” has left some room to implant my tongue firmly in my cheek.) I was intensely reluctant to have my unborn offspring participate in minor sports, because of skewed information that convinced me I would be doing them a huge disservice by exposing then to an environment where the norm is swearing, hollering, and ridiculous parents pressuring their kids to win, at all costs.

Now, after gulping those words down with the spray of a sports water bottle, I can say that minor hockey has been an almost entirely wonderful experience for my 13 and 10-year-old-kids.

Before telling you why, I must first say that it is unlikely that either of my kids will make a career of playing hockey. Although some of our four family members take the game more seriously than others, my husband and I embrace the sport for our kids because it works well as a part of their lives…but not their whole lives.

After a couple of mildly injurious sporting mishaps, my daughter had little confidence in her athletic ability, or more specifically, the ability required to escape further bodily harm. Now in her second year of hockey, she is comfortable and confident on the ice and her skills and knowledge of the game have improved immensely.

During their first year, Elena’s house league team did not win a single game, but it was so obviously not about winning for this group of girls who simply enjoyed being part of the team. Laughter, song and cheers often echoed from the change room, before and after games, regardless of the score. They also noticed and commented on the individual progress of their fellow players and marvelled at how much better they all were becoming.

My son’s teams have been different. For the most part, the 13 and 14 year old boys play a game that is faster and more intense. (It’s also safe to say there is no singing in the change room!) Nick indulges his competitive drive and makes good use of an excessive amount of energy. He also loves, and is entirely committed to the sport.

But although his game is different from Elena’s, the younger girls gain no less from the experience. In fact, when it comes to skills that are valuable in real life – team work, fair play, acceptance of different abilities, value of physical activity – both teams benefit equally. Another positive is that both my kids’ teams are comprised of players from different schools and areas. If this was an NHL or Olympic training camp, I understand that the priorities would be different. But it’s not.

As a means to an end, I do feel that skill development is valuable, and, of course, we all want our kids to know the satisfaction of a job well done that a win can provide.

But sometimes that win can be bittersweet, especially at a tournament if it means we have to stick around for another couple of hours to watch yet another game…

I consider myself a dedicated hockey parent, but when I have a house to clean and food to buy for the upcoming week, there is definitely some appeal to a loss!


another hockey column..... and another..... and another, kind of

Not enough of one, too much of another...

originally printed in the Waterloo Region Record, January 5, 2010.

There’s nothing like the Christmas holiday season to clearly illustrate both what we do not have enough of, and what we have too much of. I couldn’t help but notice during the past couple of weeks, and I suspect it might be same with your family, that what we don’t have enough of, is time…and what we have too much of, is stuff.

As I write, we are in the glorious midst of a much needed break from the regular hustle and bustle of everyday life. While we enjoy our holiday, we are making a concerted effort to spend some family time just the four of us…which sounds ridiculous because, isn’t “family time,” by definition, something that should just naturally fall into place, rather than requiring a shoe horn to fit it in?

During a typical, non-holiday, we seem to run around at almost constant breakneck speed trying to keep all of our responsibilities and activities running smoothly. It’s not unusual for our 13-year-old son to eat dinner and do homework in a moving vehicle in order to maintain a travelling hockey schedule.

During this holiday, all four of us have sat, on numerous occasions, in the same room together for more than 15 minutes. More than once, I found myself wondering, why it is we don’t do this more often? The answer, of course, is obvious: we don’t have the time.

So even though we’re doing our best to avoid the feeling that, at the end of the holiday we’ll need another holiday during which to recover, there is still some obligatory rushing, but it’s “fun rushing,” usually without start times, or deadlines. These events are different, since we rush to them, and then we can slow down and relax once we get there.

Another thing I’ve noticed during this break - as if my housekeeping skills weren’t lacking enough to properly organize the belongings we already had – is that with the onslaught of kids’ clothes, games, activities and gadgets, we are now the dubiously proud owners of even more stuff.

And along with the new stuff comes an increased urgency in my never-ending quest to find a logical system with which to organize. In the interest of honesty, and the hopes that this personal purge will help me feel better, I must admit that my method, “Out of sight, out-of-mind” was recently challenged when I found a partly-organized pile of papers and items belonging to my daughter…from school last June. I was tempted to quickly tuck it back away, but realized (as if I didn’t know this before) that part of the problem in storing new stuff was that I first had to organize old stuff.

Unfortunately, apparently due to my children’s genetic make up, they too are sorely lacking in housekeeping skills, and also have some pack rat in them…so we all regularly succumb to: but what if we want to use it again?

Also obvious during the holidays is the need to consider our financial situation when preparing for the big day, and of course, shopping for the deals afterwards. Similar to Norad’s tracking of Santa’s journey across the world on Christmas Eve, my husband discovered another use for the internet when I was out Christmas shopping and Boxing Week bargain hunting. He could track my journey and see where and when my debit card had been used, and how much… longer I’d be gone. I’m sure he was simply eager to have the whole family home spending time together, rather than continuing to increase the amount of stuff coming into the house.