Author: Jackie Ferrier

18 today. This (image not included here) amazing, thoughtful, kind, and gentle woman is on her way to Western in the fall to study engineering. As a parent I know I’m not the first to have a powerful mix of emotions at a time like this. I so wish Peter, her dad, could have been here to witness M’s evolution into an adult. I know he would have talked their ear off about her to whoever would have listened. I imagine wherever he is in the Universe he knows and rejoices. We are so proud and honored. As for M, welcome to adulthood. Look around, we need you. I look forward to how you are going to continue to improve this world. With great love and admiration, Happy Birthday, M.

I hear your alarm clock going off. Get up. I’m still your mother.

Every parent has experienced the ‘Teenage Blind Spot’—that mystical scientific phenomenon where a child can spot a notification on a silent phone from across the room, or candy buried in your office, yet remains completely unable to see a literal jug of milk directly behind the orange juice. This Easter, I decided to stop nagging and start documenting. I transformed our egg hunt into a high-stakes investigation of ‘Selective Sight,’ hiding treats in every spot my kids claimed to have checked ‘five times’ and under every item they’d ‘forgotten’ to put away.

What followed was a Shakespearean tragedy of missed chocolate, fridge-induced despair, and the startling discovery that sometimes, the only thing standing between a teenager and their prize is the Herculean effort required to actually bend their knees.

The play-by-play wasn’t for them—it was for my own sanity. Parenting teens requires a healthy dose of “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” and finding the comedic timing in their search patterns is just good self-care.

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“This year I hid eggs and chocolate in every single place where something has been that the kids haven’t been able to “find” without my help – as well as under everything they haven’t put away yet. And you thought the Easter egg hunt was just about candy…

I enjoyed the efforts they were making, for sure, and there was some kind of vindication seeing them find things. Some things. Because they were actually challenged. Despite living with these teens, despite knowing better, I was also still somewhat baffled. I really was under the illusion that chocolate was the great temptation that conquers all. It does not.

Play-by-play:

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After finding an egg “I swear, I already checked here!!” The other one says, “I just checked there!”

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Funny how the last place they think to look is the fridge.

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After they think they’re all done – “I found three eggs just by bending over!”
Might explain a few things.

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I’m enjoying the fact the they are finding things in places that they admit they already checked “five times”.

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So. This was after they decided they absolutely found everything. The most amusing thing about this besides the fact it’s in plain sight is the fact I ‘hide’ eggs here EVERY YEAR!

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But the fridge though. Seriously.

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She’s already looked in the fridge twice. It must be very frustrating to her. After seven minutes she had to take a texting break.

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I can hear the fridge open now. That must be three times.

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She gave up after 11 minutes. So I gave her a hint. It’s in the kitchen.

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Poor girl just retreated to her room. She’s hiding her despair rather well.

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Says she’s just taking a break. Ok

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The other daughter thinks the other hiding spot in the fridge is really hard. ‘Hers’ was really easy.

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She’s never going to find it. She’s going to have to bend her legs and look. Never gonna happen. Now I’m feeling bad.

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Couldn’t figure out how to get her out of her room. Had to threaten her by suggesting her sister was eating all her candy. I did hear a door squeak open.

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Finally we showed her what it was that she should be looking for. Gave her a time limit of one minute to find it in the kitchen before I would show her where it was. “It’s so stressful”, she says.

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Ok, as I was opening the fridge: “I looked there,” she says.
“Squat,” I say.
Apparently that’s all she needed to find it on her own.
I think she’s stress eating her chocolate now.

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Other daughter is in a GREAT mood, lol. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the superiority she’s feeling right now.

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Daughter one was such a good sport despite her need to retreat to her room for the rest of the day. She will be rewarded.  “

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But for those wondering why I found this so amusing, here is the “Parent Logic” behind the madness:

• The Fridge Mystery: There is a scientific phenomenon where, if an item is not at eye level right in front of you, it effectively ceases to exist in the teenage dimension.
• The “I Checked There”: We’ve all heard it. “I looked everywhere!” This hunt was a gentle (and delicious) way of proving that “everywhere” usually means “the 4-inch radius directly in front of my nose.”
• The Stakes Were Sweet: I wasn’t making them do chores; I was making them find treasure. If you can’t find a giant chocolate box in the kitchen because you refuse to bend your knees, that’s not a “mean mom” problem—that’s a “physics and effort” problem.

The Truth: I didn’t hide the easter treats to be mean. I hid them because, in the real world, your keys, your homework, and your future boss aren’t always going to be sitting at eye level, waiting for you to notice them without effort.

Sometimes, to get the prize, you just have to squat.

I dedicate this article to you, T, after I saw you work hard today after a soccer game to run two timed 800 meter runs in preparation for your area track & field meet on Friday.

You had a strategy you were going to try. You wanted to test what you could do.

The first run was hard – harder than you thought it would be, I think. That’s always tough – thinking it’s going to be one way and then it turns out to be harder. You were so tired when you finished, you collapsed on the ground, you asked yourself why did you decide to run this race; you said didn’t want to do it. You lay there for a while. Then you picked yourself up. You evaluated your strategies and tactics.

And then ran the second one.

And you beat your first time by 11 seconds.

That’s significant. I know. I ran track for years. That was my event. 11 seconds is a lot for a second run. Effort, girl, you put in effort.

I saw you do the hard work to be the best you can be for that meet. That shows character, T. That ability to persevere when it’s tough and you want to give up. Even when you could have easily taken the easy way out by simply not doing it, you “muscled” through to work to be the best you could be.

That’s the edge. Tackling the difficult zone is where you grow. That ability to withstand the discomfort, to tap into your courage: it will serve you very well in life regardless of whatever life throws at you or you decide to pursue.

It may seem pointless – running, what’s the point of that? Or a pointless game – who cares – are we saving lives? But it’s actually more. It challenges us on so many levels. And that’s why we do it.

Sometimes we work hard for the hope of glory, that hope of winning, of being recognized as being the best, or because we want to beat someone who wronged us or prove something to someone who doubted us. Whatever it takes to motivate you. That’s good, that works.

But what I think you discovered is that when you recovered, you felt pretty darn good about yourself for the effort you made. Without any of that glory.

That’s the thing about working hard for a goal we recognize as being admirable. When it’s painful, difficult, uncomfortable and you persevere for the right reasons, there are these hidden payoffs. We become strengthened. Fortified. Buoyant. It’s like it’s built into us to recognize when we’ve done right without anyone else recognizing it. The more we do it, the more we become immunized from self-doubt and self-recrimination because we know did the difficult thing for the right reason. We can do it.

And honestly? Not everyone can.

We can believe in ourselves because experience has taught that when it’s tough we show up. We can do the hard work and be good to ourselves. We are warriors.

That’s what you and me and M are and what your dad was. We are warriors.

I am super proud of you. Xoxo

Escuminac Beach, New Brunswick

I sometimes pet sit for people. The relationship I have with each is special and unique. Most of them have something to teach you if you listen. I had some adventures with my friend Brian’s dog.

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Spencer by day and Spencer by night are different animals. By day he was the ultimate attention seeker, the ultimate charmer. “Look at me with this big stick”, he’d say to me, “Isn’t it big; aren’t I grand?” “Yes, Spencer”, I would agree. “It’s mighty magnificent and so are you.” He would nod, fully expecting my response. “Pet me”, he would insist, to me, to anyone here, “I am Spencer” as if that was all that was needed to have us fall all over ourselves to do so. And he was pretty much right.

But by night, he was quiet, preoccupied, focused, on guard, keeping us safe from the worst kind of raccoons and rabbits. I believe he appreciated my still night watchfulness. I didn’t trouble him or talk to him. Just appreciated the night. Kindred spirit, I imagined him thinking, but I’m sure it was all me. But we hung out. Quiet together, he and I.

Edit: Spencer has since crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. We miss him.

This is from a slide show at M’s grade eight graduation. The image on the left was taken just before M’s first birthday as a birthday present to her dad who died only a couple of years later.

The journey for her to get here was a rocky one in between and I only wished I knew at the start of it what I know now. I am a full advocate of the gifted program here. I think without it she might have remained a chronic underachiever. Anyone who knows anything about the gifted mind knows that it’s not really about being “smart”. It’s far more complex than that and there were many struggles along the way.

But here she is having graduated with an art award, but more importantly for her I think, she graduated with honours. She found her friends, acceptance and belief in herself here and worked her backside off to try to do something she never believed possible before.

I told her last night how proud of her I was. She did this all herself. And that it is something she can never undo (yay, she said!). I told her it will serve her in moments of insecurity and doubt that will surely come in the future. She can look back on this time and know without a doubt forever more that this is something she did and can do. Ok, now I’m getting choked up again.

Congratulations, M! You deserve it!

I’m usually in the habit of wishing people the best year ever. Because that is what I really truly want for people – their best year yet. I feel that intensely.

But the truth is, you might not think this year ends up being the best year ever. It could be a year of hardships. It might have let downs, struggles and failures. Because in my experience – yours, too – things happen. People you love desperately, die – that’s been my experience. We get sick. We fail. Our hearts hurt. We fail to live up to our unrealistic ideals of ourselves. People cut us off in traffic. Any number of things. That’s my experience, too.

Instead this year I wish everyone resiliency. I want you to bounce back stronger than ever. I wish you bravery. To conquer your fears. Because the best things in life often have a measure of fear to them.

I wish you the ability to realize at least once or more, that you have limited time. I’m sorry if that bums you out, but maybe you will make one decision that is meaningful that you might not otherwise.

I wish that when you knew you were happy, that you realize just how freaking lucky you are. Because there may be a time in your life that you would wish anything to be where were when you realized you were happy.

I wish that you learn lessons from any hardships – not bitter cynical lessons, but lessons that works to improve your life – someone else’s life. And when someone cuts you off in traffic the wisdom to know that their life may be presenting them some big big challenges.

I want more than anything – especially for the people who really need it – empathy for themselves. Quit thinking you can do more than you can do. You’re human like the rest of us. Really. Cut it out. And quit thinking you can do less. I don’t need to say more. You know it in your heart.

I most of all wish you accomplish things in this year that when you come to the end of your life, make you feel like you lived your life and lived it well.

This – in the grand scheme of things – really is the best. So if I wish you the best year yet on your birthday, this is what I wish for you: meaning.

For now, Happy 2014. Everyone who this reaches has touched my life in some way and I am grateful for that. I wish you the best year yet.

This was my birthday “surprise” from my daughters. Made from “scratch” (except for the Reeces peanut butter pieces). Cost about $50 in groceries, apparently. The kids thought it was a cupcake recipe, because it was titled “Peanut butter cupcakes”, but apparently the internet can be misleading at times. At the bottom it said how many cookies it made. They read this after the stuff was already in the cupcake liners ready to be baked, of course. It certainly tasted like cookie on the outside. And a whole lot of sweet richness on the inside. Great with cake-flavoured vodka and the TV turned up loud to drown out any sibling arguing and 8 year old self-righteous bossiness. Or milk.

Several titles of the dessert were suggested that evening: “Cookie Cupcake Soup” “Mushy Yummy Mess” “Reeces pieces cupcake/cookies” and “The Peanut Butter Mistake”. We all liked this one.

It has been long in the planning; big ideas with big hearts, although the actual -planning- and execution of the details were a little sketchy. There were several walks home in the dark with two girls whispering excitedly ahead of me, and meetings behind closed doors. The actual baking got underway with a good dose of realism and was preceded by repeated lectures on my part on safety, cleaning up and interrupting your mother while she is speaking. Full points for safety execution. Not so much for the cleaning. We won’t even talk about the interrupting.

Things can go a little strange and furtive before your birthday or Christmas gift giving, and parents really can be clueless. But then things can be weird any time with children who have big ideas and ask big questions. At around 11:00pm the night before I heard laughing from my 8 year old’s room. Then I hear talking. I’m thinking to myself, “Aw, how sweet. I haven’t heard T. sleep talk for a long time”. But then it continued. I listen. Then I put my ear to the door and realize that she’s talking to my 11 year old! I open the door, and see M. in T.’s bed, lying foot to head with her. It’s a school night! I’m stunned. There’s no way they thought that I would think that this would be a good idea.

I shoo and scold M. back to her own bed and ask them what they thought they were doing. M. tells me they were having a sleep-over. A sleep-over? Last year M. could barely stand to be in the same room with her. T, not the best secret keeper in the world, shouts out to M. as she heads off, “M., you forgot your ipod!” Ah.

“I’ll take that,” I say, pretty irritated now. M. is not allowed to have her ipod upstairs with her at night. There is a reason for it. Too many nights catching her late at night playing on it. In fact, she had lead me to believe that it was in my office before she went to bed that night. I’m not happy. At midnight I hear barking. It’s M.’s ipod. I’m glad I’m still up.

Next morning, I say to M., “What gave you the idea that I would approve of a sleepover on a school night?” M. does not have a lot to say for herself beyond that they had intended to sleep, but her knee was sticking into T.. I just shake my head. Just what I wanted for my birthday, I tell her. Two tired and grumpy children. But I’m the grumpy one.

M. takes the loss of her ipod very well of course. She takes all punishment well. Which is why it has been exceedingly hard to punish her with any effectiveness. But of course I have to return the ipod because the recipe is on it. (But I make her send the recipe to T.’s ipod and take it back. Have to stick to my guns, right?)

I ask T. what was going on after dropping M. off at her bus. T. hangs her head. “I can’t tell you,” she says glumly, “It’s part of the surprise.”
I ask, “Was the ipod part of the surprise?”
“No.” she says. Ok, well I’m justified in that, I think.

It’s not until this morning that I find out from T. that M. had the idea that they would get up in the middle of the night and make these things! M. set the alarm on her ipod so she would wake up. Not that they needed it. I find humour in the idea that the “middle of the night” is midnight. When I’m awake. M. told me none of this, even after all was revealed. Probably knew better by then. Still, it must have been hard to get in trouble and lose her ipod to boot all because of good intentions.

So I have a little extra to be thankful for – two sweet, thoughtful – if misguided – kids. And that the Peanut Butter Mistake did not turn into the Peanut-butter-sorry-about-the-house-burning-down-and-that-trip-to-the-emergency-after-we-fell-into-the-oven-mistake.

All in all letting your kids have full control of all the icing and chocolate chips they wanted was not such a bad idea for one night either. It resulted in a pretty maintenance free evening (for me anyway) filled with lots of love, laughing and hugs.

T turns 6 years old today.  She was born in the longest hour and a half I have ever experienced on a super cold day between snow storms.  But the immeasurable relief I experienced after the labour was over (WHAT THE &&% DO YOU MEAN THERE IS NO TIME TO TURN ON THE EPIDURAL??) is not the only reason why it was one of the best days of my life, T has been a little ray of sunshine in my life and I told her as much today.

But as I was working until late last night it was almost midnight when I finally wrapped up T’s presents.  And I realized with a sinking heart when I was done that I didn’t have a card for her.  I remember looking at 3-d cards in the store and thinking, that’ll never top last year’s birthday card which was a sparkling singing-light up pink princess card.  Honestly, nothing could top that.  I had thought to myself at the time – I’ll make her a card (with all that free-time I have).  After all, I ask that they make cards for me, I should be doing the same.  One year I photoshopped Morgan’s card with a silly picture of her and her favourite things at the time.  I looked at the paper in my printer, and my pink pen (pink is T’s colour) and the clock and wondered what I could make that would still preserve my sanity the next day.  Then it comes to me.

A cootie-catcher.  Remember those? Earlier that afternoon, she had been drawing a grid like thing at daycare and asking people to pick a square, when she turned it over, she pointed to a heart and said, “you got love”  (love, pink and princesses are a big theme in my wee girl’s life right now).  The daycare teacher looked at me and laughed and said she has been trying to make one of those things. 

So I proceed to fold one up, thinking I could put little messages inside, and even started to think that she could even take it to school and daycare.  On the top four, I wrote (in pink, of course): Happy, Birthday, T, 6.  Inside there were choices around birthday themes, I was imagining that each time a child picked something, they would be saying things like, “Happy Birthday T” “Chocolate cake and icecream”, “T is Six” and “Presents and gifts”

Inside the flaps , depending on what the child chooses, they can get, 6 hugs, 6 wishes, 6 compliments, or – the best of all – candy!   T has to do the thing with each child until they pick that one – that was the rule. At which point T pulls out a lollipop from the bag I gave her to give to the child.  On the flip side of the paper I wrote her a birthday letter, reminding her how she was born between snow storm and how the day she was born was one of the best days of my life (in pink of course).  You could just see it underneath.

I did this for her this morning, singing “Happy birthday” while opening and closing the thing, and when I was done singing, she could pick a flap inside and repeating until all were opened, each flap being a mystery and each surprise being a delight.  I wasn’t really sure how the 6 wishes would go down, but I said, these wishes for you, for wishes you can make come true, these will help you.  She went for it.  Might not go over so well when she is 14 and rolling her eyes contemptuously at me, but for now, a wish can be a powerful thing.  When we were done, I read her the letter, (more hugs) and folded it back up for her.

Although the candy was probably the best delight (what?  I get candy at breakfast?  Yes – to eat LATER), the best response came from the 6 compliments, as we thought of six things we liked about her.  I started with 3, but my other daughter wanted to do the last three (it was a struggle for her to think of them, but she wanted to, at least).  This erupted into a spontaneous hug between sisters.  Nice things are being said and done, little surprises of affection and love, just what a 6 year old birthday should be all about.

Of course, I didn’t account for the fact that getting T’s fingers and hands to move the way she wanted would not be a simple task.  But the joy of the day managed to provide her with some tolerance for frustration and then suddenly she got it and was opening and closing it every which way with confidence.  As soon as she got to daycare, she was running in with the – should I still call it a cootie catcher? – birthday card trying it out on some of her small friends, instead of getting ready for school.  She came running back, holding it out, “It’s broken!” as it had got folded up and the little flaps for the fingers seemed to disappear.   I straightened out, and showed her how to fix it, and told her it couldn’t be broken, that someone would be able to fold it right for her.  She added, excitedly, “Drew got candy!  I told her she would get it later.”

I thought to myself – with a bit of office paper and my pink pen, this is a pretty good card.  That maybe, maybe – if it doesn’t fold itself into confusion, get ripped and T doesn’t get in trouble at school for it – maybe, just maybe, it even tops last year’s sparkling singing-light up pink princess card.

So Taylor (my twelve year old) thinks this picture is creepy because she thinks it looks like my face now was photoshopped into some little girl’s face.

Photo credit: Kathy Moore