All that I learned in 2021, I take with me into tomorrow

In 2021, I learned that...

People we love can be on opposite sides of the fence, and all we can do is pray for their safety.

My friends are braver and more badass than they realize they are. And they inspire me daily.

Letting intuition inform choices can result in an abundance of sweetness and joy. 

When I stop feeling angry and sit with it, I'm mostly afraid things will never go back to before.

But I really don't want before.

I've learned too much to pretend I liked then, better.

 

I also learned that…

Some people love you so much they check in. And others don't. And you can't take that personally.

Sometimes change is a permanent state. And I have to embrace this reality.

Home is where my heart is. And changing the world starts with loving my kids through every bad mood, hard day and long week.

I prefer to be around people who think less from their ego, and more often from a place of collective well-being and humanity.

Listening means not always having a response right away. And that sitting and holding space is an act of great love.

Considering others' perspectives means that even if you don't agree, you seek to understand.

And this is harder than being right.

Finally, I learned that…

Lived experience informs risk tolerance during a pandemic.

And I don’t need to apologize for that.

I’m allowed to have personal boundaries, and people pleasing interferes with them.

If you find a job you love, not even a pandemic will stop you from enjoying going to work.

My husband is my rock, gives the best hugs and can find a joke suitable for even the worst days.

Dropping secret gifts on people's porches is pretty fun, and sponsoring a family at Christmas can light up the hearts of children who sometimes forget how lucky they are.

 

And that next year won't be 2020, too.

It will be 2022.

With fresh new eyes, enhanced gratitude and the promise that even the most menacing of storms passes, eventually.

Right now, I have more than enough to find joy.

That much like my very smart and special neighbour recently said, when aboard the boat during a storm, all one can do is hold the steering wheel and marvel at God's creation.

Happy New Year, lovelies.
xoxo
P

Hindsight is 2020, after all

When we look back on 2020, what will we remember?

Will it be the heavy feelings? 
Worry. Isolation. Grief.

Or the small blessings?
Extra cuddle time. Homemade meals. Rest.

Will it be the negative comments?
Nastiness. Judgement. Trolls.

Or the kindness shared by others?
Surprise deliveries. Lovely words. Gratitude.

What will we remember, when we look back on 2020?

I hope it's the time I spent baking with my kids.
The movie nights and snacks, both outdoor and in.
The extra donations made to charities we love.
The lunch breaks chatting with my husband.

2020 was hard. So entirely exhausting.
Who would have ever dreamed of this?
Certainly not I.

Perhaps we'll uncover the lessons, when we look back.
Hindsight is 2020, after all. 

Certainly we'll remember the waves. 
The constant state of flux.
Standing on unstable ground.

But I'm not sure, what we'll remember. Only time will tell.

I notice I feel stronger, when I am less busy.
Maybe I'll remember this when my calendar is full, later next year.

I've come to appreciate the sound of silence, for no other reason than it's peaceful.
Maybe I'll remember this when my house is alive with guests again, someday.

I've found joy in having no-where to go.
Maybe I'll remember this and prioritize 'space' more often.

I can promise I'll remember the love I shared with my children and husband in 2020.
The deep conversations, and the silly ones.
The tears and the hugs.
The frustration and fear.
And the simple joy of spending time observing their own unique gifts.

Here we are, day 365 of 2020 and just hours from a new year. And while I know that midnight will not end a global pandemic, I believe we can make the choice to enter 2021 with positive, peaceful thoughts and our eyes set on the ultimate prize... a return to hugs, celebrations with the people we love and appreciation for all we learned during this very incredible year.

From my heart to all of yours; may 2021 bring you good health, a deeper awareness of self and a greater desire to do all things with love in mind.

xo

The waves are back

I am feeling really tired right now.
Deep down in my soul tired.
Hurts to sit, tired.
Depleted.

This exhaustion is not new to me.
I've lived with these waves a long while.
They are here, again.

It's written all over my face.
Engrained into my bones.
Weighted my spirit.
It's not going away.

It could be memories.
It might be winter's cold.
Maybe even the disease of busy.
Or perhaps a combination?

It doesn't matter why it's here.
I know what I have to do.

Breathe.
Find gratitude.
Love my people.
Accept help and hugs.
Repeat.

This is life, after all.
And sometimes we can only wait.
Let the tears fall as they may,
then keep floating along.

The perfect summer of unbusy

This summer I've realized how often I was sitting on the sidelines of life.

Waiting for the perfect moment.

The perfect body.

The perfect amount of energy.

The perfect time.

I think sometimes I fell into a cycle of unworthiness in my own head.

Crazy how powerful our minds are.

I wasn't skinny enough.

Strong enough.

Fun enough.

Its not what moms say.

Or do.

Or what my friends say, or do.

Others are better at it than me.

Look better than me.

Should be doing those things, not me.

And this summer the cycle is slowly breaking wide open.

The amount of downtime our family has had so far is unprecedented.

We swim daily, sometimes two or three times in a day.

We have lazy mornings.

Time to read.

Less to do.

More time to just be, together.

It's helped me realize that perfect is now.

Right now.

That embracing life for exactly what it is now, is brilliant.

And gratitude overwhelms for all the right reasons.

Sometimes we are busy. 

But right now, not so much.

And the gift of unbusy is just as special, perhaps even more so, than the gift of busy.

I'm realizing that unbusy is not lazy.

Its absolutely not.

It's a gift.

The flow of life.

The calm before life's next storm.

It's perfect.

And I'm not going to sit on the sidelines and miss another opportunity to embrace it.

I'm going to be the only mom in the pool.

The mom who models a love of reading.

The mom who doesn't feel guilty when dinner is grilled cheese and apples.

The woman who throws down a brilliant cannonball because she has nearly 30 years of practice in the same pool.

The woman who thinks less about her every move, and lives more fully.

The women who is done worrying about how she looks in a dang bathing suit.

Seriously done worrying about it.

A woman who loves harder by doing.

Who embraces unbusy.

Who rides this summer wave with gratitude.

Because it won't be long until the heat is gone.

The mom taxi is back in action.

Work becomes overwhelming.

And a new wave, called busy, calls me to change my stance and find new reasons to be happy.

All over again <3

 

#gratitude #summertime #lifelessons #unbusy



Photo courtesy @becomingunbusy: https://www.facebook.com/BecomingUnbusy/



 

Cruise Control

I'm often asked why I 'only' work part time. 

I've been told its not right, not best for my family for me to 'waste' my education and experience. 

I've been told I should strive for more money.

A bigger house. More frequent vacations.

Nicer brand name clothing and renovations to our aging home.

I've been told I'm not enough.

Inferred lazy.

Less than.

I've been told my kids need to 'suck it up' and go to day care like 'most kids do'. I've been told they will never survive the 'real world' when they get older if I continue to 'coddle them' by being home more than the average mom.

I've been told many not so nice things. Been judged. 

Questioned myself repeatedly for my choices as a mother.

Spent many days wondering if I'm doing it all wrong.

Then, you know what?

Days like today happen.

Epic full driveway hopscotch made by three awesome kids.

And this is what matters.

This is the privilege I am witness to.

Time at home afterschool to unwind.

Unstructured play.

Sibling friendships.

You see, our family has lived with plenty of fear the last three years.

Cancer. 

Anaphylaxis.

Home invasion.

My kids worry about dying.

Being without one another.

Eating food that makes them sick.

Going to the hospital.

Coming home to another broken front door and missing piggy banks.

Robbers.

My kids have been through enough to know what makes them feel safe, and what doesn't.

Home, together, is their happy place.

Second only to, together, on an adventure.

So for now I will continue to trade money for time. 

Career advancement for memories.

Fast track for cruise control.

And someday when they've all left the nest perhaps I'll climb that ladder, pursue that masters or even purchase that indulgence I've daydreamed of owning.

Until then, I do not apologize.

I've taken the path less travelled for good reason.

We are anchored at home.

Appreciate life more than most.

Feel Safe.

Today I am grateful for the privilege of cruise control.

Three healthy kids.

One amazing husband.

An afterschool spent at home.

We all make choices.

This is mine. Ours.

Isaak Family Christmas Card

Photography courtesy (Nanna) Heather Isaak Photography

Christmas is a few short days away.

The gifts are wrapped.
Dinner plans have been made.
Our dogs are clean and pretty.

This Christmas feels different for our family.

We've spent less money.
Worried infrequently about organizing every moment.

For the first time ever, our family has chosen the 'four gift' rule:

1. Something I want.
2. Something I need.
3. Something to wear.
4. Something to read.

Four gifts per child, plus a visit from Santa, who has always generously filled our stockings and left one toy per child under our tree.

This Christmas feels calmer.
Less cluttered.

The kids have delighted in the glow of the lights.
The pending family gatherings.
Advent candles.
Christmas movies.
Our kindness countdown.
Silly versions of classic Christmas songs.

This year I've stopped - really stopped - to watch my children play with the nativity scene in our living room. My eyes delighted in the joy of their recounting of the Christmas story, and I laughed hard and loud when I realized Ethan has been referring to Baby Jesus as 'Baby Jeez'.

We are blessed.

This Christmas, in lieu of the Christmas cards my hands never wrote, my note to you is this....

Find peace in a hot cup of coffee.
Feel the warmth of a family member's hand in yours.
Laugh so hard your belly hurts.

Look for silver linings in times of grief.
Breathe deeply in times of anxiety. 
Melt away the sadness with festive food and drink.

Be grateful for a warm bed.
Look with fresh eyes at the snow outside your window.
Hold your furbabies close and thank them for being steadfast companions.

Put
your
phone
down.

Be present.
Relish, deeply, in the charms of the holiday season.

Let's really live, this Christmas. 
Look with wonder upon the things which we too often take for granted.

Let's really love, this Christmas.
Take it upon ourselves to boldly declare our adoration to our most cherished loved ones.

Let's really appreciate, this Christmas.
Because we never really know when life's tide will turn and leave us far from shore.

Be
Peaceful.
Loving.
Joyful.
Gracious.
Kind.

And know that you are loved, beyond measure.

Merry Christmas
xoxo

The unwanted guest

What a July it's been, for our family.

Brooklyn's latest test results came in a little over a week ago. Her MRI was NED (no evidence of disease) and while her urine markers were up, the oncologist assured us it's nothing at all to worry about as random urine samples for absolutely anyone can change from day to day.

The spot on her liver has not changed in any way, therefore the doctors will continue to monitor it with ultrasounds every three months after her MRI scan and bloodwork.

She has officially moved to the 'aftercare' clinic in 3F at McMaster.
The secretary congratulated us when she handed back our appointment card.

This month we celebrated and thanked our friends and family with a big party at our place... food, cold drinks, ice cream, fun and lots of laughter. We cried a little, hugged a lot and ended the day feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for our village.

A front AND backyard full of our family and friends. We are so blessed.

Brooklyn is, by all definitions, back to normal.

She'll be participating in the Heater's Heroes event next month in Niagara Falls.
She's happily attending camp twice a week.
Swimming in the pool with her brothers.
Playing with friends.

She is a survivor.
She is a hero.
She is my daughter.

Despite all this goodness and normalcy, lingering doubt remains.
My mama brain never shuts off.

She expressed feeling very dizzy two days in a row this week and the roller coaster of worry began...

What if?
How could?
Why?

Let me tell you, the thing about cancer is that once it's arrived, you can never really pack it up and send it out the door. There will always be an unwanted guest in the heart of a parent whose child experiences cancer.

I pray for, and worry about my kiddos every. single. day.
But this unwanted guest called cancer, it has the strength to overwhelm gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Gratitude

Our intense winter is now over.
Brooklyn is officially in remission.
We do not anticipate any additional hospital stays.
(ok, I am knocking on wood here)

Our family is now home.
Together.

Back to 'normal'... ish...

To be honest, we're struggling with what our 'new normal' looks like. We've all changed, grown and been very deeply hurt by the last two months and so in many ways we are grieving. As we move through the next few weeks and months, we know one thing for sure:

We couldn't have done it without you.

The food in our freezer.
The cookie bouquets.

Sleepover fun nights for our kids.
Playdates.
Hockey games.

The toys and books and games.
Homemade cards made by children, for our child.

Love in the form of muffins, lasagnas and snuggly blankets.

Coffee deliveries, McMaster hallway hugs and surprise food and drinks and balloons to Brooklyn's room.

Beautiful jewelry.
Prayer shawls.
Stuffed animals.
Cozy new sweaters.
Scented bottles of instant relaxation and stress relief.

Walking our dogs.
Washing our clothes.
Changing our bedsheets.
Cleaning our house.

Checking in on us.
Every. Single. Day.

Sending simple messages of hope, love and strength.

Advice.
Words of wisdom.
A shoulder to cry on.

Your prayers.
Your dedications.
Your overwhelming energy healings.

Gift cards.
Money.
Loving cards and surprise gifts galore.

Old friends.
New friends.

Friends who dropped absolutely EVERYTHING to help us.
Over and over again.

Grocery shoppers.
Errand runners.
Snow shovellers.

Family who stepped up to parent our kids.
Take care of our house.
Love up our dogs.

We couldn't have done it without you.

Let me tell you a story...

The day of Brooklyn's biopsy in January was also the first day we heard the doctors use the word cancer. We signed consent for the biopsy, as well as a port-a-cath insertion, assuming she would begin chemo in the coming days.

We waited hours for the surgery, only to be rushed down and then told we got bumped.
We waited again.
Once she finally went under, Jay sat vigil in the surgical family waiting area while I wandered up to Brooklyn's room with the intention of getting something to eat.

When I sat down I could barely move.
My heart hurt so badly, my head was foggy and my eyes were swollen from crying.

There was no way, in that moment, I could have made myself something to eat.

Thank GOD for our village.

My dearest friend and her mom had delivered hot meatballs, fresh buns and cheese and cold drinks just a few hours earlier. I felt such gratitude, for their act of kindness.

The two most important mothers in my life were in the room when I arrived, and quickly jumped into action, making me food, hugging me tightly and forcing me to drink while I sat in complete silence.

Thank you, God, for these women in my life.

That was the moment I realized I was in no way capable of doing this alone.
That despite our courage and love, there was no way Jay and would manage this without our village.

And you, our village, just jumped right in and did your thing.
You said you were in awe of us, but really we were in awe of all of you.

Your selflessness.
Your ability to help at (literally) a moment's notice.
Your unrelenting love for us that saw you balance our life and yours at the same time.

Did you know my mom was recovering from major surgery when she took over as 'Sama-Mom' in my absence? Or that she had no voice for days on end... sicker than a dog and still, she came to help.

Every. Single. Day.

I will never forget speaking to my dad on the phone, that biopsy day in January.
Telling him his beloved Buttercup had cancer.
Begging him to tell me we were going to be ok.

He said to me,
"We've got you. We've got all of you. We will do this, together. We love you."

And that is why my gratitude is so fierce.
God has blessed me beyond my wildest dreams, with people who will never, ever let us fall.

So, thank you.
Thank all of you.

Your kindness, love and devotion to our family has been seen, felt and heard.
And we love you all for it.

xo

It's never really over

The thing about trauma is that it's never really over, per se.

Thoughts.
Feelings.
Painful memories.

They linger.
They take up space in our busy brains.
They can easily take over one's ability to feel happy, whole and in control.

The last couple of days I've been marvelling at how all roads in our family life led to the last 6 weeks. Gave us a 'tool kit' so to speak, for dealing with our family trauma.

I spent the last year engaging in meditation and mindfulness practices, resulting in the ability to see light during the darkest of our last six weeks. Friends, both old and new, who allowed me to entrench myself in their personal and family cancer experiences the last number of years, took it upon themselves to prop me up every single day of this journey. The practical way Jay and I rebooted our finances last fall, so that me being without work right now is a setback, not a sinking ship. The family yoga classes that Brooklyn and I started prior to her diagnosis  attuned her to the power of her breath, and taught her a simple song that calmed her worst fears and silenced her tears during our 15 odd days of inpatient treatments.

All of these roads have led to today, and just weeks after I posted about my self-declared 2016 Year of Celebration, we found ourselves stuttering and gasping for breath, trying to verbalize the sentence, 'Brooklyn has cancer' to our closest relatives. I will never forget making those phone calls, in the third floor hallway of McMaster Children's Hospital, a pile of mush on the floor. Trying, so so hard, to breathe.

I could be angry.
After all, it feels entirely unfair that a five year old should fight cancer.

I could be depressed.
It was painful to see my daughter, my own flesh and blood, in intense pain.

I could feel anxious.
After all, there are more results pending, and there will be follow up tests for many, many more years.

I could loathe God.
Many people do, following a trauma.

The thing is, I don't.
I have moments of anger, sadness and anxiety.

But I mostly feel gratitude.
Intense gratitude.

For the 'doers' who carried my family and I through this journey.
For my husband, whose love for our family carried us when I fell apart.
For my dearest, most incredible friends who lived inside my head throughout the last six weeks, offering daily support, checks ins and countless opportunities to say they loved me.
For my body, which carried my soul.

You see, we will all experience trauma at some point.

We will lose people we love.
Parents. Siblings. Babies. Neighbours.
Some of us will fight cancer, disease and mental illness.
Be unemployed, battle addiction and see our children struggle to succeed.

We will hurt, deep down in our souls.
We will feel like we cannot go on.
Like the world is better off without our pain.

But wait.
We can choose another path.

Gratitude is a conscious choice to look at every single interaction in our day as a gift, a silver lining through the thick grey clouds of trauma.

Let's be honest here, trauma brings out the best in the people we love. Coincidentally, trauma also showcases the tragic flaws in others, some of which I can personally say have been disappointing to witness.

But I can still choose gratitude.

I can choose to feel 'lucky' that Brooklyn's type and stage of cancer was the best possible outcome in the medical books. Even if being truly 'lucky' is having a child that never experiences cancer at all.

I can choose to be grateful that I am home with my children, snuggling and caring for them, despite the fact that this means my income is nil for the foreseeable future.

I can choose happiness.
Peace in my soul.
Love in my heart.
Faith in God.

A very wise friend said to me, once you battle cancer it's never really over, it just becomes the new normal. You live for today, and you make a choice not to worry about tomorrow.

And so it may never really be over, per se.
But I firmly believe the aftermath of trauma is manageable with a heart full of gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

The Year of Celebration

It's New Year's Eve.
How did that happen?

As I reflect on this last 12 months, I am profoundly grateful.

My children are healthy.
My husband and I are madly in love.
My mother is recovering like a champ from surgery.

I've grown closer to many relatives and in-laws.
Strengthened friendships with beautiful and strong women.
Unconditionally loved an animal despite its flaws.

I'm writing more often.
Meditating regularly.
Walking through my house daily with a greater appreciation for its character and nuances.

I worry less.
I choose my words more carefully.
I choose gratitude over anger.

I've begun a deep dive into my newest writing project, My Journey to Worthy.

For all these discoveries I have become a more mentally healthy woman. I feel as though my soul shines more clearly around my body, that those who I surround myself with have been privy to my most authentic self to date.

Yup, I really feel that way.
And its awesome.

I am very much looking forward to 2016, as it will mark some major milestones... 'big' birthdays, anniversaries and life stages which deserve celebration.

The kind of celebration which leaves you smiling ear to ear.
Where you heart bursts out of your chest with joy.
And your eyes fill with tears of excitement and love.

Bring it, 2016.
You are my Year of Celebration.