Tag: relationships

The Terrible, Horrible, no Good, very bad Polyester Pantsuit and my Poor Sense of Style….

The reality of becoming Mother of the Bride is starting to set in. I’m realizing I am going to have to up my game and probably not wear a sports bra.


The reality of becoming Mother of the Bride is starting to set in. I’m realizing I am going to have to up my game and probably not wear a sports bra.

Our daughter Megan is getting married this September, which officially gives me the coveted title of Mother of the Bride (MOB). In my head, MOB means refined, understated but classic and……looks ok in the photos. My aspiration is tasteful, graceful and make it look effortless. Yes, my ego is in overdrive but it’s a big day and I don’t want to muck it up. I’m going to need more Spanx and likely some mascara.

For past significant events, I have consistently missed the mark. I wasn’t “stylishly pulled together.” I had perfected a look that often made people raise their eyebrows and ask, “did she check the mirror before she left the house?” No lie. For major events, despite my best efforts, I looked like I’d wandered into a thrift store blindfolded and shoplifted chaos. No one—absolutely no one—comes to me for fashion advice. Especially the visually impaired. I suck.

Last year my friend Marie’s daughter got married, and Marie looked incredible. She was radiant and regal. She floated and everything about her was graceful, and yes, effortless. She wore a navy blue pantsuit. Naturally, I thought, I should also wear a pantsuit. Why rewrite the book, better to copy and paste.

Marie went to an actual store, tried hers on, and ensured it fit. I chose Russian Roulette and shopped online. I typed “perfect MOB navy pantsuit” and landed on a cute little boutique shop called Lily and Kate Vancouver. Lily and Kate Vancouver just sounded so fashionably fabulous! It’s a mother-daughter business that they have owned together for 25 years. I loved their pantsuit. Luxurious fabric, ease of movement and with stylish flair. The model in the photo looked amazing. I wanted to look amazing. It’s a big day, and I’ve seen the photos from my other “big days.” and they were very big FAILS.

Lily and Kate Vancouver was a blessing. I found my outfit. Even better, it was regularly priced for $389. Since it was January, they were having a blowout sale for $89. Perfect. Classy and cheap! My favourite combination. Which is where I get into trouble. Cheap is not classy; that’s called a thrift store.

Six weeks later—six weeks for something allegedly coming from Vancouver (6 hours away)—it arrived. I tore open the package and held it up. Something was wrong. It was navy but that’s where the promises ended.

Friends, this was not a pantsuit. This was a blue polyester tablecloth that had been aggressively given legs. Scratchy blue polyester that made you feel like you were suffocating and couldn’t breathe. Clingy in the wrong places. The seams were big and thick. I’m sure they were sewn by an inmate who just didn’t give a shit. And the zipper! OMG! I couldn’t even reach the zipper. Who makes it hard to get in and out of a pantsuit? Definitely a male inmate who had strong feelings about pantsuits. There was nothing redeeming about this outfit. This was bad. Not even accessorizing with a napkin was going to help.

I don’t think Lily and Kate Vancouver was the charming mother/daughter boutique store I thought it was. I am pretty sure Lily and Kate are actually called Temu. You probably saw that coming. I am an optimist with a credit card. “Hope keeps the agony alive.” I fell for late night shopping wishful thinking and ended up buying a tablecloth for my daughter’s wedding. I totally suck.

A few weeks later, my friend Eleanor sent me a photo of a dress and said, “My pick for your MOB outfit. Classy but not too sassy.” I thought she was insane. It was a beautiful dress but it was shiny and maybe even slightly sexy. Absolutely not something I would choose. It looked so “revealing”. No way. Pass me the Afghan blanket off the couch, I’m sure I can make a skirt.

But Eleanor is that woman. Rolls out of bed flawless. Effortless style. Also brave—she left a safe job, retrained, and reinvented her life. She is AH-mazing! So I listened.

I had nothing to lose and Eleanor knows her stuff.

The dress was beautiful. Luxurious. Somehow smoothing instead of spotlighting every lump, bump, and questionable life choice I’ve ever made. I looked elegant. Actual elegance. And it was nothing I would have chosen on my own.

Which is the point.

We need mirrors and guardrails in our lives.  When I’m my only mirror, my inner monologue confidently orders a blue polyester pantsuit. That’s not intuition—it’s unchecked self‑talk with free shipping.

Other people often see us more clearly than we see ourselves. They notice strengths while we’re busy inventorying flaws. They offer a cleaner mirror. One that hasn’t been warped by fear, habit, or insecurities. It is not distorted or cloudy. Often, it is others who see us more clearly than we see ourselves.

So what story are we telling ourselves?
And is it actually true?

How much of our self‑narrative is fact, and how much desperately needs some serious (but caring) fact‑checking? Case in point, my self-talk almost had me going to Megan’s wedding dressed up as a banquet table.

I have self-doubts. When I was younger, everything and anything seemed possible. As I get older, I am not sure about anymore. People say, “life is a bed of roses”.  I’d like to point out that roses have thorns. 

I don’t know what I want to do next. What fills my bucket? What’s fun? What’s the next adventure? Who do I want to be in this next chapter? I’ve been working on “shifting” but sometimes it feels more like sliding.

Which is why I am grateful to Eleanor. She challenged my narrative and held up a mirror. Sure, I can believe I am a bad pantsuit, but she suggested I think again. She saw in a fabulous dress. That’s the thing about friends. They are the hand we grab when we start to slide.  Guardrails. Protection from self-deprecation.

Our people are the ones who ask, “Are you okay?”
Or say, “I’ve noticed…”
They see us more objectively — not inflated, not diminished. Just real. Capable. Worthy.

They ask hard questions.
They love us through messy chapters.
They remind us who we are when we forget.

Self‑reflection matters — but self‑loathing will take you to strange places where everyone wears polyester pantsuits. We need people who challenge us and remind us of our goodness.

And we need to say that part out loud.

Do we tell people often enough what they mean to us?
Are we generous with our compliments?
Do we reach out just to say, You matter. I see you. Thank you for being in my life.

Friendship isn’t a noun. It’s a verb. To lean in — consistently and with intention. Calls. Messages. Check‑ins with purpose. Not just emojis after something goes wrong.

Too often we wait until illness, loss, or regret forces the conversation. We can do this sooner.

Life comes in chapters — not all of them joyful. Some are heavy and quietly exhausting. And as we age, many of us think that we should handle it alone. That’s lonely.

Sea otters know better. They hold hands while sleeping in “rafts” so they don’t drift away in strong currents. It’s not cute — it’s survival.

We need more hand‑holding and more hugs and more connection.

We need to ask, “Are you okay?”
And be brave enough to say, “Actually, I’m not.”

We tend to celebrate out loud. We invite friends and family into our joy. There are hugs, raised glasses, shared laughter. Joy is public. Grief and hurt are often silent; tucked away and carried alone. Yet both need connection. Both need to be seen. As Brené Brown says, grief must be held to be healed. That feels true.

Relationships are quiet agreements not to let one another drift too far away. We are often unforgiving with ourselves. Friends become the soft place we land—the steady presence when we grow unstable, the hands that keep us tethered. They celebrate with us, yes, but they also sit with us when the story feels heavier. They remind us that we don’t have to keep wearing a version of ourselves that no longer fits.

Thank you, Eleanor, for reaching out. For gently shifting a narrative I had already settled into. For seeing something different when I couldn’t. Your kindness mattered more than you know.

Here’s to new narratives, new adventures and having the courage to see beyond what tries to hold us back.

With love,

Shelley

Mother Clucks and Notes in the Margin…

Wayne I are navigating the “empty nest”. Gretchen Rubin calls this “empti-ness”. I feel this.


My husband and I dated for six weeks before we got engaged and were then married six months later. What can I say? When you know, you know. Except for what you really don’t know.

I knew Wayne was “my guy” but I was also realistic to know that we had moved quickly. We bought my engagement ring at a gas station in a little town called Field (population 350). It was one of those rings that they sold at the cash register. Very sparkly for something that cost $3.21. It was a good thing we got married six months later because that ring didn’t last much longer.

My wedding band wasn’t much fancier. We bought a simple gold band on sale at Sears for $100. My rationale was that it was easy to get married but likely harder to stay married. My request was that if we made it to 15 years, I would get my real ring. I figured that after 15 years we would likely have some kids, been tested and if we survived, we would buy a ring. We made it to 15 years but it didn’t make sense that we would put a bunch of money into something that just sat on my finger. Honestly, there was also a very good chance that I would lose it. Instead, we splurged and took a family trip to Mexico instead. That was joy.

I remember the easy days when I was completely enamored with Wayne. It was sheer bliss and everything seemed effortless. We scrounged together some money to buy a house for the bargain price of $74,000. It wasn’t much but it was ours and I guess having a house made me think a house needed a “housewife”. In a flash, was suddenly wearing an apron all day and behaving like June Cleaver, dutifully cooking and cleaning. I think I even ironed. And then I realized, I hate cooking. I also hate ironing. Cleaning made me feel organized so I kept that but otherwise, why was I wearing an apron full time?

I didn’t know how to “be married”. I had been pretty good at dating and short bursts of living together but day in and day out for the rest of my life? Whoa. There was a niggle that maybe I should have dated more than six weeks. We needed to navigate a few bumps. I just wish I hadn’t fallen for the stereotype. Wayne had blue jobs and I had pink jobs. Never once did I think that the pink job meant fixing the septic system but I could have colour coded a few other things differently. Cleaning the bathroom didn’t have to be pink and taking out the garbage didn’t have to be blue. It was the only playbook I knew. I see why textbooks go through revisions.

We chose the typical vows. “For better or worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, til death to us part”. It sounded easier on our wedding day. I kind of thought “for better or worse” meant addressing the toilet seat being left up and “in sickness and health” might mean the flu. And on my wedding day, I vowed with all my heart to cherish Wayne forever.

We started poor so that was easy. It took thirty years for us to be tested with “sickness and health” and that little line “for better or worse” was a journey unto itself. There are plenty of stories and they were all chapters in the infamous playbook. We were married two years, bought a house and then had two kids with exactly two years between them. Check. We shared the vision of raising our family and working hard to ensure that things were ok. There were a million adventures and a zillion memories. It was hard but it was good because we had a shared mission. There was need for adjustment and a learning of what it meant to be a couple but also a family. There were fights. I might have held a hammer to Wayne’s head when he said “you just don’t understand” to which I replied “then for F#CKS sake explain it to me or I will bash your head in”. Not my finest moment but I got my point across. We needed to communicate. Every day we had to work for what mattered.

We have weathered floods, fires and more evacuations than what I thought ever possible but we did it. We lived in small spaces and yes, Owen slept in the hallway because we only had 800 square feet. Wayne thought we would save money if we bought a hot water tank that was for an RV. Sure, we saved money but everyone had to learn how to have a cold shower. Things are different now. Fast forward 33 years years and I am still in awe that my house has closets when for years, it was makeshift. No one uses the doorbell but I feel fancy knowing I have one. I should check the battery though…. I also love some other luxuries that didn’t exist in early days. It’s not just that my car has power windows, the steering wheel is heated! There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel grateful. It just wasn’t easy, there was work required.

Our daughter Megan is getting married in September. She is in that blissful state where everything is magical and her greatest stress is finding a DJ for the wedding. It’s so lovely to be a part of this early chapter. She has found her “person”. They have been together for five years and they still adore one another. They love being together and their time together. Simply, they are madly in love. I want them to enjoy this time because it is so special and incredibly magical. However, what I do know is that with the passing of time comes reality and bliss fades as a relationship matures. Storms are real.

Megan is in that beautiful place of planning their life together. She has her own playbook and I have every confidence that their journey will be good. She has a wonderful man who absolutely adores her and listens to her. She also listens to him. By all accounts their relationship is loving and respectful. But it’s easy in the beginning and I wanted her to hear from those that have walked the path of long term relationships to share their wisdom for how to keep the magic and perhaps her life script might have room for notes in the margins.

I organized what I called a “Mother Cluck” party. Nine women who had been in relationships for decades and would be able to share some wisdom of how to hold things together when “for better or worse” was tested. It was an amazing night. I took notes and filled 57 cards with advice. What was fascinating is not only how much Megan learned but how much we all learned from one another. We all can reflect on how to lean in, even after several anniversaries. There was nothing trite about the evening. Each woman was really raw and honest. They spoke about their challenges and what it took to keep going. They shared their perspectives, their regrets and what they would have done differently. Life is long.

These are some of the thoughts that were shared:

Don’t do your own catering at the wedding

Only invite people that mean something to you

Ask for for linen napkins and beautiful table cloths so you can make family events feel special.

Flatware matters

Don’t get photos in your undies – heck, just go au naturelle

Have a “signal” when you are in the mood

Don’t ever ask for a fondue pot

Stay to the very end of your wedding, don’t leave until you have danced and hugged everyone with joy.

Marriage is an amplification of all that is good. When that isn’t happening, re-evaluate and either get back in or get out.

Your partnership should double your happiness and half your pain.

Don’t take your relationship for granted. If you start treating others better than your spouse, hit the reset.

Make it a practice to express gratitude and say thank you. Acknowledge their efforts.

Make sure your “person” is your VIP

Watch for the “creep”. If you start negative behavior, you need to stop. You can’t take advantage of one another.

“You always…” just leads to war.

Your time together needs to mean something. Don’t get distracted.

Scorecards are for losers.

Truth: If you are both annoying it’s ok. It’s called acceptance.

It’s the little things that cause problems. Joke about it, being serious just leads to arguments.

Focus on the future vision together.

Work together on projects.

Make sure you connect. Take drives. Deck time is good times.

It’s ok to say “I’m sorry, I was wrong”.

Don’t go into a fight. Fight for the relationship.

Make sure you both stay in contact with friends.

And that is just a sample. Megan learned a great deal that night but so did I.

Wayne and I are currently navigating the “empty nest”. Gretchen Rubin who is an expert in human nature calls this “empti-ness”. I feel this. Our kids are grown and are off discovering their own lives. The playbook we had saw this chapter filled with grandkids. That may or may not happen. Heck, our youngest son still hasn’t had a girlfriend. Our playbook seems to have blank pages and we are floundering. What are we now? How do we get back to who we once were or do we? This chapter is blank and no instructions. The “Mother Cluck” party wasn’t just for Megan. It turns out it was for me too.

I have let a few negative things “creep” in through the door. Have I committed to being Wayne’s best better half. I was really good for a long time but I can see there is room for some improvement. I have slipped. Note to self.

And it’s not just Wayne. I have let “life” distract me from others who are invaluable to me. The Mother Cluck advice wasn’t just for marriage or partnerships, it was for friendships and family too. I need my own notes in the margin because lately, I have forgotten to make people know that they matter.

I don’t want to live with “emptiness”. I want to refill the bucket but that means reconnecting with purpose and intent. I have let “life” distract me from the people that matter.

Recently I attended a funeral for a wonderful man that endured brain cancer. When he was diagnosed, he was given a year. He defied the odds and lived three years and each of those years, he lived with more purpose than anyone I know. At his service, the high school gym was packed. His eulogy didn’t espouse hours of volunteering or decades of coaching, those that loved him spoke of feeling like they were the only person that mattered in his presence. He was a loyal friend who made life matter for those around him. He used his last years to lean into those that he loved. I was humbled and inspired.

What matters? The people that we hold close. All relationships take work and time. The playbook or script needs to blank because we need to fill in the pages with memories and experiences. I felt safe with my “playbook”. I needed a “template”. I’m not sure why. I wish I had been more like Megan and have a script that continues to evolve. Even sequels for that matter.

I used to be “busy” but not so much now. I just let the habit of “busy” take over. My new note in the margin is to reconnect. Yes, life is “busy” but what at what expense? Our health? Our well being? At losing connection? Seems a poor trade off.

Thank you Mother Clucks. Thank you for the reminder that what matters is each other. Thank you for reminding me that it is important to make space for the people I love. And true, no one needs a fondue pot, but I do need you.

This is my new chapter. Those that I love and ensuring I find ways to connect. Not just simple texts but visits and time. Creating memories and fighting for the relationships. Yes, relationships change and there are shifts but is the shift because we aren’t compatible or because I just let it go? Good question. I’m going to find out as I lean back in.

Life is only joyful when shared. Selfies are lonely, memories with others are enriching. Netflix has been fighting to have a full time relationship with me but that it empty. It takes effort to connect and I think that’s worth finding. Wayne and I have a wonderful deck not just for us but for all those we love.

Life if messy and as time passes, we are each thrown into challenges and it’s hard. I have solace in the company of those who are accepting. Thank you. You have no idea what your shelter means to me. I apologize for being absent. For better or worse, I choose better and making more notes in the margins.

With love and care,

Shelley

“I” Before “L”…A love story.

Loss is hard. What I realized is that for 16 years, I had the chance to tell him that he was loved but I wasn’t specific. I would scratch his ears, rub his belly but when I was ready to get back to work, I would tell him to go lie down.

I do this with the people that I love. When I need to get back to things that I think require attention, I ask them to wait. It’s the equivalent of telling them to “go lie down” and I will get to them when I can.


Hobbes was a lovely dog. In August of 2024, he was 16 years old. He arrived as a pup and from that moment on, he had been a pain. He howled, he shed enough fur to make a coat; he was needy, he grew to be over 120 pounds and he was completely unruly. When he jumped on the bed, he took over. He was a big dog that claimed space; a ton of space. He demanded attention and in return, he was steadfast with his loyalty and faithfulness. He had one need…. “love me”.

It was Thursday August 1st and it was hot. Unbelievably hot. The type of heat that doesn’t let up and no sign of reprieve. A relentless heat with temperatures exceeding 38 degrees (100 F). For a country that is freezing most of the time, this heat was fierce. We had just sold our family home and I was waist deep in packing. Hobbes is normally underfoot but not that day. I looked for him and I found him under the trailer. At first, I thought he was just escaping the heat but as the day wore on, he didn’t move and I began to worry.

In recent weeks, he had struggled with stairs, he would walk slowly behind me and I was pretty sure that his sight was less then perfect. It’s easy to ignore the signs just to hold on for a little bit longer.

By early evening, and he still hadn’t moved, I knew the time had come and I called the family home. It was time to say good-bye.

We had to roll him out from under the trailer onto a piece of cardboard so that we could get him onto the front lawn. We tried to get him to stand but his legs collapsed; confirming that he was trying to let go. Each of us took a turn being with him, stroking his ears, nuzzling the backside of his head. Each of us speaking softly to him, letting him know how much he was loved.

Yes, he had been a pain but he had been our pain. His big tail coming into a room and causing us to all lunge for our glasses on the table to keep them from being swept onto the floor. His slobbering tongue, his big paws, his incessant need to be loved. He was a big dog with a big heart. Everything he did was large including loving us hard.

When it was my turn to say good-bye, I held him close. For sixteen years, we had been together and so many of those days, I had been exasperated by him but at the end, I wanted him to know how much I loved him. I hugged him and told him over and over again, “I love you Hobbes. Thank you for loving our family, thank you for being a part of our world”. I needed to tell him that I loved him. I was clear. “I love you Hobbes.” And then he was gone.

I kept my t-shirt, the one that I had hugged him close in. I wanted to remember how he smelled, how it had felt holding him close. I wanted to remember him and all our moments together.

Loss is hard. What I realized is that for 16 years, I had the chance to tell him that he was loved but I wasn’t specific. I would scratch his ears, rub his belly but when I was ready to get back to work, I would tell him to go lie down.

I do this with the people that I love. When I need to get back to things that I think require attention, I ask them to wait. It’s the equivalent of telling them to “go lie down” and I will get to them when I can.

I only go 90%. “Love you” or “love ya” is my parting phrase. To get to 100%, I need to say more. I need to stop everything and be very specific and clear when I say “I LOVE YOU“. Full stop. Let it all hang out.

Saying “I love you” is different than “love you” or “love ya”. It’s deeper, more intentional and definitely more vulnerable. Try it yourself. Say “love ya” and then say “I love you”. Can you feel the difference? It’s hard. It makes me feel like a teenager again when I said “I love you” for the first time. I had to muster the courage to spit it out knowing that there as a very good chance that they would stand there looking at me like I was from Mars. It was agonizing to feel so naked and exposed then. I needed to say it out loud but would they feel the same? Maybe it was just me and after blurting my confessions of the heart, they would suddenly realize that their mom needed them home to fold laundry. Saying “I love you” as a teen was excruciating. It was vulnerable being a teen and nothing has changed. Love takes courage. Even now.

I’ve been working on this. I intentionally am putting the “I” before “L”. I need the people in my life to know that they are seen, that they matter and that I love them. Be clear, it’s awkward and invokes a blip of weird because people stop and it takes them off guard. I think they wonder if they have to say it back. No, you don’t. We aren’t in high school anymore. No one has to say it back, you just have to know that it is real and it’s how I feel.

“I before L”. I Love You. Words matter but relationships are tricky. They require work and I know how often I have tripped up. The times that I would be with family and allow myself to be distracted by emails and text. The need to “check” work when I really needed to be checking in with them. I often hide behind my phone to avoid being fully engaged. Guilty. I have let things slip. That’s not to say that work isn’t important but it has to be balanced. My family has told me that I when I am working it the best time to ask my permission because they know I am not paying attention. I try to deny these allegations and cite my extraordinary ability to be able to “multi-task” but it’s not true. I am often not present and I am missing out. This needs to change. I use my phone to avoid when it it should be the tool to connect; to call them, to text them to stop everything when I see that they are calling. They need to know that they are my everything.

Life is fleeting and it’s easy to let things slide because we think we have time. We avoid hard conversations, pretend that disagreements didn’t happen and delay making amends. We believe that there is time but time slips away and so do people if we don’t pay attention.

This is what I learned in the summer of 2024. It was family and friends who were there when it mattered and in return, I have committed to letting them know that they matter. It’s not something I am good at but I am trying harder.

My personality can be a bit prickly and likely my insecurities make it hard for me to feel vulnerable. I fear rejection all the time which is why “love you” is easier than “I love you“. My fear of rejection is why I hide behind work and other distractions and why “love ya” is easy to say. I LOVE YOU stops time and maybe that’s good, even if it feels awkward and messy.

Hobbes was there everyday. Everyday he greeted me and wanted my attention because he believed in our relationship. Maybe it’s odd to compare life to a dog but they are so uncomplicated with their love. They know how simple life is. Show up, listen, lean in and be there when it matters. The paw on the lap is the equivalent of holding a hand. It’s so straight forward. It’s consistency that deepens the relationship. The discipline to stay focused and engaged and avoid the temptation to distractions. We need to stay focused and not get lured by shiny bobbles that give the illusion of importance. Things are not important; people are. We can’t give into the distractions because one day, it will be over and I personally don’t want regrets. I don’t think I have the luxury of that kind of time. I don’t want what I perceive to be important to get in the way of who really is important. I can assure you, work never shows up when times are tough but people do.

As we approach the beginning of the Christmas season, I reflect on the relationships that matter. The people that count. Those that held our hand and got us through. This is a season of gratitude and I plan on slowing down the pace so that I can listen more intently, be more present and carve out the moment to clearly say “I love you”. “I” before “L”. My season wish is for deeper connection.

I hope that whatever your season brings, it comes with love and if you have fractures in your life, this season, you build a bridge that starts with love.

Thanks for being here. I never take it for granted that you could be doing something else and yet, you have read to the end. Thank you.

With love,

Shelley