Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Author: Daniela Ginta Page 71 of 99

My path is a winding one. I write, I raise my sons, I love and I live.
Waking up to a new adventure every day. I have all that I need at every moment.

Gratefulness As Antidote For Exaggerated Entitlement

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On February 16, 2013

I think of it as an exaggerated sense of entitlement.

It happens to the best of us. Our kids will simply behave like that occasionally. Like the whole world is there to serve them and cater to their needs. Like they deserve it. All of it and just because.

It’s easy to feel rather incensed and wonder. Why do kids nowadays – many of them anyway, and if not all the time, often enough – why do they have that sense of entitlement that seems to have eluded previous generations?

Is it that life has become so fast paced that we forget to create opportunities for them to appreciate the things and thus they are taken for granted? Or is it that every generation has it and it manifests itself in different ways. Is it fixable in any way?

Whether their sense of entitlement is learned behavior – yes, we adults are often guilty of it too – or simply consequence of our parenting and societal circumstances, common sense whispers that it is a slippery slope.

I believe the more entitled one feels the less empowered they are. There is no room for appreciation and for building a much better quality; resilience.

Everyone needs to learn how to serve, I told the boys once. They laughed and thought I was being funny. As if.

But, I explained to them, when people get things done for them they tend to forget how something gets done to begin with. The effort, time and energy, the thoughtfulness, the hard work, all of these can be – and are – easily overlooked if you don’t get to be on the other side.

When children have a chance to do things, sloppy and slow and awkward perhaps in the beginning, they get to taste being appreciated. That’s empowering. As it is for all of us. Doing it all the time can make one resentful. Never doing it leads to that exaggerated entitlement. When it comes to children, I believe that by offering them too much we’re robbing them of feeling empowered and capable.

Everything is set on fast forward and we would rather have things done quickly so we can move on to the next item on the day’s list. From chores to preparing meals and going places, parents do the work and while children help here and there, they are spared because they take longer to do something we parents can do quickly and efficiently.

It is ironic one could say that, fast paced life or not, children seem to learn at the same speed they always have. Which is perfectly right, if only we could slow down the pace to synchronize with theirs.

Children are given things, they are given convenience, and they are given the idea that things happen just like that. A clean house, food, toys and games, trips to see places, they don’t just happen yet somehow we create that perception.

Setting a table and cleaning it after a meal gives a tiny glimpse into how dinner happens.

I used to do everything just to have them chores out of the way so we can do the fun stuff.  But doing things that way leaves one exhausted and on the other hand, it revealed, in my boys, the ugly side of being served: an increased sense of entitlement.

Asking for small things to be done seemed the logical approach. Challenged at first but slowly mastering skills, the boys gained a new perspective.

It’s a whole dance, I discovered: Them doing things, trying their hardest, me trusting them to do them and showing my appreciation. Them learning to taste it and bask in that warm feeling of “I can do it.”

It works well with our bedtime routine too. Every night after we read and redefine pre-sleep silliness yet again, the boys settle for the ritual of “What are we grateful for.” It’s just like that. We talk about what we’re grateful for.

Grateful for food, for clean water, for all the good people we have in our lives; grateful for being able to walk to school safely, for having a school. The first time I put clean water on my list they opened their eyes wide. “Really, mom?” They added it to theirs after we talked about places where water is more precious than diamonds and after being very thirsty a few times.

They have in time developed their own lists. It’s always interesting to hear what makes them feel grateful. No matter how viciously they jump at each other during the day they are grateful to have each other.

No matter how they whined about that lentil soup at dinner, they thank for food. They thank for being healthy, and they know it is not just happening. So they thank me for taking care of that. Of them.

A reiteration of simple things that make life possible. No sense entitlement whatsoever.

But at the same time, I want them to know they are worth it; part of that worthiness we’re born with, and part will grow along the way as we learn to serve, to do our share, to be grateful.

Originally published as “Bedtime ritual puts focus on being grateful” in The Kamloops Daily News on Saturday, February 16, 2013

The Robin. Today

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On February 14, 2013

We were sitting on the porch. The boys and I. It was sunny, we were eating some hash browns that I made in my greatly appreciated cast iron pan and we were chatting. About the awkward dancing that happened at school today on Valentine’s Day and about the guinea pigs. They were out on the lawn too, they usually are on sunny days.

The potatoes were golden yellow and the sun was a perfect match.

Then I saw it: the robin. It startled me to see it and it sent a warm tingle down my spine. I got awfully soft in the knees. I told the boys to take a look.

“Do you know what I think that robin’s doing there? Saying happy birthday.”

Just like that, you’d say? No, not just like that.

You see, when my mom passed away almost seven years ago, I had this robin come into my front yard every day. So frazzled soul that I was then, I decided that the robin was some extension of my mom. Crazy you say? So be it. It meant so much to see the robin there.

The robin meant the continuation of what was taken away from me so brutally and so suddenly. It was a bit of a buoy. I had the boys but who would put such a burden on beautiful little bubbling souls like theirs?

The robin was something I needed.

The robin came in the front yard of that house. And then in the back yard of the next house we lived in, it used to play on sunshine fiddles in this big leafy magnolia tree. Then when we moved again, it appeared again; back yard.

Then we moved here. Today was the first day I saw a robin. It came to wish me the happy birthday my mom would’ve wished me. Instead, the robin came.

A continuation of what was taken from me almost seven years ago brutally and suddenly. I am childish that way you see. I will never fully come to terms with it. But so what. I don’t have to.

I think the robin will keep showing up from time to time. Now the boys know about it too. Sasha is trying to pick an animal that will make him think of me after I am gone. It’s not morbid. It’s sweet and it’s his way of saying he understands.

Tony smiled when I told them how I’ve come to look at the robin that way. There was a question there too, that he sometimes asks but not today. Today he smiled, we all did, and the sun wrapped all three of us in warm golden light.

I took photos of the robin but I am not sure I need them. I actually don’t.

A happy birthday it is.

The Importance of Being (Occasionally) Messy

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On February 13, 2013

It was early March, two years ago. After days of incessant West coast drizzle, the sun came out and we followed. One of our favorite spots in the big city was the unassuming Fraser River banks. The shores were exposed that day. An open invitation to explore if I ever saw one.

The boys were dressed for chilly weather. As they were playing layers came off. Hats, coats, sweaters.

“It’s so warm, mom.”
It was. Next, they explored the swampy area further down. An unforgotten adventure of the summer before.

Their voices trailing behind like jolly puppies, they went deeper into the muddy reeds. I could see and hear them.
“Mom, it’s squishy!”
“It’s so hard to step on this without sinking!”

Giggles followed their words. More excited screams piled on top of the giggles until the exploring stopped. The oh-oh laughter.
“Mom, we’re trapped! We’re sinking!”

There was no imminent danger so I suggested they get themselves out of the muddy pickle they got themselves into.

So they did. A few minutes later they plopped themselves by my side and explained how they did it: They pulled their feet out of the boots and then pulled the boots out of the mud. By sliding them sideways, they explained, because pulling up did nothing.
Fair enough. Physics sounds appealing at the banks. We talked about the forces that kept their boots stuck and why sliding them made them unstuck. How fun!

Of course, pulling feet out of boots meant they walked in their socks all the way back. Muddy got redefined. They each carried a smile so large I thought their faces would stay like that forever.

“Mom, can we take our socks off?” As always, kicking it up a notch seemed logical.
I smiled, which to them meant yes. They walked barefoot, squishing mud with their feet and churning it in between their toes for the rest of the day. And laughing.

They filled their socks with mud and pretended to have discovered dinosaur eggs. Not a tingle of discontent. They got to be up to their necks in mud and it should be stated that no figure of speech could belittle the deed. I have photos to prove it.

My youngest lost a sock that day. “The river took it, mom. But you know what? I have another pair just like that at home.” Right he was. Not that it mattered much. They were getting small anyway and a bit thin here and there. Fun was priceless.

Another place in the big city that gets severely muddied up at low tide, we called it The Secret Place, was the scene of many a squishy walk.

Lost on wide endless muddy shores, time became a bug that you squeeze between your fingers to make it disappear. It was like that.

We stomped our feet in the mud, washed in the rivulet tributary to the big waters just to get muddy again, snacked on ripe salmonberry, held our breath as the cheeky cattails sprayed us with dust, and at the end of the day, every little messy detail of that day found its was into my journal.

The best messy story there ever was.

We’ve found a decent number of destinations for messy fun around Kamloops too and we’ll find more as we go.

But we’re not strangers to indoors messy fun either. Often while I cook dinner the boys make potions that teach them about how turmeric floats and rice sinks, about how oil always stays on top and if you add a few drops of lemon juice to baking soda you’ll have a volcano. And make a darling mess.

Whether you have little ones, or grown kids, or no kids at all, do indulge, I dare you. It’s the best way to learn (for them and you) and it’ll put a smile on your face.

Cleaning up together is a must and if you have to get it as a solemn promise beforehand, please do. A win-win situation.

Here’s a shortcut to some of the best messy fun there is: Mix half a cup of water with a cup of cornstarch and feel it with your hands. I won’t spoil it for you. It’ll make you chuckle, guaranteed. Laugh if you must. It feels that good.

You can add food colors too. One drop, spread it around. More? Why not. Make a rainbow? Here it comes!

Children need messy fun. The thing is, if their hands don’t get messy than their minds are not learning. So allow them. Better yet, join in. Leave the “cleaning up” thoughts behind until all the fun is done with.

After you’re done cleaning up, I promise you’ll find chuckles and good memories snuggled up against your soul. They’ll help you remember about being a kid and perhaps make part of you remain one forever.

Originally published in the Kamloops Daily News as “The Importance of Getting Messy.” (Saturday, February 9, 2013)

Things I Celebrate Today (Or The Occasional But Necessary Gratitude Post)

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On February 7, 2013

I live in gratitude. It’s a conscious choice you see. I want to be aware of all that I have at all times. Irony has it that every now and then that inner drama queen I carry with gets to have it her way and I tend to forget the big and little things that make every day a gift.

The list that follows is what I celebrate on a day like today, when the sun was out for enough time to make my sitting down and writing almost impossible, when the boys laughed enough times to make the day brighter than it already was, and that feeling of inner peace was strong enough to uproot any swirls of worry.

Here it goes:

1. My boys. They are growing, they are learning, they smile every day and they never shy away from hugs.

2. Having learned about boundaries: Knowing how to remind people (including my boys) of mine and helping my boys learn about theirs.

3. I am becoming better at listening. Just listening.

4. My new town. Small enough, big enough, sunny enough, winter-dressed enough and never boring.

5. Skiing across frozen lakes. Can never have enough of this.

6. Have the boys join in skiing across frozen lakes and asking for more once it’s done.

6. Getting our blue beta fish named Bubble to jump out of the water for food. It never gets boring. Tiny detail in the big overwhelming picture of the world but if it makes us smile it counts.

7. The sun.

8. Knowing that I matter.

9. Loving what I do. And hoping that my boys will learn to strive for the same.

10. Sleepy boys’ bedtime hugs and hearing them laugh together about silly jokes after I close the door and tell them they should be quiet. Hoping they’ll never stop sharing silliness like that.

11. Courage.

12. My boys’ trust.

13. Sunny walks with friends.

14. Clouds. Always.

15. The cute broom Sasha made for me out of some sagebrush he found on our way back from school.

Ice, Boys plus Dog = Perfect Day

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On February 3, 2013

Today’s late morning is exploding with sunshine.
“Should we go see a frozen waterfall?”
The boys agree. Today we hike in Peterson Creek Park.

We explored part of the park in the fall. It was hot, dry and challenging. A first steep hike for the boys.

Now it’s different. The creek has icy sideburns and the sun stomps its bright feet in it like a giant millipede. It’s easy to feel blessed in such a place. And hope it will stay like this. For ever sounds about right.

We walk alongside the creek and watch the sideburns grow to cover it. We hear the water gurgling underneath. The heart of the creek drumming away…

“A wolf! Mom, is that a wolf?”
Perfectly matching the shade of bushes, a fluffy light grey Husky is watching. He runs ahead of us, then stops and waits.

The boys are elated. We call him Buddy and delight in his lively company. He jumps all over, runs up and down the trail, bumping my little guy off his feet more than once but there’s no protests. They’d love to have a dog, I know that. I would too, but not yet.

We hike towards the waterfall, and though slippery and gnarly at times, the trail reveals surprises too.
“A cave! Mom, a cave!” We’ve been hunting for caves since we got to Kamloops and as spectacular it is to find one when you set for it, it’s even better to find one when you don’t expect it.

Buddy follows us inside the cave. The darkness is both tempting and scary. We’ll bring a flashlight next time. Out again and to the waterfall.
Buddy leads the way, we follow.

“Can we keep him, Mom?” I knew that was coming. We can’t, but we’ll get one soon.

We reach the waterfall. Frozen and guarded by tree-studded rock walls, it dwarfs us. I take photos but like so many times before, I know the photos cannot catch the very soul of it. Amazing, frozen beauty with a water heart drumming away.

The boys explore the surroundings, and so does Buddy, clearly in his element.

A man reaches the place we’re at and we greet. He tells me how he used to come up here when his children were my boys’ age. Photos of the kids standing by the waterfall, he has some too. We chat about how precious it is to show kids the beauty of a place like this.

We’re new to Kamloops and already sold to its beauty, I tell him. He laughs: “You could go out 365 days a year to explore around here, and not get bored or run out of places to discover.” I had a hunch that was the case.

Our impromptu chat reveals that we share common ancestry, the Romans, and we speak a common language too: environmentalism. I have always reveled in meeting people who change their ways to protect the planet, knowing that our lives and the planet’s well-being are intertwined that way.

But changes do not always come easy. Where to start? Changing our perspective, I’d say. Needs versus wants, it should not be hard to stick to “needs” mostly… That would keep the above mentioned 365 places pristine.

“Wants” ultimately lead us towards an environmental sellout. Searching for what really matters should start within us, to be complemented by nature’s primal beauty.

The boys explore and stick their hands in the “eyes” the creek opens through its icy cover. Their happy voices hop from one side of the rocky walls to the other, much like their temporary furry friend.
“Mom, my boots have water in them, I stepped in the creek.”
Same as always then, just like it should be.

We say good bye. I am grateful to have learned that this year is Giuseppe Verdi’s two-hundredth birth anniversary. As a kid, I used to snuggle with my mom and watch Verdi’s operas. My first realization that music transcends language and the reason my boys know Pavarotti’s music.

We make our way back to the car, sliding down the trail with no mercy for the bottom of our pants. The creek sings under the icy surface.

Buddy left. He’s likely found his owner. I didn’t want him to get lost; I know about that heartache. But he made our hike that much more special. Thank you, Buddy!

At home I make hot chocolate and we look at the photos I took. Buddy’s in there too. We spend the rest of the afternoon reading. Feeling blessed is but one way of saying thank you.

Originally published as “‘Wolves,’ caves and adventures await in city park” in the Kamloops Daily News on Saturday, February 2, 2013

Things You Can (Should) Do With An Igloo

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On January 28, 2013

You know about the igloo by now. It was built in the back yard before Christmas, but the fact that it is still standing, though subdued because of time and various elements that happened upon it, well, I thought it’d be fair to describe the many uses of such a contraption should you be inspired to try it. Provided that you have access to eighty blocks of large snow bricks that you’d stack just so. It’s a tight place to be. If you’re claustrophobic, that can either cure your phobia or make it worse.

Back when we built it… By 10pm the igloo was done. The air was crisp and clear and the sky felt pleasantly heavy with snow-loaded clouds. Sasha’s question came out like a bell with a sleepy sound attached to it:
“Can we sleep in the igloo tonight?”

It was late and igloo-sleeping needs some preparing time. In retrospect the answer should’ve been yes, but instead it was a “maybe tomorrow”. The next night the sleepover was postponed again but we crawled in with a candle and hot chocolate. New guidelines on coziness were issued right then and there.

A day or two after Christmas we visited the igloo with much caution since the interim heavy snowing made the construction slunk on one side. Will it collapse if we climb on it? When you’re six, that’s not really a question, but simply announcing your mom what will happen next. Sasha climbed and nothing happened.

Ten minutes later, Tony joined us and the three of us were running up and down and nothing budged. We leaned a wide wooden plank on the collapsed side and slid down. Not long enough. We brought all the plywood planks we had and created something that resembled a big wooden tongue. We sled, skateboarded and laundry-basketed down the impromptu run. You should try it. It may cause excessive laughing. There, you’ve been warned.

Next we dug holes on the side of the igloo, plus one on top. Submarine anyone? All of a sudden the boys had a mission to attend to. Save what you can, if you can. Most importantly, proceed at your own peril. They did: Slide in through the top, come out through the side hole. Repeat as needed.

A few days later we returned to the igloo. We uncovered the wooden run and brought back the aforementioned sledding arsenal. First sledding facing forward, but backwards adds an extra heart jump so why not, then sledding standing up seems only logical, and so does ending face first in snow banks that had no option but muffle our laughing faces. Because what would you do with all that silly laughter anyway…

The igloo was even lower than before so crawling was an adventure in itself. What better way to set out on an arctic exploration looking for prehistoric bones and rocks and plants trapped in ice? Believe or not, we found some.

We made our way out digging holes from the inside of the igloo with shovels that we could barely maneuver in the tight snowy igloo innards and crawled out through the other side. Outside again, lying on my back with the whole milky-white sky hanging low and not a care in the world, I thought of how far the three of us went on an afternoon that was reserved for nothing but playing in the snow. There was laughing, screaming, wondering, digging, exploring, and falling backwards. And repeat.

Minutes later, snow-covered boys with red cheeks throw their jackets and boots on the living room floor making big-eyed puddles and laughing silly. A worthy meltdown if you ask me. I hang them all to dry and think of that one more thing left to do with the next igloo: the sleepover. Soon, very soon…

Are We Failing Our Kids? (Part 2)

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On January 26, 2013

A couple of days ago I went to search for some new pajamas for the boys. They are growing you see. And pajamas stay the same and although I buy based on need and not want, I am facing some severe consumer dilemmas lately. The pajamas I looked at were all fire-retardants, it said so on the label. I cringed thinking how many parents buy pajamas believing that’s all they buy. Fire-retardant means that the fabric has been treated with chemicals that should delay the flaming process should there be a fire. Emphasis on should. They affect children’s health before they do any of that though. Artificial fabrics do catch on fire a lot easier than their natural counterparts (wool, cotton) so all of a sudden the obvious question budges ahead of the line… Which fiber is best? But that’s not what I’m writing about today. It’s the idea of allowing chemicals like that to even come near our children.

I find it outrageous that we allow such things to be worn by our children. You see, I am the declared enemy of “invisible” pollutants that kills us slowly but surely. Flame/fire-retardants are among them. You can’t see see them, you can’t smell them and you cannot get rid of them.

It’s a story that’s unfolding slowly and right under our noses but somehow we’re missing it: Chemicals that are being added to our food, or they come with out food, chemicals that are being added to the things we buy (flame retardants and antibacterial substances.)  A few years ago I wrote a piece about xenoestrogens and how ubiquitous they are and how they unmistakeably affect our health.

The saddest thing is that the most affected of all population groups are… Care to guess? Our children; the ones who are already born and the ones to be born, because many of these invisible enemies reach the fetus. Our children’s growing bodies take in everything, and their effects are partially known (neither are good, in fact far from it!) and the sad kicker is that many of these substances accumulate in their bodies and whether they wreak havoc now or later, we know for certain that they do wreak havoc.

Another piece I wrote not long ago on bisphenol A (BPA) reiterates the story that could almost sound boring if it wasn’t so scary: We rely on chemicals such as BPA that make our life more convenient, and convenience drives extremely aggressive campaigns that sell more of that convenience, but in turn we are giving away our health and our children’s. Talk about a dirty sell out. Sure the BPA was banned from baby products but there’s a two headed monster trying to bite my fingers as I try to write this: Traces of BPA were found in baby bottles even after the ban, and since the BPA was not banned from as many products as possible, well, the infamous substance can and will find a way to our babies. As for “safe” alternatives to the big bad BPA, it turned out that the replacement (BPS) has equally deleterious effects.

The brain and the endocrine system are most affected. Irony has it that the effects are not immediately seen, which makes the whole problem a lot harder to solve. Starting with enough of us believing that we do have a big fat hairy problem on our hands.

Take hyperactivity in children. Most of us know about this frustrating state of being that our children wallow in and us parents wallow with them. It’s rampant we’re being informed periodically. Yet here I am rummaging through many studies on my invisible enemies and the fact that I come across over and over again is that most of these substances affect the brain and one is by causing hyperactivity. A very bad joke indeed.

How do we tolerate this? How do we let our children touched by chemicals we do not necessarily need and if we really do need some of them, we definitely do not need them in the insane amounts they are used nowadays. Moreover, we need to make sure that the guidelines set by the government are set with our best interest in mind and not to support industry giants that think of anything but people’s health. I wish I could say that part is taken care of, that we are in good hands. But it really comes down to knowing and acting on that knowledge.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair to not have transparency about these issues just like it is not fair to have biased studies that show no ill effects when in fact they are there. It’s the products we let our children sit on, play with, sleep on, dress in, and eat from, and of course, the food they eat.

A recent study that was published in Nature showed the effects of GM corn consumption on rats. Their bodies were deformed by tumors and while the non-believers argued that the rats used in the study are prone to tumors, there was also a control group that had fewer and less prominent tumors. The safety studies done on GM foods by companies like Monsanto are short, very few and the conclusion is predictable: GM foods are safe to eat. As with chemicals, we won’t see the effects right away. Problem is, when the effects become visible it’s too late to intervene or in case of some countries (already happening) it will be impossible to know which crop is which. Russian roulette anyone? Children eat corn and corn-derived products. It should not become their punishment.

There is no labeling because we’re not there yet somehow. How to then? The equation has a major unknown term: how much is too much? That children are more affected than adults is no debate to me, but feel free to bring your counter-argument forth and I promise to revisit. In the meantime, I reserve the right to shed as much light as possible onto the subject. More to come in future posts.

Now if you are tempted to come to the conclusion that the solution is buying organic and such, well, I’d say it’s a start but it’s barely enough. We need to do more and while buying clean is part of it, it works in conjunction with the rest of it. Such as becoming aware of what is happening around us, and as a consequence, putting out a big flat NO when it comes to providing our children with adulterated products and foods. Wondering in what kind of disheveled state they’ll be inheriting the planet once we’re done with it? That’s where we should start. If there is no or less demand from consumers, production of deleterious (yet convenient) goods will slow down and sooner or later die. It can be done, I strongly believe that, although it involves playing ball with the big boys who often times kick hard and mercilessly. Power is in number though, we know that already. For teh sake of our children it’s all worth it. It’d be a shame to fail them, too high a price.

As for the pajamas, I will not settle for any fire-retardant ones, just like I will not settle for anti-bacterial pillows either (they were on sale by the very colorful pajamas)… But that’s another good story that I will leave for next time.

Now I will go make some popcorn for the boys. GM-free and butter-ful.

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