tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88309020281237813512024-02-20T09:11:52.299-08:00Andrea CameronAndrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-85977937274325084052012-04-09T19:32:00.006-07:002012-04-10T18:53:17.088-07:00One and OnlyI'm back. It's been over a year and I've missed this space. We've been dealing with our son's increasing seizures over the past year. The seizures continue, but so does life. So...here's a column I wrote a few months ago for <em>Natural Life Magazine</em>. This is a subject that really moves me...<br /><br /><strong>One and Only</strong><br /><br />Okay. I've had enough. It's time to put this in writing.<br /><br />I have one five year old son. That makes my son an only child. That makes me mother of an only child. I am thirty-seven years old, my husband is forty-two, and our wonderful son is five.<br /><br />However, I worry about writing that my son is wonderful because lately our critics would say I am a typical over- indulgent mother of an only child.<br /><br />And I'm growing weary of it.<br /><br />I don't know if we will have more children. As the parents to a child who was diagnosed with a catastrophic seizure disorder, Infantile Spasms, at five months of age, it's a complicated issue. Over the past five years, we've had seven emergency rides in ambulances. I've hovered in that horrible place where I wait for my son to start breathing, stop seizing, or wake up and be himself again. Each time we speed to the hospital with sirens blaring, I ask myself, what would I do if I had a newborn right now? Would I be able to sustain a pregnancy with this stress? What if my next child has health concerns? There is a voice inside me that says, "this is enough. I can't manage anything else."<br /><br />At the same time, I long for my boy to have the sibling relationship that I enjoyed growing up. I love being a mother and miss nurturing a baby. I feel selfish to deprive him of siblings but I also feel selfish to bring another person into our world when sometimes it feels like we can barely manage our current situation.<br /><br />I've been told that we would find a way to cope. This gives me chills. Since my son's devastating diagnosis, we've been struggling to move beyond just coping, to live our lives with joy and without fear. We're almost there.<br /><br />Born by emergency C-section, our son's birth was frightening for all three of us. I underestimated how much time it would take for us to heal. I don't want to imply that we weren't elated to have him in our lives, seizures or not. Between the scary parts, we marvelled at his little, wrinkled forehead and his long toes. We held him and talked to him and comforted him. But there was always the fear that something was brewing and sometimes, the seizures literally seized our lives.<br /><br />So I'm always amazed when people casually suggest (usually in an awkward public place) that we better get going on having a second, like we're reproductive lollygaggers. It feels surreal when people who I've always viewed as sensitive or intelligent (or even both) will drill my husband and me about something so personal.<br /><br />I've written before how the grocery store seems to be the place where parents are most publicly and vocally judged. Recently, a friend of mine, who is mother to a four year old, was in the checkout line. The cashier asked my friend if she had more children at home. When she said she had one child, the cashier whispered ominously, "What if he dies?"<br /><br />Should every parent have a spare? Like an extra tire?<br /><br />I think about the parents who have lost a child. I think about the about the parents enduring the silent grief of miscarriage. I think about how they must feel when flippantly critiqued by strangers or acquaintances for not having the "right" number of children.<br /><br />The few times I've tried to explain our reasons for having one child, I've been told I'll worry less about my son and his seizures if I had another baby. But if love multiplies, doesn't the worry, too?<br /><br />Sometimes, I fall prey to false ideas about only children. Will he grow up to be self-centred? Will he resent us for not giving him a brother or sister? Will he be alone when we die? The answer to all of these questions is of course not. Only children do just fine. As for being selfish? Gandhi was an only child. Enough said.<br /><br />If we parent lovingly and mindfully, it doesn't matter how many children we have. There are myths surrounding all numbers of children. If we have two, the older becomes an over-achiever. If we have three, we deal with the dreaded "middle child" syndrome. And so on.<br /><br />There is nothing selfish about loving a child. I love my son. Mothering him is the most rewarding experience of my life. While I'm not yet at peace with having one child (I still have bins full of neatly labelled baby clothes), I know that it's the right thing for now. And it may be the right thing for always.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-31428428897186878222011-03-29T17:21:00.000-07:002011-03-29T17:27:28.211-07:00The Treehouse<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiLwSYINwTphBNW3vUJJRe62N0c62g4FjSdiis1o1nQ8NhfYav_4TPLpRAPDhtUg41eAJagkrsVixFhm7XisQlhTLY8TRw8136_2u6nKkavg_vfhMWcc8qD_76BiusfIU6bSh_nyOIis/s1600/spring+2011+011.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589661770114214018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiLwSYINwTphBNW3vUJJRe62N0c62g4FjSdiis1o1nQ8NhfYav_4TPLpRAPDhtUg41eAJagkrsVixFhm7XisQlhTLY8TRw8136_2u6nKkavg_vfhMWcc8qD_76BiusfIU6bSh_nyOIis/s400/spring+2011+011.JPG" /></a> <br /><div>What started off as a tree fort to use up leftover wood from our deck...turned into a tree castle...um...turned into a tree fortress. I get nervous when the two boys are searching the computer and conspiring about zip-lines and climbing walls.</div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-81347649011853978332011-03-22T12:56:00.000-07:002011-03-22T13:05:30.714-07:00A Good Man<div align="center"> I am so lucky to have not one, but two, handymen around the house. My personal chef truly possesses a diverse skill-set.</div><div align="center"><br /> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586996889400404882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHsPUCzVTUiQ45_pc8lZI2pWCVU3hzZY8YDvx_PmCcpgZIZ-maSCbcq5CPREKZMX8XYLpZ21sEeQM_VRmjYTtUe1IvPqbeY4PBuPyjL-ftcNuHa54PbrpZRpywoq-TSTqXL4TNSjuK1-w/s400/Spring+2011+001.JPG" /> <br /><div align="center">From making soup...<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586997081401736450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxutu_q4hv6l4qdpIPjSsUKw9VlVE8BCV2luPvTE6kr5vzgouignHwJeHe7qSA_Obeplnk1Dzyu_Jg7QdnXdzBBSSqpiR_oKs_tK1bBnaLeu7pcPpuGsquNTHBc-1H2HOmzg2yxpOkbE/s400/Spring+2011+006.JPG" /><br /><p align="center">To fixing the plumbing.</p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-57064469100880617122011-03-20T10:24:00.000-07:002011-03-20T10:40:16.117-07:00Comic KMy son has been loving graphic stories and comics these days. The other day, I loosely drew some boxes in my sketch book and he went wild. The story-telling was riveting, the cast of characters dynamic. All I had to do was add the voice boxes in after he was finished. <br /><br /><div align="center"> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586216476274561714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4kUA-wCP8Bp5hHYf4wH5i6Wlx4em3t_nr732eDP6Aq6GEY7bgIRPLw7RPb7UihU9QdU1qKXj2Uew6C6-L6MPr6kpzZTwWYTE6CR2myM1HQ6wqe3pHCmN7UiQRgJRpfSkM9mw-drWhOw/s400/Spring+2011+010.JPG" />Oh! The drama! The excitement!<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586216465075515426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mF0NThzgqFHeEV2au1EHU7DQjMCT6ws_EcZ-AaSlR9cGFOEZhEO-4t0hbSgMlM1AyiGrrIBCBLVUFLVkkbQPpwZOdGEqVCkihTSlb6OTrtRhs6cYh0eYAwz6vu6S_HIokvaVDUwVRgY/s400/Spring+2011+008.JPG" /><br /></div><p>He chattered away to himself the entire time he was drawing. When it came time to add the words, he knew exactly who would say what. So funny.</p><p> </p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-58164894309763758202011-03-18T10:24:00.000-07:002011-03-19T20:01:35.734-07:00Surrounded by Angels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0bPUEFuXPZhgjo0rto-mq39mHhV9rY7LIz02FsMHtAAWNEZyeS7H0p5T6WqBl6OIVnDoRTU4wykABtg4jyFUzNOlxxGp7eLuaZCkiWdMVmBwUUMS0a3gZYqKdm3QtFILQSB9e2osyW0/s1600/IMG_2898.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585472841806427282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0bPUEFuXPZhgjo0rto-mq39mHhV9rY7LIz02FsMHtAAWNEZyeS7H0p5T6WqBl6OIVnDoRTU4wykABtg4jyFUzNOlxxGp7eLuaZCkiWdMVmBwUUMS0a3gZYqKdm3QtFILQSB9e2osyW0/s400/IMG_2898.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />For years, we've been on alert for seizures or any other neurological symptoms in our son. After eight months of no new seizure activity, no new tics, and no new concerns, we'd started to exhale...a little. As much as we exhale, anyway.<br /><br /><br /><br />Then, just about two weeks ago, we woke up to find <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kieran</span> in a daze. He would alternate between vacant staring and terrified screaming. We thought his seizures had changed.<br /><br /><br /><br />It turns out that his blood sugar was very low. The good news is that we don't think what he experienced was a neurological seizure but we have no explanation yet for why his blood sugar dropped dangerously low. After a panicked ambulance ride, we spent the day in emergency and were sent home to wait for further testing.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>The next day, as I nursed my shattered nerves, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kieran</span> moved around the backyard methodically making these snow angels. In the end, there were about a dozen. It's a funny thing but I took great comfort in this army of angels created by a little boy so full of fight.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtn5TH9I5e9mu3gSLm_589ezHSZjjgEu4G5gBIibuKrUq9OZvnHde98SIuvGvCbjTKta1o02iUxmZOc193vncKC9bAP_2ru_UF25cwG3h3LAopYGW4QKcAONaUBoE6bnLeHHnkERza2Q8/s1600/IMG_2897.JPG"></a></p><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtn5TH9I5e9mu3gSLm_589ezHSZjjgEu4G5gBIibuKrUq9OZvnHde98SIuvGvCbjTKta1o02iUxmZOc193vncKC9bAP_2ru_UF25cwG3h3LAopYGW4QKcAONaUBoE6bnLeHHnkERza2Q8/s1600/IMG_2897.JPG"></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtn5TH9I5e9mu3gSLm_589ezHSZjjgEu4G5gBIibuKrUq9OZvnHde98SIuvGvCbjTKta1o02iUxmZOc193vncKC9bAP_2ru_UF25cwG3h3LAopYGW4QKcAONaUBoE6bnLeHHnkERza2Q8/s1600/IMG_2897.JPG"></a>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-31165905899824414742011-02-21T18:21:00.000-08:002011-02-21T18:24:15.495-08:00Book Signing and Reading<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Come one, come all!</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Be at the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wedgewood</span> in downtown <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Brockville</span> on Wednesday, February 23 at 3:00pm.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">I'll be reading from my new book, <em>Cameron's Corner</em>. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">I'll also answer questions and sign books.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">It's gonna be a party! Hope to see you there!</span></div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-30872080449006867062011-02-15T16:30:00.000-08:002011-02-17T05:48:22.303-08:00The Tyranny of the FluSo...I was just bragging the other day about how long it's been since I've have the flu. Of course, I promptly came down with the worst cast of the flu I've had in recent memory. I compare the experience to the life-sucking machine in <em>The Princess Bride</em>. For several days, all that worked was my brain--while my aching limbs became useless appendages, I was still able to issue various commands from the couch.<br /><br /><em>Put the kettle on!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Go buy lozenges!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Warm me some broth!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Get me a blanket!</em><br /><br />My husband contentedly went about caring for me as I peered at him through swollen red eyes and spoke through fever-dried lips. It wasn't pretty. Even when I woke him from a dead sleep at 11:00pm to go buy me some cough syrup, he didn't complain.<br /><br />I know it was like living under a tyrannical dictatorship.<br /><br />And then Kieran got sick.<br /><br />If I was tyrannical, Kieran was ruthless.<br /><br /><em>Read to me!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Read to me some more!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Dance the Fox Trot! (really)</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Read to me!</em><br /><br />He didn't care that my throat was so sore each story was like munching on a bowl of razor blades. Read, I did.<br /><br />Anyway, we're on the mend. It's been a long haul but we're all working together to get well...and praying that Mike doesn't get this.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-16118587178345453132011-01-31T17:23:00.000-08:002011-02-07T13:18:47.660-08:00Amy Chua: Tiger MotherI really like Amy Chua. People who have read my columns and my blog might be shocked by that. I don't agree with her on many things but I admire the value she brings to mothering. She stands up and declares that mothering is hard work, that we need to believe in our kids, and that it's okay to have high expectations. Furthermore, I think she's pretty funny.<br /><br /><br /><br />While I will never force my son to play the piano for three hours a day or deny him playdates, I agree with her that hard work makes things enjoyable. Self-esteem and confidence don't come from our words. Whether we're parents or teachers, we can't speak those qualities into our children. Children believe in themselves when they accomplish things. These accomplishments can be as simple as sewing on a button or as dramatic as getting a touchdown. In Ms. Chua's case, it's playing at Carnegie Hall. In my case, my son's love of literature is important. Do these things reflect our own interests as parents? Of course. But, it's what I have to offer my child. It's natural that we share our gifts and interests with our children. And then, when they're old enough, they'll find their own way, but they'll have a solid foundation. They'll know what it's like to care about something.<br /><br /><br /><br />When Kieran was a baby and so much of the advice I received was absolute, I chanted the mantra in my head: <em>there are many ways to raise a child.</em> I thank Amy Chua for reminding us of that. I thank her for getting us thinking about the impact of our words and actions (or lack thereof). I thank her for caring about mothering.<br /><br /><br /><br />If you haven't already, make sure you read her essay--and the comments that follow. She'll infuriate and inspire. She certainly doesn't deserve death threats...but I guess it's good for book sales.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html?mod=WSJ_article_related">http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html?mod=WSJ_article_related</a>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-41639296960156961842011-01-30T18:36:00.000-08:002011-01-31T17:14:51.073-08:00There is a Bird on Your Head!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZf49h1RRUVclsjPVY1RGLYju_PNSRMRhC4kGn0wxgaE4Zl5jDrMjv8BZG3z_PEJmNm3JVObLN-V9LLCQv8mhv2hoW1W93LOar9nhu0iH6Z3kBOZczpzFJyX2cO7I-G1mi9XPojf-rFw/s1600/bird%252Bon%252Bhead.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 234px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568173395844637138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZf49h1RRUVclsjPVY1RGLYju_PNSRMRhC4kGn0wxgaE4Zl5jDrMjv8BZG3z_PEJmNm3JVObLN-V9LLCQv8mhv2hoW1W93LOar9nhu0iH6Z3kBOZczpzFJyX2cO7I-G1mi9XPojf-rFw/s400/bird%252Bon%252Bhead.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Elephant and Piggie crack us up. They are funny, earnest, dedicated companions. In this book, a bird lands on Elephant's head and Piggie helps him reconcile this uncomfortable fate. Mo Willem is an award-winning writer and illustrator. A Caledott winner for his books, he's also won several Emmys for his work on shows such as Seasame Street.</div><div></div><div>As you can see, we're into comedic books these days...</div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-47740472385890822732011-01-27T17:35:00.000-08:002011-01-27T17:43:50.213-08:00Zoom<div>We are loving Zoom the cat these days. Written by Tim Wynne-Jones, these books carry the reader through imaginative worlds. The pencil sketches are filled with surprising de<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVEoc37M848mtc0w_7LdePKFPL-d9klQG29q1zlOK_17eX-jhF0OQU0oW6NZkkSFDrPMofbnf-kgEdvKUs09W0anF6EpQGnIE6HpAl6nZDeVjv7GzyPAII8UPscj00N629AgXJqUx1jo/s1600/zoomall.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 122px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 92px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567044629576817634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVEoc37M848mtc0w_7LdePKFPL-d9klQG29q1zlOK_17eX-jhF0OQU0oW6NZkkSFDrPMofbnf-kgEdvKUs09W0anF6EpQGnIE6HpAl6nZDeVjv7GzyPAII8UPscj00N629AgXJqUx1jo/s400/zoomall.jpg" /></a>tail that my son examines while I read. I espeically love the portrayal of Egpyt. The three Zoom titles--<em>Zoom, Zoom at Sea, and Zoom Away</em>--have been published by Groundwood Books in one collection. This collection feels like something we might be reading fifty or one hundred years from now. Love this discovery!</div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-26345394457920513012011-01-25T20:04:00.000-08:002011-01-25T20:08:57.138-08:00Cathy Cavanagh<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Cathy Cavanagh will be reading from her book <em>Soul Side</em> at the Wedgewood tomorrow at 3:00pm. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Her writing challenges, comforts, and inspires. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">Oh, and she's awesome. </span></div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-79757738277927836622011-01-19T17:52:00.000-08:002011-01-25T20:03:50.447-08:00For Mrs. HarveyWhen my mom read my recently published collection of columns, I asked her what she thought. She paused. It didn't feel like a good pause.<br /><br />"There's something missing," she said.<br /><br />"What?" I asked, my stomach turning.<br /><br />"Well, I can't believe you haven't mentioned Mrs. Harvey."<br /><br />Mrs. Harvey.<br /><br />School wasn't my thing. For many years, particularly in high school, I found it frustrating, confusing, and boring. In math class, I tried so hard to focus, but my mind would wander. I'd understand the first few steps of a problem, but once I reached an obstacle, my comprehension unravelled. I'd stare at the list of questions, knowing that if I couldn't do the first one, I couldn't do the rest. I thought I was stupid.<br /><br />Passionate about things like history and art, I read avidly at home but scraped by at school. I was in some academic (advanced) and some applied (general) classes. I didn't really consider going to university--it didn't seem like an option.<br /><br />I entered Grade Twelve, feeling a little nauseated when our guidance counsellors started talking about "the future." I had no idea what I wanted to do.<br /><br />On my first day of Senior English, I appraised my new teacher. A streak of white blazed through her dark curly hair. She wore Birkenstocks and a funky dress. She laughed easily and revealed a genuine passion for teaching. I listened as she went over the course outline. She expected a lot and I wondered if I shouldn't switch to another class. But something made me want to stay.<br /><br />The classroom promised adventure. Mrs. Harvey had positioned a dead tree at the front of the room, its branches casting twisted shadows across her lectern. Images of Picasso's "Three Musicians" and characters from Greek Mythology decorated the walls. A mournful painting of Prometheus watching his liver be devoured by an eagle captured my imagination. His agonized face etched the definition of hubris onto my mind. Cassettes of Leonard Cohen and Dylan Thomas lined the shelf beside the tape player. Student artwork and poetry found places alongside "the greats." It seemed like an interesting spot and Mrs. Harvey's eccentric enthusiasm made me wonder if I might learn something.<br /><br />There are things I don't remember about the day I got my first assignment back in that class. I don't remember where I sat in the room. I don't remember what I was wearing. I don't even remember what the assignment was about or the grade I received. But I do remember that Mrs. Harvey's comment was written in green ballpoint pen. And I know that it changed the course of my life.<br /><br />The comment said: "I hope you plan to pursue English at the post-secondary level."<br /><br />Well, then. Maybe I wasn't stupid.<br /><br />Mrs. Harvey told me I was good at writing and whether or not that was actually true, she ignited a little spark that urged me to make something of myself. Thinking that I had ability made me realize it was worthwhile to work at it.<br /><br />Work at it, I did. Over the school year, we read challenging texts, wrote poetry, composed essays, and discussed the human condition. She was ruthless about grammar and style. Suddenly, the humble comma exuded power if strategically placed. I felt awake, alive, and challenged.<br /><br />While I came from a loving and supportive home, it was the encouragement of a teacher that pushed me in the right direction, confirming that it really does take a village to raise a child. It's something that we adults need to remember. Whether we are boss, teacher, coach, or mentor to youth, our words prove powerful.<br /><br />It's not about indulging kids with false hope and inflated entitlement. It's about seeing something real, recognizing it, and telling them. The feeling of having another adult--other than my parents who loved me unconditionally--recognize my potential not only made me work harder, it made me believe in myself. It made me a better person.<br /><br />Have I told Mrs. Harvey about the impact she's had on my life? Yes. Several times. But it's been a number of years now. I just might send her a copy of this column.<br /><br />If anyone finds any grammatical errors, please let me know.<br /><br />Really.<br /><br /><em>This has not been a great day. At least Mr. Tyler will appear on American Idol tonight. It might make that show tolerable.</em>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-28468785666326329622011-01-16T19:07:00.000-08:002011-01-16T19:26:56.323-08:00ResolutionsI didn't make any New Years resolutions yet this year. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Hmmm</span>...<br /><br />I try to avoid "self-improvement" resolutions. They just make me feel crummy. Who wants to lose weight or save money? Too much pressure. Making the resolution draws attention to the problem. Then, when I fail to fix myself, I feel like I suck even more. Why bother? I prefer denial and I'm happier (and curvier) for it.<br /><br />Over the years, I've made some obscure resolutions. I've resolved to start a compost, buy more local food, learn to knit, write a novel...all of which I've done. Because they're not really about me. It's easier to commit to something that isn't about me...and then, in the end, it is about me. Also, these things are all easier than running a marathon.<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562986356639415538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO57NTXAUpSNPmxG-DTer9U84ajp3cDowrHwCZKHvtKpy3vshfd_BbNnmMz5ShBAJ2dvzgafIeVM00FQDsHBBIfW1G7BPg2H8LO_685KQFEMrOocuOrsuq3RNtYZCu920PZH4_k-i9d-8/s320/new+003.JPG" /></p><p>As I write this, Findley purrs in my lap. I ask him what I should do and he ignores me.</p><p>Here goes:</p><p>1) Get a clothesline and a water barrel.</p><p>2) Read more. Maybe Findley wasn't ignoring me. He was guiding my attention towards my books with his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">thoughtful </span>gaze.</p><p>3) Find a sport <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kieran</span> and I can do together...like rock climbing...or something...</p><p>4) Write a novel. Again.</p><p>5) Laugh more.</p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-17272229182371244502011-01-11T17:30:00.000-08:002011-01-11T17:38:14.596-08:00This Year...It's Four in the MorningThe thing I hate most about going back to work after a holiday is the return of MORNINGS! No matter how organized I am or how early I start, the last few minutes always delay a perfectly timed departure. There is a young saboteur in my life!<br /><br />This morning, as I was rushing around, trying not to raise my voice, I realized how unhinged I must have sounded to a little boy who just wants to play. I was reminded of this column from last year. I don't think I ever posted it here. It's in my collection of columns.<br /><br /><strong>Three in the Morning</strong><br /><br />Finish your breakfast. Brush your teeth. Hurry up. I have to get to work. Put on your hat. Come back here. No, I don't have time to be a polar bear. We have to go. I'm going to be late. I love you, too. Your hair's a mess. I said, come here. You're going to spill my coffee. Okay, now put on your boots. Let's go, love. Get in the car. Oh, please don't sit on the ground--you're not wearing snow pants. I said, get in the car! There goes my coffee. Sigh.<br /><br />The day begins...<br /><br />It wasn't until I wrote it all out in one paragraph that I realized how irrational my morning tirade must sound to a three year old. Pre-child, I used to actually think my morning routine was rushed. Now, it's nothing short of insane.<br /><br />And yes, we follow all of the advice so liberally shared in parenting magazines. We get up twenty minutes earlier (most days). I make lunches the night before. The bags are packed and at the door. We have lots of quick and healthy breakfast options. But all the preparation in the world can't account for a three year old who realizes he has some power over his mama. He knows I have to get to work, and he knows that drama ensues when he clomps through the living room in his dirty boots.<br /><br />There was nothing different about my routine the other day. I chanted my morning mantra of madness as I tried to wrestle my son into his winter clothes. The furrow in my brow deepened as I raced towards our caregiver's place. Kieran chattered away in the backseat, asking me question after question, which I answered with robotic predictability.<br /><br />"When's my birthday, mommy?"<br /><br />"May."<br /><br />"How old will I be?"<br /><br />"You're three now. So what's next?"<br /><br />"Four. I'll be four."<br /><br />I turned the corner, taking the first sip from my half-empty travel mug. I glanced at the clock. We were running five minutes behind.<br /><br />And then...<br /><br />"Mommy? When will I be three again?"<br /><br />"Oh...um...never...you'll only be three once."<br /><br />Oh, dear. <br /><br />We arrived at our wonderful caregiver's house, my eyes red and watery. I paused a little longer as I kissed my son good-bye. <br /><br />As if this working mom needs to feel more guilty, more torn, than I already do.<br />But, the funny thing is, I didn't feel guilty. <br /><br />Not about this, at least.<br /><br />I have loved the exuberance, imagination, and fickle tyranny of age three. But, I also loved the affection, energy, and intensity of age two. I know there will be things about four that make it my favourite age.<br /><br />So, while I don't feel guilty, I do feel a little sad. With each year, things change, independence grows, making me glad I followed the advice of so many other parents who told me to enjoy my son while he was young. Enjoy him, I have. Three has not passed me by. And, as we close in on four, I know it won't either.<br /><br />Maintaining balance takes mindful effort. Sometimes the house is a mess. Sometimes I'm frazzled when I arrive at work. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing too many things and none of them well. There are days when I drop everything to read to Kieran, but there are also times when I tell him to go play because I have work to do. That's life.<br /><br />It's the impermanence of childhood that makes it so wonderful. And this isn't just Kieran's journey. It's mine too. He'll only be three once, but I'll only be mother to this particular boy, at this particular age, once. So, in between my warnings about spilled coffee and messy hair, I remember to breathe.<br /><br />Breathe.<br /><br />And enjoy the last magical months of three.<br /><br />Even in the morning.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-90657434255937907182011-01-08T17:35:00.000-08:002011-01-08T17:53:41.824-08:00The Hunger Games by Suzanne CollinsI'm trying hard not to read right now. I'm on <em>Catching Fire</em>, book two of the <em>Hunger Games </em>Trilogy. I don't want to read because that's ALL I'll do for the rest of the night and I have some things to do. And really, I don't want it all to be over just yet. I was up until 1:00am two nights ago. I love/hate it when this happens.<br /><br />Here's what I like about these books:<br /><br />1) post-apocalyptic setting<br /><br />2) greater themes regarding social justice and distribution of wealth<br /><br />3) male and female characters are layered, compelling, and mysterious--I can imagine teaching this to a class--both genders would relate<br /><br />4) violence and danger<br /><br />5) explore the ethical implications of reality television<br /><br />6) we get to cheer for the reluctant, adolescent subversive as she defies an authoritarian regime<br /><br />7) imaginative detail regarding botany and herbal healing<br /><br />8) cool character names like Gale, Rue, and Glimmer<br /><br />9) Ms. Collins isn't afraid to kill sympathetic characters<br /><br />10) THERE'S A LOVE TRIANGLE...TEAM GALE!<br /><br />I'm just going to go have a "peek" at the next chapter. See you in a few days.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-84114984702074610472011-01-06T17:32:00.000-08:002011-01-06T17:40:51.068-08:00Sock Entitlement<div>So, our dear Nanny and Poppy came to visit at Christmas. Of course, I got myself in way over my head by starting to knit my dad a pair of sock with VERY thin wool. </div><br /><div></div><div>On Christmas Day, he got to open one sock. The other was in my lap, unfinished.</div><br /><div></div><div>He was quite patient about the whole thing and my mom says he wears them all the time.</div><br /><div></div><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kieran</span> had to rub it in that he has not just ONE pair of homemade socks, but FOUR.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 255px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559251654105097778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb927e27ugw0vr_DMqWo6ApBbapDs_-B71atnO9loJfA1e68H8Hz2RxJB0NJ5MWMgWtI0289xhSgblj7dOo26noEa670IEUgwUyhOzEnTTMdOv4zWHDXhfgNOt8BxQWLvoD7uh3-cwdrM/s320/Christmas+10+003.JPG" /></div><br /><p>Can anyone else see the "sock entitlement" of my boy's stance? Poppy is much more humble. His is the stance of "he who owns one pair." Even if the toes are oddly pointy...</p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-24759543707276946832011-01-06T17:07:00.000-08:002011-01-07T18:38:22.791-08:00Making Things Happen: Crystle Mazurek and Catherine CavanaghI'm so proud of my friends, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crystle</span> and Cathy, for their latest <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">achievements</span>. We started meeting as a writing group a few years back. We sat in our living rooms, reading each other's work, and providing feedback. The thing I knew about these women is that they'd give me their honest opinion. Now, all three of us have completed our books. Cathy's is about faith. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crystle's</span> is about India. Mine is about parenting. Our topics are so different but we are united in our desire to tell stories...and by our love of good food and drink. It's amazing what can happen when <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">chai</span> and chocolate are involved.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#660000;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crystle</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mazurek</span></span><br /></strong><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Crystle</span> recently returned from India where she spent several months working for her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">NGO</span>, The India Village Fund. Her book, <em>Mommy,When Are We Going Home? </em>will be released in February 2011. Here is the latest article about her in <em>The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Brockville</span> Recorder and Times.</em><br /><br /><p><a href="http://www.recorder.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?archive=true&e=2910897">http://www.recorder.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?archive=true&e=2910897</a></p><p>Here is the link to The India Village Fund:</p><p><a href="http://www.indiavillagefund.org/">http://www.indiavillagefund.org/</a></p><p><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Catherine <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cavanagh</span></strong></span></p><p>Catherine <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cavanagh</span> placed second in this year's <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Brockville</span> Recorder and Times</em> Short Story Contest. Here is her beautiful and compelling story "Hagar."</p><a href="http://www.recorder.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?archive=true&e=2916982">http://www.recorder.ca/ArticleDisplay.aspx?archive=true&e=2916982</a><br /><p></p><br /><p><br /></p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-82296987764960644392011-01-05T10:36:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:38:31.264-08:00Now Available for Purchase...<div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;">For those outside of Brockville who wish to purchase my book, you can order through Paypal and have it in a couple of days.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;">Look to the right...</span></div>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-10949995851729863772011-01-04T17:49:00.000-08:002011-01-04T18:01:10.406-08:00A Poem<span style="font-size:130%;color:#660000;">S-21</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#660000;">by Andrea Cameron</span><br /><br />I spent an hour with you today.<br />I walked through<br />claustrophobic caverns,<br />my footsteps resounding<br />in the temple of your hideous secret.<br /><br />I looked through your barbed wire smile<br />and stared shamelessly<br />at your treasure of skulls,<br />your collection of souls,<br />taken in terror.<br /><br />You offer me a tiny shoe,<br />boast with your photo exibit,<br />brandish tools of torture,<br />invite me inside<br />to gape at your ghastly trophies.<br /><br />I spent only an hour with you,<br />and your six thousand faces,<br />wide-eyed and battered,<br />their only memorial<br />trapped behind your rusty grin.<br /><br /><em>In 1997, I went to Cambodia for Christmas. Just after New Year's, I went to S-21. Formerly Tuol Svay Prey High School in Phnom Penh, this building was turned into a prison in 1975. It was renamed Security Prison (S-21) and was also known as Tuol Sleng. Approximately 20,000 people were detailed in S-21 before being murdered by the Khmer Rouge. Now, the prison walls are covered with thousands of black and white photographs of prisoners, all of whom were killed. There were only seven known survivors.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I wrote this poem shortly after the visit. It was published in </em>Room Magazine <em>a few years ago. I'm glad I wrote this so I wouldn't forget the things I saw.</em>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-59857418334374551532011-01-03T18:34:00.000-08:002011-01-03T18:54:48.769-08:00Congratulations to Patsy AldanaPatsy Aldana, publisher of Groundwood Books, was named a member of the Order of Canada last week. I'm grateful to all that she's done to bring quality literature to young readers. She's concerned that children and youth seem to be deriving less pleasure from reading. Ms. Aldana questions our focus on literacy as a skill for the workplace rather than on nurturing reading for enjoyment. She asserts that reading can heal. It can make us understand the motivations of others.<br /><br />Here's her quote in today's <em>Globe and Mail</em>: "If you become a reader, you have a chance to become a critical thinker, to be a person who has some power over your life."<br /><br />Our family has enjoyed many of the titles from Groundwood. Our latest read is <em>Doggie in the Window</em> by Elaine Arsenault. Our signed copy was a gift when Kieran was a baby. He loves this story of a costume designing dog.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.groundwoodbooks.com/gw_titles.cfm?pub_id=328">http://www.groundwoodbooks.com/gw_titles.cfm?pub_id=328</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 118px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 119px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558154297670841442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2R5rmJ3IJomYGIOZEdNh0jh_XICEQgiEBgmBeXUVf0AzYfRI3p-dvFXNpacgDsnUTEYExFfaOByEZK3tEyvtuYVoeU7G9F7Nb5LXavMneO4-9DDpc165gRMiGgRm9eHihYe7rwdLobg/s320/doggie.jpg" /><br />In the area of young adult, I loved <em>Skim</em>, a graphic novel by Mariko Tamaki. We are also big fans of the <em>Stella</em> books by Marie-Louise Gay.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-75441370006510234152011-01-01T18:30:00.000-08:002011-01-01T18:41:52.037-08:00Anything...I'm pleased to announce that this New Year's was preferable to last New Year's. Last year, Kieran had a seizure just before supper on New Year's Eve. I know it's just a random day of the year and the calendar is a human fabrication; HOWEVER, it just felt a little inauspicious.<br /><br />Just a little.<br /><br />So...last night we celebrated early with friends and had a great time. It's amazing to me that, given the material overindulgence of the Christmas season, two little boys can still lose their sh-t over party hats and noise-makers. Oh...and Madonna...REAL LOUD! Lots of fun.<br /><br />And while I always feel optimistic for the new year, my heart aches for those who won't be with us...and for those who have battles ahead. It's a strange time, this New Year's thing. It's a day when we're supposed to think about losing weight and saving money, but it scares me a little. We have this whole other year ahead. And anything can happen. Anything.<br /><br />So...here's to anything.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-83187024592760240512010-12-24T09:00:00.000-08:002010-12-24T09:00:03.133-08:00Merry Christmas!The Christmas Concert:<br />By Andrea Cameron<br /><br />We stood outside the doors, speaking in hushed tones, our palms sweating. We checked and double-checked our camera batteries. Older children clomped around in snow-boots and a kind volunteer offered us snacks. I tried to peer between the curtains to catch a glimpse of the other side. When the doors opened, we surged into the room, straining our necks to spot our children.<br /><br />And there they were, fourteen little kids all seated on the stage, hands folded in their laps. My son saw me and grinned, trying to control the urge to jump up and wave. At that moment, I--along with an army of other doting parents--had been initiated into a new world, the world of The Children's Christmas Concert.<br /><br />It's not that I'm a stranger to this concept. As a teacher, I've organized Christmas performances. My favourite memory is of our school concert in Grise Fiord, Nunavut. Kindergarten to Grade Twelve were involved. We even had to build our own stage and make our own curtains. We line-danced, sang, played the drums, and performed skits. I was stressed beyond belief with the preparation but it was a magical evening I'll never forget. Consequently, I relate completely to the furrowed brow, the hoarse voice, and the joyful smiles of my fellow teachers at this time of year.<br /><br />However, having never been a parent in the audience, I had no idea what happens on the other side. I was more nervous than if it had been me about to perform. The sound from our video taken that night is filled with the proud comments and knowing laughter from my husband and me. <br /><br />When our son decided to deliver his own "Heavy Metal" performance during Feliz Navidad, I can hear our embarrassed snickers. We've seen this performance many times at home and knew our boy loved having a captive audience for his rock star moment. Yet when he twirled with his classmates in their ice skating scene, there's silence from us--we were both dabbing our eyes.<br /><br />The show was just under thirty minutes, but there was enough drama and comedy to rival any production I've seen. There were sleigh bells and reindeer antlers. There was a tricycle sleigh and a sock horse. The girls curtseyed and the boys bowed. I marvelled at how every school the nation over has achieved such feat of organization this year...and every year. <br /><br />There is something about a children's Christmas concert that makes me have faith in the world. Thank you to all the educators and helpers who make this happen every year. Thank you to our community's children for sharing your hard work with us. Merry Christmas to all!<br /><br />My new book, <em>Cameron's Corner: Collected Columns </em>has just been released. Covering everything from potty learning to politics, it makes a great read for the holidays. Copies are available at Leeds County Books, Dreamweaver, The Woolly Lamb, and Wendy's Country Market.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-41615139538854165342010-12-23T09:00:00.000-08:002010-12-28T17:39:27.740-08:00Article from Living in BrockvilleSinging in the Season<br />by Andrea Cameron<br /><br /> I can't get away with singing my muddled Christmas carols anymore. Inserting a "da, da, dum" in place of a line I can't remember doesn't cut it with a certain four year old.<br /><br /> For many years, I had a rule that there could be no Christmas decorations or carols until the beginning of Advent. I kept this rule to make Christmas special. I worry that if we celebrate Christmas for too long, it becomes ordinary. I never want to walk past my tree and not notice it because it's been up for so long. Besides, how depressing would it be for Christmas decorations to get dusty?<br /><br /> Two factors have made this rule hard to follow. I have a four year old who really knows what this whole Christmas deal is about. Compounding this issue is the arrival of Christmas paraphernalia in the stores before Halloween. How do I explain to my dazzled son that Christmas is still two months away when battery-operated Santas are dancing while we grocery shop?<br /><br /> I resisted the Christmas decorating until the last week of November. However, we started to sing Christmas songs shortly after Remembrance Day. Christmas carols are free and explore the true meaning of Christmas without materialism--at least they do when one actually knows the words. <br /><br /> We tracked down a Christmas carol book and over the past few weeks, I've made an effort to learn them. Their lullaby-quality and clean poetry make them a pleasure to sing--and put my son to sleep in minutes. But this is not before he issues his litany of critiques and demands. Sing the one about the Baby Jesus. Sing Silent Night. Sing the King song higher. I feel like a court jester trying to please a tyrannical king. I'm glad we started early. I have a lot of lyrics to learn.<br /><br /> My son rarely sings. I sing to him all the time, but I can hardly ever convince him to join in. However, a few nights ago, after a particularly firm request for Deck the Halls, his quiet voice joined me at Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. I didn't acknowledge it, afraid to break the spell.<br /><br /> It's continued to happen each night. As I sing, he too learns the songs. Every now and then, he joins me. Singing is not a milestone that is typically emphasized on developmental check-lists. Having had a child who's milestones were all over the map, those lists are burned into my brain, along with the anxiety they induced. Needless to say, the singing is important.<br /><br /> As Kieran and I lie in the dark, singing our carols, I think of how Christmas is more than a celebration. It's also a clear way to mark the passage of time. We think of where we were the year before and where we are now. We think of people who have left us and those who have entered our lives. It can be the saddest time of year for some and the happiest time for others. We sing songs that are hundreds of years old in honour of a long ago birth and in doing so, connect to the generations before us.Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-4559785972164541352010-12-22T19:09:00.000-08:002010-12-22T19:22:41.696-08:00One Day Til Christmas Break!<div align="center"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553711001151106882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4X5tbxlahIBsWOuSESVvchM3nAcHZETQ7u9g6agWeOVFWT73mssIf6rBqpy1IksRB-mz80h2XefeLCPinawfl8zzuMRF8338AQH_PwGnHsqzAZSLM9mx5XpkLLnsU-J_fQq-FJv_ZCgU/s320/Christmas+10+001.JPG" /> <p align="center">Here's our gluten-free gingerbread house. We decorated with dried cranberries and green pumpkin seeds...and lots of icing.<br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553710606892061522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPb0dPIJgKgqWt5BVxizXk2SW3oLiDHbCbtKkKuSt_zcaNaXR8F2jIjurEZGNp8MTzzsJyw15io5j51lhgA5OdyvKD2YoS6wt6NqjAKXYXDKa05eMLgh31Je6d6bYtxo5FwGySLxQAqpY/s320/Christmas+10+005.JPG" /> <p align="center">One of many EPIC receipts from my our canned food drive. My class raised over 1300 and our school raised 50, 000!<br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 289px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553710080388502610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2vSLkaN66htcAmizo-_7g46HaD0PGMBvWmm2JjEzYr0YipteT18vZw4UMbocG3BLJMMAnROFyelQvOguYgCRY74p8nZPKnVGP1M7-kj_asxqAF2en3QyhsbXGxO-6NEgENJAOhCUpe0/s320/Christmas+10+009.JPG" /><br /><p align="center">Solstice Celebration</p><p> </p>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830902028123781351.post-91683783011448762422010-12-17T09:05:00.000-08:002010-12-17T09:05:00.421-08:00Book Signing<div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Tomorrow is our big day.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Cathy and I hope you can all join us at </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Leeds County Books, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">73 King St W. Brockville.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Stop by tomorrow between 11:00am - 1:00pm.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Pick up a book, get it signed, or just say hey.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>Andrea Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00529768597677476283noreply@blogger.com0