Crazy-ass family

You just can't make this stuff up

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Ghost Story Tuesday

I know I promised to tell you about the ghost at my cousin's house this week, but the doll scene in The Ghost Whisperer last week reminded me of an experience that happened to me when I was very young that still scares me.
Young children are the most open to spirits, as I'm sure you've often heard. And the easiest ghosts to contact are what I call tricksters - ghosts that, for a variety of reasons, want to scare us. So it follows that, when you're a kid (especially a very open kid), you're much more likely to sense a trickster than any other entity. When we were still living in Ottawa (we moved when I was two, so I'm thinking I was about a year and a half*), I had the first ghost experience that I can remember. I woke up during the night, and looked around, my gaze stopping on my Sesame Street plastic play house. The house opened outwards, and came with little Sesame Street inhabitants. When I looked at my toy that night, the little people were moving around. Little Mr. Hooper and Maria and Louise were milling about their business, independent of human interaction. I didn't understand it, but I knew it was odd. I remember crying and my Mother coming to get me. I slept in her bed that night.
When we moved to a PMQ in Prince Edward Island, my experiences intensified. My sister and I would hear voices talking in our bedroom. I'd wake up in the night to hear the toilet flushing, and go to see who was awake, only to find a dark, quiet house. Toys would move and doors would close on their own. Mom assured us that it was all in our imaginations, or that we were dreaming it, which was extremely convenient; we had most of our experiences at night. Both Jen and I would wake up, feeling as if someone were tickling our feet, or jumping on our beds, or sitting on top of us. I very quickly learned to block that type of interaction, but Jen suffered with it for years to come.
We were lucky to have a large playroom on the main floor, where Mom kept all our toys and encouraged us to play. We loved spending time there until we acquired a walking doll. Do you remember the walking dolls from the 70's? They were large; probably about 3 feet tall, and had eyes that would close when they were lying down. You would hold their arms above their head, standing behind them, and slowly walk forward. Their legs would swing out in front of them clumsily, thus giving the appearance that they were walking. I think the doll belonged to my sister. I think she got her for Christmas one year. I know she freaked me out from the start. Jen played with her a lot, and the doll would always end up naked (who knows where her clothes were!), leaning against the far wall beneath the window, her arms raised above her head.
I stopped playing in the playroom so much, and always made sure not to look in there as I walked past.
One morning, I came downstairs and was surprised to find a quiet house. Immediately I felt as though I were not alone. I heard my Mom's voice drift through the screen door, and although that should have given me some relief, the feeling that someone was there with me persisted. I used the bathroom and then headed for the kitchen, where I could talk to my Mom through the screen. I wondered where Jen was, and called her name. Walking past the playroom, I wondered if she was there, and looked in. I stopped in my tracks. Jen was not in the room, but something felt wrong. My eyes immediately went to the doll, and suddenly everything was quiet. I could no longer hear my Mom's voice. I was transfixed.
The doll's head turned, and her plastic eyes met mine.
She blinked.
I debated writing this today, but hey, if you don't think I'm wacky already, this probably won't sway you!
I have never forgotten that morning - what happened, and Mom telling me it was my imagination. Occasionally, I am haunted by dreams starring that damn doll, and I always wake up with a painfully pounding heart, and no voice to scream.
Growing up, I became very good at closing myself to these tricksters. Sadly, when kids close themselves to tricksters, they often close themselves completely. For a while, I didn't see anything at all. Then one night, I was visited the second time by the entity I saw that very first time my Mom came to rescue me from my bed. That Sesame Street house wasn't the only odd thing that happened that night.
But that's a story for another day!

*Good memory, huh? In University, we did a little test in psychology class, and found that there were two of us (in a class of about 150) that could remember being in the womb. I guess a very small percentage of the population Mom didn't believe me until I described, in perfect detail, the apartment we lived in until I was three months old! Strangely, Jim doesn't appreciate my memory...tee hee!*


You asked some questions. This is turning out to be ridiculously long, so I'll try to be concise!

1) I would be interested to see a post about your view about what happens to people after they die?
Of course, I don't know the answer to this. But I can tell you what I've been able to see and gather over the years. Hmm how do I do this quickly? I know! Point-form:
-there are levels of existence. When we die, we go to a new level - and there are levels there, too.
-we never stop learning, growing, and teaching, even after we die.
-from what I can see, when we die, that isn't "it"...we still aspire to better ourselves...and there are still places to go
-it seems like we experience our levels of existence with a static (although it can change a bit...someone goes away, someone comes) group of souls. Meaning, we live with a group of people, then we die, and we exist with the same group of people. When we live again (reincarnation is a really shady area for me!), it's again with the same group.
There's so much more I can say...but it would take me forever. The best part about this is that we don't know, and aren't supposed to know everything about life and death! We have to keep learning...

I don't believe that ghosts exist ... so what the heck am I supposed to do with your experiences already?
An excellent question. Maybe ignore them? That's what I'm tempted to do most of the time! Or just think of them as fiction, if you'd like. Not so weird and crazy-ish that way. Jim, in fact, didn't believe me for years. Until I proved it to him, that is...

Do you think everyone has this ability but most just don't or won't tap into it?
I like to explain it like this: everyone is born with the ability to sing (unless, of course, there is something physically wrong)...but only some have a gift for it and are able to sing well and without effort. Some have to work on it, and can improve, and some are simply never very good at it. It's the same with every gift, I think...including mine!

Does it ever frighten you, stress you out or anger you to have this gift?
YES! Always, all the time, every day.

To see an entity, does that person have to have died in the vicinity, or spilled blood there like you mentioned?
No, not in my experience. Though they tend to hang out in an area that was significant in their lives (and the place where they died is certainly significant), an entity is drawn to those who can sense it, wherever that person is. If they're here for a reason, an entity may "travel" to try and get their work done. They need someone who can hear them. Jeff's bathroom lady, for example, did not die in his apartment. BUT she did appear in the bathroom.

How much do your boys know about what you can do? Do you think they'll be following in your footsteps??
I don't talk about this very much with the boys, but if they bring up the subject of ghosts, I'm very honest. I'm especially careful to treat their experiences with care. I do see the gift in Caleb and Aidan, and while I don't spend a lot of time on it, when they want to talk, I try to act more as a sounding board than a guide for now. A few weeks ago, Caleb hurt his foot and, without thinking, I placed my hands on his foot and used energy to help him feel better. Caleb exclaimed, "why are your hands so hot?! Hey! My foot feels better! How'd you do that?" I explained that everything is made of energy and that we can learn to use it. He asked if we could see it. I said that some people could, and he touched my forehead and said, "you have a LOT right here." The third eye...interesting. He went on to show me other areas that had a lot of energy...the throat, the sternum, the top of my head...

What colors have you seen around people, and what do the different colors represent?
I think I'll post about energy next Tuesday, so I'll save this for then!

Hey, how about mirrors? Are they like bathrooms and kitchens?
To be honest, I don't know. Mirrors confuse me. I do know one thing: they're a great tool for tricksters to scare us with. Haven't had a whole lot of mirror-related experiences, myself.

PHEW! Ok now I have a question for you, if anyone's still reading. Do you like Ghost Story Tuesday? Shall I continue with it? I often feel that it's so different from my other posts about the kids and daily life and this the right place to write about this other, stranger part of my life?

Monday, January 30, 2006

I've Been Tagged

Ah, my first tag (thanks, Ali...I think). So romantic! I will forever recall this day with mist-filled eyes and a light heart.
So, here goes:


Four jobs I’ve had in my life:

  • Four years at McDonald's, baby
  • Waitress at Joe's Food Emporium, Wolfville, NS
  • Teacher's Assistant for so many Profs I can't count them
  • Federal Government employee (current)
Four movies I can watch over and over:
  • The Ring
  • Legend
  • The Princess Bride
  • You've Got Mail

*Ok now this has reminded me that I have not awarded the prizes to the winners of my movie contest! Which I held, like, a couple months ago! People! You have to tell me these things! Because my mind! It is like a sieve, what with all of the children and the yelling and the trying to keep a grip on my sanity! Kelly and Reagan, I apologize! That's it! My dreams of being a Contest Administrator are dashed.*

Four places I have lived:
  • Ottawa, Ontario (born there)
  • Summerside, PEI
  • Greenwood, Nova Scotia
  • Gatineau, Quebec
Four TV shows I love to watch:
  • Bones
  • Medium
  • ER
  • House, MD
Four places I have been on vacation:
  • Topsham, Maine
  • North Carolina
  • Uh...we go back to Nova Scotia to see family and friends. And to PEI now and again to...uh...see family and friends! And we're working on saving for Disney!
Four of my favorite dishes:
  • Vegetarian pizza
  • Pasta with oil, parmesan and veggies
  • Toast (haha. No, seriously)
  • Pie. What? It is so a dish! Put some cool whip on there and you're all fancy, too.
Four websites I visit daily:
  • All my blogs o'course (see right)
Four places I would rather be right now:
  • Under my nice, warm covers
  • A dream
  • My dark bedroom
  • Sleeping
Four bloggers I am tagging:

So Much For Just Looking...

Jim, I'm honestly really touched that you're supporting my playing so much...thank you!

No problem. (He surreptitiously waggles his eyebrows) I know I have a really good present coming for my birthday...

(Confused) Yeah...your Bruins jersey, right?

Nope, not that. I'm talking about the kind of present money can't buy. Actually, you can buy it, but that's bad.


And illegal...

Jim? I think you should stop talking now. Besides, I don't peddle my body for musical instruments.

But you'd peddle it for my birthday, right? I mean, not peddle it, but...


I know...stop talking.

Behold, my new Sonare SF 5000.

Ain't she purty?

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Family Night

Due to the increasingly desperate addiction to video games in our household, evenings and weekends have found us more and more detached as a family. Admittedly, when Liam first came home, the ability of electronic gaming systems to keep the boys happy, quiet and busy for a good block of time (with limits, of course) was a gift. But now, we feel less involved with them; less in touch. So, we've instituted a family night. Every Friday, we do something together.
It's going well.
Last night, we went to Pizza Hut (wicked vegetarian pizza!), then rented a movie to watch together. Besides a near miss with Aidan and his strong gag reflex, the night went smoothly. Incidentally, the near miss involved the purposeful self-insertion of a straw down the throat as far as he could stand it, a strong gag, and the bullet fast extraction of said straw. And a huge, goofy smile from the culprit.
Public bathroom visits are a given when we go out to eat. Now that the boys are old enough that I don't have to actually come into the stall with them, bathroom conversation has reached a whole new level of outrageousness. I stand outside the stall while they proudly lock the door, and wait for them to finish. Somehow, to a small child, that thin metal half-door between them and me means that, in order for me to hear them, they need to yell very loudly.
This, as you can imagine, has provided entertainment for all present (if not a touch of embarrassment for yours truly).
Last night, Aidan was first.
We went to the small, two-stall bathroom and Aidan insisted on going into a stall alone. This is a relatively new thing for him, and so he is extra loud when there's something he needs to say. Aidan is three. So there is ALWAYS something to say. I must admit I was a bit relieved that we were the sole occupants of the bathroom. For the first thirty seconds or so, Aidan was quiet. Then an older woman came in, and Aidan found his tongue. The first shouted statement made quite an impression:


(Muffled laughter from the neighboring stall)

Ok honey. That's nice. Are you done?


Uh oh. Ok you just wait a sec, and I'll get some for you.

(Our chuckling neighbor exits her stall and begins washing her hands)


Don't use that, honey. I'll get you

(I reach under his stall with some paper I've retrieved from the other stall. The woman seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time to wash her hands. Clearly she wants to see how this plays out.)


No dear, I did not get it off the floor.

(Laughter from the woman whose hands must be very, very dirty)


You did?


Caleb's visit to the bathroom was next. There was already someone occupying the toilet-paper-equipped stall:


It's ok, bud. It locks enough.


Yes dear.


(Stifling a giggle) It's the other person, dear.


(The elderly woman exits the bathroom. Thank God she is smiling)

Me: Kids are fun, eh?

Woman: Sometimes

I'm still pondering that one.

Despite all of this, we've declared family night to be a success so far, and will continue with it.

Well I must be off; we're going to a music store to finally get me a flute stand and to look at some higher-quality flutes. Just to look; these things are expensive! But I have to know what I'm aiming for. Someday I will have an awesome flute! I bought the one I have now off of e-bay, and while it was a great price, the tone is a little off. A girl can dream, right?

Some cuteness:

Have a great weekend, all.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Six Year-Olds Are Fun

Caleb is great. After watching Shark Tale the other night, we watched some of the interviews with the actors whose voices were used. Angelina Jolie, of course, played the gorgeous, money-grubbing love/lust interest. Since I'm a little bit in love with her myself (though I'd run right through her to get to her husband), I decided to find out what Caleb thinks of her:

Me: Caleb, that's Angelina Jolie. Do you think she's pretty?
Caleb: ...(shrug)
Me: Really? I think she's beautiful.
Caleb: I like the fish better.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

A Letter To My Hypothalamus

I am sick. I have the flu. So not fun.

Also, you folks put up with a lot around here. I re-read my whiney post of a couple days ago, and am rather embarrassed. I have come to the conclusion that several important areas in my life were disturbed at a very volatile time of the month for me. In that vein, I have devised the following letter to my hypothalamus, in hopes to stem future episodes.

Dear Hypothalamus,
Hi! We’ve never been formerly introduced, but I think you’ll agree that we’re intimately acquainted. We’ve been working together for over 30 years now, and I want you to know that I truly appreciate all you’ve done for me. I mean, it’s due, in part, to you that those Mensa people are always trying to get me to join their little club. So, many thanks for that.
But I figured it was time I wrote you a letter for a very different reason. See, about once a month, I become an insufferable, whiney biotch. I endure horrible abdominal cramps, yell at my husband, cry uncontrollably, and, most recently, have begun forcing internet-surfers of the world to share my pain. Dude, that is so not cool.
After doing some research, Hypothalamus, I have discovered that, although the pituitary gland and the ovaries (and their respective follicles) are very much to blame for this monthly torture, it all originates with a little signal from you, and therefore you are the main culprit. I’m a firm believer in getting to the heart of the problem, and I’m sorry to say, Hypothalamus, that it appears to be you in this case. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that little signal you send to the pituitary gland is the beginning of a merciless regime over both my girly bits and my sanity.
I have pondered over this for many hours, and I believe that I am prepared to present you with a solution that will be satisfying for all involved. My idea, dear Hypothalamus, is joint custody. As it stands, you pretty much signal the overtaking of the girly bits and sanity, mentioned above, for several days, in a rather consistent manner. I propose that you allow for joint custody, which would turn over these essential physical parts to me for an agreed-upon time, during which I will experience some relief from the symptoms I’ve already discussed.
Let me elaborate. Say you allow me custody between 3am and 3pm during these several days in the monthly cycle. In the morning, I can bring the bits and the sanity to the park! I will push them on the swings and let them dig in the sand for as long as they wish. Then, we will walk home in the sunshine, to enjoy petits-fours, bonbons and iced tea. We will do each other’s nails and listen to the Cranberries, and finally settle down to a long nap.
See how I have set up an oasis of happiness for me and my bits? And my sanity? Well, here’s where you take over! You can come in and smash our oasis and erect your House of Pain. You can make everyone eat broccoli and listen to classical music and walk around wearing nothing but 6-inch heels, a tampon, and a beer hat filled with Ovaltine (gross). You can call Uterus fat and insult Sanity (she’s fragile). You can repeatedly ask the Ovaries (henceforth referred to as “the twins”) why they can’t be more like Vagina.
Some will say this is harsh. In my mind, though, several half-days of torture beats a few full days of misery easily. And I can get through the hours during which you have custody by thinking about my turn! The park! And the bonbons! This, I can do, and do happily.
So, I humbly ask that you consider this proposal and get back to me in, say, three weeks at the latest. No worries, I’ll have all the necessary papers drawn up. It is my hope that this arrangement will bring us all closer and provide for a more stable, understanding relationship in general. After all, aren’t we working toward the same goals? You know, we are one, and all that? You complete me?
Thank you for your consideration. Yours sincerely,

Ps: Incidentally, have you seen Libido around? She’s been MIA since Liam was born. If you see her, can you let her know I’m looking for her? And that she’s got a letter coming to her next?

Monday, January 23, 2006

Ghost Story Tuesday

Sometimes, when a spirit is hanging around, it's because he or she needs to get a message to someone. Sometimes, they've made the transition to "the other side," or whatever you'd like to call it, but their loved ones needs them, so they visit. Very often, the person had a tragic death and has either not accepted their death yet, or they want to share what happened...they need to tell their story. I'm not sure why, but maybe in death, like in life, we need to have closure before we can move on.

My ghost needed some closure. When I want to connect to someone who has passed, I try and wait until I can be completely relaxed, and almost in a meditative state. With three kids, that's a tall order. Just before I go to sleep is often the best time, and it was this time, too.
I connected with him (he never told me his name), and quickly learned that, while he didn't die here, his blood, as he said, was spilled here. He was injured by some farm equipment. In fact, he lost part of both his right leg and arm. He went to recover some distance away, and died from complications (infection? Felt like fever) from the injuries later. He hung around here because he liked our family; I reminded him of his daughter.

All I had to do was tell him his daughter was waiting for him, and he moved on.

Often, when I first connect to an entity, the first piece of information I get is whether they are male or female. Then I get the cause of death. Because I feel things more often than hear words, I often ascertain the cause of death by experiencing what it felt like. I read for someone whose uncle died of a stroke, and my left arm and side of my face was numb the entire time. I have felt crippling chest pain with heart attack victims, and know what it feels like to have your lungs filled with fluid.

Where do you sense entities? Everybody does...a common place is the bathroom. I'd be willing to bet that the majority of tragic deaths occurring in the home take place in either the bathroom or the kitchen. The kitchen is a high-traffic area, though, and not as easy to pick up "spirit vibes" in. What else do you have to do in the bathroom, though? I mean, other than the obvious, non-complicated (usually) business? Have you looked in the bathroom mirror and felt the sensation that you're being watched? Looked in the bathtub and become frightened for no obvious reason?

My brother, also highly sensitive, came to me a few years ago and said he was bothered every time he was in the bathroom in his (and my sister's) apartment. It was particularly hard to have a shower; he just felt as though he was not alone. Jen, Jeff and I sat at the kitchen table that night and opened up. Immediately, we all saw an elderly woman. I don't remember who started speaking first, but we all began to describe her...her physical appearance, her emotional state, her family. Then I got an immense pain in my hip (still do not know why her hip suddenly hurt her) and felt as though I were falling. I saw her hit her head as she fell in the shower. I saw the face cloth fill the plug and the water start to rise. I saw the woman become conscious as the water began to cover her face, and not be able to get up. She knew she would drown. There was nobody to help her. She died alone. As soon as I saw this, she had peace. My sister and brother and I felt her move on.

Ok so that was some explanation and bits and pieces of stories. Next week, I'll tell you about the ghost I saw in my cousin's basement, and I'll answer questions; there are a couple from last week, and I'll answer any from this week as well.

I should tell you that I don't have all the answers...mostly, I have questions, too. Why am I able to see these things? What am I supposed to do with this gift? Am I supposed to use it at all? These are questions I've been asking since I realized that not everyone could see this stuff (I was 5 when I noticed that nobody knew what I meant when I talked about the colors around people, and it was much, much earlier than that that I realized that I was seeing things that the people around me couldn't...or didn't). I've made my own answers for some, but others elude me.

Sometimes (often!), I wish it would all just go away. There's not much room in my life for all of this. But on those occasions that I've helped someone, I've felt very lucky...bah, I don't know. I think I'll always be confused about all of this. Hey! If you have any advice, or opinions (be gentle!), I am all ears.

Shazam! Behold My Ugly Side. Or, More Appropriately, WAH, WAH WAH.

I'm not really good at anything. Really. I mean, I enjoy writing, and drawing, and playing the flute. And being a Mom and having a house to live in and being married and being a sister and a psychic and a friend. But I'm not really good at any of it. It's true! One thing I am fantastic at? Bullshitting. Yep. I could make your ass believe it was your forehead, if you like.
But maybe that's my problem. Maybe I make people think I'm good at things with my amazing bullshitting technique, and then when it comes right down to it, I'm not.
So yes, I've had a rather tough morning which has knocked my confidence down quite a bit and, as you've probably noticed, has made me rather whiney and pathetic.
I found out that the "promotion" I thought I had is not quite as "in the bag" as I thought. Meaning my HR person is mean and won't give me any indication as to whether I actually got on the list or not. And meaning that the manager who was supposed to have sent me a letter of offer called and let me know that she WOULD send me a letter of offer IF I was returning back to work at the end of this month.
Which, dear readers, I am most definitely NOT.
So I began to feel rather crappy about my career. Then I thought, "but look at all that I have!" and I did; I looked at my shamefully messy house and the piles of laundry in the laundry room and the stacks of junk piled on the kitchen table. I regarded, with ire, the flakes of cereal dried to the table. I noted, with distaste, the jam glued to the kitchen floor.
"Ok, so maybe that was the wrong example to make me feel better," I rationalized. Aha! "I am a pretty darn good mother! I studied my son, who was, at that moment, chewing on the tv controller while sitting in his exersaucer and watching Baby Einstein. He caught me looking at him and yelled loudly, which he is wont to do as of late. His sleeper has several areas of caked-on cookie marring its pretty pale blue fuzziness.
My spirits sunk some more.
I know, ok? I KNOW my life is pretty damn nice. I have three gorgeous kids, a great husband, and we all have a roof over our heads and there's food on the table and all that. I know that I have a good, stable job, regardless of present circumstances. I know that I have my sister and brother nearby. And that the sun is shining. And I have my health.
But sometimes, the negatives seem to...sort of...all pile up and obscure the view of the wonderful, you know?
I'm thinking the horrendous menstrual cramps I'm suffering (and the raging hormones that tend to accompany said cramps) are intensifying my negative feelings.
But if my husband, or my brother for that matter, even think about making such a suggestion, asses will be kicked!
Or convinced they are foreheads.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Cranial Scramble

Please tell me I am not the only mother whose brains are routinely scrambled by a merciless onslaught of questions from her young.
The car is the worst. Caleb and Aidan get bored easily, and upon being seated in the car for 30 seconds or so, begin to look for something to do. Driving me a little insane is the current activity of choice. I will attempt to demonstrate one of these events now. Some imagination is needed; I am unable to create the necessary overlapping effect. Please imagine each new sentence beginning sometime during the sentence before it, if you can.

Caleb: Mom?
Me: Yes?
Caleb: When I was playing Ratchet there was this one level where I beat the boss and I beat him and he was strong but I beat him!
Me: Oh?
Aidan: Mom?
Caleb: Yeah, I guess I was stronger, huh?
Me: Yes, Aidan?
Aidan: Is it dark?
Caleb: I was stronger, right Mom?
Aidan: Is it dark outside, Mom?
Me: Guys, you can't both talk to me at once.
Caleb: But I was stronger, right?
Aidan: Is it dark, Mom? MOM! MOM!
Me: Yes, Aidan?
Aidan: It's dark outside!
Caleb: MOM! I was stronger than the boss!
Me: Yes, Caleb. You were stronger.
Aidan: Mom?
Caleb: Mom?
Me: You can't both talk to me at the same time, boys.
Aidan: Is it bedtime?
Caleb: Where are we going?
Me: Uh...
Aidan: Is it time to go to bed now, Mom?
Caleb: Are we going to the store? I don't wanna go to the store!
Me: Oh my God...
Caleb: MOM! MOM! The store is BORING, Mom!
Aidan: We goin' to the store, Mom? We goin' to the TOY store, MOM? Can me get a TOY?
Caleb: CAN I GET A TOY, TOO?!?

Somehow, Jim always escapes this barrage of endless questions and statements unscathed. He serenely sits, his hands relaxed on the wheel, whistling along with whatever music we're listening to. He is so well able to block the cacophony of noise from the rear seats, in fact, that he is ignorant to my plight, and very often adds to it. Somewhere between "Mom? Why is the sky blue?" and "Mom? The clock says two three two!", Jim will launch into a description of the latest exciting scientific discovery, or wax poetic about the most recent happenings with the Bruins. If Liam is crying, it all becomes indescribably worse.
Eventually, all of the voices begin to meld together in my head. I can no longer concentrate on any one point of conversation, or even pick out relevant words or statements. I become silent. When my attackers - OOPS I mean family - when my family realizes that I am no longer trying my best to be attentive to them, the din of noise increases and crescendos.
And I feel as though somewhere between my thalamus and my temporal lobe, there is a misfire. And I may be close to spontaneously combusting.
Usually around this point, Jim will break off mid-sentence and ask me what's wrong, and I'll realize I've been vigorously massaging my temples or wringing my hands or hugging my knees and moaning softly or some such display of distress. He'll then tell the kids that it's time to be quiet, and there will be relative peace for 23.5 seconds.
23.5 seconds is just enough time for my brain function to recover to almost normal (although I never completely regain function; each of these attacks knocks me down a few IQ points, I'm sure).
Then it starts again.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Wanna Snuggle?

Kiss The Cook

We made chocolate chip cookies. How can I say no when this cutie asks me to make cookies with him?

Thursday, January 19, 2006

My Boobs Feel Better

Don't get me wrong, they're definitely not back to being comfortable. But they're less porn star-ish and the lumpy parts aren't so sensitive to touch. This morning, there was a lumpy spot on each boob that hurt, even if it wasn't being touched. Even if it was just sitting there, in my boob, on my chest, it hurt. When Liam kicked while I was changing him, and landed each foot squarely on each boob, the daggers of pain in my chest took my breath away.
Then I got an idea (that happens sometimes!). I know the poor child is teething; he sucks his gums and gnaws at everything he can get his little paws it a teething ring or a Playstation controller. And he's mad while he's gnawing! He yells and moans as drool runs down his chin and pools in his exersaucer tray. So I says to myself, I says, "Hey! Why don't I give him a little tylenol?" Now is that genius or what?
Since then, nursing sessions have improved dramatically, and I am finding some relief in the boob area.
They're still sensitive, though. And isn't it funny that, when I picked Aidan up this afternoon to say hello, he brought his knees up and each knee squashed a boob? Isn't that funny? Especially considering he's never done that? And my boobs hurt so badly right now? And he chooses now to plant a knee in each?
Hahahahaha! Oh, the laughter.
Wow, I've said "boob" or some reasonable facsimile way too many times. No more saying boob for the rest of the post. Ok NOW no more saying...that word.
So lately I've been thinking about May. Why, you ask? Well, I have to return to work in May, and May steadily creeps closer each day. I do not want May to creep closer. I want it to stay perpetually in the future, safely months away. Non-threatening and distant. Instead, I feel it looming, and I am becoming increasingly tense.
But today, something happened! Today, I found out that I was successful in a competition I went through over a year ago, and I am being offered a position at a new level! Yes, I said I did the competition a year ago. And I just found out today that I was successful. This should explain the delay: I work for the federal government. Things don't exactly move quickly in my line of work.
Anyway, the pay raise is significant, and opportunities abound. While all of this doesn't make leaving my kids and going back to work easier, it soothes things a bit!
Well, Liam is asleep, and that is a rare treat, so I have it in mind to relax for a bit.
Sorry, couldn't resist.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Would Anybody Like Some Breastmilk?

It's very nutritious! And tastier than cow's milk! Ahem...I mean, I hear it's tastier than cow's milk! I haven't tasted my own breastmilk! No way! Anyway, if you need some, I've got way too much. Liam's nursing strike has finally taken a toll on my boobs in a not-so-positive way. He's created a monster! Actually, two monsters! And they're residing heavily on my chest. It hurts. I mean, it really hurts. I know there's at least one clogged duct in there, too...there's a really sensitive, lumpy area on the left. Oooooh...
Anyway, if your coffee needs whitening or whatever, I'm here for you! Neighbors beware: it might be best not to come by and ask for a cup of milk; you never know what you'll get.
Hmmm, I wonder...if I wrung out the two shirts I've already had to change out of today, would I have enough milk for a bowl of cereal...? Waste not, want not, I always say!
Sorry, double EW!
In less nauseating news, I've decided (largely due to the overwhelmingly supportive and excited comments on the last post) to make Tuesday Ghost Story Day here at Crazy-ass family. If I don't have a story, I'll share a bit of my...uh...unusual...experiences instead. Or, if you'll email me your stories, I'll feature one of yours! Thank you for your support; it's a nice change from skepticism (which is very healthy, by the way!) and doubt.
I think I've solved my resident ghost problem, by the way. But you'll have to wait 'til Tuesday to hear about it!
Off to express some milk. Hmm, I wonder if Jim's had his coffee yet? Maybe I'll make it for him...

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Ghost Story

I was going to write a cute post about Liam's new affection for playing peekaboo, but I've decided to write about my ghost instead. Because I just saw him again.
So just so's you know, I occasionally work as a psychic medium.
It's ok, it's ok, take a deep breath. Sorry, I should have told you to sit down first. I probably just lost some readers.
Anywho, yeah, I see dead people and all that. But as a rule, I close myself off completely unless someone needs help.
You're allowed to think I'm strange; I'm totally down with that. And I agree!
Moving on. Like I said, I don't open myself up when I'm at home. With three kids, a husband, and a resident brother to deal with, I'm pretty busy without talking to the dead, too. But sometimes, they get through.
I knew we had some ghosts here when we moved in, and quickly began ignoring them with the stubbornness of...well, of me. I'm pretty stubborn. Some things happened here and there...voices on the monitors, strange noises...oh, and I heard my name very clearly when nobody was home. I actually came upstairs because I thought Jim was calling me. Regardless, I was able to pretty successfully ignore them. I knew there was a man and a woman, and that they were unrelated. The woman began hanging out in my room, so I figured out what was up with her and helped her out. The man, on the other hand, has been more quiet. Until recently.
A couple of months ago, I began to hear footsteps above me while I was upstairs. They were unmistakable and clear, and scared the crap out of me because hearing footsteps above me while I was upstairs meant there was somebody walking around in my attic. I convinced myself that I was hearing echoes of our neighbor's footsteps (we're in a semi-detached, side-by-side duplex). That worked well until one day, after I put Liam to bed. I began leaving the room when, directly above me, the footsteps began again. I stopped cold in my tracks. The footsteps stopped. I walked a few more steps. A few more footsteps. I bolted out of the room and stopped, gasping for breath, by the top of the stairs. For a second or two, there was no sound.
Then, running footsteps following the same path I had been on and stopping above my head. Although I was certain then that this was not the echoing footsteps of my neighbors, I looked out into their driveway anyway. Both cars were gone.
That day, Jim had been on a mill tour near our house. When he stopped in for lunch, I demanded that he check the attic. He did, though he couldn't see much of anything, much less some vagrant hiding out and spying on us. Or tricksy ghosts. He did mention, though, that the "floor" up there was indeed only planks of wood with insulation in between; it would be hard to make any sort of normal footsteps up there.
Visions of upside-down ghosts walking on my ceiling filled my mind.
That night, I opened up and asked the ghost to please leave me alone. Sometimes, that's enough, and for a while, it was! I haven't heard any footsteps since then.
Then, last week, I had come downstairs for a glass of water after putting Liam to bed. It was somewhere around 3am, and I was tired and thirsty. The door to the basement was wide open, which is nothing unusual; Jeff leaves it open for the cats. I walked by it to get some water at the sink, then walked back. As I passed the basement stairs, I saw him out of the corner of my eye: he was standing about halfway down the stairs and was sort of softly glowing, and looking up at me. He had a jacket on and some baggy pants, and his hands hung at his sides. An unmistakable "hello" was said. I simply walked onward and up the stairs, determined to go on about my ghost-free life. But no use; he knew now that I perceived him.
Three nights ago, again after putting Liam down, I started down the stairs to, again, get some water. As I was coming down the stairs, I saw a glowing light in the middle of the living room. It was as if someone was shining a flashlight up from the floor - there was no perceivable shape or figure, just light. In a second, it was gone. I stood there for a long time, just looking at that spot, but the light did not reappear. When I went back to bed, I drifted off, then suddenly woke again. I looked at the clock, which said 3:33, and thought, "that's a weird time to suddenly wake up," and Liam let out a high-pitched scream like I'd never heard before.
Today, walking by the basement door again, I saw him. This time, the door was open less than a foot, but I saw something out of the corner of my eye and glanced back without thinking. He was at the top of the stairs, only a couple of feet away, and his face was as plain as day. He is older, deeply wrinkled, and large. He looked into my eyes. He wants something.
So, now I either have to redouble my efforts to block him, or just get on with it and figure out what he wants.
Working as a medium is very different than seeing your own ghosts. When I help others, I see the dead as images in my mind, like pictures. I hear words and music, smell certain's a rare occasion that I physically see. So I'm a little miffed that my peaceful world is being interrupted.

Uh oh. You're all weirded out. You're thinking I'm crazier than the title of the blog implies. You're thinking maybe I need to get on some good drugs.
Hmmmm what to do?
I know! Look at the pretty baby! Theresa's not weird! Look! Where's Liam?

Where's Liiiiaaaaam?


Ah, that's better. Let's have some tea and never speak of this again, shall we?

Monday, January 16, 2006

Liam Fits In So Well

Here is what I remember of last night:
10:30: Go to bed
1:30: Liam is awake.
1:30 - 4:50: Feed Liam twice, hold him, put him in his bed six times or so, fetch him again when he freaks out, lather, rinse, repeat.
4:50: Beg Jim to take Liam.
4:50 - 6:00: Sleep in 10-minute spurts, waking each time Jim tries to put Liam down.
6:00: Liam's been asleep for a little while, and Jim goes to take a shower. Liam starts to fuss as soon as the door clicks into place, and tears spring to my eyes. I lay there, trying to savour the warmth of the covers, until his fussing escalates.
6:04: Take Baby out of his bed and hold him against me. We hold on to each other, foreheads pressed together, and I say, "We're in this together, huh?" Liam reaches up in the dark and inserts a finger into my nostril. Excited at finding something new to do, he bounces in my lap and breathes rapidly.

I barely had the energy to extract his fat little digit from my nose, but I laughed as I did it.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Weekend Report

Well the weekend is coming to a close. Jim is watching Sin City and I am not, because it makes me want to sleep and make derogatory, sarcastic comments simultaneously. So here I am, writing to you!
Liam's shots on Friday did a number on our pleasant weekend plans. Illusions, they were. Illusions, all. Friday, he was clingy and didn't sleep much. Saturday, he was slightly feverish, LOUD, and began a really fun nursing strike. Not much sleep last night, either. I've started wandering around during the night after I put him in bed, because I know he'll be up again soon. I come down and have some water, then I stand and stare at nothing for a while. Sometimes I think I fall asleep like that, just standing there. Staring. Then I go up to bed and lie down, and he says, "There you are, woman! Pick me up already! My legs hurt!" And I do. Today, he was LOUD, no longer feverish, but very sad. I believe he's teething, too. Oh, and the nursing strike is still in full force. He'll be back to his regular self tomorrow, right? Of course he will! And I'll get to sleep tonight, too! Yes!
The appointment on Friday was interesting. Liam is petite, like the other two boys, at 16lbs, 13oz. That's about the 25th percentile at 7 months. And that part of his head that's always covered in scratches? I was right; it's mild eczema, which we're treating with a mild steroid cream (I see huge improvement already). The doctor made this familiar comment again: "Is he always moving around this much?!?" She was sympathetic when I told her he's still getting up twice a night, and rolled her eyes when I said that no, he did not go right to sleep after feeding, as she assumed. Awake about an hour each time, I told her. "I can see why that would be challenging," she soothed.
Liam was charming and engaging, as always - smiling and cooing and reaching for everything. The first shot made him gasp in surprised agony, and cry piteously for about 15 seconds. The second was a shock to him, and made him screw up his pretty little face in a frozen look of anguish, as he held his breath in a silent scream. His face was nearly purple before he took a huge, whooping breath and then wailed, and I felt that familiar fist of empathy squeeze my heart. My boy was hurting and I didn't know how to explain why, so I held him close, whispered sweet words against his cheek, and calmed us both.
We did manage to have some fun this weekend. We took the boys to Toys R Us and they got to spend some Christmas money from their Great Grandparents. Aidan chose a stretchy turtle and a Pokemon movie, and Caleb got an Etch-A-Sketch and some kid-sized bakeware. Today, we went to the mall to pick up the last of the pictures we had done at Sears and to get some more fish.
What? Why get more fish, you ask? Well, dear readers, we got more fish because this morning when we turned on the aquarium light, three guppies and one neon were gone. Gone. After a great amount of puzzled tank inspection, Jim discovered one tiny fish head on the rocks. The big fish seem to have eaten the small. I think it was the algae eaters. Quite disturbing, really. So we've changed their names to Hannibal and Lecter. We thought it fitting. Anyway, the new fish are bigger.
Oh, I get to go to the doc. this week, too. I have to do a glucose challenge as a follow-up to make sure my gestational diabetes has resolved. I get to fast! And drink orange crap! And have my blood drawn! Twice! Oh, and they might tell me that my blood sugar is wonky and I'll never get to eat chocolate again! Boo.
In other news, I have a ghost. Not too strange, but interesting as it seems to be getting bolder. I shall write a separate post about it, as I'm sure to go on and on and I think I've done enough of that for tonight.
Off to drink tea; hope the rest of your weekend is grand.

Friday, January 13, 2006


Liam got his shots today, and consequently is attached to me like a new, bulky appendage which yells alot.

So! Instead of posting, I shall suggest that you go read Dad Gone Mad. But put on some Depends first, because you'll most likely pee your pants; the guy is that funny. I linked you straight to my favorite recent post, but browse around! He's hilarious. Thanks for the link, Jo!

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Selective Reception

So, I'm loving the cloth diapers. Go figure. This is actually my second attempt at cloth diapering; the first try was a miserable failure, mostly because the diapers were so freaking bulky that my child (whose size doubled with the diapers on...I swear they covered him from mid-thigh to nipple) could not bend at the middle.
So I sold those mofos on eBay. Apparently, many parents adore them. I will not name names, but they were from a company whose name begins with Mother. And ends in Ease. That's all I'll say about the name. I've heard wonderful things about them, but they just didn't work for us.
But these do:

Before you ask, yes, those are SpongeBob socks on my infant son.

They're Fuzzi Bunz and I love them. They're so comfortable on him; it's like putting another layer of soft clothes on him instead of an uncomfortable diaper. And they're pretty! I got blue, and green! I mean sage! And butter yellow! And they're easy to wash, too, which is a great relief. There is one challenge, and that is the never-ending and multi-faceted challenge of poop. Poop in disposable diapers is fine - you can fold it up and throw it away. But poop in a cloth diaper is more...complex. I won't go into details, but there is wiping involved. Scraping. Soaking. Bad smells, people.


Jim's working from home today, and he often listens to music with his headphones as he works. Here's a snippet of our morning:

Me: Jim! Look at Liam! He's all happy that he rolled over.

Jim is unresponsive.

Me: Jim! Hon? HEY!!!

Jim: (Removing one of the earpieces) What?

Me: Ugh you missed it.

Jim: (Replacing the earpiece) I can't hear you, you know.

Me: I could be saying something important.

Jim is unresponsive.

Me: I could be telling you vital information!

Jim is unresponsive.

Me: I could be saying I want to have sex with you!

Jim: What? Really?

Me: Hey! How'd you do that?

Jim: Key words, Tree. Key words.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

A Poem

First, it's de-lurking week! So, it's time to say hi and let me know you're out there. It's way too quiet around here.

Ok. A Poem. Try to guess what it's about.

Fatigue, like a drug, intoxicates me
Leadening my eyelids and dulling my senses
Making heavy my limbs. I am listless
Thoughts become cohesive slowly
And then I am inspired:
Would it be so bad,
In my state of listlessness
And exhaustion-induced slow-wittedness
To daydream

The young one, he does not like to sleep. Have I mentioned that before? I, on the other hand, love to sleep. I miss my dear friend, sleep, with every fibre of my being and every slow-firing synapse in my brain.

Oh! I got my cloth diapers in the mail yesterday! Ok not MY cloth diapers; things are still ok with me in that region...LIAM'S cloth diapers. Impressions so far: THESE THINGS ROCK. I'll post about them soon, promise.

Now de-lurk! You can do it!

Monday, January 09, 2006

It's Always Interesting When Aidan's Home

Aidan: Mom! I feel all better now!
Me: Honey, you're supposed to be taking a nap!
Aidan: Oh.
Me: Silly stinker!
Aidan: Yeah, I stink.


Me: Aidan, you're stepping on all my folded laundry!
Aidan: Oops. (He sits down and contemplates)
Aidan: Mom?
Me: Yeah?
Aidan: Me sorry me did that.

The heart melts.

Sunday, January 08, 2006


Well, Aidan has caught our cold. No big deal, right? Allow me to elaborate. Aidan is a puker. Just a hint of a fever, and we're running for the tupperware (aka emesisware around here) for the poor kid to carry around with him.
As an emetophobe, I'm wondering right about now if I'm being tested or something. Since we had Caleb, I've dealt with enough vomit to last me the rest of my days.
If you're easily nauseated, I'd advise against reading the rest of this. 'Cause I'm pretty sure it'll be gross.
Let's start at the very beginning!
(It's a very good place to start!)*
Caleb, born seven weeks early, had severe reflux. I mean, I'd hold the kid against my shoulder to burp him and the carpet 5 feet away would get soaked. Feed the kid four ounces and he'd puke six. I'd breastfeed him and we'd both end up soaked with partially digested milk every time. I kept taking him to the doctor, and he kept sending us away, saying it was "normal". By the time he was four months old, the poor baby associated feeding with pain, and he refused to nurse at all unless he was asleep. I had to nurse him lying down for months...not so fun when visiting friends. "Is there somewhere I can lie down to feed the baby?" Oh, and road trips were a blast. Trying to feed a baby lying down in the back seat of a VW Golf can be a little uncomfortable.
At six months, we discovered (surprise!) that Caleb was losing weight. I demanded a referral to a pediatrician, and the doc. could not refuse; I was armed with a stack of internet research and, despite the doctor's claims that "children do not get reflux", I knew that my son had it, and had it bad.
Caleb threw up three times during the appointment with the pediatrician we were referred to, and he said, "That baby has reflux". I cried. He prescribed zantac and prepulsid (which required heart tests before he could take it and is now off the market) and Caleb began to improve. The pain diminished and his appetite seemed to rebound a little. But his vomiting did not improve.
When we started feeding him solids, we thought we'd get some relief from the constant spitting up. Not so. At least the vomit varied in texture and colour, though! Until he was two, I had to follow him around after ever meal, cleaning up the little puddles he made. Oh, and he also had a habit of storing food in his cheeks (unbeknownst to us), and then depositing it on the floor up to an hour later. At six years old, he still has food issues.
Aidan and Liam were/are better. Both were finished taking zantac by four months, and Liam's spitting up is minimal, as compared to Caleb. But Aidan, at three, still barfs. A lot!
The pediatrician suspects that he's still suffering from reflux. Occasionally, he awakes in the middle of the night, pukes over the side of his bed, and calls out for us to come clean up. He's usually completely fine the next day. Once, when I was pregnant with Liam, I came home from a movie and went to check on the boys. I was hit with the familiar stench of vomit as I entered the room, and was shocked to find Aidan sleeping in a pool of it, covered from the waist up. His pillow and blankets were saturated in it, and his hair was stuck together in clumps of it. I bathed him (after I woke him up!) while Jim cleaned up the bed. He was fine the next day.
We flew home to Nova Scotia in October, and on the plane Aidan greedily scarfed two chocolate cookies, only to puke them up minutes later.
Note: best smelling barf: recently consumed chocolate cookies. Worst: partially digested minigo.
On that very same trip, we visited my father. Aidan was a bit hyper, and careened head-first off the couch and into the coffee table. Reaction: to puke all over my Dad's kitchen floor. Dad announced that that was the first incident of barf since he'd moved in. Congratulations, Aidan! Before Christmas, Aidan decided he wanted to try a chocolate cherry after he finished his supper. He didn't like the texture of the cherry, so puked his supper onto the living room carpet. THEN he went to the bathroom and spit the cherry out into the toilet. He had conveniently stored it in his cheek while he barfed.
So now that you understand, you'll see that this cold (complete with fever) means more than just a cold when Aidan is involved. However, I see faint signs of improvement: yesterday, he announced during lunch that he was about to barf his veggie dogs up. I yelled for him to run to the bathroom, and when he was stationed over the toilet, I said, "AIDAN! DON'T BARF! JUST SPIT OUT THE STUFF IN YOUR MOUTH!" He did, and all was well! He did puke his tylenol up in the middle of the night, though.
Today, he seems much better, as long as we keep up with the ibuprophen. But the barf receptacles are always nearby! We've learned our lesson.
Hmm, I'm feeling a little queasy. Must stop discussing puke now!
So, how was your weekend?

*Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets songs from The Sound of Music stuck in her head. Will and Grace did it the other night; the songs have been running through my head since. The negative side of that is that Jim is suffering with my high-pitched warbling morning 'til night. On the plus side (and this, I'm sure you'll agree, is a big plus!), I get to sing "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" in high falsetto and sing words like "flibbetygibbet" and "will-of-the-wisp"! And I get to yodle! Ok maybe those are negatives, too...

Friday, January 06, 2006

Random Bits and Pictures

This is going to be a bit all over the place because I am tired and sick and my brain, it is not working well. You are hereby forewarned.

Today Caleb and I were playing peekaboo with Liam. I had my face about 6 inches away from Liam's, and I was looking surprised to make him laugh. You know, eyebrows raised, mouth agape. Liam smiled, then sneezed. You know how babies purse their lips when they sneeze? So all sorts of spit flies everywhere? And remember I mentioned that Liam's got a cold? So he has an overabundance of...uh...fluids? In the nose region?
And remember my face? 6 inches from his? Mouth? AGAPE?
Yes so that was unpleasant. Caleb, however, giggled riotously and got quite a kick out of the whole incident.

Liam, incidentally, is changing. I know he's not supposed to be a tiny baby forever (I know but I am sort of in denial, I think) but wow things are happening fast over here. Yesterday, he pulled his knees up underneath his little self, and I realized that Aidan was crawling when he was this age, and Caleb was only weeks behind. Liam's personality is really showing through...he very loudly lets us know what he wants. He charms us. He figures things out. Oh, and this is what he does when we put him in the swing now:

You're right, it doesn't look so bad. But let me orient the picture the RIGHT way:
The child is trying to escape, you see.

Oh, by the way, if you have a 6 month-old, or a similarly-aged child, this is the funnestest toy like, ever:

In other news, I am trying to figure out how to make to make my blog all pretty. It's not working yet, as you can see. I am a smidge frustrated. Jim has promised to help me when he gets home. Click on Jim if you'd like to see some drawings I've done recently.

Ok. Liam is bouncing around and reaching for me. I must go. But I will leave you with this:

He likes to try and eat the camera.

Wow, that really was all over the place. I warned you though!

I miss napping...

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The Child, He Cries

Liam has caught my cold. So sleep has been next to impossible. I thought of coming down to write a post at 4 this morning, but of course I was holding Liam so thought it best to stay put. I feel like holding Liam to try and get him to sleep is all I do lately. Yesterday, he cried unless I held him, and acted like I was trying to torture him when I offered him his lunch...and supper. And the poor kid tried so hard to eat his biscuit, but it got in the way of his crying (it was actually sort of comical to watch him stuff the biscuit in his mouth, suck wildly for a few seconds, then rip it out of his mouth so he could cry...repeatedly) so we trashed that idea quickly. I understand his crankiness; the sore throat and the low energy sucks. And the headache...oooooh the headache! Hard to entertain Caleb and Liam feeling like this, it is.

Anyway, let's talk about something else. Something more positive!
The bank lost a $300 cheque that we deposited.
Wait, that's no better! Let me think.
Some people I know are having babies! That is exciting. Eve has discovered she is having twins, which is just so cool. I only know her via our blogs and email, but I am just so excited for her I could jump up and down! Yes, even feeling this yucky! Congratulations, Eve. Kelly finds out soon what kind she's growing. And friends of ours (Jim works with the husband, Phil) are expecting near the end of the month.
See? I feel more cheerful already. Even Miss Zoot is talking about babies. Of course, all this baby-growing has made me think about what we're going to do. Meaning whether we're done or not. I probably just gave my Mother in-law (hi Mom!) a bit of arrhythmia, so let me just say that right now, especially right now, I feel done. But on the good days, I feel not done. Jim, too. We go back and forth. On the pros side, we make lovely children. And we love being parents...we're good at it! We'd love to try for that elusive girl, but honestly another boy would be just fine, too. We'd LOVE another. If it weren't for the cons, I think I'd be pregnant already.
Hmm. Wow, did it ever snow here last night!!
Eh? Oh, the cons? You are so quick. I thought I'd be able to skip over those. Ok well the cons list is a touch longer than the pros:
-Kids are expensive
-I don't know what would happen with my job if I got pregnant again, especially if it were soon-ish
-Four kids. I repeat: FOUR kids.
-The big one: I have difficult pregnancies. The first resulted in my beautiful Caleb, 7 weeks early after a 3 week hospital stay. The last two included four months of bedrest (EACH), depression requiring drugs (with Aidan), contractions from the start to the finish of the pregnancies, preterm labour, nearly having Aidan at 24 weeks, 6 days, insulin-treated gestational diabetes...etc. And that's just my side of things. Jim has to take on the entire gamut of responsibilities including...well, including everything. Not only did he have to take on all child care, work a full-time job, worry about the car, the house, the bills, and preparing for the baby, but he had to prepare all of my meals and take care of me. I was not depressed while pregnant with Liam, but I know the strain of my depression while pregnant with Aidan took its toll on Jim. If we were to try for another, Jim would have to take care of three kids. And what if I got depressed again?
All of that said, let it be known that my pregnancy with Liam was the best of the three. I seem to be getting better at it. I have a theory about that, including what the heck is wrong with my uterus, but I won't bore you with that today. Anyway, only threatened preterm labour with Liam, not actual preterm labour. No depression. And we had to induce labour at 38 weeks, 2 days, otherwise I would have gone all the way, baby (induced because of the gest. diabetes). And bedrest wasn't horrible, if you can believe it. I read about 30 books, I drew a lot, and I crocheted! I watched movies, wrote letters to my Mom, and kept a journal. I did not obsess over the contractions.
I must stop now, as I could go on forever. But these things are on my mind as of late. Incidentally, although the pros list is much shorter than the cons list, the emotional qualities attached to it are much more compelling, n'est ce pas? I don't know what we'll do, and for now, that's ok. We'll decide when it's time to decide. Until then, I will rejoice in the joys and blessings of my friends.
And bury my face in my baby's neck, eyes closed, inhaling.

I have so many blessings, too.



I came down from putting the baby to bed and Caleb was running around with a rubber ball. I believe he is becoming bored here at home. Anyway, moments later, he sidled up to my chiar, and said, "Look, Mom! I have a big penis!" Horrified, I looked. He had put the ball down his pants and was brandishing his new package proudly.

It was very, very hard not to giggle as I lectured him on proper etiquette.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Update...You Were Right!

My sincere thanks to all of you who commented or sent encouraging words my way after my last post. I was honestly thinking what you were all thinking; that my boy is fine and no helmet would be necessary. The doc was wonderful (I LOVE CHEO!) and pronounced him quite well. She said his case is very mild and he doesn't need treatment besides some exercises to help him continue to even out up there, ha ha! I was surprised, but it has a lot to do with the way he likes to turn his head; he has a teensy bit of tightening on one side of his neck. She said that if we encourage him to turn to the right a lot more, it will help. Jim says it will be easy; he'll just hold Liam and I'll sit to the right of them. It's true - the kid likes to keep an eye on me (if not his whole self!).
So, armed with educational brochures and a new sense of confidence, I am determined to not worry. Me! Not worry! What next, I ask you?
In keeping with the head-turning-to-the-right theme, here's Liam watching a video right now:
Rather effective, hmmm? See? TV can be good!
Now I will commence to embarrass myself. Have you ever felt like nobody understood you? Have you ever been the only female in a house of five boys? Been surrounded by Japanese anime and soundtrack music and violent cartoons? Felt like your opinion not only meant zero, but was unheard to boot? Feel as though nobody around you gets you? Yes, we all feel these things sometimes. I feel them often, but mostly deal with it in stride. I'm generally a positive person! I can take a bit of loneliness! But I miss my friends back home. (Note to self: perhaps the whole phone phobia thing has something to do with having nobody to talk to? Just a thought...) I miss having someone to relate to. Anyway, I shall get to my point. Today, during a discussion with my brother and husband (who, incidentally, shares all of those interests which incessantly eat away at my soul), it just became a bit too much. We were in the car. I yelled at my brother (rare) and then got out of the car at the first stop sign (even more rare, considering my sloth-like laziness). Jim awaited my arrival at home, and tried to make things better, being the great guy that he is, and in a spectacular display of immaturity, I would not hear his words. I went upstairs, threw myself on the bed, and bawled like a four year-old (although considerably more quietly). Poor Jim came up and again tried to figure out why I seemed to have gone a bit mental, and I blubbered about being misunderstood and lonely and whatnot.
I feel better now. A bit pathetic and embarrassed, and perhaps a bit fragile (the tears seem to be at the ready, lodged uncomfortably beneath my eyes, and can spring forth without notice), but better.
Jeff hasn't come up from the basement all night.
Oh! The guilt. I hate it. It is unnecessary.
I need a bubble bath.


This will be a short one; things are about to get hectic as I get everyone ready to head out the door. Today we have Liam's appointment at CHEO to check out his funny little head. It's been a bit oddly shaped since he was born, probably from the way he was lodged in my womb for the last few months of my pregnancy (as I first mentioned here). I'm a little nervous, naturally. I really don't want the kid to have to wear a helmet for 23 hours a day for several months. Honestly, though, I believe I've seen improvement over the past couple months, and I'm hoping the doc will just say it's not severe and we can leave it untreated. I took these today:

I mean, be honest with me, but that's not so bad, eh?
I'll update after the appointment.
Liam has a new favourite trick. He grabs a toy (any toy'll do) and gets an intense look of concentration on his face as he extends the toy over the edge of the exersaucer (or highchair). He holds it there for a moment, then lets go! He looks intense for another moment, perhaps to ensure the successful release of the object, and then triumphantly looks at me. Good GOD he is talented, no? He loves it when I say, "What did you DO?" He'll giggle and bounce and wait until I retrieve the fallen object, so he can repeat this fascinating procedure. And of course, I retrieve again and again. Because he is my beautiful boy!

I'll leave you with a playdoh hair creation by Aidan: