Crazy-ass family

Moved

2007-05-30T06:41:00.001-04:00

I've been writing here.

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-13T20:51:00.000-04:00

The Child, He is Adorable

2007-04-23T18:57:00.000-04:00

Fotography is Phun

2007-04-21T21:36:00.000-04:00

Holy Crap

2007-04-18T17:31:00.000-04:00

Big time poopin' going on over here lately. Want me to tell you about it?
No?
Hmmmmm what else has been happening lately?
Oh I know! Liam and the barfing!
Don't want to hear about that either, huh?
Hrm.
*scratches head*
Well we went to the bank today to talk about buying houses and wow. WOW I say. I am...well, I don't think disheartened is the word...how about anxious? Yes, that seems appropriate. I am anxious. I want this to be done with, but I want it done right, so I'm being patient and getting all the details and blah blah blah my brain hurts. The downside is that we're rather low on options. The upside is that because we're so low on options, our path seems relatively clear. Now to get to it.
I may just need to cry a bit. You know how you just need to cry sometimes? You do, right? I'll cry and I'll feel better and then I can get online and start looking for my new home. Our new home. For me and my family.
Okay this is sounding better.
Have to go change another diaper...

Delayed Reaction

2007-04-14T17:06:00.000-04:00

When the boys and I talked about the separation and upcoming move, Caleb was visibly, though briefly, upset. A boy so similar to his mother, he is. He cried and asked the most pressing questions. Expressed his concerns - mostly about the move - and likewise his excitement over the prospects of having TWO BEDROOMS! We talked about Mark and he expressed his approval...and then made thoughtful suggestions about who we should fix Jim up with. Then he declared he was okay. Since then, he mentions it whenever he feels the need and asks questions when they pop into his head. I like that reaction. I understand it.

Here is what happened with Aidan:

Me: Do you understand, honey? What Caleb and I were talking about?

Aidan: Huh?

Me: About me and Daddy, and how we're just friends now? And that we'll be moving pretty soon?

Aidan: Oh. Can I have some chocolate from my Easter basket, Mom?

I gave him his chocolate, and asked him if he had any questions. He shook his head, smiling and shoving more chocolate into his mouth.

This reaction I was uncomfortable with. Yeah, he's not even five years old yet. Maybe he doesn't get it. Or maybe it's true what they say...you know, about kids being so adaptive. Or (and truly, this is the one I really believed) maybe he's more like Jim. Gets the facts and moves on. Then ruminates, and maybe later has something to say. Or not.

He's been fine since then. Normal, happy, beautiful Aidan. We've carried on as usual. Then today, I returned home after being out, and peeked into his room, where he laid in his bed, awake instead of napping as he was supposed to have been doing.

I said hi and told him he should be sleeping.

He said hi and stared at me blankly.

I told him I loved him and turned to walk away.

He said, "Mom?"

I went in the room a bit, because he sounded strangely shaky.

"I missed you..." he started to cry and buried his face in his pillow, and my heart broke a little.

I gave him a hug and told him that I was here now; that when he woke up, Daddy would be gone and I'd be there instead. That we were taking turns. He looked at me, waiting for me to say more. I asked him if he remembered what we talked about...about moving soon. He said he did. He asked me if I had been at Mark's and I nodded. He smiled and I did, too, because he remembered that, too. And it made him smile. Then he asked if I was sure he was going to get to have two bedrooms.

Isn't it amazing how every decision we make has a ripple effect? You think you're making the decision for yourself and your family...but really, it affects so many others. Friends have commented that my decisions have affected their own in similar situations. Family members have asked how I could do this when Jim and I were their role models. Co-workers have offered advice, gone away, and then come back days later to tell me that they can't get what I'm going through off their mind and they want to change their advice.

I blog about it, and people...people I know and love and people I've never met and people I've only met because I blog...people sort of...rally. Thanks to everyone who commented on the last post, and to those to emailed, too.

Things are moving in the moving category. We're going to do this. I'm scared out of my mind. But guess what? I'm excited, too.

You Asked...

2007-04-09T13:26:00.000-04:00

Well!

Okay so you asked some questions. And I believe I shall answer most of them.

First: Sam! Sammy! Sam I love you! Don’t be sad alla time. Why you sad? Stopit. StopitIloveyou! I know, easier said than done…but know that you’re loved, girl. You deserve happiness.

Okay the separation:

Justabout30 asks: When? Why? How?

I say: Well doesn’t that just cover a LOT of ground? I’ll be brief.

When: Nearly a year ago.

Why: Oh God. Okay well it’s hard to be brief here. There are a million reasons and yet I can’t bundle them all up into one neat answer for you. Jim’s a great man…a wonderful father, an excellent friend, and just generally a good person all around. But we aren’t compatible as a couple. Never have been, really. Without going into too much detail (partly out of respect for Jim and partly because it’s unnecessary) I’ll just say that we’ve never really gotten along(Jim has asked me to add that there indeed were some good times sprinkled in there, too. Fair enough. :) )…AND we’re both REALLY stubborn. We decided when we were very young that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together no matter what. Even if we…didn’t…really…want…to. Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? We were young. Very young…and my parents were divorced when I was twelve. I was determined not to do that. What I lacked, though, was the wisdom to be determined not to be unhappy…
We don’t want to be miserable anymore…I don’t want to be miserable and I don’t want Jim to be miserable.

How: We’ve talked about it for years. When we finally decided to do it, we determined some things…some rules, I guess. First, the kids were and are and always will be priority number one. All of our decisions take them into careful consideration. We decided to live together for a while (for as long as we could stand it, really! Haha) and raise the kids together, for example. Second, we determined to be 100% honest with each other…and to respect each other’s feelings and needs. So far, it’s worked very well. Third, we decided the practical things like how we’d split up our time with the kids and our time outside the house. In the beginning, we weren’t sure of the days we’d need, but we decided we’d be allowed equal time away from the home to go out with friends or date or play sports or whatever. Fairness is important to us. Sounds easy, huh? It hasn’t been. It’s been very tough. I was physically ill for months afterward. The discussions that Jim and I had/have are hard. And getting to these nice conclusions has sometimes taken weeks. The good thing is that both of us have always wanted to work very hard to do this right. If only we knew what “right” is…if there’s one thing I’ve learned through this, it’s that things you thought were black and white seem to turn to different shades of grey…nothing seems solid anymore…

mamatulip wants to know if we’re all okay. We are. It’s hard, but it’s right. Jim and I get along better since the pressure of trying to make a doomed relationship work has been lifted. The kids are happy…as happy as ever. Maybe more. I am. Thank you, mamatulip. You’re sweet.

Anonymous asks: Is there someone else?

I say: Yes. Yes there is. And I’m smiling as I write this. It’s new, still, and I’m holding it very close to me. I find myself in disbelief sometimes, that I’ve been so lucky to find someone like him. Now I think you’re asking all kinds of questions. You want to know if Jim knows. Yes he does, and he has from the start of it a few months ago. What about the kids, you ask? They know, too. They adore him. You have more questions, huh? Ask, if you like. That’s all I’ll say for now.

Another anonymous says: had a friend do the same, leave her partner after 16 years; i am curious how women are so confused for so long about who they are ... and how that changes...?

I say: Obviously I can’t speak for anyone but myself. I will say that I wouldn’t call myself confused. I think I’d say I was determined…stubborn…maybe a little blind. Jim and I were together for 17 years. I was 14 when we got together. And like I said; Jim’s a great guy! We tried really hard for a really long time, but you know what? People don’t change. We’re both good people, Jim and I…but we’re two people that shouldn’t be together, and no amount of counselling or discussions or date nights is going to fix that.
I’ll also say that I’ve always known who I am…and I’ve always known that Jim and I aren’t great as a couple. But let’s go back to that stubborn thing. I was determined that it would work, and so was he. But staying together just to stay together…well it isn’t a good reason to stay together!

Now I’ll tell you that I’ve painted a rather nice picture here. Explained things pretty well, I think…but like I said, it’s been tough. And because I was the one who finally said, “ENOUGH”, it’s been tougher on Jim. I’m sad about that. I’ve also lost a friend and a relative because they simply cannot understand what we’re going through.

So there we are. I’m so conflicted about whether hitting that “publish” button. This is my story (well, Jim’s very much involved, so I’ve let him read this first) and I know that sharing it invites comments and advice and whatever. But if you are going to comment, I’ll ask you to keep a couple of things in mind: if you’ve never been through this before (and even if you have, but you were in a different situation, which you most likely were, because let’s face it, no two situations are exactly alike), you simply cannot understand it. I remember when I was quick to judge people’s decisions…that was back when things seemed so black and white, you know? So clear-cut. But things aren’t like that in reality…
Also, I’m posting this for people who know us and love us and are a little confused. I hope this makes things a little more clear.
And…things are okay! Things are BETTER than before. We have plans for the future and we’re working together. We’re not good at the spouse thing but we’ve got the parenting thing down.

To those of you who are concerned: thank you! I love you! And…don’t worry!

So much for being brief, eh?

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart

2007-04-07T22:22:00.000-04:00

My firstborn is eight.

I'm too exhausted to try and articulate what this means...how this makes me feel. So, I give you his birthday in pictures.

And I say Happy Birthday, my dear, sweet boy. Boy of my heart.

I love you.

~~~

He bowls. A picture of grace, is he not?

Aidan is a freakishly good bowler...

And he had a marvellous time dancing with an older woman.

Caleb influences the ball through telekinesis.

A good time was had by all...

...even Liam, who was far too small to bowl. Instead, he danced.

Perhaps I Need to Start Writing Things Down

2007-04-05T17:56:00.000-04:00

The tooth fairy often forgets to come to our house.

Well, she forgot once, and the other two times, she probably couldn't find Caleb's teeth because they were too far under the pillow.

But she's magic, Mom, says Caleb, why can't she just use magic to get my tooth?
I try to look calm, but thoughtful. Inside, I'm freaking out a little.

Well maybe she just couldn't reach it! I say, elated that I've come up with a plausible explanation. Maybe you had it too close to the wall...fairies are small, you know..." I finish, feeling smug.

But they have wings. Couldn't she just fly over me if it was too close to the wall?
I look into those eyes...my eyes...and remember being a kid and knowing that the tooth fairy was actually my Mom. I remember testing her, as Caleb is testing me.

Huh, I say, turning away to pour some cereal, I don't know, bud. I don't know the tooth fairy.
I feel like such a tool.

That was last time.

Yesterday, when Caleb lost his first molar, I was excited to remedy past errors. I would not make the same mistake! When he went to bed, I followed. I suggested he put the tooth as close to the edge of the bed as possible, so the tooth fairy could reach it. He complied happily.
Satisfied, I went about my evening, secure in the knowledge that I would restore Caleb's faith in something magical, and perhaps repair my own faith in my mothering abilities.

Ha ha.

This morning, I flipped on the light in the boy's room, and in the instant that I loudly proclaimed, "Time to get up, boys!" I realized that the tooth fairy had forgotten to come.

Frigging tooth fairy!

What happened next was so beautifully executed that you may feel some overwhelming admiration for me, so brace yourself.

I leaped over plastic knights and Pokemon, and weaved my way deftly around the castle and the light sabre. I negotiated a stealthy path through that room like nobody's business, and grabbed that tooth as Caleb sleepily rolled away from me.

"Good morning, honey!" I enthused, smiling painfully even though he wasn't looking at me.

I was out of the room and down the stairs in seconds, rummaging through Jim's change dish (uh...ha ha! Sorry, Jim!) and noting that my heart was hammering with a ferocity that was rather invigorating.

Back up the stairs, and through the obstacle course that is Caleb and Aidan's room, and I once again stood by the bed, panting but feeling rather happy. He was still facing the wall, stretching.

YES! Nearly there!

I waited a millisecond. The triumph of it all felt just so-oh good. Then he rolled over and reached upward. Reached for his prize.

A few of things could have happened here. He could have found nothing and I could have spontaneously combusted as a result. He could have found nothing and begin to search frantically, only to find the money in my hand. I could have tried to zip the money under the pillow and then remove my hand...a rather obvious blunder.
But what DID happen was that I exclaimed, "Caleb! Look what you got!" I gazed with great intensity at the upper corner of his pillow, then reached up with the hand containing the money, turning it over after it had appeared that I had grabbed it and revealing what I'd "found".

I am a magician. Yes I am!

His face lit up, and I felt the weight of past tooth fairy mishaps melt away.

All was good in the world.

Then...

...halfway through breakfast, Caleb, looking thoughtful, said, "MOM! Just before you came in my room this morning, my tooth was still there...and then it turned to money somehow...how is that possible?"

And I exploded.

*sigh*

~~~

Hi! I didn't forget to answer your questions! I'm going to, I promise. Soon!

Whaddaya Wanna Know?

2007-03-31T06:44:00.000-04:00

Yeah so I was wrong.
I thought that when I wrote about the separation, my ambivalence about not being able to write whatever I wanted would disappear and the veritable floodgates would open!
It WAS a relief to write it.
But now I'm stuck.
I've started three posts about the separation now, and subsequently deleted them all without ceremony.
I dunno.
I want to write about it, but maybe I've missed the boat or something...it has been nearly a year...where do I start? Do I just pick up now and write about how things are now? Or do I go back and explain from the start? I've tried both. Neither works.
So...
Do you wanna know? WHAT do you wanna know? It's not like it's all a big secret; it's really not. I've never been a private person. Haha. A fault, maybe...
Anyway, you ask, I'll tell. email me, or comment. Whatever. If you don't ask, I'll just assume I'm just being a weirdo about all of this and I should just...write about my kids or...uh...you know...the stuff that I've always written about.

You

2007-03-21T17:55:00.000-04:00

You sung to me

You were scared I'd fall, so I sat on your knee, held up by your giant hands. I worked to hold my head up so I could see you. Look into your eyes; my eyes. I recognized me there.

Your arrival was a relief. Like I'd been waiting. It was a balm for my soul. Sister.

Your arrival was a gift, and it blesses me still, every day.

You made me feel safe when they couldn't.

You taught me to use my brain.

You taught me to use my heart.

You taught me to use my heart when my brain was weak, and to trust my gut when my heart was weak.

You forgave me.

You walked me to school when I was so, so terrified.

You understood my fear.

You loved me.

You looked at me like I was real...not just "poor" or "pretty" or "scared".

You followed me.

You let me cry.

You held my hand on the railroad tracks...and kissed me there.

You loved me when I wouldn't love you back.

You gave me everything.

You trusted me.

You encouraged me to be the best, and I was.

You looked at me and your eyes told me I was beautiful.

You grew within me.

You took the best part of me, and I gladly gave it. You love me better than anyone. You show me the worst and the best of me. You teach me. You stole my heart. You fill me up. Son.

You grew within me.

You drove me crazy. You nearly died. You nearly died again. And again. You amaze me every day, with your very presence. And astonish me with your joy of living. Son.

You grew within me.

You shocked me. You look like me. You have my temper. You squeeze my heart with your beauty. You have so much promise. Son.

You are quiet, but you are there.

You will always stand by me.

You are loyal.

You are unwilling to bend...but you expect me to.

You confuse me.

You tell me I'm beautiful.

You tell me I'm good.

You gave me a gift.

You sing to me, still...

Blue-Eyed Boy

2007-03-15T17:42:00.000-04:00

The flu has been making it's way around our house like some evil gift that keeps on giving, and today, I've given in. Everything hurts, and I'm just letting it hurt. You know how, as parents, we tend to fight illness so we can hold everything together? That's been me the last week. Everyone save Aidan's been sick, and I have, too, but I've been carrying on as usual, for the most part.
But today it hit hard, and I've taken to my bed in surrender.
Most of the day has been spent sleeping or surfing the 'net or coughing or trying to hold really, really still so my skin will stop hurting.
My EYEBALLS hurt.
Everyone else is home, too...the daycare is closed due to flu. Caleb is home due to flu. Jim is home due to my flu (he's all better).
So. Liam got it first, and as is common with babies, it's morphed into a throat infection. So he's been the unhappiest by far. And this has wreaked havoc on his sleep.
Oh God.
I did something bad.
So a few months ago Liam gave up his soother. It was a beautifully smooth process. There were some times of protest, yes, but nothing monumental. He was ready.
Then, with this flu, and the bad sleeping...well, I tried everything! Elevating his bed...humidifier...singing...extra long cuddles. Tylenol. Ibuprophen. Weed.
No I didn't!
Good grief.
Anyway, none of it worked, and I was feeling not so hot myself. So...well that soother was right there. What could it hurt?
Well I'll tell you what it hurt.
It hurt my BRAIN.
Several days later, he is feeling better and we've reclaimed the soother.
This has made him scream.
I have never heard a child scream so consistently and for such lengthy periods of time.
He hates me and he should. It's my fault! But ooooh the pain.
Then, today, I told Jim to bring Liam upstairs while he made supper. I would entertain the child. I could do that! I put some music on and he danced and pretended to fall which is his latest trick, and we flipped through some books and ate some chips.
Mmmmmmm, chips.
He got off the bed and ran around, then got on the bed, then got off the bed and continued this routine quite merrily while I tried not to die from exhaustion.
It was fun.
Then.
THEN.
First of all, what in the name of all that is good and riteous was that soother doing on my floor? Forget that...how'd it get into my room? Seriously. I have no idea.
So THEN, he saw it. His soother.
*JOY!*
And just as he was popping it into his tiny, o-shaped mouth, I took it away.
Ouch did that just tear your heart a little bit?
Mine, too!
And his.
I tried to talk to him about it but try reasoning with a 20 month-old.
He stood beside me and cried...no, screamed...piteously while I tried to ply him with chips and books and music.
I so wanted to just let him have it.
His eyes are SO BLUE!
But I didn't and he hates me still.
Parenting is fun.
I am so depressed.

It's Out

2007-03-15T17:15:00.000-04:00

Jim and I are separated.
Ahhhhhh that feels good to write.
And now, it's okay to write about it.
I won't say much for now except that we've been separated for nearly 10 months, we still live together right now, we're still great friends, we're doing well, and we're trying to work this out in the best way possible for everyone, especially these three beautiful little boys of ours.
Even after Jim told his parents (hi parents in-law! I love you!), I wasn't sure if I'd write about it here because it IS personal. And a lot of it will be controversial. But good grief, if there's anyone out there going through something similar, I'd love to hear from you.
And maybe what I say can help someone.
And goshdarnit, I have to write
It's been a very rough time, but it's good. It's right. And...
I'm happy.

Changes Are Afoot

2007-02-26T20:15:00.000-05:00

When life gets so busy that things seem to run together (and the lines of things blur and fade so that it's hard to keep everything separate and straight), little things stand out.

Are illuminated.

Like the friend who suggests we take my kids mini golfing. For fun. Because she thinks it would be fun. Then, she plans it...
Like the baby running so quickly toward me when I returned from a couple of days away that he fell flat on his face, but he was so excited to see me that he didn't care; just got up and ran the rest of the way, laughing when I scooped him up into my arms...
Like the look on my dear friend's face when I told her I was worried she was compromising herself...
Like the touch of the most beautiful hands in the world...
Like the surprise of tears that come during a silly argument...
Like the laughter of your child...
Like the happy surprise of an email from a childhood friend...
Like those little glimpses of hope that things will be okay...
Like how it feels to be hugged by someone who will never stop loving you...

When I try to go through my days, these things stand out...other things are blurry. But these things are the things that matter.

I'm thinking it'll be a bit quieter here for a while. It's not what it's supposed to be for me anymore...I'm not free to write everything I need or want to write. Maybe someday I will be. But right now, I can't, and I'm sure my cryptic posts aren't very satisfying for you...though they're at least something for me.

I haven't figured it out yet.

I won't go away completely. I can't stop writing! And I know people check for pictures often (hi, Mom!)...so...I'll just have to figure out what to do. I may leave this blog for pictures and updates on the boys, and start a new one somewhere else where I can write freely.

I love you.

I'll keep you updated.

The Moral Is: Only Kiss People You WANT To Kiss

2007-02-20T13:33:00.000-05:00

My life is crazy. It’s a precarious balancing act, and my sanity wavers with the ebb and flow of change and of constancy. I’m not worried; I’m just acknowledging it.

You know how there are times in your life…times of flux? When that nice, safe grasp you had on everything around you becomes sort of slippery? And suddenly what you thought was down is up? It’s one of those times, friends, and I’m floating…waiting to see where I’ll land.

I’m not complaining. I like change. It feels good to know that things aren’t stagnant, you know? It’s exciting…makes me anticipate getting up in the morning. But I also tend to bend under strain a bit. It could go either way, really. Let’s look at an example:

I was thirteen years old when I started seeing a charming fellow who insisted everyone call him Burnt. Yeah, that’s what he CHOSE for a name. Insert eye roll here. See, I didn’t really care for Burnt coughhisrealnamewasChriscoughcough, but my friend thought he was rad, so whatever. Hey, I was thirteen, okay?

That, of course, was the age when kissing became very exciting. You had to do it! You must kiss your boyfriend a LOT. Which was okay, except for the whole not being very interested in my boyfriend thing. I tried to be interested. I did! But…well…dude wasn’t the sharpest guy around (I’m thinking you probably picked that up with the whole “Burnt” thing), and therefore NOT a stimulating conversationalist. I needs me a boy with brains. In any case…let me sum up:

-Didn’t care for Burnt
-Decided to go out with Burnt because my friend thought he was rad (dudes, I have so totally matured since then…please know this!)
-Kissing was mandatory
-I did not want to kiss Burnt
-I did kiss Burnt

So, yeah...I kissed him. And I was so, so stressed about it that something interesting occurred. Burnt had bronchitis. I caught it. Then, it morphed.

The bronchitis.

It morphed into mono. The kissing disease. It freaked the doctors out. That doesn’t happen! You don’t develop mono…you catch it from someone else who has it. Not me! I believe that I was so stressed and angsty over the whole Burnt/kissing situation that I got the most appropriate disease to express what I was going through.

Hmmm.

Funny how the mind works, isn’t it? And interesting how our physiology reacts.

So I’m in a time of flux, dear friends, and it’s rather exciting…who knows what’ll happen! Like I said, I’m not worried. After all, I still have some old Zoloft in the cupboard…that's still good after a year or so, right?

But if I spontaneously combust, you’ll know it’s just my body reacting appropriately to the state of my mind.

And just to balance things out, I’ll tell you that I’ve also done amazing things in times of flux! But those are stories for other days…

Trying to Take a Left

2007-02-19T17:57:00.000-05:00

Mom? Why do you talk when he can't hear you?
Why do you say those words?
He can't hear you, Mom.
But...he can't.
What did you try to say to him, Mom?
I only heard a little bit.
Why are you telling him to go?
He doesn't hear your words.
Mom.
Why were you talking like that?
He has windows in his car.
And so do we.
So he can't hear you.
You were telling him to go, right?
I just don't know why you would talk if he can't hear you, Mom.
I just don't know.
He can see you but he couldn't hear the words.
Because how can he hear you IF HE CAN'T HEAR YOU?
*sigh*
What are we eating for supper?

...he couldn't hear you, you know.

This went on until we pulled into the driveway.

Aidan broke my brain.

Cuteness Overload

2007-02-12T20:36:00.000-05:00

Two Outta Three Ain't Bad

2007-02-11T20:52:00.000-05:00

So I finally did it. I got their hair cut.

My children don't look like degenerates anymore!

I am a good mother*!

But let me show you! It's better that way. Caleb, before:

Stop it. He had been wearing a hat! Look, he's got an artist's soul! Look at him! So carefree and beautiful! He's a poet. An author. A photographer, maybe! He's NOT a degenerate!

He's SEVEN. Good grief.

Aidan was incredibly enthusiastic:He, uh...well, he's been hinting (okay maybe begging a little...just off and on, though!) about getting a haircut...anyway**...anyway, the hairdresser was so impressed with his excellent behavior that she asked him to come back again very soon. She enthused and gushed and...well, she was excited. He sat still. He did everything she asked. With a smile.

And...

voila! Look at the rapture on Aidan's face.

Here's another, for good measure.

Suave, hmm?

You may have noticed the absence of news about Liam's haircut. That, my friends, is because he did not get one. Why, you ask? Well, because he's never had one! He's scared! Oh! And I did cut his bangs so they don't get pasted to his nose anymore. It's cute! He can see very well. And, oh God...and he's blonde. His hair's all...shiny and blonde and curly! It's cherubic.

You can't make me!

I'm not ready!

runs away

*today

**please refer to first asterisk (and corresponding reference)

It IS Genetic!

2007-02-08T17:24:00.000-05:00

Remember my post about skiing a coupla days ago?

Well, as it turns out, my dear father has a story of his own...which, of course, proves that it's in the blood! It's not my fault!

IT'S HIS!

Hehe.

It's actually more impressive than mine, and he's given me permission to post it. Thanks, Dad!

Enjoy!

~~~

During my last winter living in Topsham, I went to my friend Lee's house and skiied down the little hill behind the house with him. I used Lee's big brother's skis and boots, and there was plenty of room at the bottom for me to coast to a stop or snowplow. So that was the extent of my experience, straight down Lee's hill, a kiddie toboggan hill really, and all the space and time in the world to stop at the bottom. I was satisfied. Lee wasn't, and he talked his expert skiier brother into taking us to Sugarloaf the next weekend. Hmm, a real ski hill, huh? Sure man, what could happen?
Well. We went. I don't think I mentioned that Lee was a lot better than me. He had nice skis and boots, the latest stuff. And to my mounting horror the week preceding, I had no skis. No boots. Mom helped me dig Patsy's old equipment out of a corner in the basement, and oh my, it was pretty awful. The boots were way too small. One of the bindings was gone, bootlaces substituted. We managed to find only one pole. Anyway, that's what I took with me to the famous Sugarloaf mountain. Lee's brother fed us beer on the trip there, and no pain was being felt. And, as God is my witness, I actually made it up to the top and skiied to the bottom of the bunny trail.
Funny how the human psyche is. Every fibre of my being was yelling Great, you did it, cool! Be satisfied. But I wasn't - I bet myself that I could ski that trail that Lee took, foolish, foolish me. Back up on the lift, not a lick of hesitation at the top, wham, away I go on the intermediate, and I suddenly found myself going like, I don't know, a significant fraction of warp speed, and hey, I don't know how to a) steer, or b) stop, a couple of very useful skills to bring to the skihill with you.
Well, yeah, I wiped out - the laces let go on the ski with no binding, I kicked that ski out from underneath me, and all I remember is the world going around and around very fast. Everything stopped spinning eventually, and I lay there kind of moaning, but somehow not hurting anywhere. That's when two guys arrived with some kind of contraption, one of them asking "holy shit, are you alright?" I tried to say "F off and leave me alone" but all I could manage was, "my ski broke". They decided to take me down the rest of the hill and to the lodge on the stretcher thingy, as a precaution I guess, and they carried me to a couch in the lodge. On the trip down the trail, I heard one of them say "man, I never saw anyone pinwheel like that and not break something." Pinwheel. Good word for it.
I've never gone skiing again, never wanted to. I brought one ski home with me (I don't think I even got a bruise), they couldn't find the other, and Patsy said "they were no good to use anyway." Yeah, Pat, I know...
I'm glad you're okay, and I'm glad I came through my pinwheel unscathed.

~~~

After I asked Dad if I could post it, he sent this:

You can use my story if you like, my blog is writhing in its throes, I think. One thing: I would absolutely love to go back there and watch myself wipe out. Just that, nothing else.

That tickled me enormously. A gem, is my Pa.

Guess What I Did Last Night?

2007-02-08T08:40:00.000-05:00

SO FUN.

These guys are amazing in concert. I just can't say enough good things about them.

*sigh*

I'm so glad they're coming out with a new CD.

WOO!

Some People Ski

2007-02-06T08:48:00.000-05:00

Today, a friend asked me to describe my one skiing experience, and I was surprised...I have repressed that set of memories for so long that it's seemed more like a distant, fading dream (uh...nightmare?) than reality.

But it DID happen.

And today, I share it with you.

~~~

My friend Debbie and I decided to go skiing in Windsor (Nova Scotia) at Martock. It was the first time for both of us…I'd say we were 19. We drove there, and being diligent and cautious, decided to pay for a lesson first. It was a good lesson and we got the basics down. I could snowplow with the best of them, baby. I had the techniques mastered!

The last part of the lesson was going down the bunny hill. It was at that point that I discovered that even the teensiest smidgeon of speed blew my technique out of the water and I instantly became a train wreck.

The skis felt wrong. My feet were not supposed to be that long! The boots were all stiff! It just wasn't right. And you had to like…balance and stuff.

Anyhoo my friend Debbie was amazing. It was natural to her. She flew down the easy slopes and watched me from the bottom, cringing. I fell every time except that very first time during the lesson.

We bought cool hats and were proud of how hot we looked. We decided to take pictures of each other on the top of a teeny little hill nearby (most likely just a pile of leftover snow). She got a sweet picture of me before I fell on my face.

We went up in the chairlift thingies and I immediately fell upon exiting the damn thing.
We decided the chairlift thingies weren't my thing and took the "easier" way up: these little bars you sit on while your feet are still on the ground? Yeah it took like half an hour for me to get up the hill because I kept falling off the stupid bar. I let it drag me for a while, but the employees of the place seemed to frown on that.

Tried the chairlift again (Debbie was sure it was just bad luck!). This time I fell ON someone.

I was disenchanted.

Debs decided to try a harder hill. I watched her from the bottom, resting on my poles. She flew down the hill, shooshing from side to side. It was graceful. It was gorgeous. It was inspiring.
When she reached me, her face was bright and happy.

"I'm going to do it without poles!" She announced. My stomach flipped, but I encouraged her.

She did do it. Easily. Smoothly.

I was inspired.

Somehow, in my stupor of exhaustion and disenchantment, the continuously negative experiences of the day faded under the light of my friend's enthusiasm and obvious talent.

I COULD SKI THAT HILL!!!!!

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "UH OH."

And you are right to think that.

I lost my confidence about a quarter of the way up the chairlift. I was frightened.
After I fell off the stupid chairlift AGAIN, I stood at the top of that monstrous hill and watched Debbie sail down it again, effortlessly.

By the time she reached the top again, I was feeling a touch desperate.

"Just snowplow all the way down!" said she.

And off she went again, like the wind. Like a cool breeze…like grace itself.

So, I went.

I started very slowly, meandering back and forth, snowplowing often. About a quarter of the way down, I was feeling relieved. This was going to be okay!

Then it happened again. That little burst of ill-obtained self confidence that had no bearing in the real world.

And I went a little faster.

Once I started going a little faster, there was no slowing down. This was a steep hill. I just kept going faster and faster and faster and was feeling rather terrified when I had this thought:

I'm going to fall.

The power of the mind is amazing, isn't it?

I fell. I fell so hard that I rolled and tumbled and slid and rolled some more…smashing my face into the hard, packed snow, losing first one ski, and then another, and then one boot and then the other…I didn't realize my glasses were gone until I dug the snow out of my eye sockets.

When I finally came to a stop, all I could do was start to cry. It was like every bad event of the day had culminated in this final, painful climax, and I was JUST. SO. DONE.

Like I said, I had snow packed into my eye sockets, so I couldn't see. Once I solved that, I realized I couldn't hear. Getting all the snow out of my ears was difficult. The next order of business was clearing my mouth and nose. Yes, every orifice in my head was packed with the evil stuff.

My socks were covered in a layer of snow, and it was packed up into my snowpants so tightly it was like having my legs encased in ice.

After clearing myself of the snow, I began the search for my skis. Please keep in mind that I was crying quite freely the whole time. It was pathetic. So, when a ski patrol person finally happened upon me, I was crying and my nose was running and I was crawling around trying to find my boots and skis and stupid glasses.

She found my glasses right away, and it was like the heavens had opened up and showered blessings upon my soul.

One of my boots was waaaaaa-haaaaaaa-aaay down the hill, so she got that while I put the other boot back on.

When she came back, I had composed myself a bit. She offered to help me put my skis back on.
I remember how incredulous I felt when she said that.

How sure I was that she was insane.

"Um…no. I'm going to walk down."

Wait…was she…yes she was! She was looking at me like I was crazy!

She commenced to try and convince me that everything would be fine; that I could make it no problem; I was halfway down!

I had fallen a loooong way.

Somewhere in there, in her attempts (smiley, sunny attempts at that) to convince me, something broke.

In my brain.

And I started to cry again.

I walked away from her while she was still talking.

I slowly made my way through the traffic of skiers to the edge of the hill, and trudged down, crying silently this time, feeling miserable.

I remember the patrol girl shooshing past me, glancing at me with concern on her face.

I hated her.

Debbie waited for me at the bottom of the hill, her hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks rosy.

"What happened?" she exclaimed.

"I want to go home now" I replied.

And that was my first and last skiing experience. I just don't think I'm cut out for it. And even if I am? I will most likely never be motivated to find out.

The End.

Happy Birthday, Jim

2007-02-04T17:32:00.000-05:00

Today is Jim's Birthday.

He didn't like his cake at all. He totally didn't eat two giant pieces.

Okay that was sarcasm. But Aidan really didn't like the cake. Who doesn't like angel food cake? I don't even know this kid!

He opted for one of his favorite foods instead, and was much happier for it.

Liam? He loved it. Very, very much.

I got a comment on Flickr today about one of my photos of Liam. Saying how cute SHE is. Hrm. Haircut time, perhaps.
The day was spent in a very leisurely fashion, mostly playing games and lying around like slobs. Here are the boys at their happiest, with Uncle Jeff.Happy Birthday, Jim. May you have a lovely time at the Superbowl party.

Me? I am going to stop cleaning the house and lay around like a slob a bit.

Motherhood. Sometimes You Just Have to Wing it, You Know?

2007-01-30T12:05:00.000-05:00

Taking the kids out to dinner is always an adventure (especially if a trip to the washroom is involved. especially if that trip to the washroom is with Aidan, who doesn’t understand that the people in the stalls can hear his running commentary on how loud their pee is), but sometimes it’s fun. And lately, it’s been going pretty smoothly, so last night we decided to go to Montana’s. I’m thinking it all would have been okay if Liam had been in a better mood.
Hmmm…where to begin?

Nah, let’s just sum up. It’s quicker.

Aidan: quietly did a puzzle. YAY, Aidan! And also? That kid is amazing with puzzles. His brain works good.

Caleb: loud. Hyper. Loud and hyper. Loudandhyperandloud. OhmyGODdoesthischildevercalmdown? Killmenow.

Liam: Liam is 19 months old. Liam wants to do everything himself. Liam gets bored in the time it takes to squash a bug. Not that I would squash a bug. I’m just saying. So yeah. Liam did these things:

-threw pieces of salmon on the floor
-threw pieces of chicken on the floor
-threw pieces of everything (including my brain, which, at some point during the dinner, fell out of my head) on the floor
-yelled
-yelled loudly
-screamed
-refused to eat
-tried to climb out of his chair
-REPEATEDLY (read: IN A CONSTANT MANNER) tried to climb out of his chair
-threw crayons at people. Not just family members either, folks
-grabbed my fork and, in a fantastically graceful display of chaos, swept it across his plate, thereby causing his rice to rain down on neighbouring guests

Dudes, I was tired. I was not enjoying my salmon. I was not enjoying my life. THEN! It happened.

What I neglected to mention in my list of stuff up there is that Liam also cried the whole meal because he wanted to drink his milk by himself. With nobody else holding it. But see, they give the kid this big plastic cup with a flimsy plastic lid (barely) stuck on top. This means IMPENDING DOOM, as anyone with kids knows. So I held the damn cup while he tried to take it from me. Sometimes he drank some milk. Most times he pushed it away with such ferocity that only my cat-like reflexes saved the day. During one such episode (he points at the milk and screams, I hold the straw up to his mouth, he screams some more…), he got a brilliant idea. He decided to slam his hands into the back of the cup, thrusting it toward him, and thusly gaining control over the cup.

Except that the violent action ALSO included the dislodgement of the flimsy plastic lid and the consequential sloshing of milk ALL. OVER. LIAM.

Being the mother of three boys, I am an expert in these types of situations. I calmly put the cup on the table, and grabbed my napkin to sop up the mess. I waited to feel anger that I would also expertly suppress. It didn’t come.

I glanced at my boy, who was miserable and crying, milk dripping from his hair and eyelashes, snot dripping from his nose, his shirt soaked. Then I glanced at Jim.

And I lost it.

I laughed so hard I thought I’d pee.

People at the other tables must’ve thought I was crazy…and maybe I was. But it was funny. It was funny because the kid DESERVED IT.

I am a horrible mother.

But dammit, that was a good laugh.

And he didn’t try to grab the cup anymore after that…not that there was much milk left…

I'm Not Sure If Any Of This Makes Sense

2007-01-28T09:06:00.000-05:00

Do you ever look around yourself – at your house, your family, the trees, the sky – and think, where AM I? It’s an odd feeling being in the place you’ve known all your life and feeling like you don’t belong.
I don’t know if it’s loneliness, but it feels like loneliness. Like something – or someone – is missing. What is it in this life that makes us so alone, no matter how surrounded we are by others? Is it that nobody can possibly understand us fully, or is it that we don’t fully understand ourselves?
Or is it just me?
I’ve felt like this since I was a kid. I’ve been searching for a place to belong…forever. Just when it seems I’ve found it, it becomes clear that I was wrong. That that wasn’t my place after all.
I’ve had moments. Four years old on the hardwood floor, reading a book and sitting in a pool of sunlight, I felt it. That sense of belonging…that reassurance that, yes, this is where I’m supposed to be right now. There was nothing special about the time except for a peace that came over me, while I sat there in the sun, alone. A comfort. Fleeting, but unmistakable.
Walking through the woods on a late summer afternoon…navigating the fallen branches and avoiding the trickling brook on one side…it came often there. In the quiet of the day, in the solitude. That peace. I was alone but so not.
In University when so much in my life was changing, I would panic in class. It would hit me hard and for no reason. I did exceptionally well in school…went to all my classes…but the panic would hit me there. I’d be sitting, surrounded by friends, in the middle of a discussion, and it would hit me…that flash of heat…that pounding heartbeat…the urge to run, run, run…
One day in class I felt it coming on, and decided to give myself a break. I usually sat it out and got through it, staying in my seat, biting the cap of my pen and drawing on my papers to distract myself. That day, I was tired from a long shift at the restaurant the night before, and just sick of fighting panic while everyone around me sat quietly bored. So, I got up and walked out. It was just natural to gravitate toward the bathroom, where I’d be able to sit and close my eyes for a second. Halfway there, I heard my name. I heard a voice in my right ear…so strongly present I could feel the energy of it all around me.
Theresa.
I stopped and turned in a slow circle, knowing I’d see nobody, but needing to react somehow. That was another one of those moments of clarity…it’s like, in that moment, something in this world opens up, and we’re able to see anything we want to see. I just get that reassuring feeling…yes, you’re supposed to be here. Right here, right now. It’s all FOR something.
Don’t worry.
It’s okay.
I don’t know very much. I don’t. I don’t understand why I’m here. The whole meaning of life thing, you know? I don’t know if I make a difference. But I do know that this isn’t it. There’s more. And maybe how we live our lives matters in that…more.
So.
While I’m here, I’m very busy trying to figure out how to live my life. Trying to please everyone and be the person I’m expected to be.
Guess what?
I’ve discovered that there is no “right” way to live…and that sometimes, going against conventional thought is better. It’s brave. And the difference it makes can mean so much. It’s scary to discover this, but liberating, too.
I’m giving myself a break. Instead of trying so hard to be right, I’m going to enjoy this life. I’m going to make a space for me here…strike a balance…and live. I’ll belong because…it’ll be mine. I’m going to stop worrying so much about what other people think. I’m going to say what’s on my mind. I’m going to reach for what I want.
How’s that for a New Year’s resolution? Better late than never…

Caleb's Eye Hurts

2007-01-22T12:38:00.000-05:00

This morning, Caleb complained his eye was hurting. When I offered to take it out and wash it, Aidan became concerned that the removal of Caleb's eye would cause his immediate demise. Specifically, "BUT THEN HE WOULD DIE, MOM!"
I carefully explained that, in order to live, the body must have a functioning heart, which pumps the blood, lungs, which take care of the air end of the deal, blood, which travels around the body delivering good things, and the brain, which orchestrates it all. I went on to say that the removal of Caleb's eye would most likely not damage any of that, and certainly wouldn't cause enough blood loss to kill him.
Aidan looked thoughtful, and then that boy...that beautiful, four year-old boy said:
"Mom, when someone you love very much goes away...isn't there anymore...your heart gets broken."
Tears sprang to my eyes and the goofiness of the situation faded like dust motes moving out of a beam of sunlight.
I asked him to say it again. He did, and I promptly melted into a puddle on the dining room floor. How I love that boy...how I love all my boys. How can I ever be the mother they deserve? How did I deserve the opportunity? How do I live up to it? Can I?
I so want to.
I guess that's what's important.

During Dinner

2007-01-21T21:37:00.000-05:00

As a follow-up to our conversation about the Beastie Boys:

Tree: I find it interesting that your friend thinks it's so hilarious that you called me a whore.

Jim: I didn't call you a whore!

Tree: You called me a ho.

Jim: That's just another way to say...you're my lady!

So, so lame, Jim.

My Bowels are Irritable so I Torture Jim

2007-01-17T12:13:00.000-05:00

This morning, I sat the couch in pain, waiting to see if the worst of it had passed. Jim waited with me for a while, and I asked him to sing Paul Revere to me (the Beastie Boys are like magical medicine for IBS attacks…what? you didn’t know?). Jim said he didn’t know the words, so I helped him out with exaggerated arm motions:

Tree: Well, I had a little horsey named…(I just looked at him like he was an idiot to help him)
Jim: um…Paul Revere?
Tree: Just me and my horsey and a quart of…(I mimed drinking)
Jim: uh…brew?
Tree: BEER! BREW DOESN’T RHYME WITH REVERE! (I get a little bitchy when I’m in pain. What can I say?)
Jim: Beer, then.
Tree: Ugh. Ridin’ ‘cross the…(I couldn’t think of anything to mime for “land” so I did the “you’re an idiot if you don’t know this” face again)
Jim: I DON’T KNOW THE WORDS!
Tree: Okay you know this part! One lonely beastie I be! All by myself without nobody! The sun is beatin’ down on my…(I point to my head)
Jim: BASEBALL HAT!
Tree: Yeah! The air is gettin’…(I fan myself)
Jim: Uuuuuhhhhh
Tree: HOT! The beer is gettin’…(I make flattening motions)
Jim: Mmmmmm…?
Tree: FLAT! Lookin’ for a…(I point to myself)
Jim:…ho?
Tree: Ho? I point to myself and you say HO?
Jim: Well…I dunno…
Tree: It’s GIRL! Lookin’ for a GIRL, ran into a…(I point to him)
Jim: GUY!
Tree: Oh NOW you know the words.

Some Days...

2007-01-14T12:05:00.000-05:00

There are good days, there are bad days...and then there are these kinds of days:

104.2

2007-01-14T08:41:00.000-05:00

That's Liam's temperature. Poor kid just finished a round of antibiotics for a throat infection.
And there's a show about puking on tv.
It all must be because I finally gave in and cut his bangs. I knew it was wrong! I knew it! But noone would listen! See? See what happens when you cut the gossamer locks? He's crying over there!
I gotta go.

I Got Skillz

2007-01-11T17:46:00.000-05:00

You know you've made a true friend when she'll take part in making Baby Got Back eloquent:

Good gracious, Becky, observe her behind!
It appears to be unusually large. She resembles one of those rap artist’s significant others.
However, it goes without saying that those rap artists are difficult to understand.
I would venture to say that they only engage her in conversation because her manner of dress and her flamboyant personality portray her (either accurately or not) as a lady of the evening, if you understand what I am saying.

I would like to restate that her behind is extremely large.
I am in a state of disbelief over the sheer roundness of it. It is, for a lack of a better way to say it, very much present. I exclaim loudly in disgust! Observe!

I tell you, people. It's a good way to break up the day. You can do it, too! Let's try this part together:

I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back

Okay! Let's do it!

I grow weary of popular media
Expounding the virtues of less than ample behinds
I would surmise that the average man of colour would, if he were asked, conclude that
A woman is blessed if her behind is excessively rotund

See? Easy! Now you try!

~~~

Edited to add:

Ooooh. Jessica has issued a challenge. This time, it's My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas:

They say I'm really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin' at my lump, lump.
You can look but you can't touch it,
If you touch it I'ma start some drama

Ahem.

Others often remark on my sensuality
Those of the male persuasion have the desire to engage in physical contact with me
They are continuously standing next to me
Consistently dancing next to be
Endeavouring to engage my intimate physical being,
Gazing longingly at my sensual curves
Your gaze is welcome but actual physical contact would result in my initiating entertaining, soap-opera worthy hysterics

In Which I Embarrass Myself

2007-01-05T20:22:00.000-05:00

All my life, I've done this thing. I have interviews with myself. Well, I often invent the interviewers, but that's not the important part. The important part is my part as the interviewee.

I don't know why I do it. I can't recall when it started, though I remember doing it as early as I remember talking.

I do know that I continue to do it. Sometimes it's fun. Often, it's comforting. Many times, it's to stave off boredom, which seems to plague me far too easily.

The topics vary. Truly, it depends on the location and circumstances during which the interview takes place. When I'm *ahem* on the toilet, I often interview myself about shampoo or styling techniques for excessively frizzy hair. Sometimes, if the interview is in the bathroom (they often are), I give classes on hygiene skills or tell about my personal experiences with constipation. If the interview is in bed, I'll talk about dreams. Or goals. Or about how hard it is to keep up with the laundry.

When I was in the hospital, pregnant with Aidan and in premature labour, scared out of my mind (literally! haha!), I did interviews about the dangers of premature birth. I did personal documentaries on my experiences with difficult pregnancies. I interviewed about mental health, about anxiety and panic...about fate, and about God.

I am an expert in every interview I give. It's a benefit of being both the interviewer and the interviewee. I'm telling you, I've often wished that there is some universal scribe that is recording all of these interviews of mine, because this is some good shit. Useful! Entertaining!

Now. Somebody please tell me I'm not the only one who does this. Tell me. And yes, you may tell me you think I'm crazy.

That's okay, too.

Bye Bye, 2006

2006-12-31T20:44:00.000-05:00

I'm not partying.
Liam's got a throat infection, so we decided to forego the New Year's Eve festivities and sit around and do nothing. It's great.
Today, I visited my father and stopped at my University to shoot some pictures. We head home early Tuesday morning.
Happy New Year, everyone.

Party On, Wayne

2006-12-25T20:08:00.000-05:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

This is what I look like after a Christmas Eve party.

Do you not want me?
I mean, truly...am I not dangerously sexy?

I loves you all.

And because I loves you, I have a knock-knock joke for you, courtesy of Aidan:

Aidan: Knock knock!

Caleb: Who's there?

Aidan: PANTS! *stifles a giggle*

Caleb: Uh...pants who?

Aidan: (pause) Ummmm...oh! BOOTS!

Kids are great, eh?

Christmas pics (so far) are here. I highly recommend the slide show.

Don't worry; they're not nearly as scary as that one up there.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-21T21:09:00.000-05:00

Well, in 6 hours, we'll be on the road. We're trying to get everything packed and wrapped and done here, but it's tough!
One last load of laundry is in the dryer, the cats and bird are at my sister's, and the DDR mat is packed and ready to go. Things are slowly coming together.

I shall miss you.
Merry Christmas.

Oh My God

2006-12-19T13:01:00.000-05:00

In less than three days, we will begin an 18-hour drive to Nova Scotia.
Caleb, Aidan, and Liam tend not to like 18-hour drives. Liam in particular.
I am very, very anxious about this.
A few things we've decided to do to ease the journey and preserve our sanity:
-we bought a two-screen portable dvd player last night. Couldn't afford it. Didn't care; bought it anyway.
-we bought each of the boys one pair of pyjamas for the trip that they will wear the ENTIRE time we're driving. First day, hotel stay and second day, baby. Barring, of course, any barf/poo/spilled food/pee-related incidents.
-inhale excessive amounts of glue, starting the day before we depart.
We can't afford crack.

Just a Taste of My Life...Complete with Links for Your Clicking Pleasure

2006-12-17T07:10:00.000-05:00

Life is busy. I often contemplate the fullness of it. Today, I shall contemplate and write at the same time. Lucky you!

8 days ago, I traveled to Montreal with friends. I went to places people don't go anymore and took pictures of things my eyes found beautiful. I love to do this. I think that finding beauty everywhere is a skill...something we should all develop. When I visit places whose usefulness has been forgotten, I have the opportunity to open my eyes in a different way, and see the stories in what's left.

How gorgeous peeling paint can be. How intriguing a broken window. An empty shoe. A crumbling staircase.

When I explore these places, I remember what it was like to be a kid in the woods, discovering.

7 days ago I played with my children. We were loud. I looked around my house and saw the cluttered surfaces and perpetually dirty floor and chose to play with my children. Then, I went to dinner with my husband. I had salmon. I watched Apocalypto. We got into an epic argument over the movie.

6 days ago I awoke with a sore throat. That morning, a coworker told me that I wasn't doing my job as well as I should be and that I'd never advance at this rate. I suspect he was upset that I hadn't done enough of his work for him. Work was crazy that day. That night, I went to see a double feature at the Mayfair: Manufactured Landscapes by Edward Burtynsky and Baraka. Both were incredible films, and I walked out of there not only inspired but determined to travel the world.

5 days ago I awoke with a sore throat and felt as though I hadn't slept at all. That day I organized the entertainment for the office Christmas party. I lamented the state of my finances (don't even get me started), and worked, worked, worked on presentations. I had an hour and a half of singing that night.

4 days ago I awoke with a painfully sore throat and feeling as though someone had stuffed my head with a wet towel. It was another crazy day at work. My friend Rachel came home with me and witnessed the chaos that is dinner-time at my house. Then, we picked up another dear friend and went to a house to clear it of more than 20 ghosts. And that was just upstairs.

3 days ago I awoke feeling like I was dead. My shoulders hurt. So did my back, neck, elbows, wrists, pelvis, knees, and ankles. And my head.
I played my flute and sung at the Christmas party that day. It was awful. Jim called me to tell me he was picking Aidan up from daycare; he had a high fever. When I got back to the office after the party, Jim called once again to tell me he was getting Liam...he had a high fever, too. I took the bus home, falling asleep in fits and spurts on the way. That night, I administered Tylenol and Ibuprophen, comforted the sick kids, and barely slept.

2 days ago, I awoke feeling like I was dead and residing in some sort of cruel, cold place. I had slept two hours. My body felt as if someone had wrung it out. Aidan and Liam were feverish and rivers of snot flowed freely from their sore nostrils. Jim stayed home until 9:30 so I could sleep a bit, then went to work. I took care of the sick ones all day. When Jim got home I took a nap. When I awoke, I felt a little better. I ate supper, then went to pick up Rachel. We went to Mark's and played DDR and Karaoke Revolution and Settlers of Catan with Mark and Laura until 1am. It was so much fun I forgot my body hurt. Got home around 2:30. Slept 'til 6:30, waking several times to comfort Liam.

1 day ago, Jim woke me to take care of the kids. He was off to try and purchase a Nintendo Wii. I was tired. Jim was unsuccessful. The fevers were better. The snot was better. I was tired. Jim came home and I slept. I awoke, ate lunch and played with the kids. We watched Ghost Hunters. I don't remember if I took another nap. Jeff babysat and Jim and I went to see The Pursuit of Happyness, which made me cry. I ate poutine and milk duds and drank fruitopia. The soreness was better.

Today, I awoke with a terribly sore throat. It's Jim's day to sleep in so I've been chasing Liam around all morning. Do you know that 18 month-olds do not get bored of doing something over and over again? Like opening the dishwasher? Or emptying the drawers? Or trying to get behind the couch? It's true. And today he's like a little blonde slug. He wipes his nose on his hand and leaves a little slimy trail wherever he goes. People, I feel like my kitchen is coated with the stuff. Gross, right? Right.

Sometimes, I wish I could hibernate for a few months. Just disappear for a while and sleep. Nobody would knock at my door because I simply wouldn't be there.

But oh, what I'd miss! And I'd much rather have this full life than an empty one...things aren't easy, but they're often fun. And NEVER boring.

At the Christmas party, a friend was describing an SNL skit about sanitary napkins. But he said sanity napkins. I lost it. Mark, on the other side of me, hadn't quite caught it, so I repeated, "sanity napkins! It's so appropriate!" and we laughed for what felt like minutes. I couldn't breathe, I laughed so hard. Tears streamed from my eyes. And in that moment, I was happy.

This morning, amidst the chaos that is three little boys figuring out what to do with their time, I looked up from what I was doing and saw Liam on the floor with one of the books I'm reading, gently turning the pages. Quietly pondering the text. His little head turned and his eyes met mine, and he smiled. In that moment, I was full.

Sometimes, I want time to slow so I can take in these moments and hold them. I know I forget so much. But they leave their mark on me.

What is this life I'm living? Am I doing it right? Do I leave my mark on others? Is it good? All these things I do...am I doing them right? What do they mean?

Do you ever think these things?

Do you ever feel like someone else is orchestrating things? And you're sort of just...going with the flow?

Do you ever wonder if maybe you should have just stayed on the Zoloft?

Here's what I'm going to do today: nothing. As much as possible, anyway. Because there's shopping that needs doing, and the floors...WOW, the floors...and laundry for five people...and diapers...

Jim's a Science Geek

2006-12-13T08:12:00.000-05:00

Jim gave me a hug this morning, nestling his face deep within my newly washed, conditioned and moussed hair. When he pulled away, he seemed rather quiet. Then:

Jim: I nearly choked on the VOC's coming off your hair!

Tree: VOC's?

Jim: Volatile organic chemicals.

Duh.

I Likes Me Some Singing

2006-12-12T21:39:00.000-05:00

So I don't talk much about my singing lessons because really, how boring is that? But I have to tell you that I'm just having so much fun. And you know what else is cool? I mean, besides getting to sing without people telling me to stop singing for 45 minutes? All the compliments! I dig the compliments.
But the compliments have led to trouble. See, when people compliment me, I start to melt and thusly become all pliable and twisty. In this fashion, a person can quite successfully make me their bitch. My singing teacher uses this technique with frightening skill and relentless regularity.
This is why I have agreed to sing in a massive competition in the spring.
Hahahahaha!
It's funny because it's surreal and I'm sort of convinced it's not really going to happen!
Haha!
It's funny!
Because my bowels start to contort with the very thought of the possibility that it could be real!
Hee!
It's funny!
It's...it's...
Dudes, it's some scary shit.
I mean, what was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking! I was thinking, "I can do that! I'm awesome!
Do you know why?
The compliments.
Caroline was all, "I was thinking about you the other day. You are amazing. You are one of those rare few with natural talent, you know? I mean, you could do this professionally!"
Commence melting-induced pliability.
When I'm there and singing, I feel okay. I mean, if she happens to look at me while I'm singing, I get antsy because WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TRYING TO MAKE ME EVEN MORE SELF CONSIOUS, WOMEN? WHAT?
Come on. You don't need to look at me when I sing! Listen! Yeah! I'm SINGING, not contorting myself into a pretzel!
Or stripping!
Bah.
In any case, it appears this weak alter-ego of mine has agreed to compete and has even, in fact, paid the application fee.
So I shall compete. I will sing, "Angel From Montgomery" (the John Prine and Bonnie Raitt version) and "Good Enough" (Evanescence). Why have I chosen these songs? Because of my soul, people. And how these songs sort of wrap around it and tug, hard.
From "Angel From Montgomery":

If dreams were thunder
And lightening was desire
This old house would have burned down
A long time ago

And:

How the hell can a person
Go to work in the mornin'
And come home in the evenin'
And have nothing to say?

Soul-tugging stuff.
From the Evanescence tune:

Under your spell again
I can't say no to you*
Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand
I can't say no to you

I shouldn't have let you torture me so sweetly
Now I can't let go of this dream I can't breathe but I feel
Good enough
I feel good enough
For you...

Anyhoo. I'm not going to tell you the name of the festival, because I'm sort of hoping nobody'll come. Maybe they'll do a really crappy marketing job this year! Maybe all the organizers will get Ebola (oh I instantly feel bad writing that. Forgive me, sweet baby Jesus! I so totally do not wish horrible illness on anyone! Maybe just a mild form of festival-related marketing amnesia?)

In any case, if you happen to be there? Avert your eyes when it's my turn! Yeah! Focus on the pretty trees or perhaps that cute guy in front of you! Much nicer.

Ah, I love singing. But maybe I should have just limited it to the car...

*Hey! I think I know why this song feels so right to me!

Montreal Excursion

2006-12-10T11:20:00.000-05:00

New photos from my latest excursion are on flickr.

Ghosts

2006-12-08T17:24:00.000-05:00

I remember you
Moving my toys
Before I could walk
Making me scream for my mother
Before I had the words to tell
I remember you easing up from beside my mother’s bed
Your eyes huge, wet, reflective globes
I remember you on the wall
I remember you in the corner of my room, whispering wet whispers
I remember you beneath my bed
Above my bed, oh God
I remember you hovering there

I saw you
In the closet door
Standing
Dripping wet
Expectant

I saw you in the window of the abandoned house
Hospital
Jail

I saw you in the water
I saw you in the trees
I saw you in the shower
I saw you in that space between awake and asleep

I see you
There, behind my friend
You there behind my friend
Behind my friend
You
You
You and you and you and you and you
I see you there
Behind my father
Behind my son
Feel you there
Behind my back
Brushing up against my arm

I see you with the strangers walking by me in the mall
I see you seeing me seeing you
I hear you smell you taste you feel you

I have your heart attack
I suffer your stroke
I drown with you burn with you starve with you
Feel how you died

You
Behind the sick man in the elevator
All around him
Your fingers in his belly
Black and hateful fingers

They want to be like me
My students with their gifts
They yearn for what I see
And it makes me feel like crying

I see you everywhere

I see you and I’m quiet
I process it within
I see you and I’m terrified
You, holding my son…you, beneath him
So breathtakingly beautiful
And so indescribably horrifying

You, I see you, too
You who have never been human
You who are beyond beautiful
And you, too, who are dark

I see you there

I see you and I can’t make it stop

Make it stop make it stop

Don’t ever stop.

WARNING: Playing DDR Will Make You Look Like a Spaz

2006-12-07T19:46:00.000-05:00

I don't care if you're the most graceful person in the world; this game will make a spaz out of you.
Thinking of getting DDR for Christmas? Be forewarned: though the game is fun and will get you in shape, there are unavoidable side effects to consider:

-jerky arm movements

-uncontrollable giggling

-frequent discombobulation of the limbs

-suddenly becoming a reliable source of comic relief

-pain in the legs, shoulders, back, ankles, and brain

-occasional spills

-slight chance of destruction of furniture within a 10-foot radius

Friends, because I care for you, I am going to share the following video with you to illustrate my point.

Wow.

I don't know who that crazy, spazzy chick is. But I think that she was brave to offer her video in order to warn others.

I guess my best advice is, if you decide to go ahead and purchase Dance Dance Revolution, make sure you share the pain; make every guest who steps through your door try it out. I guarantee you'll laugh.

All I Want For Christmas is to be Saved From This Monotony

2006-12-06T19:58:00.000-05:00

Okay before you start lecturing me about how thankful I should be for how lucky I am and all of that touchy-feely nonsense, let me just say this: I am aware of how lucky I am.
Three beautiful children. Good job. Great friends. Sweet ass.
It's not my fault that I get bored easily.
My resume is easily over ten pages long, and that's not including all the pre-University stuff like...McDonald's! And...Volunteer Councellor at Church Camp! I get settled, I learn stuff, I make myself useful, then my eyes start to look beyond the proverbial horizon and my mind starts to churn in discontent.
What's next? it whispers, knocking persistently on my forehead, scratching unceasingly at my frontal lobe.
But you know what? The most recent onset of this strange affliction of mine has me frustrated. I'm tired of the "something new"s. I am. Because eventually, it all just becomes...well, rather same old, same old, you know?
So I've made a pact with myself.
I'm sticking it out.
I'm going to stay put. That's right! Even though it's simply not in my nature, I'm going to be still for a while.
Stop searching.
I don't need something new right now!
I just need to work on what I have.
I can do it!
For a couple of months at least!

Now that you know that, I bet you're wondering what I'm doing tonight!
Am I a fantastic psychic or what?
Well, it's volleyball night for Jim, so I'm basically eating oreos and watching tv. I might put The Others on in a minute, if I can motivate myself out of this chair.
What are you doing?

Melancholy Musings

2006-11-30T17:36:00.000-05:00

There are those people in life without whom, you’d simply be a different person. Who’ve touched you somehow and have had meaning in your life. Some of these people blaze through, and are only there for what seems like a moment in the grand scheme of things, but touch you so profoundly in that moment that you are forever changed. Then there are those that are there each day…always there, always being. And the impact they have on you is not as striking, because it’s ongoing. But it’s deep. And it becomes like a hollow inside yourself that can only be filled by them.
When I was a child, I was troubled. I was filled with anxiety and doubt and fear. But when I was with my cousins Lynn and Leslie, it all went away, and I quite simply felt free. Even now, I am awed at how naturally we seem to fit together. It’s a rare thing, that kind of understanding of another soul, isn’t it? Rare and beautiful. Something to be cherished.
Jim is another of those souls that has intertwined itself with mine. We’ve been together so long that it seems we’ve never been apart. For better or for worse, we’re linked. He makes me angry. He makes me hurt. And I can’t imagine being without him. He’s just there. And together, we’ve built things. Made things. Made three babies. The hard part is growing them.
Every day I go to work, and there are souls there that I’m thankful for. Some I’ve known forever and some only for a while. We talk and smile and get through our work and our days together, and all the while we’re building, building, building and making little pathways in each other…these little furrows. Trails of our presence.
What we’ll remember from.
There are those souls I go through my life with now, people I work with and play with and somehow work and play become interchangeable. Rachel and I sit together and there is a comfort there that means it’s okay if I’m just me. I don’t have to laugh if it’s not funny. I don’t have to hide my tears if I’m moved. I can be me like I can be me when she isn’t there. But it’s nicer when she is.
There are souls who feel absent, too. The ones I’ve lost touch with…the ones who are far away, and the ones whose hearts are far away. And the holes they used to fill are empty now, and sometimes painfully so. I think of them all, and sometimes when I do, my stomach pulls together in a tight ball and tears form behind my eyes.
The beautiful thing is how utterly separate we all are…though you have left a hole in me, I have no control over whether you come back to fill it up again. I wonder, do I leave these shallow holes in others? Deep ones? Have I left some empty and wanting?
Is there someone now who cares for me, who I care for, and we just…don’t know?
Do we ever truly know what we mean to another?
Do we just trust?
Do we fill these empty spaces with other things? Hobbies? Music? Television shows?
Do we wait, or do we…go on?
I don’t know. But I do know this: I’m thankful for the people in my life. I love them all. I would give my whole self for any of them.
Thank God they don’t realize that…

Leeleebooboo

2006-11-28T21:51:00.000-05:00

Liam’s been very cute lately.
I mean, he’s always been cute, but now it’s threatening to kill me. The cuteness. It’s achingly wonderful.
The child is snuggly. He asks for hugs and kisses, and often after a hug, he’ll simply turn around so he can plop himself in your lap for a while, pleased just to sit there quietly for a few perfect moments.
He’s saying more, or at least trying to. He talks to his friends in the television, answering Steve when he asks what colour to mix with blue to make green. Sure, he says “EH!”, not “yellow” but it’s consistent. It’s meaningful. He says “uh-oh” until I meet his eyes, then he’ll drop his fork or open the drawer and throw the wooden spoons around triumphantly.
He sits on the floor, a book in his lap, babbling constantly over the pages. He’ll turn a page, gaze at the contents for a moment, then jabber on, reading in his little, big way.
It’s amazing how awed I can be at these things, even after already having raised two boys through this stage. But the beautiful thing about us all is our differences, isn’t it? And it’s so apparent in children, right from the start. Fascinating to witness and lose yourself in those differences.

The other day, I was on the computer, and Liam was toddling around, very busy with his tasks. Suddenly he was in front of me, handing me the DVD remote. He looked into my eyes purposefully and yelled one of his Liam words. Then, he went to stand in front of the TV, gazing at me expectantly.
“You want to watch Blue’s Clues?” I asked?
“AH!” he replied, bouncing joyfully.
I put the disk in and he sighed happily.
I asked him if he wanted to sit in his seat, and he ran toward the seat, arms upraised so I could lift him into it.
I love my son.
I love all my sons.

Taking Pictures is Fun

2006-11-26T13:30:00.000-05:00

I didn't get to go to jail. How nice!
Plus, I had fun!
Here's what I did yesterday:

Location #1:

Location #2:

Location #3:
I love that one, but you have to look closely to see what it is. Here's a hint: there were a LOT of pigeons in this building...and...uh...sometimes they don't realize there's a window between them and the outside...

You can see more here, if you like.

Thirsty

2006-11-24T18:11:00.000-05:00

Dry Spell.

Ever feel like you’re wandering through a desert? Bare feet on scorching hardpan, no breeze at all - the sun beating down relentlessly? And not a cloud to be seen? When I feel like this, I get quiet.

And wait for rain.

I’m so thirsty. Everything around me looks like water. I drink in my friends, drown in work, swallow my children in huge, refreshing gulps. When I sing, my voice is muffled as if I were under water. My motions are slow; like I have to fight the very air to move. But somehow, it’s all an illusion…my lips remain dry. My eyeballs scrape in their sockets.

I’m still thirsty.

No worries. A more upbeat post after my big adventures tomorrow. Unless I'm in jail, in which case I will not be posting.

Nor will I be upbeat.

I Am Not Ian Anderson, and That's Okay

2006-11-08T09:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was thrilled to discover that my flute music had arrived in the mail. I had ordered a book of flute solos by Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull fame, and finally, finally…it was here.
As I’ve written here before, music was a big part of my childhood; my link to my father, in a sense. Jethro Tull was a staple over the years, and I learned each song – each instrument, each inflection of tone – not by intention, but because it was so often there, in the background or foreground, playing.
When I picked up the flute for band in elementary school, I wasn’t thinking of this music I knew so well. I just thought it was a cool instrument. Over the years, the music of my childhood faded, as it is wont to do, into the shadows of modern favourites – music that is loud and current and much more easily there. I sold my flute, too, much to my later regret. Years went by, and I’d get the occasional ache for it; even found myself fingering a note…placing my fingers rigidly in the air, hearing it in my head…on occasion. Jen would placate me by letting me her play her old flute once in a while, and I was always surprised at what I remembered. I’d pick out Pachelbel’s Canon and remember the angst of not being able to read music in high school band. I faked it well, though, listening once then knowing it. Picking the notes out of the air and fixing them in my head the way I sometimes can…turning that memory switch not to “on” but to “turbo” and burning something there. An excellent skill if you want to attain straight “A”s in University, but not easily explained. I did the same in choir. While others followed the notes on the page, I’d find the song in my head and follow it there, hearing it like the first time I heard it, and matching my voice to the notes.
As one ages, one tends to turn back to the things that made them happy long ago, don’t they? My mp3 player holds not only recent favourites, but is packed with the music of my childhood and teenage years. When I was pregnant with Aidan, I got the chance to see Jethro Tull in concert and jumped at it. Yeah, I threw up in my mouth a bit during the concert, but the overpowering hormones of pregnancy did not stop me from enjoying the show. They were amazing…Anderson was amazing…and my ache to play again was stronger than ever.
About a year ago, I bought a cheap flute on eBay, with a couple books, and got re-acquainted with an old friend. Even better, I learned to read music, and found myself more comfortable with the instrument than I ever had been. A very expensive upgrade was soon to follow, and I’ve played as much as I could ever since.
Somehow, though, I held back from that music I so yearned to play. I played traditional Irish tunes and Christmas songs, and played them, and played them.
And played them some more.
I think I wanted to be ready. I wanted to feel like I was worthy of attempting something by Anderson; didn’t even want to look at the music. So yesterday, when I got my music in the mail, it felt like…well it felt like a reward.
This morning I listened to Bouree, following it with my eyes, then picking it out on the flute. Each note attained was joy. When I could play the first part, it felt like something clicked…like I’d come full circle.
Then, after that first simple melody, came the solo. And I was most thoroughly knocked down. Listening to it, I came to a realization:
I will never, in my life, play like this man.
Anderson sings with his flute, sings into it, makes it sing. It’s not a flute – it’s an extension of him. With it, he screams, cries, moans, whispers gently. He makes us feel. That music isn’t work for him. It’s just…him. He soars.
I won’t play like him, no. I am in awe of him. And though I could be disappointed at this realization, I’m not…somehow, it feels so good to know that though I can aspire, I could never be like that.
I’m something different.

2006-11-06T17:07:00.000-05:00

Sucky things:
-I've had a cold for a week
-My lungs hurt
-Now I have a coldsore
-Food seems so yucky when I'm sick
-I can't concentrate, focus, or even think clearly when I'm sick

Good things:
-My Mom is coming to visit from Nova Scotia on Wednesday
-I won the cheesecake bakeoff at work today
-I love my boys
-Aimee Mann is in my head, singing:

It's not
What you thought
When you first began it
You got
What you want
Now you can hardly stand it though,
By now you know
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up

You're sure
There's a cure
And you have finally found it
You think
One drink
Will shrink you 'til you're underground
And living down
But it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop'
Til you wise up

Prepare a list of what you need
Before you sign away the deed
'Cause it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
So just...give up

Have you watched "Magnolia"? It's so good. You'll cry. Aimee Mann did the soundtrack, and it's fantastic.

Another sucky thing:
-My voice is crap because of this cold so I can't sing to the song in my head.

Shopping With Three Children Hurts My Brain

2006-10-29T16:51:00.000-05:00

The grocery store is packed and we've already had a long day. We're wet from the rain and chilled to the bone. Caleb and Aidan run and yell, battling their way through the aisles, calming briefly when we threaten them. The atmosphere is oppressive; people around us sigh heavily.
Liam is quickly bored and tells us about it.
He wants to get out and walk.
Aidan's nose is runny. He needs a new tissue.
Caleb is full of questions and comments, talking away consistently.
The man behind us tries to steer his cart past mine and can't; we're both blocked. Still, he inches forward and I feel the pressure of his impatience heavy on my back. Finally, the backs of my legs are met with the cold metal of his cart, and he mumbles a quiet, "je m'excuse."
My heart races.
We decide we should buy dinner at the store. It's just easier.
We look at the cooked chickens. Caleb asserts that he would like french fries. We end up getting two small pizzas for the kids and I promise to make fries at home.
Jim and I settle on salmon as the kids wonder excitedly about the lobsters in the tank. Aidan is more than mildly disturbed when I tell him why they're there, but cheers up when I tell him how yummy they are.
Liam, by now, is reaching his boiling point. I hoist him out of the cart and murmur comforting words in his ear. He's not hearing it; he wants to walk. By the time we reach the cash, I'm busy contemplating how very, very tired I am. I decide to let Liam walk a bit while Jim and the boys pay for the food.
I put Liam down, straighten up, and follow. His immense and immediate joy is evident. His arms punch the air triumphantly with each step. He explores the wine section, glancing back now and again to be sure I'm still there. Then he beelines to the frozen foods section and slaps his hands, spread out like starfish, on the doors of the ice cream section. A woman nearby laughs and comments, in French, that the kid knows what he wants.
My heart begins to feel a little lighter.
Liam looks at me mischievously and toddles away behind a stack of boxes.
"Where's Liiiiaaaaam?" I inquire.
He peeks out and I say, "BOO!" and he has a good belly laugh.
People around us are smiling.
This is...fun.
He fights me all the way back to the cash to meet Jim and the boys, but I pretend he's an airplane and zoom him through the air.
Those few minutes changed everything. Cool.
And hardly anyone tried to run over us with their cart.

Maybe Nobody Will Recognize Me

2006-10-25T19:49:00.000-04:00

Pretend you have a really persistent co-worker who goads you into singing with a group for a charitable campaign at work. Then pretend that you, in turn, goad your friends and co-workers into singing with you, effectively cementing your commitment to said group. Pretend you'll be performing in front of people you'll have to see every day.
Pretend that the group decides that "YMCA" by the Village People is an ideal selection.
Complete with costumes and choreography.
Pretend you're doing this tomorrow and you already feel like you're going to hurl.

Broken Doe

2006-10-18T13:35:00.000-04:00

Just three seconds
And then she was behind me
Heart pounding so hard and so fast it felt like it may burst from her broken chest
Trying desperately to escape the nightmare
To get up and run
Like always
Run into the trees
To rise and bound
But pinned to the cold pavement by pain and fear
Pinned by her broken body

Uncomprehending
Confused
Hurt

She will not see her children again
She will not run into the woods on this misty grey morning
Only vaguely aware of the machines that hurry past her
She is not ready to let go
Struggling against the inevitability,
She fights
She wants only to run

Just three seconds
And I feel her there
My energy and hers
Touching
Hers desperate

Help me

Mine desperate

I want to, so badly…

And then she is behind me

Who Knew...

2006-10-12T21:25:00.000-04:00

...that a fixed tooth* could give one a whole new perspective on life?
Sadly, my molar, which broke in half a couple of weeks ago, is terminally ill and it seems that nothing can be done to save it. I asked meekly if I would have to be awake when it gets pulled, and the dentist laughed a little and then assured me that no, I wouldn't. They have some options for me.
I wonder if crack is one of them?
Let me tell you about my dental appointment! Please, let me tell you, because I fear I will burst if I have to keep it all inside of me any longer.
As I mentioned, this tooth (back lower left molar, for those of you interested. incidentally, why are you interested? that's just odd. but thank you for caring just the same) split in half and has been causing trouble for me since. Besides not being able to chew on that side (OR on my right side - it needs a bridge!), my mouth tasted funny. That's all I'll say about that because I want you to still like me after you read this.
So, I went to the dentist for an emergency appointment, I did, and my wonderful dentist (who I love) said that I could come back in a few days (read: tonight) and have a crown put on.
I was nervous going in. I had that sinking feeling - you know the one? In the pit of your belly? That one whispering "you have no right to even hope this may turn out okay and you KNOW it! Stop fooling yourself, freak!"? Yeah. So I'm reclined uncomfortably in the chair and dude is poking around in my mouth, mumbling about crown walls and bones and whether the tooth is broken beneath the bone blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. Then! Then he started yanking on my tooth.
Um...OW?
Seriously. FREAKING OW! I mean, WTF?
"Does that hurt your gums?" he crooned.
"UH, EEEAAAHHH!" I mumbled around his fingers.
He placated me by shooting anaesthetic into my gums.
And started yanking again.
So yeah, the anaesthetic didn't work and I was starting to tremble a little.
A few well-placed sharp inhalations and an exaggerated wince clued him in.
"Is your tongue numb?" he asked gently.
"UH, LOOO!"
"Oh!" Let's give you some more anaesthetic!" said he, a look of concern in his eyes, so kind and floaty above his mask.
Two more jabs and my tongue was nicely numb, but I continued to tremble. After he wrenched the tooth from my gums and the nurse suctioned some disturbingly red fluid from my mouth, they took an x-ray and left the room to study it.
I looked at myself in the mirror and was astonished at my pallor. Hmmm. I opened my mouth and was once again astonished - this time at the amount of blood floating around in there.
I comforted myself by spitting several times in the sink. I jumped up and down a bit to try and get rid of the shakes and was sufficiently amused at my strangeness to quell the worst of the trembles.
My wonderful dentist came back in looking rather grave, and proceeded to explain to me the many reasons that my tooth has to go. Then he filled it temporarily and replaced a filling on another tooth and we were off to the receptionist's desk to schedule a consultation with the surgeon.
Surgeon.
Because the tooth is large and rather in bad shape so it will be very unpleasant to extract.
Oh look! I'm trembling again!
My dentist spoke quietly with the receptionist, offered me a bright smile, and disappeared while the receptionist typed and scheduled my next appointment.
Are you wondering why I love my dentist?
After she handed me a card with my appointment written on it, she said, "That's it!"
I stared at her dumbly.
"No payment?" I asked, giggling a bit at the silliness of that notion.
"Nope!" she said.
Brightly.
"I like it here!" I exclaimed excitedly, and the receptionist laughed.
I still thought she was kidding, but she wasn't.
I walked out of there feeling like maybe I should run.
I was happy. Buoyant! My tooth is scheduled to die on November 7th but I DIDN'T PAY FOR ANYTHING TONIGHT!
Then, half-way home, I realized that my dentist probably felt bad for me. He probably looks in my mouth and feels sad. And then he thinks of the copious amounts of money I will be giving him in the future: extraction, another extraction, BRIDGE. And he feels joy. He wants me to come back. I, my friends, will keep this man in business with this miserable mouth of mine.
I'm going to bed.
My mouth hurts.

*temporarily!

The Tedium of Me

2006-10-11T18:58:00.000-04:00

When I was little, I worshipped my father. I waited for him to be home, and when he was, I'd hang on his every word, I'd sit beside him and watch him read forever (no wonder I could read when I was three), I'd draw him pictures...
When he was manic, I'd sit on the back step and watch him run around the block...circling and circling...and I could see, even from a distance, the look of joy on his face. Of hope. Of being on the precipice of something great and knowing all he had to do was...keep going.
When he was depressed, I would tiptoe around him. I'd quietly ask him questions about planets and books and music and cherish each thing he taught me. I'd sit beside him and sit and sit and sit and wait for that look of joy.
I thought that if I was very good, he'd be okay. I so wanted him to be okay.
My father gave me gifts.
He gave me brains. And curiosity and the desire to learn. He gave me, I'm convinced, some of the gifts I used to talk about on here a lot. He taught me, in silence, to wait. He taught me, in his absence, to imagine and to anticipate. He taught me the power of will and decision. He taught me right and wrong.
Sometimes, I am depressed. Sometimes I am anxious. Mere shadows of the bipolar extremes that my father experiences, I'm sure, but shadows indeed.
I think that, in an effort to make sense of all of this as I grew up, I built a safe little wall around myself...with rules, and clear goals, and morals, and right and wrong. I made decisions very carefully...I watched, learned, and decided appropriately. Now, when things in my life are so very mixed up, I feel that wall crumble and wonder what will be left at the end of it.
Will I rebuild?
Will I tear down and start over?
All those rules I set out for myself - the clear lines of right and wrong and black and white - are blurred now with shades of grey and I wander through, confused and enlightened.
In the meantime, I go to work and I take care of my kids. I play my flute and I sing. I cry some, too. And I think way too much.
And my Father is writing again. Once again, I sit and listen and learn.
And I'm thankful.

Fork

2006-10-06T23:57:00.000-04:00

The best part is when his eyes light up...

Any Mother Would Be Proud OR Rapid Deterioration of Young Boy After Consumption of Chocolate Ice Cream Cone

2006-10-06T21:29:00.000-04:00

Do Not Read This Unless You Were In My French Class This Morning

2006-10-05T18:24:00.000-04:00

I think I'm in love with a woman in my French class.
Today was my first, four-hour French class - a course I'm taking at work.
Four hours of bland, boring, mind-numbing blandy boringness.
But there's one Indian woman there who makes me giggle uncontrollably, and she made surviving the morning easier.

It was her turn to read some dialogue, and she had some trouble with the pronunciation of "heureuse". Remember, this is a small room with eight quiet, bored students who don't want to talk or even be noticed.

Mia*: What IS that word, anyway?
Reluctant Teacher: It means, "happy".
Mia: It doesn't make me happy (bursts out laughing).
Reluctant Teacher: You seem happy.
Mia: THAT'S BECAUSE I'M DRUNK!

Oh my GOD I laughed so hard.

Other gems:

When we were practicing conversation:

Reluctant Teacher: Does anyone have any questions for Mia?
Mia: No, no questions, s'il vous plait.

When we were demonstrating ways of confirming someone's identification:

Mia: Vous etes blah blah blah?

Okay maybe you had to be there.

*Not her real name. Not to protect her identity, but because I forget her real name. So maybe it's not love, per se. Maybe it's just admiration.

Boring...

2006-10-03T19:05:00.000-04:00

Holy crap.
Well, an update has been demanded, so Laura, this is for you.
Laura suggests that, since I feel unable to write about my life at home at the moment, I should write about work.
Hmmmm.
Work. Well, I have a job. And it's okay. I'm really lucky to have it. It provides considerable security and benefits. And if I didn't show up, nobody woud notice because things I do are ultimately unimportant...
BUT!!! Yes! There is a but. But I have friends at work, and THAT is wonderful. Because of that, I enjoy going to work. I look forward to it. Strange, huh? I go to work, and I talk to my friends, and I become involved in everyone else's lives and don't have to worry about my own. I offer advice (probably way too much of it) and I chat and I expound on the mysteries of the universe and debate whether poker is really gambling (incidentally, Mark, there are two syllables in that word, not three! And 5 - 6 - 5 does not a haiku make!) or not.
I say it is.
Ahem.
Oh! And while I'm at work, my children learn and speak French and eat sand and are happy little monkeys.
Except for one thing. Every day, I go to work and I have this feeling of expectation. Like something big or wonderful or meaningful is going to happen. I sit at my desk and do my work and wait. I pause often, staring at the window, and think about that nagging feeling of expectation, and wonder why it's there. Then, at the end of the day, a feeling of disappointment comes over me and I think, "that's it?"
I can't explain it. Maybe it's always there, but I don't have time to notice it at home. It's busy around here, what with all the noisy children and all.
Anyhoo.
In closing, I would like to say that I'm thankful for work.
And apologize for my lack of interesting things to say.

Ooooooh...

2006-09-24T06:57:00.000-04:00

Okay I am too old for this. For an idea of what I did last night, see the post below. It was my friend Alisa's birthday and we ate at Poncho Villa's and, after a brief stop a friend's place, danced the night away.
Okay they probably danced the night away. I begged off at a pathetic 1am. It was a great night with wonderful friends, but you know what? I'm sad to say that I think I'm too old for this. Maybe that's not true, though. I hope not because wow, I'm having fun. I'd done a group reading with friends the night before, and I think the two nights in a row thing is what I'm actually too old for. And having to get up early with three excited boys afterwards adds to it. My body hurts, my eyes are swollen, and my feet...oooooh, my feet. Interestingly, though, that spot in my back that's been hurting since the last time I went out dancing seems to have been cured last night by the very thing that caused it in the first place...
It's been a lovely weekend so far. We took the kids to the mall yesterday and ate at the food court. Though it's not ideal ambiance-wise, everybody gets what they want and Liam's screaming is barely noticed above the din. We also visited my sister and her family, and I got to change my new niece's poopy diaper twice! The joy! Um, for those of you with girl babies - my admiration for you is huge. Not having been blessed with babies of the female variety, I was surprised at the intricacies of changing my niece. Without going into detail, I'll just say this: it's harder.
Liam, incidentally, is loving walking. He's been more cheerful ever since he mastered that typical toddler walk - hands held tentatively up, arms at 90 degree angles, halting steps occasionally degenerating to a shambling sideways quickstep. It's entertaining to watch, and a relief, too, as his frustration seems to have been replaced by joy (and tempered by a rather destructive sort of curiosity, I might add).
I'm amazed that, even though Liam's my third child, I am still struck with that odd and somehow unexpected shock of clashing emotions as I watch him grow from a baby to a toddler. I'm proud. I'm exuberant. I'm so, so sad. In all likelihood, Liam is my last baby. Oh, that feels so final! But most likely true...and it sort of tears at my heart to watch him stop being my baby. I think I'll never forget the last time he breastfed...for it'll also be the last time I ever breastfeed. And his firsts are also lasts, somehow. First steps were witnessed with a sort of bittersweet joy...never again will I see a baby of mine take his first steps.
There's that tiny little voice inside of me, though, that pushes back when I have these thoughts. That voice that has always been there, telling me I can have more kids! I am still young (though my feet will tell you differently today)! Still fertile! Capable!
But that voice is quiet now. Where she was a vivacious cheerleader in my younger baby-making days, she is now sitting at the back of the crowd, half-heartedly waving a big foam finger that says, "Your ovaries rock - still!" on it while eating a hot dog.
So perhaps she'll slowly lapse into silence. She'll realize the game is over and make her way back home.
Well hasn't this just been an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts.
I shall leave you with a little revelation that I had last night. As I've mentioned before, I'm going through a bit of a hard time, personally. I don't think I've ever sustained such a high level of stress for such a long period of time. But isn't it incredible that, even now - especially now - I can look around myself and find myself so blessed? I have wonderful friends, a good job, three amazing kids, and I'm happier with myself than I've ever been. I'm so thankful for all of this.
Maybe, someday, I can stop wanting more...

Night Out

2006-09-18T19:16:00.000-04:00

So, as part of my week away, I went out with my dear friends from work.

It had been over 7 years since I went dancing, and believe me, my back is reminding me of that. We danced for hours Thursday night, and I've been feeing it in the most painful way ever since. People, I am OLD. But WOW, I had sooooo much fun.
Things have changed since my dancing days. The blatantly obvious ogling on the part of the men, though flattering, was surprising to me. So I focused on my girls (I lurve you Lisa, Rachel, Laura and Malaika!) and just danced, danced, danced.Me, Laura and Malaika.
Sometimes you gots to look angry when you dance. Adds a bit of panache, hmmm? Oh, did I mention that I got ID'd on the way in? YES, I DID! And I didn't have my ID. So I told the guy I am 31 and have three kids. The disbelieving look on his face melted away when I showed him my stretch marks. He let me in. See? Stretch marks ARE useful!

Having way too much fun.

Malaika was the queen of looking really cool and sophisticated when she danced. She demanded I try the look, and this is my attempt. Can't you just see the goofy grin simmering under there?

It was a great time. There was a bit of drunken-ness mixed in there, some flagrant shirt-ripping happening (I will not reveal the name of the shirt -ripper because I'm loyal like that), and a LOT of dancing. It was 90's night, too!

Fun.

When I fully recover, I may think about doing it again...

Introducing...

2006-09-16T21:53:00.000-04:00

Kira Tree, my new niece, born Thursday at 10am. I want to steal her and put her in pink dresses, but my sister swears she'll share her, so it probaby won't be necessary.
More about my week away later...

WELL!

2006-09-09T18:44:00.000-04:00

Guess what? I'm going to stay with my friend, Jodi, for a week.
Yes, I am!
And guess what else? My kids are staying HERE! With Jim!
Is it wrong to be very, very excited over this?
Jodi's boyfriend is camping for a week and I'm going to keep her company...and I must admit, to take a break. I needs a break, peeps. But I'm going to miss my boys so much. I can see myself sneaking home for little visits.
But I will also be going out with friends, and relaxing, and watching bad movies, and DANCING! It's been years since I've gone out dancing, and I'm excited. I'm a little afraid, though, that this cold I have (complete with body aches and sore throat and all-the-time tiredness) is going to hurt my plans.
Anyway, that's where I'll be. I can still check my email, though, so feel free to write.
WOO!
(I am acting very excited but feeling very guilty. I figure that if I keep acting excited, I will eventually convince my brain not to feel guilty. And to be excited instead. Yes.)
Jim's out playing poker with the boys tonight to try and get some fun in before he's on full-time Daddy duty.

Oh! My tattoo is featured on the Brian Froud site, which is sorta neato.
Back to the weekend...

Taking Pictures

2006-09-06T20:19:00.000-04:00

I don't know where it's gone. My desire to write, I mean.
It's gone.
It's not at work. I know that. And it's not here at home, either. Maybe it's just hiding away. Before, when I would go through rough patches in my life, I would always write. I would write horrid, dark poems when I was a teenager, full of angst and woe. And as I grew older, I kept various journals in which I'd rant or moan or lament.
This time, I'm quiet.
Maybe when things get better, I'll want to write again.
I feel for those of you who've stuck it out and who still visit me here (incidentally, thank you! and, erm, sorry for the boring-ness!).
So, I shall ply you with pictures. Pretty pictures of my pretty children! Look at the pretty children!
Caleb! SMILE!
Okay! Okay, but this time! Smile! Like, with your mouth and stuff! Yeah!

Ah! Better! Now you, Aidan! Smile!

Well! Well, that was interesting! But how about this time smile AND look at ME instead of the TV? Yeah? Okay!

WHEE! Now Liam! Okay well I'm going to cheat with this one because the kid was hungry and also grumpy and he wouldn't stop alternately trying to eat the camara and shoving his little baby fingers far into the cavernous innards of my nostrils. So I have included here, for you to see, and picture of the back of my boy's head. Because look! Look at the delicious golden hair! The shimmery curly-ness of it all! Oh, rapture!

Pretty!

And now, for a picture of me doing something called, "Facilitation of Rapid Swelling of the Tips of the Fingers of the Left Hand." This is exacerbated by the fact that I haven't touched the guitar in years. Oh, the pain. But Liam loved it he stood in front of me, his hands on my knees, and bounced to the music...so, it was very much worth it.

My Son

2006-09-02T17:41:00.000-04:00

Sweetie Liam

2006-08-25T08:22:00.000-04:00

Every morning, Jim gets Liam and brings him to me in bed. A few months ago, when he’d do this, Liam would happily smack me around a bit and then get down off the bed so he could pull the books off the bookshelf or otherwise wreak havoc.

Now, though, he crawls to me, lays his head on my arm, and curls himself into me. I pull the covers over us and just smell his hair for a while. He’ll stay until I tell him it’s time to go eat breakfast. Sometimes, he’ll lift his head to stare into my eyes or readjust his tiny little body so it fits better into mine, but mostly we just lie there quietly.

Even when he wants to play, he’s cuddly. He’ll say, “bap! bop!” and I’ll tickle his tummy or under his arm. He’ll giggle and wriggle around a bit, then wait. Then he’ll slap his teeny little feet against my thigh and I’ll say, “footie footie…FEETIES!” and tickle, tickle, tickle, until he’s completely dissolved in a breathless fit of giggles. He’ll search my face, looking for the glasses he so loves to grab and fling in one swift motion. When he doesn’t find them, he’ll bow his head a bit, like a bull about to charge, and plow his forehead softly into my face…and hold. Such an intense hug, this. It doesn’t matter that he’s crushing my eyeball or squishing my nose. “Wub wub,” he’ll say, or, “abm abm” and I just try, try to soak it in.

I don’t know what’s done it. He’s always been a snuggler – fiercely tightening his body into mine whenever I picked him up, even just after he was born. But now, it’s so much more conscious…we expect frequent hugs from him all day, now. And he’s constantly climbing up on our laps for a quick hug, then getting down again to play a bit…then up he comes again…I wonder if it’s because he’s finally weaned (by the way, WHEE!)? I wonder if he just got used to being around us so much more during vacation? I don’t know.

But wow, I’m glad.

It's a Good Thing I Get His Sense of Humour...

2006-08-21T12:12:00.000-04:00

Well, the boys are back in daycare and we can start settling back into our routine, whatever that means. It seems to change quite frequently.

Caleb doesn’t start grade 2 for a couple of weeks so luckily Liam and Aidan’s daycare worker took him. It’s nice that they’ll be together, but I’m nervous about how it’ll go. Caleb and Aidan can be a bit…(rambunctious? FREAKY? insanity-inducing?)…energetic when they’re together. And I know Aidan will have a hard time going for a nap when he knows Caleb is awake and playing Gamecube in the next room…

When we dropped them off this morning, the daycare worker asked how our holiday was. I told her it sucked, but that I had managed to get a tattoo. Jim manhandled me until my shirt was all the way up my back and everyone in the room was looking at my tattoo. And the back of my bra. When I questioned him rather forcefully afterward, he said that we didn’t pay all that money for it not to be shown off. I replied that if I’d gotten it to show off I would have had it done more prominently, say, on my shoulder or forehead. He said that he didn’t care why I got it, but that in order for it to be worth it in his eyes, I should be showing it off. He went on to state that I should be running around naked, saying, “Look at my tattoo! And my ass!”

So if you see some naked chick with a tattoo of a fairy on her back running around and screaming about her ass, that would most likely be me. Say hi!

Much Nicer Than The Last Post

2006-08-15T11:38:00.000-04:00

Bubbles. Always a cheap, fun alternative to going out!
Observe Aidan as he has oodles of fun!

HeHe had just popped one here. Stomping is another good way to kill bubbles.
Oooh the charm...

But do you see the wickedness behind his smile? By this time he was wreaking havoc and jumping and yelling and exhibiting way too much energy.

So I blew a giant bubble and popped him in there when he wasn't looking.

Barf

2006-08-15T10:46:00.000-04:00

Well, not quite. But one cannot entitle her post, "diarrhea" and hope to keep her readership, can one?
Yeah so that's been me for the past few days. Feeling better today; just weak and tired. Still can't eat much.
So I'm getting rather tired of all this sickness. Jim's encouraging me to go see a doctor about it, but really I think I just need to keep up the de-stressing efforts. I really believe stress contributes to physical health in a big way.
Anyway.
Last day of "vacation" today (I won't mention the six sick days in there. oops) and WOW we're having fun! Jim's playing Katamari and I'm dyeing my hair. We're going to go get Caleb's school supplies (after we rob a bank) and also get him a beginner's piano book. Someday we'll get him a keyboard, too!
Did I tell you how my singing lesson went? No? Well, I won't because it's too boring, but I'll just tell you that I loved it and I can't wait to go back. Tra lala!
Have a great day, darlings.

Sorrow

2006-08-11T13:53:00.000-04:00

If you ask me, Aidan knocked it down when he was acting goofy in the kitchen.
If you ask Aidan, he didn't do it. His dinner tray did. While it was on his head. And he's not sad that he hurt my flute, but he's very sad that he didn't get to have a cookie before his nap.
I'm just sad.

ps: Weird - I named the pic "sadness" when I saved it, but when I went to find it again to post it, it was named "beauty". What the?

pss: Also, does anyone know if this can be fixed?

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...

2006-08-10T10:12:00.000-04:00

Vacation.
It can hardly be called that when we're not going anywhere or doing anything. And Jim's at work 'til the weekend so I get the two youngest to try to keep occupied. Vacation...ha! Don't get me wrong - it is nice to be able to spend some time with Aidan and Liam. Such lovely little boys they are! But I must say it's far from relaxing. Is it awful that I miss work? I can't believe I'm saying that...just four months ago I was crying over having to go back. But it's an important part of my life, and I like doing something I feel proud of. Not to mention the much-needed paycheque. Them student loans ain't gonna pay themselves!
Today, we'll go visit my sister and her little guy, Gage. Haven't seen her in a while and it'll break up the day nicely.
Guess what I'm doing tonight? Don't laugh. I'm going to my first singing lesson! Hey! You're laughing!
I've always wanted lessons and a friend of mine let me tag along to hers the other night. It was all the inspiration I needed to sign up. I'm actually excited to be doing more for myself lately; it's long overdue. And it's getting easier. Too easy, in fact. People, it's FUN doing things for yourself! It's freeing! Empowering, even! Who knew?
I guess I should do laundry or something.
Bah. Vacation! What-EVER!

Oh! First, let me entertain you with a conversation Aidan and I had yesterday:

Me: Well, I have to go to the bathroom; I'll just be gone a minute.
Aidan: Do you have to go poop?
Me: Why, yes, actually!
Aidan: Oh! You'd better hurry up, Mom!
Me: Why, dear?
Aidan: Well, we don't want to poop in our pants, do we?

Still giggling over that one!

Tattoo Story Tuesday

2006-08-08T12:48:00.000-04:00

I did a very short reading for my tattoo artist.
What can I say? I was nervous, it was my first tattoo and he asked me what I do for a living. When I told him I was a government worker, I could feel his malaise.
I am so uncool.
So, I told him that I also work as a psychic. He became slightly more animated, though sceptical. He jovially announced that he had a kook in his chair, then quietly inquired as to whether I saw anything about him.
Let me just say that I don't think I've ever been so glad to have been accurate.
I love my tattoo! This isn't something I did on a whim, and I'm glad. I've been thinking about it and planning it for years. I got "the faerie that was kissed by the pixies" by Brian Froud. A few years ago, when I was still doing a lot of tarot readings, I found the Faerie's Oracle and was instantly in love. I loved the deck and felt such connection to it, even though I already knew that I didn't need to use cards any more. My deck has since disappeared (I'm sure they were stolen; I took very good care of them...) but my love for Froud's artwork lives on. I've been an unknowing fan since I was very little, when I repeatedly watched The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth with my sister. Both movies were built around Froud' creatures. I've got a small collection of his books and even a little figurine. He makes me remember to look at the world like I did when I was a kid - when the forest held a billion secrets and I would do anything to be in it.
My faerie represents love. I've always loved her...I brought her card to my first visit to the tattoo parlour two years ago and they enlarged it, saying we'd need to go bigger to get all the detail in. I was a bit taken aback by the size (and price!) and ultimately put it off until I was pregnant and then couldn't get her. When I went back last week, not only ready, but anxious to finally get it done, dude took one look at the enlarged picture I had kept on my fridge for two years and said it would have to be 30% bigger.
Oh my.
Of course, my deck was gone, but I'd brought in my "Good Faeries, Bad Faeries" book and they made a new picture. I brought it home and cut her out of the copy, taping her to my back and making Jim take pictures.
Though it would be expensive, no doubt painful, and bigger than I'd hoped, I found myself going back the next day. I found that I simply couldn't NOT do it.
And I'm so glad.
It truly didn't hurt until the last 20 minutes, when I was all swollen and bleeding. And my dear friends and tattoo experts came by to keep me company and see the final product. One of them asked my artist how long he was booked up for, and he reported he was booked solid until October. He looked at me, shaking his head, saying he didn't know quite how they fit me in that day.
It was that little reading, and the readings I'll do for his sister and girlfriend. Fate.
Funny how things sort of all tie together, isn't it?
Makes me smile.

Here she is again, healing:

Guess What I Did Last Night...

2006-08-06T09:36:00.000-04:00

Poo!

2006-08-05T12:33:00.000-04:00

He took two steps by himself.

AT DAYCARE.

Ghost Story Tuesday ( Ha Ha Ha!)

2006-08-01T12:34:00.000-04:00

So, it’s Tuesday.

Traditionally, my ghost-story day. Some of you may have noticed (and/or emailed asking where the heck the ghost stories are) that Tuesdays have been sadly bereft of ghost stories around here. I must tell you that the inevitable seems to have happened: my life has once again become so crazed that this precious part of me is being squished into a much smaller precious part. I miss it! I am still doing remote reads, but only after stoic persistence from the seekers, I must admit. It’s difficult to carve time for it, but I must continue, because I love it so!

So don’t stop asking. And ask a LOT, or my brain may simply file it away forever. Not intentional, I assure you. In that vein, I must tell everyone who’s asked for a reading and either not heard from me (for shame!) or has yet to solidify an appointment with me to ASK AGAIN. I’m not ignoring you. My email account isn’t reliable lately, and I lost a lot of emails. Also the crazy busy-ness. And insanity. And life-changing events. Etc. So please, please ask again.

Oh! And plans for the business are still on, but they’re on hold while my dear friend and colleague settles in with her new baby. Some days, holding on to the promise of our business is what gets me through the workday! (No pressure, Kels!)

Once we have things up and running, Tuesdays will be exciting again. And you have to believe me, because I know these things, remember?

;)

Proud of Himself

2006-07-30T09:09:00.000-04:00

Hmmmm, I'm bored. What kind of trouble can I get into?

Well, look at me! I climbed in here all by myself! Do you know that Mommy won't let me climb the stairs? Well, I showed her! I climbed into my toybox. Ha! Now what should I do?
Oh yeah! Throwing toys is fun! Wheee!

.067 seconds later...

Well that was cool. And Mom looked really worried a few times. Mission accomplished. Now how the heck do I get out of here?

Here we go. Easy stuff. Man, I'm getting big. I think I'll go empty the drawers now and try to eat the waxed paper...

WHAT IS POUTINE?!?

2006-07-28T17:10:00.000-04:00

Really?
Oh, ye unfortunate souls! My heart bleeds for thee!
I'll tell you what. You come on over to my house and I'll serve you up a lovely plate of poutine. Or, if you like, we can visit one of the six local poutine stands.
Quebec = abundant poutine. McDonald's has poutine here. Burger King, too. And Wendy's. And it's one of the main reasons I go to the movies.
I'll describe it, but I want you to keep in mind that the description doesn't do it justice at all!
Pile a whole bunch of french fries on a plate (or a styrofoam container if you're frequenting one of your local poutine stands!). Then, generously cover the fries with cheese curds. Sometimes, mozzarella is used, but it doesn't compare to the curds, dudes. Smother in gravy.
YUM.
It's good for the soul.

The movie was okay. The company was lovely. Fun was had. Poutine was consumed. It was a good night.

Now, it's family night, and I must be off. All of you should go out and try some poutine. You'll thank me for it.

But your thighs won't!

Tonight I Shall Have Fun

2006-07-27T18:11:00.000-04:00

So. Jim and I have agreed that I need to start being more selfish. This is something that's come out of our most recent (and ogoing) crisis. One of the things.
So tonight I'm leaving my darling family and I'm going to the movies with a friend. Doesn't sound like much, maybe, but do you know how long it's been since I've asked a friend to do anything? YEARS, people.
I'm excited! I am going to look pretty (or give it my best go, anyway!)! I'm going to eat poutine! We're going to watch "Lady in The Water" by M. Night Shamalanalmalamylamylamylamlan.
I'm going to have fun.
Oh man, this is so much work. I hope all this fun-having and selfishness gets easier with practice...

The Art of Saying No

2006-07-25T10:42:00.001-04:00

I have this problem. I want people to be happy.

Huh? Doesn’t sound like a problem, you say? Perhaps I should re-phrase that.

I have this problem. If people aren’t happy, I assume it’s my fault, and I do everything I can to remedy the situation.

This can be bad. It tends to cut into my own happiness quite significantly, see?

The boss rushes in with another project that she needs “someone” to do ASAP. I Can do that!

A friend needs help organizing a group event. I’m your girl!

Jim seems quiet. I must have done something wrong!

That man in the elevator is scowling. Maybe he doesn’t like my shoes!

Why do I do this? I do not know. But I know one thing: it has to change. ‘Cuz it’s driving me bonkers.

“Just say ‘no’!” advises my best friend. Hahahahahaha she is so funny. Because for me, that is the hardest thing in the world.

My first performance review as a government employee went smashingly; the praise was almost embarrassing. But at the end, my boss (who is so wise to do this for me) said, “I have one negative comment for you. You’re a people-pleaser. It sounds good, but it’s not. You’re going to get taken advantage of, and it’ll hurt you in the long run. You have to learn to say no.”

She was right. I haven’t mastered the art of saying no (haven’t even mastered the art of saying maybe, friends), and it’s hurting. At work, I’m seen as the go-to girl; the one who can do anything, and FAST! The problem is, I end up with piles or work that I don’t have enough time for, and it’s not the quality I’d like it to be by the deadline. At home, I’m the girl who’s given up everything – her whole self – for her family. And now I’m unhappy. Everyone around me is taken care of. Relaxed. Secure.

But I am…

Lost.

I need to learn to say no. I need just a touch of selfishness…just enough so that I can be happy, too. I need to think of me.

The question is…how do I do that without feeling the guilt of letting everyone down?

Good Grief This Blog Is Boring

2006-07-20T18:37:00.000-04:00

I'm still in my events-which-I-will-not-write-about-(yet)-induced funk.

So allow me to share a humorous little story with you so you can stop jabbing that pen in your eye with the overwhelming boredom and whatnot.

This morning after feeding Liam, he climbed down off the bed as he always does and proceeded to crawl off toward the bathroom. His usual routine is to stand at the bathtub and push all the shampoo bottles in to bounce of the bottom and make a joyfully loud sound. The wonder of it all! The glee! So I was a little curious as to why I wasn't hearing these familiar sounds as I pulled on a pair of boxers. As I walked toward the bathroom, I heard another sound.

Splash, splash, splash. SPLASH! splashsplashsplashsplash...etc.

Oh dear.

I was rather disconcerted when I entered the bathroom and found my baby son hanging over the toilet, his hand fully submerged to the wrist, waving his arm back and forth with great force. The smile on his face made me smile too, despite the horrors of it all.

Then I saw that the water was not just water. It was water and pee and toilet paper.

Still, Liam seemed rather unconcerned that he was playing in pee. He objected loudly as I whisked him over to the sink, but his smile returned when he discovered that water was fun to play with in the sink, too!

And there was no pee in the sink.

So I was okay with it, too.

I'm Not Dead...

2006-07-18T18:00:00.000-04:00

...but there are some things you just don't write about on your blog. Whether it's for the preservation of your job or respect for the ones you love, you just don't write about some things. Okay, maybe some do write about them...and that's great! For them. I guess there are just some things I don't write about.

So, when your life is consumed with these things that you don't write about, it's hard to write, you dig? Which is why I've been so quiet lately.

I'm still reading, though, and I'm still here! The kids are well and good, and are the joys of my heart. And I have very dear, sweet friends who love me and who I am so blessed to know.

Very soon, I shall hope back up on the horse and write.

I promise.

God and Flowers

2006-07-10T20:19:00.000-04:00

Caleb, from the back seat of the van, begins to complain about something. It’s been a busy day, Aidan’s whining and Liam is yelling loudly in the middle seat. I cannot hear what Caleb is saying.
“What?” I yell.
More mumbling. Something about “skin” and “hurt”.
“I can’t hear you, hon!” I yell over the din from the younger children.
Somehow, I hear him sigh in frustration. I make a monumental effort to hear him this time.
“My skin is growing too close to my nails again! That means that when you cut my nails, it’ll hurt my skin!”
“OH! Oh, I heard you that time! Oh! Yeah? Your skin? Too close to your nails? Aw, that hurts, doesn’t it?” I congratulate myself on hearing him and on being sympathetic, then go back to trying to placate Liam and figure out why Aidan is whining.
Something from Caleb way in the back.
“UGH! Caleb, I cannot hear you! The kids are yelling!”
My frustration reaches a new level.
I wrench myself around to look at him, and his little beautiful face is miserable. My heart hurts a bit for him. Poor kid’s just trying to be heard.
He waits until the younger boys have quieted down a bit, then tries again:
“Why?”
“Why what, dear?” My head hurts.
“Why does God do that? Make my skin grow so close to my nails so it hurts when you cut them?”
Jim says something sarcastic while I struggle to come up with an answer to satisfy his question. A pause, then, from Caleb,
“Maybe it’s because he did so many treats. He did so many treats for us that he has to do something bad, too.”
I don’t know where it came from. I don’t. But I do know that I didn’t feel frustrated anymore. I felt calm. And so in awe of my Caleb. What if I hadn’t made the effort to hear him? I would have missed his striking revelation!

Another one with Caleb:

Mom, what does perfume smell like?

Perfume? Well, there’s a lots of different kinds.

But what does it smell like?

Well…a lot of it smells sweet!

Sweet? Like what?

Like…flowers.

Like you?

He keeps making me love him more and more! I am helpless against it!

Aidan is FOUR!

2006-07-08T14:08:00.000-04:00

It's late, but I want to acknowledge Aidan's birthday (June 29th).
I think it's hard for me to write about my middle boy...well, it's hard to write about the pregnancy, anyway. It was tough. Preterm labour at 21, 24 and 33 weeks, bedrest for four months, severe depression, insulin-dependant gestational diabetes...I was convinced I would lose him until I hit 26 weeks. He ended up being born at 37 weeks, 1 day. To me, it seemed a small miracle. I had my boy. My second baby, and all was right with the world.

Aidan is a dear boy. He's been the favorite of all his daycare workers. Compassionate, caring and sweet, he is effortlessly endearing. He loves hugs and kisses, loves music, and is always up for a snuggle. He's addicted to Pokemon and, like his big brother, loves the Gamecube. And Gameboy. And Playstation.
Oy.

It was hard on Aidan when Liam was born. Not the fact that he wasn't the youngest any more...no! In fact, he relishes being the "big brother" and is excellent in the role. It was the fall in attention, the lack of time with Jim and I that got him, I think. But he's adjusted. He is amazing with Liam...he's always entertaining or comforting him, and enjoying doing so! What a dear, sensitive soul he is. Do you know that he adores baking with me? And will even play My Little Ponies with me for like, ten minutes before they start to fly across the room? It's true! I look at him and feel blessed.

I wonder if this feeling of amazement that he's here, actually here with me will ever diminish? I was so sure I'd lose him so many times...so convinced of it that when I finally held him in my arms, I was in awe of the fact that he was okay.

His beauty is so potent to me. His spirit is so pure. Don't get me wrong; the boy is a huge goofball, like his Dad. He loves acting the fool just to get some giggles, and is very good at it. He is amazing in his selflessness at his age.

Happy Birthday, sweet James Aidan. You are a joy to everyone you meet!

Ghost Story Wednesday (It's Blogger's Fault!)

2006-07-05T16:14:00.000-04:00

I’ve never really “gotten” much from pictures of orbs. I can’t explain them, I don’t get specific messages from them…sometimes, I get a definite energy from them, but like most people, I can only guess at what they mean. Still, they’re fascinating, aren’t they? Because they make us wonder!

While I was in Vermont, we drove a lot. The road leading away from the resort was winding and tree-lined, and happened to have this beautiful old mill on it:

I admired the mill every day, saying often that I wanted to take pictures of it. “It’s haunted,” I said to Jim, who offered many times to stop so I could snap a few pictures. I kept putting it off until the last time we drove down that road and away from the resort. They day was overcast, but I was overjoyed it wasn’t raining. Maybe I could get some good pictures. I snapped several, then connected to the energy of the place and asked any entity that was there to show up in the next picture. I immediately felt a coolness in front of me, snapped the shot, and got this:

“COOL!” I shouted, but nobody heard me; Jim was arguing with the boys in the van and the street was deserted. Still, I think somebody must’ve heard…so I whispered, “thanks,” too.

One rainy morning, I went outside very early in the morning to take shots of the weather, and felt a presence all around me, and everywhere…I got this:

Yes, it could be rain, and I would say that it was automatically, except…except for that feeling. That presence. And this is rain:

Different, no?

When I got home, I found a note from a dear reader in my inbox, with this attached:

And here’s a really cool one (I like the blue colour) from a few months ago, from another reader:

Another one from a dear friend and reader which has special meaning:

Truly, I think these orbs mean something to the person taking the picture, and the people who will see the picture. I think they’re presences. They want to be in the picture, too…because they’re there, too!

What do you think?

Any orb experts out there?

In any case, keep sending your pictures and I'll keep posting them.

Upsetedness

2006-07-05T06:45:00.000-04:00

Blogger will not let me post pictures. I've only been trying for several hours. An entire day, really. And my ghost story post is all about orbs. Pictures of them.

Sucky.

I tell ya, I just need a liiiiittle push and I'll be following some of my esteemed computer freinds over to a more friendly interface. Suggestions, anyone?

In the meantime, I'll keep trying with the pictures...

Bye Bye, Vacation. I Love You.

2006-07-03T20:30:00.000-04:00

Today is the tenth and final day of my vacation. I started relaxing on day nine.

I needed this. While we were in Vermont, I found myself stressed, frazzled, stressed, and stressed. What is WRONG with me? I asked myself so many times a day. I argued with Jim, snapped at the kids, and generally felt awful. My sinus infection was bad for the first few days, and it rained, rained, rained...but those weren't the problems. On Wednesday night, Jim and I put Caleb in the "Kid's Night Out" program and a babysitter (provided by the resort) took care of Liam and Aidan at the condo. Jim and I went for a nice dinner and then drove for a bit. It should have been wonderful, but I felt so...stretched. I just couldn't relax into it. Tears, unfortunately, were part of that night.

I finally realized that I was trying so hard to have fun that I was sort of missing the whole point of the vacation. I intently scanned the resort's schedule every morning and evening, planning the day ahead. I was so disappointed when the rain prevented us from doing so many things...all I could do was think about how we could salvage some of the trip.

I think, looking back on it, that it had been so very long that we'd taken a real vacation that I just...didn't know how to do it! So much has happened over the past several years...three kids, five (yes, FIVE) moves, graduating University, career changes, moving away from our families...so very much more. I can't even begin to list all that has happened in our lives. I've been so busy doing that when I finally got a chance to sit back and enjoy a break, I didn't even see it for what it was. I just kept doing. We got home Friday, and spent Saturday getting ready for Aidan's party. Saturday night, I had the mother of all Irritable Bowel attacks. I'm talking pain so bad that I blacked out a few times and had to work really hard at not puking. Pain so bad that I ended up with wads of my own hair wound around my fingers and then thrown in the trash.

Then yesterday, we had my darling Aidan's fourth birthday party, and it was really lovely. I was busy throughout, of course, but I was so exhausted and just so...done...that I couldn't muster any stress. I laughed with our friend and daycare worker, who brought her kids. I asked my vegetarian sister if she'd like a hot dog (oops...sorry, dear!), and laughed over that, too. I ate cake. I howled with laughter when the kids tried to bash open the piñata (has anyone actually had the kids open one of these and not had to rip it open themselves? 'Cos that's what I ended up doing...just tearing that motherfucker apart and dumping the contents all over the grass). Strangely, amidst the chaos, I found myself relaxing. I went to bed feeling something so peaceful and amazing...something I haven't felt in a while: Contentment.

Today, on my last day before I return to work, I've been calm. Anxious about going back; about losing the bit of peace I've gained back, but generally at peace with the world.

To all of you who I owe emails (it truly has been on the fritz, but it's been up and running for several days and I've been lax), I'm sorry. I know I owe some of you a phone call, too. Sorry again. No. No, I can't be sorry. I needed this time. But here's what's true: I've missed you! And you know what else? Liam is so deliciously cute all the time, but when I'm relaxed, he's nearly unbearably so. And Caleb? He's so damn smart - the kid blows my mind. And my Aidan...my newly four year-old boy...what a dear soul he is. What a loving soul. And Jim, that man of my heart...he is good. He loves me. I am so, so blessed.

Even rain smells better when you're relaxed, you know. And hey! I'm not worried so much. About...well, about everything. I know the stress will creep back...it's inevitable. But right now, right in this moment, Jim is sitting on the step watching a storm roll in. The air is cool. I'm going to go join him.

We're Back

2006-06-30T20:16:00.000-04:00

We made it back, but before I can write anything remotely intelligent I must get some sleep. Things are good. Liam is on his third round of antibiotics in less than two months, though - he woke up with a 104.6 degree fever yesterday. That's the highest I've seen, folks, and I didn't like it. So needless to say, we skipped daycare and took him to the very expensive doctor. Ear infection again. Still. Again. Who knows? And he's teething. So he screams a lot. All the way home a lot.

This morning, though? We had breakfast at one of the resort restaurants and the Friendly Pirate was there, singing and entertaining boisterously and loudly and charmingly. He worked his way around to our table and started to sing:

The Friendly Pirate had a ship
Yo ho ho ho ho!
And on that ship, he had a...

Caleb was chosen to fill in the blank with a sea creature. He did parrot, then seahorse, then cat (which the Friendly Pirate deftly transformed to catfish), and then...and then got that familiar gleam in his eye. When it was time to fill in the blank again, Caleb loudly said: poop!

POOP.

He said poop.

I said "CALEB!" and reflexively covered my face.

Our dear Friendly Pirate actually looked blank for a moment. Only for a moment. Such the professional that he is, he quickly smiled and sang, "POOP DECK! And they swabbed the poop deck here and they swabbed the poop deck there..."

I like the Friendly Pirate.

There must have been at least twenty kids and their families in that place, but when we left, the Friendly Pirate bellowed, "BYE, CALEB!"

"How'd he know my name?" Caleb wondered.

I bet that dude will never, ever forget my eldest son's name!

Never fear, more to come! I missed a Ghost Story Tuesday! Oh! Bad me!

I have so much to tell you, and so many pictures to show you! I have to write Aidan's birthday post! And wait 'til you see the pictures I got of the haunted mill. And the deaf hoola-hoop player! Are you not excited?

Well, now I'm going to watch a movie.

Kisses!

Not surprisingly, Caleb enjoyed the fart display at the ECHO museum, which we visited on one of the rainy days. He is seen here utilizing his instincts and creating shockingly disturbing fart noises, attracting the attention of all present.

So Far...

2006-06-27T10:53:00.000-04:00

Our vacation, so far.

A rather uneventful drive on Sunday. Liam was mostly pleasant, as long as we placated him with Ritz crackers at regular intervals.

Monday, it rained...but do you know what's good about rain? You must find something do do indoors. Therefore, shopping, friends...shopping is what's good about rain.

Caleb, on his way to daycamp.
Aidan, trying desperately not to be at daycamp.*
Aidan thought he should be able to go on the waterslides, despite the rain, "'cuz rain's just water anyways!"
We found some indoor entertainment for the boys...pizza and a video arcade made them forget about the rain.
This morning...no rain! A miracle! We went for a walk.
Being outside is nice.

*He had a great time. He did! We checked on him during the day. We're good parents! He jumped right in there this morning.

~~~

I've been trying to post this since yesterday morning...hopefully it'll work this time. BAH! Pouring again today. Is God trying to tell me something, here?

Aidan's birthday is tomorrow. We're thinking of staying another night, hoping for another sunny day. I want to take the kids to the pools! And the freaking waterslides! Ahem. Must go feed the baby.

If...

2006-06-22T17:40:00.000-04:00

If I were more patient, I would paint. Wonderful landscapes with sea and sky and a smattering of flowers in the fields. I can see my paintings in my mind. They’re full of colour, of feeling, and of life.

If I were more patient, I would write a book. I have several written already, in my head. The characters are like real people, poised and ready to be revealed in a story, on paper. But oh, the time that would take. To somehow get it all from inside my head and onto paper.

Do you ever do this? Wish that you could be motivated (or simply have the time) to accomplish things you know are inside of you? I think I do it too much. So today, I shall focus on what I am doing.

I sing. All the time. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to. But there it is. I sing in my office, in the car, while I’m watching TV. I even wake in the middle of the night, a song on my lips. It’s non-stop. And if you can’t hear me singing, you can rest assured there’s one playing in my head. Each note, every instrument is there, accompanying my thoughts.

I bake. I like to take the ingredients, measure them, put them all together, mix them, and put them in the oven. What comes out is my creation. And usually yummy. It’s immensely satisfying.

I set goals. Would you believe that one of my greatest fears is to find myself without goals? To achieve everything I aspire to would be frightening…what would I do then? I set goals every day, all day. Small ones and big ones. I like figuring out how I’ll accomplish something, and I love the feeling of getting there. It’s powerful, that feeling, and it spurs me on to do more.

We still haven’t figured out what we’re doing on our vacation. Your ideas are wonderful, one and all, but we haven’t quite solidified it yet. Jim and I keep hemming and hawing, going over and over the details and the options. I did a budget. I did three budgets! I figured it out. I set goals, and I worked out just how we could do it. It was so immensely satisfying that the need to actually go on the vacation was slightly diminished. Odd. Now that I know we could do it, it doesn’t seem so…necessary. But I am still considering. It would be so good for us, and the obvious option for everyone to have fun.

I like fun.

What kinds of things do you do well? What do you think you’d do well, but just don’t do?

~~~

*edited to add: We're going to Vermont. And guess what I say? WOOHOO!!!! I'll take pictures!

Thank You. And While You're In Advice-Giving Mode, Here's Another Question For You…

2006-06-20T14:35:00.000-04:00

Thank you. You are wonderful friends, whether you’re my family, co-workers or friends in the computer. The advice, understanding, and comments I received after my last post were great.

Things are okay. Jim has resigned himself to having a baseball-free summer. He’s even admitted to being able to see it my way now. What a good man. And I’ve sworn that we’ll try again next year. In the meantime, we’re trucking right along.

Caleb is finished school on Thursday, and we are on vacation next week. The fact that there’s no daycare for Caleb on Friday means he’s coming in to work with me, which should be interesting. Happily, both of my neighbouring office-dwellers will be away that morning, so the disruptions should be at a minimum. If you don’t consider me, of course!

So, we’re thinking about our vacation next week, and basically we have two choices:

1) To sit around the house.

a. Pros:
i. It’s quite inexpensive!
ii. There’s no driving involved
iii. The money saved can go toward a down payment for a house (Um, did I mention we’re thinking about moving? Oh. Yeah, more about that later)
iv. It has the potential to be quite relaxing
v. Except for Caleb, daycare is available for the boys. Theoretically, we could go to the movies, shop, or stroll around the Byward market all day if we please. So, relative freedom.

b. Cons:
i. Booooringgggg!
ii. I know we’d end up painting the bathroom. Let’s face it, that sucks when you’re supposed to be on vacation.
iii. We’d end up spending money. I mean, there’s no way we wouldn’t go out and do stuff.
iv. Have I said “booooringgggg!” yet?

2) To go to Smuggler’s Notch in Vermont
a. Pros:
i. Non-stop fun
ii. They have daycare services with specialized, age-appropriate kid’s activities every day
iii. They even have an infant daycare center
iv. Meaning the children, they could be occupied and happy
v. And we could stroll along the beach.
vi. Or sit beside the pool
vii. Alone
viii. Without the kids
ix. And they would still be having fun
x. And we could take them out of daycare and go on the waterslides or whatever if we wanted
xi. But mostly, we could just relax
xii. Without the kids
xiii. Alone

b. Cons:
i. It’ll run us a few thousand dollars, including travel (we’d drive), food, and everything we could think of to include in the cost.
ii. The drive. The kids are pretty good in the car. We have a dvd player and lots of activities, but it’s still a long day’s drive, especially with a baby who would much rather be exploring than sitting in a car seat. That said, the drive is really not worrying me…we stop a lot and usually enjoy the trip.
iii. We want to buy a house. Money toward the house would be good.

Yes, I know the answer is obvious. Especially with the whole wanting to move business thrown in there. But we also must consider this: we need a vacation. NEED.

What do you think?

Overwhelmed

2006-06-17T13:08:00.000-04:00

On Thursday, work was crazy. I ended up staying late; Jim was waiting for me downstairs in the lobby for twenty minutes. By the time I got down there, I was frazzled and apologetic and Jim was catatonic with boredom.

We got in the van and began the long crawl home in traffic. We talked about work, both his and mine. We talked about the kids. We talked about having to take time off during the week between when Caleb's school ends and his day camp begins. I complained about being sick. I was feeling anxious.

I started thinking about what we'd have for supper...about having to figure that out, then cook, then help with homework, try to spend some time with the boys, then bathe them and get them ready for bed. Then make lunches, do laundry, dishes...my anxiety ramped up a bit.

Then Jim mentioned that he'd have to leave for his baseball game pretty much as soon as we got home.

I was silent for a few moments. Everything sort of all came together and crashed within me. Besides all of that normal, every day stuff I just mentioned, I'm still breastfeeding Liam 5 times a day (at least twice during the night), which means I don't get much sleep. I'm sick all the time. Things are crazy. Down-time? What's that? I also feel like the "manager" of the family. Jim is great, yes. He contributes, no complaints! When I tell him to. I keep the schedule...I remember what has to be done, and I make sure it gets done. That's a lot of work right there.

I felt overwhelmed. I quietly suggested that extra-curricular activities, such as both Jim and Caleb's baseball, don't really fit into our lives right now.

Understandably, that comment was not met with joy.

We all have to make sacrifices, right? Yes, having time to yourself is important! I agree 100%. But when I have time to myself, I make sure it's after the kids go to bed...or for a couple of hours on the weekend.

So I cried a bit, and we argued a bit, and, in true male fashion, Jim went from shouting about how selfish I am to dialling his team captain to quit without warning. My head was spinning. I had just wanted to have a conversation is all. Somehow, I ended up selfish, feeling guilty, and even more overwhelmed.

Don't worry, we're okay. I'm still feeling confused and guilty. Jim's still upset about quitting baseball. I don't know what's right. I just know I'm tired.

I think the bottom line is that we need to simplify our lives. Pare down. Stop doing so very much, and just enjoy what we have. Sounds great, but it's so hard to do! I want to be able to take a breath once in a while. Is that too much to expect at this point in my life? Maybe.

What do you do to simplify? How do you make sure you get time as a family and time as a person? I think that if Jim and I could figure that out, baseball wouldn't be a problem...because things in general would be more calm.

Am I dreaming here, or is there really a way to do this? Advice, anyone?

Snippets

2006-06-16T14:54:00.000-04:00

Out of Reach

You have been a part of my life
Always
There in some way
There in spirit, mostly
Your spirit is so huge

There, but not
As a child I watched and wondered
I ached for you
Tried so hard
Began to reach

Arms outstretched, always
Even now, though strength is failing
Waiting for my fingers to find purchase
To be reached for, and grasped in return
Waiting, always

We barely ever speak
It doesn’t matter
You still affect me
With your silence, neverending
Indifference?

Who are you?

Do you belong to me in some small way?

At all?

You could have so much more…

My arms hurt.

~~~~~~~~
Dear Friday,

I just want to tell you that I love you. Your every arrival is joyful. Your very existence, sublime.

Thank you for being you.

Love always and forever,
Tree

~~~
Jim read to the boys from “Suess-isms” last night.

Aidan: DAD! STOP!

Jim: What? Why?

Aidan: My head is hurting!

Jim: Are you ok?

Aidan: Yeah.

Jim reads a bit more.

Aidan: Aaaah! Stop! Those words are making me CRAZY!

~~~
Happy Friday, one and all. I love you. You’re pretty.

Ghost Story Tuesday

2006-06-13T20:46:00.000-04:00

I couldn't get warm.

I was so very cold. My friend gave me her fleece jacket and I huddled at my desk, my teeth chattering. The bathroom mirror showed a pale face and purple lips. Fever, I thought. I took tylenol, then ibuprophen, then waited.

I couldn't get warm.

The young girl ghost in Liam's room kept popping up in my mind. But I was at work; I had so much to do. I couldn't think of her.

By the time Rachel called to see if I wanted to go get some lunch I was miserable. I went to her office and laid my head on her desk. "What is wrong with me?" I asked, exasperated. She looked slightly to my left.

"You have a very bright energy with you," she stated.

"The girl!" I said, probably too loudly.

Rachel and I talked about the young boy in Caleb and Aidan's room, and the girl. I told her that neither of them truly understood that they were dead, although I thought they had been gone more than 100 years. Both of them felt at fault for what happened. Rachel nodded.

"A fire?" she asked.

"Yes."

It had started in the boy's room. The girl was in the room with the baby. She was babysitting; she was not their sister.

"The boy thought it was his fault; the fire...but it wasn't."

I was so cold, my teeth chattered.

"A racoon," I said. "A racoon had come through the open window and knocked the lantern over. It wasn't his fault." I saw it clearly; the animal sauntering in through the window, its shoulder giving the lantern the slightest nudge...

An immense wave of relief washed over me.

I went on to say that the girl had tried to save him, but couldn't...and that the baby had died, too. She couldn't understand what had happened. She felt it was her fault.

"She couldn't have saved him," I said. "It wasn't her fault. Or his. It just...happened."

"They just need to understand that they have to move on," Rachel said.

"Yes."

I took off the fleece jacket.

I was warm.

I had planned on helping them pass on that night...but they were already gone. I try not to think too much about that fire, or the three lives that were lost. Too painful. I don't think about the two sets of parents involved.

I just think about the relief I felt from them that morning, as my friend Rachel and I told their story.

Anyway, my house is blissfully quiet now, and I seem to have come down with the flu. At least now, the fever is real.

Messy

2006-06-13T07:55:00.000-04:00

Stay tuned for your regularly scheduled episode of Ghost Story Tuesday. But for now, let's look at this:

The cake.

The cake as presented to the birthday boy, who seems quite unsure as to what to do with it.

Mommy helps get the show on the road.

The young lad appears to be moderately pleased. But will he be motivated to dig in on his own?

Silly Mom! You needn't have worried about that! Now we're talkin'!

Ah, yes! The quintessential first-birthday-cake-messy-faced-birthday-child photo. Sweet success! My work here is done.

Happy Birthday, Baby

2006-06-12T12:37:00.000-04:00

Liam was a surprise.

We were talking about a third baby, and feeling pretty sure that we wanted to have another, but had made up our minds to wait 6 months or so. One month, my cycle was off. The next month, I got pregnant. I knew it that very day. Well, a portion of me knew it, but the rest of me denied it.

Still, though that part of me knew it from the start, seeing that faint pink line on the home pregnancy test took my breath away.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with my third. And it would be another boy. Of course it would. But we were going to wait! But…such a blessing.

The denial lived on, and I think I took a total of 7 pregnancy tests over the first few weeks. Pretty bad, huh? And we didn’t tell our parents until I was about 14 weeks along. The shock of it sort of took over. It wasn’t until I saw him on an ultrasound at 20 weeks that I truly believed it.

The pregnancy was difficult, as I had known it would be. I went on bedrest at 17 weeks and stayed there until I was 34 weeks along. I had contractions right from the start, and threatened pre-term labour at 26 and 34 weeks (much better than the first two boys, believe it or not!). I had gestational diabetes and took insulin.

But I was positive. Right from the start, I made a point to enjoy the pregnancy; to enjoy being the baby’s mother even while he was inside me. And if everything went ok and I got a baby at the end of it, bonus! May seem like a macabre way of looking at things, but I think it saved me. With Aidan, I had been so severely depressed I needed to take Zoloft and go to therapy sessions. I had been so sure I would lose him…and I very nearly did. I couldn’t let that happen again.

I had to stay positive for the sake of the pregnancy, for me, and for my family.

I had known it would be a boy. I dreamt of a blonde, blue-eyed boy very early on. Seemed odd at the time, considering our colouring and the boys’ colouring, but when they handed that beautiful blonde, blue-eyed baby to me for the first time, I already knew him. I had seen him in my dream.

How can I describe how Liam has affected our lives? We simply wouldn’t be whole without him. He is an amazing little person – engaging, emotional, and loving. Such a big personality already. He does things on his own time. He’s not walking yet, though I know he could if he wanted to. Now, when we try to hold his hands and practice, he purposefully dangles from our fingers, refusing to comply. He babbles and gurgles joyfully, and seems to have his own words for certain things. He says “all done” when he’s done feeding. He loves bouncing on our laps or in our arms. He loves being chased. And he adores finding his way past the baby gate and making a break for it up the stairs. He’s giggling well before we grab him. Seems he loves being caught doing something he’s not supposed to be doing the most. He pulls the cds off the shelf and stares at us, waiting for our reaction. “What did you do?” from Jim or I is met with uncontrollable giggling and a renewed enthusiasm for tearing the entertainment center apart. If it were Caleb or Aidan, we’d be there beside them, picking up after them, but now, we just let him go, and pick up when he goes to bed.

Other things change with the third. We don’t freak out when he cries. In fact, more often than not, the monitor simply gets switched off when he wants to wake up at 5am. We’ve been giving him cows milk for months. And he’s been eating our food for just as long. He still breastfeeds 5 times a day. Just to put that in perspective, he’s in daycare from 7am to 4:30pm. So yeah, he wakes me at least twice a night to feed.

He’s happy. He’s beautiful. He’s the best surprise I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving.

Today, on his first birthday, he is recovering from the chicken pox. But, he will eat chocolate cake tonight! And open presents!

Happy birthday, sweet, dear boy. I love you so much. You make me laugh every day. You bring me joy.

Oh, you bring me such joy.

What? You say you want to be subjected to OOPS I mean you want to read his birth story? Well, I just happened to have posted it here. Enjoy!

ps: Kelly, I forbid you to read the birth story.

pps: Jen, maybe your shouldn’t read it, either. Hee hee!

Friday Fun

2006-06-09T07:49:00.000-04:00

Not to be outdone by his brothers, young Liam somehow morphed from a mild to moderate chicken pox sufferer while I was at work yesterday.

If you look veeeery carefullyat this picture from Tuesday, you'll see just a hint of a blossoming pock on his forehead, about an inch above his left eyebrow.

Before:

That very first mark did indeed blossom. Observe it in all of it's itchy glory, surrounded by it's minions:

Sigh.

I sincerely hope that I will be able to stop writing about this affliction very soon. And I hope that, with the eventual healing that will overtake our young ones, sleep will return to Liam and consequently to us. Because we are suffering over here. Oh, sweet sleep, I yearn for you so. The gracious gifts of you, dark holder of dreams, are oh, so missed...return, I beg of you! Come back to us!

Ahem.

Caleb is doing better today; no new marks, and that awful spot on his leg seems much better. In fact, since the ones on his eyeball seem to be healing very well, I think we'll cancel his doctor's appointment today.

Now, I have something wonderful to tell you: my girl Kelly and I are going forward with our business. We have, thanks to her amazing family, an office to work out of. Now to build a client base! We're going to put ads out and make ourselves some business cards. First, though, to name our business. Ideas, anyone?

I'm still reeling from this. It will start out very slowly; we'll do sessions on demand, and hopefully by the time Kel is done with maternity leave, we'll have grown to the point that I'll be able to at least go part-time at my current government job. I feel like I've been handed everything I've ever wanted...and don't quite know what to do with it!

We'll be doing Reiki, and my own version of energy work (which I have yet to solidify a name for), giving classes and workshops, and I'll do readings and medium work as demanded, though we most likely won't advertise that. So, if you're in the Ottawa area and want to check us out, let me know.

I know I sound very calm about all of this but, honestly, I'm freaking out in the most wonderful way inside! I'm just trying to stay grounded and realistic about all of this. I mean, it's not realistic to picture having our own clinic in a year, right? But that's what my manic brain jumps to. So, I'm trying very hard not to set myself up for disappointment, here. The downside of that is that I may not be thinking big enough. Thank God I'm not doing this myself. Thank God for you, Kelly! I love you, girl! This is going to be amazing, no matter what.

And now for news that is insurmountably bigger and more wonderful than even that. My dear Grammy Elaine's doctor has reported that her lymph nodes tested free of cancer. Since the surgery, I've been walking around in a bit of a focused daze, sending all the energy and positivity her way that I could muster. And, dear friends, when I asked for prayers and thoughts and energy, you came through. Thank you for your support. When I read the note from my Aunt last night about the cancer-free nodes, I quietly started crying. The gratitude is overwhelming! Yet again, this amazing soul has shown her strength.

With that happy news, I shall leave you to your Friday. Have a wonderful day!

And come get an energy session!

Woo!

Poor Caleb

2006-06-07T18:48:00.000-04:00

*Some of the images I've included may disturb some readers. Hell, all of the images disturb me...so, proceed with caution!

Remember Aidan's chicken pox? Caleb's case is exponentially worse. Oh, I know! Let's compare!

Front:

Back:

We're calling the doctor tomorrow because of this:

Oh, and the ones on his left eyeball:

Liam, most likely because he's still breastfeeding, has less than ten pox. He is not, however, sleeping well. Not sleeping. Oooooh. And he's suffering with a fever, though Caleb's is higher (103.5 this morning).

Right now, all three boys are in bed and Jim and Jeff are playing baseball. I am tired after a day at work with the flu (Jim stayed home today), and all I want to do is watch some Lost episodes and lie on the couch. So guess what? That's what I'm going to do! Then, to bed early...'cause I just have this funny feeling that Liam will be up all night again tonight.

Fun times over here!

Siblings Can Be Competitive

2006-06-07T13:27:00.000-04:00

Jeff: Wow, that was some good flute playin’, Treese.

Me: Aw! Thanks Jeff, that was really nice of you to say!

Jeff: I think you missed a note, though.

Me: Hm, you sort of just ruined the compliment there, Jeffo.

Jeff: (Laughing) No, really, it was great.

Me: Well, thanks.

Jeff starts to walk away.

Jeff: You play almost as good as I would if I played.

Ghost Story Tuesday

2006-06-06T07:48:00.000-04:00

Just after 3am on Saturday, Liam woke up and wanted to be fed. Like every other night, Jim changed him and brought him to me in bed, and I sat up to feed him. Jim settled himself into bed and Liam and I sat quietly together. Just like any other night.

There was a crackling sound on the monitor. It does do that sometimes. A gurgle now. A gasp.

In response, my heart tried to beat out of my chest.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered to Jim in the darkness.

“Hmmmm?”

I waited. Crackle, crackle. Then, from Caleb and Aidan’s room this time, a cry. More gurgling. Another gasp.

“Jim! Go check the boys!”

“Huh?” He rolled over and got out of bed. Even half asleep, he responded to the urgency in my voice.

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He stumbled out of the room and into Caleb and Aidan’s room, then, after a few moments of quiet, back to our room.

“They’re ok?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

I had known they would be. I tried to relax. Leaning back against the headboard, I reasoned that sometimes the monitor picked up on other signals. And sometimes the boys dreamed and talked in their sleep. Ah, such a good medium, aren’t I? I’ve told you before about my whole “no ghosts in my house” policy. When they do come, I tend to live in denial for a little while.

In any case, by the time I carried the sleepy Liam back to his room, I had convinced myself that all was well. I was secure in my comfortable cocoon of denial. Sometimes, it’s a nice place to be.

It did not last long. Coming out of Liam’s room, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, someone standing in Caleb and Aidan’s room. For the second time that night, my heart fought to escape my chest. I turned to face the room, and about eight feet away stood a young boy. Caleb’s age, but not Caleb. He wore short pants…they stopped just past the knee, and his hair was long-ish. Straight. He wore a white shirt and a vest. He was clear…but somehow…not. He didn’t look me in the eye; just stared at a spot near my feet. I remembered thinking that I would have to research the clothing, to date him.

All of that happened in what felt like minutes, but I’m sure that in reality it was only seconds. I had barely stopped walking when I turned and continued on to my room. Getting into bed, I connected to that boy, asked him why he was there. He didn’t answer, but showed me that there was another…a girl, in Liam’s room. She was older, maybe thirteen or fourteen. I asked her why she was there. She said she was minding the baby.

Minding the baby.

My baby?

She felt confused.

I saw her leaning over a baby...in a different time. A long time ago. I noted her clothing. I felt heat. Heard crackling. It was hard to breathe.

Asphyxiation, I thought. And in that vision, the girl turned and looked at me. She was confused.

“We have ghosts” I said to Jim.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Two children. One in each of the kids’ rooms.”

The next morning, Jim assaulted me with questions. Who were they? What did they want? Were they still here? Then, he told me he’d been up for a long time after our chat. Oops.

He wanted to know why I hadn’t found out more. “I was scared,” I said. It’s true. They scared the crap out of me.

Jim sensed the girl in Liam’s room the next night, and I saw her standing at the foot of the bed, on Jim’s side. Nothing last night. A nice break, though Jim is demanding that I figure this out so they can move on. Funny, I deal with other people’s ghosts just fine. But when they’re my ghosts, I wish I could pick up the phone and get someone else to deal with them. Ah, but that’s the way of life, I guess. It’s much easier to help others than help yourself. To give advice than to take it. Nonetheless, I have a job to do, and I shall do it. Later.

I have excuses! Caleb has the chicken pox now, and I still feel…gross. So, later. For now, that cocoon of denial is looking rather nice…

Blargh

2006-06-05T09:04:00.000-04:00

I am sick. So today, I'm home.

And very soon, I am going to coccoon myself into my blankets and try to sleep until I have to run to the bathroom again.

But before then, I will tell you that there are two ghosts in my house. On Friday night, I saw a young boy standing in Caleb and Aidan's room. Oh, and it wasn't Caleb. Or Aidan. It freaked me out. I tried to connect and also sensed a girl in Liam's room. Since then, I've seen the girl once more, and Jim can sense her, too. I'm not sure what they want yet but I do know how they died, sort of. Anyway, I'll write about it tomorrow.

Until then, I offer you some flute tootling for your listening pleasure! Because I love you! Please do not make fun of me! Haha! Oh, and I am accompanied by my male strawberry finch, Wash, who has vast talents in the tootling area and enjoys singing whilst I play (or perhaps he thinks I'm trying to mate with Zoe, the female, and is telling me to go away...?). I keep trying to get him to harmonize or keep the beat or something but he's stubborn, and would much rather do his own thing. A nice addition to the song though, no?

Blythe Was The Time

Some Things

2006-06-01T13:11:00.000-04:00

Today is my Grammy's operation; the one where she goes in with two breasts and cancer, and comes out with one breast and, God willing, no cancer. I'm praying it hasn't spread to the lymph nodes. If you pray, maybe you could add my Grammy Elaine to your prayers. And all of you...all of you who I know and love and all of you who I don't know, but love anyways...send her energy, ok? Aaaaaall the way to PEI. Send her peace and love.

Please.

So, speaking of love - guess what? Guess! Okay I'll tell you. See that new button over on the right? The "Perfect Post" button? The lovely and talented mama-tulip nominated one of my posts! Guess what else? I love her! Isn't that just so sweet and flattering? I actually blushed when I read her email. Incidentally, you should visit her blog. She's an amazing writer - profound, edgy and hilarious. I can't get enough of her. I want to make her tea and feed her bonbons.

Now I must ask you something. Is it hot where you are? Because here? It is hot. Well, today it's rather rainy but let me tell you, it's been very hot recently. Of late. Lately. Very hot. And sadly, the boys' daycare wasn't air-conditioned. Yesterday, when we arrived to claim our sweaty, listless children, the daycare provider laughed and said they'd be getting an air conditioner that night...because of Aidan! Apparently, my young lad lay down on the cool floor of the daycare, refusing to participate in any songs or games, and assumed a rather lethargic posture in silent rebellion against the heat. His sweaty hair was plastered to his head, and his normally smiley self was simply...not smiley.

This morning, an air conditioner whirred softly in the window of the daycare. And all were overcome with relief, and danced and celebrated in the old fashion. All rejoiced and gave thanks.

In short, WHOOPEE!

Ghost Story Tuesday

2006-05-30T11:53:00.000-04:00

Well!

After a week full of chicken pox, roseola, a double ear infection, fevers, an abscessed tooth, dramatic reactions to insect bites, and arguably a severe case of the worst-looking hair EVER, things seem to be settling down.

I probably just jinxed myself.

In any case, it is Ghost Story Tuesday, and I just so happen to have a story for you.

Rachel, a dear friend, has recently returned to work after a long absence, and having her around is a blessing. She and I have much in common, and the fact that she’s a sensitive as well made us fast friends. Most visits with her turned naturally into sessions – we ended up talking to her dead relatives as much as we talked to each other. She’s given me permission to talk about one such time.

It was July, and Rachel had been visiting my house. I offered to drive her home, and it was on that drive that I had the pleasure of meeting her Aunt Kelly. It was dark, and swelteringly hot. We blasted the Cranberries and sung at the top of our lungs. After a while, though, we became quiet. Both of us sensed a change in the car. Rachel said that she felt like someone was with us, and I readily agreed. I began to see flashes of an accident…a truck on a road very similar to the one we were driving on…and the death of a relative of Rachel’s; a woman.

The car windows fogged up.

Rachel instantly knew it was her Aunt Kelly, who had died tragically in a truck accident. She talked about her for a bit. I felt there was something else about the accident, something that affected her family. She said that, sadly, her uncle Terry had been the one to find the accident, and his sister.

When a ghost is trying to tell you something, and you get it, you get a feeling…an affirmation. When she told me about her uncle finding her aunt, I got that feeling. How horrible. How incredibly tragic. Rachel went on to say that her uncle had told the family, and then disappeared for days.

He’s never been the same since.

We both felt that Aunt Kelly had a message, and that it was for Rachel’s Mom. I encouraged her to talk to her Mom and report to me later, we hugged goodbye and we parted then…I to drive home in silence and she to continue the journey home to talk to her mother.

Today, Rachel retold the rest of the story to refresh my memory (I talk to lots o’ ghosts, y’all) – the rest of the story is hers.

When she arrived home, she stood in the kitchen with her mother and told her what had happened on the way home. Her mother was amazed. Rachel said, “You’ll know when she’s with you because you’ll feel tingles, or chills.” Instantly, her mother doubled over with the force of what she was feeling. She said that she felt it in overpowering waves. The kitchen windows fogged up instantly, and the room went very cold. Despite this, both Rachel and her mother broke out in a sweat.

Something beautiful happened then. Rachel was able to communicate with her Aunt for her mother. The messages to her mother were clear:

Be strong.

Don’t worry about Mom; Dad and I are taking care of her.

I love you both.

And then, she was gone.

I know I’ve told you this before, but when you’ve done something like this for someone who’s passed on, they give you something in return: an amazing, overwhelming feeling of peace and gratitude. Rachel felt this gift as her Aunt said goodbye.

Things like this happen all the time. BUT do you know what else happens? It’s not always like on TV…sometimes, ghosts are just there. For no reason, really. Sometimes, they’re just hanging out. Stopping in to say “Hi. I’m still here.” But those times when something meaningful happens…those times are why I’m thankful for this gift.