Beginnings

My son has a girlfriend. They've been going out since June, the end of grade 6 - it's now December and I took him shopping last night so he could buy her a Christmas gift. He chose a beautiful necklace and earring set. He also picked out a card.

I've always tried to keep an open-communication kind of relationship with him and because of that I was able to ask a slightly sensitive question, but one I wanted an answer to: "Do you love her?" He replied, "Yes. She's beautiful and smart."

That got me thinking about first, young love and how simple it seems to fall in love when you are 12, 16 or 18 years old. I think back to my first loves and when I get over the shock that they happened more than 20 years ago, I feel sweetness and innocence, something one truly can't understand or appreciate the loveliness of until you are older.

I used to believe in soul mates, that there was only that one perfect-for-me person in the world and we would fall in love and be together forever. And he'd have green eyes just like mine. What I believe now is that there are meant-to-be people at certain points in your life and sometimes they do have green eyes and sometimes, now matter how painful it is, it turns out to be a different person than the one you just spent 6 months or a year with.

I know that at some point in the not too distant future either my son will break this girl's heart or she will break his and this is only the beginning for him, and I hope and wish that it won't happen, but it's a part of life. I also know that he will survive it to love again and again until one day he meets that one person he will want to spend the rest of his life with.

It's a magical thing when that happens. Oh, and as I predicted (ie., wished upon a zillion stars) years ago? My 7-years-and-running-made-for-me-love has green eyes.

Just like mine.

Tired-er Than I Thought

It's 9:00 p.m., all three children are asleep and while my body is exhausted my brain won't slow down. I am basically awake from 3:30 a.m. until I go to bed at night - this has been going on for the past few weeks, due to, you know, giving birth WITHOUT PAIN MEDICATION eight short weeks ago and newborn babies' eating habits.

The burst of energy, fueled by exhilaration, generated from giving birth lasted until last week. That energy enabled me to get up after breastfeeding during the night to fix the older two their breakfast, help them get ready for school and out the door in time for the bus, at which point it's time to nurse the baby again.

I'm now tired. Which means I'm slightly snappish and wishing for more sleep, more coffee and an iron will which would boot my soft ass downstairs to work out. Instead, I'm crying at the drop of a hat, generally preceeded by looking at my infant daughter and realizing just how quickly this time is passing and I can do nothing to slow it down, to keep her a baby forever; and when there are a few free minutes, I know I should be exercising, but the laundry is piling up, the house needs to be vacuumed, and if the damn dog doesn't stop that constant paw-licking-sound I'm going to seriously lose my fucking mind.

Protective Older Brother

After seeing the Gap Kids holiday commercial tonight, you know, the one with the gaggle of little girls doing a cheer in colorful sweaters, my 12-year-old son made the following comment:

"Those girls are WAY too young to be moving their hips like that."

I could not have said it better.

School Photos (Or I Make Beautiful Children)

The prince is in grade 7.

The little princess is in junior kindergarten.

One Month Old

We are blessed.

Olivia

Meet Olivia.

She's now 1 month old.

She sleeps a lot. She eats a lot. She poops a lot.

She cries very little.

Between you and me? She's my favourite right now.

Shhhh....don't tell anyone else.

It's About Time

The real reason they're smiling?

Because I can't answer questions with "...because I'm pregnant." - which, in my opinion, was a perfectly LOGICAL response to the hundred and ten questions asked daily.

As in "Why do I have to eat my vegetables?"

Or "Why do I have to have a bath?"

Or "Why is that bird flying?"

Did I mention how happy I am that the baby doesn't talk yet?

Part Two (also seriously overdue)

(Note to self: Be careful what you promise on this blog - some people actually read my ramblings!)

So we get to the hospital, I'm hooked up to an IV for antibiotics and the waiting for the obstetrician to arrive and break my water begins. The 4th year resident tried for several minutes to break it, but with no success. Dr. Shabeeb finally arrives and for those of you who've experienced childbirth, you'll understand my happiness that he had large hands (Translation: he made very quick work at breaking my water!) The drip, drip, drip of the oxytocin began and because at this point the contractions were not that bad - in my infinite wisdom I decided to wait a little bit longer before asking for the epidural. BIG MISTAKE. PAINFUL ERROR. Oh my GOD, here comes another contraction...breathing out...correction - trying to breathe out - because here's another one...and another...and oh SHIIIIIT, this hurts...another one....where the hell is that epidural???

And that's when the nurse informs hubby and me that IT'S TOO LATE. The contractions are coming so fast and so hard that baby girl is on her way and I'm going to have to do this naturally. As in WITHOUT ANY PAIN MEDICATION. I barely had time to process this and I kid you not, it was time to push. I had heard before about "the ring of fire" but the one thing I had no idea about was the amount of pain and pressure in my ass! Why does no one ever talk about that? Seriously, I felt like I was to crap all of my internal organs all over that table. It was awful.

Two pushes and she was out. The pain was gone. My entire body was shaking, but she was HERE. She was healthy. She was beautiful. And I was so happy to have had this experience. I felt powerful and strong and it was a moment I'll never forget because as odd as it may sound, it made me feel connected on a very profound and soulful level with generations of women before me who've gone through this and lived to tell about it.

And on the 9th day...Part One

If anyone still wanders by this site I hope you'll understand why there have been zero updates in the last month - I was VERY PATIENTLY awaiting the birth of my third child. And by patient I really do mean patient. At least up until the 9th day she was overdue and then I lost my mind.

My due date was either September 30th or October 2nd and considering that's only a couple of days difference you may wonder what's the big deal? The big FREAKING deal is that since the middle of September I have had many people tell me repeatedly that "Oh, this is your 3rd? Well, they ALWAYS come early!" Umm...not so much as we came to find out. After having mild to moderate contractions daily for two weeks, followed by what I thought was my water breaking (turns out I really DID just piss myself...), two trips to the hospital, and at least 3 OB appointments, I realized I needed to just face facts - I was going to be pregnant at least until Christmas - which conceivably could work because I've never played Santa Claus before and this might just be one good shot.

So Day 9 (or Day 11 depending which due date you choose) overdue (did I mention that third babies are apparently NEVER this late? No? Well, I'm here to blow your mind - IT HAPPENS.) I phoned the hospital at 8:00 a.m. to find out what happens next - I'm going to have to be induced - and the nurse tells me to wait by the phone, she will call when there's an opening (WHAT THE FUCK? I'm not trying for an impossible-to-get reservation at Club 21 here, I want this baby OUT!)

By 3:00 p.m. the hospital still had not phoned. You can probably guess where this is going, right? Yep. I called again and was told, "oh sorry, it's been really busy today, you may have to wait another day." And you can probably guess what happened next. Yep. I burst into tears. The head nurse wanted us to come in anyway and have baby and me checked out, but we live about 40 minutes away and no flipping way were we driving all the way in only to be told "Everything's fine, go home and wait for our call."

Hubby convinced me that we should go in that evening and maybe things would be quieter and they'd keep me there. After crying from frustration and the want, the desire to just hold our baby girl, and because I'm honest in writing, the big glass of wine I drank after that phone call, I agreed that going in was the best thing to do.

That's all I have time to write at the moment, baby calls, and toddler needs help getting dressed. Part Two will come before the end of this weekend - I promise!

Waiting. More waiting. Still waiting.

I didn't realize I haven't updated in about 2 weeks, so here's a short post (just for you, Tasha!)

My due date is coming up quickly - September 30th - but I've reached that point in the pregnancy where you feel like it's NEVER COMING OUT. The pressure on my nu-noone (vagina for those of you new to reading this site) is incredible - every step I take feels like baby girl's head is going to pop out and she will be all "Hey, what the hell is going on? I was comfortable in there!" and I will be all "Hey, YOU - I'm your mother and I'd like to not feel like I'm going to piss my pants every 5 minutes, so you're out and you're gonna like it!" I like expressing my love and affection for my children in this manner - short, sweet, and to the point.

Even though this pregnancy has been fantastic I'm more than ready to get to the next phase which is filled with sleepless nights, an endless period for weeks to come, and leaking, cracked, sore nipples. Ah...the joy and bliss of it all.

Whining. Lots of it.

I am sick with a horrible head cold. You know the kind where your throat is on fire, your nose is stuffed up on one side but running continuously, sinuses pounding along with the fierce headache raging behind your eyes and into your ears, all while your eyes are watering enough to make you look like you've been watching too many repeat viewings of "The Notebook".

I'm in my ninth month of pregnancy and as some of you will remember, you have to pee every half hour at this point, you cannot get comfortable sleeping (that is, on the odd occasion you actually do fade off), baby's feet feel like they're going to come up out of your throat, and that's when baby's feet aren't hanging off your ribcage. Oh, and bonus? She's sitting on the main artery inside me so that I'm getting dizzy, breathless and nauseous all at once because of a lack of blood and oxygen.

Hubby keeps telling me to take it easy and rest but I'm not used to being at home yet with free time...for now anyway. So I'm busying myself with staying on top of laundry while I can, making muffins to put in the freezer and tidying up overstuffed closets and cupboards.

Some call this "nesting". I'm hoping that every little twinge and ache will signal the start of early labour because while I've enjoyed this pregnancy immensely, I want her out so I can get moving!

Home Sweet Home

I finished work earlier than anticipated and while I'd love to be able to express myself clearly with lots of bold and CAPS LOCK on this past year of working in a new place, I won't because you just never know when it might come back to bite me in the ass. I'll say this instead: thank fucking god for doctors who actually believe that STRESS is not good for your mental, physical and spiritual bodies, and especially not healthy for baby...To quote 'Forrest Gump' - "...that's all I have to say about that..."

I am home to put my children on the school bus in the morning and I'm here when they arrive home too. It is one of life's greatest joys. At least until they start whining about what's for dinner, crying because one or the other touched their stuff, and arguing over who gets to feed the fish in the tank. (As a side note: Did you know that goldfish will EAT one of their own? This happened a few weeks ago - the smaller goldfish wasn't looking like he was going to make it and off we go in the morning, only to come home a few hours later and the other two goldfish are looking suspiciously swollen, while the third one was completely missing. I'm still grossed out...)

This is only day two being at home, and I have busied myself catching up on laundry and vacuuming and getting organized to start selling Avon again (if you're interested in a brochure, let me know!). I've also just started reading a biography on Guns N' Roses, which is interesting. Biographies are not usually my first (or even second) choice, but even this many years later, Axl Rose still has that hold. I blame it on seeing his legs in a kilt as an impressionable teenager, and the killer voice - hearing it for the first time was one of those influential moments in life and it opened my eyes to a completely different world than the one I was used to.

And that's a wrap for the moment because my little girl needs me - she's home with a fever. Right before the long weekend. It's all about timing...

First Day of School

Wednesday, August 26, 2009 - Grade 7 for the pre-teen and junior kindergarten for the girl.

Notice the happy, excited smiles? They weren't faking it - they really were that jazzed to get on the school bus. It might have had something to do with the coffee I forced on them at breakfast, but hey, whatever works, right?

Derek was itching to catch up with his friends who he didn't really get a chance to hang out with during the summer-that-never-was and Danielle was ecstatic to finally go on the " 'tool bus" with her big brother.

We thought she'd freak out once the bus arrived and she actually had to get on it, but trouper that she is, she barely batted an eyelash, gave us a wave and a smile and they were off...with us following close behind because after all, that's our baby girl on that bus and who knows where it really stops and starts and maybe the driver is going to forget he's got kids on board and park it at the local pub while he pops inside for a pint or two.

UPDATE: They did get to school. No drinking establishments along the country roads they travel to get there. School bus driver still has all his limbs.

My Daddy

This is my father, relaxing at our cottage, smiling at his grandchildren.

My son thinks it's pretty funny that I still call him "Daddy" at my age. Hang on a sec while I grab my cane...

As a little girl, my father was always pretty high up on the pedestal - and even though now as an adult the pedestal isn't quite so high because I understand that he is not just a dad, but a husband, grandfather and man, it doesn't take much for me to see the halo around his head.

Summer Hubby

I took these photos at the lake a couple of weeks ago while hubby and his pals did some

wakeboarding and skiing. I love seeing him do this stuff because it reminds of the summer we met and fell in love. I remember thinking how very hot and masculine and full of life and energy he was then....and still is.

Getting Right To The Point

"Mummy, me have some of your mel-le-lade?" my daughter asked.

"Bébé, what is it you want to drink?" I wanted her to repeat it because I knew she was trying to ask for lemonade.

"Me have some mel-le-lade, please?" came the dutiful reply.

"Danielle, what do you want to drink?" asked both Daddy and Grampa.

"Agggghh...some PINK WATER!!" was the frustrated and cute-as-hell answer.

Enough With The Guilt!

It's Sunday morning and my son is at his dad's for the weekend, hubby is fishing a bass tournament and I have plunked my 3 year old in front of the Treehouse channel so I can get online to browse and to update - something I haven't done in several weeks - and I feel guilty for doing so.

Why is that? Hubby gets plenty of cave-time which he needs and is important to him - in fact I'd wager that most men get lots of it - and yet, despite how guilty I'm feeling for not interacting, not playing with my daughter, I'm still sitting here typing instead of closing the laptop and getting down on the floor to do puzzles.

Is it the curse of the working mother? I'm pretty sure that stay-at-home and work-outside-the home moms all feel exactly the same - we are all working and there never seem to be enough hours in the day for us. I'm going on maternity leave in mid-September and I cannot wait for our baby girl to arrive but also (again with the guilt!) for the kids to be at school so that I can get into a routine with baby and get into a routine of taking care of me too.

I hear it all the time - mothers who take time to nurture themselves through exercise, meditation, shopping (pick your poison!) are better mothers because they've had that time to recharge their batteries.

WHY CAN'T I SEEM TO GET THIS THROUGH MY OWN STUBBORN HEAD?

A Lesson Learned

When your wife politely asks you (code: nags you incessantly) to get stuff done around the house and there isn't time to do it, let this be a warning:

While you are gone for several days, she, like me, just might hire someone to do the job and poof! like magic (and many dollars later) it gets done the way she wants it.

And she won't even ask you what you think about it.

Never stand between walnut floors and a hormonally challenged pregnant mother.

Fishing off the dock

Will he remember these times 20 years from now?

How To Turn Me On

Vacuum the kitchen while telling me to "sit down and rest, already!" and then bring the very full dirty laundry basket downstairs. To top that off, you give me a little back rub that hits all the achy pregnancy pains in just the right way.

Little things like this are why I find you so fucking sexy.

My Girl

She's tired, but happy and smiling. I snapped this and then she stuck her tongue out at me.

The little shit.

How Do You Stop Time?

I took this photo a couple of weekends ago and I'm not sure what it is about it but I definitely had one of those flash-forward moments of what my son is going to look like in a few short years as a teenager.

I'm not ready.

Valley-of-the-Dolls-Stepford-Wives-sort-of-creepy

DJs on the radio this morning were talking about a new technology that has been developed which allows for a model to be made of your unborn baby so that you can hold "it" before it's actually born. Apparently this will increase the bonding between parents and baby-to-be.

The whole idea behind this sends shudders down my spine - having a baby is one of the last great mysteries of life - you don't really know exactly what your child is going to look like until he or she is born - and therein lies the anticipation and excitement you've been waiting months for.

I know that hubby and I and the kids are already bonding with this little one - and not because we can hold a gelatinous mold that is supposed to replicate her. We are bonding individually and as a family each time we feel her kick or see my stomach move like a mini roller-coaster, every hug and kiss and touch to my belly is a connection to the baby girl growing inside me.

I don't know about you, but I'll stick to dreaming and wondering and imagining this awesome gift who is already changing our lives - jello molds or not.

Update

Again, I'm long overdue on an update, but there isn't really much happening, other than being a human incubator and nurturing the miracle life on a daily basis.

I had a check-up earlier this week and my doctor is concerned because I'm losing weight - at this point I should be steadily gaining - and while normally this sort of news would cause me to attempt a cartwheel across the backyard, I too, am a little worried. The good news is that baby is active, her heart rate is strong and while I'd appreciate it if she'd let go of my ribcage so I can breathe without it seeming like I've been smoking 3 packs a day since the age of 10, I have no complaints.

I am really tired, but even that is manageable if I just remember to tell myself that it's okay to wear clothes 5 times before washing.

Days like this are why Febreeze was invented.

How To Charm Me

Put your little hands on your hips and say, "Mummy? You see that clock over der? That clock says it's almost time to go and get an ice c'eam cone!"

How To Charm Me

Inform me in your almost-12-year-old-voice how happy you are that my belly button isn't sticking out yet because of the baby inside.

Because that's "really gross".

A Lesson In Paying Attention

I may have mentioned before that both hubby and I suffer from an affliction known as "Dirty-Potty-Mouth". You may also have guessed it considering the number of swear words I use as part of descriptive phrases in posts here on this site.

It has not escaped our notice that while my son abhors swearing and will give an exasperated, "MUM! Danielle's right there," when a particularly objectionable cuss leaves my mouth, we've also realized that little children hear things. And worse? THEY REPEAT THEM.

This was made crystal clear on the weekend when darling daughter was helping me attempt to put a fitted sheet on a bed, which was not going well because it didn't fit. You know how it goes when you've got three corners tucked in and the fourth keeps popping over the top and no matter which corner you try to tug down, the opposite one lets loose at the same moment your mouth does.

She tried to hold one end down and I heard her mutter with disdain, "This is fucting useless."

My parenting skills may need a touch of improvement. Fuck.

Title: Hotness (Or The Reason I'm Knocked Up)

Huh.

How is it that after more than 20 years of watching Days of Our Lives it still manages to suck me in?

I don't see it often, but that's what episode recaps on websites are for - praise be the Internet!

Fire!

Little bit of excitement at home last night - a short-circuited power pack that was being charged caught fire and smoked out the workshop resulting in hubby phoning in to the local fire department - his department - to come and put the fire out.

There's a reason women think firemen are hot - watching hubby do his thing - even without his gear on - set my flames on high and before I go any further trying to relate my pregnancy-hormones to fire I'll just leave you with this quote from an episode of "Sex And The City's" Samantha:

"You fantasize about a man with a Park Avenue apartment and a nice big stock portfolio...For me, it's a fireman with a nice big hose!"

Is that ALL?

It's been ages since I updated anything on here, mostly because life has been a stressful whirlwind lately, somewhat because I think that what I write about can be classified as falling-asleep-mid-crappy-movie-boring, and a tiny bit of wondering whether what I write is even remotely interesting for anyone to read on a regular basis. Hmm...the Id, the Ego, and SuperEgo! The titles are the only thing I remember from psych class.

So, what's been happening? We had an ultrasound and found out that a vagina clearly shows up quite differently than a penis does on these scans. Another girl and hubby developed 3 gray hairs on the spot because now he has to worry about not just ONE, but TWO daughters one day being felt up by their horny boyfriends on our living room sofa or coming home at the age of 16 and telling us they're pregnant and he knows the only way to get pregnant is by having SEX. This is disconcerting to him because he and I have sex regularly and THIS IS HOW THEY GOT HERE in the first place. I think I'll wait to remind him that teenage girls are just as hormonally hungry as teen boys and pregnant mummies - after all - there is a time and place for everything.

I recently celebrated my 38th birthday. I'm not sure what "38" is supposed to feel like, but I never thought it was quite like this. I feel like I'm only 31, I'm told I look like I'm 30, and if I'm going to be perfectly honest, I often act like I'm about 22! Whichever way you look at it, age is just a number, and I feel younger now than I did ten years ago. Of course, that could be related to the amount of chocolate I consume on a regular basis. Having fat on your body keeps things fluid.

We are also in the midst of doing some renovations at home and by "we" I mean hubby. We finally got rid of the turquoise blue (circa 1970) bathtub and toilet. We now have a tub with jets and it is heavenly to sit in a deep tub and relax with a glass of wine. Ri-i-ght...a glass of wine I'm not supposed to be having because I'm pregnant. Well, I've decided that a small half-glass now and then is just fine because it helps me to relax and the amount of work-stress I'm dealing with daily is far worse for my baby and me than 4 sips of red.

The kids are switching rooms so that Danielle and baby sister Olivia will be sharing a room, and big-brother-Derek can have his own space. In order to accomplish that, hubby is patching and sanding the wall in Derek's new bedroom, and then we have to paint, put together his new furniture and repaint the girls' new room before the end of this month. This is all taking place during the hours of 5pm to 8pm - during supper-time, bath-time, quiet-time, laundry-time, general-housekeeping-time, chocolate-chip-cookie-making-time and sweet baby Jeeesuz can we please-fucking-relax-NOW-time? If you don't understand my sarcasm, move along...

We also recently bought a new cottage - actually it's Jeff's mom's old cottage - and a pontoon because the owner would only sell the package deal - and now we are trying to sell our old cottage. Let's just say that our anxiety levels have hit a high patch, but overall, we're doing quite well with handling everything and trying to remain calm. We are actually talking to each other using words and less the "Fuck you; No! FUCK you!; Really? FUCK YOU?" approach we sometimes take.

Maybe this getting older thing is also helping our maturity levels. Umm, yeah, let's not count on it though because we still snort diet-Coke out of our noses over Will Ferrell....

Maybe This is Why Celebrities Have Nannies

Like most mummies out there, I'm trying to figure out to get two loads of laundry done, color my hair, pack everything needed for the upcoming long weekend, watch one of the final new episodes of Grey's Anatomy and do it all in between getting the toddler bathed and ready for bed and the almost-a-pre-teen's-have-you-brushed-your-teeth routine completed.

It'll all get done because I'm a mother...

The Reason I'm Craving Red Wine, Fritos, and Sex

She is also the reason her Daddy has sprouted a couple of new grey hairs...

Little Bastards

Two nights ago I awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep - the kind you pray for especially when pregnant because you're not tossing and turning or dreaming about Izzy's dead boyfriend Denny from Grey's Anatomy - to hear the distinct scratching/fluttering noise of a bat trying to get into the gutter or whatever the hell is up in that corner of the roof over our bedroom.

I heard it and it was COMING TO GET ME and hubby had fallen asleep on the sofa so even as a part of my brain registered that it wasn't actually swooping around my head, I hollered for him anyway. And by holler, I mean a half-scream, half-choking sound escaped from my mouth twice before he came running and by that time a full-fledged panic attack was in play.

As some of you already know, I have an extreme fear of bats. Now that I've heard this sound after several months of feeling a tiny bit of security that the problem was resolved, I'll be spending the rest of the summer and fall not sleeping but instead waiting, knowing somehow, some way those little fuckers will get inside our house and the night terrors will begin again.

Of course, drinking a bucketful of vodka would help ease the anxiety but I don't think that's allowed during pregnancy.

Or is it?

Heartbeat Hooray

We finally, FINALLY got to hear baby's heartbeat. Until I actually heard that swirling-swishyness that is a life, and the tears started streaming down my face, I had not realized just how much it had been bothering me we hadn't been able to hear it at the previous doctor appointments.

It also made me realize how very happy I am that Doodlebug-Bubby and Stinky-feet-Scooter-butt's baby brother or baby sister will be joining our family...Now to come up with a nick-name for this one.

Suggestions anyone?

The TALK

Phase one is complete.

I had THE talk last week with my son about sex. He's going to be 12 in a few short months, and while we've discussed periodically through the years some of the changes he can expect in his young body, this is the first time we actually discussed the fact that a penis and a vagina fit together quite nicely, that sex feels fantastic, and that condoms are not just some type of weird-shaped balloon to be used during water fights. I explained to him (with the help of a diagram of the male anatomy) what semen is and its very important part in making babies.

I refused to be embarrassed about the subject matter and I truly think that because I was calm and matter-of-fact about it, that made the whole situation far less awkward for my boy than it could have been.

He had a couple of questions, and the only time his eyes got wide was upon seeing a diagram of the outside of a woman's 'nunoone'. I wanted to stress to him the importance of coming to me if he doesn't understand something, or if he hears something from his friends that maybe doesn't make sense because after all, we know that sex-talk among peers on the playground is rife with the truth.

As part of my brain was registering the fact that he is mature enough to understand and deal with this information, my heart is still aching because it understands that my little boy is no longer a baby.

Someone pass the pregnancy-approved vodka.

How to Charm Me

Tell me very confidently that I, too, should run around after the bubbles floating in the air because "it'll make you feel like a kid again!"

My son is going to break hearts.

Part 3 - Alone. In your kitchen. Magic can happen.

The finished product - one is a cinnamon vanilla lip gloss (too strong on the cinnamon scent which I normally love, but I'll chalk it up to the pregnancy hormones). The other is wild cherry.

My plan to rule the world has just begun....

Part 2 - Seriously. Enjoy the alone time in your kitchen.

Shave the beeswax, measure out the carrier oil (in this case I used grapeseed oil); measure the essential oil you've chosen, and melt it in the glass measuring cup which is sitting in a pot of hot simmering water.

Part 1 - Be Alone in the Kitchen

Unbleached natural beeswax plus grapeseed oil plus essential oils of vanilla, wild cherry and cinnamon to choose from plus droppers plus sterilized containers for the finished product equals one highly excited mummy!

Paige Hemmis: I'm Going to Kick Your Ass

I just saw an ABC interview online with Paige Hemmis, one part of the team on Extreme Home Makeover and I couldn't decide between wanting to reach through the computer screen and throttle her or laugh somewhat hysterically as she attempted to describe her bout with depression.

Most of the time, I think it's great that people are 'coming out' and acknowledging this disease which in theory helps us lesser mortals not feel as ashamed as we do; and yet it mostly seems like it's the 'disease-du-jour' and celebrities are just jumping on the bandwagon for their 15 minutes of fame.

The part that held me suspended in outrageous disbelief was when she admitted that she DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS DEPRESSED.

As someone who's been trying to climb her way out of this soul-sucking hell-hole for years and years, I was astounded. Believe me, if you're depressed, you fucking well know it because there are days and weeks it's all you can think about.

A potential new hobby? A potential new cash flow?

Anyone who knows me knows of my affinity/obsession (Hello, my name is Shelley and I'm a lipgloss-a-holic.) with lip gloss and lip balms.

At any given time I have no less than 8 different tubes on the go and this has led me to searching out online (www.notmartha.org) ...wait for it.....MAKING MY OWN.

Astonishing isn't it? I'm giddy with excitement about getting started because it seems so easy there's no possible way I can mess this up. I'm now the proud owner of a couple of tiny bottles of essential oils and other paraphenelia and I will be sure to post pictures on how this all goes down.

Wish me luck!

Swimming Lessons & Tamil Tigers

It was an odd day....

Tamil Tigers were demonstrating near our Parliament Hill yesterday afternoon - 32 countries, including Canada - consider them a terrorist group, so exactly why are they still being allowed to continue their protest today? This is a group known to have initiated the use of women in suicide attacks, known for recruiting child soldiers, known to have carried out more suicide bombings than al-Qaeda, Hislamic Jihad and Hamas combined.

It has been a relatively peaceful demonstration so far but trying to get into the government building I work in was and is disconcerting and a touch scary to be stared at so hatefully by so many masked men, simply because I'm a woman.

On to happier things, my kids had their usual Wednesday night swimming lessons and it is a joy to see my daughter jumping into the pool with a smile; holding her while she does the doggy-paddle, and listening to her laugh as she blows bubbles. My son is doing very well in his intermediate class - learning how to do the backstroke using a float-board, learning how to dive instead belly-flopping, and I see him listening intently to his instructor from where I am in the kiddy-pool.

Something about watching my kids take on these new skills, being in the water, seeing their eyes shining, allows me to let go of the constant hum and murmur of my brain and actually focus on the moment, savour it, relish it, tuck it away in my memory to open again later like a favourite, well-worn book.

It is carpe diem and namaste all rolled into one big, wet hug.

About the Wedding

A few people have asked, "So, what's happening with the wedding?"

Given that we were thinking of getting married this September, and given that the baby's due date is this September, and given that I'd prefer not to looked like Bubba Blimp walking down the aisle, we've decided to postpone the wedding. Which really isn't that big a deal because we've waited this long - what's a while longer?

We used to joke around saying that we'd do it before Danielle could walk. Then it was before she started school (also happening in September!) and now I'm sort of thinking that maybe we'll get hitched a week before our 75th and 77th birthdays.

We're long-term planners don't'cha know...

That Whole Pregnancy Thing

I did promise to write more about how shocked we were to find out that having sex without any form of birth control can result in what has, up to this particular moment, been one of the biggest surprises of our lives.

I have always been that person who rolls their eyes to the ceiling when you hear someone talking about an accidental pregnancy, because in this day and age, come on, how can that possibly happen? I'm about to explain....

I'd been going through early menopause stuff for the last year and a bit, so my cycle has been irregular and missing some months, other months I'd be oh-so-lucky to get two periods! TWO! TWO PERIODS IN ONE MONTH! (As an aside, I've yet to come across an Always commercial extolling the happiness of that particular occurance and how it can enrich my life.) Did I mention the hot flashes? Oy vay, the night sweats...the hot flashes....time to spritz myself again and again.

Thinking there was nothing to be concerned about, hubby and I continued to have regular relations without giving spermicide, the Pill, condoms, Depo-Provera, cervical caps, IUDs a first thought, let alone a second one. Let this be a cautionary tale to anyone out there...yes, sex feels good, great actually, but use YOUR BRAINS for one tiny second to think about CONSEQUENCES. (Little bits of wisdom in parenting come from life experiences, you see?)

And ladies and gents, lo and behold, guess what happened? I got pregnant.

I knew something was up because my breasts had been sore for over 2 weeks and yet I continued to think that this too was just another joyful turn down the menopause highway. But a niggling thought led to buying a pregnancy test and at the Starbucks I haunt, I used the facility before ordering my usual (grande, non-fat, extra-hot, light-foam latte for those of you keeping track). The second blue line appeared even before my pee made it all the way through that little window. My immediate reaction was a frisson of excitement, followed very quickly by all-over body shaking and the thought of "Shit. shit. shi-i-i-t..."

Over the next few days, we both freaked out, and I am not ashamed or embarrassed to say that we considered terminating the pregnancy. Yes, abortion. I don't understand why it needs to be kept a great big secret because I'm certain that we are not the first couple who've considered that option, and yet no one ever talks about it. I believe wholeheartedly in a woman's right to choose, no matter the circumstances that landed her in that decision-making hell. And it was just that for us, especially because hubby's feelings and concerns had to be taken into consideration.

In the end, I decided I couldn't go through with it and am at peace with that decision. I think hubby will come around but right now he's still freaking out with worry (and just to be clear, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of getting rid of it either). But if I'm going to be honest, which I always aim for when writing this blog, his negative-freaking is pissing me off. Having another child affects me too, but I'm trying to make the best of it, and I am choosing to be happy about this, choosing to now see this as a blessing.

No matter what the end result is in terms of how our relationship gets through this, or doesn't - because truthfully? Nothing is guaranteed, is it?, everything happens for a reason.

Friday Sucked

Friday was unquestionably a day spent wondering why the hell I'm working for someone who thinks it's well within her rights to be practically screaming at me over the phone line because she's pissed that she has to pay a bill SHE AGREED TO PAY and that somehow it's become my responsibility to convey her extreme anger and disappointment and "don't-fuck-with-me" attitude to the sales manager instead of dealing with it herself.

Oh and just so we're clear? It isn't my fucking problem the flight you want to take this afternoon doesn't exist. Feel free to slam the phone shut in my ear because that will make the pretty little airplane fly just because you want it to. I know you're having a tough day because you've made mine absolutely miserable from the get-go this morning.

I am desperately trying to find my happy place, but all I can hear is Dolly Parton singing,

"Working nine-to-five, they've got you where they want you
There's a better life, and you dream about it, don't you?
It's a rich man's game, no matter what they call it,
And you spend your life puttin' money in his pocket!"

Someone suggested this weekend, "Hey, sounds like you're working for Miranda Priestley, y'know that boss in the "Devil Wears Prada"!

Yes it sort of does sound like that.

Picking My Battles

He's into skateboarding and snowboarding and downhill skiing and hunting and I'm just hoping he doesn't think I'll let him get a tattoo or nose ring anytime soon because you know that clothing like this and interests like those lead to all sorts of bad things like gravity-defying-eye-blindingly-pink-hair, his first toke, and a pregnant girlfriend at 16 years old.

Come to think of it, maybe a tattoo isn't so bad...

Cutest Kidswear EVER

Fashionable raincoat and boots by Hatley (www.hatleystore.com)

Tricycle courtesy of hand-me-down.

Puddle of water by Mother Nature.

Model provided by yours truly.

Quelle Surprise...

This has been a very unexpected development in our lives, and I will write more soon about the highs and lows of what I've been going through with this knock-me-on-my-ass-what-the-FUCK situation.

In the meantime, pass the damn hot sauce already...Mummy's got a craving!

Tomorrow, Tomorrow....

L-O-O-O-O-S-I-N-G

I-I-I-T....

F-U-U-U-U-C-C-C-K-K-K....

Losing It

I haven't written a post in 16 days because there is just too much shit going on and I can't seem to find 15 minutes to quiet my mind with a laptop that actually works with the hi-speed internet access we are supposed to have.

Everything is fucked up but only because I can't think straight.

I'll definitely try to write this weekend.

So Much for Living the Hi-Tech Life

We are still not quite hooked up to hi-speed for one reason or another. I need to return my brand new laptop because it's not working. I need to phone Bell and ask why there will be cords streaming out of my laptop in order for me to be connected to the Internet when I specifically asked for exactly NOT THAT. I need to actually install programs on the laptop so I can use it for any number of things.

Playing Mahjong Titans and Solitaire is fun and all, but I want more....

Coming Soon...Well, Fingers Crossed 'n All....

We are supposed to be connected with hi-speed by Wednesday evening.

Which means we're finally coming out of the dial-up hell we've been in for the past 5 years.

Which means I hope to update this blog more often.

Which means if you're sick of reading about my kids, I suggest you take a Gravol before landing here 'cause it's only gonna get worse!

Laptop

I am proud to announce that I am the happy owner of a brand new laptop! Finally! A Toshiba Satellite, weighing approximately 4 pounds arrived on Tuesday and is resting comfortably on a high shelf AWAY FROM PRYING STICKY FINGERS.

And just to be clear, those fingers belong to the fiancé.

He has his toys, this one is mine and I'm NOT sharing.

Ways to Captivate Me

Ask me often in your very charming, slightly whining voice, when you can go on the "tool bus" with your big brother.

Confession Part Deux

Do you ever feel like you're floating through your life and only the barest sense of reality seeps through the fogginess of your brain to remind you that are tethered to the ground?

Everything is connected, isn't it? One moment to the next, that invisible thread linked together as intricately as the lace doilies my Grammy used to make. I remember as a child curiously wondering if I pulled as hard as could, would those threads break apart? My fingers would twitch with the desire to yank on them, and once or twice I did just to see what would happen. Doing so stretched the thin yarn, but it did not break apart proving to me that something delicate could also be very strong.

My "career" has gone in the completely opposite direction of where I always dreamed it would go, and now, at almost 38 years old I'm constantly wondering if it's too late to make a change.

Here again, I make a confession, and part of my brain reminds me it's a silly one at that: What I wanted as a young girl, as an idealistic teenager, as a trying-to-figure-life-out young woman and still now, is to be an author. The kind of writer who concocts the sort of book you might pick up at the airport as you wait for your flight to take you on your winter vacation. The sort of novel you grab and read the back cover of on your way to the check-out at Walmart and toss in your cart because you know it's not War and Peace and you just want to escape for a little while. It would be my books that suck you in, and when you're done, you can't believe it only took you 3 days to read, you search out others I've written, and you tell your friends, "You've GOT to read this book," and they do.

I daydream of this and then snap back to reality where I'm stuck in a soul destroying office job, where the days blend into each other and I silently count down the minutes until I can go home. When doing laundry excites you more than your day job, it might be time for a change.

My hubby is urging me to just write, write whatever I feel like and I think he's onto to something there.

Maybe using my imagination more will lessen this Eeyore-like cloud I seem to like hanging over my head.

Maybe I need to learn how to make doilies.

Can't Fight This Feeling

Sorry to disappoint, but this post isn't an ode to all you closet REO Speedwagon fans...

Some of you may be aware I started a new job a month ago and while I won't discuss exactly who I'm working for, suffice to say she's a Canadian celebrity who's locked in a minimum 8 year contract, but likely a lifetime one. Having said that, she is terrific - down to earth, direct, good sense of humour and so on. I admit I'm having an issue with the amount of very strong perfume she wears and sprays several times a day, leaving me feeling nauseous and ready to puke into the garbage can next to the desk, but confronting her....well, that's out of the question because I'm a chicken shit.

Having said this (against the concern of the man I live with who thinks writing the above is not oblique enough and will come back to bite me in the ass), I have been wondering whether to unload here with the secret I've been keeping for this past month, minus the first day.

We can all relate to the excitement of firsts: first day at a new job, at a new apartment, in a new town, in a new relationship - it brings a charge of power, the tremor of possibility, a rush of adrenaline that something has changed. This thought brings me to my confession: I HATE THIS NEW JOB. I can't stand it for the very same reason I couldn't stand my last job - IT IS THE SAME JOB. Just in a different place. If only it were as cute as Jim & Pam and awkwardly funny as Michael on "The Office", but it isn't. It never is. I've been desperately trying to convince myself that THIS! IS! A! GREAT! OPPORTUNITY! and perhaps for someone else it is....I feel like I'm riding Bill Murray's coattails in 'Groundhog Day' and this is the gateway to hell.

Someone told me that if my job is not nourishing my soul it is the wrong one for me. The last few days have been agonizing, trying to will myself out of bed, trying to force my legs to MOVE, reminding myself that while I'm not thrilled about this job, it IS a job and I'm doing my part to support my family. Nourishing my soul, I guess, will have to wait.

The less-mature side of me keeps wishing that we'll win a huge amount of money in the 6/49 so that I can quit this job and just do whatever I feel like doing, which really means being home for my kids and NOT worry about finances.

But to quote Burgess Meredith in 'Grumpy Old Men' - "You can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which one fills up first."

Wishes....I wish for wishes....

Clearly, She Has The Upper Hand

So that the handful of people who actually read this blog on a regular basis don't assume I'm beating my daughter every day, I thought I should be a little more forthcoming on the post I wrote the other day about biting her back.

We are having SERIOUS bedtime routine issues with her lately. She changed daycare at the beginning of December because our regular provider dared (!) to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby girl before Christmas. Martine is the kind of mother that I always hope I'll be - patient, firm, consistent, crafty-creative, and one look from her and my daughter knows she's not allowed to poke someone's eyes out just for fun - and yet, I'm pretty sure I fall short in most of those areas because I am tired from the commute to and from work and the little energy I have left at the end of the day is needed for that night's temper tantrum and laundry.

Since being at the new place, our petite bébé has become aggressive. She bites. She kicks. She pinches. She slaps. She screams. She scratches. She sticks her tongue out often enough that I have several Ally McBeal moments where I imagine yanking it out just so that it will stop the "Boo-boo, na na na" sarcasm. She has temper tantrums that go on for hours. Trust me, you don't want to meet up with her in a dark alley 'cause she'll kick your ass.

After being bitch-slapped by a 3 year old over and over again, you do lose your cool. We have tried time-outs. We have tried distracting her with something else. We have tried ignoring the behaviour. We have tried ignoring her. Nothing seems to work except when it's gone on for more than 30 minutes and I YELL at her that that's ENOUGH. Mummy is MAD. You are a NAUGHTY GIRL. When you can say sorry for hitting Mummy, you can come out. Plunk her down on her bed and leave her in her room, close the door behind me, and then I hold her door shut, using both hands on the handle because now she's so PISSED that she's on the other side of it kicking and punching at the door. This goes on for over an hour and then she finally falls asleep, exhausted.

Any suggestions, short of shipping her off to a boarding school in Switzerland, you'd like to suggest?

Soon My Pretty....

...You will be mine....

Paging SuperNanny

Our little princess has turned into a hissing, growling, wild animal.
She slaps.
She scratches.
She bites.
She kicks.
She screams.
All in a sarcastic tone I abhor, "boo-boo, na-na..."

My reaction should be to remain calm and quiet, and calmly and quietly put her in a time out.

My reaction, ashamed I am to admit, is to do right back to her what's she's done. And you can guess how successful this game plan is. It ends with both of us in tears, both of us saying sorry, and me winning the shittiest mother of the year award.

Sparkles

Where's Dolly?

Today is a day I wish I had a clone.

Because then I wouldn't feel guilty for having to stay a few minutes late at work.

Because then I wouldn't feel that tight spot of anxiety knowing that my children need Mummy RIGHT NOW.

Because then my fiancé could have a few minutes of peace and quiet away from the screaming, slapping, kicking, pissed-off 3 year old.

Let the List Making Commence

We've started an initial guest list already, and I'm happy to say that he's very excited about planning this shindig, which is great because it means we're going to help each other through these next few crazy months.

We're looking at a late September wedding, and while I'm inviting only my immediate family (which includes 9 nieces & nephews), he's inviting almost his entire family. Have I mentioned that his family is French? Not that that precludes large numbers of cousins, but French families do tend to be large, as in there will be a minimum of 40 cousins attending. He's the baby in the family, and they are all anh, ouai!! Toute excité!!

Let me just say that between our family and our friends, this is going to be one kick-ass party and we should probably start stocking up on Advil liqui-gels and Tylenol extra-strength now.

I'm A Little Streaker!

It is minus-15 degrees outside and for reasons beyond comprehension, my daughter is wandering around the house stark naked. As in nary a stitch of clothing on. As in the lone sock and underwear she had on an hour ago have been left abandoned in the hall upstairs. Who knows where her pants and shirt are.

With all that is sacred, I hope like hell this is not a sign of how she'll spend her teenage years...

Cue the Wedding Planner

We went out for dinner Saturday night, and hubby, scratch that, now I can call him fiancé (!) proposed, and it was perfect and lovely and wonderful and simple and heartfelt. We have gone through a lot as a couple, and still we are together because of the very deep love we have for each other.

By the way, I said, yes.

Smile, Smile, Smile...I Love To Smile!

So it was only my second day at the new job, but I truly did not realize how bored I was at the old place. LOVE, LOVE the people from there, and I had a terrific boss, but the job itself had become so dull - there was no challenge left at all.

I AM NOW CHALLENGED and I haven't felt this good in a damn long time. I'm smiling! Me! SMILING. Smiling A LOT.

Personally I think this qualifies as a fantastic reason that my daughter is getting off relatively easy tonight with a gruff, yet stern-with-love, GET YOUR ASS INTO BED NOWWWWW warning considering it's past 9:30 pm and she settled down, oh, 10 minutes ago?

It's why, dead-on-my-feet-tired, I pulled out the flour, baking powder, oil and bowls to make bannock with my son tonight. HINT: It tastes just like Beaver Tails....

It's also why, even though hubby is still awfully sick (Day 8) with a nasty cold/flu/sinus/bronchial/ pneumonia thing, I can tenderly hand him a few tissues with a "poor bébé" rather than throw the box at his head like I would have done a week or two ago...

New Job. Old Commute.

First day with the new gig and my brain is dead-tired tonight, but in a very good, all synapses firing sort of way. I miss the girls though....

The worst part of the day is the commute because the city bus strike has forced everyone to drive to work. Mother-fuckers...GET BACK TO WORK ALREADY!!

And now I'm going to try to find a recipe for bannock because my son wants to make some before bedtime tonight.

I'll write more tomorrow.

Or maybe the next day.

Actually USING my brain is hard work, so show me some love, Internet.

Baby Face No More

I forgot to post my son's grade 6 school picture back in November. So here it is.

And that sound you hear is my heart breaking.

Your Move, Angelina-'n-Brad

ELEVEN BABIES.

And still, she wants more....

Humble Pie

It's never easy to admit that you're wrong. It can be even harder to acknowledge when you're hubby is right to call you out on your lousy, bitchy behaviour.

So, Honey, here is a public apology for screeching at you this morning, undeservedly.

And by screech - what that really means is I sounded like a hound from hell - complete with wild hair, hoarse voice, and general nastiness spewing out of me because hubby dared to stay up late socializing with one of his best friends and then, gasp, the HORROR, he fell asleep in the family room.

And to further apologize, I promise to make you a nice dinner tonight followed later on by a nice massage.

Prior to that, I should probably think about filing down my nails. And teeth. And double check there is no full moon scheduled tonight.....

Head Colds Can Just Suck It

So remember I mentioned in an earlier post that I got sick over the holidays with a cough? Its nasty next door neighbour has now moved into my sinuses and while I'm generally a fairly nice-but-cranky individual, I'm one snotty Kleenex away from turning into Super-bitch because I HATE being sick. Quite possibly it's already happened, but you'd have to ask my hubby about that, although being the sweetheart he is when I'm sick, he'll deny that it seems as though the devil has taken over and my head's about to spin around 10 times à-la Sybil....

My ears are blocked as though I've been swimming underwater for hours, and the post-nasal drip, drip, drip at the back of my throat causes the coughing fits to start all over again, only to have my head pound, pound, POUND from the build-up of pressure, except that only the left side of my nose is blocked but that's the side the runny nose is on too. My hands and feet are freezing, while the rest of me is too warm, and why is it that I have to pee constantly when I have a cold?

My god, the POWER I EXERT. Even urine is afraid to stick around for this party.

Thank You, Starbucks & David Copperfield

I keep a copy of this wise nugget in front of me:

"The most important thing in life is to stop saying "I wish" and start saying "I will". Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities."

Those cardboard cups are ever so helpful....

Here's to 2009

Happy New Year!

We celebrated at a friend's house party last night. The music was terrific, party lights swinging, even a smoke machine to belch out that in-the-club atmosphere. Booze was plentiful, as were smiles and hugs and good cheer.

I had one or two very light vodka tonics early on, and then nothing but water as I was the designated driver and I learned a long time ago that as much as I sometimes want to be the girl who can go all night long....I'm just not. My hubby is often the life of the party because he is so outgoing and likes to have fun. (I do too, I just suck at it and therein lies a post for another day.) He tells funny stories with such gusto that it can make you laugh so hard you'll snort rum & Coke out your nose; and his "I'm feelin' good!-James Brown" dance also gets everyone moving.

Round about 1:00 a.m. it hit me hard and fast - after an extremely busy week of visiting family and friends, cooking, cleaning, and dealing with a tempermental 3-year old (quick sidebar - is she too young to be shipped off to boarding school?), all in the midst of a nasty cough/cold - I was fucking TIRED.

As late nights go, there have been many much later - but this morning, everyone was home safe and in bed by 3:00 a.m.

I'm not sure how you're celebrating the first day of the new year, but I feel as though I'm the one with a nasty hangover and for a moment, I can't figure out why.

And then I realize: Sleep deprivation courtesy of the 3 year old and my period.

LET'S PARTY!!!!

The Ignorance of Youth

"WHAT is that noise?" asked my 11 year old son.

"That noise is Billie Holliday singing," I replied.

"Geez, Mummy, I thought it was my cat," he answered.