Get Over It

The University decided to stop accepting credit card payments. I heard the news through a dinner radio report and brought it up in the next morning's meeting. We were initally told not to get worked up about it, they didn't even know if it was true. Within hours we were given "key messaging" on how to respond to inquiries from the public. By mid-afternoon our website was publishing this sparse announcement with no details. Now we know it will go into effect July 1st.

The Student's Union is outraged. Students have created a group on Facebook. Some of the wall posts are quite articulate. Of the others, I've "reported" three people for personally attacking other posters by calling them names, and such. Why is it so hard to just disagree? I've also reported one "spam abuse".

I'm a student and would love to comment, but I don't think it would be advisable. Though I was sent an email from our Student Union president asking for feedback, and I did respond (no, not from my work email).

There was a larger meeting held at work a few days later where staff were told to "get over it" (I actually felt my eye twitch), followed up by, "this is your time to vent". Indeed. I said something like, "working here is like being an alien away from the mothership. We're told from this far away place there's going to be a some big change to process or policy, and there's no consultation, no communication and no plan for implementation. Just do it and make it work." Sigh.


Easter was a real treat at my Mom's this year. My sister-in-law ignored me from the outset, which is actually harder than you'd think. It takes a concerted energy not to look at someone, or acknowledge them, and simply pretend they don't exist. But I was determined. Once the tone was set, I made the effort.

My family celebrates Easter similar to Christmas in that the kids get a bunch of presents and they sit around opening them like it's Christmas morning. It's a little unsettling. My oldest niece tried to give away some of her chocolate (the expensive kind, too--a gold wrapped chocolate bunny from Lindt). Then she broke a chocolate Easter egg on the carpet, which if my Mom would have saw, would have wigged. She was going around giving away tiny little pieces of it(she's 10). When I expressed an interest in the bunny, she decided she'd keep it.

I did get in an emotional confrontation with my oldest brother, so all was not completely lost.

The evening's highlight was Guitar Hero on PS2. It's not much different than on the Wii, it just proved to be the best distraction from all that tension.

Now that the long weekend is over, Rob and I are getting back into the wedding planning. We're at the financial stage. Whee. I'm trying to decide if there should be a marriage contract. With this being my second marriage, and those statistics staring me in the face, and me owning nothing other than some crap furniture and a car--perhaps a contract is in order.

Which only serves to remind me how poorly my first marriage went. The guy's now married to the woman he cheated on me with. No, her name is not Angelina. And I'm certain she's not giving all her money to charity, either. These are people who should not be parents, wouldn't you say?

Which reminds me of my family and all the shit they keep passing down from generation to generation.

How much energy is it going to take to get over it?

I'm exhausted.

Bitten

I'm being slowly bitten by the baby bug. God help me, God help us all.

It scares the hell out of me.

I'm not sure if I'm ready. I'm sure my body isn't ready. And I wish the clock wasn't ticking so loudly it's drowning out the rest of the alone time I have with my Sweet Robert.

How will I have enough energy to deal with a baby when I barely have the energy to plan a wedding and complete one stupid writing class? How will I give up Advil and Sinutab?

Will it all be worth it? My Mom complains none of us children see her enough, or call her enough, or think of her enough. How will I make sure to give my children everything they need and still nourish and develop my own interests? How will I separate my role as a mother from my own sense of self?

Do you think other women truly comprehend what it means to have a baby? Or do you think most people stumble blindly down the procreation path guided by little more than a Winnie The Poo nightlight?

Does my Mom look around at her three children and feel blessed and proud she brought us into this world? Do my parents feel like the sacrifices were worth it?

I wonder how many people really think about their reasons for wanting children before the sperm hits the egg.

Ski Pants and Snow Angels

I'm fascinated with the english language, and constantly in awe of how everyone has the ability to express eloquence through writing randomly distinct and touching images. My sister in-law Vicki and I have been exchanging emails over the past few days and she couldn't help but comment on the ever-changing weather from a few days back: "Yesterday Emma was sitting outside on the steps in a spring jacket blowing bubbles all over our snow free yard. Today, ski pants and snow angels."

More than just the language though, I'm inspired by the adaptability of children and how they experience wonder under any circumstance. While one child might sit at the window looking forlorn over nature's snowy mood swing, my Emma Lou was outside taking advantage of a day designed for "ski pants and snow angels".

There is the possibility my Norman Rockwellian image attributes more to the moment than is warranted, but for a memory, I live vicariously through my niece's expanding experience of winter.

My cousin's back landing housed clumps of our shoes and skates, wet from afternoons and evenings of hockey and ice skating. I remember shoving blistered feet into stiff unforgiving skate boots, wiping left over ice from sharp blades, and hoping cheap bandaids would hold as we raced repeatedly up and down the ice.

I had a red hockey stick and quick legs as one of the few girls in a rink full of boys and flying pucks. There were cheap chips and hot chocolate from the nearby snack shop. And through the dark walk home away from the fading glow of rink lights, my feet felt flat and cold in my shoes. I walked slowly to minimize the pain from the hours spent in a Canadian winter.

I'm sure Emma's experience will differ vastly from my own, but the image of her lying in the snow, face to the sky, nose growing pinker by the minute...

Is there anything more perfect than a snow angel in ski pants? : )