Tiffytopia

Transition

2011-10-28T22:25:00.018-06:00

He is not in a concentration camp or sleeping in an alley.

I force myself to extreme comparisons attempting to manage my anxiety as I analyze every detail of the cramped nap room my son is struggling against sleeping in. It is a divided room with a half wall. Each side has five cribs touching back to back with narrow paths separating two more cribs. A window decorates each half of the room and on William's side a painted tree with falling leaves is back lit from the playroom lights glowing through green and orange tissue paper. It's cheery and festive for Autumn, but my mind can not focus on anything positive.

I can hear noise from the other room that attaches to the shared nap space; a daycare person bursts loudly through the door and upon seeing me looks apologetic, but still drags the miniature wooden seats across the playroom floor in preparation for lunch. Each screech winds my nerves tighter and tighter. I keep calculating how long William could possibly nap and still wake up in time for lunch, and wonder yet again how he will possibly be ready to be left on his own in this foreign world come Monday.

William pulls himself up on the crib bars and sits back down over and over. The odd time he emits a happy coo as I do my best to ignore him and look sleepy by leaning against the wall with my eyes closed. At one point he reaches through the bars and pinches the underside of my arm. I yank it out of reach and muffle my exclamation of pain. To anyone other than his mother, William looks pretty perky, but I know how tired he is and how much he needs this morning nap to process the day's events, and all the change he's been exposed to earlier in the week. I can't leave him because the staff to child ratios are at the max, and even if I could, it's too soon. It's day four of daycare transition and I am running on my second night of very little sleep. As each day has progressed, William's arms length radius with me has grown smaller and smaller.

That morning I am convinced we chose a substandard daycare, especially as I compare it to the daycares of close friends and how big and airy and fabulous (and clean) I imagine them to be. I try to remind myself what the priority is: caring people watching William and providing him with basic skills, nutritious food, and support for his growth in a safe environment.

But I can't stop asking myself what exactly my exorbitant monthly fees are paying for if it isn't for a better designed nap room that features separate storage of the highchairs for meal time. I can't stop asking myself who the hell designed such a layout of a divided room split by a half wall where not all children surely nap at the exact same time, and if they do, how the hell do 16 children reasonably fall asleep in the same cramped, warm room?

On day one I can't stop my eyes from lasering in on the bits of food left in cracks of the alphabet floor--bits of cheese waiting to be eaten by my dairy-intolerant son who, despite incessant admonishments of "yucky, yucky, don't eat that", and despite the purchase and consistent use of a handy vac at home, continues to find and pick up every speck he happens upon to immediately stuff into his mouth with all the enthusiasm of Templeton the rat. I see the staff vigilantly sweep up after every meal and mop with a bleach mixture; I know the rooms are cleaned each night, but those bits are there and I can't help but wonder how easy it would be for the daycare to simply purchase a Dustbuster to make everyone's life a touch easier.

Day two my eyes fall upon the grimy little people playhouse, minus all little people of course, whose floors look as though they've never seen the light of a little people mop. More than once I wonder if this playroom has a higher instance of sickness, as at least three kids have weeping noses, and one a deep bellied cough. A bottle of Robitussin is spotted by my eagle eyes on top of the mini-fridge that cramps the playroom entryway.

In the middle of the night after day two, I talk myself into a daycare transition sick day, convinced both William and I simply need a break to decompress, especially after sleeping very poorly the previous night. After much self pep talk, and knowing how little time we really have to successfully transition, I rush through getting ready the next day ending up with a sloppy pony tail and barely there make-up.

It took 45 minutes. William was sitting up sucking his thumb when he leaned forward, face first into the mattress, and promptly fell asleep. His feet were up by his ears and I had to peer at his back to make sure he was still breathing. At one point a daycare person popped in to check on us and whispered, "Does he sleep like that?" I had to shrug. At least he was sleeping.

Cut to the end of day five, the last transition day: William napped for an hour with the rest of a full nap room (both sides), and though he was pretty fussy in terms of not letting me out of his sight most of the day, he still managed to sit on his own with me just off to the side, and doesn't appear to be traumatized upon our arrival back home. I even managed to leave the site to run an important errand for my return to work on Monday.

Though the grime and food bits are still there at the end of meal time, today the little people house doesn't look quite so dirty, and today I see the warm smiles the two main women who manage his room have when they see my sweet son. I see them kiss the other children's heads (knowing how natural it feels to express affection for a child), and I hear the caring in their voices as they read to them and encourage them to play and learn. Although I fear these women may be grossly underpaid, and I still wonder exactly what my hard-earned dollars pay for at the top end of the company, I am able to separate the worries of being a new mom leaving my little one in the hands of strangers from understanding what the priorities are for his care, and I am ultimately able to trust my instinct versus my anxiety.

Transition is hell.

Oddly enough, I feel like a better mother for it.

9 and a 1/2 months

2011-06-19T22:31:00.012-06:00

Rob's first Father's Day and he totally kiboshed it (although he did let me know in advance he had no expectations). I kept it low key by just getting him a first Father's Day card and a recordable frame which featured a snippet of William laughing (originally from a video). In the frame I put a snapshot of the frame of that same video. My thinking was he'd take it to work and when he was missing William could surreptitiously push the play button and enjoy that memory (but as yet it has not happened).

We were supposed to go for brunch with friends but the timing with children didn't work out (Rhys and William are on very different schedules). : ) Naturally I thought I might make breakfast instead, which would be handily landing on Father's Day. Rob's response?

"I don't want bacon and eggs because it's dictated by Hallmark."

On one level that's hard to argue with. But I emotionally argued for it none the less. "It's the first Father's Day! It's a milestone!" I even cried.

But Rob says it's all commercial and he doesn't believe in it, even though the history of the day seems touching and sincere (according to Wikipedia). All I want is for William to make his Daddy a crappy ashtray even though he doesn't smoke (Rob did this for his Dad, only in their case Joe had quit a number of years earlier). Is that too much to ask? William doesn't yet know he's supposed to appreciate his parents. Whereas, I want a bloody parade every day of the week. I settle for one stinking day. : D

Can you imagine if kids still made ashtrays in school? There would be an uproar!

Anyway. So, I didn't make breakfast.

But we did go to the Calgary Comic Expo, which is always an experience.

We had William in a Batman onesie and jeans (so cute--I'll add pics later). He was all agog at the people, the costumes, the noise. At one point a Zombie flash mob (the link doesn't pick up the music much, it was quite loud) broke out in front of the Ghostbusters Movie car. There were even little kid zombies (all dancing to Thriller). I was trapped along with a few people by the sheer size of the dance and had no choice but to watch the whole thing.

I did make Rob an awesome burger for lunch, though. I'd picked up a couple of pre-made patties from Silver Sage Beef (organic and pre-seasoned). While those were on the BBQ, I was frying up some bacon and onions. No side dish, was too hungry and didn't have the time (at least I added tomato to mine).

William is now 17 lbs 14 oz. He's in a low percentile but has stayed on that curve since he was 3 months old. Hard to believe he's low when he looks so big and feels so heavy! Like all moms with babies, I hear it all: "He's so little! He's so big! He's so long! He looks older! Look at that hair!" Obviously my favourite is when people tell me how cute he is. : )

Does every baby hate Mommy's ministrations? When I try to clean his nose, face, hands, ears, clip nails, put on lotions, etc. he hates it. Do any babies like it? I want to meet them.

Eating solids are still a work in progress. I mentioned on FB how William went from Zero peas to TWO. It sounds so ridiculous my Mom doesn't understand what I'm talking about. I took a video of the first time he tried peas.

Now I dramatically pick up a pea, show William it's in my mouth and then ostentatiously chew and swallow it. Maybe he will then let me put one in his mouth which I end up pushing back in a few times.

What's working lately is me praising after ever bite or series of chewing and swallowing. I clap and cheer, "Way to go, William! Good job!" Although, I think I read somewhere you're not supposed to praise for feeding, the child needs to learn to eat! I have to resort to these measures. I keep wondering how the hell he's going to go to daycare if he won't take a bottle, can't have dairy, and hardly eats any solids. While I have 3 months yet, it's a major concern.

And I'm freaking out a little bit about the thought of daycare. Strangers will be spending more time with William than I will. That is disconcerting. Of course I want William to be independent and develop proper social skills, but I'm not keen on giving up my influence for 8 hours a day. A whole personality could develop without my influence.

And I was the one who said over and over, "From the moment a baby is born, it's your job as a parent to prepare that baby to go out into the world."

But he's only 1! That's too soon.

Update

2011-03-19T22:29:00.012-06:00

I'm afraid if I don't start writing some of these moments down, I may lose them altogether!

William has just passed the 6 month mark and is seriously cuter than ever. Jeez, went downstairs for the photo card and came up with chips and a drink, instead. Alas. (William and Rob are in bed for the evening).

I look back at videos from the first few months and I honestly can't believe how much he's changed. I thought William was adorable when he was born, but it's nothing compared to how cute he is now. And he's so darn happy! Most of the time we go into his room after a nap and are greeted with smiles. Sometimes William's a little sleepy and it takes a few moments, but the smiles eventually come.

Lately he's been scrunching up his whole face and breathing quickly through his gums in a bit of a hissing sound, which is rather amusing. He'd started raspberries/blowing bubbles awhile back and then it died off only to resurface tonight for some reason. And he's kicking up a storm right now: on the change table, while I nurse him, in the bathtub--it's incessant. He must have kicked out a litre of water in the bath tonight. The kicking while nursing can really drive me nuts. The lactation consultant wondered if that was only when he was frustrated at a slow milk flow, but he can be going to town and still kicking like a rockette (it's fairly dramatic--his feet will literally search me out to make contact, even when I move my arms and everything out of the way).

And when he's done nursing on one side he just turns away and pretends not to see me. Sometimes he'll look at me out of the corner of his eye, but there is no coaxing him back until he's switched to the other side. It's ridiculous (in an amusing way, of course). He's always been a pain in the ass in that regard, but now he's totally in control of how long he feeds on each side, whereas before I could talk him into going just a little longer before switching sides.

The reason this is noteable is we had weight concerns which started back in December and have moved neatly to full on Eczema issues. He's had Eczema from about 4 weeks old, but after a lactation consultant suggested going dairy free in February, it's been hell ever since. With the level of attention and information you get from Doctors these days, if we didn't have the Internet, we'd be screwed. I'd rather have too much information than not enough.

The Eczema was so bad on his mouth we were referred to a dermatologist and were ushered through so quickly I'm surprised I didn't get a happy meal on the way out. That Doctor told me to bathe William every day, even "two or three times a day" and that Olive oil based products "strip the skin". The Naturopath I just saw told me bathing every day was unnecessary as we needed to make sure he wasn't getting dried out and that Olive oil based products were fine, that Alcohol-based creams strip the skin (of which the dermatologist recommended one).

Now who do I believe? Dermatologist prescription creams make the eczema go away to some degree (until I have some hidden dairy, I believe), but the Naturopath says that's a "repressed" reaction as it's only driving the issue "deeper into the skin" because skin reactions represent issues occurring on the inside (in this case a suspected dairy sensitivity).

It's unbelievably stressful to look at your baby's skin and wonder how much it bothers or hurts him (nevermind when you see him itching), and how much what you're eating has to do with his condition. I wonder if he hates getting changed because his skin is sensitive, or if he moves all over the crib while he sleeps because his back is itchy.

At this point people usually ask me why I don't switch to formula.

Well, if the child has allergy issues, I need to get those sorted and resolved before I start stuffing him with chemicals and additives and such. Keeping in mind we have an established history of allergies in the family (when I was a baby I apparently threw milk up, which I didn't know until recently). Rob was hospitalized many a time due to allergy reactions, and we both had/have asthma, a history of pneumonia, adenoids, tonsillitis, and the like. Obviously I have to get this under control now, and until I have more of an idea of the cause of the Eczema, I don't consider formula an option for us.

That makes having started solid foods very stressful, as I'm extremely linear and literal. I love knowing what to give/when/how much, a schedule, and on and on. Down to the "T". I don't think everything I've read is specific enough. I want to know exactly how much iron is in each food, so I know which food is the best bang for my iron buck. And exactly when to go to two meals and day, and two foods a day, and all that.

I am not a go with the flow kind of gal.

And yet, I must be. I have a beautiful baby boy, and he's not going to subscribe to some schedule I've determined is in his best interest (judging from his sly sidelong glances at me when he's done nursing on one side--though I think he could clearly go longer).

Still, I've got my charts; I'm cross referencing my material; I've determined which iron filled foods I'll serve next, and I'll just have to go from there.

And I will figure out this Eczema thing if it kills me.

Never mind the Naturopath suggested also giving up Eggs and Wheat, to which I said, "Uh, hell no. For now." Until I'm convinced it isn't Dairy, I can't give up anything else.

As all moms out there know, we give plenty, thanks.

Of course, if I have to I must, but for now Dairy will just have to do. More on the classes we been taking next time.

Stars and Strollers

2011-02-10T17:48:00.031-07:00

Let me start by saying I'm in a good mood despite not seeing the end of the movie, and considering William has been crying for an hour since we got home from our first <---- (I must be optimistic!) Stars and Strollers attempt. *update*: after William finally went down he slept only an hour and was hollering blue murder at the top of his lungs until Daddy gave him a bottle (I naively thought I'd get at least an hour and a half of sleep out of William and went to the drugstore).

Now, I realize most mommies have been there and done that, but seeing as how this is my first baby and our first movie attempt together, I'm writing about it! : )

Can I just say what a cash grab Stars and Strollers must be? Seriously. How many mommies even make it to the end of the movie, or could even tell you what happens at any given moment? I lasted for about an hour and a half, and I knew in advance popcorn was not an option.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

My friend Suzy, who recently had a baby (now just over a month old), and I got there with plenty of time. The movies are NOT discounted, by the way--some might say, "why should they be", but I think I could make a case for it (I won't here, though). Suzy went with Burger King right at the theatre as her four year old was home from Daycare, Daddy Sean made the trek to make it a family event, and they needed lunch before the movie. Their bill for two meals was $23, which they were openly horrified by, especially after paying over $50 for 3 adult and 1 children's ticket (upon which Daddy Sean declared, "I am eating every single one of these 50 cent fries!)

The website advertises "Stroller parking available in select theatres", which consists of space for about 5 strollers, not including the ramp that enters the individual theatre (where I watched a portion of the movie).

Daddy Sean and Lucas went to a kids flick, while Suzy and I parked our strollers in the front row of the main tier of our theatre, just before about 10 mommies and strollers showed up looking for more space to "park". Can someone say Fire Hazard?

I made sure to bring William's sound muffling headphones, which made Suzy laugh, but were alternately fabulous and irritating to William. At one point I had the headphones off just as the abusive father on screen shouted at his wife and child, "Fuck! Just go ahead and eat your fucking lunch!" (because said lunch wasn't good enough in typical cliched abusive behavior). This of course sent William into a high pitched scream--always accompanied by real tears, mind you. So now I'm trying to get the headphones back on, kiss William on his wet cheeks and reassure him it's "just a movie, Sweetie"--like he understands that, and so on and so forth.

At times William was calm just watching the movie (despite my anti-tv-and-and-everything-related-policy-until-2 years-old), headphones on, and then he'd claw at said headphones, restless, and I'd try to pacify him with the pacifier, of course (despite my no-pacifier-after-3-months-policy). Then I'd try and give him his blue giraffe, or his new crunchy Winnie the Pooh "Hunny" book. I tried cradling him, looking longingly at the calm baby in her mother's lap next to me who was actually "shooting" William a look like, "what the hell, buddy, settle down."

William would screech a little, and then Suzy's guy Charlie would let out a whimper (but was mostly content to just eat and eat from Mommy). William's screeching would set off some other screeching in the theatre, so there was always some screeching going on.

I figured we'd had enough when William really started to howl his ear piercing, squirm out of arms shriek. No cradling, giraffe, headphones, or "relaxing" in the car seat/stroller would do, so off into the hall we went. After a few trips around the hallway, back to the seat, and more screaming--I finally plunked him into the stroller to leave--had to manoeuvre around the babies playing on blankets next to us, the other strollers, the car seats, and out we really went.

William settled down outside, but the moment I'd attempt to roll back in, he'd literally start whimpering. We managed a five minute stretch of watching the movie in the entrance/exit aisle because he was facing the screen, when a woman joined me with her baby. She was trying to coax me into the "closer" seats, etc, until William started to protest and she finally took his hint and left.

I went back outside and rolled William around in the stroller. I tried to go back in again, and saw other Mommies and squirming babies in the same aisle I'd just vacated--but William would have none of it. Needing some guidance, I called Rob for mental support and he advised me to feed William inside and if he still didn't settle, to go out into the mall and simply shop (we were at Chinook and I had it in my head I would accomplish many errands on this trip). Normally I would make such such a deduction on my own, but it was a new scenario, other mom's seemed to be sticking it out, and Suzy was down in the front row with Charlie contentedly feeding away.

So, back in we went. I could just barely get William latched without a full audible episode, but he did quite fine without my usual guidance. I looked over and Suzy was still feeding Charlie, while a variety of other moms were now up in the aisles bouncing to soothe their bundles as baby shrieks ricocheted around the theatre like a vocal tennis match--which set William off during feeding and after when I thought he might actually be able to nap. We were about 3/4's of the way through the movie, after all.

The movie? Blue Valentine. Some artsy flick (crap) about a failing marriage, all "gritty", shot with a multitude of shaky cam close-ups, complete with a fuck scene where the woman wants her husband to hit her, and an abortion scene featuring the dr between the woman's legs all ready with the needle and such. This is the movie mothers are running to for relief from being cramped up in the house? Seriously? The movie started with the family dog disappearing as he'd gotten hit by a truck (and they showed him dead by the side of the road, then wrapped in a blue tarp for burying). And it's not like we had a choice between a nice fluffy movie and this. Our other option? The Rite. Right! God, $13 has never been so poorly spent (though I buy cheap movie passes, Suzy bought my full priced ticket in advance as they got there ahead of a huge line up).

And still, though William has had by all accounts an awful afternoon and evening (and subsequently Mummy and Daddy as well), I'm in pretty good spirits. Which may be difficult to tell, but none the less.

At no point did I get frustrated with William. If anything, his behaviour was completely expected, but I had to give it a shot. I know my son and he is a baby who is (currently) sensitive to sound, and who does not nap except in his crib or if he's REALLY tired, maybe the car. This is my baby. Why do you think I put headphones on him in the line up at Starbucks when the speaker next to us was blaring some pathetic tinny song, causing William's face to screw up in a telltale howl until I placed the headphones on him? Did I feel silly when the women behind me commented? No. I know my baby. I was happy I didn't force him into "sticking" out the movie when he was screaming in intense discomfort. I can't make William shriek with that much unhappiness just so I can finish watching some two-bit "Oscar nominated film". Yes, I want to push his boundaries and expose him to new and noisy surroundings, but not for my explicit benefit and so utterly at his expense.

Yet after all of that, William was full of smiles when we got home, and before our many attempts at putting him to bed, and will still have many toothless grins for us when he does go to sleep and finally wakes up.

Will I attempt Stars and Strollers again? It should be a resounding no, but never say never. William may evolve and I may find new ways of getting him accustomed to noise and napping. I'm just not going to completely disregard our happiness and sanity to do it.

: )

Hush Now

2010-12-13T13:17:00.005-07:00

Someone forgot to mention when the baby sleeps throughout the night, he doesn't sleep throughout the day. Cause I didn't make that connection.

For the past week William has been sleeping overnights anywhere from 7-11 hours. Anytime I mention this to someone I get an array of positive responses such as, "That's awesome!" or "Way to go!"

But when a baby sleeps 10 hours at night, he must certainly be up MUCH more during the day. The net effect is you end up with a series of 1-2 hour naps (if you're lucky). Because a 3 month old (as of tomorrow) is only up for about an hour and a half (often less) at a time, this cycle makes for a very LONG day. Now, would I rather have 8 hours of sleep at night, or would I rather have a day of William napping in 2-3 hour stints where I can accomplish things (like having a shower or putting up the Christmas tree)?

And I'm not exactly waking up and leaping into the air ready for action after a full night's sleep.

Alright, I suppose I've made my point.

The last two days have been a challenge. William has taken to being up for an hour or less at a time (he's been starting to cry at the tail end of "play time"). Normally I'd assume he was tired of that particular activity, but the crying is now also occurring on the change table and in Mummy and Daddy's arms, so it's got to be that he's tired, right? Well, he's also developed some new "sleepy time" cues, such as grabbing his whole head and face like the sky is falling (I'll try and get a pic but it might not turn out well due to his mindset at that point). : )

So, if he's only up for an hour and only sleeps for an hour, if that (and it's only 1 in the afternoon)...yawn, except now I've had a full eight hours of sleep so can not justify being tired. Alas.

Babies are hard.

And today even though he was crying (and sort of exhibiting sleepy cues), when I put him down all he did was babble for a good five minutes--which he also did when he awoke. But seeing as how everything is an experiment with a baby, I just left him to see if he'd drift off.

Yes, he is currently asleep. According to the sleep timer, that means I have anywhere from 20-40 free minutes because at 2pm there will be ten hours left in the day and he will have already slept for 11 at that point--so he should be awake for... another 5 hours!

Right. Mmmmmm, I had a baby to play with, raise, love...who knew it'd be all day long. ; )

Seriously, (literally) yawn.

Okay, what about the good stuff? Well, William has a baby Santa hat which is adorable!

Pictures with Santa were a trip and a half. Just watching all the kids clamor over one another to use the itty bitty kid slide was unbelievable.

Side tangent: one kid kept butting in line until another mother told him he couldn't do it and his mother finally came over and told him he shouldn't do it. Then he proceeded to stand in front of the slide, lay under the slide, climb up the slide (and get his finger caught). Some other kid was all whiney and wanted to use the slide but didn't have any confidence (or something), so she'd just hang out in front of the stairs, or on the stairs, or sitting too close to the end of the slide (she was my least favourite). Another other little girl would sit in the middle of the slide so no one could go up the stairs or down the slide (until I told her she needed to move on). One decked out girl in full hair and Christmas dress actually spit on the carpet and rubbed it away with her shiny black patent shoe (clearly knowing what she was doing). Between the sweater vests on the boys, and the girls with their salon hair and boutique dresses, my William looked ghetto in his baby clothes--I just figured with him being a little over 2 months old, can not sit himself up, can not walk, and gets overheated easily, I'd keep it simple. I had no idea pictures with Santa were such a "thing". Stroller after stroller was lined up to get in as soon as the place opened. The whole thing took just over an hour.

Anyway! William has discoverd he only has to roll over to get out of Tummy Time--so it's now a big game of rolling him back over for the rest of Tummy Time (shooting for a minimum 5 mintues), which will usually produce a bout of crying. He's gripping the big soft picture blocks he normally knocks over. He can grab and shake rattles (but has hit himself once, so now we're cautious). He was holding his own bottle the other day, which absolutely amazed Rob and I. And he wants to hold the medicine dropper when we're giving him gripe water, so I can see where this is heading. We appear to have a "spirited" child. : )

But he is and continues to be a delight--simply. : )

Yawn

2010-11-21T11:13:00.003-07:00

I was going to ask, "what is it about new motherhood that makes you so beat?" Then I yawned.

Right, it's the sleep factor. Last night I tried the Baby Whisperer technique for inching William along to sleep longer overnight. Method: "Tank the Baby up"--feed him at 5, 7, then "dream feed" while the baby is sleeping (yeah, right) at 11. And watch him sleep (not literally).

Mmmm... Fed at 5 (ish), then 7 (ish), gave him a bath, we both went to bed at 8:30 and I set my alarm for 11:30. Didn't turn on any lights, and didn't unswaddle William as I attempted to "dream feed" him after my alarm went off. But then thought I smelled poo and changed him before putting him back down, thus waking him. Still, he went down again no problem at 12:30 (drum roll) annnnnd woke up around 5.

So, no go. I get that already. If I'd have let him sleep at 8:30 he'd have probably slept for 5 hours or more, so I lost out in this deal. Book says to keep trying, it could take up to a week. How does everyone else do this? Does the baby "organically" start sleeping nights? Like I say, I can get 5, 6 hours out of him now, it just might start at 8 or 9.

Yawn.

Of course, I also had an energy spurt when I awoke at 11:30, so I didn't go back to sleep right away. Imagine my dismay when I went to sleep at 2:30, only to be up 2 and 1/2 hours later. Let's see, 3 hours at 8:30 pm, 2 1/2 at 2:30 am, that's 5. I went back to bed at 7:30 am for 3 hours, but slept poorly as I was cold (despite being covered in tons of blankets).

I'm always doing the sleep math throughout the day wondering if I'm justified when I feel tired (like now). Like so tired I'd rather sleep then eat.

Screw it. I'm having a nap.

But I do love William to pieces, and he's still cute as hell. Despite of his recent growth spurt, I do not regret being a Mummy (though the sheer magnitude of it all can be quite overwhelming).

What a Difference

2010-11-14T19:32:00.009-07:00

a couple of months make. Well, the first picture is from September 18, and the second October 30, but William is now 2 months old!

Back then William would fall asleep on my chest for some skin to skin Tummy Time. Now he's not a cuddler. Not sure if I've somehow reinforced such independence (if that's what I'm calling it), or if that's his emerging personality, but I keep trying to sneak in some cuddles only to be met with staunch arching away from Mummy as he prefers to look avidly around the room.

What I've lost in cuddling, William now makes up for with smiles during our breastfeeding sessions. I get a legion of open mouth smiles from my little man in between sides, so I take the opportunity to reiterate to William how much I adore him as I try to teach him that I'm "Mum, Ma, or Mummy" and that he is indeed William, and "Mummy loves you--Will, William."

Then, William used to stare silently at his wall of animals along the change table. Now, he laughs his little baby laugh when he locks eyes on the red bird, and punches his fist out at the Eeyore rattle to make it jingle (which I believe I taught him then, but he does very frequently now).

Both then and now William slept for 3-4 hour stints, though it's stretching longer and longer with 7 hours being the most he's slept at a time. Back then William fed for 45 minutes a side at the longest, and now it's 5-7 minutes a side with me always wondering if he's getting enough (despite seeing the regularity of poos and pees).

William's baby acne is what I agonized over then as I breastfed him, and now I look alarmingly at the dry patches of skin on his scalp and little bits on his face. Cradle cap was a notion in a book then, and now I use a special shampoo on William and a medicated cream that sometimes takes over "play time" after feeding. His "sad face" has graduated to full-on lower lip trembling "wah, wah" cries, which were heartbreaking then, nevermind now when he gets tired of me fussing over his skin and hair, or whatever else is bothering him.

Like all parents, Rob and I talk incessantly to William as we interact with him. It's been fun watching his baby vocabulary grow from gurgles to what we swear are words. I keep guessing what I think his first word will be (either, Hi, Hello or Okay), as those are most used by me, it seems. I swear he deliberately said "Hi" recently, as he breathed out the word while looking directly at me during what I now refer to as "face time" (a new activity category I created on the iPad Baby Connect application with the description: William is being adored by Mummy/Daddy).

William hardly lifted his body during Tummy Time back then, and now he gets enough height for us to actually take a video featuring his face. He also rolled from front to back just the other day! Then promptly spit up after much fan fare from Mummy congratulating him on his great achievement. : )

Of course I loved little William even then, but now he takes my breath away when he looks right through me with his smile, follows me with his eyes around the room, and when I close my eyes and feel his small body wiggle against me as Van Morrison or another favourite musician plays on in the background.

If I love William this much now, then how much more could I possibly love him later?

Waiting

2010-10-26T23:04:00.020-06:00

According to our iPad application, Baby Connect, William's been sleeping for 2 hours, 45 minutes (and counting). It's 11:06pm. So, rather than try and go to sleep for 1/2 hour or so, I'm waiting for him to wake up so I can feed him and then we both can go back to bed. My goal will be to try and feed him lots to see if he'll sleep longer. My data from Baby Connect indicates I can expect anywhere from 3-4 hours of sleep from him once we all go down. I keep crossing my fingers for 5, but I'm not sure how long that will take to achieve.

I can not say enough about Baby Connect. It tracks everything! Colour of poos, activities, growth charts, graphs--in a word, awesome. We've raved about it to Amanda and Warren and recently they came across what I can only refer to as their "manual" charting created when Rhys was born (as we all know, you need to keep track of this shit--literally). These applications simply have the advantage with today's technology (plus it's ideal for Type A mothers, which I've been told I am). We've even taken it to the doctor's office to record height, weight, etc--so handy. Though the percentiles the doctor tells us do disagree with the iPad percentages, so good thing I don't have to just take the doctor's word for it. ; )

You may be asking yourself (because you follow this blog so closely), didn't she say the next blog was going to be on what she enjoyed about motherhood? Exactly, dear reader(s). Not only do I enjoy tracking all this stuff, but I enjoy analyzing it to manipulate behavior and influence results. Which is why I also enjoy the Baby Whisperer so much--the cause and effect relationship is fascinating to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a lab coat spending hours pouring over the data, I'm just looking for trends and seeing where I can tweak things.

Though, I did read and re-read sections of the Baby Whisperer quite a bit to try and soak in the information to get us on a routine once William was born. Of course, if I didn't see results I'd have trashed the whole thing, but because of how well we're all adjusting, I'd say it's been well worth my effort. And I haven't been so crazed when things don't go according to plan, or go way off routine, that we can't adjust, but I'd say because we've had such a good routine we're all much more flexible when unavoidable things happen (and they do happen).

Case in point, our gas scare of last week. Situation: hot water pilot light went out early am (noticed when Mummy tried to warm a cloth to wipe William's red, teary eye which was beginning to look puffy, after a particularly challenging breastfeeding session). No hot water. Mummy starts to get agitated and calls Daddy (while William is starting to fuss). The clock is ticking down on home health care arriving, and I still have yet to make my own saline solution (rather than continue to buy it at $7.00 a bottle, only to thrown 3/4's away after 3 days because that's when it's "no good"--something I have yet to understand, but am unwilling to test on my gaping abdominal wound).

After calling Daddy, I then call my close friend who I know has had many hot water heating issues, and he tells me I'd be best to get someone in to relight it. Then I call my brother who asks me if I smell gas, at which point I go downstairs and declare, "YES, YES I DO."

"You've got to get out of the house!"

Now, in checking the ATCO gas website after the fact, it advises the same thing. However, Rob shows up just in that moment and I'm running up the stairs shouting to him, "I can smell gas! I can smell gas!" I grab the baby, a blanket, a coat and leave the house (still in my pajamas, of course). Meanwhile Rob is on the phone with ATCO, who is calmly telling him to simply ventilate the area. Mmmmm... Website says--don't use the phone, call from a neighbour's, and don't switch on any lights (among other things).

Rob tries to call me back down to the house as I'm sitting on a neighbour's stoop, cradling the baby (okay, and crying), and I will not budge. Home health care count down is less than 10 minutes ETA, which I have completely forgotten at this point, as I have images of the house blowing up with Rob in it.

He finally comes over to me and coaxes me back telling me all should be alright (based on ATCO call) just as the home health care woman shows up (I swear she must think Rob beats me). I can laugh about this now, but it's taken me a week to openly talk about it beyond that day.

ANYWAY, my point was supposed to be that William just took it all in stride. He was calm in my arms, though I had forgotten the soother "just in case", and when Rob took him back from me so I could get the incision treated, William just went back to sleep. No big deal. And the only thing worse than all of that (at the time), would have been if William would have been crying his head off during, or after, said "situation". But no, we've got a good little guy.

Is it the routine? His personality? Maybe a bit of both.

Either way, thank God there was no real issue (ATCO guy showed up with his gas sensing equipment and couldn't find a trace--aka hysterical new mother).

Where was I going with all of this? Mmmm...was supposed to be writing extensively on what I enjoyed about motherhood.

Well, there's plenty of time for that.

Here's a favourite baby pic! : D

And just like that William is stirring (really). At the 3 and a 1/2 hour sleep mark, no less.

Baby Whisperer

2010-10-16T23:23:00.022-06:00

I've read the book; I've got it tabbed and highlighted with things I reference constantly (such as as the crying grid of what the typical cries mean); I think Baby Whispering is working. Take today for example: normally we put William down to sleep and there isn't a lot of ritual. We swaddle him, we give him a soother, I tell him he's going down for a sleep and how well he's going to feel when he wakes up, and that's about it. The book suggests spending a bit more time helping him "transition" to the sleep stage (recommended if he's fussing a fair bit when you put him down, which he has been). So, today I tried giving him more time for "transition". This included a bit more time on Mummy's shoulder as I waited for his breathing to even out, and when I put him down, I patted him a little longer. Both times of doing this resulted in no fussing when he did fall asleep. Score yet another one for the Whisperer (which is now me).

Amen, post over. : D

What else is working? Well, we do have him on EASY (a routine of Eat, Activity, Sleep, You--as in Mummy). That's going well in terms of being able to predict what happens next for William at any given moment (both from his perspective and mine). For example, after he eats we give him some short activity, watch for tired cues, and when he fusses--because he's on this routine--we know he's then ready for sleep. Even though he looks wide awake, which often confuses Rob (and sometimes William's grandparents), when he goes down he falls asleep (because that's what William needs, which we both now know).

The other thing working well is the notion of "starting as you mean to go on". Don't start something now you won't be willing to still be doing 3 months from now (ie: rocking him to sleep). Thus the importance of putting William in his crib BEFORE he falls asleep. He gets used to putting himself to sleep (once we help him transition to a sleepy state) and doesn't require Mummy or Daddy's constant interference to stay asleep. Sooooo working well. When William periodically wakes up, he self sooths and is adept at getting back to sleep.

Not to confuse this with not meeting his needs. When he cries, we go in and see what he needs, meet the need and then leave. We don't overstay our welcome, and we don't rush in too quickly--thus giving us time to take note of what his cry might mean, and giving William a voice to tell us what he needs. Sounds easy in theory, but we do the best we can to meet his needs, making sure we're not just silencing him with a soother thus forcing all his cries to become the same (another theory from the book I think makes sense).

By all means, everything doesn't simply go according to these routines or the book, but for the most part it's helping keep us all balanced and I think has made recovering from a c-section easier, not to mention easing us into the shock of becoming new parents. If shock is even the best word. I think shock implies you have time to analyze and recover from an event. Whereas with being a new parent, there is little time for analysis (I've noticed my internal "filter" has disintegrated almost entirely), and who knows when I'll feel like this role of motherhood is the new norm.

Having said all of that, I've had this post in the "can" for so long waiting to finish that I'll just end here and continue with the next post on everything I enjoy about motherhood and my little William. : )

I must also add when I feel frustrated, it's alleviated pretty quickly by looking at photos of our lovely little boy. : )

Real Labour

2010-09-30T13:15:00.015-06:00

Has it only been just over two weeks since William was born? I can't believe it. I wish I could say it's all been smooth sailing, but William came into the world via an emergency c-section (and all I wanted while I was pregnant was to avoid a c-section).

Maybe I should back up a bit.

Induction day was 11 days overdue. I avoided any exams and sweeping of membranes not wanting to mess around "down there", because I was hoping things would take their natural course. I instead had two sessions of acupuncture (a woman in our birth and babies class swore by it--had actually gone into labour within hours of having it done). But on induction day, I was seen by some locum (not my doctor), who proclaimed me as barely a centimeter dilated, and was very quick about it. After she left, I cried and was quite upset knowing how little chance I had of not having a c-section from that point onward what with all the medical intervention that would be required. Rob and I immediately went over to the hospital for a cervical ripener, and had to actually sign a release when informed that Cervadil could cause a very speedy, hard labour.

Prior to the Cervadil, I had my blood pressure taken and it was quite elevated at 143 over 90, probably because of how upset I was. This turned out to be a saving grace, as they didn't want to release me based on the blood pressure alone. So, at 1pm I was given the Cervadil, then admitted where I was told I wouldn't be leaving the hospital without a baby.

How Cervadil works is you get examined 12 hours later if you haven't gone into labour. This is when women are normally sent home. Intense contractions didn't begin for me until around 6pm or so, and had Rob and I wandering the halls to try and manage the pain/force labour into progressing. The contractions came in clusters, and I was very nervous as I was not yet admitted into the labour and delivery ward, and Rob would have to leave at 9pm when visiting hours ended on my ward. I was frightened of labouring on my own up to 4 centimeters until I'd be admitted and Rob would be able to come back and be with me(as yet another woman in our class experienced). It seemed as though all the things I was afraid of and trying to avoid were coming true.

Rob left at 9pm, and the contractions had settled to a manageable rhythm. I was even feeling sleepy and decided to get into my pajamas, turn the lights down, and try and get some sleep; we were both advised it could be a long day of labour. I had been in bed for hardly any time, Rob had only been gone 40 minutes, when I felt my water break in a big gush (a peculiar sensation that I still don't know if it was audible or was just an internal "whoosh"). I immediately pushed the nurse call button, and tried to get to the bathroom with as little mess as possible. I could barely get out of the bathroom and back to bed once the nurse arrived because the contractions were progressing rapidly. At that point I was 3 centimetres dilated and told it would likely take awhile.

Because I was GBS positive, antibiotics needed to be administered via IV as soon as my water broke, so that was a big focus. Unfortunately it took 3 attempts by different teams of people (nurses, residents and finally an anesthesiologist), which took close to an hour. I was desperate for pain medication, even at that point, as there was no spacing of contractions--no working up to 5 or 4 minutes apart, it was one minute, two minutes, one, one, one, and on it went. First I was told I could get a shot of morhpine, but that kept getting sidelined by the IV issue. Then I was told I could get pain meds via the IV, which of course wasn't in yet. Finally they located some laughing gas, and I went from 3, to 5, to 7 centimetres within an hour and a half.

Rob was called almost immediately, and appeared to be taking his time (at least forty minutes from my count). When he arrived, I believe I was using the laughing gas, I was in so much pain. I could feel the contractions build in the side of my belly like a heartbeat, which would clench and clench until it hit the peak. I prayed and prayed I would get more time in between to brace for the next contraction and try and relax from the previous one, but I had little reprieve. When the IV was finally in, I asked again for pain relief and the nurse actually sat down on the bed, took my hand, and told me it would be all natural. This was heartbreaking news at the time, as the pain was unbearable and had started and progressed much more quickly than I'd ever imagined it could.

After I was 7 centimeters dilated, they called for a room on the labour and delivery ward, but one wasn't available. Just as quickly it was and I was whisked away. From there things went very fast. It seemed I wasn't in my room long before I was being rushed to the delivery room. I can't remember when they put on the internal fetal monitor, which allowed us to hear the baby's heartbeat (in stereo it seemed, it was so loud). When the contractions would hit, I would suck on the laughing gas so hard it sounded like I was choking for my last breath through the mask, I was breathing so deeply. There were no other thoughts in my head beyond stopping the pain.

Then the urge to push hit me. My whole body trembled, and I vaguely understood what this meant, and that I could not yet push. I was finally told I could not yet push, and that's when we all heard the fetal heart rate audibly drop to a loud, slow and sickening thump, thump, thump that seemed to reverberate throughout the room (certainly throughout my pain induced, laughing gas haze) as compared to the cheerful quick staccato in between contractions.

I was measured again and was still 7 centimeters. I was then told I would need a c-section, as the baby was not "tolerating" the labour, and I remember signing off on a release form. I immediately asked if I would be getting pain medication, and was told there wasn't enough time for it, that I would need to be put fully under. Instead of being alarmed, I was more concerned about how quick they could make this happen. I was being wheeled to the OR (or whatever), as they fired questions at me about when I last ate, etc. The entire time they were prepping me, I just kept asking how long before I was under--HOW LONG?!

Rob was being rushed into scrubs and was then told he couldn't come in, so he had to listen to me howl as he waited outside in the hall. He saw person after person rush into the room, all while not knowing if everything was going to be alright. He was told, "Listen for the baby's cry." It wasn't long after he heard it, he was able to go in and see William sitting in the warmer all bright eyed. My water broke at 9:40pm and William was born at 12:59am. Rob can retell his side of the story now without welling up, but it was a challenge retelling it for up to at least a week after William's birth.

I was out for another two hours while Rob and William got acquainted in the nursery. When he was finally able to present William to me, I wasn't the least bit surprised Rob had a boy in his arms.

We both have since wondered if we would be able to endure this again for a second child (can't believe the thought has even crossed our minds at this point), but for now, we get to hold our little healthy William in our arms and thank God he arrived when he did.

Labour Day

2010-09-06T01:06:00.003-06:00

And so it is, though I am not yet in labour.

Not yet.

The official due date was September 2nd, but I didn't get too hung up on that, as I know it's not always entirely accurate, and the baby and mother nature usually have other plans. A woman in our birth and babies class remarked at how patient I was, but at the time I wasn't yet overdue and was in no rush to have this baby. While I am still not frustrated or anxious about it, I do want it to happen naturally without medical encouragement.

To that end, Rob and I have started to push the labour envelope, only to be surprised when it appeared to have worked in the sense that painful contractions began within the hour (though sporadic), and are still occurring though not necessarily progressing in any obvious pattern. I started using the iPad contraction timer, much to Rob's dismay--who then decided he should pull an all nighter to finish the odds and ends not yet done around the house (which I quickly discouraged and easily talked him out of).

I understand labour to be an active process where you should stand, walk and move around to encourage your body to continue the process, except Rob and I decided we weren't "quite" ready, so I lay down to try and stall it instead. : ) We didn't anticipate it happening right away and want just "one more day". I'm curious to see how we'll feel tomorrow and if we are as gung-ho on our induction experiments as we were last night--though, we still know that natural is the best option, especially considering how much I want to avoid a c-section which increases the more medical intervention occurs.

I can't believe it's been 3 weeks since I stopped working. Sometimes I wonder how I've been filling my time, as previously mentioned, but I'm still sick (and at this exact moment coughing is an all-body engaging, stomach hugging intense experience--and a mind numbing reminder that labour itself will be much much worse--gasp). Trying to get over this never ending cold by resting as much as humanly possible has taken up a fair bit of time, along with the odd cleaning, and shopping and such. The new mothers and fathers in our baby class keep saying over and over, "get sleep now" (they actually mouth it when I simply glance their way), as if we didn't already know this, and to that end, I continue to nap whenever a series of yawns strike me.

I'm under no illusions that I'm physically or mentally prepared for labour, I just know it has to happen in order to meet our little boy or girl. When I watch breastfeeding videos, I become emotional at the thought of holding our little baby, and how much he or she will rely on Rob and I for love and all the necessities of life. I feel weepy at the thought of seeing their little feet, and holding a little hand.

And I have no idea just how much our lives are about to transform.

Any day now.

Ready or Not

2010-08-29T05:32:00.011-06:00

I've only spent the past five days being sick, so I haven't gotten much accomplished baby-wise. What would I have been doing instead of combating a cold? Cleaning house, setting up car seats (getting them inspected--did anyone else do this?), clearing my trunk, cooking and freezing meals...isn't that enough?

What have I been doing? Having breakfast at a decent hour (after being up in the middle of the night for a minimum 2 hours), watching TV or being distracted with the iPad, and napping (if you can call going back to bed for 2 -3 hours a nap). I'm quite anxious at the prospect of going through labour sick, and even more alarmed at the notion of trying to mother a newborn while sick. Seems like a cruel joke for my body to come down with an instantaneous cold that despite all the sleep in the world continues to progress--first from sinuses to throat then to chest (if that is even any kind of medical progression). I harbour images of struggling to recover from a C-section while coughing--delirious from a lack of sleep--wondering if I'm developing pneumonia as I breastfeed and fretfully analyze my own baby's health on an hourly basis. I've used this image as a big green light to do as little as possible in an attempt to coax my body back to health before labour and my life as a mother truly begins.

I was finally feeling a tad better today so I dragged Rob to dinner and a movie (and had to remind him that despite his lack of interest and energy he was banking "relationship points", as I really needed to get out and spend time as a couple in what will be the last of our non-baby time together). The movie was the Expendables by Sylvester Stallone (and I must say one big pile of BS), because of course the movie we wanted to see was sold out in Imax on a Saturday night (Inception). I have to keep reminding Rob we will have little time for things like this over the next 3 months, and any type of couple time will be a substantial effort on our part involving babysitters and the like.

During the movie the baby was of course periodically kicking about, and I started to experience what I believe is my body's labour preparation--sharp electrical type currents running down into my pelvis and of course pressure. I have occasionally felt my abdomen tightening, but is always a tricky assessment because my belly is obviously running out of room for the baby so always feels big and firm at this point.

At 39 weeks the doctor hasn't done any type of exam so I've no idea if my body has progressed in terms of dilation. All I know is the thought of it all starting in the next few days leaves me breathless, as I know this is going to be more intense than I could ever have imagined, and more tiring than I'm prepared for. I really hope those joyful moments come quickly and often to give me the energy to carry through to establishing a "natural routine" with the baby.

Of course I'm excited to meet the baby, but I'm also anxious about its health--not just during or after delivery but the sheer magnitude of taking care of a little person for the rest of his or her life. Will I recognize any medical issue requiring attention, do I take a baby CPR class--should I have done this already? My mom is at the stage where she would like to be updated constantly, which drives me bonkers though I know is natural on both sides, but when you're sick, is particularly taxing. Add to that the family drama continues to unfold and will always be an unfortunate backdrop to the story of my life.

Our prenatal class is equally exciting and anxiety provoking, as one after another new baby arrives. We have three bundles to date, and at least 2 more on the way with couples being absent last class. It's quite thrilling to see Rob swaddle the creepy baby dolls (labelled as "baby" in pen on their feet), and then practise again at home on Winnie the poo as we sit together in the baby's room (a very nice moment and memory, indeed).

The baby's room: a highlight for sure. I can't believe Rob let me go with such a bold colour, which he worried afterwards was too intense for the baby, but looks quite charming with the contrasting accents of pictures and such. I like to go in there and just sit, even though there are still a last few last touches to be made (crib needs assembly, curtains need to be hemmed and hung--and if it's a boy, one last picture to be purchased and placed. Baby, if you're a girl--we will celebrate and love you all the same!)

I knew pregnancy would not magically transform me into a serene and equally relaxed individual, I just pray my faith and fortitude carry me through the challenges new motherhood will inevitably bring, and that I will intrinsically feel it's all been worthwhile in the end (keeping in mind there is no end to being a parent).

Because after all of that, ready or not, Baby, here you come. : )

Day One

2010-08-16T06:45:00.012-06:00

After two hours of sleep, was up until 3:30 am. I had this brilliant flash I would assemble the rocking chair while watching Hope Floats which happened to be airing on TV. Once I had all the pieces out of the box, along with the screws and instructions, I realized I was far too uncomfortable to be monkeying around with all that crap--which looked laborious at best, so I gave up on the chair, gave up on the movie (right after the worst scene where the father refuses to take his daughter with him, leaving her screaming and crying by the car--which of course stressed me out) and instead distracted myself by beating all the top scores in Jawbreaker on our new iPad. : D

Rob asks, "Why can't we just share the high scores?" He doesn't understand it's not the owning of the high scores I want, it's the challenge of beating them to begin with. Once I beat the scores, I wait impatiently for him to set new records so I have something to strive for. A person's got to have goals.

Okay, back to Day One. I count it as today--Monday. Friday was my last day of work. The day before that my co-workers threw me a surprise potluck/baby shower (really, as there were presents), which was an absolute delight. But also made me feel guilty as I've been quite self absorbed during this pregnancy--no energy or desire to plan and think about much in advance; I feel like I'm taking things one day at a time, unfocussed at best, uncaring at worst--even our 2nd year wedding anniversary I put no thought into what-so-ever, and was happy enough we managed to get out to dinner.

Some co-workers in other depts sulked when they glimpsed our celebration (which was subtle). But I've done the "office party" thing: someone brought in a cake for me for my wedding, put up little signs day of, and it was brutal. After the initial cutting of the cake in front of a smattering of people, I sat there for an hour and a half over lunch while the odd person wandered in, politely inquired when the big date was, took a slice and left me alone with the enormous slab of orange and white iced Costco cake. UGH. I even guilted one woman into keeping me company while she ate her lunch. Never again, I vowed. Now I always avoid everyone else's office parties, assuming they have enough people without me. And I hate goodbye parties.

Back to Day One. I spent what you could consider the real day one (Saturday) working on the birth plan in light of having tested positive for GBS. The pregnancy books I've been reading gloss over this little gem with just a small blurb on the test itself, which my Doctor did not warn me was coming (much to the nurses surprise the day of the test) and I can't help but wish I'd known about sooner, as there's much information that suggests I could have treated it naturally had I realized it could be such an issue for the baby.

Despite whatever low percentages there are for actually passing this along to our baby, it changes the labour entirely and adds a very real level of anxiety to the birth process. Not to mention the antibiotics which appear to be standard issue once you test positive only treat the early onset of GBS, do nothing to eliminate the risk of death, and have no bearing on preventing late onset GBS. And when you think about what would cause late onset GBS, you slowly realize the baby would be contracting it from interacting with me, and then you realize you'd better get to sterilizing the daylights out of your house and all hard surfaces which could be carrying this "naturally occurring" bacteria that's perfectly harmless except for those with compromised immune systems such as pregnant women and babies.

Meanwhile, Rob says I should relax as I have the "hardest job of all" of carrying the baby. Right. Let me just finish decorating the room, buying crap for my hospital bag, finding my Dr Ho massager (I hope in and amongst the crap still to be cleared from the baby's closet) to ease the latest sharp pain reverberating throughout my left buttock, wash the rest of the baby clothes, wonder incessantly why I didn't order the baby's dresser online as I wait impatiently for a call from effin Toys R US, finish sterilizing every surface of our messy house--made worse now by my sad attempt at assembling the rocking chair, and get to preparing and freezing those meals that are supposed to make our lives easier once the baby arrives.

No wonder all I look forward to is setting the high scores of Jawbreaker. Oh yes, and I'm more than well aware that no matter what, this baby is on it's way, so I'm even more cognizant that the "more organized I am now the easier that transition will be".

So, now that it's Day One--where exactly do I begin?

Well, seeing as how I've had about 4 hours of sleep, broken up into two shifts from 9:30 to 11:30 and 3:30 to 5:30--I think the iPad and I are heading back to bed (window closed and ear plugs in, of course, to block out the never ending obnoxious West LRT construction noise).

Sigh.

The Letter

2010-07-17T05:47:00.009-06:00

A search on the Internet revealed a very small clue: a listing of two names from a Local History book index for Vulcan and Wheat County. Fortunately the maiden name was present, and this gave me an indicator for what her married name might be. After searching her under the married name, I found a listing in Lethbridge.

I didn't think much of it until the subject came up again during a family dinner. My brother revealed he had even gone down to Vulcan and searched the cemetery to try and find the family connection. I mentioned the information I found, and it was surprising just how interested we individually were in our family history. I forwarded the info I'd discovered to my other brother and he had the foresight to search the address I'd found along with the name listing in Lethbridge.

It was a senior's center. After that we knew we had a chance. How many women in Alberta could have such a distinctive name such as Wilma, have the Vulcan connection (which was her birth town) and be alive in a senior's center? It had to be her.

Before I had confirmed the senior's center, I'd thought of phoning the number I'd found with her name. I'd considered writing a letter. Once I had my brother involved, he was as convinced as I was that some contact needed to be made and needed to be made soon.

This was my grandmother, after all. My mom's mom--who had left her and the family in 1950 when she was 18 months old--never to be heard from again, at least from what we knew.

We wondered if we should even tell my mom what we found, but I couldn't help it--as always, and it turned out she wasn't concerned about our plan in the slightest and gave us the go ahead. She kept reiterating what we were doing was for "us and us alone", as she couldn't care less. Right. Who wouldn't care to find out the true story behind their mother leaving and never having contact with them for the next 60 years? I'm sure there's no baggage there what so ever. : )

My brother thought my letter was confrontational--"accusatory" even. I thought it was factual and respectful, and my Dad and Mom agreed. My grandmother's leaving the family had always been a big secret. Even after my mom asked a few family members, she was told nothing--no one was the wiser, it seemed. The true story, it seemed, had gone to her father's grave.

Until now.

The letter asked for a bare minimum of the truth to be shared, and indicated that no knowledge of the series of events had ever been given to my mother. It mentioned how I was currently pregnant with my first child, touched on my brother's briefly and also underscored that should nothing come of our attempt, we would fully respect a responding silence. I included a copy of my mom's baby picture, a wedding picture which she keeps in an album next to her mother and father's wedding picture, and a copy of the family tree from my mom's baby book.

We thought we were throwing the equivalent of a bottle into an ocean. After 60 years, I thought there was no way this woman would have anything to do with any one of us, never mind my mom. She hadn't made any attempts as far as we knew, so why would we have any success now? I'm not sure under the same circumstances if I would have the courage after 60 years to provide or get the necessary closure. And did she even have any of her faculties left? So many questions, and such a long shot.

I mailed the letter on a Sunday. I got a phone call that Thursday.

"My name is Adrien. My mother received a letter from you about a family connection. Give me a call so we can talk about it. I look forward to hearing from you." He didn't sound that old. He didn't sound angry. But I was afraid to phone him back. My mom couldn't believe we'd gotten a call and encouraged me to phone immediately. I stalled for a few moments, but started dialing anyway.

After introducing myself, Adrien responded, "I'm your uncle. And my mother is your grandmother. I can't tell you how excited I am." And after a bit, "Let me assure you, my mother has never forgotten your mother."

We couldn't believe it. My mom still can't believe it. She thought she didn't care, but once we'd made contact she worried her mother wouldn't have the courage to come through and actually meet with us--meet with her daughter. Give us some answers.

They are meeting today for the first time in 60 years.

It all seems so simple now. If we hadn't sent that letter, we would never have known this could be possible. In a million years, my mom never thought she'd have this opportunity. We know to have low expectations, but having come this far, we can't help but wonder at the possibilities--even with her brother's (our uncles) at the very least.

And if nothing else, my mom will finally know more of the truth, can stop speculating, can stop looking at her mom's pictures for "clues", and can perhaps get some peace.

Adrien also commented several times just how "well written" and "respectful" the letter really was.

Well of course it was.

: D

17 Hour Ordeal

2010-07-06T22:21:00.009-06:00

The pain started while driving: menstrual like aching across my lower back, and sharp mid abdominal pain. So much so, I thought of turning the car around and going straight back home. Except we were counting on the vegetables I was going to buy to go with the fish we were planning to have for that night's dinner.

As I walked around the store, my discomfort eased. My stomach felt a little more "full" than usual, but I'd just taken my blood pressure at the drug store, so I knew that was all good.

I had decided not to get the mini grocery cart I like so much, as I couldn't be bothered with the quarter, opting instead for the handheld basket--never a good idea, never mind when you're seven months pregnant. Of course, I ended up with all kinds of things in the basket, legitimately making it too heavy for me to sensibly carry, but still I forged on.

Even the bag of groceries I carried back to the car was obviously much too heavy, because I'd only brought one shopping bag with me and I refused to get a second plastic one. The drive back home was again extremely uncomfortable, reminding me of getting my period last October when I discovered I was no longer pregnant for the first time.

Back home, I only put away what groceries I absolutely had to and made it to the couch where I immediately laid down. Except it hurt more when I was on my back than when I was sitting in the car. Rolling over to my side, I found my breathing to be quite shallow and wondered not for the first time if this was what one element of labour would be like. As the pain subsided, I hoped this would be but a brief pregnancy phase.

Rob kept trying to encourage me to get things done regarding the baby room, and I kept insisting with my silence and stationary activity that wasn't going to happen. For the rest of Sunday, every time I sat up straight, I felt this pain mid abdomen and aching immediately flare up in my lower back to radiate higher and higher.

After as much TV as I could stand, a slow walk around the block, and several unsuccessful self diagnoses on the Internet, I finally went to bed. Everything seemed fine, except when I rolled over. The brief moment on my back produced an intense mid abdominal pain. During once such roll over, I got up and decided to walk around the house. After pacing back and forth for over 5 minutes, I tried another search on the Internet. But just as with the others, all I could discover was that menstrual like back pain or sudden onset back pain was not considered a good symptom, and mid abdomen pain was more difficult to diagnose--ranging anywhere from heart burn, to urinary tract infections. Not to mention that just sitting in the computer chair was causing me a tremendous amount of discomfort (say 7 out of 10 on the scale) which was taking longer and longer to ease off.

Still, I went back to bed. When I woke up in the morning to what seemed a worsening set of symptoms--taking special note of the level of intensity of discomfort while on my back, I decided to call Health Link. I thought perhaps they might refer me to my doctor, or a clinic, but they of course, referred me to the hospital. The nurse later said they always will--which should be reassuring except when it's coming from a nurse who is telling you to "keep this in mind" if/when you call Health Link.

So, after Rob got home from the gym at 6am, we trucked off to the hospital, me lying as prone with a pillow as possible in the passenger seat. Even though we were able to bypass emergency and go straight to the labour and delivery unit of Rockyview, we still ended up spending 17 hours there while the doctors practised due diligence in terms of ruling out a variety of the possible sources of my symptoms.

Many things were eliminated within the first four hours. But the final test was to be an ultrasound to make sure my placenta had not ruptured, which could be the source of that mid abdominal pain (which had lessened only to a small degree, but was still fully present when sitting and lying on my back). I was told around 2pm the ultrasound would not occur until after 4:30. Meanwhile, I had sent Rob to work as it didn't make sense for us to both sit around waiting for this final test--which didn't end up happening until 8:15 that night!

Cut to 11:30pm, where we finally decided we should leave the hospital (against medical advice we were told--which had always been an option). The people at the hospital had been very attentive in the beginning, and did periodically check in on me while I waited (very patiently, I might add) for the ultrasound, but we felt after 17 hours, there had to be a little more attention thrown our way.

When I told the resident I wanted to leave and just needed to know the risks, I also asked what the treatment would be if my placenta had ruptured--which I was told was TO DELIVER THE BABY. Riiiight. It was that kind of initial risk, which we hadn't even fully known, that kept me at the hospital for 17 hours to begin with. But the resident said she'd check with the doctor one final time and come back to advise us.

Lo and behold, the results of the ultrasound were able to be produced upon her return, and like all the other tests, were just fine. This was of course the best answer and clearly a relief; I did not need to find something wrong to feel justified in taking the precautions I had, however, I could not help but feel like an over reactive pregnant woman, or worse, a hypochondriac.

The pain was real.

The pain was getting worse.

I'm 31 weeks pregnant; I have to take abdominal pain seriously.

Still, I felt guilty.

Still, I second guessed--had I just rushed off to the hospital when I could have just assumed I was going through yet another uncomfortable phase in the pregnancy (even though the symptoms didn't seem to correspond with any typical phase)?

It's not like I wanted to spend 17 hours at the hospital, have 2 internal exams, have people fussing over the monitors that were placed on my belly which produced little charts to trace the baby's heart beat (for over 4 hours), and push a little button every time I felt the baby kick, all the while worrying about what was normal or enough.

Or not go to work for a second day because I was exhausted and still in discomfort from the original set of symptoms.

While I was waiting, I told Rob it was only time I was losing, and I felt the symptoms were serious enough not to ignore when I first went in, so how could that really change the longer I waited? How could I not make that decision again? The only thing was, contrary to all the symptoms, I was convinced my little baby was okay. I just wasn't convinced the symptoms were what they should be for this stage of the pregnancy.

MAH.

I want this baby to stay in there as long as possible, of course.

I have to wonder though, how long will it take before I'll feel like I have my body back?

In future, I absolutely will make sure I'm not lifting anything too heavy. I'm just not sure what that always means, but the notion of "placental rupture" will run through my mind the next time I attempt anything out of the ordinary lifting-wise.

Sweet Baby, just take it easy on Mommy, will ya?

Trapped

2010-07-03T07:47:00.007-06:00

Feeling freaked out. 31 weeks pregnant, 9 weeks to go.

9 weeks.

Baby's room is still not done. And between things I need to do to prepare for that, and everything going on at work--I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what anyone else's countdown to mat leave is like, but I'm entering what will be a very busy period between training my replacement, training a new advisor, getting everything I can into some kind of succession plan documented, oh, and two fee deadlines in the next 9 weeks. Keeping in mind I'm only working for the next 6, and in the next 4, I start reduced work days (which is a blessing, but it's not like those shorter days will be easy or breezy).

Maybe I should think about what I have left to do for the baby. Not in any particular order: clear room for painting, set up room after painting, birth plan, hospital bag, sign up for EI, buy stuff for breastfeeding/nursing.

Ugh.

And I can't even drink to procrastinate (like, the odd evening--not at 8 in the morning). : )

I know every single mom to be goes through some of this, but it does not make me feel any better. Just putting it all down makes me feel anxious.

Last night Rob and I listened to a parenting podcast, The Parent Experiment which featured a guest John Salley. I don't know much about John Salley, but the program was on nutrition and how what you're eating, you're feeding your kids, and how everything they learn they learn from you as the parents. Not an earth shattering notion, but he's a vegan so he doesn't drink milk, or eat eggs, and it was just freaking me out thinking about all the things we put into our bodies that are really lousy for us and how I now have to think about raising a healthy little being, so I can't be as cavalier.

A point of contention between my mom and I is her health. I believe that considering I did not choose to come into this world, she as my mother is obligated to be healthy to stick around for as long as I need her. A parent's job never ends, so she should choose to be healthier because I'm going to need her help my whole life. My mom is not healthy, and certainly does not role model a healthy lifestyle or choices.

It's all just a little much and too much to think about!

There's isn't even any bad reality TV I can sink my head into, or a shopping spree I can lose time over (cause I don't know the sex of the baby!--whine, whine).

Deep breath out.

Some people's lives just seem easier. Of course I had to immediately remind myself that to some people, my life seems easier.

Sigh.

Loving the New Design Options

2010-06-20T10:18:00.014-06:00

As I'm still on hiatus from Facebook and Email, I had to have something to kill time with on the Internet, so I chose some yahoo news, of all things, and redesigning my blog. After the Miley Cyrus upskirt photo controversy, I found myself on Perez Hilton's blog and I must say, what a complete waste of time. First and last time I'll be heading there. How are these idiots making a name for themselves? I don't spend much time on Internet sites, even other friend's blogs, for some reason--perhaps I'm narcissistic, or perhaps it makes me feel inadequate when I look at my own blogging capacity or day to day output in life. Hard to say. : )

Anyway, for people who don't know HTML, blogger has offered some nice design options with a fair bit of variety in terms of customization. My only complaint would be in not being able to upload your own photo for a background image. Which I'm sure if I investigated HTML a bit more, I'd be able to do fairly easily (she says without trying). As is, I did manage to kill a fair bit of time and still feel like I was able to get some satisfaction from using the Internet.

Why would I need an Internet "fix"? Well, it's fun for one thing (when family members are not plotting your demise), and it's nice to have access to people outside of the normal means of seeing or calling them. Makes you feel like you're connected without really trying. Makes you feel like you have a "network" even if it's only on the surface.

Not sure how much longer I'll continue with the hiatus, but I do notice feeling much more relaxed. I'm still aware there are possible messages waiting to stress me out, or even none which would also stress me out under the circumstances based on the communications that have been exchanged thus far.

I'm still not getting much more accomplished baby-wise, but did manage to put together the stroller which was fun. Rob and I joked about taking it out for a walk to have someone come up to us to "admire" the baby so we could react in surprise at where said baby was. : ) Seriously though, how come this nesting thing hasn't kicked in? Maybe I'm just wired differently.

Just maybe.

Have to mention my pleasant experience with a mature salesperson at Sephora. I had inquired about whether or not my foundation was the correct shade (I'm always quite frustrated at the difference in color between my neck and face in photos). The woman briefly analyzed my face as compared to my neck, took a scrutinizing look at my complexion and proceeded to compliment the daylights out of me--to the point where I was blushing. Okay, all she was really saying was how great I looked, how I was glowing, that my eye makeup (while very simple) was flattering, and how my blush was nice and just the right amount, which turned into a commentary on how some pregnant women let themselves go, etc, etc.

What pregnant woman does not want to be told how lovely she looks? It certainly beats your parents telling you over and over "how big this baby is going to be" despite the doctor telling you you're measuruing just right.

Ahhhh, how I can not resist the digs into my family! I recognize this for what it is, but this blog remains my outlet of random retribution (as only one family member is aware of it, who I'm rather fond of so do not fear her knowing about my ramblings or acerbic comments). And any attempt to share the blog with other members of my family has resulted in little to no attention as they can not see the world outside their own neruoses.

I really do welcome a new little person with which to shower postive love, reinforcement and attention, it will be a refreshing change of emotional scenery--and just in time, I might add.

No, I don't overly worry that I will pass on any nastiness from my family. Okay, maybe just a little, but I feel confident I will work hard at controlling any learned judging tendencies, and will be able to respect and focus on the well being of this new person Rob and I have knowingly/willingly brought into this world.

Am I going to magically turn into a four leaf clover kind of person? We all know the answer to that question, but I do believe with work and vigilance I'll be able to put aside my own baggage in order to allow this child to see the world through their own experiences which will not tainted by the color of crap that has been passed down from my family crayon box.

If that makes any sense. : ) Sounded good, anyway.

Oh My

2010-06-17T22:45:00.003-06:00

Has it really be over a month since the last post? How am I supposed to have clearly documented this momentous journey if I can only manage one post a month? And, what the hell have I been up to really?

Well, the baby's room is not done--so not that. : D

Robert and I did go to the US and buy some baby stuff, so that takes into account about 4 days. Family drama can account for about two weeks interspersed throughout the month (what a waste). And the rest, the occasional sleepless night, dental surgery, and general pregnancy malaise.

As an aside, I'm 37 now and wondering how we'll manage to get another child under our belt before the reproduction window closes. I don't even have the first one here and I'm already wondering how to get to the second.

Alas.

I've had the week off and it was supposed to be one of great achievement. I was to get the baby room all cleared out and ready for painting. Instead I've had to give Rob access to my Facebook and email account to change passwords so I'm not tempted to continue engaging in the current family drama (which has taken on a steamrolling effect of staggering intensity).

An in-law of mine is intent on degrading my mental stability, and appears to carry ill will towards the healthy birth of this innocent baby. How else would you explain a) the timing of these (what can only be called) attacks, and b) someone who would incessantly harass a pregnant woman for the purpose of making their own neuroses easier to swallow? How low can any one person sink? (Pretty low, judging by the emails I've been receiving and my therapist's reaction to some of the things which have been written, and I quote, "that must be one of the cruelest things that could possibly be said to someone in your circumstance"). Thank God I have a good therapist.

So, in order to protect my mental health and the well being of this little growing baby inside of me, I had to step back and cut off all contact with the social networking world to minimize the stress. It's been one hell of a "staycation".

Tomorrow I have the pleasure of hanging out in a clinic to do a second test regarding gestational diabetes, as the first one came back just over the acceptable limit--I'm sure due to the overwhelming stress my family has been putting me under. This second test involves a 3 hour visit in which I'm not allowed to leave the clinic, have to have fasted for 10 hours, and will drink 2 glucose orange drinks while I'm there. Yay.

To pass the time, I've purchased a cheeseball romantic movie for my ipod, and may take notes from a parenting podcast about sleep patterns for babies. I've also recently purchased the "Baby Whisperer", so I'm trying to retain as much of that information as I can before the baby bursts onto the scene.

On a happier note, the baby is kicking quite regularly now. And since I've stopped looking at my email and Facebook in anticipation of the next harassment, each time I feel the baby move, I have a smile on my face. Rob can feel him or her quite easily, and tonight he said, "To think, we're going to have a little person here in just 11 weeks!" To which I looked around the room at everything left to be done and felt some of the stress return.

I can't wait to find out if it's a girl or a boy. And I can't wait for the first little smile and laugh. And I can't wait to hold this little person and tell it how much I love it. Yes, I try not to imagine the poo, and the crying, and for the love of God the actual birth--so, I'll just skip ahead to the fun parts like most people do when they're falling in love with the idea of a baby.

I can't wait for this new little person to form my new family with Rob, which will also allow me to leave a part of the old family behind as my focus will be forcibly (thankfully) redirected.

As for pregnancy stages, I haven't felt my appetite increase, and I haven't noticed any long term cravings--though lately I'd like to drink a fair bit of apple juice (which I know I must control, especially if I'm to avoid any high intake of sugar, never mind full on gestational diabetes). I certainly feel tired, but I can't tell if that's attributable to the pregnancy or the family shit. The doctor says I'm measuring perfectly, despite my Mom and Dad making comments about "how big this baby's going to be".

But overall I think I've been pretty lucky as a pregnant lady, and here's praying that continues on through to holding a little bundle in my arms who looks just as tired as I know I'm going to be after the ordeal, and looks as equally baffled by the world around us, but maybe has Rob's eyes, or my nose, and is grateful for all the love we have to give.

Sweet Baby (rubs belly), I can't wait to meet you!

Get on It

2010-05-15T11:55:00.003-06:00

Okay, it's time to get in gear. I'm 6 months pregnant, we have 3 months to Baby, and we've done very little to prepare. Sure we've got some cute stuff, but nowhere near what we need. Room's not ready, I'm not ready, Rob's not ready--we need to get on it!

Rob is going to be exhaused from golf this morning, as he also golfed for the first time of the season on Thursday. What he's not going to be prepared for is my sudden urge to get shit done.

I've got Jorge coming over tomorrow to help move the existing furniture out of the spare beadroom (the plan which Rob is not aware of), and ultimately into our room. This will be quite a shock as we're used to having a certain amount of space in the master bedroom. But it's not like it's a temporary change. Alas! I believe it's time to pull the bandaid off! I'm tired of looking at the spare room and everything that needs to be done to change it into the Baby's room.

We head to the US next week where we hope to get some necessary baby things (stroller, Beabu, etc)--then I want to get on the painting (or Rob rather), and I want the room ready by the end of June at the latest.

Now's the time.

Baby, Now That I've Found You I Won't Let You Go

2010-04-22T17:08:00.010-06:00

I think I felt the baby kick.

I can't be sure, because it didn't feel like what has been described, and really it could still be too soon at 21 weeks today. Also consider the placenta is at the front of my uterus--which acts as padding in terms of me feeling the baby. Amanda didn't feel anything until 23 weeks, and her placenta was at the back, so it's hard to say.

I was lying on my back and felt kind of a poke on the inside--almost like a puff of air. I felt it again in the same spot a moment later, and then another in the same area. Hard to get excited when I don't know if that's the baby or not, but I can't wait for the first time for Rob to feel it--that's bound to be a very special moment. The other day we put earphones up to my belly and played a Bruce Springsteen song (he'll have to share what it was, as I'm not that familiar). He was a tiny bit emotional as he sang along. : ) Now that I know the baby can hear me, I've been talking to it a bit more. Just little things like telling it how much we love it, and how excited we are about it coming along. Makes me feel shy. Overall, I can't believe how vulnernable being pregnant makes me feel.

Had a huge shopping trip at Motherhood Maternity not that long ago, and I rationalized all my purchases by reminding myself I would get a lot of wear out of these clothes over the next four months, so the cost per unit will go down considerably the more I wear each item. Of course you would expect a photo, but I'm still leery of the camera. I know I'll want to get a few, so there's some time yet. What a fantastic store, by the way! Tons of price points, styles, it completely made up for my other maternity shopping experience and has actually made me excited to show off the baby bump.

Went with Amanda to a "Mom to Mom" sale in Okotoks on the weekend. If we'd have known the sex, I'm sure there would have been a ton of clothing purchased, but as it was I got a baby swing, Snugli and a tiny rocking horse for the baby's room. : ) All at pretty good prices, and in reasonable shape.

Having the baby swing in our place is a little surreal, as it's a larger piece of baby furniture. On Sunday I came downstairs to Rob puttering around in the kitchen and the swing was set up just outside the living room couch. I thought, "This is what it's going to be like--only a little baby will be watching in wonder." Quite nice. I can't say enough how lucky I am to have Rob to share this experience with. Aside from the the baby itself, I'm most looking forward to watching Rob turn into a father.

Almost fainted at a Baby Budgeting class the other night. I don't think it was blood sugar related, or heat induced, but I lost hearing in one ear, and the world around me paled a bit as I sat there with my eyes closed breathing and praying for it to pass. Kind of frightening. Nothing like that since then, so hopefully just a blood flow thing.

So far I seem to be craving a lot of milk, even though I drink a fair bit regularly--and if chocolate milk wasn't so high in sugar, I'd drink that by the gallon. My "reduced sugar" Quick makes for a nice substitute, but there's little that can compare to the thick chocolately goodness of actual chocolate milk. And I still want grape flavored things. Not like real grapes, but the artificial grape flavor, making grape koolaid a current favorite. I'd also drink the welch's grape juice non-stop, again, if it wasn't so damn high in sugar. If only restaurants had grape juice on tap and I then could get a grape and soda whenever I'm out...mmmm....grape soda....

Started my pre-natal yoga class last week. First class was with a substitute teacher who declared several times she had never taught pre-natal yoga. Thanks for freaking us all out! Jeez.... If the regular instructor wasn't so pleasant, I'm sure we'd all have been quite vocal at our second class. Overall it was a good experience. I'm a little self conscious that some of the thinner mommies-to-be look about the same size as me, despite being farther along, but I think the class as a whole will help me get over it, as it's too late to go back now! Rob has also mentioned that watching me grow has been a moving experience for him, so that was quite nice to hear.

Working on a Dream

2010-04-12T15:00:00.012-06:00

Ahhhh, 3 more days to the half way mark. The Doctor says I have a low risk pregnancy at this point, and actually looked relieved when he saw me. He said he was very happy I was "still pregnant"--which he said a few times and is something I'd find quite alarming if I wasn't basically 20 weeks and doing fine.

Heard the little heart beat at around 150 beats per minute. : ) The 19 week ultrasound showed the baby kicking up a storm, which if the placenta were not in the front of my belly I might be able to feel, as he/she was pretty much standing on my bladder at the time. A few tears leaked out when I saw the baby moving all about. I was overcome with the feeling that I wanted the baby to be okay--it was quite profound. Especially when you consider I've never been baby crazy, or all hopped up on the baby train. Rob looked over at me during the appointment and exclaimed, "Are you crying?!" Well, yes, yes, I am. And he'd better get used to it, apparently.

I was an emotional wreck this past weekend; I was wound up from Rob's birthday on Saturday and had at least 2 crying sessions over it (thought his presents weren't good enough, was stressed about when we said we should get to the bar for Karaoke, then more stressed when we did get there and had to figure out seating arrangements, and capped it off feeling irate over the UFC fighting that went on until 11pm--leaving Karaoke starting 2 hours later then expected). Add to that, my family has always placed a high importance on birthdays and gifts, and although Rob and his family never have, it's hard to shake that kind of learned pressure over 36 years. I just want the man to be happy on his day; he deserves it and I want him to feel special because I love him so dearly--and I'm getting all emotional again.

I cried when Phil Mickelson won the Masters on Sunday, so I can see the direction my moods are heading. In my defense it was when he hugged his wife Amy who has been battling breast cancer, and there was a tear running down his face.

But right now, right now I'm quite happy. I booked today off in advance, and after the dr's appointment, I went and bought a few cute baby things (little baby bootie rattles--which I don't know if they even make sense, but I wanted them none the less). It's all from Winners, so at least I'm not spending a fortune.

I did manage to get what I hope is a stylish top from there, as well (and no, they do not have a maternity section. However, a number of tops in the plus section are slightly maternityish--too bad for those ladies!) I tried picturing Heidi Klum in the shirt, and thought I could see it, so I headed for the checkout (I've been watching Project Runway online, and right now she's pregnant. Surprisingly, I'm not that impressed with the tops she's been wearing, and she must have access to all kinds of stores. Mmmph).

When I got home I purchased Sleepytime Tunes: Bruce Springsteen Lullaby Tribute from iTunes and I'm listening to it now, so of course there's a big smile on my face. So pleasant. I just need to pipe the music into my belly now.
: )

As you may have guessed, we did not find out the sex of the baby; Rob wanted the surprise, I did not. Alas. That was our last ultrasound, also (barring anything unusual happening) and we checked at the Doctor's appointment--they do NOT have the sex on file, so there will be no spoilers for Rob ala Office style (where Pam accidentally reveals the sex as they leave for the hospital--she had phoned the Dr's office in advance because she couldn't wait to find out).

And all this, I'm sure is my way of avoiding homework which is due tomorrow. I can not wait for this writing class to be finished! Wednesday I start prenatal Yoga, which I hope will help ease some of my moodiness. The Dr, however, says how I'm feeling is all perfectly natural, and even though Rob wasn't sure he needed to be at this latest check up, I'm confident it didn't hurt for him to hear that. : P

All Baby All The Time

2010-03-25T18:58:00.029-06:00

Yup. I'm one of those annoying women who is consumed by her pregnancy (sometimes I show it, but not always). I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm smug, though.

Whatever, it's my body, my baby. : D And here in my blog world, I will choose to write about it as often as I like. My friend Amanda only wrote about her pregnancy on Wednesdays , but considering the blogger's block I've suffered from over the past year, I'm going to take advantage of a positive effect of the pregnancy--I feel like sharing and this is something personal and uplifting I can write about. Plus, it's not like I have a legion of followers to lose. Worst case I lose 2 out of the 4 readers that occasionally stop by.

[Side note to explain my defensiveness: last year I stumbled upon some Brat Free websites where people who do not want children "rant" about "breeders" and "moos"--which is putting it mildly. I've never come across anything so vile and upsetting, but then again I don't typically troll the web looking for the bottom of the barrel of humanity, either. Still, I can't help but wonder how many of these people have glared at me and my bump all the while seething with hatred. Ever since then I've felt the need to defend my choice to have a family and my happiness over it.]

Having said that, I doubt I'll be quoting pounds gained, or showing regular belly photos. Maybe the odd monumental baby bump pic, but so far I've only allowed Rob to take one--and it wasn't particularly charming. Despite my eagerness to talk about said bebe, I'm not of the "pregnancy is the most beautiful time in a woman's life" mindset. A little sad, I know.

Well, maybe just one. From St Patrick's Day. : )

Anyway, I'm 17 weeks today and experienced what I feel was the first definitive emotional manifestation of pregnancy hormones.

While walking into work I heard the honk of a goose (I assume). My thought, "I hope that is not an animal in distress." No dramatic images flooded my mind; I can't even say for sure it was a goose; I just had the one thought. Then I felt tears coming on. I quickly reasoned myself out of the reaction, but when I retold the story a few times to coworkers, I found myself getting emotional all over again (I even cried once).

Luckily I work with fabulous women who helped me laugh it off.

I have a feeling this is just the start of the emotions to come, and I really hope those around me give me a wide berth with regards to my "Baby Brain."

Baby Bump Blues

2010-03-23T20:15:00.011-06:00

Made it through the first bout of baby bump blues. It's really just baby blues, but if the baby isn't here yet, and it's just a bump...you get it.

It took several days to get past an unfortunate visit with the dentist, something I don't normally react well to, but was exacerbated by the pregnancy. It started with the natural worry about x-rays (which I researched prior to going for the visit to begin with, and followed up with a friendly call to the office to ask if my treatment would change due to the impending bebe).

The appointment took a turn for the worse when the x-ray technician couldn't get a good scan and proceeded to take 6 x-rays, making the comment, "I always have one patient." To which I responded, "Except I'm pregnant and you're freaking me out." Her response? "Oh." Silence. "Ten of these are equal to one."

What does that mean exactly? And because I can easily take on a victim role in the dentist's chair (childhood issues, I think), I said nothing. When the dentist was filling me in on the follow up treatment and I mentioned my due date, he just paused. So between the two of these professionals, I felt as though I hadn't done my job as a mother informing them adnauseum of my pregnancy (despite the rescheduling of the appointment twice and the third call directly asking about the effects on the pregnancy).

Women at work initially bore the brunt of my emotional fallout. Why didn't you say anything to begin with, was always the first question. Because the office knew and knew and knew, I responded--and I researched it in advance! But still, I worried. And when I got home to Rob, the crying started. It was all so avoidable, I sniffled. Are you going to blame me if there's something wrong with the baby, I cried. Finally after much distressing research on the net--both positive and negative, I just called the office and left a message asking exactly how much radiation I had been exposed to.

The dentist himself called me back the next day. My main question, would my treatment have changed had they known or acknowledged I was pregnant? He reassured me that no, it would not have, and yes, he himself knew I was pregnant. He gave me some technical figures about the x-ray exposure itself, and I felt better for having clearly communicated what I needed, and for being heard as a pregnant patient.

Despite this much needed reassurance, I carried the feelings of inadequacy into the weekend and stewed on them subconsciously. Between the dental pain I was experiencing, the abdominal cramps from the baby, and reading the baby books about how much I was going to bond with my mother over the pregnancy--I hit my emotional breaking point.

There are issues I can't even publicly discuss about my mother, so how the hell can this be our grand bonding time? And of course, what kind of mother is that going to make me? Normal, typical, expected questions, even. Doesn't mean they make me feel any less shitty.

Let the comparisons begin. Who do I know with a wonderful mother? Blah, blah, blah. How many female friends do I know with fabulous support systems, yada, yada, yada. Mental neuroses is so predictable and oh-so-tired, but debilitating none the less.

Having made my way through the cloud to the other side (the here and now), fuck that. I'm going to be a damn good mother--my own mother and childhood be damned. I go to therapy. I figure my shit out.

I'm progressive, modern, and aware.

Screw you, insecurity.

Hello, baby. : )

Yes, at some point, my life will be edited for cursing.

But not yet.

Yeah, Baby!

2010-03-03T19:37:00.015-07:00

A few baby anecdotes.

When Rob and I were trying to get pregnant, it seemed as though it would truly never happen. Meanwhile, Rob's co-workers were either pregnant, announcing they were pregnant, or had just had babies. This was occuring with such regularity, his boss commented, "Must be something in the water!"

Picture the light bulb going off above Rob's head, and thus, the fertility water was born. Rob would take this water bottle to work and fill it specifically from that water cooler then bring it home. and take it back for a refill as often as possible.

It's just too sweet, I haven't been able to remove the sticky note. : )

***

Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

Rob's Dad's birthday is today and he's been quite grumpy about turning another year older. He went so far as to email Rob saying his phone would be off and not to bother sending him any birthday wishes. Thus the covert operation: "Happy Birthday from Baby" card was born. Rob picked out an ultrasound photo, added the Birthday caption, and arranged for a relative in South Africa (where they vacation every year for a few months) to purchase a Grandpa birthday card and handle the delivery until the "Baby Eagle had landed".

Apparently the old guy softened up just enough to actually speak to a few members of his family that evening, which is saying a lot.

13 weeks 4 days

2010-03-01T18:15:00.010-07:00

O.M.G.

Well, I suppose it was more OMG when I actually saw the positive pregnancy test, but after you've been trying for awhile, it's more joy and less surprise when you finally get the second blue line, or whatever equals a positve result with the test you're using for the moment.

And you think once you've seen one baby, you've seen them all--not so. When the picture is of your baby, it really means something. Rob and I went in for the second ultrasound last Thursday, and the first image we saw was the baby squirming about. Aside from that being a major relief, it was amazing. Rob was on his feet and staring in awe between the screen and I on the table. The technician told us she had to do some measurements and she'd come back to the baby, but that first shot of it moving--kicking--was thrilling. After she took the measurements and came back to the baby, it let out a few more kicks. Rob had tears in his eyes after she left the room.

Aside from the baby itself, my second favorite thing about the pregnancy is sharing it with Rob. I've always had misgivings about becoming a mother--not because I don't think I'd be fantastic, but because I don't harbour any unrealistic expectations of the sacrifice and committment it takes, and how utterly life changing becoming a parent really is. Sharing this experience with Rob has taken away a lot of the gut reaction anxiety and fear, and again, not because I know it's not going to be challenging, but because I have a wonderful partner to share this with. Seeing Rob's excited, awestruck, relieved face was worth it. I can't imagine what I'll feel once we see the baby's face after it's born.

Now after holding the news in for sooooo long, being able to finally tell people is making me giddy! I'm "bingoing" all sorts of people with the information--fully understanding not everyone is genuinely happy for me, but I don't care. I'm pregnant. It makes me happy. I wasn't sure how I would feel, as I'm such a realist about the whole motherhood thing, but now that we've been told it's a low risk pregnancy, and everything looks as good as it can--I'm bloody excited!

Purchases so far:
- one random light for the baby's room (cute solar powered "plane ride light", which I've wanted for my "baby" the first moment I laid eyes on it in a toy store).
- Western baby onesie--of course, soooo cute.
- Flames baby onesies. Ahhh, the joy of purchasing for the future little person is so fun in itself!

Symptoms:
- hardly any of which to speak of. No nausea, hardly any aroma issues, odd physical things here and there, but compared to this woman at work who's at least 6 months pregnant and still on anti-nausea pills--I'm laughing. The symptoms have been so few, I was worried it meant there was something wrong with the pregnancy.

People told so far: Both parents, many at work, brothers, close friends. We didn't make any ceremony out of it with friends, as we just felt so tentative. Now that a few days have passed and we feel a bit more confident and excited, I realized we could have "done it up" a bit, but once the baby gets here, there will be plenty of attention all around.

Of course my Mom is already talking about being in the delivery room, so I'm working on letting those expectations down for her. : ) I'm just trying to get used to the idea there's a little being growing inside me. What with no symptoms for so long, I truly felt maybe it wasn't real. Even after the first ultrasound, and the picture of the little baby bean on the screen, I didn't think it was real.

Now I know, this is real.

Post Christmas

2009-12-30T17:26:00.004-07:00

Seems like every blog could be about motivation these days. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me (plenty of people seem to cheerily blog without issue). Other times I think of what I really want to write about and then I'm stuck in the same place--can't write about what's really happening! I suppose that's what a journal is for, but that has collected a fair bit of dust these past few months, as well.

Alas. So, what else is going on, then? Christmas came and went. Santa was extremely good to us (more on that later). Saw my family briefly, and that went without drama. Have about a week before work begins again (sigh, second busiest time of the year when the students go back to school for the Winter semester). My job is now permanent, so that's a pretty big deal.

Not sure what the next year will bring. Sometimes it seems I'm just plugging in time, and I wonder what it's all for. I often think it's because I'm always in some kind of transition; spent a year waiting for my job to become permanent or be dissolved, always waiting to start a family, waiting to go on vacation, waiting for the weekend, and just waiting, waiting, waiting.

I am more hopeful than I come across, but it's a tiny kernel I hold deep inside in case the world leans out to snatch it from me when I'm not paying attention.

Motivation

2009-11-25T20:18:00.003-07:00

It's been difficult motivating myself to write these past few months (read: year).

And it's incredibly unmotivating not to be able to write why.

On the inside cover of a Jodi Piccoult book (my current favorite author), she has written that her family life is so boring and uneventful she doesn't/can't draw story ideas from them.

My life is the opposite. There are too many incredibly "real life" events affecting me, my only option is to "fictionalize" these experiences as a form of expression and release. And I can only do that in the creative writing course I'm currently taking.

The creative writing class I'm in is a work shopping type of class. All the students submit "stories" and everyone in the class critiques the writing for grammar, plot, story arc, etc. Both full stories I've submitted are an attempt at putting to paper my real life experiences because I can't write or express myself in any other way.

What is challenging and ironic is how other students will comment on my "story" as not being authentic or believable--which clearly is not the case. There is a staggering difference of ages in the class, and I would say most if not all of these students don't have enough life experience to appreciate what I might be writing about.

I suppose I should be grateful for some form of expression, as other than the occasional therapy, I'm stuck internalizing everything that is happening to me.

I'm not even journaling anymore--couldn't tell you where my current few journals are (I keep more than one).

I know to a certain degree I should just "get over it", but that's always easier said than done. When you're in a rut of a large magnitude, it's hard to see your way out.

Time for a new post

2009-06-15T23:50:00.002-06:00

Maybe a longer one by Thursday at the latest!

: )

I am 36, afterall.

After a brief hiatus, I feel motivated to write again. The words have been percolating and I feel a brew coming on because I've been reading Amanda's blog about her pregnancy, which is a genuinely happy, inspiring thing.

I think I'll begin preparing for the Fall creative writing English class; I have to create another portfolio to get into it, which is due by August.

Despite all the nastiness around me (not referring to any lovely pregnant ladies I know), life must go on.

Picture this

2009-05-02T21:46:00.004-06:00

There's this thing I do where I ask myself if I can picture something becoming a reality in an attempt to determine the likelihood of it actually becoming a reality. Like when I was dating Rob and would sleep over, I would look around and see if I could picture living there with him, or being married to him. Now I look around and try to picture a child stumbling across the furniture, or me having a big belly and waddling around in discomfort, or us getting up in the middle of the night or morning to soothe and feed a wriggling baby.

I always wonder if I have a hard time picturing it, does that mean it's not going to happen? For the most part I think the answer is yes. And I never seem to revisit the picture to determine if I have been right or wrong.

For a long time I've thought I wouldn't be able to have children...and I seriously doubt I'll be able to. I can't picture our spare bedroom as a babies room. I can't picture a baby pulling themselves up to stand on our coffee table, and I can't picture me coming out of the bathroom holding a stick with a couple of lines on it, or a plus, or however "positive" happens to show.

And I really think I should just give up trying altogether. Just accept it's not going to happen because I can't picture it. Give up the grief of it.

Regardless of how I've ever come across or been labelled, I've actually persevered through all of the shit that has been my life and continues to be thrown my way. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have continued to work on myself; I wouldn't have gotten remarried; I just wouldn't be.

I'm turning 36. That seems a little old to be trying anyway. It's not like I'll be able or willing to afford several thousand dollars to force nature's hand, or able to afford a nanny or two for some inevitable batch of triplets.

I really thought I'd be a good mother, too.

I generally try not to beat my head against the same wall over and over again expecting a different result. After trying and trying to get a job in communications, outside of broadcasting, I finally gave up when it was obvious I didn't have the experience. I finally accepted I didn't have what an employer wanted.

I'm closer to accepting my ovaries don't cooperate.

Why should they, anyway? Life isn't fair. The greatest injustice is we someone learned it should be.

I've had enough happen to me to know the scales are not balanced and they never will be.

Karma is simply not a bitch.

And hope is not a strategy.

Exhale

2009-01-30T15:18:00.028-07:00

Friday.

A day off.

After managing a cumulative 10 million dollar deposit over the past three weeks, I get to release the breath I've been holding while I waited for something major to happen. There were definitely stressors, but overall the Winter Fees project was well handled and successful.

Today is my day to relax. Let my shoulders come down from my ears, take a deep breath--exhale.

So far, it's been a perfect day.

I awoke naturally at 8:45, having unplugged the alarm clock the night before. Breakfast was with the kitties, Reynold and Ophila (I slept over at Jorge and Mike's Thursday night) and Reynold was acosting the cereal bowl I was holding as I tried to eat my Oatmeal Cranberry Crisp around her imploring chin. While I checked my email and Facebook, I mentally calculated how much time I had to sit about before I needed to get ready.

I would be heading out to Airdrie to pick up my new pair of glasses. After ordering them the previous Saturday, I was excited for them to arrive. I secretly always wanted glasses before I actually needed them. I always liked the dual personality aspect that glasses afford a person, like a Superman/Clark Kent kind of thing. I think glasses on a person makes them look intelligent and vulnerable at the same time, which I find sexy.

And I wanted to squeeze in a Costco trip before meeting my Robert for lunch downtown at the Oriental Pheonix. And still leave time enough for lounging about in the afternoon. : )

Picking up the glasses went quickly; I thought they were lovely and had a hard time not checking myself out every time I stopped at a red light. Costco was bloody outstanding. My intention was to buy only healthy almond and pecan nut clusters and granola bars, but somehow I made it to the cash register with a pair of chocolate brown ladies Dockers, a sporty summer skirt, two sweaters, a work out shirt and a fitted black outdoor padded jacket.

None of which I could try on, as Costco doesn't have change rooms, and all of which look fabulous here at home! Seriously, the pants are my new favorite, being the pefect length, comfort and style; the sweaters are flattering--one a rich leaf green, dual zippered, the other a soft black form-fitting turtleneck. Nevermind the prices, you know how great the prices are at Costco. I still have pieces of clothing I've bought from Costco that look as great as the day I first got them (for some reason I hear this last bit in the voice of Gilbert Gottfried, probably because I recently watched the roast of Bob Sagat featuring Mr G.)

What kind of karmic shopping bubble was I in? Will I ever fall into it again? What are the actual odds of picking out six pieces of clothing, tops and bottoms--nothing tried on--and have it all fit perfectly? Remarkable.

Lunch with Robert was lovely, as always. He looked handsome in a sporty white, blue and green vertical striped shirt from Gap; he kept telling me how fashionable and "arty" I looked. : ) After a tea and a trip to the British store in Eau Claire (mint Areo bubbles for me and a mint Flake for Rob), I got gas (as in, filled up my car), renewed my registration, purchased cheap movie tickets from AMA--and now I'm on the couch (in my new pants/sweather combo) with a cheerful orange candle burning slowly on the coffee table next to a chilled Smirnoff Ice.

Seriously.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Right now just can't get any better.

Six months of bliss

2009-01-27T04:22:00.016-07:00

Rob called me twice at work last night. Once at 5:30 (when I was supposed to be off) and again at 6:30 (45 minutes before I actually left). He offered to put a meal in the oven for me, knowing how long it would take before I'd actually get to walk through the door.

As I drove home, fatigue was pulling at my arms and legs from a particularly hard work out on Sunday, and I could feel the tension from the day ebbing in my shoulders. I found myself speeding as I repeatedly glanced at the clock and mentally timed out how much evening I'd have left before needing to go to bed and begin the next day. Finally in the driveway, I hunched into my coat from the brief exposure to the wind and minus something or other temperature before turning the key in the lock.

The house was dark but I could hear soft music playing in the living room. I turned the hallway light on wondering where the heck Rob was and why he'd left my meal unattended in the oven. Orange candle light flickered from the kitchen table outlining his cheerful face next to a bouquet of tiny orange roses.

I mentally scrambled to figure out if I'd missed anything important and coming up empty, thought of the date. It was the 26th. Ahhhhh....we'd been married for six months. : ) After a sweet hug and a few kisses, I opened the musical card on the table featuring a lyric from Call and Answer by Barenaked Ladies:

"so if you call, I will answer
and if you fall, I'll pick you up
and if you court this disaster
I'll point you home

I'll point you home."

Sweet Robert.

It has been six wonderful months indeed and every day I'm thankful I married such a fabulous, handsome man I now call my husband, my partner and always, my love.

All anyone can do

2009-01-25T00:50:00.009-07:00

What we refer to as the "change period" just wrapped up at work. I could wax on about why or why not we refer to the first two weeks of university as the change period, which culminates on the last day of adding, dropping courses and paying fees (this past Friday), but that's really beside the point.

My point being, I made it through. At least two hours of overtime every day, partial breaks, millions of dollars cashiered, balanced and deposited--I was in charge of the fees side of the house managing a small team of people--and we did a great job. The whole operation was relatively smooth. I kept the area organized and we're on target in terms of payments left to process. My boss says I should feel a sense of satisfaction; she felt confident I had things well under control. But after all the anticipation and anxiety surrounding the arrival of this month, it feels anticlimactic now that it's over.

But I may just be reacting to finding out I'm not pregnant (once again). I suppose it's not been that long, 3 months if you're counting, but after the concerted effort of trying not to get pregnant when you're younger, you hope it will happen quite easily once you decide you're "ready". All the while in the back of your mind you wonder if you even have the option. Will the second friggin line ever show up?

The whole process is stressful. Timing things out, waiting, testing. Not drinking. Not eating Caesar salad. Not taking advil. Is this a symptom, is that a symptom? You start to understand how a woman could have a hysterical pregnancy. Never mind all the people who get pregnant no problem, despite weight, how much they drink/smoke/do drugs, while some perfectly healthy people have no chance at all.

How does a person come to terms with this? Or anything else for that matter? There's no such thing as just "relaxing" and "letting it happen." Never mind if you're me. I'm methodical. Linear. There is a logical way of approaching things; it does not involve going with the effin flow. No pun intended.

Is there really a larger plan? Is it more likely that life is a random series of tragedies, luck and nonsensical events all strung together?

Mah.

And I'm reminded of the wasted years. 7 wasted years. If I had those seven years back, Rob and I could have had more time together before attempting a family. Maybe I'd be up right now blogging about how our second baby is keeping me up at night instead of bemoaning my circumstance in a dimly lit room tap tap tapping in front of a glowing monitor. Sigh.

My ex sauntered into the fees area of the University on Friday. We saw one another, I turned my head and kept on walking. Less than a minute later I looked over and he was gone. I have no idea why he was there. What would I say anyway? How's your second wife--the woman you cheated on me with? Do I want to hear if she's pregnant or that you might have twins because that's how life works?

Maybe I just shouldn't watch Grey's Anatomy or ER before bed time. There's some unrealistic nonsensical bullshit. This is where a person gets ridiculous expectations of everything tying together in karmic fashion. I can also blame years and years of reading Harlequin novels. Maybe if I hadn't repressed my teenage angst in stacks and stacks of trashy romance, I'd have had sensible judgement and seven more fertile years.

Maybe I just have to get over it, because hope is what I do have and you can't be all that self indulgent because it just doesn't get you anywhere.

You have to choose to be optimistic.

And remember the good things.

Good friends.

Good family.

A good husband.

"To bear up under loss.
To fight the bitterness of defeat and the weakness of grief.
To be victor over anger.
To smile when tears are close.
To resist evil men and base instincts.
To hate hate and to love love.
To go on when it would seem good to die.
To seek ever after the glory and the dream.
To look up with unquenchable faith in something evermore about to be.

That is what anyone can do, and so be great."

Survivor Gabon

2008-12-15T22:14:00.001-07:00

I've been a fan of Survivor for the majority of it's seasons on the air. The production quality is high, and the basic formula of picturesque vignettes interspersed throughout false drama punctuated by interview confessionals--all makes for interesting TV. Combine this with seeing reality show contestants suffer at the hands of the writers and producers of the show, add the contestants general lack of knowledge and preparedness for living outdoors in less than ideal conditions, and you get a recipe for success which has kept me and millions of other viewers coming back season after season.

By these standards, Survivor Gabon was no less captivating. What I realized after this season, however, is this particular grouping of contestants epitomizes everything failing and despicable in humanity. Luckily the right contestant won in the end, and by "right"--I mean someone with character, intelligence, fortitude and decency. Compare this contestant to the people he played against and you'll see a variety of nasty character traits in their purest forms.

Corrine Kaplan -- a wretched individual with antisocial personality disorder who actually thrives in the face of public scorn (see her self created public profile on Facebook and the collage of hate spewed out by "fans"). Her defining television moment was when she denounced another contestant as needing antidepressants after expressing too much emotion over a recently deceased parent. When asked by Jeff Probst at the finale if she regretted her comments, "I don't regret any of my actions in the game." *loosely quoted as it's hell getting onto the Survivor website today.

Look farther into the cast of cretins and you'll find Randy Bailey, a vile racist who is actually a wedding photographer of all things. Bailey had no single defining moment on the show, as every time he appeared he was shallow, ignorant, rude--the list goes on and on; as another contestant put it, "He is a troll." I pity anyone who has ever had the misfortune to have this foul man take part in their day of matrimonial bliss. He has so few friends, he brought a group of strangers to the Gabon finale.

When I saw the video of a contestant who was voted off and sent to the Ponderosa compound to wait out the end of the show, I was disgusted at the display of childhood antics from grown professionals. You'll see Randy and others at their finest ostracizing a fellow contestant, and playing out a high school clique to the point where a member is afraid to be nice to the outcast for fear of being punted by the "popular" group. It's truly sad.

You have to wonder, exactly what did any one person do to another on Survivor Gabon to deserve open scorn? You have to come back to the group of individuals as a whole, and how nasty and shallow they clearly are by nature.

Take Marcus Lehman, an elitist who also had little sympathy for the contestant who'd lost her father. Lehman was the self righteous leader of the clique, and very deserving of the public mockery made of him and his puppetry of the penis (his johnson slipped out during a challenge in one of the earlier episodes). I have one thing to say to Marcus, HA HA (in the key of Nelson). He is proof a man should be judged by the company he keeps.

All in all the show was an open display of what is despicable about human nature. Most of the contestants represented everything that is unfortunate and vile in humanity, and I'm sorry I took part in the rubber necking of watching as the crash unfolded on Survivor Gabon.

I may actually have to rethink my television viewing habits.

Snowmen?

2008-12-13T13:03:00.010-07:00

Rob and I have been having a discussion about the above snowman (which was built down the street from us within the past week). Prior to this snowman showing up, the thing next to it was a smaller snowman. Once the second icy giant was created, the smaller snow guy was turned into what you see now.

Today as we drove past them, Rob wondered aloud what the smaller ice sculpture was supposed to be. He thinks it could be a snow version of the Stanley Cup. I think it represents a snowman whose head was blown off.

"So you think the other guy is smiling because he blew his head off? Or do you think his arms are in the air because he thought it was a stick up?" Rob asked.

"No," I replied. "I think the two are entirely separate."

"But he looks so happy...I think it's the Stanley Cup."

"It can't be the Stanley Cup," I responded. "It doesn't even look like it. It has a big hole at the top!"

"Well, a little kid couldn't sculpt it to look exactly like the Stanley Cup." Rob looked back at the sculptures. "Little kids have small hands."

"No," I shook my head. "It's got to be a snowman with his head blown off, it's the only thing that makes sense."

LOL

2008-12-12T20:42:00.010-07:00

Something I envy about my sweet Robert is how easily he laughs. And not just the odd chuckle, but full on laugh out loud, head thrown back guffaws. Most of the time I'm watching the same show. Then I wonder, am I really so lacking in humor or is he just more simple than I am? ; )

I don't find the Simpsons amusing in the slightest. The odd time I find Family Guy funny, and I didn't think much of Tropic Thunder (which Rob LOVED).

Regardless, I am envious none the less. While I don't long to find everything funny, it would be nice to laugh just a little bit more.

Man

2008-12-11T13:44:00.003-07:00

I have been busy!

Busy trying to come to terms with the overhwhelming disillusionment of my effed up family having indeed no hope of sustaining meaningful relationships (triggered by my brother saying he was "inspired" by my wedding and instigating a divorce--which isn't half the story). Added to that is my mom unceremoniously quitting her job of 20 years (or something), only to have the company lay off many long term employees a few weeks later, and trying to make her understand that no, when you voluntarily leave a job, you are not eligible for EI. Sigh.

I've also taken on a new position at work, which has been a challenge to say the least, and seems to be sapping all my excess energy (of which I generally have none). Probably good, because then I'd be lamenting about how sad my family is. I guess that's what therapy is for. : )

Alas... all of these things have left me with very little creative energy for things like writing!

A co-worker is tring to convince me to register for "Detective fiction" this Winter. Which might be interesting.

We shall see.

Fall Ahead

2008-11-02T17:41:00.004-07:00

Here's what I did with my "extra hour" due to daylight savings:

Rob and I were up at a decent hour (Okay, he was up early, and I thought I was getting up late at 9am). Our initial plan was to take the recycling in, get groceries and come home and take a nap (Okay, that was my plan). After we took in the recycling, we were headed for a coffee when we saw a guy on a crane attaching a "store closing" sign to Linens n Things.

I mentioned to Rob I had a few "large" gift cards from the wedding which I'd not spent yet and we immediately drove home to get them (in a bit of a panic, imagining the store closing completely and us being left with useless cards burning a hole in our pockets).

In reality, the store had just put up the signs and there was plenty of inventory to spend our "love" money on.

We ended up with a number of handy things, and in the end still had $12 remaining on one of the cards, which Rob asked if he could have. Once we unloaded the car, he immediately went back into the store and spent the rest on candy. Chocolate for me and a container of sour patch kids for him. : )

With the groceries put away, I spent the afternoon on my finances. Yipee. We recently put together a financial plan and this is the first month of implementation. It's a little distressing seeing exactly how much money I do and do not have all laid out nice and neat on an excel spreadsheet. But Rob was at least excited by the whole project, so that helped.

Now my Robert is making a lovely spaghetti and I'm pleased it's not even six o'clock yet. That gives me plenty of time for doing the rest of my laundry and preparing for an interview in the morning.

Oh, and having a bath and watching the Halloween Simpsons episode. That's gotta fit in there somewhere. : )

I wish I could gain an extra hour every Sunday.

MM mm mm mm...

2008-09-16T13:16:00.007-06:00

I periodically agnonize about why I'm not more motivated to blog, write, journal, you name it. Because of what feels like an innate lack of desire, I wonder if I'm somehow less of a writer. I am simply not inclined to write every single day. If anything, I've noticed when things are either going really well, or really poorly, I have a tendency to write less, when I would have thought the natural reaction would be to write more.

Looking back through the past couple of years on my blog, I've noticed a few things: in 2006 I was writing fairly consistently up until it was revealed in late April that the pastor at my old church was sleeping around on his wife (not with members of the congregation, everyone was quick to point out, as though that actually made a difference); in 2007, I was blogging regularly up until my nephew committed suicide in mid May and I was notified by text message while on holiday.

I suppose I could also chalk up the blog drop off to summer, and being naturally busy out in the sun, or to how crazy it gets at work in the Fall which leaves me exhausted the months before and after September, and lastly, being enrolled in a full year creative writing class (for credit)--which proved very time consuming, but worthwhile to say the least.

Regardless, I can't seem to stop the self persecution about how often I do or don't write!

Lately I've been noticing that if I could just stop the self persecution altogether, I'd be a lot happier. But how does one do that exactly? Like walking by "my room" and seeing clothes all over the bed doesn't spur me to clean it up. Instead, I feel bad I'm not more motivated to clean! Sometimes I think of my brother Kyle, who cleans every weekend without fail, and I wonder why I'm not inclined to do the same?

Is it seriously just laziness? I often wonder if there isn't something wrong with me on a larger level.

What's in a name

2008-08-26T11:41:00.009-06:00

There are all kinds of debates on the rationale behind a woman changing her name after she gets married. Some women believe it's the equivalent of giving up your identity, others think it makes sense for the whole family to have the one name only, and still others go out of their way to hyphenate--determined for their children to bear witness to who they were before, but still be marked by "who they have become."

My first time 'round the altar, I exerted the grueling effort to change my name immediately, and was happy to do it--excited even. Changing it back a mere four years later was less than a picnic, however, and I swore if I was ever married again, I would NOT under any circumstances give up my family name. Which I believed right up until it came time to send out the wedding invitations, and I made the conscious decision to exclude all of my extended family of the same last name.

Let me clarify my maiden name is only my Dad's name legally (not by birth), and the people in my extended family of the same last name are nothing less than white trash (who have chosen to ostracize me). I could tell stories of stripper cousins managed by fathers, and of the relatives who had a child by every man they "dated", and I could describe the conditions under which they live, and the lack of character from which they all operate, and I could go on and on.

If anything, I'm upset I've now fully realized the meaning of my maiden name and everything it's associated with (my immediate family not withstanding). I like the sound of my maiden name but that's where it ends.

So, despite the effort, I have changed my name and will go through and painstakingly change all of my id (sigh).

I admit going through the process again is a little unsettling because the last time I did it, it wasn't permanent and I can't stop that thought from crossing my mind.

Onwards and upwards.

I'll try and focus on the change as the opportunity it is for a better life, one that I hoped was possible from the first moment I met my sweet Robert O. : )

Hey, where we going today...

2008-08-09T23:35:00.011-06:00

A more beautiful day could not have been had.

I wasn't really nervous as I had my hair done with Suzy by my side. There were only a few butterflies while the ladies and Jorge buzzed about me as my makeup was applied. And when we left on time, I felt relatively calm during the hour ride to the chapel at Rafter Six Ranch.

My first bit of excitement came when I saw people through a side window arriving at the Ranch. The bridal party was off in a little room waiting for the horse drawn carriage to come pick up us up for the ceremony at 1pm. I checked and re-checked my make-up in a little compact Amanda had given me in my "Bride survival kit" -- complete with a little engagement photo of Rob and I, which I made sure to set up while I did my pre-ceremony primping. Suzy made sure I had a snack, Jorge was busy at my beck and call, and I remember feeling genuinely cared for by these supportive and wonderful people I'm so blessed to call my friends.

The carriage was a cute thing, all white, complete with a little heart shaped window that peeked out the back. As we slowly made our way through the field to the chapel, I was focused on the beauty of the mountains around us so I would be able to vividly recall the moment. As the chapel came into view, I became teary eyed seeing people lined along its steps to catch a glimpse of us as we came up.

When the chapel doors opened and the ladies and Jorge filed in, my dad was a bit nervous as he took my arm to lead me. I remember Rob's expression when he first saw me and how he had to look away because he was so filled with emotion. I forgot to go "slow" down the aisle and carry my "bouquet low" as Amanda had previously advised. : ) I was bursting with happiness to finally be there and see everyone smiling around me. The love and support surrounding us was uplifting.

Looking across from my sweet Robert at the alter, I tried to absorb every word and be completely present throughout our vows. I rarely stopped smiling. When we signed the registry and Rob's best man Rod stepped in as a witness, I noticed a few of his tears hit the table as he struggled to compose himself. When we finally faced our friends and family as Mr and Mrs, "Rocket Girl" swelled up from our musicians, Dolce and Amante, on flute and acoustic guitar. That's when I was overcome with emotion.

"Dream your dreams in my ear, just get me out of here, fly me around this world, Rocket Girl..." The flute acted as the vocals.

Outside we were flitting about getting in place for the receiving line when the chapel bells started ringing out above. I looked to the blue sky where the cross was illuminated among white clouds, and it was as though God was pronouncing us husband and wife. It was magical.

We made our way slowly through the fields and along the ranch property to get the remainder of our photos taken before heading back to the city as the rain came. Rob, Warren and I checked into the Sheraton, where Rob and I would make our own honeymoon suite--most of it thanks to Vicki who put together a little package with rose scented petals, and champagne and glasses. I simply added the music and little bride and groom duckies for the jacuzzi tub--not to mention all the fun lingerie I'd already been given at my bridal shower! ; )

The reception itself was absolutely lovely. The Rotary House still had its Stampede decorations up, so the log cabin had more country accents then normal which added a classy touch to the natural beauty of the venue. The ceiling was twined with twinkling white lights, and pseudo candle chandeliers hung all around. The centerpieces were charming square vases filled with clear rocks alit by orange immersible LED lights, and were topped with white Gerber daisies surrounded by delightful greenery (which poor Vicki and Kyle essentially assembled prior to cocktails starting).

Our MC was my close friend, Sean, a former broadcasting classmate who carried the evening off brilliantly with wonderful "he said, she said" snippets from Rob and I, which captured the essence of both our relationship and our personalities. My brother Darrin said grace before the meal, a "Cowboy buffet" complete with slow roasted ribs, steak, coleslaw, western Caesar salad and a warm apple berry crisp for dessert. We decided to have cupcakes instead of wedding cake and served those as more of a late night snack. The topper was a little cowboy groom dancing with a cowgirl bride. Our favors were orange and white M&M's which had "Tiffany & Robert" on one and our wedding date on the other.

Our first dance was as meaningful as I anticipated it would be. I was able to block out everyone around us and just feel the lyrics of "Should I fall behind" while Rob and I swayed to the music.

We danced, we sang, and we were full. Full of happiness, love and each other. Full of gratitude for the people who made the day a success and who came out to genuinely celebrate with us.

It was perfect.

On our last Anniversary, I wrote in Rob's card, "I always hoped a love like this was possible. Thank you for making that dream a reality every day."

I love hearing Rob call me his wife, and I feel a thrill each time I see his wedding ring catch the light. I feel different as his wife and I'm thankful for it.

A couple in love

2008-07-05T09:48:00.029-06:00

A year ago today, my sweet Robert proposed. The above photo is from our recent engagement session (we found our photographer on a local message board, and clearly the wedding pictures will be fabulous). Today we go and pick up our marriage license. In less than a month I will get to say, "This is my husband, Robert." : )

As much as I generally do not like wedding planning, it's been alright. I'm excited about the fun details, things like our bouquets, the wedding favors, our cupcake topper--unfortunatley none of which I can be more specific, so I don't spoil any of the surprise.

I'm excited for our day to arrive!

I really don't have much else to add. I've more than captured from blog to blog how much Rob means to me, and just how grateful and happy I am to share a life with him. We are partners in a grand lifelong adventure. Thank God.

I am truly blessed.

This photo took my breath away. : )

Thank God all the other photographers I was considering didn't bother getting back to me.

How do you comfort a friend?

2008-07-04T21:48:00.034-06:00

When a soul is in anguish, the distance separating you from another is unbearably vast. Life presses against us--bruises us from the inside out. You wonder if anyone can reach you to give you the comfort desperately needed.

We want to comfort. Try to. But some of us don't know how, or where to begin.

When words are not enough and gestures seem meaningless because you don't honestly know what someone is going through, what then?

My reaction is to keep away. Be respectful and not continue reminding someone of their pain with my sad face or tears. And saying how sorry I am sounds trite and hollow.

When you're consumed with devastating emotions, everyone around you appears in a shadow. And you wonder at the cruelty of feeling the sun warming your face when inside you are cold all over.

That's when I pray. : ) My eyes close and I pray for God's healing love to wash over my friend in a white glow--sometimes for a person I've never met. I focus on surrounding them with loving energy and hope they feel the sense of comfort and peace I don't know how to give. And I pray for them to feel hope--to know they will come through, and on the other side of pain will be happiness once again.

I pray when you fall to your knees you realize you are in the position to pray.

From the desk of:

2008-06-27T17:42:00.055-06:00

Zac Stashko

*****GENERAL MANAGERS COPY. DO NOT RELEASE TO THE MEDIA******

In co-operation with the Calgary Sport and Social Club, the ownership of Slo-pitch team Reasonably Sober is pleased to announce the changing of the teams' name to Tommy John Arms for the upcoming Summer 2008 season.

Along with the change of name, the club would also like to announce other personnel changes:

After the disappointing performance in Thursday night's final Spring playoff game, President and General Manager Jason LaRose has been relieved of his duties. Mr. LaRose will remain with the team as Assistant To The Batboy.

Replacing Mr. LaRose in the President and General Manager position will be Matteo Picone. Mr. Picone is known for his reckless abandon on the softball field, and the ownership believes he will bring new life to the organization. Mr. Picone has hired Zac Stashko as Head of Player Personnel and Chief Bat Whore--Bat Boy...no, Equipment Manger. Mr. Stashko brings a wealth of experience to the position, and the ownership believes he was born for this role.

The ownership would also like to announce the following players being added to the injured reserve list until further notice:

Zac Stashko – Severe case of whiplash from snapping his neck watching all those home runs fly by him

Desirae Lynch - Bad ankle from tripping over the imaginary line at home plate

Matteo Picone – Bad ankle because he wants to be just like Des, and tries to turn singles into triples

David “Nutz” Langlois – Sore foot from kicking a fire pit, then washing the cut in a dirty lake

Other roster notes: Three players have currently been added to the summer roster. The current lineup for Tommy John Arms is (scouts notes appear in red):

Derek
His flip flop rallies always fall short -- Cut
Des
Can’t breast feed and bat at the same time -- Totally cut
Dave 1
Has potential -- Still cut
Dave 2
Uses a girl's bat -- Therefore cut
Adam
Works with LaRose and has a bum knee -- Cut
LaRose
Missed the game sending us to Spring finals and we lost -- Gotta be cut
Matteo
Kid thinks he can play the whole outfield by himself, selfish player -- Cut, Cut, and then Cut again. Probably going to be cut from the little league farm team as well
Zac
Where do I start -- CUT-- I’ve never seen an ERA in the triple digits before, this kid couldn’t strike out a two year old
Tiffany
Choosing to do wedding stuff over ball -- Poor excuse, so cut
Vanessa
Nothing bad to say about VW -- Unfortunately she is still cut
Shane
Learned to play field from Matteo -- Nobody should have to bear that pain, therefore cut
Kevin
Only saw him at a couple games -- Can’t make a fair assessment, but he’s cut
Rich
Great guy, good all around athlete -- Drives a ford ranger--cut him loose
Kara (when possible) –
Another wedding planner who would "be there if we needed her" -- Gotta say cut
Jenny
Is an unknown talent scouted by Dave 1 -- probably is a superstar, cut
Tevy
The other unknown talent scouted by Dave 1 -- once again probably going to be the star of the team, and that is why he must be cut

******* THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THIS EMAIL CONTAIN MINIMAL FACTUAL INFORMATION AND ARE MAINLY THE COMPLETELY UNTRUE, MADE UP OPINIONS OF THE AUTHOR OF THIS PRESS RELEASE. IF ANYBODY IS OFFENDED BY THE MATERIAL OF THIS RELEASE, YOU ARE DEFINITELY CUT***********

35 years old and never kissed a girl

2008-06-14T10:18:00.023-06:00

A substantial sinus headache was pulsing on the right side of my face when I woke up this morning. Swinging my feet to the carpet, they were so sore I nearly fell off the bed trying to stand, and I'm limping occassionaly as I walk. My wrist also hurts along with my index finger on my left hand.

Granted, some of these pains are from a recent game of softball, but I can't help wonder how much my physical discomfort relates to me being 35.

35.

I'm officially old. "Five years from 40" as I was fond of reminding Rob when he turned 35 (on our second date). : )

Now, I'm not a person who typically feels bad on a birthday, but turning 35 feels a little different. When I was younger I said I'd be married by 25 and have children by 27.

In reality, by 35 I've been divorced, lived in four cities, one other country, and had one major career change. I could bemoan how little or much I've accomplished compared to anyone else in the same time span, but I really don't have that kind of energy. : D My path is my own and I remind myself not to waste any mental effort feeling bad over what I think I "should" have accomplished by now.

And counting back over my 35 years there are many things I'm grateful for: my divorce, first and foremost, because without it I wouldn't be engaged to the true love of my life and planning a wonderful wedding for this year;

I have many friends and family helping me out with said wedding, and that day we will be surrounded by people I'm thankful to not only share the day but my life with;

My job profile is changing at work for the better and I work with truly fabulous people;

I live in a country that allows me many freedoms, like going to a bookstore and having the salesclerk be so helpful we actually track down the short story my Dad really wanted to read in a Farley Mowat book--which will be a gift to him for Father's Day;

I have the physical ability to play softball--something which makes me feel happy to be alive--although I whine and complain how much I hurt the next day (or week);

We can afford silly luxuries like the Wii, even though it says I'm so over-weight my little computer t-shirt won't fit over my little computer belly. : O

Every day I wake up next to my sweet Robert and thank God for keeping Rob happy, healthy and safe. Who always gives me lovely presents, most importantly his love, and fun things like, "I love Jim" (from The Office) post-it notes and stationary, and "love lottery" scratch-and-wins good for "dinner for 2". : ) Who is a person of such depth, feels something like Tim Russert passing away two days before Father's day as a keen loss, compelling me to sit with him through a tribute to Tim Russert on NBC, which ended with a song by Bruce Springsteen--You're missing--only to discover both Rob and Tim shared the same love of the artist.

I can only conclude turning 35 really isn't that bad at all.

Coming Together

2008-05-31T22:31:00.013-06:00

The wedding details are coming together. Last weekend my Mom and sister-in-law Vicki helped pick out the flower girl dresses. The Bay happened to have a decent section of little girl's dresses. We ended up with the brand Thy Thy--if that means anything to anyone. Regardless, the dresses themselves are quite cute. They're gold and ivory with a princess puffy skirt speckled with tiny ivory flowers across the outer layer. The bodice is covered in gold beads and iredescent sequins and has a sheer patch of fabric running up to the neck, which is surrounded by little fake crystals. Very charming! Emma couldn't stand still long enough for me to get a proper look. She twirled and jumped and kept running around the store in it.

And it so happened there were only two of those dresses, a size ten and four, so we bought both. I express mailed the second one to Mercedes (Rob's niece) and it fits. : ) On Saturday my mom, my other sister-in-law Debbie, and my niece, Autumn, and I picked out her junior bridesmaid dress--which is also quite charming. It's a solid satin black, and has a black satin bow running around the waist. In the midst of all that, Debbie and I also both ended up with a dress! Mine is basically a black, evening wedding dress, which is bloody phenomenal, and will be lovely to wear for the dinner being held in our honor at the National Golf Club in Toronto (hosted by Rob's parents) a week after our wedding.

Rob even called his mom in the middle of the dress shop to ask her opinion of the dress. She said, "If you love the dress, buy it. Nevermind what anyone else thinks." Who can argue with logic like that? It was quite fun. A huge family bonding moment, for sure. Rob said afterwards that would have made his mom happy, as she must be missing out on the planning. But she and his Dad are busy co-ordinating the parties out in Toronto, so that's got to be keeping them busy.

This is where the fun begins.

Yesterday I went to Ikea with Rob and Jorge, and his little guy Saul (our ring bearer), to look at vases for our center pieces. I've purchased orange submersible LED lights to sit at the bottom of every vase. The lights will be covered in clear rocks, water, and will feature white Gerber daisies sprouting out the tops. I bought two different vases and will try two different styles.

The shawls for the bridesmaids were ordered online from an Ebay "boutique" and just came in. The person hand-dyed them to match a photo which I hope approximates the color of the groomsmen's vests (a specific shade of orange). I was going to head down to Moores today and check how well they really match the vests, but I was distracted and had a nap instead. Wedding planning can be very tiring. : D

Plus, I had to save energy to play the last softball game of the season tonight--a double header in the rain--where I managed to hit three doubles in the second game. I'm feeling rather satisfied at this moment (though exhausted and terribly sore). Luckily I took tomorrow off, so that should aid in my recovery.

Under Pressure

2008-05-06T12:03:00.008-06:00

I'm really starting to feel the stress of planning a wedding. I wonder how people with intense and demanding jobs manage it at the same time? I'm also wondering how the day could possibly hold up to expectations because of the amount of planning going into it. To a certain degree, it seems as though it has to be anti-climatic on a few levels because of the yearlong effort required for creating the one day. People always say more planning goes into the wedding than the marriage, but I don't see how that can be avoided when you consider everything necessary to pull off a wedding (big or small).

Sigh.

I'm also highly sensitive about the family drama arising out of the planning. Very few of my extended family are invited for many, many reasons. With my first wedding, the cousins I invited called my friend's Mother to decline the invitation at the last minute (don't ask me--clearly they're people with poor to no social skills, and chickenshits). No surprise I'm not sending an invitation to them this time. They also couldn't be bothered to attend the funeral for my brother's stepson, yet he still hangs out with them.

Does having standards that include not putting up with people's crap mean I'm always going to be standing alone with nothing but my principles and values as companions? Am I not forgiving, or am I simply upholding a clear set of standards?

Dr Phil says, "Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?" Well, happiness for me does not include being treated poorly by people and turning a blind eye. Forgiveness to me includes someone asking for forgiveness. To me the equation for forgiveness involves a person being accountable for their actions, recognizing their poor behavior, and then taking responsibility through an apology. This is clearly unique in the face of the family I'm unfortunatley related to.

Normally I can manage these feelings, but the wedding is bringing them to the forefront because I'm making a conscious effort to not include people for the sake of familial obligation (which I don't believe anyone should indulge if they are being treated poorly by their so-called relatives). Doesn't it make sense to not invite a family member if I know they dislike me and truly do not wish me well? Am I really expected to take a chance by including them in an invitation only for them to show up with the intention of ruining this special day? Or wait for them to pull some drama at the last minute to draw attention to themselves? I strongly believe if someone can not show up for you during one of the biggest celebrations in your life, then why show up at all.

After the wedding I'm cutting all the dead weight from my life.

And I expect nothing less from anyone who knows me, which is maybe why I'm ostracized by my extended family to begin with.

Whatever Works

2008-04-24T13:39:00.010-06:00

I bought this Gerber Daisy to cheer myself up. It could be the weather, or hormones, or my job, or all of these things, but I'm in a foul mood--depressed, confrontational, emotional. Happy times. When I'm in a mood that's hard to shake, I struggle to find ways to pull myself out.

I'm working "out front" all day (dealing with students face to face), and I've brought the flower out with me, back to my desk for lunch, and it'll be coming along with me for the rest of the afternoon.

What can I say? Desperate times call for desperate measures. So, flower power it is. The daisy reminds me spring and summer will eventually arrive (and the snow MUST leave). Also, I'll be using orange Gerber Daisies in my bridal bouquet, which makes me picture our wedding day and how happy I'll feel standing across from my Sweet Robert.

Plus, I got an A- in my writing class.

Like I say, whatever works.

This too shall pass

2008-04-01T11:42:00.011-06:00

And it does. You never feel when it's a bad day, or week (or Easter dinner) that it's going to end, but it does. And what a difference a week makes.

I had my ipod on while I was walking to work this morning. "If I should fall behind", by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band was playing. This is the first song Rob and I will dance to on our wedding day. : ) Since we got engaged, we've been pondering what that first dance song should be. We share many meaningful songs, but with both of us being so into music we wanted the lyrics to be just right.

The first time Rob showed me the video for this song (from the Springsteen video anthology) it was sometime early in the relationship, and I cried. The lyrics made me sad because that's how I imagined marriage to be and that's clearly not how my first marriage was.

"We said we'd walk together baby come what may
That come the twilight should we lose our way
If as we're walkin a hand should slip free
I'll wait for you
And should I fall behind
Wait for me."

A year and a half later, current day: Rob was playing another video concert by Bruce Springsteen which featured a live version of this song (if you haven't figured it out, Bruce is Rob's favourite artist). Hearing the lyrics again, they sounded like wedding vows to me. I thought it would be the perfect first song and Rob agreed.

Back to this morning, the sun was out and the air was crisp as I walked to work. While the song played, I imagined what it would feel like dancing with Rob on our wedding day. He and I have a history of dancing together. : ) We slow danced on our first date to Doc Walker, as mentioned many times, and it was this first dance which captivated me. During our two-step lessons at Ranchman's, I fell in love with Rob, and it was standing across from him on the dance floor when I thought, "This is what it will feel like when we stand across from one another to get married." Then Rob proposed to me on the dance floor during a Doc Walker concert.

I was smiling and filled with love when I got to work. I thanked God for bringing Rob into my life and for blessing me in so many other ways.

This Friday marks our two year Anniversary. While we were at the Flames game on Saturday night, Rob had a pleasant surprise for me:

Need I say more?

Get Over It

2008-03-25T12:53:00.015-06:00

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

2008-03-11T23:43:00.015-06:00

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

2008-03-01T00:48:00.030-07:00

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? : )

Thank God

2008-02-21T13:17:00.006-07:00

I don't know what it is about today, but I feel grateful for everything. Maybe I'm high. : D

Walking out our loading dock door into the sunshine at lunch felt wonderful. For a brief moment before the chill of the February air hit my cheeks, I felt warmth on my face. A prelude to spring and summer, this kind of weather is a promise of the seasons to come. All is not winter, thank God!

Standing in line at Subway, I was thankful to even have the option to buy my lunch. And when I found PMS pills in my desk, I was thrilled.

Seriously, thank God for PMS pills. I don't care if they are placebos because sometimes I just want to take something which has even a possibility of making me feel better.

Thank God for my 99 cent Honey Roasted Almonds (normally around $5-$6, which I really need to stop eating right now).

Thank God for my Sweet Robert, and for my Sweet friends.

Thank God.

Day One

2008-02-19T06:31:00.007-07:00

I woke up every few hours afraid to check the clock and see it being 4:55 am, only to actually wake up at 4:57 and sigh that I had only mere moments left in bed.

Rob had me lay out all my stuff the night before, so I wouldn't be wandering around in the morning gathering everything up, and we arrived a few minutes before the gym even opened at 5:15 am. There was the odd person waiting with us, but by the time I was half way into my cardio, the area was pretty much full. The weight and stretching sections weren't congested, and what's nice about this gym is it's really spread out, with a track that runs outside each of the area's and down and around large picture windows.

It's 6:38 now, and I feel pretty good. Not once during the workout did I feel tired, or cranky, I was just wide eyed with wonder at how many people actually get up at this time for fitness sake. The absolute best part though? It's done for the day! I don't have to mentally prep myself all day for going to the gym, there's no "should I, I know I should" argument as I make the weary walk to my car after work--it's done! DONE! I can't believe how cheerful that alone makes me feel.

I was a little sleepy when I got home, though I think mainly from needing some protein, but now that I've had my sugar free yoghurt, I'm good. I'm even planning what I should make for dinner tonight. : )

Let's see if I can carry this trend for a few weeks, and what I'll be like further into it.

A definite key is going to bed on time. I made sure I was in bed by 9 last night, and sleeping by 9:30 at the latest. As long as I manage that, I should be able to manage actually getting up.

Happy Tuesday!

Running in heels, Tim Horton's and working out

2008-02-18T18:02:00.040-07:00

I was being silly at work running with my filing cabinet in precariously heeled shoes when I skidded onto my ass, narrowly missing a co-worker in the process. The black marks are from the heels of my shoes, and there is an actual dent in the floor. One of my co-workers commented she couldn't believe how far apart my legs had spread.

Why was I running with my filing cabinet? Well, any morning we work out front, the staff all wheel out their filing cabinets so our resources are close at hand. This particular morning was a Friday and I think I was happy the end of the day would mark the beginning of a long weekend. Obviously Karma took the opportunity to kick me in the ass, so I guess I won't be doing that again.

***

Perhaps I thought of Tim Horton's as a healthy alternative to fast food. Not so after picking up the Nutrition Guide at my nearest TH. Even though I didn't expect to see really healthy listings, I'm not sure I was prepared for what I did find:

Chocolate Chip muffin: 430 calories, 16 g of fat, 580 mg of sodium and 69 carbs.
Twelve Grain Bagel: 330 calories, 9 g of fat (the highest of all bagels), 580mg of sodium, and 52 carbs.
Herb and Garlic cream cheese: 141 calories, 13 g of fat, 228 mg of sodium, and 2 carbs.
Iced Cappucino: 250 calories, 11 g of fat, 50 mg of sodium and 33 carbs.

For a grand total of: (not including the muffin, I just threw that in there because it shocked me) 721 calories, 33 g of fat, 891 mg of sodium and 87 carbs. For BREAKFAST.

Wow. Nevermind if you happen to add a donut or God forbid the chocolate chip muffin (which is obviously some sort of meal replacement). It is clear that Tim Horton's should be classified along with all the other fast food outlets.

What really boggles me, though, is how the twelve grain bagel is the worst of all bagels offered at Tim Horton's. I would choose this bagel thinking it to be the healthiest when in reality, it's the worst. It has the most calories, fat, and ties for the most sodium. The only thing it's comparable on is the carbs, which after everything else is said and done--who cares. In reality, when I shop for bagels, or bread (which are all really quite unhealthy), I'm always scanning the nutrition labels to pick the one lowest in everything important to me and one that's marked "whole wheat" as the very first ingredient.

Still, so much for thinking Tim Horton's is the lesser of fast food evils.

***

I just joined Rob's gym, which is a 2 minute walk from our place. Tomorrow is our first 5am workout together. Here's hoping that after 22 sessions (the number it apparently takes to develope a habit), I can call myself an early bird exerciser.

The obvious advantages are not just health related. I would have the work out done for the day, so when I come home tired and cranky from work, I can relax and have my dinner with Robert (instead of going off to work out and coming home by 6:30 or 7 to then begin dinner). Because I'll be up earlier in the morning, I'll have some extra time before actually having to get ready for work, which also might make the early morning rising a bit easier to take (instead of getting up groggy, rushing off to workout, and rushing back to get ready).

Rob has his doubts as to whether I'll be able to pull off this a.m. health revolution, but because I'm currently struggling with the motivation for going to my own gym, anything that might help is better than nothing. : )

How often

2008-02-14T11:36:00.008-07:00

How often do I thank God for Rob being in my life?

At least once a day.
Usually when we hug in the morning before he goes off to work.
Whenever I'm showering him with kisses.
Early in the morning when he comes over to gently kiss me and tell me he loves me because it's 4am and we're getting up to catch an early flight.
When he spilled 7-up on me during a flight and wrote "I love you" on a napkin to try and make it better.
Whenever I hear Doc Walker.
When I'm sad and Rob is concerned and trying to cheer me up.
When Rob says, "How are you?" in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent.
When Rob tells me he loves me in his sleep, and when I say, "You even love me in your dreams!" he responds, "I love you everywhere."
Whenever he expresses he's looking forward to getting married and calling me his wife.
Whenever we dance together.
Whenever he's excited about Rocky or Bruce Springsteen.
When I feel him tense up with emotion while he's watching a movie during a emotional scene.
When he falls asleep with his arm around me.
When I received his secret message Valentine last year (which had a decorder pen and was a puzzle).
When he placed Rascal Flatts' concert tickets in my hand as a surprise for Valentine's day this year.
When he also gave me a chocolate filled heart from Bernard Callebaut.
When I read his Valentine card featuring Rocky Balboa on the front and the line "You won my heart." Which we both agreed should have said, "Yo, Valentine!"

I love you, Robert.

Happy Valentine's Day!

First time in T.O.

2008-02-13T22:44:00.034-07:00

When we arrived at Pearson airport, we were met by Rob's best friend Rod who greeted me with a big hug and 2 dozen roses. : )

The Toronto welcome wagon brought us a half hour of shoveling snow out of Rob's parent's driveway before we could park our loaner sports car from Rod. Even though we were both exhausted from being up at 4 am to catch our flight, I was the only one who napped in the afternoon, after trying to convince Rob to postpone my surprise dinner for that evening until around 8:30 (which would have been dinner time in Calgary).

Rob maintained this was not an option, so around 7 we headed out the door for a laborious one hour drive to downtown Toronto, which found Rob somewhat stressed about the traffic and parking, and me agitated by the whole joyride. Rob had to keep me focussed by providing snippets of information regarding my surprise dinner without really giving anything away. "The surprise will be worth it," he said, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

After walking several frigid blocks, we approached what I didn't know then was the Air Canada center. Clusters of women in cowboy boots surrounded us as we all headed indoors. By this time I knew I wasn't being treated to dinner, but still didn't know the full nature of what Rob had in store for me--until he placed the Rascal Flatts' concert tickets in my hand!

The stage was lit up from below, with a long panel screen running the length behind it, and huge picture cubes hung high over the floor seating area. A smaller circle stage was set up near the back of the floor seating, and a bridge was suspended up in the air which would later lower to temporarily join the two stages together while band members sang as they "crossed over".

Video played behind the band during the show, and the stage itself gyrated with color from song to song. Close to two hours of music rang out, with the pinnacle for me being, "He ain't the leaving kind", a song off their last album I kept wishing was performed during the previous album tour. As I stumbled through slush and snow, tired and grinning back to the car, I told Rob the rest of the trip could be absolute crap and it wouldn't matter because the concert was such a fabulous surprise.

Luckily the rest of the trip was not crap, although Rob did leave sick by the end with a cold bordering on bronchitis. The wedding itself was lovely (the reason for the trip to begin with), Rob's friends were wonderful, and our visit to the CN tower and the Hockey Hall of Fame proved entertaining--I was able to touch the original "lucky loonie" embedded at center ice during the 2002 Winter Olympic Ice Hockey games, and I also managed two goals out of five in the interactive shoot out, beating the young punks who cut in line ahead of us with a score of nil each who then complained about the "accuracy" of the game.

Did you know the CN tower gets struck by lightening an average of 75 times a year?

There were only a few stops we didn't make due to weather conditions and such, but I'm looking forward to covering more of T.O. when we head there for what will be part two of our wedding. :D

Am I a Literary Idiot?

2007-11-23T11:39:00.003-07:00

Perhaps.

It's apparent here and there in my writing class that I'm not on my third year of an English degree. Everyone is always quoting authors and the odd literary term I've never heard in my life.

It was never more evident than during my presentation last week when I asked the class if they thought a particular section of the reading was an example of "stream of consciousness". The teacher called me out on it, saying "You just need to read more." At which point a few people in the class snickered. I thought it was a legitimate question. Why not explore if a passage is or isn't stream of consiousness--unless it is oh so blatantly obvious to everyone else (and I don't think it was). I thought that's what education was for.

My only consolation is for what I lack in literary knowledge, I make up for in life experience. One of the students in the class had to look up the ten most popular drinks on Wikipedia just so he could reference people drinking in a bar "properly". Add to that, his character is a taxi-driver, but the student has never ridden in a taxi--he had to ask us what it was like to ride in a cab so he could capture it "accurately". But I'm the ignorant one.

Another student made a reference to a character smoking "the green". At the end of the discussion, someone asked, "What's 'smoking the green'?" Seriously.

Unless all that really means is I've smoked pot and gotten drunk regularly enough to write about it "accurately".

Which still makes me a literary idiot.

: (

Get Over It

2007-11-18T23:09:00.001-07:00

Being sexually abused as a child by two different people in my family has created a button of rage within me that is always half pushed. The button represents being a victim. The second I feel attacked and powerless to retaliate or defend myself, I react unpredictably and sometimes alarmingly. It's not a conscious train of thought that leads to the button being fully pushed, either, it's an emotional overreaction which stems from an instant sense of victimization.

A woman once deliberately splashed water in my face at a public pool. She was upset I didn't know how to swim "properly" in the lane with her. It didn't matter to her she came into my lane to do her laps, even though there were other completely empty lanes she could have swam in-- she maintained "we should all know how to swim together properly." The lifeguard who witnessed this altercation excused the woman's behavior saying the woman was "schizophrenic". The lifeguard further qualified this with, "She told me she was sorry."

My reaction was to go home in a rage (across the street), grab a hammer (just in case), and head back to the pool to wait for this woman to leave. People can do whatever they want to me without repercussion?! If I were schizophrenic, could I get away with whatever I wanted?! Would I then be able to treat people in any manner on impulse?! When she finally came out of the main doors, I said to her, "You never said sorry to me." After which I slowly, and anticlimactically, followed her home (it turned out she lived across the street in the same apartment building, making it a short walk).

While driving home the summer before last, I had the car window down to enjoy a warm breeze. It was a beautiful day, music was playing from a local radio station, when I felt something hit me in the side of the face startling me into swerving my car. Someone from a group of kids passing me in an SUV had thrown a bag of candy at me through my open window.

This could have caused an accident! How dare someone do this to me! This is unacceptable! Could I get out of my car at the next stop light and open their door for a confrontation?! Could I get out at the next stop light and hit their car with my softball bat?! Am I just supposed to sit here and take whatever someone throws at me?! (In this case, a bag of fuzzy peach candy--I hate peaches!)

I looked around my car, desperate for anything to throw that might cause damage to their vehicle, and I spotted a green votive candle. The candle from my friend's bridal shower which used to have nice little ribbons tied around it attaching a silver colored heart inscribed with "love". Without hesitation I scraped off the ribbons and sped up to the vehicle while I leaned my left arm out and threw the candle with all my might. It bounced along the road uselessly and my teeth clenched in response, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

My foot pressed down on the gas peddle and when I finally came up beside them, I veered my car close into theirs, twice, before punching the gas peddle and speeding away.

After many such scenarios, I've come to the conclusion the feelings caused by life or people acting upon me freely while leaving me powerless will always be the most challenging for me to over come. But over come them I must, because things will always happen which

I

can

not

stop.

No one ever said life was supposed to be fair. And there is no such thing as "should".

The reality is, while I can not control anything that happens to me, I can control my response to it. I just haven't quite mastered the space between action and reaction, and at times haven't even recognized such a space exists.

But knowing all of that and understanding all of that has not eliminated my button or caused it to be any less pushed.

That is my reality.
Does anyone ever really get over anything?

An apple a Day

2007-11-14T14:16:00.001-07:00

Oh, that's to keep the doctor away. What do you eat a day to keep the dentist away? No, don't tell me to brush and floss everyday, because I already do that.

I was going to write, "I don't know what it is about going to the dentist that makes me miserable," but I know exactly why I feel miserable after going to the dentist. Usually I'm told I need extensive work which insurance is not going to cover (like the time I was told I needed something like 3 crowns, which insurance doesn't fully pay for and runs around $800 a pop). Or maybe it's the times I've gone in for emergency appointments to get teeth pulled, or root canaled, only to discover the dentist did the wrong tooth. Or maybe it was when I burst into tears after hearing how much work needed to be done and the dentist suggested I see a therapist. It could even be the time my Mom didn't realize the extent of our dental coverage and instead paid out of pocket for me to have a tooth pulled (which dentists loathe to do).

Mmmm...

Granted, times have changed for the better since then. Today's appointment revealed no cavities and elicited the comment, "Your bottom teeth are absolutely excellent." I need four old fillings replaced, however, but after that I should be good to go for years to come. I had most of the work done over the last two years (yes, all the root canals and crowns which were deemed warranted, as my dual coverage then was so fantastic, I had to take advantage of it before it ended). And my current insurance will cover everything needed this time around (which I can hardly believe).

Then why do I feel so moody?

It could be simply sitting in the dentist's chair makes me feel like an out of control child who has shitty teeth all over again. Or it could be the dental hygienist asking me today if I'd gotten married because of me changing my name on file (for what should be the very last time). Seriously, if one in two marriages end in divorce, should you not be careful about assuming there's been a happy communion which has resulted in the name change?

Mah. My head, jaw and shoulders ache, and my teeth hurt from the cleaning. Plus, I just realized I don't get paid until tomorrow.

Poor, poor Tiffy. : ) Why is it no one ever feels as sorry for me as I do?

Meeting the Parents

2007-10-09T12:00:00.003-06:00

It's Thanksgiving weekend and Rob's parents are in town. They are considering moving to Kelowna and decided to come check it out, along with visit us. Like any future daughter-in-law, I've been anxious about the impending visit. In reality, it's been rather pleasant. Now that I'm here to stay, there is a certain freedom in knowing I can just be myself; Rob has already chosen me--and no one else gets to weigh-in on that decision.

Is that an odd way to think about it?

I've been analyzing why I feel so relaxed, because the only thing stressing me out is watching Rob interact with his parents. What is great is I'm not yet part of the dynamic, so I get to stand outside their relationships and observe how they function. Which is fascinating.

Of course, what child doesn't at some time feel stressed out being around their parents? The parent/child dynamic at one point always regresses back to the initial relationship of parent teaching child, which usually includes what the parent perceives as the "right or wrong" way of doing something.

What some parents don't always understand is there are many "right" ways to accomplish things. I'm sure every child has a memory of an experience where they were doing something in front of their parents, trying to show them we knew what we were doing--which is what all children at one time or another strive to do--and the parent is instead trying to teach us the "correct" way. And what child doesn't want to feel proud they have met their parent's expectations? So, when the parent is not recognizing we learned what we were taught, how does that make us feel?

Having said all that, I realize I love my parents now more than ever. I finally understand they did the best they knew when they raised me. And I can clearly see how much Rob's parents love him. It's very obvious to me, but I recognize it being expressed in different ways. Which reminds me of how every child starts off the same way with every parent.

Typically there is joy when a baby is born, and the new family member is celebrated in many ways. Think of all the love you typically see new mothers showering upon their new babies.

At one point Rob's parents were that way with him, and at one point my parents were that way with me. What parent hasn't looked for every smile, until smiling became second nature (which some argue never happened for me), wished the baby laughed spontaneously, watched for first steps, listened for all the first words, and at some point didn't ooh and ahh over our cuteness? Seriously.

So, keeping that in mind, it's not as though parents ever fall out of love with their children. That's not how it works. And if you think of that when you're interacting with your parents, it reduces frustration. Now I understand this basic dynamic between my parents and I, and I don't take everything personally. My Dad instructs me how to do something "better", and it isn't about me doing it worse. After all, I'm the one who decides if it truly is "better" (and that's what being an adult is all about).

Even if I do it my Dad's way in front of him, I am still going to do it my way later. And my way may actually be better, because I learned how to make things better from my parents. Which is exactly what I'm going to teach my child.

: )

In that case...

2007-09-21T12:09:00.002-06:00

Assorted students and parents litter the Registrar's office foyer. Clusters are in line to take a ticket, others are clamoring to ask staff if they really need to take a ticket, and most are sitting waiting for their ticket to be called. So far the wait is upwards of an hour and a half. Today is the last day for students to add or drop courses and pay their fees for the Fall semester.

Current excuses for not taking responsibility include: "Can I get my fees deferred because it's the University's fault I grabbed the wrong loan application?" Right after telling me she knew it was last year's application but figured that would be alright because it's the "same information" (which it isn't). Clearly it's our responsibility to try and stop every student we might see with a loan application and verify if they are indeed applying for Spring/Summer loans (the reason the old applications would still be out on display), and inform them the new application isn't available yet (or it would be out). We must assume the student is a vegetable and therefore can not call the government to double check, nor simply verify the info on their website, and the least of all, not simply ask a staff member. Well, in that case...

"I don't have time to go get sixth course approval. No one told me I needed it." Oh, I didn't realize every staff member who was in contact with a student (instructors included) should be going over every single possible scenario and every policy as it might possibly affect the student at any given time with whatever it is they are trying to accomplish. I didn't realize the student had absolutely no responsibility or accountability as it related to their own registration and education. Well, in that case...

You've got to be kidding me. I recall getting two parking tickets in one day at Red Deer College. It was during the summer and I parked at a meter for the day (which is typically not permitted beyond a few hours during the regular school year). Earlier in the week I was plugging the meter for a quick stop in at the library after work and a commissionaire waived me off indicating I should not continue feeding the meter. Great, I thought, so, the meter policies are relaxed during the summer, excellent!

Two parking tickets in one day later, clearly this was not the case. The next day I approached the commissionaire who issued the tickets, politely introduced myself and asked him if I could possibly have one of the tickets revoked (because of the above experience). I said I now understood what I perceived was not accurate, and I was willing to pay the ticket, but was there any way to get the other one revoked? No demanding, no blaming, no avoiding responsibility--just, could you please consider my scenario? I was also prepared for rejection.

I'm sure it was due to my manner, but the commissionaire revoked both tickets and I never made that mistake again.

As for the students...we even have a paragraph in the academic calendar and the registration guide stating:

"As a student you are responsible for the accuracy and completeness of your own registration, and for fulfilling the requirements of your degree program. Therefore, it is essential you play an active role in obtaining the information you need to understand your requirements and to keep that understanding up to date. Specifically, you share the following core responsibilities with the university advising team:

- Take responsibility for your own development and decisions. Advisors are one of the many resources available to you, but the decisions and achievement are all yours.
-Consult an advisor regularly and play an active role in the advising process. Listen carefully, ask questions, and ensure a clear understanding of the information provided while communicating any unique interests or circumstances.
-Use a variety of tools (unviversity calendar, degree navigator, website, advisors, etc) to obtain and verify information, rather than relying exclusively on one source. Knowledge is power.
-Know what can realistically be expected from various kinds of advisors and advising in general. Getting the best advice possible means going to more than one source to take advantage of any unique expertise."

Accountability is truly a misapplied concept.

At Wits End

2007-09-20T12:29:00.003-06:00

Seriously. When I came home from my second class in Fiction Writing 1 last night, I really didn't know what to say to Rob. I was basically listless.

For three hours we presented our character outlines to the rest of the class. So far there is a former millionaire homeless man who lost his money to gambling (when his wife left him), and now every penny he makes (when he "stoops to begging") he donates (except when he buys deodorant). And he has dementia which he sometimes "sleeps off". Okaay...

Then there is the "hot" native drop out teenage street kid who left her perfectly fine foster parents to go in search of her drug addicted homeless mother, Nadia. Alright... Add to that another character who has "bi-polar psychosis 1", takes anti-psychotic drugs (or is that another character?), but has remarkably never lost a job due to this mental illness as her employers have always been "understanding". She also currently attends a university which she sometimes has to leave for months at a time because of these "episodes". MmmHmm.

Many of the characters parents were killed in car crashes (including mine), and none of them are married, but many are "amicably" divorced. Much of the incidental details were created on the fly by the writer(during a question and answer period), and I can't wait to see how many discrepancies arise as a result of one of us pointing out an inconsistency from when we were first introduced to said character. Currently there is only one character I would consider writing about because she's almost a dead ringer for what I was like as a teenager (no I'm not going to expound on that).

Over all, I'm not sure I would have signed up for this had I known what to expect. And once again, my expectations are getting me down. This is a senior, University level writing class--I expected the level of talent to match accordingly. Yet, I feel as though I'm faced with the same people who I took a writing class with at Red Deer College a few years ago (which required no portfolio or pre-requisites, and for goodness sake that was in College). : )

Sigh.

So, if this bunch is the cream of the crop out of 40 portfolios, what the hell were the other portfolios like? I'm not saying I'm a superstar, stellar writer by any means. Some of my character's flaws were obvious last night, and I'll endeavor to eliminate some of the cliches I perpetrated, but still.

Today I looked around at other classes online, but none really can compare to spending your time writing about imaginary people and events (with no final exam), not to mention no studying.

Fine, fiction writing it is.

School's in

2007-09-13T12:57:00.001-06:00

My first lecture in Fiction Writing 1 was last night. Unlike the first day of past writing courses I've taken, I didn't feel enthusiastic or excited after it ended. Of course it's hard to say if I'm just exhausted from work right now, as we're working scheduled over time every day until the end of September. Not to mention how trying it is dealing with some of these students (and their parents). Sigh.

A 25-30 page portfolio was required to get admitted into the course, and out of 40 possible students only twelve of us were selected. Although I truly expected to be chosen, I now feel a little unsure about what I've gotten myself into. The evening was mainly spent going over admin type information like expectations and assignments, etc. This is a full year course and the first half will be taught by one professor, while the second half will be taught by another (which is not typical). Each professor also has different expectations, so in the end we'll be receiving a combined grade from both (also unusual).

After the admin stuff it was our task to come up with a town, city or society which all the semester's short stories will be based on. I suggested a travelling carnival troupe called "ok carnival", and despite vocalized interest from a few classmates, we voted for a neighborhood called Greystone Heights in a fictional place called Loxley, Saskatchewan (patterned after Saskatoon, but the class didn't want to be hampered by the reality of Saskatoon--why, I don't know). Our neighborhood is comprised of a mixed class, mixed race group of people.

From there writers will each create a character and for the rest of the term we will write about any of these characters only in this neighborhood. I'm not sure if all the students realized how limited we would be in having only a neighborhood to write about (as opposed to a city, which was where my vote went), but we'll have the option of at least choosing from any of each others characters (as long as we don't stray from the character type established).

Our other rules include no violent criminal acts, a character can not be killed off, we can not magically alter time, and there are no fairies, elves or fantastical creatures allowed (unless we are writing "magical realism"--which the professor explained, but has such specific parameters I'm sure will prevent me from attempting the style). So far, only one student seems crushed about the forced non-inclusion of fantasy, but the teacher reassured him our characters could be delusional or insane, so there are ways around it.

I'm torn as to whether I should create an entirely fictional character, or one based on a real person. I've read that good fiction writing is based on either real people situated in fictional events, or fictional characters based in real life. Hard to say, but the woman I have in mind used to buy a stack of harlequin romance novels from me every couple of weeks, then sit outside the bookstore reading them while eating potato chips and drinking chocolate milk every lunch hour. I used to wonder what she would sound like if she spoke. Would she come across as dull and simple as she appeared? I think one time she even grunted during one of our transactions.

To use this person as a character model might be quite intriguing and challenging. What motivates a person to live in such a manner? What indeed.

Either way it's going to be an interesting and intense year of writing. : )

Wedding steps

2007-08-28T08:18:00.002-06:00

I have one thing checked off my wedding "to do" list--I bought a dress! Well, my mom dragged me out dress shopping, and it was surprisingly successful, so she actually bought it. : ) I say "surprisingly" successful because I already had a dress (which she was apparently horrified I was considering wearing).

My original dress is a "clean" version of the corpse bride dress I wore for Halloween a few years back. I picked up two identical dresses on sale because they were so pretty. I had no intention of buying a wedding dress that day, but when I tried it on, it looked so nice I figured I didn't have anything to lose (except $20). The comment I got most as the corpse bride was, "That's really a pretty dress." And that was ripped, torn, and covered in oil and mud! Two years later, I tried it on again and still thought it was just as lovely (yes, I realize you can't really see the dress in this photo). : )

But of course I found something even more lovely. I didn't go to wedding dress stores the first time around, (I bought some kind of cream colored dress from a random store) so I was quite nervous. I even made sure to dress up a bit, lest I be treated as though I "didn't belong" in any of the dress shops (I have hang ups about growing up in a lower economic area of the city, and have always felt as though I was uneducated and uncouth). Add to that I've never had any exposure to wedding planning, and always thought actual wedding stores would be intimidating and out of my price range (I didn't realize there were all kinds of shops with all kinds of ranges). Considering my mom thought Rob's parents would see my original dress as a "bargain shop" dress, I come across some of my hang ups naturally!

Anyway, my mom was clearly in her glory pulling out dress after dress for me to try on, and we came across a hit pretty early in. It's a rather romantic dress, which is quite flattering (obviously), and is just generally charming. My mom made the comment I must like it the most as I had it on "longer than all the others", which I didn't realize. But not wanting to spend money I didn't have to, I wanted to bring out a few other people for a final decision.

The next day I took my original dress over to Suzy's, (one of my brides maids who has no socio-economic hang ups, is quite level headed and proudly bought her wedding dress for a mere $12) so she could have a frame of reference for when she saw me in the second dress. Suzy agreed with me about the first dress being quite pretty, but after seeing me in the second one, she hated to admit it, said it went against all her principles, but she thought I should buy it. So, decision made, we wrapped it up and took it home. I ended up trying it on again back at her place for my other brides maid, Amanda, and I think she even got a bit of a tear in her eye!

Of course, I couldn't escape wedding dress shopping without at least one classic mother comment, which I understand for the most part is rather common. Amanda's came in response to her questioning her mom about why she wasn't tearing up at seeing Amanda try on wedding dresses, to which she got, "Well, 1 in 2 marriages end in divorce, you know."

Mine came while I was wearing the dress in question (which has a small champagne colored band across the top). My mom was asking the shop attendant what she thought about the dress, as compared to another, and said, "You see, this is her second wedding. So, don't you think this would be more appropriate?" Gasp! I said, "Well, maybe I should just get a scarlet letter emblazoned on the back. That ought to make it obvious."

I suppose wedding planning would not be complete without at least a little drama.

Rob suggested I wear the other wedding dress out during my bachelorette party, which I didn't plan on having, but that's such a fun idea, now I must! : D

Let the games begin

2007-08-21T12:53:00.002-06:00

Rob was surprised I could still be admiring my ring after this length of time (this length of time being just over a month since the proposal). "Are you kidding?" I said. "This will carry a glow for me for quite some time."

Is this unusual? I go through different stages where I'm admiring the ring more or less depending on my mood and the day. Today I've been looking down a fair bit at my sparkling jewel. Is it because it's symbolic, or simply the fascination new jewelery generally brings? Or worse, am I just materialistic? Mmmmm... I've actually thought about this.

The engagement occurred quickly within the early stages of us living together; I thought Rob wouldn't get around to it until later in the year, especially with his new job (I thought he would be otherwise preoccupied with getting used to my crap laying everywhere around the house, and managing the stress a new job brings). When he proposed, I was a little surprised he didn't need more time to decide to spend the rest of his life with me. : )

When I look down at my ring, I'm reassured he's committed. I know there are never any guarantees, but I take the symbol of the ring seriously and I'm happy knowing he's in it for the long haul. I'm especially happy I don't have to worry about whether or not he's in it for the long haul.

Now we just have to plan the bloody wedding. Sigh. I'm not the kind of woman who's always dreamt of the "special day". It causes me a fair bit of stress and anxiety imagining everything that needs doing. But, I'd like a lovely day to remember (especially after all the regrets I felt after the first one), so I've decided I need to get the hell over it and get the hell on it.

: )

Times they are a changin

2007-08-08T12:24:00.002-06:00

I'm really not a fan of change. I think some people truly embrace it, but I'm not one of them. Even the slightest of changes can cause anxiety to build in my stomach. When I was younger, I remember getting stressed out when my boyfriend wanted to sell his car. But let's be honest, there isn't much that doesn't provoke at least some level of anxiety in me.

This morning one of my co-workers announced she was being seconded (another dept takes the employee for a set period of time, with their original position being retained until the secondment is over--usually for some kind of project). Typically a secondment is temporary, but I have yet to see any of the Universitie's seconded employees return to their original positions, as invariably a new position gets created out of the secondment.

So, in the middle of the morning meeting-- I don't want to say I burst into tears, but the tears started and I was having a hard time getting my emotions under control. I was praying the meeting would end quickly and wondering what the hell I could think of to try and stem my feelings. For the rest of the day people asked me if I was alright (a few even hugged me), and the co-worker in question was a little awkward with me (not so hard to understand). Sigh. I'd rather it wasn't obvious I like some people much more than they might like me.

It's times like these when I wish I were a man. Could you imagine a guy bursting into tears when a co-worker announces their departure? I think I would start laughing out loud, it would be so ridiculous. This simply would never happen, not even with a gay guy.

And I can't tell if I'm just emotional, or really bad at goodbyes. I remember crying at the goodbye party for one of our managers leaving A.M.A, and I'd hardly been there a year and barely knew him. I also avoided going to my own farewell party at A-Channel, though I'm still not entirely convinced one actually occurred. Mmmm... I really didn't think I was such an emotional person (though when I said this to a friend she just kind of raised her eyebrows).

Rob was also having a hard time understanding how this co-worker's secondment affected me, but it's as simple as she is an excellent colleague and our department is rather unstable, so we need every anchor we can get. Never mind the other support she provides (that thought alone is enough to get my eyes welling again). She also started at the University not long after me, so I've been working with her almost my entire time here, which will be two years in ten days.

Of course it's a good opportunity for her, and very few people will remain in my department over time, but I feel quite affected none the less. With planning a wedding during the next year (possibly followed by a family), I'm not really on some big crazy career train. Inevitably I'm going to see many people come and go. And I'm clearly not ready for anyone to go (never mind her). : (

I could be hormonal, or even a bit tired, as I thought a burglar was trying to break in around 1am last night and had a hard time settling down after waking Rob up for us to search the whole house (we did not find anyone, but I think someone took their trash out and the garbage bin gates are jarringly loud).

Mah.

When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door we do not see the one which has been opened before us. ~ Helen Keller

Whew

2007-07-30T12:19:00.003-06:00

I am finally emerging from under my summer cold spell. This morning was the first day in weeks where I haven't awoken in a drug induced fog, rushed to get ready by skipping eyeshadow and selected the easiest clothes to find and put on, then raced to work only to pay to park.

This morning I was up early, downloaded a few iTunes, ate breakfast with my sweet man, and got to work with plenty of time to walk in and even check email. I feel pretty damn good!

And I'm engaged! What fun is that? The proposal itself was perfect. My Robert was on bended knee on the dance floor of a Doc Walker concert during the Stampede. A D.W. concert was the site of our first date, and during one of the first two slow songs we ever danced to is when Rob said he hoped it would last forever. Then he told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and suddenly he had his cowboy hat off, was down on one knee, and the ring was sparkling in the light upturned to me. The women around us had parted in a small circle and were screaming and congratulating us. Afterwards the guys from the band came out for autographs and we had our picture taken with them. What a wonderful, memorable night!

Now I don't have to worry about skating around all the taboo dating topcis, like kids. It's nice to be able to openly discuss our future together and everything that entails. It's also nice to simply know I get to "keep" my Robert, as I like to put it. : ) For as long as the fates will allow, anyway.

You'd think I'd be leery about going around this block again, but this time I'm going to do it right. I have more to offer as a partner, and I'm careful to absorb and appreciate as many happy moments as possible. There are many times when I bask in a shared moment with Rob and I'm thanking God all the while. And all the love and fun we have together will continue, that's the best part. This is what it's supposed to be like. Finally.

This is truly worth all the hell I've been through. I'm blessed and feel incredibly lucky.

Radio Silence

2007-06-03T18:57:00.002-06:00

I really enjoy the image this term invokes. I have nowhere to be, no deadlines--no reason to talk to anyone. It's as though for a moment, I'm hidden and no one can find me. : )

I can't get Big Girls Don't Cry out of my head. I couldn't help singing along as it played through the radio while I reapplied +45 sunscreen to Autumn and Emma's already crimson shoulders. I applied it no less than four times myself, and still I burnt my knees. Of course I didn't bother using sunscreen on my legs, as they take forever to get any any color, and I figured if I burned it would be even. Not so. Now my knees hurt. I've already applied aloe but it isn't helping, and now I want to take a bath.

I'm feeling childlike from spending the weekend with my nieces.

We had a pool party both Saturday and Sunday afternoon. My brother Kyle bought a 12' by 30" pool for Emma this year. It's large enough to fit two blow up floating beds (or surfboards, as Autumn calls them), two big blow up donuts, and people. One donut was pink, the other lime green. The bottom half of each plastic tube was a solid color and each top was clear with colored circles. They were even fun looking.

Kyle figured the beds would be for us, the donuts for the girls, but they snatched up those beds the moment they hit the water. I preferred the donuts right away, and was disappointed when I thought I wouldn't get one. I could float in them. Which is how I burnt my knees (with help from the +25 temperature).

That's my favorite part--floating. It's the same when I'm in any water, I love to float. A while back I posted a picture of me floating in our hotel pool in Cabo San Lucas. That was peace--feeling weightless and being totally relaxed, trusting the water would carry me if I simply laid back. Pure surrender. Then I typically think of God. : )

Rob is away. He took the red eye to Toronto last night. This is the first time I'll be alone in the house and it feels a little strange, like I'm not quite sure what I should do with myself. So here I blog. Along with my warm knees, I hurt most everywhere else. I went to the batting cage after the last pool party (I'm trying to go once a week). I managed to crank out a few and make solid contact with the rest. I felt solid bursts of aggression as I hit each of the first ten of twenty balls before I got tired. Clearly I need to get back to the gym. I've been slacking since our trip to California (my feet are still killing me from all the shopping, walking and site seeing we did).

The first thing I did when I got home from the cages is dump all my stuff near the kitchen on the floor, open some windows, turn on a bunch of lights and get a bowl for my cereal. I decided to have Honeycombs for dinner. : ) I've left a bit of a mess in each of the rooms I've been in, and later I'm looking forward to sleeping in the middle of our queen bed. I made sure to keep one of Rob's shirts to sleep in, though. I tried thinking of when I'd miss him the most, but because I'm still in the fuzzy love phase I can't narrow it down to missing him for just one moment.

I enjoy thinking of Rob when Fergie sings this part of the song:

"Like a little school mate in the school yard
We'll play jacks and UNO cards
I'll be your best friend
And you'll be mine, valentine
Yes you can hold my hand if you want to
'cause I wanna hold yours too
We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds

But it's time for me to go home
It's getting late, dark outside
I need to be with myself in center, clarity, peace, serenity yeah..."

Rob, on the other hand, thinks this song is "awful" and unchecked it immediately from his ipod after I purchased it from iTunes. : )

Go figure.

It's time

2007-05-30T23:35:00.002-06:00

for some good news...

I was accepted into the U of C! This Fall I'll be registered as a student in the faculty of Humanities working towards completing my English degree. : D

Now, part of me wasn't even fazed I was accepted (I truly would have been shocked not to have been), and part of me feels embarrassed I don't already have a degree (to which I justify with, "Um, I spent 9 years in the media--education included, so it's not like I wasted my 20's"). Sure, I made a life altering detour by marrying a jackass and moving to Mexico, but considering Rob moved here the same year my marriage fell apart, I was obviously destined for sunnier skies.

What will I do with an English degree? What the hell does anybody else do with an English degree? Own a used bookshop? Send stuff to Reader's Digest? I don't know. I've always had a passion for writing, but have no idea how to channel that and currently lack the discipline for writing fiction.

If I do ever get off my duff and carry on with my novel, I'm convinced it'd be a hell of a story (or so I've been encouraged by a few of my English teachers, anyway). Plus, I just spell checked this document and there were no errors! (and then it occurred to me a new feature of blogger includes automatic spell checking) Sigh. I recall a quote from a Matt Groening cartoon about the writer's neuroses, "Am I just a hack?!"

Anyway, I was accepted into year 3, which I understand is quite good. Basically I had a fair bit of credit transfer from my Broadcasting diploma, which is great considering it was completed over ten years ago. That means I could have my degree done in less than two years. In reality though, I get four free classes a year from working at the University and will probably only do that much, so it'll take considerably more time.

Isn't this where I insert the "it's about the journey" cliche?

I'm really going to have to do away with the cliches--if I want to maintain my straight A average which began with my English courses in Red Deer, that is. : D

At least I've already blogged more this year than all of last year. Although, I think there's a direct correlation between that and the notion I might have at least one reader. So, who am I writing for, really?

Who indeed.

Jonathan

2007-05-27T10:26:00.005-06:00

It was brutal watching my oldest brother Darrin walk down that aisle Saturday morning. He looked the oldest I've ever seen him. Emotional lines cut deeply into his face--I know where that bit of writing comes from now. It was overwhelmingly sad. I didn't anticipate how much this would affect me-- I haven't had time. I was on holidays in California up until Wednesday last week.
I had just finished buying Darrin a birthday present at a music store in Westfield Horton Plaza, an outdoor mall in San Diego. I was amused because his birthday isn't until the middle of December, but I came across the perfect gift for him, at a good price, exchange included. I turned my phone on to text that to him (I keep it off because a phone rep once told me you can incur fees just from the phone being on roam). After it lit up, the dramatic chime played and I heard the sound I get whenever there is a message waiting. I'm always excited to get a text, but this time I was shocked when I read the message. "Oh my gosh," I said in one long exhale. No words would come to me and I could only turn the phone for Rob to read and comprehend my reaction.

Text letters on a green background, "Jonathan took his life last night and was pronounced dead at 10:45." I don't remember the actual time because I deleted the text message as soon as it occurred to me. I didn't want to keep re-reading it, wanting it to somehow explain why Jonathan hung himself, Darrin's step-son, Debbie's son. He was only 21.

Jonathan came from a blended family of four. Two younger brothers and one baby sister, Autumn, Darrin and Debbie's only biological child together. Jon's other step-father, Paul, immediately drove down from Edmonton after he found out, and was at the funeral along with much of his family. I only met Jon a handful of times.

The most significant thing he ever said to me was, "You must be Vicki's friend." He and I were randomly visiting my brother Kyle and his wife Vicki at the same time. The way Jon said it, all smooth, was clear he was trying to be charming. He was startled when I reminded him I was his Aunt, Darrin's baby sister. Vicki and I still joke about it. Jon seemed naive, and I always worried what he would make of himself, as he was mixed up inside and went down the wrong road often.

The ceremony was nice. There were quite a few people and lots of family I've never met. Littering the pews were a reasonable number of Jon's friends. My Mom bought one of the flower arrangements which sat on the pillar to the right of Jon's casket. There were several deep blue roses in amongst some white flowers I don't know the names of. The sounds of crying were all around; a girl behind me sang along to the odd sad song playing over us.

All good things come to an end, by Nelly Furtado, opened up the funeral. It was current and catchy. I think the lyrics explain everything. Jon sang it to Vicki weeks earlier, on several occasions. A certain catalyst of Jon taking his life was a batch of text messages sent back and forth between him and his ex-girlfriend, which lead up to him doing it. The only person Jon gave the opportunity to stop him was his brother's girlfriend, Rhianne. She didn't make it there in time. I think if Jon wanted to be stopped, he would have waited.

The pastor was very good. Of course he spoke about the standard Jesus stuff, how He died so we could live. How God sacrificed his only son so we'd be given God's grace forever. Then the pastor spoke of how one of his daughters was graduating that afternoon; he was full of happiness for her because her life held such promise. He asked all the young people to stand and then spoke of suicide. He pointed out how valuable they all were, and how they all had many possibilities to live for. It wasn't obvious to me if his words were effective. I worry anyone who knew Jon will use this as a springboard for doing something as devastating as what Jon has done.

The hardest thing for me is seeing the effect this is having on Darrin and his family, naturally. Even Rob cried when Debbie and Autumn were up at the funeral podium. It was heart wrenching. During the family viewing Friday night, Autumn said, "I don't think Jon would have done this if he would have realized the pain he would cause." She's eight years old. Still, we're told the hardest part is over.

I'm filled with sorrow when I think about how the rest of us will come back to our homes, experience grief, and return to a typical Monday. And because I feel so affected, I'm sad imagining how it's going to take everyone else a fair bit of time to process and accept this.

And of course I'm sad because there really is nothing I can do to make this better for any of them. I know everyone says you can "be there" for someone, but it feels like a small thing compared to the enormity of accepting the loss of your son.

Like everyone, I wish I could understand what really happened and why Jon did it. Especially when I'm sitting in a room full of weeping people, people who obviously loved Jon. It's an unfair reminder how some people can't see what's around them. A person is in a dark place when they can't see how they are loved.

It's hard not to expect an answer when I ask God, "Why?" I always thought that was a cliche, and now it's happening to us. Another cliche.

Kyle said on Friday, "When did life stop being so carefree and start being so serious?"

I've read the response, "Who said life was going to be fair?" Where did we get the expectation life was going to be fair?

I hope long after this weekend is over, they are all able to get the support they need, for as long as they need.

I pray whenever I think about them, which is often.

Jonathan Roman Joseph Bazinet, October 22, 1985 - May 19, 2007

The telescopic tunnel that is the US

2007-05-08T02:33:00.001-06:00

I had the pleasure of catching a bio on Gary Player, "Good Guys Wear Black", on CBS this past Sunday. You may or may not have heard of him, but according to Wikipedia, Player is "one of the most successful golfers in the history of the sport, ranking first in total professional wins, with at least 166, and tied fourth in major championship victories with nine. Along with Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus he is sometimes referred to as one of 'The Big Three' golfers of his era."

Here's where I take issue: "he is sometimes referred to as one of "the big three". Gary Player is not "sometimes referred" to as one of the big three, he IS one of the big three of golf. If you put "big three golf" in the Google search engine, the first two references are of the Big Three as being Gary Player, Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus--it is not a perception issue. All three athletes were signed by pioneer sports agent, Mark McCormack, who promoted them by creating a made for tv event, "Big Three Golf" which launched the promotion of the sport and its players as a profitable marketing tool.

As a non-golfer, I have only been aware of Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer as being two of the great golfers of all time (aside from Tiger Woods, of course). I am extremely curious how I have not previously heard of Gary Player, considering how successful a golfer he was and how compelling his personal story is. Player came from modest beginnings in Johannesburg, South Africa, and rose up through the ranks of golf despite the shadow of apartheid and the resulting scrutiny. As a South African, Player was often criticized and threatened over his country's politics, despite not believing in Apartheid himself. Even with that kind of background, you'd think I would have heard the name Gary Player before.

I believe this is a US influence. It appears Gary Player's success as an athlete is undervalued in favor of recognizing and celebrating the other two US golfers. I would think the average person with as minimal golf exposure as I have would be as familiar with Gary Player's name as I am with the other two. In the television biography itself, some of the golfers couldn't come right out and say Player is one of the greatest golfers of all time, it was always he "might be" one of the greatest. I think there's a difference. And I think Player's record more than reflects his being one of the greatest golfers of all time.

Why does the US have such a hard time celebrating or recognizing anything outside their border? Jebb Fink, a local television personality, comic and former US resident, has joked about how biased the US Olympic coverage is in that as soon as a sport is finished, US media are immediately interviewing their athletes--regardless of how they placed, often in the the middle of the medal ceremony. "What's going on over there?" Jokes Jebb, waving an arm off to the side, "oh, some sort of ceremony, but here's our man Jeff who has just placed 166 in the Bobsled competition..."

The media bubble that is still in existence in the US is something which has bothered me for years. As Canadians we are so heavily influenced by the US, but it isn't reciprocal. I remember the US coverage of the 1995 Quebec referendum--it was marginal. Canada was on the verge of losing a province and I'm sure most US citizens couldn't tell you where Quebec was, let alone understand the effects of a Yes vote for Quebec sovereignty. But when OJ Simpson took off in a white bronco down the freeways of Los Angeles, the subsequent trial coverage was one of the most high publicized crimes in US history. This speaks volumes.

Enough said.

"For all we take in life we must pay." - Gary Player

Wednesday

2007-04-25T07:15:00.002-06:00

I really didn't want to get out of bed this morning... Sigh.

I had my first baseball game of the season last night, which was fabulous. I signed up for a singles group (meaning they put you with a bunch of other individuals who also don't have a team), and the team is great. Unfortunately, they made a tactical error in the bottom of the fifth to let some cute chick with Jackie O sunglasses stay on second after she ran past it and we tagged her as out (which would have been our second out of the inning). "I didn't know that," she pleaded breathlessly--chest heaving, "Can't we just let it slide as I didn't know the rule?" (rolling eyes) If you don't know the bloody rules, don't play the bloody game.

As it was, this ended up being our TSN turning point when they rallied right after and brought in a bunch of runs to tie the game. In our last inning we didn't manage a single run, after a frickin double play when one of our chicks was busy talking to the second baseman and "forgot" to run to third (despite magnificent coaching from the third base coach--me). Seriously. Can these women at least try not to be such a cliche?

My performance was pretty good. I cranked a few foul (which would have been beautiful had they straightened out), brought in a few runs, and made it on base all but once. I did have one error in the field (I play second base), but managed to get a few people out, so that was redeeming.

Overall, I think our team has a lot of potential. Though playing last night makes me want to play more (as it does every year), so I'll have to see what I can do about getting on some other teams. I don't play for the City TV Sunday team anymore, but it's their loss (and it really is. Yahoos). Luckily this is the Spring season only, so for Summer I can sign up for a few more nights. I don't know what it is about Softball for me, but when I'm out there it's so exciting and exhilarating.

I never participated in team sports as a kid, and now as an adult I realize just how much I missed out on. I will definitely be encouraging (forcing) my children into some sort of team sport. The confidence and social skills that result are invaluable.

And now the aches and pains set in. The day after the first game is always a bitch.

2007-04-19T11:56:00.001-06:00

Like many, I am saddened and sickened by the Virginia Tech mass murder. What is more disturbing than the incident itself, is the coverage the murderer is receiving as a result. I'm referring to the latest development, the gunman's manifesto received by NBC which has subsequently aired frequently in many reports.

Do we as viewers, family members or students need to understand in video or photo format just how disturbed this man really was? Don't the callous slayings speak for themselves? Isn't the airing of this footage glorifying the crime this sick person committed? And to a larger degree, does it not give others a fresh idea to add to any of their potential fantasies of acting out in a sadistic rage?

What I would have preferred was the anchor indicating that although NBC received such a package and immediately turned it over to authorities, they carefully considered the value in airing such a manifesto. That top executives at NBC decided not to air the footage or photos so as not to glorify and fulfill the last part of this perverse plan.

Describing this manifesto in words alone would be sufficient to get the point across (the point being how ill this guy really was). I can more than fill in the blanks as to how fucked up he was. To see him in all his glory on tv and hear his incoherent aggression only reminds me how much the media feeds off this sort of thing, and in effect spreads and fans the violence originally created.

Imagine the effect this must have on the victim's friends, family and fellow students. What must it be like for them to see and hear the last words from this disturbed mind? To see and hear a self-righteous "explanation" of the slaughters? In the midst of their grief, seeing and hearing from this sick mind could only add to the horror and trauma already inflicted. Hearing this bastard say, "This could have been avoided," is disgusting to say the least.

The loss of these individuals does not lose significance without video commentary. The effect of this crime is not any less profound without a picture. I imagined the horror well enough when I read how one girl played dead to avoid being shot, how others lay on the ground with their feet blocking a classroom door from the re-entry of the gunman, and still how another student tried to deny what his mind clearly recognized as the sound of gunfire coming from a nearby classroom only to finally realize fellow students were indeed being shot.

After working in the media for seven years, I am reminded again of my decision to leave a toxic industry and the people that continue to infect what we call "news". What will it take for networks and editors to make the right decision instead of a ratings decision?

While generally boycotting the news may make me less informed about current events, it also makes me less jaded and cynical about the world we live in. In the wake of such tragedy, all we can do is cling to the notion that the world and all of our existence is not summed up by one heinous act--even when it feels like it is.

Sing a song

2007-04-17T12:20:00.002-06:00

Rob's birthday week was successfully capped off with an evening of Karaoke Saturday night. There is very little I wouldn't do for this man (other than sing, apparently). : )

He was pretty much the only person who sang from our group, despite the reasonable turnout of birthday revellers. Most of the singers in the bar weren't all that bad, only the odd singer was so atrocious one of our people left with a splitting headache. "Quinn", who seemed to sing non-stop, actually cornered Rob in the bathroom to make small talk and compliment him on his first song choice--You'll never find, by Lou Rawls. Coming from him, it was unfortunately not much of an inspiration. This guy was actually sipping tea for his throat at one point, and was by far the worst in the bar. Even Rob was substantially easier to listen to then Quinn (but I'm a little biased).

A few of my friends noted how unfortunate it is Rob doesn't have more of a natural singing voice considering just how much he loves music (but his passion truly makes up for any lack in vocal ability). ; )

Rob indulged in no less than five karaoke songs over the course of the evening (more than a few in my honor, I might add), and partook in several cheap Long Island iced teas (much to his bodies dismay the next morning--he's not much of a drinker).

He worried whether I had a good time or not, but seeing him so happy really brings me much joy.

Tonight we're off to get a firewire for my video camera so we can upload a few of his performances to UTube (stay tuned for the link).

It was a grand birthday evening, indeed. "The best birthday ever." said an enthusiastic and inebriated Rob.

Complete

2007-04-11T12:41:00.000-06:00

What birthday isn't complete by wearing a moosehat and having staff at a local restaurant clap and sing for you?

Indeed.

To top that off, I ordered a lemon gelato cake for Rob (his favorite). Damn, I'm a good girlfriend.

***

My boss left a Crave cupcake on my desk. As delightful as it was, I now feel extremely full and slightly ill (I'd advise not having a meal along with the cupcake, as I did. Ugh). Still, as a meal itself this might work.

***

Last random thought: the other night when I was setting up "my room", I was listening to my ipod. I was all excited to be listening to some of the tunes I'd downloaded from Rob's new ipod. Imagine my surprise when "one headlight" came on and instead of hearing Jakob Dylan of the Wallflowers, it was Rob (a very drunken Rob, I might add) belting out his passionate version.

I'll do my best to post it, as it's a rare treat indeed.

There's always tomorrow

2007-04-10T12:08:00.002-06:00

And thank God for that!

Today was a much better day than the last. I'm surprised I'm maintaining a good mood considering the weather, but I'll take it.

I think a few things contributed to today being much better than yesterday: I set up "my room" at Rob's place last night (aka the room I get ready in, have my vanity and clothes in, etc). Although Rob has a very large walk in closet, I have not yet had the urge to share it, oddly enough. I'm happy enough having a his and her closet and bathroom, that sort of thing. It's also nice to feel as though I have something I can consider "my space" (though it's really all our space now). And I don't think it hurts leaving some of his spaces unchanged, either. : )

The second thing contributing to my mood today is it's Robert's birthday! While he's not keen on raising a fuss over the day, I can't help celebrating the day he came into the world. My life would be so different without him! : ) Thank God for Robert. He was pretty sweet to me yesterday, as well. I really appreciate how supportive he is.

He considers this his official 36th birthday pic (which I think he took somewhere around 5am this morning while I was asleep). I'm fond of his hat because it features a red "r" on it and was a present from me.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Robert!

Mah

2007-04-09T13:10:00.002-06:00

I said, MAH!

Do you ever feel like your existence is a burden? That's how I feel today.

Inner dialogue: "But feelings are not facts."

True me: "Screw you."

I actually called in sick today and then went in anyway (2 minutes late, mind you, but there none the less). Based on how the day is going, I should have stayed the hell home. My logic in going in anyway was I would feel worse if I stayed home.

Not so.

And every other student I'm dealing with today has a ridiculous request, and I quote, "Can you tell me what the totals will be on my T4A for the 2007 tax year?"

Me: "Screw you." (internally) What I actually did was sigh heavily, put both my hands on the back of my neck in a short impromptu massage, and phone a co-worker for emotional support (no, I'm not joking).

So far I've walked away from my front desk twice to "center myself", as a co-worker put it, and I've already cried twice (no, not openly in front of the student).

Sigh.

I guess I know what I'm doing when I phone in sick. But my boss and I are trying "creative vacationing" to plan for these types of days in advance, so I was hoping the long weekend would have carried me through to a couple of extra days off later in the month.

Alas.

Now that's a good looking couple...

2007-04-04T07:38:00.002-06:00

A year ago today Rob and I met at a Second Cup. He was staring out at the front door waiting for me to arrive and I came out of the bathroom behind him. For whatever (unplanned) reason, I stepped up quietly and softly blew in his ear. I'll never forget the expression on his face when he turned around--it was a mixture of "who exactly is this woman, and why is she blowing in my ear" (it was actually quite similiar to that photo from when we were moving).
: )

We sat nervously across from one another sipping our hot chocolates, and made banal conversation. In the parking lot after we were doing the don't-want-to-say-goodbye-thing-while-freezing-our-asses-off, and I felt a real spark between us. He looked down and away and it hit me very distinctly in that moment. I've mentioned this before but afterwards when I got home, I sat in my car for a bit just listening to music and thinking about the encounter.

Our first date was a few nights later at a Doc Walker concert, and after our first slow dance, it was all over for me. : ) I remember the feel of him pressed up against me, the smell of his shower gel slightly teasing my senses, and the energy between us.

A year later, we consider Doc Walker "our" band, I often sleep in a Doc Walker t-shirt from one of their concerts, and we've just moved in together. We've shared a vacation together, a few anxious moments, and much laughing and love.

I thank God everyday for who Rob is and that I have him in my life. : )

What a wonderful year, indeed.

I like to move it move it

2007-04-02T12:20:00.002-06:00

Actually, after fifteen odd relocations over the course of my adult life, I really dislike moving--I was simply looking for a catchy title. Or I wanted to get this song stuck in your head. : )

Regardless, insert the cliche-- I've pulled the trigger, shacked up, I'm living in sin, people (and I love it).

The day began at at 8am by picking up our truck from Budget (which ended up costing an unGodly amount, much to my dismay, but I was unwilling to give Uhaul more of my business after a particularly bad experience when I moved here and began using their storage facilities in 2005). The weather was overcast and glacial, with a penetrating wind that left me chilled and tired for much of the evening after.

My fabulous friends Jorgie and Mike assisted, along with my sweet brother Kyle--who have all seen and helped move me way too many times over the years. Actually, I think the only reason Michael participated was to make sure I would break a sweat (he maintains I slacked off badly during the last two moves while everyone else did the grunt work. Considering the last time I was hungover from an emotional night of tequila and granola bars, I can't necessarily argue. However, both of my previous relocations happened inside the space of a week from the initial decision to the actual move, so I think I have a defense).

Anyway, if Robert had little reservation prior to the day, he certainly looked stunned and slightly overwhelmed when he saw my storage closet jammed to its maximum capacity. In an effort to get as much in there as possible, it was a creative "tetris puzzle of packing" (to quote him). Even at that, I ended up with 4 or 5 car loads of stuff stored at my parent's over the past two years. As the day wore on we were lucky enough to get rid of a few things, but Rob still threatened to hang out in the back of the moving truck and throw out anything he deemed unnecessary along the trip (which would have been most everything, I'm sure).

What was worse is he had the opportunity to read each box as he moved it and probably wondered why I was saving and packing all that crap to begin with (such as "poker appy units", and "poker dishes and books", to name a few). Never mind that every other box was literally marked as fragile (so many so, I thought the label would start to lose its effect and marked newer boxes as "very fragile"). : )

Before ending up at Rob's place (a spacious townhouse decorated Santa Fe style), we stopped to pick up our new furniture from Bedroom Outfitters (our first purchase together!), which was very exciting for me. I'm also proud to say I did the driving (aside from any tricky maneuvers executed by Kyle), which was oddly empowering. I was a bit charged to be commanding a 16 foot truck down the Deerfoot and propelling my things towards a new beginning.

Our first official night was spent cooking dinner together followed by watching Rocky IV (I am now hooked on the series and disappointed it's coming to an end, believe it or not). Now that I'm here, I'll be spending my time not taking things personally and just recovering from the general stress that such a change brings on (regardless of how positive or thrilling).

But as I mentioned before, if there is anyone worth taking a risk with, it's Rob.

It feels a bit like the last Calvin and Hobbes comic strip:

You give Rocky a bad name

2007-03-23T13:52:00.002-06:00

The other night I happened to catch an episode of Survivor Fiji in which one of the players is referred to as Rocky--I assume because of a slight resemblance to the illustrious Sylvester Stallone character.

Let me assure you, this is where any similarity ends. As the episode unfolded I became increasingly dismayed, which I think would go as far as leaving a bad aftertaste in the mouth of any Rocky fan.

Survivor Fiji "Rocky" pushes around tribe members he considers weaker, is obnoxious, lazy, and makes comments like, "No offense, I love women. But in this type of environment, this type of game, you don't need any stupid girl stories or distractions or anything stupid like that."

Now consider the story behind Rocky. It's really about about two things: love and a metaphor for how many times a person can get knocked down but keep moving forward. In Rocky III, Rocky takes Adrian all over hell with him--he's training in the slums of LA, he's got Adrian at his side; he's having a melt down on the beach, it's his wife who helps him work through it. When Rocky bails out his no-good brother in-law Paulie, who's angry at his lack of success, Rocky takes it in stride and invariably gives him a job. He doesn't try and teach him a lesson by belittling or shaming him.

So for this clown to refer to himself as "Rocky" (self appointed or not) and act like a jackass is quite disrespectful to the character that is Rocky. True Rocky fans enjoy the character and series because of what they represent: a triumph of spirit and will. I wonder if Survivor "Rocky" has ever seen the bloody movies?

I suppose I am to chalk yet another thing up to "missing the point".

By the way, Rocky enthusiasts will be happy to note that although the Rocky figurine may be difficult to find, they can get the meat fairly easily (seriously, you can buy the "meat" figurine from Rocky). It doesn't get better than this, people.

What the hell?!

2007-03-13T13:36:00.001-06:00

Seriously. If Mother Nature were a person, I'd phone her up and ask.

I know it's March, and I know all about the "in like a lamb..." thing, but enough is enough. There was a solid foot of snow on my car this morning! I paid for parking at work because I couldn't be bothered to walk through it...sigh. I'm ready for Spring. Oh, yes, I know it can be beautiful (but c'mon). My appreciation doesn't last beyond looking out the window.

***

Well, I've booked a moving van, people. March 31st I am out of my parent's and into Robert's. : D I'm rather excited! Although I'm often nervous he may have second thoughts, I've determined if he has, he can tell me so I can stop asking.

As a bit of background: the ex backed out of moving back in together three times over the space of two years, making my anxiety understandable and even expected. Yippee. It's become difficult not to expect the bottom to fall out at the last minute, to say the least. It was a June 19 when I got the "I want a divorce" phone call (yes, by phone, even)--11 days before we were to move in for the last time, and a day before we were to go out of town to celebrate our wedding anniversary (the actual day he spent in Vegas at a stag, only to later ditch the wedding reception to go drink with buddies).

Say it with me, "Jackass." No wonder I have issues. I'm surprised I've even entertained dating another man, never mind moving in with one!

What can I say? Rob is worth the risk.

Anxiety

2007-03-12T11:32:00.001-06:00

Defined as: distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune.

It's lame to begin writing with a definition (or rather very cliched). However, I'm dogged by this emotion and I wish people had a better understanding of what anxiety is and how much it can control you.

Scene one: My eyes flicker open. Daylight is streaming happily through my window, but as I take mental note of my various aches and pains, I notice a heaviness has settled in my mind. Frayed images cause an uneasiness I cannot put my finger on. My heart beat accelerates as my mind rushes to and fro in search of the origin of this feeling. I find nothing, but have awakened in a state of anxiety.

Scene two: A familiar thought crosses my mind, "Am I being lied to? Can I trust my perception?" I know now not to ask friends or family to ease my fears, but I don't know what I should be telling myself to ease this panic which has my stomach clenched in unknown anticipation. My breathing is shallow and I struggle to ease the tension now building in my shoulders and neck. My eyes nervously cast about my surroundings, looking for something comforting, familiar, but I find nothing except my anxiety.

I've been told I have a sensitive nervous system. Fantastic. That I should simply go for a ten minute walk when I feel it coming on. Right.

Where I have found some relief is in the form of my latest read, "From panic to power". I highly recommend this to anyone who suffers from even mild anxiety or simply wants to combat the odd anxious thought, which can clearly be avoided.

To say everything begins and ends in the mind sounds trite and oversimplified, but is absolutely true. Any time you find yourself in a bad mood, it's in direct relation to a thought you've had. Any time you feel you're in a state of agitation, if you go back throughout your thoughts, you'll find out what has pushed you there.

The key is in beginning to recognize the toxic thoughts you allow in, and making a conscious effort to not only stop them, but actually talk back to them. Nothing can upset you without your permission.

My biggest breakthrough in tackling my anxiety happened when I shifted from the paradigm of "I feel", to "I think". You cannot control your feelings, but as soon as you control your thoughts, your feelings change.

: )

My happy place

2007-03-06T12:19:00.002-07:00

This is where I need to be.

As opposed to PeopleSoft hell (the software recently installed at work--with minimal training provided, and clearly user tested by a flock of seagulls). Mah! And I quote, "I hate it with the white heat of a thousand suns." This software is the least userfriendly, most non-intuitive shit I've ever used, to put it mildly.

If you put "I hate peoplesoft" into Google, it's interesting what comes up (kind of like smelling crap and looking down to find it on your shoe, interesting). : ) I suppose I should find some comfort in that I'm not the only one who despises peoplesoft, but I don't.

PeopleSoft is seriously compromising my job satisfaction.

Van Morrison says, "there'll be days like this." Sigh.

If it wasn't for concentrated sugar products, chocolate, and Rob--I don't know where I'd be. Okay, that's rather dramatic, I'm also quite blessed with fabulous friends and family (thank God), and they make a world of difference, as well.

Happy place, happy place...

Van the Man comes through!

2007-03-01T10:11:00.004-07:00

For me, anyway.

I have sympathy for the Brown Eyed Girl crowd (who may not be true Van Morrison fans), as the concert certainly wasn't geared towards you. What I mean by this is, I love Van Morrison's voice, not simply the odd hit single. : ) My concern prior to the concert was his voice might have significantly deteriorated with age, or might substantially differ from recorded. My fear was unnecessary; his voice rang true and clear for me. There were moments I closed my eyes and just listened--that's how much I love Van Morrison.
I was thrilled to simply hear the voice I fell in love with.

Some of my friends were quite disappointed with the concert (even angry), and I can't help but wonder how much of a fan they were to begin with (no criticism). What I heard from Van Morrison was exactly what I wanted and expected to hear. I could have cared less if Brown Eyed Girl was played, and yet found myself liking it for probably the first time when it was performed. Going into the concert, I knew Van wouldn't be a showman and there wouldn't be any bells or whistles (or even interaction with the audience, as a previous review indicated), so my expectations were in check.

Van Morrison was wonderful. The band was fantastic, and the only thing I would have done differently would be to hold out for better seats (the show actually would have been much better in a smaller venue as it seemed designed for an intimate setting). As for the cost of the tickets, they were expensive, but I believe Jerry Seinfeld tickets cost me more, and he may have performed for the same amount of time or less. It's all relative. A few years back, I was checking Van Morrison concert prices for New York, and they were over $300 a person, so I wasn't surprised the tickets cost as much as they did here.
My money was certainly well spent, and now I can happily scratch seeing Van off my "To Do Before I Die" list. : )

Another weekend

2007-02-27T11:58:00.001-07:00

I worked Monday, and now I'm on another weekend (I have today and tomorrow off). : )

Plus, Van Morrison is playing the Dome tonight. He'd better be good! I say this because I have a fear he will suck live and then the image of my favorite musician will be ruined for good. Is that irrational? I have not liked all of his discs (and I truly expected to). I thought when you loved someones music, you could buy any disc and love it by association--not so, especially not with Van Morrison. One of my favorite recent albums (by recent, I mean in the last ten years) is Back on Top. From this album came a few of my all-time favorites: New Biography and Reminds Me of You. However, I have not liked any of his music since, yet regrettably bought into the philosophy above and still purchased a few discs.

I read a review by Paul Frieson the other day which indicated Van Morrison is more than a bit moody; he used to leave the stage early if the performance wasn't up to par, and as such has a contractual obligation to now go for at least 90 minutes--which is apparently the most he'll play for. The article also mentioned how Van Morrison often avoids eye contact, preferring to sing with his eyes closed, and seldom says anything.

Sounds like a dream concert to me. Sigh. Not to mention our seats aren't so hot (Section 216), which I purchased in a pre-sale through Keystone Music. I didn't realize you can hold out and luck in to really good seats if you're willing to wait and keep checking. Alas. With the cost of the tickets alone, Van owes me a good show.

In reality, I'll be happy as hell if he plays the song that started it all for me, I'm in heaven when you smile. I heard this song played in 1994 on our College radio station, CMRC, and for weeks afterwards I kept singing bits of it to anyone I thought could tell me the name of the artist. After that song, I was in heaven discovering song after Van Morrison song from Real, Real Gone to Ancient Highway (one of my favorite sad songs).

His voice simply takes me to another place.

Rascal Flatts' Concert

2007-02-23T11:33:00.003-07:00

What a night! What a concert!

I knew from the moment I heard the announcement, I had to see Rascal Flatts live--they did not disappoint! My sweet man came through in ordering the tickets, and we had great seats. Sharing a concert with someone you love is rather special (or maybe it's just because it was with Robert). : )

to the show... it opened with Where you are, and at one point fireworks rained down in front of the band, which was visually stunning. The stage itself was fabulous with a plethora of mini-tv screens adding a spectacular visual element.
Just about all my favorite songs were played; Broken Road was sung to a dome filled with twinkling lights as fans were encouraged to wave anything emitting a glow. Throughout the crowd women wore a range of homemade shirts from, "I humped Gary (the lead singer)", to "I'll be the rascal if you lie flat".

A better time could not have been had.

Babel

2007-02-22T13:23:00.001-07:00

I can't believe I'm about to plug a movie featuring Brad Pitt. Sigh. What has my world come to?

Before the movie started, I was debating if watching it was the equivalent of approving of poor moral behavior (yes, I'm serious). Could I really watch a movie featuring a man who left his wife for the other woman? I'm sure this seems like a ridiculous question to most, but the whole Jennifer/Brad thing took place during the breakdown of my own marriage; my ex also chose the woman everyone accused him of cheating on me to begin with. Since then, I'm quite sensitive to the issue and I've been re-aligning my moral compass by trying to make value based choices and decisions--which doesn't include directly or indirectly supporting anyone with lousy character.

Before I consciously made the decision, however, the movie began and I was quickly swept away. Now I have to say, Babel is fantastically written and shot, and I can't help but appreciate its quality. First of all, I'm a huge Cate Blanchett fan--she's a brilliant, versatile actress and I've enjoyed her in just about every role she's played. As for Brad Pitt, I was reminded he often chooses to play characters which are rarely typical or simply "pretty". In Babel, he plays an ordinary man embarking on a personal journey who gets more than he set out for (to oversimplify). It was refreshing to see him in a role outside of the one he's been assigned by the tabloids.

Babel is told from four viewpoints, which all tie together at various points and come together in the end. Certainly not a new concept, but done remarkably well. So, plug Babel (and Brad Pitt), I must. Although I should warn you, the movie is extremely intense.

My friend says choosing to watch a movie is not the same as endorsing the actor's poor behavior or character, but I disagree. Would I go see a play written or acted by someone who had done harm to my family? Am I going to buy the paintings of a proven pedophile? Of course not, so why would I put my hard earned dollars indirectly into the pocket of a potential womanizer or home wrecker? Yes, I know I don't know the whole story, but do I want to take the chance?

I think too often people are rewarded for having poor morals, or for behaving badly. There is little accountability in the world today, and I'm determined to hold someone accountable for their decisions. My friend is quick to point out people make mistakes when they get married, which makes divorce the only viable option. I suppose, considering my pathetic previous marriage material, but I still think couples have a responsibility, based on the vows they took, to do everything possible to live up to those vows. However, when I think of the wonderful man I'm with now, obviously some things end for the better. : )

None the less, since the Brangelina thing exploded, I've decided to boycott as much related information as possible, as I don't think there are enough repercussions for people with crappy character. You would think I, of all people, would have more understanding of the possible variables involved in the breakdown of a marriage. Right now I'm having a hard time seeing past the people who need to take more responsibility for their poor character. I'm having a hard time letting people continue to get by living their bullshit lies.

Luckily my therapist informs me this is natural (and healthy), at least for the time being.

Free Day

2007-02-21T16:47:00.002-07:00

I found out yesterday I had today off. Nice. Although I'm sure a better day could have been assigned as off (with more notice), I'll take it. After yesterday's cluster using our new software at work, I could use a day off.

Now I feel as though I was given a mental massage (though my blood pressure seemed a bit high when I tested it at the Superstore...). Anyway, I saw my therapist this morning, conveniently enough, and afterwards I felt relaxed and reassured. To think at the beginning of our sessions I wasn't sure about him. Now I know he's the exact objective opinion I crave. I consider our appointments a mental calibration. Sometimes I brace myself to tell him something I consider revealing, but his response always surprises me. I expect an exaggerated gasp, or a horrified look, but he often tells me my behavior is not only normal, but expected. What a relief.

Because if I only had friends and family opinions to rely on, I'd be in trouble. : ) Not to knock my friends or family, but often people want what's best for you as long as it doesn't make them uncomfortable. When you're recovering from past trauma in any capacity, that schedule rarely conforms to what you want, never mind what anyone else might want.

I don't know how everyone isn't in therapy, actually. Is everyone else really so fantastic with their mental and emotional management? Am I the exception to the norm, which seems unlikely?

I don't know, but at least I'm doing fine according to someone, which will have to do for now. : )

"You don't know me, and you don't wear my chains."

"I think I need a sunrise. I'm tired of the sunset."

- Boston, Augustana

Sweet Valentine

2007-02-14T10:17:00.002-07:00

I'm sure there's some kind of etiquette regarding raving about how wonderful your boyfriend is on Valentine's Day, but when you get an email sent early in the morning titled, "Ten things I love about you", and it's not a canned message--clearly the whole world should hear how amazing he really is. I'd like to add, this is a man who does not "believe" in Valentine's Day, but understands "it's not about him". No, you cannot have him.

Anyway, this email was unbelievable. And it wasn't a bunch of random short bullets, either. It was a thoughtfully complied list of things he truly loves about me, and who can argue with that? Boys everywhere may be cursing such a man, but the payoff for this one day of romance can be long term (in my world anyway). Not that I don't appreciate how wonderful he is the rest of the year, but to discover such a man exists (and is with me), is fabulous. : )

I was all prepared to go on a Valentine rant about how men everywhere were against Valentine's Day and what a disappointment that is. I was going to further add that my couple's therapist from years back said he does things for his wife because he loves her, but she cannot expect him to always like what he's doing. AKA, Rob taking part in VD for my sake, but not being particularly keen on it. I was also going to go on about how I wasn't sure what I thought of this approach--did I think it was reasonable for men to participate unwillingly (as it tends to make us women a bit grumpy when you have your cake and don't like it too).

Then I got Rob's email.

Well, like it or not, he's done a hell of a job (and my expectations were quite low). Compared to any Valentine I've ever had (the last being a present two days later, literally thrown down on the table in front of me), he's the best ever.

But that can be said about Rob on every level. : )

Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

Yes, yes, what am I doing for him? Plenty (even though he'd rather I didn't). I'm approaching it from a standpoint of what a man might like on such a day, as opposed to simply what I want to give. I'm hoping he might come around to see Valentine's day doesn't have to be exclusively about the women, cards and candy--a man can set an expectation for romance, as well (even if it isn't reasonable to expect us to enjoy it).

What a difference

2007-02-13T13:15:00.003-07:00

a week makes.

Wow. I literally felt like a different person last week. Anxiety is a scary thing (or hormones, as it's hard to pinpoint the real culprit). By far it's the worst emotion for me, and it's taken me many years to even learn how to combat the typically negative focus and thoughts I am naturally bombarded with. While I acknowledge my progress, I can't help but worry over what I'll be like if I get pregnant. I'm actually quite worried I might experience intense emotions which I'll not be able to combat in any prescriptive sense. Yes, I know... I'm not pregnant, so why worry?

I'm sure this sounds weak, but after experiencing seven or eight days of intense anxiety, depression and irritability, it's clear to me it isn't simply "mind over matter". I'm the first person to accept your thoughts control your feelings, but if you are chemically or hormonally overwhelmed, there is a certain lack of control. Nothing I tried last week worked. I worked out, and afterwards felt more angry and agressive. Compared to this week, after I worked out last night, I felt great.

Now my brother says he has anxiety (rolling eyes). I believe he's a hypochondriac and has developed anxiety in response to another family member's current experience with the less than pleasant emotion. : ) The truth is, my whole family tends towards hypochondria. I suppose it's some consolation I come by it honestly, but it really dosen't help in my day to day interactions with people (who I'm sure think I'm a little more than unusual).

You'd think I'd be more sympathetic of my brother and his anxiety, but... no.
: )

Thursday

2007-02-01T08:20:00.003-07:00

I feel grumpy. I'm not sure why, exactly. It could be hormones, it could be the -16 walk into work (which froze my forehead), or it could be it's early in the morning and I'm at work. I'm frustrated because I recognize this as a hard mood to pull out of--somewhat like trying to pull out of a plane dive. At the edge of my thoughts, I realize I'm incredibly blessed, but this plane is flown by emotion and I don't have the luxury of simply getting out. I love people who say "walk it off", "shake it off" and the like. It's really not that simple. Every negative thought I allow to drift into my mind sends the plane deeper and deeper into the nose dive. Pulling out of this mood requires extreme mental discipline and perseverance to fight these all encompassing emotions and negative thoughts.

Yesterday I was in a communications meeting to redesign our course registration and planning guide. In this meeting were people from the strategic marketing dept, which I applied for a few months back, and next to me sat the woman who got the job. : )

I couldn't help but wonder if I would have been better or worse at the position, but since the failed attempt, I've decided it's pointless to pursue any future positions in communications. Clearly I'm not meant to work in communications in any capacity, because I rarely get the interview, never get the job, and it appears as though the universe (aka God), simply doesn't want me to go down that road. What else am I supposed to assume? That job was the closest I've ever come.

So, what else is in store for me then? I wish there was something designed for my personality, but I've no idea what that is. I just feel like my life has been wasted on shitty circumstances.

Someone at work yesterday referred to my negativity (sigh). I wish I had a baseball card with my statistics outlining all the crappy things which have occurred to me that invariably turned me into the person I am today. I'm sure I'd get a bit more compassion and a proper perspective of my so-called "negativity". This thought, of course, makes me sad and sorry for myself.

Suddenly I am brought back to my current reality in which I am surrounded and inundated with deliberate positivity. This is my desk. All around me I've situated positive quotes, photos, happy colors, and anything which I might find comforting during times like these. Obviously on purpose. And so, sitting in front of me are the words, "When one door of happiness closes-another door opens, but often we look so long at the closed door we do not see the one which has been opened before us."

I get caught up in the past and the wasted opportunities, but my present and future are very promising indeed. Thus the photo of Robert. : ) We are discussing moving in, which is both thrilling and scary. This morning I left some things at his house for the first time, which makes me feel extremely vulnerable; I'm terrified of repeating past mistakes. My previous relationship left me traumatized and overly sensitive.

Thank God my current relationship is night and day from the past one. Thank God for Robert.

Lastly, on my wall are the words: "This too shall pass."

And so it will.

Rant regarding Blogger's "free photo host"

2007-01-30T13:40:00.001-07:00

I am so irritated right now I could just....

This ridiculous blogger has a link for "free photo hosting", and sends you to download a program (of which I refuse to mention). After going through the time and hassle of downloading, you discover (much much later, after much searching and swearing) that this function no longer exists (but is still being promoted on the "get free photo hosting" link listed in the blogger dashboard), and is still promoted in the photo host's help section.

After searching all through the damn "help" sections listed in Blogger/Google and the bloody "free photo host", you find nothing other than bloody forums for posting. So, I've posted my ridiculous comment, of which no one will respond, perhaps except to say, "what's the big deal?" And now I'm left resorting to some random rant, which means nothing to anyone but me.

Mother F&$#@! If I could find a friggin email for Google, Blogger, or the bloody photo "host", believe me I'd let my thoughts rip. ARGH! <---- which doesn't even remotely denote my true sense of anger, irritation, etc at A) such ridiculous information being inaccurately posted in many areas over many sites, and B) how inappropriate it is for companies to not have any means of contacting them regarding such complaints. I should not have to be inspector Clouseau to find out how to contact such large companies!

Adding insult to injury, I've wasted my lunch hour screwing around with all this crap--downloading, ranting, etc, only to discover how easy it was to post a photo to begin with (without the illustrious free photo host).

What else is a blog for if not to rant?

Da Vinci Code

2007-01-10T09:48:00.001-07:00

Seriously, what's all the fuss about?

I'm a Christian, and after watching the movie--which I found very anti-climatic--I don't understand why this work of FICTION could be causing any controversy.

Even my church tried to take on the issue a few Sundays in a row (yawn), and now that I've seen the movie, I still don't know what the hell they were talking about.

So, let's say the church has lied to people the world over, and there really is a bloodline of Jesus. As a believer, does that negate His crucifixion or resurrection, which is the whole basis of Christianity? Not in my opinion.

Initially I was a little agitated there could be a considerable amount of relevant information being deliberately withheld from me as a Christian, but then I started to really think about it. Being a Christian to me means loving people as you love yourself, having a loving relationship with God, forgiving people, not coveting, lusting, stealing or murdering (and the like). At the end of my life, if I discover there is no God or heaven, what will have changed? I would have treated people with kindness and less judgment, and in the end, I would have simply been a better person as a result of being a Christian and believing in God.

So, if my faith should fail me, I've lost nothing. I've only gained a sense of peace which nothing in this life affords me, and I've been a better person. Simple.

Will I feel angry at being "duped"? I'll be dead, so what the hell difference will it make. Do I wonder if I could have a more "fun" life if I didn't believe? No. I believe that God's principles, if followed, would make us happier and healthier, and what's so awful about that?

I know there is much hypocrisy in religion, but it certainly isn't perpetuated by my understanding and practice of being a Christian. I'm not spreading hate or intolerance (though I'm far from being what anyone might consider an ideal Christian). Still, if someone is turning away from God due to the actions of a group of people, isn't that a bit ridiculous? Someone I used to know has chosen not to believe in God because pets don't go to heaven. Really? That's seriously the reason you are turning away from God and everything Christianity stands for? Well, good luck with that.

I would think atheists would do a bit of research before shutting the door on God. But, at the end of the day, engaging in a relationship with God is a very personal decision between you and God. Da Vinci Code, my opinion, and everything else be damned--the choice is always yours.

Which is exactly how God wants it.

2006 Tiffy year in review

2007-01-03T14:41:00.001-07:00

2006 rang in anti-climatically with me pining over my friend's neighbor, and being slightly depressed over my state of separation and living arrangements. Lavalife was proving to be less than lackluster, and I was feeling like my state of affairs would never improve.

Work-wise things were fine, with the beginning rumblings of a re-structuring coming down the tracks, and I had been going to church for a bit, so was at the very least feeling spiritually inspired. I joined an Alpha group to learn more about Christianity and was doing some writing for the church bulletin. In March I was so motivated spiritually I was baptised, and then threw in the church towel when it was released that the pastor was having a longstanding affair with a woman he had been counseling. Sigh. Since then, I've steadfastly avoided the church, and have been feeling more than a little resistant about re-attending, though my belief in God has not wavered.

Lavalife got a bit better until I faced a bit of a "good" guy versus "evil" guy crisis mid-March, with the "good" guy winning out only to discover what a jackass he really was when we "broke up" over a disagreement. In reality, I accused him of being "just not that into me" (instigated from my page-a-day calendar of the same name) and he thought we shouldn't be having "these kinds of problems so early on". Thank God, because the day after that happened, my sweet Robert "smiled" at me and so began a romance that has lasted beyond the year (with me hoping it will never end). : )

My baseball season opened with an injury to my right quad--requiring physio not covered by benefits (sigh). I was still playing for A-Channel (now City TV) and I also joined the baseball team from my church (before the scandal) only to feel first hand the hypocrisy that is religion when I was reprimanded subtlely in a "cope don't curse" email sent to the entire team (which was really directed at me, as my cursing had been addressed on more than one occasion--including by the opposing team, "You've been warned three times!"). As the season wore on, I dreaded going to the games more and more, and finally was a no-show at our seasonender potluck, feeling fairly confident I a) would not be invited back next year, being the heathen that I am, and b) don't think I can play for a team so hard core and judgmental.

The half way point of 2006 was marked by a George Strait concert which my Robert invited me to (it was fabulous). Every time after that when I heard the song "run", I thought of Rob, and I was listening to it the day I realized I loved him. We were taking two-step lessons at Ranchmans, and after one of them I met a friend of his from out of town. On my drive home alone I had "run" on and that's when it hit me. Nicely enough, we have a photo of us from that evening in Ranchman's, which is still my favorite couple photo to date.

Mid 2006 was also marked by attending a close friend's wedding (Amanda and Warren) and the finalization of my divorce (yet another true to life cliche). After three long years of turmoil, it was a big sigh of relief to put the final nail in the coffin of what will always feel like the biggest mistake of my life. Even now, I am surprised I've been married and divorced by 33 (which probably occurs to me everytime I open the door to my parent's house and head downstairs to my bedroom). Divorce often leaves an aftermath of debt.

Work was taking a big turn by July when I was rehired into a new position at the University, which required intense training and team building for a restructuring of substantial proportions within Student Services. Our entire team struggled for the remainder of the year in the new positions, facing crunch times with students and a learning curve bent on choking the spirit out of all of us (if it weren't for how fabulous each of our team members are, and how well we all work together).

The Calgary Stampede came, with much anticipation from Rob, and I took part in more Stampede events than ever before due to his influence--he declares the Calgary Stampede as his "Christmas", and my mom as Santa Claus, because she works for the Stampede board in accounting. Not to mention he grew his hair out for the annual event along with a fu man chu (ugh).

I also met Rob's parent's briefly for the first time, and his Mom stayed on for the entire month of July. This stifled opportunities for sleepovers, much to my dismay, but with Christmas looming, and an outstanding invite to accompany Rob to his parent's timeshare in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, there would be plenty of time for sleep. ; ) The December trip would also provide an extended opportunity to get to know his parent's, as they would be in Mexico (next room, in fact) during the entire trip. (!)

Fall quickly came and went, as it always does in Calgary, with Halloween being very chilly. I was a slutty witch at my friend Jorge's house party, and a sexy seniorita for my other friend's second annual potluck. Rob was his standby "disco Stu", or something or other, in a full on afro wig and baby blue leisure suit (which he has worn for many a jack o lantern celebration). In Mexico he bought a Rey Mysterio wrestling mask, so I'm sure I now have that costume to look forward to (sigh).

For the rest of the year, work dragged on through a swamp of cross training and painful growth spurts in our department, as we continued to struggle under the new pressures. With Mexico right around the corner, my physical stamina was waning bit by bit and I faced what felt like one cold and flu after another. I joined a gym with the intention of getting more into shape for the trip (and bathing suit opportunities), but really just maintained for a few months leading up to it. Meanwhile, Rob actually lost weight for the trip, only to be asked by his parent's, "Why are you letting yourself go?" : )

The trip itself, however, was absolute heaven. We started in San Diego with a Chargers versus Broncos NFL game, where Ladanian Tomlinson broke a scoring record. Then it was off to Cabo where I couldn't have asked for anything to be better or different, as we basked in the sun by the pool, wandered the beach, had dinners with his parents, and just generally soaked it all in.

The trip was by far the best way to end any year, and provided motivation for the start of the next. Rob and I got along very well, and we even spent Christmas with his family in Castlegar, BC, which was also fantastic. I didn't think I could love Rob any more than I already did, until I went on vacation with him. I'm afraid I'm head over heels and I'm always gonna be (to quote Blue Rodeo, one of Rob's favorite bands). : )

The only real sad note was the passing of my Dad's mother early in December. This made my family understandably emotional, and I think they felt the absence of me at the Christmas dinner table a little more than normal.

Aside from that, 2006 was a pretty good year indeed.

7 working hours

2006-12-07T17:26:00.001-07:00

until we leave! Whooo....!

I'm excited and stressed out about this trip. What if I forget something? What if I feel atroscious in a swim suit? What if the mother hates me?

What if I have the best time ever? : )

Travelling is a little stressful, to say the least. And the boy tells me I have to be calm so he can be the spaz traveller. : ) I think I can manage that. Generally in most relationships one person will be emotional forcing the other to be calmer, which basically balances it all out.

Anyway...

2 sleeps (1 and a half really, as we get up at 3:30 to be at the airport--ugh)

It's going to be great!

Some number of hours...

2006-12-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

until I leave for San Diego/Cabo San Lucas. Yay. : )

Of course, I have to get up at an unGodly hour that morning, but none the less, it'll be worthwhile.

I'm going with the boyfriend, and I have to say, I'm really not used to getting less attention from him. I think he's spoiled me. With us heading on this trip, he seems more distracted (which I interpret as less interested--sigh). Hopefully that's not accurate. After the whole divorce thing, I can be sensitive when it comes to how much attention I'm receiving from my partner (read: how much of a priority I am to him).

That's a real downside to divorce(what a ridulous thing to say, but). I wonder if the baggage ever goes away? I can feel my "hackles rising" in response to less attention, and it feels a little familiar with what I experienced previously. But I also find these particular buttons to be already half pushed, so it can be hard for me to determine how accurate my perception is.

I do find my internal reaction to be somewhat reassuring however, as I've been concerned I would put up with the same amount of shit from a new person that I put up with from the past person. My internal reaction being: "I will never put up with the same shit I did before; I will never chase a man; I will not spend any amount of time waiting for someone to realize how wonderful I am." Sounds like bullshit, but what other choice do I have? It took me 3 years to finally get angry about the whole thing, so I'm more adamant than ever that I not put myself through a similar ordeal.

I'm also surprised I would ever consider remarrying, as I would be a good candidate to be bitter for life. : ) But I'm unwilling to waste anymore of my time on the past, and I'm determined to move forward in all capacities.

So, move forward then.

26 hours until the trip. : )

3 days and counting

2006-12-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

As the title indicates, there are only three more days until I'm in San Diego (I can't thank God enough, frankly), and then I'll be on the lovely shores of Mexico. I'm afraid the time will fly by and it'll be over before I know it! What will I look forward to then? Moving out of my parents place, that's what (more on that later). :D

There are only a few downsides to the trip(but they are down). : ) I happened to have insulted my boyfriend's mother (sigh), and I have to appear in a swim suit--which I hardly prepared for (perhaps even prepared against, she says as she eats ketchup flavored potato chips to feed the stress created from an early morning irate parent hell bent on bullying me). Mah. 3 days indeed.

How did I offend the mother? Some little email snafu (use your imagination, it's accurate enough). I suppose though, if those are the least of my concerns, I'm doing alright. But still, in my mind my little mix up virtually guarantees me a hellish relationship with her, and should she ever be anything more than "my boyfriend's mother", that could be really unpleasant. Mmm.

Alas. Back to my parents. I need to move out. With me in the house, all my parent's do is focus on what I am and am not doing (am I turing off the lights, rinsing the tub, cleaning my room...). It's a non-stop exercise in humility. On the weekend my Dad was "tidying" my storage area (being the corner of the basement) and wigged out. He said, "I'm tired of pussy footing around that girl!" Right. Cause if he's not yelling at me 24 hours a day (literally) for not putting the lid on the milk "tight enough", or for some other stupid shit, then clearly I'm either taking them for granted or personally going out of my way to disrepect them. (insert large bolded profanity).

I had decided to stay until next October when my car will be paid off, but man...I really don't know if I can do it. I can't afford to buy a place, so I'll be a permanent renter--another issue which depresses the hell out of me. Did I mention divorce sucks?

Did I mention I have 3 days to vacation?

Happy is as happy does

2006-11-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

In looking at past posts, it is clearly time for a happy new one.

And I'm happy. : )

I'm tempted to ask myself if I should be, because I was recently turned down for a job I really thought I wanted to get, but in hindsight I am slightly relieved I didn't. Right now I just want to focus on the job I currently have, and afterwards if it isn't up to par, I'll start a job search then. I do not have the energy--mental or otherwise, for a job search right now. My life has been far too turbulent in the past few years to tolerate much more upheaval.

So, what else is so spectacular then? Well, I'm terribly in love (and that certainly helps), and the man is terribly sweet (which clearly helps), and what else? I don't know. I joined a gym, my spanish class is good, and I really love the people I work with. Those seem like a fair amount of blessings, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm working on giving God all the credit that is due, as really, that's where it all starts and ends for me. And though I never feel as though I'm doing enough, I'll keep trying. On that note, I'm reminded of a song recently debuted by Martina Mcbride, Anyway:

You can spend your whole life building something from nothing
One storm can come and blow it away
Build it anyway

You can chase a dream that seems so out of reach and you know it might not ever come your way, but dream it anyway

God is great, but sometimes life ain’t good, and when I pray..it don’t always turn out like I think it should…but I do it anyway, I do it anyway

This world’s gone crazy and it’s hard to believe that tomorrow will be better than today, believe it anyway

You can love someone with all your heart, for all the right reasons, and in a moment they can choose to walk away, love ‘em anyway

You can pour your soul out singing a song you believe in, that tomorrow they’ll forget you ever sang, sing it anyway….yeah sing it anyway…..yeah yeah I’ll sing, I’ll dream, I’ll love…anyway

I almost felt as though God were singing to me, it was that amazing and touching.

Thank you, God.

Thanks

2006-10-07T13:20:00.001-06:00

I am incommunicado right now. I'm housesitting my brother's place because they took off to visit Vicki's parents in Yellowgrass, Saskatchewan. I turned my cell phone off and my ipod on, and effectively eliminated the only person who could have contacted me--my Mom. Sigh. The best thing about being incommunicado? No one is actually trying to get a hold of me. : ) I realize that sounds slightly self pitying. Alas.

I don't have to be anywhere right now, and there is no one I have to talk to. I am in the middle of making my magnificent lemon cake for our Thanksgiving dinner, though. It's a rather linear, laborious process requiring a fair bit of time and preparation (at least four hours, and 24 more for the cake to "set"). It's worth it though, as it's a damn good cake. : )

Tonight I'm headed out for drinks with a couple of friends and my sweet man. We're heading to East Side Mario's to watch a bit of the Flames game. It's the regular season home opener, and everyone in the city has been looking forward to hockey starting, so the place should have a good energy. After that, we'll head back to Warren and Amanda's to play poker or Monopoly. Rob laughed when I mentioned Monopoly, but I warned him the future of our relationship hinged on him liking Monopoly (kidding). But I am the owner of four versions of Monopoly, so I think I'm fond of the game. : )

Ahhhh... Day one of the long weekend. I can feel each of my joints sink a little lower into my chair. In this position I can feel a slight pain in the middle of my back and a headache teasing at my temples. I just finished watching a circuit tour of the World Series of Poker held in New Orleans. Two schlubs were heads up, and I was startled by how unsophisticated the players were. After watching Phil Ivey take on a couple of Brit's in Monte Carlo, watching this circuit episode was like watching a bunch of security guys play for a hundred bucks in a dimly lit basement. Mmph.

Tomorrow we're doing Thanksgiving dinner and playing poker at my Mom's, then the weekend will be capped off with Rob taking me to a Flames game. How delightful. Sounds like a pretty damn good Thanksgiving to me. : )

Thank God.

Right on cue, Jeremy Camp, All I need, has come on my ipod.

"And you fill my life
You're everything to me
There's nothing else I need anymore."

Argh

2006-09-26T20:00:00.001-06:00

I feel weary. I feel as though the battle can never be won and it will be a long time before the struggle ends. But feelings aren't facts (sigh). If only the thought made the feeling go away. This is the sort of thinking which causes my therapist to try and medicate me. Nice, (big sigh).

I want to start on a, "What's it all for?" rant, but I don't have the energy. : ) It's fun being dramatic. Still...

I'm haunted from words spoken by a woman at work whose partner died in a car accident a few years ago. Weeks before it happened she told a co-worker, "I feel as though we're turning a corner."

How do you turn your thoughts away from the reality of that? It makes me numb.

How about the wife who lost her second husband in a car accident, very close to the same location where her first husband crashed his car and died. Absolutely staggering. That is tragedy.

And I have the nerve to feel sorry for myself because I'm not a natural born Pollyanna?

It would be much easier not to give a shit.

What's the likelihood of that?

"But there's a secret garden she hides..." ~ Bruce Springsteen, Secret Garden