'Til Tuesday -- Wasn't that a rock band?

Strange how, at times, I feel like a voyeur of my own life. Even as I am in the act of doing certain things, I am simultaneously watching myself 'do.' My sickness has abated. My only reminder is awall of phlegm that refuses to dislodge completely from behind my nose. It sits in a toxic, gooey lump until those inopportune times that it decides to loosen just a little bit...its outlet usually coming from a surprise sneeze that shoots a yellowish mass either across a room onto the floor or into my hand...the floor is most often my office (don't pick up the papers on the floor folks...they've been placed for a reason)...I get a handful of slime when I'm driving. I know. This is gross. And pretty sick. But really, am I the only one? I doubt it (hopefully).

Ok. I'm back at work. Things are pretty slow but will pick up soon enough. I've been invited by the president of the university to breakfast next Tuesday (myself and 14 others). I had put my name forward last month to form a part of a task force looking into the possible future
direction(s) the university might take. I was not chosen. I figure this breakfast is a sort of consolation prize. The prez still wants to hear our thoughts on things though. That's rather heartening. I just have to figure out which crew shirt to wear. Judas Priest? Alberta Theatre Scene? Special Effects? The choices keep growing. Tomorrow morning I'll have a new U2 shirt to add to the pile. Membership does have its privileges. I want to represent/be representative of, the arts scene here at the university. Push an arts agenda as it were. Worth a shot, no?

I've been asked by people from my childrens' daycare to speak at the city council next Tuesday. I'm not entirely sure what I'll be saying but, I will meet with one of their union reps over the weekend in order to figure things out. This is something I never really pictured myself doing. Even as I said yes it felt more as if I was following a script than actually acting for real. Odd. What do I wear for that? Will I have to change from the morning or I can I find the perfect outfit to suit the prez and the 'right wing councillors?'

I played hookey today. And I joined a gym. Really. Me. Along with a personal trainer. Who wants to meet me on Tuesday. Between the breakfast with the prez and the city council. Why is everything happening on Tuesday? Something is gonna have to give.

I'm making a pot of chili on Sunday. Greycup weekend. I like watching football these days. I am actually beginning to 'get it.' It's smarter than I thought. It's also an excuse to watch something that is not entirely mind numbing/soul squelching on the tele.

I Get a Bit Sappy When Sick

Just wanted to say thank you to J. I love him. Dearly. Yesterday, when I was still feeling miserable, he left work early to leave some meds by my bed (I was fast asleep). He looked after the kids. He let me rest. These are small things really. They should be done without saying right? But, the point is...they were done without saying. With no expectation of thanks. Just because. And he fits. Me. And sometimes I want to break down in tears because my world is filling with so much good lately that I feel I have to burst.

A Dinner Conversation with One Wiser Than I

My daughter turned to me over dinner tonight. Her mouth covered in ketchup having just swallowed another piece of fish and a couple fries. 'Mommy, what's dead? What happens when you are dead?' She looked at me intently. She has very old eyes for a not yet 4 year old. She coughed. A brutal chest wracking phleghm producing cough. 'Well,' I said, 'it's a bit complicated...are you sure you want to talk about this now?' She nodded her head. Of course. So, I broke death down to her in as simple a way as I could. First, I asked her if she remembered the flowers that we planted and then how they shriveled up and 'died' when the weather changed. 'Yes, I know that,' she said, 'but, what about people?' Ok. I gave her 3 options that I have toyed with over the years:
a) when you die, some people believe that your spirit goes to a place called heaven which is a place filled with peace and love. It's kinda like being in your mommy's arms for ever.
b) when you die, some people believe that your body breaks down into nourishment for the soil so that more beautiful flowers can grow;
c) when you die, some people believe that your spirit finds another body to be born into so that one is born again as something or someone else.
I then told her that I wasn't sure what if any of these things was right....that no one really knows for sure. We can only believe. I then asked her if she had any other questions. She shook her head and said:
'Mommy, when I die, I will come back as a butterfly....a purple, yellow and pink butterfly...and I will flap around.'

Ramblings From a Sick Bed

The other night, let's call it Monday, my son raced downstairs for the umpteenth time after having been put to bed inorder to give mommy 'just one more kiss and hug.' Ok. I'm a sucker for that and with 'daddy' glaring from the sofa with a 'the kid is getting away with murder and you're encouraging him' I let him come and give me a hug and kiss secretely feeling that part of 'daddy's' problem was that he was being offered neither an extra hug or kiss. I reached out and swooped Aryn in my arms and waited for that treasured kiss. Kiss of death more like. Even as his lips pressed to my cheek I could sense it. A biological invasion of the worst kind. The little ingrate had just infected me with something and I was going to suffer. Soon. I did.
Now, I rarely get sick. Really. I get colds like the rest of the general population but, nothing that neo citran, cough syrup (drunk straight from the bottle) and liquid codiene can't put to right quite effectively and quickly. Not this time. At work on Tuesday I got a call that Sierra had puked at school and needed to go home. Ok. I rushed to get her and A both and after calling gramma to look after them for the afternoon, I went back to work. I know. Bad mommy right? But, my boss was away that day and no one else was there to handle things and who are you to dump your moral judgements on me anyway?
So I went back to work and started to feel a tickle at the back of my throat. Damn. Got a cold. I started to get grumpier as the tickle began to fester and I called around for someone to come in to replace me. Nope. Not going to happen. I wrote a scathing response via email about acetate rolls (I kid you not...sometimes my life is like that) and waited as the clock ticked down to closing time.
At 4:30, I bolted home and replaced gramma. I was still, at this point, feeling that I was just coming down with a cold and, if I knocked it out right away, I'd be fine.
I planned to stay home the next day with the kids anyway (S cuz she had puked, A cuz I didn't feel like working out the tranportation logistics to get him there). I was feeling like crap. Bless the t.v. They watched Blues Clues and Dora while I swirled inside myself and crashed on the couch or upstairs in bed hoping that they'd be able to fend. I puked. A lot. Dry heaves cuz I couldn't even think about eating anything. My ass hurt. Don't ask me why. It just did. And then, my throat began to swell. And burn. Thankfully J had 3 short shifts that day and was able to come home so the kids actually had a functioning parent around. Little buggers recognized my weakness and immediately went for the halloween candy.
Today I feel better? Slept for about 6 hours this morning/afternoon. Will go back to bed after posting. Kids are at school. J will pick them up in an hour.
It's snowing outside. Very lovely. Thing is, before getting stricken down with the plague (could it be bird flu? the chicken I had the other day may have been dodgy), I had been overcome with images of absolute beauty. You know those moments when walking or driving and the sky is just gorgeous and everything else looks at peace and something fitting is on the radio...snapshots of perfection. I'm feeling it now as I look out my living room window. Snow is falling and is just beginning to collect on the ground. When I moved in here, I felt that this would be a great place to spend a winter. I think I'm right. It's cozy inside. Beautiful outside.
Damn. The kids need winter boots.

A Not So Typical Typical Night

Last night I went to bed rather late...1am ish. Approx. 20min. after achieving REM sleep, I woke up to my son coughing and moaning. I went into his room and he told me that his throat really hurt and his cough was keeping him up. I went and got some cough meds and after he took a spoonful, he lay down for sleep. I went back to bed only to awaken again to hear him throwing up in the bathroom. I went and got him changed since while he was puking, he wet himself. I then brought him to my bed. After rubbing his back for awhile, we both went to sleep. I awoke a bit later when my daughter came to the bed. The three of us went to sleep. I awoke a bit later. I was wet. My daughter was wet. She had pee'd the bed. I got her up to start the changing process, carried my son to his own bed (thankfully he was still asleep) and then changed her, my sheets and myself. I took her to her own bed. By this time she was coughing and I gave her some cough meds. I went back to sleep. Shortly after, my son crawled back into my bed. We fell asleep. He woke a bit later and puked on the bed. J was finally home from work by this time and assisted in the child/bed changing. He took Aryn downstairs and got him set up on the couch along with a bucket and slept beside him on the chair. I found a blanket to crawl into on my mattress and went to sleep for a couple hours.
This morning, both children seem fine. I'm a bit tired. J, after only 3 hours sleep has gone back to work. This is our life.

Sugar, Spice and Puppy Dog Tails

I like boys. Can't help it. Something about the cocky swagger. The 'I'm in control' outward personna masking an 'I'm scared shitless' inner turmoil. Yes, sometimes they can get pretty...what's the best word?...hmmm....dull. Yes, that's it--dull. Yet, nevertheless, their innate predictability is a comfort in an everchanging world. Boys want to know the answers. They will often act as if they do. Boys want to show the world they are tough but, at the same time, are desperate to open up to whomever they feel won't laugh at them. Boys giggle when they fart. Boys will often try to blame it on the dog (cat, child, neighbour, cooking etc.). Boys are sucks when they are sick. Boys will always work harder (even when doing the same job) as their colleagues, workmates, partners, lovers.... and, Boys will always have bigger scars, bigger losses, bigger near wins, bigger stories then those around them. Boys will fight for their independence as long as they never really have to be alone. Boys know things. Some of which are useful. Boys gossip. Boys engage in competitive public school type games with each other. Boys like to flirt. Boys will be able to perform complex physical and mental maneuovers but, are oft times unable to notice shit under the toilet seat. Boys are imperfect and will use this to their advantage. Boys would rather avoid talking about a subject if a drag down knock out tickle fight will work instead. I like boys. I married a boy. I used to wish I was a boy. In my early public school days, when the boys played against the girls to see who could rule the snowhills left by the parking lot ploughs, I worked to knock down the girls. They were easy marks. So I thought. They just played by different rules. I grew up with three brothers. I would much rather climb a tree and hook a worm than play with dolls or dress up. From early spring to the end of autumn I remained muddy. My brothers would only let me play with them if I didn't cry. I used to think I was a terrific soccer goalie until I realized that they were purposefully kicking the ball to my face in order to get me to bawl. I lost my top baby teeth when I acted as back catcher and one of my brothers swung the bat into my mouth (an accident...hmmm). In grade 5, a group of us were playing touch football when I missed the ball and it pounded my face. It hurt. I felt tears well up but, I refused to cry. 'I'm ok,' I shouted. 'Let's keep playing.' I saw what I thought to be respect on the faces of my team-mates. I was 'one of the boys.' Then L got hit. She was grazed really. It wasn't as if it was full on. But, all of a sudden, she started to cry. Great, thought I. Silly girl. But then, one by one the boys on the field ran towards her. Someone tossed me the ball. I was suddenly alone on the field. Everyone was comforting her. The foot ball game was over. The gender game, for me at least, had really just begun.

Who Am I? or Who Are My Selves When Mixed All Together?

Sorry I've not been around. My mother has been in town. It's actually been quite a good visit. It's helpful that she has come alone. It's much easier to relax when it's just her and not her and her husband. At dinner last night (she took me out for a fantastic steak dinner with crab cake apps topped off with a really yummy Shiraz to bring to an end a full day of museums and knick knack shopping) she mentioned that she enjoyed our time alone together because she could recognize me best on a one on one level. I was her daughter during those times. When at home, she saw that I became (also) a wife and mother. Interesting eh? My self as an individual doesn't even really register on the radar. At the same time, I am guilty of the same. I recognize her as my mother when she visits alone. When she comes with D, she is his wife as well (and D is then not just my dad but her husband). As more people enter the equation replete with their own labels and self/imposed definitions of selves, the time spent sifting through the chafe to get to the actual wheat becomes an involved and exhausting process. No wonder family events such as holiday meals, reunions and the like are met with giddy excitement oft times bordering on the hysterical. The measurement of error becomes too difficult to calculate with anything but uncertainty (yup. I have an older brother working on completing his Masters in Physics--and I love taking his 'serious science' and bastardizing it for my own literary allusions).

A Very Bad Idea

To Whom It May Concern:

Whoever thought of putting raisins in otherwise yummy oatmeal muffins please stop. It's a very bad idea.
Yuck.
Thank you for your attention.

Not a raisin fan.

Arrrrrrrgh

I bawled my eyes out last night. Made the mistake of watching the news. First 2 items did me in. The breaking story consisted of a description of a child sex/porn ring uncovered in Winnipeg (alleged). Ok, I thought, I can get through this. I'm strong enough. Most disturbing for me was the statement by one of the interviewees that things like this were indicative of a growing market for this type of crap. These things are not isolated happenings...and there is something seriously ill in our society if there is a growing market...something seriously fucked up. Fine. Our would is screwed up. I can deal. But then, good ol CTV threw in a description of a trial going on wherein grandparents are being accused of allowing a 3 year old to starve to death. I've heard about this case before. I was not prepared to here a taped interview with his sister (11 years old) and her description of what had been done to the poor child. I mean...FUCK. I'm angry, scared, dumbfounded, ... at a loss. This world we live in seems to have lost a moral compass. Not everything is fucking relative. Some things are wrong. From every angle. There can be no justification. And, certainly, there can be no justice.

It's All How You Play the Game

The last day to withdraw from Fall term classes is Nov. 7th. I know this because I finally got around to flipping the calendar page here at work. The picture shows a campus under snow. Odd to think of snow just yet while the temperature remains, during the day at least, in the double digits...but I digress. Thinking of withdrawing from classes brought to mind that I haven't had my economics dream for quite a while. Perhaps you may have had dreams like this? I am about to graduate and realize to my horror that I hadn't properly withdrawn from an economics course--taken on a whim--and am therefore faced with not only an F on my transcript but am not eligible to graduate. I would wake from this dream in a cold sweat and, it would take a good 5 minutes or so for me to convince myself that I was in no danger of not graduating because I had never signed up for an economics course. Well, not since highschool and that experience was enough to tell me that the pseudo sciences just weren't for me. I'll expand a little. In my highschool course, 60% of our final grade was based on a business 'game.' That is, grouped in pairs, our teams were to create and run a business. We were to study market forces and then make decisions that would (hopefully) increase our profit margin. Now my partner N and I had similarly ignorant views on the world of economics. My first question to the teacher was 'Why do we need a stock market?' His answer, as I remember, was not very satisfying. Anyway, my partner and I set about creating our business and making decisions. Looking around at what other groups were doing, we noticed them making charts, doing statistical analyses and the like. We decided on an alternative approach. We brought in a deck of cards, a pair of dice and a quarter. Yup. Our business was run on chance and luck. Some days we'd even dress up like fortune tellers. Why did we do this? We were brats. Plain and simple. As well, however, we were curious to see how we'd do. Much to our teacher's chagrin, we won the game and were awarded an automatic pass in the class. I must admit to having felt a bit guilty for not putting in all the work that the other students were doing. On the other hand, however, it did teach me/reinforce within me a healthy skepticism for:
a) teaching methods;
b) economics and other quasi/pseudo sciences;
c) what is deemed to be important;
d) business 'ethics,' and;
e) so-called experts (in any field).
This type of learning has proved invaluable.