Child's Play

Imagine if you will my two kids at play. The boy is holding a batman figurine. The girl is holding a female figurine that has a transparent body. I'm sure she is a character. I just don't know what her name is. The dialogue is as follows:

Batman: You can hit me as hard as you can but when I turn grey, I can't feel anything.

Transparent Girl: But when I hug you, you can feel my love.

Batman: I turn grey and fight the bad guys. Hieeeee ya!

Transparent Girl: My body can turn invisible and you can go right through me. Be right inside me.

Batman: I'm going to go with spiderman and get some bad guys.

Transparent Girl joined by Red Headed Troll Girl: Go Batman! Go Spiderman!

Spiderman: My webs aren't very sticky.

Red Headed Troll Girl: You can make them stickier. I know you can.

Spiderman: Yes I can!!

My son: Why are you laughing mommy?

Why indeed?

My Girl

The other day I was driving home after having had picked up the kids from school. The girl began to tell me about her day and said that their class had talked about what they wanted to be when they grew up. She was confused about something. 'No one said that they wanted to be a dad when they grew up,' she said and continued, 'and I was the only one who wanted to be a mom.' Huh. My girl wants babies and to be a mom. Might I also add here that she is one of the smartest/wisest people I have had the pleasure to meet. Her observations never cease to challenge and amaze me. She went on to say that she also wants to work on films and make films for children to watch. Very cool. She then began to badger her brother and try to convince him that he should want to be a dad. The boy wasn't easily convinced. He too wanted to work on films but as a zoom boom operater. When told that his dad drives a zoom boom on occasion he demured and said that yes, he wanted to be a dad...as long as he could still drive cool stuff. Ok. I'm not entirely sure where the girl's decision to be a mom has come from. J and I have each told the kidlings that our most important jobs are that of parents...but I feel that something else is at play here. She sees being a mom as something valuable...special even. Huh. Well, it is. Her views are just different from my experience. I never ever felt that I wanted to be a mom when I was younger. Hell, the whole mom thing came to me, I guess, as an inevitability...one thing flowing to the other...much like leaving home to go to university. It was never a decision per se. It was something that I just did. Hmmm...when I actually explore this a bit further, I've never really wanted to 'be' anything. I am what I am. (sorry popeye) There are a few things that I'd like to 'do' but my deeds aren't really who I am. But, would I be going on like this if the girl had said she wanted to be a doctor? I doubt it. Last year, she had told me that she wanted to be a doctor when she got older. I asked her about that old world view. She replied...'on no mummy. I would need a lot of training and you know? some of that training would be very gross...looking into people's stomachs...ewwwwwww.' That's my girl.

Baby Steps

Ok. When I was pregnant I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. Does anyone their first time around? But, throughout and after the process of growing the kids inside of me and then expelling them, I have come to question certain societal mores that are, for some reason, not questioned enough. I "found out" about my pregnancy by the age old method of peeing on a stick. Well, I kind of had an idea before the stick but, waiting for the stick to show its lines provided me with enough time to chain smoke a half pack of cigarettes. I was determined to smoke until I could no longer enjoy a drag without feeing officially guilty for harming my unborn child. So, J and I looked at the stick and said 'yippee' we're having a baby. We left it like that for a couple weeks. (and yes...I did enjoy the occasional drag...but my body soon told me to stop...it wasn't guilt...just plain 'ol nausea).

Approximately two weeks later my leg started getting sore. It was the wrong kind of sore. Many years before, I had a blood clot in my leg. This felt remarkably similar. I called J away from work to drive me to emerg. This was on a Friday evening. Well, after waiting for 4 hours (I also puked a couple times while waiting), I was brought behind a curtain to be informed that they had no way to be sure I had a clot but such and such specialist said that just in case, I needed to have a needle. Ok, I said. Then I was told to lift my shirt. "In my belly?" I asked? Yup. In my belly. "But, I'm pregnant!" I was then told that I didn't have official proof of my condition...you see, I had merely pee'd on a stick...I hadn't been diagnosed by a doctor and, besides "we have to treat the mommy before the baby!" I felt sick and sicker as the needle was jammed into the flesh under my belly button. I really don't mean to gross anyone out but, I think it's an interesting tale to tell. So, I was given a slip of paper to have an ultra sound done to my leg the next day.

Hospitals on the weekend are dark and dreary places. J and I walked down the long and dimly lit corridor to where the ultrasounds took place. A young student did the test. The pain in my leg was in my calf. He checked my thigh. I told him where the pain was. He told me that it wasn't statistically relevant. He didn't find any clots. I was told to return on Monday for a retest 'just in case.' My leg still hurt but I was getting tired of this. Nevertheless, I returned on Monday. After the test I was told to take my results upstairs right away. I was also told not to walk. Seems I had 5 separate clots and one had moved above my knee. Ok. Fine. I went upstairs and became a part of a study for pregnant people with clots. I would have to give myself injections in my belly throughout my pregnancy--once or twice a day--and, when my belly got too big for the shots, I would have to put the needles in my thighs. One last thing, however. They needed proof that I was pregnant. My word and the stick didn't work. Upstairs I went to get another ultrasound. It was here that J and I found out that we were expecting twins. I was then told that I couldn't have a midwife and that I was considered a high-risk pregnancy and would need to come in for regular exams and such under the supervision of specialists.

I won't go into too much detail now but, some of the things I discovered are:
1) ultrasounds don't seem all that useful. measurements were taken each time to determine whether or not the babies were growing alright but...to me, my belly kind of gave that away. I wasn't too interested in knowing the sex of my children...besides...I already knew (in a different way) that I was carrying a boy and a girl. Ask J, he'll tell you that I'm telling the truth. I think ultrasounds are more for statistics and parents peace of mind then for any real medically sound reason.
2) ultrasounds tended to add to stress. the babies in my belly didn't like to be prodded and let me know. I didn't really need to know that one of them had a slower heart rate that then switched to the other one the next time around....things like that kinda freaked me out.
3) nurses like to make sure you have your vitamins...which I didn't take cuz they made my stomach upset. I just ate the foods that I wanted...that seemed to do the trick...and then lied to the nurses so I wouldn't be made to feel guilty
4) J and I avoided tests for such things as downes and the like. We didn't want to know because seriously, there wasn't anything that we would do anyway.
4.5) Student docs like to perform even more unnecessary tests to fill their roster of 'things I can do now!'
5) Weight gain and loss seemed to become the business of other people but, I was still able to function and carry on normally. I felt good. That's what counted. 168lbs baby!!
6) Daily injections suck. They really do.
7) I understand that seeing the docs was preventative but, really, looking back, I know I would have been fine and perhaps less stressed, if I had seen less of them.
7.5) Scheduling inductions and c-sections for the sake of following a schedule is fucked.
8) When push comes to shove in delivery, if your doc is off, your doc is off. There will be someone else there to deliver the kid. I don't know the name of the woman who delivered mine. It really didn't matter at that point who was down there.
8.5) The machine that is strapped to you once an hour to check on your contractions is stupid...J would be watching the machine to let me know when I was having a contraction and I would then say 'no shit sherlock' from between grit teeth.
9) It's not a great idea to puke on a nurse...she may deny you water.
9.5) Smuggling in coffee is easier if your partner is an addict as well.
10) Nurses will wake you and your children up so that you can feed on a schedule...geeesh...and try and make you feel bad for wanting to sleep.
11) It's only at home where I could begin to feel comfortable with my new family...away from poking and prodding.

There are things I wish I had said and did differently. I went in not knowing and was unprepared. Not so much with the pregnancy. That all came together. I was unprepared with how systemized the process of child birth had become. Poking and prodding and testing were the norm. At times, I felt more like a cyborg than a human being. I don't understand why things are like this. I hope that people will begin to rebel against this. Challenge this new 'norm' and realize that it is their body--their choice. Don't let a system make you question what you know is true...for you.

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.'

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.

Sometimes a Pink Button is More Than a Pink Button

This morning began as most hectic pre work/school/coffee mornings do. The alarm began beeping. I rolled over to ignore it. One of the cats began rubbing my face and drooling. My daughter (who had snuck into my bed sometime during the night) let out a sigh. I got up and glared at J (who had no idea I was doing this since he was fast asleep or ignoring the alarm more successfully than I) and began the morning routine of getting myself up and ready, the kids up and ready, cats and kids fed, myself caffeineated and out the door. This morning, S began talking about wanting to bring a special pink button to school:

"Can I bring it to school mummy? I love it"

My response a distracted "ok."

Well, we got in the car and I must confess to tuning out S as she went on and on about her special pink button and how it came from her fall coat and how it had fallen off and she had found it. I was doing my best to avoid hitting those pedestrians that had just woken up or who were ready for bed (I love that turn around time of the morning). When we got to the daycare, S informed me that she had lost the button. "oh well sweetie, we'll find it after school." I hadn't really understood how important this button was. After finally coming out the car thinking I would search for it, she crumpled herself on the sidewalk in a state of abject misery worthy of a full scholarship to the national theatre school. I picked her up and carried her to the driveway. Well, my son A witnessed this display and wanted to be carried too. I said no. He took off his ball cap and threw it to the ground and shrieked like a seagull. Just at this time, an elderly gentleman came walking by, pointed to A and, like in the Simpsons, said 'ha ha ha.' This pissed A off more (and me too) and we all stalked rather miserably to the daycare door. Once inside, I informed the kids that no one was going to be carried up the stairs. This resulted in more wailing and carrying on. At least I wasn't playing favourites. 'A' recovered when we got to the top of the stairs. S, on the otherhand, first hid in a locker, than crumpled herself to the ground. I finally got her over the gate whereupon she threw herself on it and I watched as the tear soaked face slid down the plexiglass. I haven't yet mentioned that S now wears a patch over one eye in the mornings. That with her missing bottom teeth gives her a true pirate look. Imagine if you will the look of a miserable pirate squished to glass and you will have an understanding of how she looked.
When I got to the car, I realized that I would be late for work. So be it. When I get home tonight, I'm going to make sure to find that pink button.

When we skate, we skate on ice

I'm listening in on my kids again. S is explaining to A about skating:
A: 'Can we just stand there?'
S: 'No, you have to skate.'
A: 'Can we skate on the road?'
S: 'No, when we skate, we skate on ice.'

Yesterday at dinner, A told us that he was going to drive the car. S gave immediate reasons why this wouldn't work:
1) His feet can't reach the pedals;
2) He doesn't have keys.
I told J that this was clear evidence of the generation gap at work. Wherein we would think that the kids are obviously too young and therefore the thought of them driving cars at this age is inconceivable, their reasons are reflective of a different thought processes at work. Things like this make me feel old.

There are other things, however, that make me feel rather young. My immediate neighbours are all very pleasant ('cept for one but he and his family are moving out Sept. 1st...he was the one who mentioned in passing 'hmmm...never had a wasp problem before you guys arrived' and 'hmmm...never found rocks in the parking area until your kids came around...not that I'm saying it was them' ... imagine the hidden 'hmmmm' I had in my mind). Anyway, back to the nice neighbours...I've met the mothers/wives of three of the family. They are around my biological age but I feel young (not necessarily in a good way) around them. Hard to explain but, I just feel a bit immature around them. I am bare foot, they have sandels/shoes...I am kicking the soccer ball around, they are leaving it to the kids....hmmm.
Even reading this I can't help but think that a lot of my feelings are coming from me not them. I just can't pin it down. I guess a large part of it is that I don't feel 36...I think the same way as I did when I was 24...don't I? Ok...I got married...work more than study...have kids...but...I still don't really feel that this is my life. Certainly there is more to my life than these stats.
I think that maybe, just perhaps, I'll try to learn how to skate this year.