A Birthday Message

It's my little brother's birthday today. I hope he is having a good day. I'm not entirely sure where he is. I know the town but nothing more really. He decided to take a break from family. Makes a lot of sense to me. I've done that in the past...not for so long but, I wasn't home enough in the first place. I close my eyes and see him wandering off with his friend as they discuss how to make a movie (they are in grade 3 in this image) and I also see him reenacting for me the second Star Wars Movie in the back yard...so well that when I finally got to see it, I felt that I was watching a re run. We played legos together. He would push me in the wagon (his turn would be next....I promise!) around the yard...swerving deftly around trees and avoiding the garden. He's a nice person. A bit odd. Slightly melodramatic. Views Marvin the paranoid robot as, perhaps, too much of a role model. He got me my first Leonard Cohen tape. He made me a chain mail garter. He has always been unapologetically himself. He has his demons but, they haven't bested him yet. He used to write me poetry written on donut shop napkins. He would bike over vodka to me when I was at a friend's house. He would carry our beer into the underages clubs. My friend S and I drove him to the hospital when he broke his elbow. He didn't cry much. I cast him in his first ever theatrical role. He never seemed to grow out of the adolescent gronk stage. Inside his brain, a genius lurks. When I went to university, I left him behind. I dream of him sometimes. Sometimes they are nightmares and I wake up afraid...for him. But, lately when I think of him I feel that he is ok. I miss him. I love him. and just want to wish him a happy birthday.

This ain't a list for Santa Claus

Seriously,
Why should I spend my valuable time making lists of things to do for a person who should damn well know by now what needs to be done. Does it really take a rocket scientist to see that:
1) if there is dust on stuff, it should be wiped off;
2) if there are dishes in the sink, they should be washed;
3) if there are dishes dried on the rack, they should be put away;
4) if there is crud on the floor, it should be swept up or wiped up;
5) if the kids' rooms are too messy, they should be cleaned up (sometimes they need a hand);
6) if there are full laundry bags, laundry should be done (this includes washing, drying, folding and putting away);
7) supper is eaten every day...plan for it!!
8) if food gets eaten, we may need more...check and make a list
9) if stuff is broken, try to fix it;
10) if the cat box has crap or piss in it, it should be cleaned out.

This is but a start. I couldn't help myself. It looks something like a list. Does holding one's breath and turning blue help?

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.

We Are All Responsible

It takes a village. Yup. We've all heard it. Some actually believe it. I'm one of those believers. Even though, at times, it seemingly would make more sense to hole oneself up against the onslaught of narrow mindedness, self-absorption, arrogance and ineptitude on a multitude of levels that pervade our existences, it does take a village. Put another way, it takes all kinds. And, as it takes all kinds, one's responsibility increases. We become responsible for each other. We must look out for one another. We must accept one another regardless -- let's face it, we all have flaws eh? We really ought to stop nit picking and looking for reasons to discriminate and sigh a collective sigh of 'ok then...such and such is happening...what can be done? who is available to do something? can I do anything to help? ' and then we should just roll up our collective sleaves and get on with it. No person is an island. Each choice we make has consequences...ripples...like ice cream. I have faith that all will be sorted out. I'll accept some people's choice to disregard faith and put it in a storage box filled with other 'I can't believe people used to believe that!' non-sense. I hope to not be so arrogant as to decide that people's beliefs can be so callously discredited but, to those that do this, remember that you don't exist outside of the village. No matter how you may try. One also has to try to not allow the actions or non-actions of others to cause one disappointment. It's unfair to put so much weight on the actions of another. The only one you have control over is yourself. We have free will. We make choices. We have to live with them within the context of each other. I am trying to teach my children to enjoy the gifts that each day brings...not to dwell on perceived slights or what hasn't worked out as planned. I think they get it. More readily then I. But, I've made my choice. I voted yesterday. And, I'll live with the consequences. And add my support to the creation of a more tolerant and accepting world.

Are your ears burning?

As I was driving into work this frigid morning, a 'news' item came on the radio that disturbed me. Apparently, a woman in Sweden had a spider living in her ear. It had crawled up (supposedly while she slept) and spun its web. She experienced a slight hearing loss and then began to hear a scratching sound. She went to the drugstore and got some stuff to flush out her ears. When she did this, the spider and its web came tumbling out. The spider, unharmed, walked off non-plussed. My ears feel funny now.

A History of Smoking (Part IV)

I just realized that I have been an official non-smoker for over a year. The anniversary, however, passed me by without notice. I realize that I am jumping ahead in my telling of this smoking tale. But, aren't stories that fall out of sequence more interesting? More thought-provoking? Instead of a series of events -- typical block buster mind fodder -- a tale that is interwoven on various levels, slipping, like smoke itself, between cracks of understanding works, for me at least, to provide a more satisfying literary meal. Ok. I agree. Enough. So, as I was saying, I have been a non-smoker for over a year. My clothes smell better. I have more money in my pocket. I can climb stairs without wheezing. I can sleep through an entire night without waking up mid-chest crunching hack. My boogers are no longer black. I can spend more time with my children playing games without having to duck out for a quick puff. All in all, a pretty good deal. Side effects? Yes. A few. My husband who has not yet quit must deal with my inability to kiss him after coming in from a quick smoke. My nose stuffs up horribly if he comes to bed without showering first. I get cravings and mood swings if I am around smoke for any period of time. These, however, are a relatively small price to pay. I feel better and am surprised that I can go so long without even thinking about cigarettes when there was a time when I would go into a cold sweat if I knew I only had 2 left in my pack. Geesh. I'll leave the actual process of quitting for another post. Gotta leave a trailer eh? Suffice it to say that I am celebrating a belated happy new life as a non smoker day. When I get home, I'll toast it proper with a shot of another potential addiction.

Mundane Thoughts On The Way To Work

1) Damn, looks like I'm going to be late;
2) What's S singing? Sounds like Green Day
3) Yup, it is Green Day -- 'Wake Me Up Before September Ends' -- that's my girl
4) I won't be too late
5) Traffic is better than I thought.
6) I have a meeting today at 10? or is it 10:30?
7) Wonder if A is awake yet. Hope he's feeling better
8) Weird how he puked and then fell asleep immediately...falling into it. J and I made a good 'change the pukey kid' team
9) Hope the highway is good for my mom and d. Talk about the highway. A Northern thing. It was nice to see them. And short visits are good
10) Will the tiles be finished in the office? Maybe I could set up C's office for him. He's sick today too.
11) Ok. S has been dropped off. They'll make A a card at daycare today. Cute
12) Lots of NDP signs in this neighbourhood. To be expected. The conservatives scare me. But...they too will pass. Like bad gas.
13) Women in BC are donating breast milk to the underprivileged. I really don't know how I feel about this. Seems wrong to me on some level. And icky.
14) Ok buddy. If you are such a rush then pass me.
15) Nice. You passed me in order to stop. See? It wasn't my fault that the traffic is slow. grrrrr
16) Inner peace...inner peace...inner peace.
17) Hmmmm....wonder if he'd like to drag?
18) I see the university in the horizen
19) S wants to fly with Santa Claus
20) Feel kinda bad for the Russian team...the goal was good. They still got smoked however.
21) Hey...not late. The parking around here is stupid.
22) I have to open up this morning. First class is at 8:30am. Who the hell would book a class for 8:30am on a Friday morning? Who would go? I'd skip. Geeeesh. Just watch though...when I get there, there will be about 100 kids in the lobby eager to rush the theatre for a seat. AT 8:00AM!!! I don't think I was ever early for a class ever. Not to sit in it anyway. What about a smoke? What about a coffee? A quick chat? Students these days are weird.
23) I should delay openning until 8:25am...get me a coffee first. Weird how something like that sounds subversive.

Calm After/Before the Storm?

The flood waters have abated and I feel strangely at peace. The holiday was a good one. Funny how leaving town for even a short period of time makes the actual time off seem longer. Well, it did for me at any rate. It is also very nice to be back home. Even sitting at my desk feels better. I needed the break. Now I have to work on keeping this sense of serenity...of calm. My work area was left relatively unscathed by the flooding. My boss needs to get his office redone. And the hallway tiles all need to be replaced. Things will look and feel cleaner and more fresh however. I feel that my faux pas has only expedited the necessary. J is now a union man. Life is carrying on as it should. Until the next bomb drops.

Update

This holiday is flying by. In a good way. Lots of eating and playing and sleeping. Kids are a bit confused as to why they aren't going to school. They are missing it actually. Nice. And strange. I'm a bit sluggish. We're off to C & S's farm today for lunch and to frolic with the horses. Tomorrow we're off to the North land. I booked a sleigh ride for the kids on Friday. Watching Blue's Clues as I write this. 'Why did the sock puppet cross the road? Because the chicken was wearing it.' Yes. My sense of humour is preschool. I dig it. At times, I feel as if I can live this way for a very long time. Holed up in this house. Not venturing very far away. Focusing on the little things. Little and paramount.

How Dry I Am

Our tree is up. Real, of course. Prettiest one ever. Our house is decorated. The cookies have been baked. 7 varieties. The turkey is in the fridge. The presents have pretty much all been obtained and are waiting to be wrapped. The house is clean. Top to bottom. Kids are excited. I am ready. Bring it on.

Last week was my last one at work. I took this week off. I needed it. A lot to do. And, at the same time, I needed a rest away from 'the office.' Yes. Working in a theatre is fun. I love it. It's great. It is also, at times, a soul stealing, mind numbing bureaucratic nightmare that only those in charge of academics could possibly dream up. My staff is made up of lovely people. People who are all certifiable. I was getting through shows by the skin of my teeth. My game hasn't been sharp. I've almost dropped the ball on a number of occasions. I hope the time away can clear up some of the cobwebs that seem to have become entrenched inside my skull. Last Friday I filled the humidifier for the Steinway. I turned off the water and went home. At least I thought I turned off the water. I went in on Sunday. The stairwell seemed to be a bit water stained. I went into the office. Chaos. The place had flooded. Big time. The main damage? On my boss's desk. You see, the Steinway is housed in a room directly over his desk. Seems that there was so much water that his office and the workshop were under about 6" of water. Soggy. I called him on Monday. Although officially on vacation, I thought I should go in to help clean up. No need. He was practically giggling. The main computer was unscathed. Business could continue. Albeit on a stool set up in the middle of the workshop as his office was being dried out. As I mentioned before, hope my holiday will give me time to clear out some cobwebs or next year will be a bumpy one indeed.

My Mother's Hands

There are times, when I am driving, that I see my mother's hands on the steering wheel. The way my fingers touch lightly on the beige vinyl and the way they skim over the surface when turning. It is during these times that I am conscious of sitting up straighter and imagine that I carry the same expression as she. I am my mother's daughter. The same but different. My hands have noticibly thicker skin. As do I. Her skin is soft and fair. Mine is rough and ruddy. Her fingers are long and delicately tapered. Delicate is not a good adjective to describe my digits. My fingers are short although, to their credit, not quite squat. My thumbs, however, are stumpy. Always have been. I've made up stories over the years to explain them to others. Things like 'my dad used to tie me up outside by my thumbs and one night he tied too tightly and I lost circulation and had to have the tips removed.' Sometimes these stories were believed. A psychic once told me that stumpy thumbs were a sign of a quick temper. I never really noticed having a temper until I was told this. When I was younger, I thought that my thumbs would grow as I did. I would wake up one morning with boobs and grown up thumbs. One day I would have my mother's thumbs. This didn't happen. When I played guitar (I used to play a lot...not so much if at all anymore...although I think about it occasionally...like chelsea hotel) I used to love watching my hands. When I played, my hands were mine. No one elses. I would be amazed while watching them that they seemed to know so much that I didn't--where the notes were, how strong or how lightly to pluck to achieve that 'just right' nuance, the minimum amount of pressure necessary to hold down a string before buzzing would occur. I wonder if my hands still hold this memory? This memory along with the memory of my mother's hands.

And NO, I Don't Want to "Get Over It"

I passed by flags at half-mast the other day. 'who died?', I asked. I asked J. He shrugged his shoulders. I had forgotten. Then I remembered. Then I read this: take-minute-and-remember and I was sad. Sad because it happened. Sad because it still happens. Sad because I had forgotten to remember. Sad because a part of me wanted to forget. Sad because change doesn't seem to happen fast enough. Sad because some things change too quickly. Sad because I have a daughter. Sad because I have a son. Sad because December should mean "peace." Sad because some things are still not called hate crimes. Sad because I have inside me the capacity to hate. Then I smiled. The flags were at half-mast the other day. Everywhere! Someone remembered. And would continue to do so.

My Humpy Lumps Aren't Beige

And just what have I been up to? Life, I guess. I've sunk into a novel which is always a sweet sweet and mildly obsessive venture. The way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie Macdonald. I'm enjoying it. I'm in it and outside of it and around it and beyond it. I joined a gym. Am actually enjoying the cardio machines. My trainer is giving me good support. I'm not as out of shape as I thought. I need work but, thankfully, it's not a hopeless cause. I watched the Grey Cup the other weekend. Good Game!!! One of those 'I don't care who wins...they are playing well and it's exciting' games. Well...Edmonton was actually walking all over Montreal for the first half but...then the game picked up! Things I've never seen in the CFL (or football in general). At one point, the Montreal quarter back fired off a shot and it bounced off of someone's helmut back into his hands and he fired it off into the end zone just slipping off the finger tips of the receiver. Turns out that even if it had been caught, it wouldn't have counted. You can't throw twice. I did not know that. The game ended up in OT. First time since the 60's. It was a nail biter. Montreal QB threw a gorgeous TD and thought they had the game wrapped up. Edmonton followed with pretty much the same play. Very cool. Interesting to see the different coaches. Montreal headed up by an old veteran with a walrus moustache and close to zero facial expression. Edmonton led by a rookie who had a difficult time controlling his emotions. Edmonton ended up taking it. Good on em. I made a huge pot of chili. J supplied the munchies. Half-time performance featured the Black Eyed Peas. Hmmm.. I like them. It's just...well...no one sounds good at half-time. It just doesn't work. The audio sucks. Performers can't hear themselves.
Sigh. At least the female singer did her 'job' in providing young adolescents with wet dream fodder for the next little while.
I'm looking forward to the vacation. Christmas vacation. Christmas. Yup. I like Christmas. Our department is having a "holiday luncheon." I'm setting it up (it's on my stage) but I fear I must boycott. The logic/reasoning behind not calling it a Christmas party is weak. I come from Sault Ste. Marie. In the 80's, my fair city declared itself to be unilingual. A wrong headed decision but, it arose out from a grass roots frustration with how things were being done in the name of equality. Back lash is always quick to rear it's ugly head. Our supervisor want to avoid any possible problems and avoid the use of the term christmas. Except that we can have a christmas tree. And play christmas carols. Already, I hear rumblings and murmerings about how the 'we' are being dictated to by the 'they.' Sigh. My protest is with the drive to make all things bland. Uncolourful. Beige. Beige, I think I'll paint the ceiling beige.

'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).