True story

Yesterday the girls and I were walking through Zeller$. We came to the ladies lingerie section where there were rows and rows of colourful bras hanging up.

Rosebud: Papoosie Girl, when you grow up and your boobies grow which one will you pick?
Papoosie Girl: (slightly dejected) When I grow up I won't have any taste.
Me: What? Why won't you have any taste when you grow up?
Papoosie Girl: (glancing my way) Look at you Mom you are all plain and stuff, I just figure you lose your taste for cool clothes when you grow up.

Note: I was wearing a solid brown Tommy long sleeved top with jeans and Sketchers. My bra and undies (which she saw me put on) sadly are of of the solid variety as well, noting that the undies are maternity undies in blue at least.)

Me: I have taste. I just wear more simple patterns and colours than you like.

Papoosie Girl: (not really convinced and grinning) OK Mom I guess you do have some taste.

Cut to this morning where I put on a navy and light blue rugby style maternity top she hasn't seen before...

Papoosie Girl: That top is nice Mom (I tell her it was Auntie Katrina's) maybe you do have some taste after all.

Me: Thanks honey.

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We have settled somewhat into our school routine. I just got a memo today though that some of the morning SK kids are going to be moved to the afternoon class with the same teacher. They are asking for volunteers, but even if they don't get them, some of the kids will be moved. This is not good for Rosebud since she is pretty tired in the afternoon and often naps or at least rests on her bed. Since I have a pretty good relationship with the Principal I am going to try to catch her later today to get more information and let her know that I would prefer for Rosebud to stay in the morning class...they want to hear concerns so I will oblige.

I am feeling better for the most part and am now 4 1/2 months along. It is starting to seem real now. We are talking about a new stroller and how we are going to combine the girls into one room. In some ways it seems so far off, but I know the fall will fly by and next thing you know it will be the holidays. My next ultrasound is in a few weeks and I think we are leaning towards finding out if this baby is a girl or boy. I still really don't want too, but I think it will make our preparations a lot easier.

I know I have been scarce around these parts, but I am reading even if I don't always comment. I have made a point of making my blog and blogging in general fit into my life, although I kind of miss when it was threatening to take over my life!

I keep saying to myself a family of five. It still doesn't always seem real. I hope I can hold it all together.

I think I'll spin

See that new background, that is what I am dreaming about. I am dreaming about warm water, sand and sun. I just booked our hotel for Myrtle Beach this July and I am giddy. We will be heading to Long Island, NY for a wedding at the end of June and I somehow convinced Hubby with my stealth charm that going to the beach after was a great idea. He wanted to go to Boston, but in my current state all I can dream about is palm trees and sand.

We are definitely a road trip kind of family I guess although the thought usually makes me hyperventilate a bit before we actually start the trip. Just last night Papoosie Girl was telling Rosebud that traveling is exciting because you get to see new things, she already has the bug. All the girls care about so far is the Statue of Liberty (thanks Wonderpets and Little Einstein’s!), the big Toys R Us in Times Square and the playground at Central Park I showed them. After all that we head to the beach, I really can't wait.

In this never-ending grip of cold and sickness it is what I need right now, to think of better times. It is not just my house though that has been caught up with this plague. It has been one of the leading news stories in Canada and the USA not to mention American Idol last night (after 6 seasons I have finally decided to see what all the hype is about, to be honest Simon is my favourite part most of the time) mentioned that many of the contestants had the flu. So many of my favourite bloggers and their families have been sick too. Is it me - or this winter just worst somehow?

Of course this weekend I told everyone I saw that yes we were all finally better and yes it was amazing that Papoosie Girl never got it. Then of course I picked her up from school all glassy-eyed and hot and she was telling me her muscles were "quivery" all day. I am now paying for my rookie mistake and tempting fate and all that as she sits on the sofa watching the Family Channel at the moment.

There is some good news though; we have turned Papoosie Girl into a Wheel of Fortune addict. I have watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy off and on for years, it is what my Mom used to watch every night so I was stuck watching unless I wanted to head for the basement TV. It was Wheel in fact that gave me the inspiration for my honeymoon. They were doing a broadcast from a resort in Hawaii and I was mesmerized to see Vanna swimming with the dolphins, I had to go there - and I did. When we were newly married Hubby and I used our hand-held Jeopardy machines (basically a calculator) to keep track of our score, competition was fierce and not always friendly.

The other night we had the television on watching the red alert screens going by on the weather channel and for some reason Hubby flipped to Wheel. Papoosie Girl who had been doing a puzzle before bed was hooked immediately and wanted to know all about it. That first night she had pretty much figured out the premise and was eager to try to solve the puzzles. The money part of it confused her; she kept asking if it was money for them to go to university.

I now tape it everyday and we watch it a bit earlier than it airs so bedtime is not jeopardized. She has been able to solve many puzzles...as long I keep my mouth shut and don't shout them out before she gets a chance to solve them. I am so impressed at how easy it is coming to her and the other day she asked me if we could go to the video store and get the Wheel of Fortune movie - that made me laugh. To watch her mind expanding is just inspiring and while I wish I could take the credit it is just her, my stubborn and sweet little girl with more determination than I ever had. Daddy even bought the computer version and she loves playing except she misses Vanna and Pat who for some reason aren't on the computer version.

As a kid I loved game shows and watched Price is Right, Family Feud, Jokers Wild, Match Game, Press Your Luck, I could go on and on. I guess she comes by it naturally. We have been chided for keeping our girls away from family-type movies we still feel are inappropriate for our girls, now that they are hooked on Wheel I can only imagine what our friends will say. I am all for letting them fill their heads with fun kids shows, it is just that the ones they like are the ones where they learn something, that is what they ask for. I would never let them watch violent or sassy shows with nothing but fighting and back talking it is just not my way.

So as a special treat I am going to let my adorable little letter turner watch last nights Wheel since she is all feverish right now. I hope that if we keep spinning our wheel will land on something other than being sick...like a nice jackpot of health for our family.

And a dolly, and a sled, and a new dress...

I have been hopelessly negligent in posting these days...here is a little Christmas cheer to get everyone in the mood.

I have waxed poetically about my urge and need to reduce and control the clutter in our house, the cathartic experience of freeing yourself from stuff. As we ramp up for the time of year when the most holiest and materialistic marry up in a dual to the finish, I find myself thinking of ways to do things better. Move away from the stuff and move towards helping others, creating memories and opening the girls up to new experiences. Angels singing in the background.

I am still wrestling with our five present rule we (admittedly made up and in fact quite random) a few years ago. That would be five gifts from Santa only on Christmas morning plus their stockings (stockings contain a toothbrush, socks, undies, maybe a small book -just the little things). We have not started any gifts from each other and so far we are happy with the simplicity of Christmas morning this way. The girls have three sets of grandparents, many other relatives and friends so they get many gifts. I put a lot of thought into their gifts and most everyone checks with me so I can make sure the girls they get things they want and will use...not just more plastic crap. She says as she lugs the Dora Let's Get Ready Vanity to the basement in a garbage bag...the ONLY item in Rosebud's letter to Santa...she eventually added a few other random items after much prompting. You can't get any more plastic and crap in one gift and let it be known I wrestled hard over this purchase and got it on sale for nearly half price. Guilt recedes a bit.

I don't exactly announce our five present idea to everyone I meet, but it has leaked it's way out and around in the last few years. It has been met with many a mixed review. Most older people yelp about how five is such a large number of gifts, surely one or two would do? Don't you have sticks and rocks for them already?!

Then on the other hand we get a lot of people who think we are just plain Scrooge-like and we are ruining Christmas and compromising their sweet holiday memories forever. Five was made-up, it had no significance other than it seemed like plenty to oh and ah over and to ensure it didn't look like Santa had forgotten us and few enough gifts that they didn't sit around for hours in an opening frenzy with about as much enthusiasm for each gift as Britney has for underwear.

We are sticking to our plan for this year since it all works out quite well in terms of what they want, what Santa is willing to give, and what I think is enough without being too much. My worst fear (well, one of the top five at least) is raising ungrateful little monsters who are looking for what is coming next. Beck had some great ideas for simple food and craft gifts that are easy to make and much more personal to give and receive. The girls and I are going to try the cocoa in a jar this year along with some shortbread cookies we make, a perfect homemade gift I would say and simple enough that I won't lose my mind in the process.

I am still deciding what charity project we will be doing this year. Our school is not doing the Shoebox campaign this year which is too bad because it is such a great project for young kids to work on. Instead we are doing an adopt-a-family campaign and collecting donations for five families. I want to do something else for just our family, to really send the message to the girls that we are privileged. Not to make them feel bad, they should not be made to feel guilty for being born into our family; but to make them aware that along with this privilege comes a responsibility. A responsibility to share our resources with those less fortunate than us, if I can not only get that message across in a way they understand, but can instill it in my girls; then I will have done well.

Making memories, creating traditions and helping others is the spirit of the season I want my girls to remember long after the gifts are opened.

Fall Down - Go Boom

Yup. That is what happened yesterday as I was leaving the house to pick up Rosebud from school. I locked the front door, turned around, took a step and the next thing I remember is hitting the patio stones of our walkway. I know I turned my left ankle so I think I stepped off with my left foot, it twisted under me and I fell forward and landed with a great thud.

I was so stunned I just sat up and cried on the walkway. In a moment of, I could be seriously hurt and no one would know, kind of way. At first I really could not stand, I am not a slight girl and the weight of falling from a step coupled with my weight knocked the wind out of me.

About a minute later I realized that I need to get up and by now both my shins were throbbing and so is my left ankle and it is now six minutes until I need to pick up Rosebud. A quick mental scramble reveals that all of my close by backup people are not home, so that leaves me to hobble to the van and get Rosebud.

Did I mention that I had promised Papoosie Girl she could come home for lunch? She asked me everyday last year, but because that would mean Rosebud would have to to miss her nap it never worked. Now that Rosebud has her ballet class on Thursday afternoons and doesn't nap anyway, it seemed like a good idea.

As I was driving to get Rosebud I called Hubby in what I would call a controlled panic. I blubbered through my fall and told him he would have to come home on time or please, please, please a bit early. As a certified klutz I am sure he was not too freaked out, though for the record he has stepped off that same step and twisted his ankle twice...this was my first time! Note to self: Is there a problem with the step or just the users? Look into.

Rosebud's teacher took one look at me and gasped. I guess I looked a little messed up. I managed to get both girls home and feed them lunch which thankfully I had prepared before I left the house and I even managed to get Papoosie Girl back to school on time, which basically meant I pulled up in the front of the school, called the secretary and told Papoosie Girl to buzz herself in.

Hubby made it home to take Rosebud to dance class and I lounged on the couch all afternoon alternatively feeling really stupid and really sorry for myself. Falling for me is a big deal because I have the worst legs in the world. I have huge, ugly veins on the surface of my skin so the slightest bump results in a huge lump where the vein bursts. I then need to wrap it in a tensor for a few days and the resulting bruise will last for weeks. I have looked into surgery, but they advise against it unless you are done having children. Since I am not willing to make that call as of yet, I have the crappiest, most sensitive veins ever. My legs will probably be bruised and sore for weeks now. Blech.

The only upside was how sweet and caring the girls were as I tried to wash my legs off and wrap them while they ate. Papoosie Girl got the Polysporin and band aids and kept telling me, "it's OK Mama it is the kids one so it won't sting" all the while I am trying to be brave and not cry in front of them. Rosebud kept telling me to sit down and they both insisted they were going to be the best listeners ever and not give me a, "bit of trouble" all day.

I have the sweetest girls and best husband who took over all house duties, made me the best supper, took care of the girls and made me tea while we watched Survivor and 30 Rock. How do people do this alone? What if I had no one to call? Those thoughts make me realize that while it is easy to say how lucky you are sometimes, I really am lucky.

Since I am not supposed to be on my feet today I have a free pass to blog and read all morning. Maybe it is not that bad after all.

That photo is of Papoosie Girl falling into the hay on our apple picking trip in September. I was not looking nearly as happy after my fall.

Life Imitates Art

The weather here in southern Ontario just keeps getting stranger. The temperature Sunday was around 26 degrees and sunny. We visited the McMichael art gallery today mainly to see the Robert Bateman exhibition which closes on - oh according to the website it has been extended an extra week until November 4, 2007. Today on the other hand was a wet and chilly morning.

I have wanted to bring the girls to the gallery for quite awhile, but was weary of the priceless works of art and you know my KIDS in the same room. Papoosie Girl had a science project recently on birds and she choose the Blue Jay. In my excitement of her first project, I love me a project! During our her research I wanted to show her some paintings of Blue Jays and we ended up on the Bateman website. I had forgotten how much I love his work. Then I heard about the Bateman exhibit and decided that we should visit the gallery. For good measure and an extra set of adults Nana and Papa (my Mom and her husband) came along for the visit.

I am fortunate enough that my step mom has several original Bateman prints that were my Dad's. I also bought my Mom a very tiny Bateman print of a chipmunk from an art sale when I was a cool office dweller working downtown. They had an art sale nearby and I could not resist the small framed print and wanted to surprise my Mom with a real grown-up gift. She still has it and it is up in her bedroom.

The Robert Bateman exhibit did not disappoint. The paintings were so amazing, his talent is really like no other in capturing nature. Many of the paintings were accompanied by his own words, why he did what he did or how he did it and that was so fascinating. His attention to detail and his vast knowledge of plants and wildlife is beyond compare. There was a painting titled Pacific that was so real I studied and studied it and declared it wet.

There is a quote on his website and appeared in the gallery literature that is worth sharing:

"I can't conceive of anything being more varied and rich and handsome than the planet Earth. And its crowning beauty is the natural world. I want to soak it up, to understand it as well as I can, and express it in my painting. This is the way I want to dedicate my life."

Despite my hotel tendencies and general lack of enthusiasm towards any kinds of roughing it, I feel a pull towards nature, towards trees and rocks and blue skies. If I am in the city for too long without any nature time I crave it as much as food. Visiting the gallery and seeing all the people marvelling over Bateman's work confirmed that I am not alone. We have advanced so far away from our natural roots as modern, twenty-first century people; yet we pay money and line-up to see paintings of the natural world. It is like we can somehow absorb life through these paintings.

I have not visited the gallery in ages and had forgotten how much I love the Group of Seven artists. I felt like I was taking a walk down memory lane as I meandered the gallery taking in the works of A. Y. Jackson, Tom Thomson and Lawren Harris. Images so familiar to me, I guess in part because my school used to make at least one trip a year to the gallery, but also because I am seeing my country in these images, through my adult eyes.

The gallery was pretty busy and we waited about 5-10 minutes to get down the driveway to pay ($5) for parking. The grounds are actually just as nice as the gallery itself, there are several paths to walk and artwork throughout the grounds, the girls loved the Inukshuk. It was so pretty with the gorgeous views of the Humber Valley and we got some great shots of the girls romping along the paths.

The gallery is mostly stroller friendly for those of you thinking of visiting with the munchkins. Rosebud was tired and insisted we go back to the van for the stroller before we even started which actually was better since having her loose near the paintings was making me sweat. The paintings are not roped off in any way and I saw many toddlers get too close only to be told by the many staff to not go any closer than the lights on the ceiling. Um, yeah like a three year old is going to understand that. I did see many frazzled parents trying to keep curious hands off the artwork which is definitely within reach of little hands.

All the bathrooms had change tables and the lobby sold drinks, snacks and sandwiches. There was a restaurant downstairs (I never saw an elevator so you might have to carry your stroller down) but the buffet was $16 dollars so we opted for a few snacks and water before heading out for a walk. There is a small Discovery Area for the kids at the end of the gallery tour and the girls loved it, but it is pretty small, not more than two families would fit comfortably. I would definitely take Papoosie Girl back and since we got a membership that seems likely, but I might not take Rosebud if I was alone. It is hard for them to understand that there is no touching when we have taken them to so many kid-friendly museums and such.

Papoosie Girl was fascinated with the First Nations and Inuit art and loved the totem poles - just like on Little Einstein's! There were artists on hand and an art sale and one of the artists let her roll clay and spent a lot of time explaining to her what she was doing. I was grateful for an extra set of hands so she could spend some time with the artist. She was definitely in her element.



Even if this wasn't the most leisurely visit, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We got off to a late start and didn't arrive until 12pm, I usually prefer an early start for day trips, but this was a pancake morning - with our new Halloween shapes thanks to our evening visit to Yorkdale last night (quick trip to the Apple store for Hubby) and our visit to Williams & Sonoma. By the way, I don't make pancakes, well hardly ever. Daddy is the master pancake maker and loves his shapes, this is the second set we have bought and have had the first set for over a year now.

Just so you don't think we have piles of money lying around for such important things like pancake molds. For those of you kitchen obsessed, Yorkdale is getting a Crate & Barrel in 2008! Yes American friends we are still missing several of your wonderful stores, including Victoria's Secret (best underwear on the planet), Bath and Body Works, Target, and let's not forget Olive Garden -which we had and lost. Hence, why I need to make my frequent visits to my favourite stores family in New York.

I love when we introduce the girls to something new, it feels like such an accomplishment. Art and nature and history are so important to me and I want to share that and those feelings with my girls. Imagine my pride when Papoosie Girl would surprise us with some little gem of knowledge throughout the day, see I am doing a good job I would think! As I glance at my fridge covered in artwork I understand, how indeed, life imitates art.

This makes three

Papoosie Girl has lost another tooth, I know riveting blog reading. I have no idea why I find this so distressing, just as much as the first two. You wait and watch for those first teeth for months. Any cranky behaviour or lost sleep is accredited to those incoming teeth, "it must be her teeth" you exclaim over and over.

Then then get bigger and they fall out. Just like that it is all over. Kind of like childhood. Pardon me while I puddle on the floor.

A Baby Story - Baby 1 - Part 2

So where were we...right, it was about 3:30am, I was leaking something pinkish, I am a month away from my due date on December 28, 2000.

While Hubby goes to find the phone number for the hospital I pull out a bag. We have not yet had our appointment where we get all this information in a nice neat package. We called the main line and after some garbled ramblings about being pregnant, a month early and leaking we are transferred to Labour and Delivery. I am told I am probably leaking amniotic fluid and thus my water has indeed broken. They are very concerned about the colour which I assure them is not brown only pinky/red. The nurse checks my file and tells me I am about 3-4 days away from being full-term, therefore I am in preterm labour, which sounds very, very, scary when they tell you this over the phone. The nurse tells us to get to the hospital right away, um can I have a shower I ask? The answer is yes, if I don't dawdle, they would like me at the hospital within the hour.

A shower you might think? A girl has plans for her birth you know? Everything taken care of, shaved, prepped, polished and the like. Let's just say it was a hasty preparation. After my quick shower and blow-dry I get dressed. I am leaking still, but a pad seems to do the job fine for now. Now we need to pack the bag, which Hubby starts while I am in the shower - his biggest worry is the stopwatch.

The stopwatch was prominently featured in our childbirth classes, it was important to time the contractions and keep track of everything. He searched and searched and could not find it, much to his dismay. It meant nothing that I wasn't even having contractions, at best I could be described as slightly crampy or perhaps that was cranky. We manage to pack a bag with my must have item - lip balm, I cannot live without lip balm. I love the stuff. We get downstairs and it is about 4am or so and Hubby stops me in the doorway to take a photo, I even look happy.

As we getting in the car, my seat protected with a green garbage bag - I don't know what I thought would happen on the car ride, Hubby informs me we need gas - we are on empty. Huh?! It is 4am I am in labour or something like it and we need to stop for diesel. And so we did. This made me edgy, didn't Hubby pay attention in class, you must have a full tank of gas at all times!

We parked and found our way up to Labour and Delivery with little fuss, with our bags and pillows in tow. I was put into an assessment room with one other woman who was groaning so loudly. I mentioned to the nurse that the baby had been breech about six days at my last appointment when she could not find the heartbeat where it was supposed to be. Right away, I was taking off my nail polish which I don't normally wear, but had put some on at Christmas. Next I was signing all kinds of forms and the words emergency c-section were said somewhere. While I know I was not panicked there was an intensity to this moment that was very palpable.

You might laugh, but the next thing did was check me, you know down there, internally. It was my first internal examination of my entire pregnancy and after declaring I was, "tighter than a steel drum" and not effaced or thinned out at all, I was sent for an ultrasound to confirm where the baby was heading. I remember telling the doctor I was breech just a few days earlier, let's just say he was not in the mood for my assessment. When he told me the baby was indeed head down I was shocked. I had thought I felt the baby turn, but wasn't really sure. It was such a roller coaster of thinking I might have to have a c-section, being terrified, accepting it, and then going through the process all over again when I realized I was going to be pushing this baby out.

One of the most difficult moments of my entire labour happened during this assessment. The nurse told me that since the baby was preterm he/she would have to stay in the hospital while I went home...that the baby might be sick and would have to stay in the nursery while I went home. I am sure she was just trying to prepare me, but it cast a shadow on the labour that never really lifted. I was scared already and even though my assigned nurse was great and reassured me that the baby was going to be fine, those first words stuck with me.

By about 6am we were settled in our large, pink, room (a sign!) equipped with all the necessities like a big TV. I was told I would have to be put on Pitocin since I was not quite in labour despite my water breaking I was not having any real contractions, it was important to get things moving. They started all the IV's and the massive bruise on my arm lingered for weeks where the nurse could not get it in right.

We were settled, I was feeling fine, no pain yet and the TV was on for Hubby to watch a little news. I waited until about 8:30am to call my Mom (she was working that day) and tell her I was at the hospital, despite me assuring her I was fine she left work and came to the hospital around noon. I had never discussed with Hubby who (if anyone) would be present at the birth of our baby, I think it was just unspoken that it would be us only. I am a very private person, I once yelled at a doctor as a child for lifting up my shirt.

We also phoned my in-laws and my best friend. My best friend (we met in Grade 9 and while very different in personality, love each other like sisters) was home and her Hubby was out skiing with his brother and she decided to come by and arrived around 2pm. Her initial reaction to the call from Hubby was "yeah right" she had seen me the night before at the Nutcracker, she thought it was a joke...it was the crepes he told her. In fact, all the phone calls we made to tell people we were having or had the baby were met with similar reactions. Several people flat out didn't believe him at all. I would have to take the phone to make them believe it.

The day passed slowly I remember, but when I think of what I might have done for all those hours I cannot think of a single thing. I was not allowed out the bed since I was on the Pictocin, I did not pack cards or games, I was not allowed to eat anything, I just remember my Mom, Hubby and my friend sitting by the edge of my bed in a very reassuring way. I was mad I couldn't use the tub, I had been imagining my labour taking place in the tub and thought of it as a magical place to labour, I never made it to the tub the second time either. Er.

By early afternoon I was still one centimetre despite the increasing Pitocin coursing through me for hours. I was getting uncomfortable, but was still not in enough pain to get the epidural. My lovely nurse, Caroline kept telling me that Pictocin causes a very intense labour and to not be so stubborn to not say when I might need it. By the time I realized I needed it and could not cope, I was having back labour and contractions minutes apart. They made everyone - including Hubby leave to do the epidural which upset me greatly. It hurt like hell of course, but once it was done I felt a bit better knowing that I would feel better soon. That however, never happened, it did not work as it was supposed to, I could still feel everything. We waited and waited, then they "topped me up" directly into the line. Nothing. My option was to stay as it or try it again. Hubby says he heard me scream done the hall while they pulled it out and did it again. Thankfully, the second time it worked and I was numb in no time.

By about 3pm I was still one centimetre or so and had had a few scary moments when the baby's heartbeat dropped suddenly. Out of nowhere, nurses rushed in and put a mask over my face, furiously checking the papers spewing out of the machines. For most of the day up until that point, my nurse would come and go checking on me and the papers with little fanfare. My nurse kept saying over and over how this must be a boy because she would constantly lose the heartbeat with the fetal belt around my belly. Over and over she would readjust the belt and faithfully the baby would wiggle away. It drove her crazy. Something that drove me crazy was the blood pressure cuff that went off automatically every 15 minutes. In the middle of pushing I demanded it be removed, it was bothering me more than pushing.

When the doctor would check me every few hours it would always be the same, I was getting thinner and the baby was moving down, but I was not dilating. When the heartbeat dropped for the second time they consulted about what to do next. They decided to "Pit past it" which I think meant that if it happened again after increasing the Pictocin one more time I would have to consider a c-section. Thankfully that didn't happen again. I was told at some point that there would be several people in the room for the delivery, the baby would have his/her own nurse and doctor and there was a special warming table moved into the end of my room. I was warned the baby would be taken to the Special Care Nursery for assessment and I may not even get to hold the baby depending on how things were...

By 6pm Hubby was starving so he left to grab some food. I think my Mom and friend did come and go and had grabbed coffees and food at some point. Right after he left the doctor came to check me and I was finally dilated, I was 10 centimetres and there was just a tiny edge left and soon I would be able to push! Uh, where is Hubby? Bring him back now!! My Mom goes to find him and he returns (food uneaten) just as I am giving the nurse a practice push, just to see how I can do it, in her words. What happens next is pretty quick. It is about 6:30pm, I am showing the nurse my great pushing skills when she tells me to stop pushing and I hear the doctor being paged to our room. At some point I am put into the stirrups, they are asking me who is staying in the room - they only wanted two people in the room so my friend leaves, which freaks me out. I don't want anyone to leave me, I want them all there. No dice, so she watches from the hall. My Mom and Hubby are by my side, something I never imagined was having my mother in the delivery room, that is just not me, yet somehow it was exactly as it was meant to be.

I remember demanding the cuff be removed (in the photos though it appears to be still on after the birth so perhaps I only imagined they took it off), I remember the oxygen mask put on my face, and mostly I remember Hubby right in my face talking to me and telling me to listen to him and I remember hearing lots of voices, but it was like they were floating in the air far away from my ears. Between 6:30pm and 7:01pm when Papoosie Girl was born was a blur in a way. I was not trying to push, it was like my body took over, and even though they were telling me to, "blow it away" my body just did what it was supposed to do. Her head was out before the doctor arrived and I think I may have pushed about 6 or 7 times. She came out very quickly, which I paid for in the form of many, many stitches.

Since this was somewhat of a high-risk delivery, we did not cut the cord and she was given to me very briefly. They took her to the end of the room in the warmer and told us she seemed fine and wasn't even that small (she was 6lbs, 7oz's), but they had to take her to the Special Care Nursery for a more thorough assessment. I got to hold her for about a minute and while I sometimes wished for those early bonding moments I really was in no shape for much at that moment. Hubby stayed with me initially while my Mom followed the baby, my friend had immediately bee-lined into the room once the baby was born and took our first photos. I sent Hubby to see the baby and my friend remained by my side during the less than delicate after-birth part of labour.

There was lots of blood, that I remember and the stitches took nearly an hour. My friend held my hand during the entire hour and regaled me with stories about her co-workers to distract me. At one point the doctor asks, "is she a vegetarian?" to which she replied no. The doctor never addressed me directly and was complaining about my poor tissue quality and was wondering if I was a vegetarian, I piped up that I did have low iron and I don't think she answered me. Later when the epidural had worn off and I was literally lifting off the bed, they gave me a shot of local anesthesia - ouch! At some point I asked when this was going to be done, a voice came up from the bottom of the bed, "I will be done when I am done." To be fair this doctor came by room the next day to apologize for being so terse, she told me later that I was so bad she was very worried I might need more than what she could do, she had done over 50 stitches. I was thankful she was so concerned if not personable. I do not know what I would have done if my friend had not been with me, she saved me at that moment.

During our hospital tour we stood outside the door to the Special Care Nursery. I remember kind of zoning out as they talked about the various scenarios for which you might require the nursery. There were pregnant women all around walking, being wheeled, on beds going by, some with babies, some still in labour and I was totally distracted by it all. When were initially told our baby would be going to the nursery I remember thinking I was being punished for not paying closer attention on the tour. Stupid I know, but I felt so guilty about that after delivery that I practically memorized the brochure they gave me.

Hubby gave me a present right after Papoosie Girl was born and off in the nursery with Nana. He had the idea to present me with a special gift right after the birth, a keepsake of this momentous occasion. He forgot the present in our haste to leave the house and had his parents bring it to the hospital, which I found out about much later.

It was a tough delivery in so many ways, but of course it ended with a healthy, beautiful baby girl we loved and loved as if she was always a part of us. She was not allowed to room with me since she was quite jaundice and needed to be hooked up the "Bili" blanket all the time. The SCN staff were wonderful and Papoosie Girl was assigned a nurse every 12 hours and we had complete access whenever we wanted. I could call or visit anytime. It took me until the afternoon before I could walk down there the next day, after sitting on a rubber glove full of ice all night.

She was our special little angel and always managed to get out her hand to put it on her face...she still sleeps like this sometimes.

********
That is the end of this story. the only other important information and maybe those of you who had babies around the same time have picked up on it. I was planning on taking a one year maternity leave as the legislation was changing from six months to one year at midnight December 31, 2000. At some point during labour we realized I was not going to get the one year leave, it didn't matter when you were due, it mattered when the baby was born. Not a high concern when you are in the middle of labour, but let me tell you I cursed that little monkey quite a bit after. I was three days shy of getting an extra six months of maternity leave. I ended up taking off eight months in total, the last two months with no benefits.

We went home on New Year's Eve 2000 and I remember asking the nurse what would happen if someone was pushing right near midnight? I mean one push either way and you are out six months with your baby! She told me it really would not be a factor, the health of everyone, blah, blah, blah. Let me tell you, I bet a lot of babies were born at 12:01 am that night.


I will take a little birthing break before I recount the one or two paragraphs my planned c-section with Rosebud will take. She deserves her moment though no matter how orchestrated it was. It was still special and all that, just not as riveting. Well, there was the problem of no name up until the night before, that was fun.


I love reading about other birth stories, mostly because mine were so different, none of the hewing and hawing, cursing or hours of pacing and pushing. I guess they are all different no matter which way it goes. A birth is a miracle each and every time. I was so lucky to be in the delivery room for both of my godchildren - the friend who held my hand, her kids. I was able to witness it in such a way that I could never have with my own girls. It was so moving and special to witness a baby coming into this world, such a high I could barely sleep both times. She is pregnant with her third child and if I am invited I will try to be there again. I have no idea if I will make it to the delivery room again, I can't even think about it right now. It makes me too sad to think it is all over.

Tell me your story! Now it is your turn.

A Baby Story - Baby 1 - Part 1

I have been inspired by the birth story of Miss Baby that Mimi recounted with such wonderful detail and suspense! I have decided that I should do the same thing for Papoosie Girl and Rosebud and while I have alluded to some of the details here and there, now is the time for an official documentation of the wild and wonderful births of my daughters. How the best laid plans fall to the ground while the magic and force of childbirth take over. My births could not be more different, but in the end I got the same thing, a blessing in the form of a daughter in a magical moment that is burned into my heart forever.

Setting the stage

While pregnant with Papoosie Girl, a planned pregnancy following a miscarriage, we were ecstatic. After being married for two and a half years we felt ready to start our family and got pregnant easily on the first month of trying (actually that happened each time I got pregnant), much to Hubby's chagrin, shouldn't we have to try for months he would complain. We told our families on July 1, 2000 which not only was Canada Day it is my Hubby's Name Day so we invited everyone over for a BBQ and put the following sign on a borrowed highchair and didn't say a word, just let everyone figure it out. It was a wonderful day. I have searched high and low for the photos from that day and they remain missing for the moment. The sign has been in Papoosie Girl's keepsake box all this time and I am so glad we kept it. Another sign this was not meant to be was that first version Hubby brought home he mistakenly typed 2000 instead of 2001 and he had to make another one. Our baby was determined to make an early entrance it seemed.

I have a small confession in that I told my Mom ( just my Mom I swear!) the weekend before and there is a photo of the two of us right after I told her that I didn't know was taken. We are both beaming.

I was suffering morning sickness quite badly and was losing a lot of weight, about 15 pounds in total, I would later gain back about 9 pounds. I would constantly joke it was the best diet I was ever on. By about 10 weeks I was getting nervous and even though I knew my dates my doctor ordered an early ultrasound to officially date the pregnancy - although I think he ordered it so I would stop all the questions about how can a baby grow when all I do is throw up and why am I losing all this weight?

At 10 weeks we got our first glimpse of Papoosie Girl (who for the record I knew was a girl all along, either that or I willed it) and she was a delightful tadpole with a tiny black speck of a heart, a heart that was beating strongly right into my own.

Moving along

Things progressed along and by about four months I was much less sick, but still was hyper-sensitive to smells and was eating a very unhealthy diet. I basically could eat things that were white which included, white bread, Arrowroot cookies, poutine (from Harvey's), yoghurt, and grilled cheese. It was the most unhealthy and disgusting diet I have ever followed, what I ate was directly controlled by what it smelled or looked like. Hubby could not eat in front of me at all and the sight of meat in any form would make me ill. Grocery stores became toxic pits of nasty smells and any food smell sent me over the edge.

A friend later told me she knew I was pregnant when we went to The Keg and I ordered a plain baked potato for dinner. The only good thing I ate really was what I drank, and that was lots of milk. I would anguish over the What To Do if You are a Good Person and Pregnant books and the phrase, "making every bite count" haunted me. By about four and a half months I was at least looking pregnant and starting to wear maternity clothes that were hanging in my closest taunting me. I remember the first time I wore maternity clothes it was an August evening and we went to the movies, I could not believe everyone was going about their business, could they not see I WAS PREGNANT AND WEARING MATERNITY CLOTHES!

Throughout this time of nausea and losing weight my doctors were never concerned at all. It took longer to find a parking space, go up the elevator, check-in and wait than any of my appointments lasted. Each month I would lose more weight and each month I would ask in a scared voice, how can the baby be growing? I was always assured the baby was growing just fine. I am quite sure that unless I was lying in a pool of blood, holding one of my own limbs, I would have gotten the same trite responses to any question I asked, " that happens during pregnancy" they would tell me. After about 6 months of constant weight loss Hubby was getting concerned, perhaps I was asking the wrong questions he would suggest helpfully. So at my 6 month check-up I laid it on the line, please doctor tell me what is wrong. After thinking for about a minute this was her reply; " if you were skinny we would be worried." I left the appointment and phoned Hubby, everything is fine with the baby I told him and the doctor just called me fat! It is true I am not a skinny girl, but I was not enormous either, at any rate, I had lots of reserves so no problem losing the weight. Phew.

By about November I was starting to not feel well, although putting a finger on it exactly was difficult and my OB/GYN was never interested or concerned about my feelings. While I was not sick exactly I just felt off. They would assure me it was hormones, and I was tired and all that was true, but this was different. Work was stressing me out and while I worked in a very stressful and busy job, it was not new to me and I could handle it normally quite easily. By mid-November I was dumped another huge project with no assistance or support. In a rather dramatic move I left the office one day and headed to my family doctor and spilled everything. He told me I had a choice and that was to keep going or to leave work now. While he was never really alarmed he knows me well enough to know when I have had enough and that I know my body and my body was speaking to me loud and clear.

I returned to work the next morning to tell my boss I was leaving work early on medical advice and this was my last day of work. To this day I am not sure what was really wrong with me, which I am sure sounds strange. My short-term disability which I was approved for was labeled as Anxiety/Pre-Natal Depression (if memory serves me correctly) and I am grateful I worked for a company with such benefits. I remember talking to the benefit person I was assigned and telling her quite frankly that I wasn't interested in spelling out a huge case for my benefits, if my documentation was not enough I was not going back and they could just cancel my pay. I was in a place mentally that I have never been before, a place where instinct to protect my unborn child and my own sanity took over. I remember the benefit person being surprised at my candor and telling me a story of her own sister's anxious pregnancy - I was approved without any other questions.

I stopped working the last week of November and at the time my January 27, 2001 due date seemed safely far away. I had a surprise shower to keep me busy, then there was Christmas to get ready for and a special New Year's Eve - it was the year 2000 and we planned to go out for dinner and a movie with our friends that night. What is funny now while I am reliving and remembering, that so many signs were there for me to figure out something was happening - I just didn't have clue what I would have been looking for at the time.

My entire pregnancy the baby was breech at all of my check-ups, but also still small enough to move around a lot. The baby was not in "position" at what would be my final check-up on December 21, and the doctor told me that we would have to talk about options at my next appointment the first week of January. I was terrified about the prospect of a c-section, but I also knew that I had a month to go and the baby still had time to get into position.

Christmas Day was busy and hectic and we did more visiting on Boxing Day. I remember thinking I felt funny on Boxing Day and while I couldn't really put an actual reason to it, I knew I felt funny. We headed out on the 27th to buy a new camera at Henry's, we were getting it as a Christmas present to ourselves before the baby came. That night we were looking forward (well, the girls were anyway) to seeing the Nutcracker and for dinner at Le Papillon for crepes.

We finished our shopping and got ready to pick up our friends. We drove and we all piled into our Volkswagen Golf diesel that we drove at the time. About ten minutes into the Nutcracker both of the guys were dosing and while the show was spectacular I was so distracted. Right before the intermission I felt some movements so huge I nearly had to leave my seat. I am quite certain now that the baby turned and that turning somehow broke my water. We finish out the Nutcracker and head to dinner. The crepes were delicious and I was feeling strange, but again could not really come up with a concrete reason why, so I kept quiet. The discussion of course made it's way to the upcoming arrival and the fact that I had not yet packed my bag. I remember saying, "I have plenty of time, the baby is not due for another month" little did I know I would be packing one in a matter of hours. I have not eaten crepes since that night. I am aware that they could not possibly cause early labour, but I take no chances - even when obviously not even pregnant.

Dinner was finished and we drove home around 11pm that night. We dropped off our friends and headed home. I was showered and in bed by midnight and fell quickly asleep. I awoke at about 3am to go pee, since the bathroom is attached to our bedroom and the door is about three feet from my side of the bed I rarely put the light on or put on my glasses. After a quick pee I washed my hands and got a drink of water. As I was standing at the sink running the water to get a bit colder, warm water started to drip down my legs. Sleepy, disoriented and in the dark I thought I was still peeing. I quickly put on the light and grabbed my glasses and in those moments of confusion I was standing on our bathroom carpet which is blue so I was unaware of the colour of my pee that I thought was dripping down my legs.

After getting my glasses from the night table I noticed that the pee was not exactly a normal colour, it was pink. Pink drips covered my bathroom floor, in that moment I remember thinking what could this be? At that moment I still did not figure out this could be my water breaking. They say that time stands still during certain moments of your life. At 3am on December 28, 2000 I stood in my bathroom alone wondering for a moment what was happening to me. I woke up Hubby with the delicate and touching words, "I'm leaking" we were both in the bathroom when we decided this must be my water breaking despite being a month away from my due date and no apparent signs of labour. No huge whoosh of water like in the movies, no hee hee haw breathing during contractions, just pink drops and two people who had no idea where this night would lead.

Here is where the story ends for today....I am having such fun recalling all these moments, but I am worried the minute I hit Publish I will remember something else. How did Mimi do it?

Stay tuned.

Bye Grade 1

About half an hour ago I picked up Papoosie Girl from school, Grade 1 is over. Her first full year of school under her belt, the first step taken on a hopefully long path of academic endeavours.

She cried all the way home. She loves her teacher and can't bear to not see her everyday. I love her teacher too, she is everything a teacher should be, engaging, supportive, caring and concerned. There is a remote chance we might get this teacher again, but I don't want to get my hopes up or hers. Our Principal is also retiring so these last few days of school have been tough for Papoosie Girl, lots of goodbyes.

I cannot think of a better testament to our very small school than a child who cried all the way home on the last day.

I have been toying with the idea of getting my teaching certificate and after volunteering in the school and being on the Council I wonder if I have what it takes. The teachers in Papoosie Girl's school work hard with very limited means and they make the most out of what little resources the Board and the province toss their way.

I have never been a fan of teacher bashing, for the obvious reason that I don't really bash anyone - well certain celebrities beg for it, but even then I usually refrain. My preferred choice would be to get involved and make a change - make a difference.

Teacher's spend five days a week with our children, teaching them everything they can within constraints so severe I never would have believed it had I not seen it for myself. You hear people say things like, "it is easy being a teacher with holidays and summers off" or similar statements. Let me tell you if I ever thought that teachers have it easy I have long since been enlightened. They are the unsung heroes of our children's childhoods.

Best wishes to all teachers - enjoy your summer - you deserve it. Here are some quotes I came across while looking for an image. Some food for thought.

It'll be a great day when education gets all the money it wants and the Air Force has to hold a bake sale to buy bombers. ~Author unknown, quoted in You Said a Mouthful, Ronald D. Fuchs, ed.

The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind. ~Kahlil Gibran

The task of the excellent teacher is to stimulate "apparently ordinary" people to unusual effort. The tough problem is not in identifying winners: it is in making winners out of ordinary people. ~K. Patricia Cross

Teaching is the profession that teaches all the other professions. ~Author Unknown

Monday Musings - Playing House

When we first got married I felt like we were playing house. I kept waiting for someone to out us and take away our pretend life. When I look at the photos of us in the sales trailer proudly standing beside our model of house I think what babies we were, I can't believe they sold us a house!




We have many photos documenting buying our home and the progress of it being built. I don't think any of those photos quite capture the essence of playing house quite the way these photos do. Nor do any of us in the house the first few years.


When pregnant with Papoosie Girl I bought this adorable mint green snowsuit with paw mitts and a kitty face from The Bay. It was the first baby item I bought and I just had to have it. As soon as I got it home I put in on a stuffed dog and tried it out. Why there are no sheets on the bed is a mystery, I was cleaning them perhaps? This was the guest room that would become the nursery painted a most beautiful, soft robins egg blue with accents of sage green and cream. I was inspired by the bedding we bought and built the colour scheme around it. It is now Rosebud's room and Papoosie Girl has moved into the bedroom next door which is a shocking Pepto Bismal pink. I still love my nursery and seeing it in its former life is strange.

Papoosie Girl came home from the hospital in that same snowsuit and wore it for several months. Now we were playing house with a little doll. In the photo she is packed up and ready to leave the hospital. When I look at myself holding up that stuffed animal in the snowsuit I feel a mix of emotions. The knowledge that I have now of how my life would change forever staggers me. The me of before would never have been able to understand that. Everyone tells you life changes, you change, but those are words to be understood in the moment and moments that follow the car ride home. I remember thinking as we walked out of the hospital New Year's Eve 2000 why are they letting us leave? I kept waiting, right up until she was buckled into the car, for someone to tap us on the shoulder and stop us. Stop imposters! They put that snowsuit on a stuffed animal!

Of course we did bring her home and there she stayed, a brand new member for us to play house with and indeed we do.

How much do you think medical school is anyway?

This is just a wee little post mostly for some shameless promotion of cuteness. We bought this doctors costume recently and my check-ups have increased dramatically. The glasses are part of the doctors kit we got long ago, actually we have two doctors kits worth of instruments that currently reside in a large Ziploc bag, the doctors bag in shreds from over-use.




I seldom wonder what my girls will be when they grow up, I am not sure why. Sometimes I think it is because I am still busy wondering what I am going to be when I grow up. My sister-in-law has two kids in university one is studying kinesiology in the hopes of becoming a therapist of one kind or another and the other hopes to become a pharmacist. She is extremely proud of both of them of course, but has been known to joke about maybe one of them becoming a doctor. I wonder would I be prouder of a doctor versus a pharmacist? I doubt it, but having never been there maybe at some point it will matter to me. Right now I would be happy if Rosebud learns her letters before Kindergarten and starts pooping in the potty more often (we are on day 6 currently of no action) these are my lofty goals at the moment.

I do see little glimpses of how easy it can be to want more for your kids, to want them to strive higher and higher. When Papoosie Girl learned to read at age 4 I was thrilled, a prodigy this child is! Once the excitement wore off a bit I was just to happy to sharing one of my passions, essential to life pursuits with my daughter. It meant so much to me and still does. Rosebud however, is very different and at three and a half can only write two letters. At this age Papoosie Girl was already in JK and could write all the letters, numbers to 10 and her name. I try not to compare, but it is really hard. Rosebud (in my opinion) should be able to write her name before she starts school, but she has very little interest in sitting at the table to practice no matter how fun I make it. Papoosie Girl was always keen and determined to master tasks and made teaching her a breeze.

I have several friends whose little monkey's started school without being able to write their names, but I must admit I am working hard to make sure that is not the case for Rosebud. I hate the idea of her being behind before she starts, although I hope that doesn't sound as bad as all that. I just want her to enjoy JK and not be struggling with something I know she is not crazy about.

Well this started out as a post of some cute pics and here goes my hamster on a wheel brain again. I have no idea how much medical school costs and to be honest I don't really want to know all that much. I need to focus on the here and now, "Come here Rosebud, can you spell scholarship for Mommy?"

Beauty Shop

So this isn't really supposed to be the place to whine and complain about being tired or alone with the girls from the minute they wake up until they lay their sweet heads upon their pillows. So I won't say that at all. Or that some days seem to stretch on forever like the sky.
And really not all days are like that....just some. And even if I am so very very tired, I love my job and would not trade it for the world.

The other day the girls were playing beauty shop and needed another customer (they had already suitably fixed each other up) and since I was just too tired to disagree I complied. I sat on the edge of the sofa for nearly an hour while they primped and yanked (ouch) my hair until they were satisfied. They take this beauty gig seriously and spent quite a bit of time getting it all just right. Most of the accessories are from a long ago "beauty head" the girls had, but got tired of playing with, they much prefer a real head.

I had one of those "styling heads" too as a child and would spend hours fixing her hair with the little velcro curlers. It amazes me that despite how different our childhoods are they are also in so many ways the same.

We were interrupted only once by the doorbell. The look on my teenage neighbours face was priceless as he asked for the ladder, their birdies had all gone into the eaves and we are the only people with a ladder. Then again he is about 15 so he should understand this kind of strange.

Once were done they insisted I take a look in the mirror and take some "real" pictures of my new do. So here they are, the result of an afternoon indulged in beauty and so much fun. Sometimes a trip to the beauty shop is just what you need.

Monday Musings - World Asthma Day

May 1, 2007 is World Asthma Day.

Tomorrow hubby and I will be attending an event at The Credit Valley Hospital, where the Asthma Education Centre is hosting a community wide World Asthma Day. The theme for this year’s event is “You Can Control your Asthma”. We were invited by the Asthma Clinic nurse we met last year. Papoosie Girl has asthma and while we are fairly confident this is not immediately life-threatening, it is a chronic disease we live with and manage every day.


In case you are new to this here is how the Lung Association of Ontario defines asthma:

Asthma is a chronic inflammatory condition of the airways and one of the most prevalent chronic conditions in Canada. Asthma can develop at any age, but is most common in childhood. As many as 1 in 5 children and 1 in 10 adults has asthma. The airways of a person with asthma differ from someone without asthma because the airways of those with asthma become inflamed (swollen) and are extra-sensitive or twitchy (hyper responsive). The inflammation and hyper responsiveness cause airways to respond to a variety of triggers, such as cold air and cigarette smoke.

Did you know that?

• Approximately 500 Canadians die each year as a result of asthma.
  
• Asthma rates have quadrupled over the past twenty years. There are over 60,000 admissions to Canadian hospitals for the treatment of asthma.
  
• Over 12,200 children under the age of 18 are hospitalized annually for asthma in Ontario. In Ontario, asthma is the leading cause of hospital admission for children.
  
• In Ontario, as many as one in five children and one in ten adults has asthma.

Learning to live with asthma has been a on-going process of us, from her earliest diagnosis to hitting rock bottom one Christmas Eve. It is only in the last year and a half that we have really understood what it meant to live with a chronic disease. For many reasons we resisted this label and spent most of our time reacting to the symptoms as opposed to managing the disease and preventing them. As parents we are constantly told opposing information, "don't run to the doctor for every minor sniffle" followed by, "how could you not take care of this obvious problem." We spend our days wildly swinging between hyper-alert and benevolent neglect hoping to reach an acceptable middle ground.

Papoosie Girl was diagnosed early on at around the age of three. Prior to that she did show symptoms, but my family doctor felt it was too early for the label. It started innocent enough with colds turning nasty with lots of coughing and my doctor prescribing inhalers ("rescue" medication - the bronchodilator Ventolin and an anti-inflammatory drug - Flovent) for when she was coughing a lot. We would use these for a day or two then forget about them until the next cold. I felt very strongly that they just were not necessary for every day use. She was fine when she wasn't sick and I didn't want her (first of many misunderstandings about the disease) to become dependent on them.

Papoosie Girl actually had many other separate issues which we realized were linked to her asthma. She suffered eczema as a baby and also suffers seasonal allergies. She also had an intolerance to cow's milk when we switched from formula to milk. When we switched to soy milk, which she still drinks today she was fine. All of these seemingly unrelated problems all fall under what is considered "allergic diseases" including asthma. As she got older we started putting the pieces together and began the process of building a plan that would help her.

We were muddling along for about two years basically treating the asthma symptoms when they were severe, which was mostly when she was sick with a cold and once they subsided we more or less ignored it. It all came to a head in the fall of 2005. We had been seeing our regular family doctor for her asthma and that fall she had missed over 10 days of school. Every time she caught the slightest sniffle her asthma would flare up. For her that meant coughing non-stop all night until she often threw-up. Her "rescue" medication was not working and neither were the stronger anti-inflammatories we had started giving her. She was also at this point taking another drug daily called Singulair to help with her allergies which were triggering her asthma. She would be exhausted by morning and could not go to school. I kept waiting for it to get better and we had been to the doctors many times, in my gut I just knew this wasn't working. A child should not have to live like this I kept thinking. This was just not an acceptable way to live.

After suffering all through November and December it all came crashing down on Christmas Eve 2005. After everyone left our house and the girls were asleep we sat down in our dark living room to admire the tree lights and take in a moment of quiet. Before long Papoosie Girl was coughing and I was up in her room. Her coughing was out of control and I didn't want to take her to Emergency so I gave her another puff and we headed downstairs so we would not wake Rosebud up. We sat up all night watching the tree lights and it was like a realization hit me that I owed her so much more than this - to sit up coughing and gagging on Christmas Eve. I made her a promise that we were not going to do this anymore - we were going to get help.

I had a brochure from a pediatric walk-in clinic and we had gone there a few times on weekends with ear infections and bad colds when our family doctor was closed. They are open every Saturday and Sunday and all holidays. I started dialling Christmas morning while we opened presents and secured a spot for 1pm. Never mind the spin this put on our plans for the day, but I was determined, crazed even, to make this stop - even if it was Christmas Day. After opening gifts at our house we headed to my in-laws to visit, then we were coming back to our place to have dinner with my Mom and her husband. I left Hubby and Rosebud with my in-laws and Papoosie Girl and I headed to the clinic, it felt so strange to be driving on near empty roads to the doctors on Christmas Day, I remember driving by Tim Horton's and saw that it was open and I was shocked. I didn't have the heart to stop.

We arrived for our appointment and found the clinic busy but not crazy. When it was our turn and our doctor walked in I basically let it all pour out and dumped out a ziploc bag of medication and pleaded for his help. He quickly changed our entire plan - not that what we were doing was "wrong" it turned out to be just not nearly aggressive enough for her symptoms. He immediately switched her from the inhalers to the nebulizer and increased the dosages on everything. He set us on a strict plan for using the nebulizer up to six times a day and slowly weaning her down and closely monitoring her symptoms and triggers. I started a binder to keep track of everything and even came up with a spreadsheet to tick off her treatments and symptoms each day. This pediatrician sat with us for an hour (we turned out to be the last patient fortunately) and when we left there I felt better than I had in months. He asked to see her again and has been treating her asthma for over a year now. I remember heading straight to Shoppers Drug Mart from the clinic and the surreal feeling as I shopped on Christmas Day for a machine to help my daughter breathe and walking out with bags of medication. I was so hopeful and scared for her all at once. That night she coughed much less and by the next night she slept all night. In my mind it really was a miracle.

Shortly after that he recommended we visit an asthma education clinic (almost all hospitals have them) and we did and brought Papoosie Girl with us. The nurse spent nearly two hours with us answering all of our questions and talking to her and showing her what asthma is all about. In a few short weeks we went from being at the mercy of this disease to being able to spot a flare-up coming on and being about to prevent it or at least shorten it. This is one of the key elements in managing her asthma, figuring out her triggers. We already knew colds were a huge trigger, but now we needed to figure out the rest, which include, changes in weather, smog, animals and even cold air. At the slightest hint of a cold now we know to increase her treatments to prevent a full-blown attack. Seems like common sense, but when we didn't really understand that we would waiting for the symptoms then treating - huge difference.


Her life is really no different from other kids. She can play sports we are just careful about too much running and we need to watch colds very carefully. We travel everywhere with her medication in case we need it and her school is well informed of her asthma. She will do her treatments on the nebulizer just about anywhere and we have an adapter so she can even do it in the van. It has become a part of her life just like anything else and she is not at all bothered by it. We have some wonderful books about asthma and the Lung Association sent us a huge package of material for me and with activities for her. They were and continue to be a wonderful resource for us, you can call them with any question and they will answer. The material they sent me was life-saving, it really helped me understand what living with asthma means.

There were days when I thought I just couldn't do this and words like, "we are managing" seemed a million miles away. It really has been a process of us not only understanding, but accepting this and only then were we able to move on. We have faith that as she gets older the symptoms will be less severe, you never really "outgrow" asthma as some say and we know she will have this her entire life. I want to make sure that the disease is managed so that there is as little damage to her lungs as possible, I do not want this to hamper her teenage and adult years in any way.

So we will go tomorrow night and learn more and better ways of coping. We owe her that much. The slogan, "if you can't breathe nothing else matters" really resonates with me. There is nothing so helpless as watching your child gasp for breath. I am confident we are on the right path now and that makes me breathe a little easier too.

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If anyone has any specific questions I would be happy to answer them. I have read several great books and researched quite a bit on childhood asthma. While I am no doctor I could certainly point you in the right direction. Email me if you want at rosebudandpapoosiegirl@yahoo.ca

So you think you can dance

Yeah if you are Papoosie Girl! Yesterday Papoosie Girl had her dance recital at the lovely Rose Theatre. She started classes in September and practiced every week at class and at home. She danced to a song called Johnny Angel and of course they all looked like little angels.

When she started dance classes at three and a half through our local Parks and Recreation program she was in the non-recital type of "kinderdance" where they did not have a formal recital. They performed for the parents on the last day in the classroom. They showcased their soldier marches and fairy skips and it was oh so adorable. She did this type of program for two years. Last year she decided she wanted to dance on a stage for "real" people. She was finally old enough to try one of the "Try It" classes and she choose Beginner Jazz. She performed at a local theatre (the recital moved to a bigger theatre this year) and thirteen of us clapped until it hurt. She loved it and a star was born. I must say I am most impressed with our local Parks and Rec programs. I have tried just about every preschool class, swimming and now dance classes. When we first looked at private swimming and dance classes they were nearly three times the cost. I would always encourage everyone to try your local classes out, we have been pleasantly surprised.

Papoosie Girl loves music and since we bought her a small boom box for her room (a decision I might regret later) she loves taking my CD's up to her room to dance and prance around with her sister. Despite her love of music and considerable practice the last few years she still seems to lack, um, rhythm. Hubby tries valiantly with songs like, We are Family, to get her to feel the beat and clap in turn. While she has energy and lots of exuberance she lacks the ability to pick up the beat sometimes. Rosebud on the other hand has an incredible sense of rhythm and can clap to the beat quite well. If she would just poop in the potty she could take dance herself! We are hopeful by sign-up in September that little problem is resolved. I myself wouldn't exactly be called a dancer either and I think Papoosie Girl takes after me. Hubby on the other hand has benefited from all the Greek folk-dancing classes he took as a child, he can also read music and has played several instruments. My only memory from my clarinet days in Grade 6 was the teacher asking me (at the end of the test) if I knew what these were - he was pointing at the rests in the music.

So Papoosie Girl may lack the God given talent to keep the beat, who cares. She loves to dance at home and at her class. Many of her pretend games involve her dancing with her sister and I could not be more thrilled. When something as simple as a song and a dance skirt can make her so happy why would I care that she is a little off-step? Next September she wants to try Beginner Acro where they combine jazz with some basic acrobatic steps. Since she has never tried gymnastics I am not sure she will be able to do all the moves, but who am I to say no. Dance class has given her a wonderful sense of accomplishment, a healthy dose of self confidence and gets her moving. Not once did she say she was nervous about the recital.

Is she ever going to appear on So you think you can dance? I doubt it. A show, for the record, I had never heard of until my 25 year brother joked about it at the recital. I don't care if she spends the rest of her days jumping around her bedroom and the rest of the house shaking our walls. She loves music and dancing and her willingness to get out there and do it are inspiring. I have toyed with idea of signing up for the Hawaiian Dance class for adults for years, I think this might be the year.

There really are no words to properly explain the joy Papoosie Girl gets from dancing, her entire body is an instrument. While I have never been a country music listener there is a song by Lee Ann Womack called I Hope You Dance that somehow pops into my head sometimes watching her dance.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

I hope that you get a chance to dance too, I hope we all do.

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Photo Comment:
Yes, she is wearing make-up in the photo. Part of performing in a theatre recital program is wearing make-up to the recital. If you don't want your child to wear any you need to make some special arrangements. It is so you can see their faces under the bright stage lights, in the professional photos and the video. Last year I was all set to jump on my high-horse and protest "they are children!" and spew all kinds of beauty pageant stuff, but I didn't . She wore a bit of make-up for three hours and we washed it off. This is the professional shot of Papoosie Girl from the class. It is strange to see her with a "done-up" face and Hubby was really put off I must say. In the end it is make-up not pole dancing and she wore it for a few hours at her recital and we washed it away. In the end I was fine with that. Please know she would never, ever do this for any other reason. There are a lot people who would disagree with this and that is fine. Just setting the record straight. I have had to eat a few bowls of crow in the last few years, applying a bit of make-up to my 6 year old was certainly a healthy portion. At the end of the day she had a fantastic experience and loves dancing with or without make-up. I think I have said enough.

Ambushed, do you hear me?

I hate being ambushed, by anything. I don't take well to sudden proclamations of engagement, pregnancy, surprise parties, well; anything really. I like to be in the know, to have a pretty good idea of what is coming down the pipe. My easy access to the Internet has only fueled my need to know. I check store hours, directions, stock, prices, age requirements, height requirements, check-in hours, pool hours, any detail I think I might need before doing whatever it is I need to do. Rarely do I venture out for something without the item already set aside for me or a clear idea of what it is I am going to be doing. I have confessed to the occasional carefree, spur-of-the-moment days I truly do enjoy, but they are not my preferred state of existence.

So this morning when our phone rang several times as Rosebud and I were upstairs, and running into my bedroom and all the way around to the other side of the bed seemed too taxing; we let it ring. Suddenly, my cellphone that I keep in the diaper bag starts to ring too; now I am hightailing it down the stairs.

Papoosie Girl is in the office at school, and is extremely upset and in pain. Her ear is hurting and they want me to come and pick her up right away. After quick changes for myself and Rosebud we are off to pick-up Papoosie Girl who is sitting on the bench in the office clutching her ear. Bugger. She was fine this morning, usual breakfast, TV, off to school. No runny nose, no high fever in the middle of the night (our usual ear infection calling card), just serious ear pain. Our doctor closes at noon on Wednesday's so I make a hasty call (it is 11:50am) and the wonderful receptionist who has known me since before I even had the girls says to come on over, there will be a wait, but just head over. Lucky break as I really hate taking the girls to walk-in clinics. Don't think for a second I don't know how lucky we are to have a family doctor, many of our friends live in communities where they rely exclusively on walk-in clinics.

After an hour of waiting we see the doctor who examines her ear and declares it, "quite red and angry" he gives us a prescription and says to take some Advil for the pain. OK I am not new at this, how can this go undetected? Papoosie Girl had tubes in her ears at the age of two after a year of chronic ear trouble and has always been extremely sensitive to ear pain. Suddenly I feel a bit sick for making her finish her spelling homework sheets last night. Was it hurting then and that is why she was having trouble concentrating? More bugger.

Despite being in the trenches for six years now I felt so horribly unqualified today. What kind of parent misses a "bad" ear infection. Sigh. I need a cup of tea real bad and since Rosebud is finally down for her nap and Papoosie Girl is all medicated and quite cozy reading in my bed (our sick spot in our house) I am going to do just that.

Does anyone else feel like this sometimes? Things you have covered a million times before are somehow missed in the shuffle of life with small children. I know I am not the only one, but boy did I feel a bit new today. Now I am replaying the last few days in my head fruitlessly looking for clues I might have missed. Was she more cranky than usual, more difficult? She certainly never said her ear was bothering her, but wouldn't a good parent have picked up on it? All will be well and most likely forgotten in a few days, but I am amazed at how these moments present themselves to me as if to say, know matter how much you think you have figured this out - there is a long road ahead of you. I can hardly wait, and I really mean that. Just maybe send me long, detailed memo first?