Ahead of the curve

I just had to say that the name chosen by Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner for their new daughter, Seraphina was - and still is a name I like! Every single person I have mentioned it to over the last month or so hated it, a lot. So there, I really am a trend setter I suppose. I never mentioned it here because the likelihood of me actually using it was so slim. I still love it though and I am telling you it is nudging up a bit for me now. I am not ashamed to say that the inspiration was the Barbie movie, The Princess and the Pauper the girls have, there are two great names, Anneliese and Serafina (who incidentally is a cat), in the movie.

I should also mention that Hubby is standing strong on Melina and his second favourite choice is now Zoe. I am holding on Amelia Jane, but I am still so confused as to why the name I choose, Melina, just doesn't do it for me anymore.

I had an ultrasound last week and when the technician rolled over the baby she was looking right at us, it was so freaky and the look was like, "what do you want?" I get the impression she might be scrappy and now I am wondering if any of the names we are considering are right.

With less than three weeks to go and feeling about 12 months pregnant and oh so tired I am not sure we will have a name by delivery. I think we might just have to have a look at her and make up our minds then.

I am a getting extremely nervous now and the fact that I have done it before doesn't seem to bring me much comfort. I still can't figure out how I am going to juggle our new family of five. I promise to post once this little girl makes her arrival (and name) known.

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.

Me only better

"Every once in a while I'll have one of those days when I've fed the fish, cleaned 10 poops from the patio, taken the cat to the vet, sewn my son's stupid karate stars on until my fingers bleed and made sure that he has everything, and he wakes up and goes, 'Oh, what's for breakfast?' He doesn't know, and why should he? Right?

But there's absolutely no sort of acknowledgment or reward for this -- except for the intangible of my kids growing up to be wonderful people. I do find myself in the garage listening to the NPR because I want to have a stimulating side to my life...The only thing about having kids that I miss is being alone."

This is a quote from Jodie Foster that I read recently. I am not sure why this caught me off guard, but this struck me as so real and honest and coming from someone who could afford a flock of nannies it was reassuringly real. When you see celebrities like Britney Spears who drag their kids all over at all hours you wonder what kind of childhood are they having, what is their normal? I feel sorry for these children who know no better. What is worse is that we watch these children in the media with such gruesome fascination waiting and watching for the fall.

I wonder sometimes if what I am doing is enough. Am I patient enough? Doubtful. Am I compassionate enough? Sometimes, but usually I am quick to want to move on. Am I understanding enough? Usually, then again there are days I am utterly not. Does that make me a bad parent? I like to think, quite smugly, that by comparison to some I am doing a fabulous job. Yeah me! Then there are the days that I am sure I am the worst parent ever. I am selfish and cold and just want to be left alone.

I know I am a good parent on the whole. My girls are testaments to that. So why then are there days that I feel so hopeless and tired and fed-up? Everyone says it is normal, but I feel so guilty about it. Just knowing that there are other people, lots of people who feel the same way makes me feel less crumby.

We have had a few play dates at our house lately. To be honest I am one of those parents who never call you even after exchanging phone numbers and I am rarely the one to initiate it at all. My life is so full already, I just can't imagine adding more into the pot some days. We have got several calls this summer and you can only dodge for so long. This week we had one of Papoosie Girl's classmates over for a play date, a rather long affair as it was a complicated undertaking of schedules and she stayed from 11am-5pm. What I noticed immediately is I am left alone a lot during these days, it was so quiet from my point of view. Yes, I had to feed them and the sort, but I was left alone for long stretches. My laundry got folded in the daylight hours, dishes were washed and I was able to read blogs.

Having another child (who is not my own) in the house made me a better version of myself. More patient, more accommodating and I think more fun. I listened more and was generally a more relaxed me. Do I need surveillance to be a better Mom? I certainly didn't feel under surveillance, but at the same time acutely aware that I don't want this little girl reporting back that I holler all the time either. Why am I not this version all the time for my own kids I kept wondering.

The play date Mom is who I want to try harder to be, this Mom is kind and listens and is engaged just a bit more. Oh, I am entitled to my days of hiding in the bathroom too. I just want to try a bit harder you know?

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

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.

-------------------------------------------------------
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

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?

Milestones

No not the restaurant, not that the salad with those spicy pecans isn't pretty good. Papoosie Girl lost her first tooth this past week! Actually, lost is not exactly true, I kind of pulled it (gently!) out for her. She has been having a bit of a problem with her bottom two middle teeth (technical name?) as her "big" grown-up teeth are already in behind her baby teeth. The dentist encouraged her to wiggle as much as possible as the grown-up teeth need their space and those baby teeth need to make an exit - fast. If not they will need to be pulled in the next few weeks. So finally, one of them got a little wiggly. Of course after a crazy March Break filled with a fun trip to Niagara Falls for a few days and many errands and outings I was not exactly paying close attention to said teeth.


One night after supper she told me it was loose and being the ever-present-in-the-moment Mom I had a close look, discussed it carefully with her, and gently told her what I was doing and pulled it out ever so softly. Or, if you had a spy-cam in my house you would know it was more like, yeah yeah it is loose, "great honey" while I was busy doing something important like picking up the blankets and pillows from the floor for the sixth time in the past hour. I did manage to peer in right before bath and I could see the tooth (kind of gross but accurate description) could bend all the way over in both directions. I took a facecloth and without really thinking asked to have a closer look and - yikes - pulled it out. I was surprised at how much it bled, but after lots of rinsing with cold water all was well and she was thrilled.


By now you have probably figured out I didn't exactly think this through so well. Now I am in a whole new territory involving that ever stylish tooth chaser, the Tooth Fairy. We have a dilemma, several actually, but I am getting ahead of myself. We girls are flying solo on this night as Daddy is working late. Papoosie Girl is desperate to show Daddy the tooth and is so excited we make a few calls to Daddy and Nana to share our good news. She begins to regale me with stories of classmates who have received $5 and even $10 from the Tooth Fairy, at this point all I can think of is, what is in my wallet, anything?

At this point my girls are clean and we are back downstairs for our milk and snack before bed. Papoosie Girl is extremely upset because she wants to simultaneously leave her tooth for the Tooth Fairy and keep it to show Daddy. Thinking as fast as one can at 7pm after being with two small children all day, I suggest we write a quick note to the Tooth Fairy asking if we can, under these special circumstances, keep the tooth. We have several books that talk about losing teeth and a critical component of this transaction that has not gone unnoticed by Papoosie Girl, is the fact that the tooth is taken away. She is genuinely distressed about this and decides to not even leave the tooth at all, just forfeit any potential loot to keep her tooth. After much convincing we decide to write a note to the Tooth Fairy asking for permission to keep the tooth. So the note goes into the baggie with the tooth.

So now she lies fast asleep, with her tooth and note in a baggie under her pillow and I face yet another dilemma. What will the Tooth Fairy say to Papoosie Girl and how much money, if any at all will she leave? This is when having a hard-working husband who works long hours sucks. I called my best friend who like me thinks anything beyond a loonie or twoonie is ridiculous. Since I have a twoonie and no loonie, a twoonie it is. Now I have the loot, I need to work on the note. As you can see I was not very creative by this time...not to mention I am getting a little scared she is going to notice soon that Santa, the Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy have similar penmanship. So the note is removed from the baggie and the card from the Tooth Fairy is left on her desk with her tooth.

Whew. I was exhausted by the end of the evening. This little milestone not only made me so wistful for the day when that little tooth broke through for the first time, it made me so sad to realize these milestones are making way for other accomplishments. Like everyone I poured over the checklists of milestones. Holds head up, smiles, coos, rolls over, sits, first tooth, stands, walks; and always was thrilled when one of the girls hit the milestone. I diligently kept track of the ages of each of these and was always looking forward to the next one. Now Papoosie Girl's milestones are so lofty as reading, writing, adding and subtracting. While these thrill me in so many ways, I pine sometimes for those baby steps in the first few years. My heart aches a little when I see her gap-toothed smile. Where are all those perfect Chicklet baby teeth going? I don't want to see my daughters wee six year old mouth full of those monster grown-up teeth. Is it bad to admit that I love her perfect baby teeth?

The flood of emotions caught me off guard. I had never given much thought to losing teeth since Papoosie Girl's have been so firmly intact. It is a visible sign every time she smiles that she is growing up, a real punch in the gut. How can you want so badly to see and meet this person your child is becoming and at the same time miss the baby they were so much you feel sick?

Milestones are like that. As much as you eagerly await them, they bring you one step further away from where you started.


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Technical Edit Note:
I fought long and hard with iPhoto to edit the top photo to remove the TV and to rotate that image and by gosh it did edit and rotate every time, it just never stayed....so sorry to those more capable than I who are cringing right about now.

How much is enough?

A couple of things of late have led me to this topic. I have just read Peter Walsh's new book, It's all too Much - An Easy Plan for Living a Richer Life with Less Stuff. I thought this book would be a nuts and bolts plan for decluttering your life and it does cover that. The real purpose though is to figure out why you are keeping so much stuff and why you keep buying more stuff. Walsh blames our constant need for more on a lot of this, that and the fact that we cannot seem to part with anything. We are lured by the words 2 for 1 or buy 1 get 2 free and this supplies our homes with a steady supply of stuff; this coupled with our inability to get rid of anything means we are drowning within our own walls.

This premise, that what we covet and so actively seek out for our own happiness, is actually what is making us so unhappy and unhealthy is what interested me. Your stuff starts to own you and this what Walsh tries to uncover. He makes reference to the fact that while the average house size (in the US) has gone up by half the self-storage facility industry has grown by 75%. Apparently, people are more than willing to store it rather than sort it. I find that so unbelievable.

"We are at the center of an orgy of consumption, and many are now seeing that this need to own so much comes with a heavy price: Kids so overstimulated by the sheer volume of stuff in their home that they lose the ability to concentrate and focus."


This book is great and goes beyond the idea of buying a few totes and stashing things away. He has focused plans for each room and walks you through the steps. In the end, most people realize that all the stuff that they "could not live without" is easily given up and not missed a bit. Walsh talks about imagining the life you want. Is your home your refuge from the world, your place to connect as a family? His plans help you achieve that. While I don't have a horrible clutter problem now, I used to. I have come to realize that keeping a few choice precious mementos is more meaningful than boxes of stuff. If your use of space doesn't match your priorities Walsh can help. Sorting the memories or perceived value of an item, from the actual item is key and this is Walsh's specialty.

Since Alpha Dogma tagged me for a long forgotten meme I am going to use this book since I was planning on talking a bit about it anyway. Here are the instructions:

Find the nearest book. Name the Author & title. Turn to page 123. Post sentences 6-8. Tag three more people. (Tagging not likely since this made the rounds a while ago.)

Page 123-This is the second page of Chapter 3 Family and Living Rooms. Here are the sentences (as best as I can there a few bullets in the area):

Gary and Marie have three young children. They live in an 1,800-square foot home. When I first saw their living room it was a catch-all for anything you can imagine - clothing, books, mail, the kids' toys, crafting materials, even two large stacks of romance novels that Marie had recently collected from her grandmother's home.

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Bub & Pie's recent post about narcissism and the subsequent thought-provoking comments also got me thinking about how much is enough these days. This applies to so many things (see above), how many toys, books, time with you, time without you, time as a couple, activities, lessons, the list is endless. We talk a lot in the blogging world about balance, how to achieve it and if it is even possible.

Christmas 2005 we decided that each girl was going to get five gifts. I picked five as a random number and it just stuck. We don't give the girls any gifts from us just from Santa. So five gifts from Santa and their stockings. Leading up the holidays I found myself struggling to come up the one gift, you know the one, the one they gasp over and won't put down for days. Since I had "given away" many of the gifts I knew they really wanted to grandparents, aunts, uncles, godparents and friends; my list was a little dry. Feeling stupid for not saving at least one for us to give the girls I came up with idea of sticking to five gifts and that could include pajamas, books and toys.

In the end I did come up with some great and well used and loved gifts. My girls were completely happy and satisfied Christmas morning and it was not at all hours of endless gift opening and tossing. What I wasn't prepared for though were some of the comments from some of our friends. Many clearly felt five gifts was pretty chintzy and I was shocked. How many gifts does a one year old or three year old need? I mean they get gifts from at least six other sources, as it was I felt they were getting too much. I am no Scrooge I promise you, but when I am struggling to come up with gifts they would truly love and play with - the key word being struggle - you know they are not wanting for anything. They can always use more books and passes to places like the zoo or Science Centre are always appreciated, but really more crap - no thanks.

We are still sticking by our rule three years later and I think it is great. I know exactly how many to buy for each girl and it forces me to think a little harder. One family we know bought each child over twenty gifts to open and several were the big ticket items. I just don't see the point of that. They also let one of their children spend all of their birthday money in Toys R Us a month before Christmas. While I am not at all a wooden toys and cloth dolls only Mom - Nickelodeon characters are my friends - I sure value the quality gifts much more than another plastic piece of junk that will be broken or forgotten in a few days.

This theory also applied to our "big trip" last summer to Disney World. Hubby felt strongly at first that this was just too much to give them at such an early age. Would they start expecting such grand holidays all the time? We used all our Air Miles and loyalty points so the flights, hotel and car rental were covered - what I am getting at it is it isn't likely another trip of this scale will be happening for quite some time. Turns out we all had an amazing time, the reconnection as a family without any distractions was just what we needed. They talk about our trip all the time, but show no signs of being spoiled about it all. They were more than thrilled with our three day trip to Collingwood over the Christmas holidays.

I think we are just used to getting and giving too much. With dollar stores in every plaza and toys chests in every restaurant kids (and us too) are used to walking away with something in our hands. Don't get me wrong I love to shop, it is recreational for me sometimes, but I have seen the hazards of tripping over hundreds of dollar store toys. What is the point? Why do you need a hundred of something when a handful will suffice. In terms of giving, when did we create so many new holidays and occasions? We have the requisite Mother's and Father's Day, Easter and Valentine's Day, and now there are St. Patrick's Day gifts and cards in stores. Even engagements and baptisms have become a reason to have a fancy party. More and more frequently we are being invited to these type of parties, and by this I mean, 50+ people, sit-down dinner, often dancing, and oh yeah a gift or envelope. I mean I am happy for them and all and I would encourage them to have a lovely dinner with both sets of parents, but I have been to these engagement parties where if the priest had been willing we could have been done with it on the spot. Add to this the shower and wedding gifts and it really does seem overboard.

I worry that I am becoming a big old curmudgeon. I would never want my kids to want for anything, but more and more I am realizing more is not necessarily better; in fact it IS worse. A blog I wish I had more time to visit My Dog Harriet posted recently about an article in New York Magazine and the hazards of over praising, which ties in so nicely with Bub & Pie's post. This is something I have long thought and have commented on before on other blogs. Following around little Timmy all day with a steady stream of, "good job and you are the best" cannot be good for a child. How do they know when they really are doing a good job? What about when they know they are not trying hard and are getting the same recognition as when they do? Go read the article you will be amazed at the connections they make between self-esteem and over praising; feeding right in to the narcissism debate. You will be surprised when you realize that we all absently do this, especially when our little prodigies are holding up something for us to see and we are busy doing something else.

Where is this all going? We are constantly surrounded by too much stuff. It might be physical stuff like toys, books or clothes. It might be media that floods into your life on every possible channel. It might be giving too much praise (or the wrong kind) to your children. I think it is important that however you define balance for your family, that you actively try to achieve it. Personally, when I let things slide is usually when I feel my most scattered and helpless. When I make an effort to stay present and in control of our stuff we have more time for the things we love doing, whether it is a Scrabble game before bed or a trip to the park.

More and more I am working on making our home and our lives less filled with stuff. When this happens my life opens up to all the other things I want to fill it with and that makes me feel good inside. I will never shun shopping or toys for my kids, but I will try very hard to limit the flow coming into our house. I love a good Coach bag as much as the next gal, but I don't need twenty purses, one or two will do. Now the new Aerosole sandals I saw...that is another story.

Complicated

It might seem from my blog that I don't write much about Papoosie Girl, and in fact I think it is kind of true. It is easy to write about Rosebud, she is much more simple to document and capture in words. At three her personality is only so deep and our relationship is still very much in a honeymoon phase. She doesn't wake me up at night every two hours and doesn't argue with me about every little detail all day either. Rosebud and I live in a kind of harmony etched out by our day to day outings and activities, where it is just the two of us. She has been known to say, "It's nice when it is just the two us." Indeed it is.

That is not to say I don't adore Papoosie Girl, because I do. She is a complicated creature straining against my Mommyness some days and it can be so tiring. Most days pass by fairly uneventfully and for the most part she is a good girl. She follows our family rules, adores her sister and plays with her, and generally doesn't give us a hassle. There have been glimpses though of what is to come, and it is not pretty. She is extremely stubborn, and I think she may have come by that naturally, which has already led to some locked horns situations. You can reason with her most of the time, but these exchanges are exhausting. We are both spent by the end and often words have been exchanged that you want to swallow back up. Somehow I thought I would have more time before this started. More time before it became complicated, if you know what I mean.

I look at her reading on the couch and wonder where did this girl come from? Where did this little girl reading "chapter" books come from? I can't be old enough for a child who can read! After a quick browse through Chapters you quickly realize that this mother-daughter relationship is a topic many people have tried to explain. The fierce pride, complete exasperation, and undying love I feel can never truly be explained though. In my heart of hearts I really wanted a girl and secretly was sure Papoosie Girl was a girl. I have mentioned this before and while a healthy baby was the ultimate wish I was always nervous of having a boy. As an only child and no cousins I saw regularly, I had no exposure or experience with little boys until I started babysitting; and let's just say that impression was not favourable. I have come to love and appreciate little boys through my godson, from the delivery room to his four year old exuberance I am beginning to understand. Boys are different and that is alright, I get it now. I am not nearly as scared.

I so want for Papoosie Girl and Rosebud to think of me as someone who they can rely on and most importantly understand. I think the most tragic thing would be to hear my children say they just never understood me or worse I didn't understand them. I wonder sometimes how it can seem so complicated now, she is six! I feel like we are already approaching the brink of moving from total dependence to total indifference. That scares me, a lot.

Today at the doctors to check her sore ear again she is my little girl. She wants Mommy beside her holding her hand as the doctor pokes around. For the moment we are Mommy and daughter again, no hassles, no sighing, no drama; just the two of us together. Naturally, I start to think of my relationship with my own Mom and how the cycle is continuing. I adore my Mom and she is the one person on this earth who truly knows me best. Hubby knows me well of course too, but this relationship, from birth, through childhood, adolescence and finally to me as a mother is long-standing. My Mom is my inspiration and while it was not always a perfect relationship I have never felt cut off from my mother in any way. I always knew she loved me even if she wasn't liking me very much sometimes.

I am sure I will have lots more to say about this: one girl + one girl + one mother = years of fun...
I never thought I would feel the angst so early in our relationship. I thought it never would be complicated at such an early age and maybe it is just my own worrying bringing me down a bit. I do that sometimes, worry, that is.

Love you Papoosie Girl. You are a bright shining light in my life. You never back down and I so love your strong will, never lose it sweetie. My sweet little Tinkerbell, I hope we have many more years of fairy dust upon us.