Monday notes

Some notes on this Monday:

• I have reached the point in the pregnancy where nothing is comfortable and everything hurts and is hard. I find it ridiculous that this point comes WEEKS before a baby should be born, instead of in the last week. Seriously - who thought up this timing???
• The girls and I are still in our pyjamas. Last night may have been a record of no sleep with no visits from babies. I was kept up by needing to pee, being too hot, and having horrible dreams. Pregnancy dreams are SO vivid, so the bad ones are even WORSE than if you had them when you weren't pregnant.
• I think lunch is my least favourite meal of the day. It takes a bit to figure out what to make, then to make it (especially with my giant belly), then to get the girls to the table, then to settle them down to pray, then to eat...which takes me no time, but could take them EONS. How long does it take to eat a sandwich?? Too long if you're 2 and 4.
• Sophie starts school soon. We're having a baby soon. And yet nothing is in place for these things to happen. I'm trying to not to panic, but then I get tired and nap and then I wake up and realize that I accomplished nothing but avoiding panic. On the list of things still to do: get a 2-compartment lunch bag for Sophie (schools here have two 'nutrition breaks' instead of the usual one lunch, so you have to essentially pack two different lunches); a first-day outfit; a come-home-from-the-hospital outfit for baby; get Soph's backpack ready; get the hospital bag ready; buy tiny diapers; buy labels for all of Sophie's stuff; put the nursery together; bring up and dust the bassinette; and nap. Seems doable, right? OI.
• I'm so blessed that my girls are okay with a lazy mama this summer. Usually we'd be at the park every day; some days the park AND the library; and even some days the park, the library, AND have a picnic! This summer has been lots of movies, and lounging, and taking advantage of our tiny postage-stamp-sized backyard where the coolest thing to do is dig in the dirt. They haven't launched a full-scale mutiny, yet I still feel like I'm failing them somehow.
• We don't know if we're having a boy or a girl...all we know is it's a human baby. Some people congratulate me on this decision; others are annoyed that we didn't find out. It's funny that it's so polarizing. Did you find out what you were having? Why or why not? With our first, Sophie, we totally decided not to so we could enjoy the surprise. With Lillian, our second, we tried, but she wouldn't give it up! With Charlie, our baby in heaven, we never found out or decided either way because there was no time - they were gone by 11 weeks. And with this one? It's our last. We're all done after this. So why not keep with tradition, not find out, and enjoy this one last surprise until the very end.

Bad day

I'm having a bad day.

You know how I know?

I'm yelling a lot.

I'm restless and irritable.

I'm having a hard time with the girls fighting.

I'm having a hard time with the girls giggling and getting along.

I'm still in my pyjamas and it's after 11 a.m.

I'm not enjoying being in my pyjamas - the thought of getting dressed is overwhelming me. Because if I get dressed, then I have to get the girls dressed and deal with Sophie's negotiations and Lillian demanding to do it herself, which normally I can handle...but not today.

Because today is a bad day.

One of my favourite books is a children's book. It's called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. It's about this little boy named Alexander who has a day when nothing goes his way, where nothing is good enough, and where he gets in trouble. He decides he's going to move to Australia because he bets that they don't have bad days there.

Via Goodreads

At the end, he goes to bed and his mom tells him that everyone has bad days, even Australians. I'm hoping that the next day he has a better day...there is no sequel, but that's what I wish for him. A string of bad days is just not fair. One is bad enough.

When I was battling postpartum depression, the bad days had no end. Every day was a bad day. And then slowly, the string got broken up with beads of good moments, which turned into good minutes, hours, even chunks of day. And then, I had my first good day. And I have no idea when that happened, but that first good day was a gateway to more good and soon the good outnumbered the bad.
And that's where I am. I know today is just a bad day and that tomorrow, or even this afternoon or evening will be better.

But for right now Australia and my bed are looking pretty darn good.

Worth it

There are days that make this all worth it...the temper tantrums and butt-bombs and boogers and whining and wake ups at 3 in the morning to fix blankets and biting and hitting and fighting and tears and spilled water and milk and Cheerios and mouths full of crayons and rocks and markers and the neverending stream of very annoying children's programming...and today is one of those days.

Today, I had this conversation with Sophie:

Sophie: Is this a truck?
Me: Yes.
S: What kind of truck?
M: A moving truck.
S: But I want it to be a doctor's bus.
M: Okay, it's a doctor's bus.
S: Yay! Thanks, Mom!

Imagination in full bloom...but apparently it needs regulatory approval.

Later, Lillian and Sophie were sitting on the bottom stair as they often do, Lillian wearing Ben's dress shoes and Sophie wearing a pair of dress-up high heels, and they were making silly faces at each other, both squealing with laughter.

And at lunch, this exchange happened:

Sophie: Mom, can I have a napkin please? (HUGE DEAL - DID YOU NOTICE THE PLEASE???)
Me: Yes.
Lillian: Napkin.
Me: Please.
Lillian: Peease.
Sophie: Thanks, Mom!
Lillian: Thank you, Mommy! (HUGE DEAL - DID YOU NOTICE 3 WORDS STRUNG TOGETHER WITH NO PROMPTING!!! YAY LILLIAN!!)

See?

Some days are worth it.

Keeping your head above the water

You know that moment where you have this gigantic feat to face, a huge stress to overcome, a big task that you're not sure you're up to ahead of you, and yet you're expected to keep living as if things were normal?

Like when you know something big is going to happen, but the dishes still need to be done and bums still need to be changed?

Like when you have 18,00000098230948239842 things to do, yet, you're expected to make dinner then sit down and eat it like nothing is eating you up alive inside?

You know that feeling?

That is me today. And since the big thing isn't happening for months yet, I feel like if I can't get a grip on TODAY then what will next month be like? Or the one after that? Or the one after that?

I know I'm supposed to focus on the moment (I even had a ring made to remind me of this since I'm so challenged in this area) and not on all the moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months all at once, but it's so hard.

Listening to the girls playing and fighting and playing and figthing, I'm trying to stay in this moment, but I'm so scattered I don't even know where to begin with this moment.

Dishes? Non-fiction submission? Pinterest hunting? Crocheting? Sitting and watching children's shows that drive me crazy?

What are you up to this moment? Maybe it will give me some ideas how to spend mine, until the next one comes. And then the next. And the next week. And the next month. And...

...time to lie down.

Thanks be to Thee

Every Thanksgiving in our church, we gather up the harvest of the year in the form of vegetables, fruit, brightly coloured and creatively formed gourds, pumpkins, and squash, preserves, bread, sunflowers, mums, and brilliantly painted fall-leaf garlands. We then place them lovingly on the altar, bringing thanks to God like the people of old (except, no burning sacrifices - fire codes, and such, have changed slightly since biblical times).

I love Thanksgiving. A time devoted especially to saying Thank You, geninuinely, which, in my opinion, is a lost art. You either say thank you all the time or you don't, and both run the risk of losing the gracefulness of paying homage to someone that has done something for you. My husband, when he served behind that gloriously decorated altar on Thanksgiving morning, said that when you say "Thank you" you're really saying "I love you for what you've done for me." And it could be small, like scanning your groceries at the check-out, or it could be big, like being a surrogate for a family who can't conceive. The beauty of thank you is that for one moment you get to humble yourself, bow figuratively, and say, "I love that you took the time to do this for me." How beautiful of a season, how eloquent of a holiday, and how necessary it is to remember to do this, everyday every chance you get.

After this tradition of decorating the altar, though, is the bringing down of the plenty, which has it's own beautiful symmetry. We lay things on the altar to say thank you and then remove them when we're done, passing them onto people who need the food, need the love, need the thank you for the year past.

Some things, though, aren't needed. In fact, they are almost luxurious in quality. Like pumpkins or brightly coloured squash of every variety. Tasty? Yes. Proof of God's imagination? Yes. Necessary? Not like potatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, apples, pears, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, and grapes. These items are a struggle to get rid of. As a faith that does not celebrate Hallowe'en, we have trouble moving things that others would snatch and carve in a heartbeat.

One sister at church, elderly, wise, and crusty beyond belief, came up to me, trying to sell me a large pumpkin.

"Julia, you know what I used to do? I used to take pumpkin, cook it, mash it, measure it out, and then freeze it. You can have pumpkin all year!" She looked at me like she had just unlocked a homemaking treasure, one that would lift me above the heartache of dishes and cleaning and dusting and cooking.

What could I say to her? I had taken 6 pumpkins and had done just that last week with the leftovers from a Sunday School craft and had 4 pumpkin-pie measurements in my tiny, one-bedroom-apartment-fridge-freezer already. I had no room for a huge, regular size pumpkin.

So what did I say? I told her just that, that I would, if I could, but I can't.

What should I have said, in the spirit of things?

Thank you, for that advice. For giving me a moment of 80 years of wisdom that comes from raising 8 children, all of whom are still faithful to God's work. For wanting to share that with me, a newbie in the world of all things homemakerish.

I hope next year I can take the time to tell her thank you, to say "I love you" in a way that means so much more than, "I know."

Drinking girls

Last night a young mother died after being hit by a drunk driver, while walking on the sidewalk. Her toddler son is now in critical condition, fighting for his life in a children's hospital, as he was with her at the time. They were walking home at 8 p.m. after flying a kite.

And all the while girls like Nicole Richie are fighting their drunk driving charges because although she was driving on the highway, in the WRONG DIRECTION, she should be above the law. And although Paris Hilton has driven drunk more than once, she should NEVER have been in jail because she is an heiress.

And of course, I'm sure the family of the dead mother and the very hurt little boy will tell the man who killed and maimed that he is also above the law.

Because what harm can it do to drive drunk?

May that family find the peace and comfort and support they need. And may rich, stupid celebrities who drive drunk stop being so stupid.

I mean, what's worth more? Their freedom or the lives of that mother and son and their loved ones?

That shouldn't be a hard question. In fact, it shouldn't be a question at all.

Rest and Peace

Sarah Toller
February 7, 1977 - June 12, 2007

To Sarah,

Rest and be peaceful.

To Derek and family,

I'm so sorry. Let peace and comfort be with you in this time of mourning. I hope you find light again.

Observations from a coffee shop

Out on a field trip again today...enjoying the coffee shop working day.

***

On the way to work, as we sped along the on ramp to the highway, I noticed that the once bare hill that banks the left side of the ramp is now covered with long, skinny, shiney grass - the kind that picks up the light in a wave formation. As we flew by, it danced and shimmered, picking up the summer light, showing off its growth and greeness. It was a moment of nature among the hustle of highway, cars, contruction, and gridlock. I'm sure if the windows were open to let in the smell of pollution and "forward thinking," the moment would be ruined - but of course we had our earth-sucking air conditioning on, like any good citizen would.

***

The wind is here too, at the coffee shop, making the trees that were planted the day that the building was finished dance and play. They're tall and thin, showing off their delicate age still. Teenage trees that frolic, their rounded, full heads of hair bouncing around, nodding and looping, flirting and reaching to the sky, just as young people should. Enjoy, enjoy, but reach and soar. And if for one moment you forget that the trees are lining roads and parking lots, and if for one moment you pretend that you are in a field, carpeted with natural grasses, wild flowers, and unicorns, you can imagine that the trees are as happy as the wind makes them look.

***

Older people look so worthy to me - they don't look cocky and arrogant like young people, who feel like they know everything, while making ignorant decisions; they don't look like the middle group, of spit and polished corporate workers, or laid back relaxed corporate workers. They look refined, worked, weathered, strong, and calm. They don't have the nervous energy of youth, who can't sit still, who have to keep moving, keep busy, keep jiggling, keep up the facade of "I know!" They don't have the loud confidence of cologned and perfumed 30-somethings. They have the look of quiet power, of quiet knowing. I want that. I want, when I have reached an age to consider retirement, that kind of simplicity and wisdom.

Saw a woman on the way to work today - she had a shock of white gray hair, cropped short in a very hip way. She must have been 55. She was fit and was wearing a bright sundress, walking up the street with confidence and poise. Sunglasses, class. But then a peek at her bra under her arm mid-stride - not flashy, not patterned, not black. Pure white - the show of care for her clothes, for her bras, for the colour white. You know her mother told her to care for her undergarments. You just know. And you know that she listened now. And she may not have before, but now she knows, this is true. And she walked like she knew, but didn't have to tell anyone. Lovely. Perfect. My wish.

Man in the coffee shop who is tall, with white hair and conservative glasses. He is carrying a satchel, which could hold a computer, maybe. But instead he pulls out paper and a pen - old school. And he sits there, quietly, alone, working and thinking. Reading. Absorbing. And you know this is something he has perfected over the years. And his knowing is there too - as he watches the younger polished and the younger casual workers, chat and be excited, with their oversized coffees and laptops and cell phones (yes, me too). And he has a small coffee, a small notebook for notes, and a book open on his lap. And he knows, but we don't need to know that. Because he knows. Solid. Wise. My wish.

***

I want to be skinnier. Not in a starved way, but in a fit way. I want there to be a graceful curve to my neck, not rolls. I want my belly to be flat so when I'm pregnant you'll see my bump, not just exaggerated chub. I want gorgeous legs, or at least the the little bit of leg that I do have be fantastic. I want it. And I will get it if I get my round bottom off of the couch and out into the world.

***

Gentleman beside me recently lost his job. As I write about bankruptcy, where one of the main reasons people go bankrupt is because they've lost their job, my stomach hurts for him. He has a girlfriend and no job. Remembering my husband's and my unemployment I feel for him. The frustration, the worry. I have to breathe more...and remember that his plight is not mine. But I do hope that he finds a resolution sooner, rather than later. Hope, hope, hope.

***

Sleepy-headed boy, nodding off in a comfy chair. Brings back memories of when I was in school and I would head for the basement of Dana Porter Library, sink into one of their comfy chairs, and study and doze the day away, getting more work done than anywhere else. Granted, this groggy lad doesn't have any books with him, but he looks about the age that everyone assumes has the most energy. Truth be told, the most energy requires the most sleep. I miss the sleep of my university years, the frequent napping, and the flexible schedule. But the homework? That I will never miss. EVER.

***

Paris Hilton is going back to jail after she was released. Apparently, being Paris Hilton is not as glamorous as it seems in the photographs. Her head tilt, her model body, her sex on the internet, her television show, and all of her inheritance isn't saving her. And although the world is crowing about how awesome it is that justice is being done, don't you feel a little sorry for her? Not for going to jail and not for getting what she deserved, but rather for the fact that she has deluded herself into thinking she has real love in the world? That in her hour of need, the media-hooked-up world is calling for her hanging? Not petitioning that she be let go?

Can you imagine how isolating that must feel? Thinking you are beloved and then finding out you are reviled?

That would be awful. That's the part I feel bad for...her ignorance. And how stupid of her parents for supporting her delusions. For telling her she is loved. For telling her she is worth the world. For telling her that she is a celebrity. For telling her that she is precious. For telling her all that and then not mentioning that love only works unconditionally with her parents, not for the rest of the world. That she has to contribute and be something bigger than herself and her riches.

Poor, Paris. I hope she can see past her delusions in prison and figure out who she really is and who she really wants to be. Best case scenario? She does some soul-searching and finds a charitable, compassionate human being, instead of a cold celebutante.

Can you imagine a world where Paris is human and not fake? Where she practices humanity instead of toxicity? That will be a better world for her.

Now if only we could toss George Bush into jail, along with all of his idiot advisors. Those guys deserve to do some serious time. Stop killing the world - start making it a better place. Please.

You know it's real when...

...your husband IMs you, saying:

"Pleasant thought of the day: you are currently sitting in the coffe shop where i asked your parents if i could marry you."

Swoon, all over again.

Put in my place

I'm working at Starbucks today in order to better my and the hubby's chances at seeing Spider-Man 3 tonight (now I'm steps away from the theatre, instead of being 40 minutes away).

Little boy, who just threw as big of a fit over sharing a cookie as his daddy did, is staring me down, while drinking his too-big-for-him cup of water.

Adorable.

Hypocrite

I am a gossip-monger. I love reading and hearing about celebrity news (and non-news), and looking at their photos, marvelling at the expensive bodies they prance around.

I admit it. I'm guilty. See my list of links - Shameless Gossip is there as prominently as Education and Faith. Guilty, guilty, guilty pleasure.

But when the gossip gets mean, when it gets vicious, and it gets beyond pleasure, but pushes it firmly into pain, I start to feel really, really bad. Because the people we are ripping apart are just that - PEOPLE.

I'm watching tv, and my innocent, mickey mouse produced news channel is saying that they have more dirt on Britney Spears. More dirt. As if there wasn't enough dirt on the single mother, who has experienced a mental breakdown, divorce, public embarassment, and constant harassment from paparazzi.

But that isn't pleasurable, anymore. If I could take the mic for one minute, I'd like to say, Leave the poor girl alone. Please. She needs to heal. Find her stride again. Learn how to be a good, healthy mother. Reunite with her family and herself. And most importantly, be able to breathe without criticism and stalking.

And yes, you're right, guy with the other mic. Maybe if she didn't dress skimpily, maybe if she stayed in her house and raised her babies, and maybe if she didn't ask for attention, she wouldn't be dealing with it. Maybe if she stopped making herself an easy target, it wouldn't be so bad.

But I ask you this: if a woman, who was running around in a teddy, got raped, would you say the same thing? Would you say, she was asking for it? I think you'd say, yes, in a way. But in another way, damn the man that couldn't keep it in his pants, couldn't resist, and couldn't avoid taking away that woman's freedom, dignity, and self-worth.

Aren't we just raping Britney? Raping her of her freedom, dignity, and self-worth? Shouldn't we have more self-control?

Yes, yes we should.

Taking the high road...alone

In my life I've always worked very hard to do things right, in the right order.

Learn how to drive with a driving school, then get my full licence.

Go to high school and then, without skipping a beat, go to university.

Take paid internships in university to ensure I don't go into too much debt from my schooling, while gaining valuable experience.

Graduate then get married.

Get married then have sex (yes, me and Jessica Simpson...).

I've recently realized, though, that in my quest to abide by my parents' and my church's, and society's rules, I've painted myself into corner.

My friends and family are scared of talking to me about what they did differently or wrong because they're afraid of what I'll think.

And on the one hand it's nice to know that I firmly live and breathe my values everyday and that they are aware of them that much.

But on the other hand, it means that I'm not approachable. Not at all.

I've had friends get divorced and not tell me. I've had siblings take months to break the news to me that they didn't wait. And I've had in-laws not want me to know what they've been up to.

And all because I might look poorly on them.

What does that really mean, though? That they respect me enough not to want to disappoint me, or does it mean that they think I'm a stuck-up kid who would judge anything that walks by?

The high road is quickly becoming a lonely place, where I don't understand and never will understand those who made diffferent decisions, and, beyond that, I'll only judge instead of listening and supporting.

The trouble is that is NOT me. I'm not that person. I'm the person that works hard to understand, to be the perfect friend.

Apparently, though, perfection has its cost too - everyone else.

Heartbroken

My heart is so very heavy today and my head feels like sinking into a soft pillow and not waking up for a very long time. It is taking everything in me to keep working today, to stay alert, and not give in to the need for sleep and peace.

Yesterday was long, busy day and was filled with activity and chatter. It was also filled with news about a dear friend and the trouble she has been going through in her marriage.

As I look to my own marriage and I see what a blessing it is, I wish so desperately that she could feel the same way, could enjoy the same contentment, stability, and security.

I reread old love letters from my husband from before we were married, and I was reminded how sweetly we love each other, how blessed I am, and what a great thing love can be.

And then I think of her situation and am also reminded how awful love can be, ripping you apart and making you want two different things at exactly the same time.

How awful.

You know it's time when...

You know it's time to cut your losses and find new friends, when a pal of yours shows up in a car with his girlfriend and proceeds to ask you for your opinion about certain cheating actions the girlfriend has recently done...while she is listening. And instead of getting outraged about the fact that your pal is accusing her of cheating and airing it in public, the girlfriend gets offended when her side of the story is not represented properly.

I love my neighbourhood, especially my downstairs neighbourhood.

Still sifting through photos

Looking at pancake photos, I've discovered that people who are "making breakfast" always have a phone tucked between their ear and shoulder, while whipping up a batch of pancakes. We are an uber busy bunch, aren't we?

Fast food nation

After spending a few days looking for pictures of potatoes on a stock photo site, I've discovered that we are a truly fast food nation.

There are no pictures of potatoes...just french fries.

Does no one but me need potatoes as they are, unaltered and simple?

What a sad, sad world when one can not even find a potato.