Between the Crosshairs

Rebirth

2012-02-15T00:49:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe.
What happened to you, happened to me.

Today was just another Hallmark holiday. One I have always had a particular hatred for. Black Tuesday is what I would have called it. A day of forced romantic notions, cliche gestures and society approved affection. It has never gone well for me, either ignored or ending very badly. Sometimes it came so thick with fake declarations that I almost choked on them, ending the night horribly with the bitter taste of almost in the back of my throat. Lies and red roses. Two things I really never had the stomach for.

But then you came crashing into my soul and turned my world upside down. On our first Valentine's Day I asked you to be my UN-Valentine. That was as far as I was willing to go. It was the first time I didn't want to claw my eyes out at the sight of pink and red hearts. But I was also very willing to keep mine under black wraps. It was before you knew how to push on my edges.

Somewhere along the line you found the door. It is hard to say whether I opened it for you, or if you tumbled into my damaged heart with your wounds bleeding. Our wounds bleeding.

I cannot say anymore that I am the woman you fell into. My perceptions have changed. I have changed. You dug up those old worry stones inside of me and gave me a locked room to examine them. You have shown me what I could never see, the value of my shattered life and the beauty in my broken-ness. That scars are not something to hide, but a map to run your fingers across. That in all of that pain, there is pleasure to be taken away. That I am not alone. And somehow, will never be again. There is a wholeness in that notion that is beyond expression.

Today we shared another rip in time, skin to skin. Our hearts beat so close to the surface now that I can see the tremors against the skin. There is no fear, only us. Wide open and heart-breakingly beautiful. Your skin smelled like spring, like the first fresh breeze on a sunny day. Like the freedom I have so desperately wanted to claim for my own. Like hope. And I cried.

Today you are my Valentine. You came to me to celebrate who we are, not some cliche ideal. You did not bring roses that I despise, you gave me boxes of my favorite coffee. You did not bring me empty verses on a cardboard promise, you spoke to the beauty that is US. I laid my hand against your chest so that I could FEEL your words reverberate inside me. Low and rich tones that hold all my tomorrows intact. We loved today like we love every day-fiercely, truly, wholly.

I am not the woman you fell into. I am a better woman for ever having you in my life. Your love has healed what I thought forever broken and made me fearless. I give to you my everything sweet man, not only on this day, but for all of my days. Until there is no more in this life, or any other.

Happy Valentine's Day my love... yesterday, today and always.

Yours.

Until There IS No More

2012-01-23T08:34:00.001-05:00

Today I am guest posting at The Mindstorm, where the lovely Chrisa has given me a space to discuss the challenges of raising a child with mental illness. Come and give it a read!

A Pocket Full of Thistles

2012-01-14T21:48:00.004-05:00

It was one of those moments. You know the ones, when you are flying through life with a pocket full of promises and a head full of dreams. It is always those moments that steal your breath with dizzying happiness, when your hair blows in the wind from the roots and your soul whispers your most secret hopes to your heart. It is always when you are caught up in the expanse of life - when you can see clearly the endless blue sky - when your feet are solidly planted one in front of the other - that something turns. Suddenly everything seems different, although you cannot put your finger on it. Something has shifted beneath your weight, knocking you off balance.

It is funny how something can look so completely different when you only turn it over in your hand. A slight flick of the wrist. The thing is, you really never know what you'll find on the underside. Good, bad or indifferent. Now I know that some people resist looking for the other side of things. Some prefer the silver lining, others thrive in the tarnish. I've always thought myself to be one who considers all sides. Who contemplates across the landscape. I really do not know if I intentionally refused to turn over the penny, or if I really thought I had. If ever a Wiz there was, indeed. Like milk down the paper funnel, perceptions slip through my fingers into nothing.

No matter how many times I reach into the top hat, I come up empty handed. No solid truths, and no damn bunny. Ever.

I unwittingly stumbled into the thistles, and I've been trying to ease them out of my skin ever since. Like a jumble of life size puzzle pieces, I've been pushing on the sides and trying to make them fit into a logic. I tell myself that I am not invested in the actual truth, but like a scientist, interested only in the process of making one fit. But deep down I know that isn't true. It can't be.

It can only be part of the process, because eventually, I will have to view the bigger picture it creates. And I will have to draw some conclusion. I will have to decide if somewhere in the bricks I place; heavy, unyielding, and real; there is room for a door.

And if there is, whether it is an entrance, or an exit?

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be under the oak tree, pulling on the threads to that magic curtain and waiting for the big reveal.

Last Year

2012-01-01T14:22:00.004-05:00

Last night I read over the story of us. I traced the patterns of our words, the progression of our thoughts, and measured the distance of how hard we fell. You promised you would catch me, and at every juncture I see your arms cradled around my heart.

I fingered the old wounds we came with, now scarred over. They are the raised ribbons of the years without each other. They are a matched set. Like bookends, we mirror those hurts in each other. We see beneath the lined surface and understand that there is healing left to be done. With patience born of a thousand traumas, we spread our hands over our broken hearts and allow the circuit between us to form new beginnings.

How many times have we started over? I can see the stairs we have climbed, some leapt over in our reckless rush to each other, some tripped over painfully. Each time we have lifted our feet, we have moved together towards tomorrow, hands clasped and hearts smashing. Each time our feet landed, they crushed fear, anxiety, and old demons under our toes. And sometimes, one of us fell down. Always, ALWAYS, the other has sat patiently on that step, fingers outstretched to help the other find their way back. We cannot leave one another behind. We are old soulmates in broken bodies. Never again will we be abandoned or betrayed.

We have raised each other from the ashes time and time again, twisted and turned shards of each other into complete masterpieces. We developed the ability to look past the beautiful green irises and see the soul that lies beneath. We talk with our mouths, our skins, our hearts, and our souls. Sometimes we speak without words, and sometimes this is the greatest gift of all. There is great peace that comes with sharing one thought, one understanding, one worry between us.

I didn't know love before I knew you. I knew you before I can remember. You are my all, my everything. My past, present and future belongs to you.

With you.

In you.

Enmeshed

2011-11-20T19:29:00.002-05:00

Sometimes we struggle. We push and pull at each other, at the threads between us, at the ties that bind us. We strain against the fabric and look for tears to appear. And then all at once they come. Little rips that loosen the tension and we spring back, each of us gripping our edges in terror. At once grateful for the space, and panicked by the distance.

And then comes the calm.

Wordlessly we work from opposite ends of the universe. Weaving those threads together, closing the rips with respect and love. We meet somewhere in the middle in whispers, our hands working closely to tie knots in our mending, to bind together our tomorrows. We fix those tears with heartstrings, newly formed sinews that are forever unbreakable. Somewhere in our work we see our fears, anxieties, old hurts and future worries. We knit them together like an old quilt, a story of us. Before and after. Past, present and future.

And somewhere, across the roadmap we have created, hides our souls. Stitched together with hope and reckless abandon. Somehow we have become one. And we are strong.

Life is a runaway train you can't wait to jump on

2011-09-19T17:09:00.005-04:00

I had an epiphany last night. It's funny how that works... at first it seems like it comes smashing out of the blue and hits you, but when you look back you can see the rumblings of change across the landscape.

Yesterday I lost my best friend. Or, what I thought was my best friend. It's funny how people change. That's what I get for choosing a chameleon for a partner in crime. What is more strange is how little the impact really is in the aftermath... there are those rumblings again. I guess you could say I saw it coming.

We met over psychology and students in a random college auditorium one day. We were very different then, but somehow we fell into a fast friendship that hinged on coffee and ruckus days... college projects and observations. She became close to my children, and they began to look up to her. Over the years she became like a spouse, coming to holiday dinners at the parents, planning birthday parties for my children, spending long hours at the mall, sharing teary secrets on late night drives around a small town. She was a friend that became a sister - and we shared too many things to list on this tiny little blog.

We don't fit like that anymore. I saw things that I didn't see before, watched as she became someone else, became like someone else, to please someone else. When that exploded, I ran to pick up her shattered heart and began the process of gluing those tiny little pieces back together. Tried to make her stronger, wiser. And then she did it again. And threw me under the bus for it. I felt like there was a perception of competition, a jealousy that need not exist. I did not, and would not, take what was hers. I didn't want it to begin with. Even then, we patched the holes in our little boat and marched forward a couple more years...

See, I loved her. I love her still. The girl she was. I don't know the woman she is now, that belongs as half of another... she has taken on traits of another life that is different from mine. In place of loving my children, she now complains about them. She shows up for our girls night with him as well. Instead of standing up for what she loves, she pushes it aside for the wishes of another. She creates a new life from the pieces of his, and I do not belong to it. I wish her well. It breaks my heart that she has not mastered the art of integrating both pieces of her, but I will not stand silent while she tears me down as part of a unit... only because she is not strong enough to speak for herself. So here I am, waving goodbye on the front porch alone. I will miss her.

I will miss you.

Ink on the Page

2011-09-11T17:14:00.004-04:00

I feel like I'm lost somewhere, floating in the middle of the vastness. My feet kick at the black depths beneath me and my arms ache from treading. Moments ago I could see you, waving to me from the concrete land, a speck in my periphery that kept me grounded. Now the dusk blots you out, and offers me nothing in the way of a lighthouse.

I know I am encased in my own waters - that you did not cast me out alone, but then it does not change the loneliness that washes over me. The waves just keep coming, breaking over my shoulders and threatening to choke out my security. There is no bottom and no top, just disorienting darkness and salty traces.

Forgive me - but it is filling my lungs and drowning me - I just need to get it out.

Ink on the page.

Double Exposure Photography

2011-09-05T14:45:00.002-04:00

I've been working hard over here, partnering up with my very talented cousin to revamp Double Exposure Photography.

I am very excited to announce our new website (we are still building our portfolios) and wanted to share it with you all!

Come on over to Double Exposure and see what we've been up to!

Thanks!!

DAG.

How He Sees Me

2011-08-31T21:33:00.001-04:00

Light Up the Sky

2011-08-25T00:58:00.003-04:00

It started as a tickle in the corner of my mouth... raising the edges involuntarily. It moved across my face, carving a hollow dimple in my cheek and leaving a twinkle in the deepest green recesses of my iris. It travelled the length of my body, across my skin and by the time I got to you - it radiated from the inside.

Like a firefly, I flickered, between mouthfuls of chocolate chip waffles. My eyes flashed at you over the table, and our legs pressed together as they always do. The heat spread from the palm of my hand into yours while you traced promises into my skin. Yesterday's stories could not call me away from you.

In the darkness of a near empty room, the world fell away. My arm crossed the length of your chest, my toes curled against yours. Time stopped, and all that was left was one breath between us - and we shared it willingly. The connection was made and we were powerless to break it.

In the waning hours of the evening it began to storm. Rain pelted down, fire crossed the sky on the backs of the angriest ancients, seams of clouds burst above me. And from the night you appeared all at once, flashlight in hand - rain collecting on your eyelashes - to kiss me one last time today. To protect me from nature's wrath, to secure our ties to forever. The electricity flashed inside the closing space between us.

You were the first, and the last, to wish me a happy birthday. After you had gone I let the rain fall on my skin, warm and cold all at once, reminding me. Once I thought I was transparent and longed to move among the real. Now I can barely remember anything but your love.

It crackles between us, around us, from within us - and catches the world on fire.

I am honoured - OR - How I am completely humbled by the Universe once more

2011-08-20T18:57:00.003-04:00

A LOOOOONG time ago, when I first moved my little thoughts to this corner of the blogosphere, I copied over a post I had written about cancer and divine intervention.
This was a pivitol moment in my life, where the intersection of fate and happenstance tripped into my path and it was proven, once and for all, that one person CAN change the world. Sarah Toller fought a hard battle against melanoma, and ultimately she surrendered peacefully. However, not without changing my life forever first.
A few months after her death, I was contacted by her mother about the post I had written. She wanted to use my post in a memoir she was compiling from Sarah's original blog, one she had kept over the course of a year during her illness. Of course I agreed, anything I can do to repay this woman, this family. And then I got busy with life.
Recently, I started revisiting Sarah's original blog and decided to search to see if the book had ever been published. It was, and I was soon to find out - my post made the final cut.
The wee paragraphs I threw out into the universe, as a way to say thank you, to say I see you fate, to acknowledge there is something larger than me at work out there, are now the Epilogue to Sarah's story. I have been honoured to be a piece of that life, even after the fact - and to have a place at the end of this book.
Thank you to Sarah's mother, who also recognized her daughter's hand in my story and wanted to share it with the world. I am eternally grateful to both of you - for giving me a shot to make a difference, however small that may be. And for giving me pages on which to tell my story - and the connections that are too close to be coincidence.
We are eternally tied... and I will think of you always.

DAG.

Simple Mornings

2011-08-13T17:39:00.004-04:00

A melodic tone drew me from my slumber, calling to me before the day. In your t-shirt and last night's jeans, I padded out to my car as the sun slivered over the horizon. Pink and purple skies made promises for the day, and somewhere nearby I found you. You were headed to me.

Minutes later we were wrapped in pale sheets, sharing our morning whispers. My skin warmed your chilled hands, your lips woke my soul. We shared breath together, wound around each other. There seemed no beginning and no end to us.

We spent hours like that, lost in each other as the sun rose higher and silenced the birds. We lounged, fingers entwined, feet pressed together, before picking up our discarded skins in favour of steaming coffee. Two cups, two hearts, two kisses goodbye. In your t-shirt I fell asleep again in the space where you had lain. In the afterglow, I wondered if I had been dreaming all along...until I found your scent on my pillows.

Pebbles

2011-07-23T22:52:00.003-04:00

I have never felt like this. It washes over me when I'm not looking, this rush that travels through my veins, mixes with my blood - rockets through my soul, and leaves gooseflesh on its tail.

There is this connection between you and I. A measure of heat when my palm slides into yours, an electricity that crackles between our parted lips. It has always been there. I have always known you, somewhere in my bones. In my dreams. In my molecules. I was meant to love you.

Last night we hid in the shadows of the moon, clinging together in the cooling ripples. Your eyes reflected the stars pinned to the night sky and water lapped at our shoulders. In the quiet, we let our skin speak and our mouths rest. With dripping bodies, we climbed under the sheets and ate popsicles like teenagers. My heart was bursting with you, and I swore I could never be this happy.

This afternoon we travelled the humid aisles of our favorite bookstore. Our eyes tripped from the titles of a thousand voices to each other, and back again in an unspoken dance. In the heat, I twisted my hair up with one hand. You stole behind me and whispered a kiss on my strawberry birthmark. I wondered how I could possibly love you more than right that second.

This evening it rained pebbles on my bedroom window. When I peered over the sill, I saw you grinning up at me. And I fell in love with you all over again. You stepped off the pages of a fairy tale and into my arms. And then you set my paper heart aflame.

Grow old with me, my sweetest love.

We Got Heart

2011-07-17T16:02:00.005-04:00

It might have been a hundred degrees out there. The team may have gotten slaughtered EVERY game. You should have reached your limit by mid-afternoon.

But you didn't. You played hard, rose to the challenge, bonded with the team and made me proud. We may not have a trophy - but we got heart. Good game kiddo.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2011-07-15T22:46:00.008-04:00

I woke up each morning to your beautiful artwork stretched out before me. Caught up in the remnants of sleepy, wistful dreams - before I knew the morning - I loved you. Entwined in the embrace of an old Hollywood love affair, we hurriedly planned our adventures.

Long ribbons of highway spun out before us, long and winding roads where we got lost together. Lost in each other. We fell blissfully down the rabbit hole. I do not know where the time went, ticking away warm, sunny days. Mapping long afternoons in abandoned movie theatres. In the quiet evening darkness, minutes stole by to the sound of our heart beating. For you know that we share only one.
Over pancakes, eggs and steaming coffee - we lived. In Wonderland. Where you and I were the only sense in the nonsense, and the rabbit lost his pocket watch.

Oh my ears and whiskers, if I had only knew the bliss I would find in you, I'd have drunk from the bottle ages ago.

Words Unspoken

2011-07-12T15:02:00.002-04:00

Yesterday you carved our initials in the tree. You chose the roots, instead of the trunk, where the tree is strongest. I watched in silence, through a mist of love and tears for its beauty. I didn't tell you then, but you were carving our initials into my tender heart, into the sinews where it beats hardest.
In the dark we laid, in a tangle of arms and legs, and whispered. My eyes spoke to yours, lit up by the reflections of the world around us. My breath met yours in the space between our lips, filled with the promises we do not need to speak.
This morning you wrapped yourself around me. Words travelled along your sweet lips to my ear, finding its way across my skin and into my soul. Stay with me always. My skin rose to meet your touch, the sound of your palm on my hip whispering to you...for always, my sweetest love.

Tourniquet

2011-07-09T12:16:00.003-04:00

I opened my eyes to the blinding flash of the world exploding around me. All that I have come to know is burning down, pieces of yesterdays, todays and tomorrows lie piecemeal. The rubble is alight, flames dancing over my hopes and eating my dreams from the inside.

I see nothing but the ashes, coating the guilded lilies and tarnishing my soul. Silence around me, smoke in the air, in my lungs. Acrid. I stand in the middle of the world and watch it burn. See the destruction, witness the violence - see it all crumble under my precarious touch. King Midas has nothing on me.

Leave me here, sitting crosslegged in the ash. Clutching my exploded heart and praying for daylight. You take with you all the colours of the world. My soul.

I am broken.

Snaps

2011-07-04T20:21:00.004-04:00

Today I left you behind, in a little room with curtains. I didn't want to, but they insisted I leave. You looked alone and tense, but I walked away with a smile of reassurance, so you couldn't see my sadness. You didn't know, couldn't know - that I left a piece of me pressed against your lips.

With time to kill and nowhere to go, I sat on a grassy hill overlooking the chaos. Coffee in hand, I watched the people of my own neighbourhood wander. Some talking - to others, or themselves - some walking. Some lingering on street corners and bus stops, others driving off to lives I cannot see. I remember this sight through my windowpane in my younger years. When I used to call this MY stomping grounds.

It was a time when I was alone and broken. Embarrassed, not only to be where I was, but WHO I was. Nothing came or left from that tiny room, except my hope. I remember late nights, awake while the old console television flickered plots older than my rotting dreams. Despair, drier than yellowed wallpaper stained my soul, I was sure I could never beat the demon.

I watched this world around me, quietly. My silence screamed to days gone by and I struggled to find where the light is. Sunlight crept over the hill, climbed the shadows and rested on one knee. And then, I came back for you.

Relief flooded your face as I rounded the double doors and into your sanctuary. I fingered the snaps on the shoulder of your gown, undoing, redoing. The metal was warm from your skin beneath, leaving impressions of a never ending circle on the pad of my thumb. Although I was relieved to find you intact, the real reward came with the realization that with you, I am whole. I am no longer that other person I watched in my memories.

Goodbye, sweet girl.

Palpitate

2011-07-02T17:13:00.003-04:00

Something has me thinking. About something else. About me. About that. About life. About you.
In an offhand conversation while the world whipped by, I opened my mouth and some words fell out. "Reflection is key to monitoring how you move in the world in general." I don't know what they meant. Do you?

And so I taste those words, roll them around in my mouth and try to get a feeling for how my tongue fits around them. Still, they are foreign. How do I wax philosophical about reflecting on life and ignore the fingernail scratching my gullet? Something feels different. Reflect on it.

Somewhere, between the humid sky and the heatwaves rising from the pavement, is the truth. But I don't reflect on it, now do I? I do not consider it, I do not question...why? I do not really want to know.

If life is just a series of rooms, and the people you find in them, how do we reflect on the purpose of the company? Are you teaching me something? I like the analogy, it seems to inspire reflection on the relationships you build around you, either short or long, romantic or otherwise. Am I learning?

If we are just in another room, for a little time, do I hear you leave? Does the door creak open and say goodbye or is it just the absence I feel in my heart? Can I come too?

Where are you going?

Anxiety, after all, is only the reflections you ignore. Isn't it?

Catching Flame

2011-07-01T23:17:00.004-04:00

Today, I sat with a group of people I barely knew. We laughed, watched little feet splash in backyard pools, ate from the outdoor grill, and shared a piece of our lives. Our voices rose above the peals of laughter on the silky lawn, trading stories of yesterdays in the waning sun and dodging rogue water missiles.

Later, we sat huddled in damp towels on camping chairs, and watched millions of tiny sparks in the sky collect into explosions of brilliance. We laughed, pointed, clapped and collectively sighed over its beauty.

But for one moment, I was all alone. There was no sound but the crackling of tiny sparklers across the lawn, no image but the glowing embers on children's faces lit up by the simpleness of life. Looking across the twilight, all I could see was ten tiny little hands grasping sparklers, quietly appreciating the beauty of those flying fires. They came together like a wildfire: the quiet, the image, the feeling, and caught flame to my soul.

There it was, happiness.

Infinity

2011-06-29T19:58:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I do not see it coming. Standing on top of the world, I am busy with my head in the clouds and my heart in your hands. It rushes over me, through me, inside of me. It turns me inside out, forcing me to wear my damage on the outside.

Only you can see them, those secret places where the tissue is worn thin, stretched over too many heartaches. Only you can touch them, tracing the roadmaps of yesterdays. Your fingers slip over the empty places, the torn and ragged holes left by forgotten pieces of me. Only you can heal them, your love building bridges over sunken hopes and rotten dreams.

Sometimes I forget where you end and I begin. Until I can see your bandaids on my tattered soul. And then, I am grateful.

Dinner for Two: Or - Roasting my House Dress, 2.0

2011-06-18T15:19:00.007-04:00

I had the ~~insanely ambitious~~ brilliant idea to took dinner for two. Now let us not forget that in my book: Kraft dinner, frozen pizza, grilled cheese, and chef Boyardee ALL count as viable dinner options. In fact, I prefer it that way. Who needs to cook when you can WARM! But I digress.

I planned a delicious roast beef, tender and steaming. Falling apart when you glance in its general direction, to die for and better than your mother's. Add to that sauteed golden potatoes with garlic, rosemary, paprika and fresh onions and some steamed carrots. Of course, I must have dessert. Let them eat cake!

... erm... or pie. Pecan pie. THE bane of my existence.

The fact that it probably isn't a great plan to make the pie for the first time WHEN OTHERS ARE EATING IT notwithstanding, last night I made a pie. For the purposes of today, we will call it Pie #1. Of course it was baked to perfection and steaming hot with all its pecan-y goodness. It was NOT undercooked in the center and overcooked on the top, it did NOT smell a little like burning, and I so totally COULD insert a knife gently in the center. I swear.

Last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, agonizing over Pie #1. Guest of Honour has been speaking of Pecan Pie for...um seven odd months now. He? Is expecting damn good pie! I must deliver! This morning, I mulled over Pie #1 again. It didn't look any better by the morning light, coffee or not. So I began Pie #2.

Dear Pie #2: You are expected to be delicious in all of the traditional ways. I expect you to supersede your forlorn burned brother, Pie #1. You must elicit nothing but moans of appreciation and eye rolling from Guest of Honour, and should you fail to deliver on any or all of said requirements, I will feed you to the raccoon of doom. I promise you this.

It looks good, flaky light crust, toasted pecans and beautiful brown top... it looks like the picture. It had better taste of it, or he is eating my roasted house dress. And liking it.

Dear Roast Beef #1....

{image from Etsy}

Only the Whisper Hits the Pavement

2011-06-15T23:04:00.003-04:00

I've decided that I have become a blogging slacker. To remedy this, I have given the blog a whole new feel...

I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?

I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.

It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.

Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....

The Elephant in the Room (or - this is gotta be a good life)

2011-04-18T20:51:00.002-04:00

Spent the last couple of days living in nostalgia, looking through old pictures. Reading old emails. Stepping into the shadows of who I used to be and finding, surprisingly, that it doesn't fit anymore. And for some reason, that makes me feel sad.

I choose to live where the light is. Where love is possible. Where possible is possible. I turn my back on the creeping shadows and turn my face to the sun. All this time, I thought I was beating it, only to look down and see those shadows shackled to my ankles. I am standing in a puddle of my own rotting hope.

So much negativity pressing down on me.
From the outside, moving inward. Full of sickness and rot.

I'm turning my shovel in the ashes and I feel like I keep searching, looking for a shard of colour in the surrounding miles of gray. I wonder if I am a caterpillar who cloaks his potential in the winter of his cocoon, or just a silly centipede trying to convince myself otherwise.

Feel it in my gut, something is shifting. Almost imperceptible, but its there. My anxiety climbs as long as I cannot put my finger on exactly what has changed. Or why. That tremor in the earth, through my toes and into my calves, that turns my stomach. The wind in my hair is loathing, not freeing. Stealing my breath and making no promises.

Sitting, clawing at my thoughts inside my brain and praying for the break. This is gotta be a good life. Somewhere. Or it has to have the potential to be. There has to be something to come from it all. I am a lover, a giver, a friend. I am also a liar, a poser, and a thief. Aren't you?

Keeping Abreast of the Situation

2011-03-30T21:26:00.002-04:00

HELLO ALL!

Deep breath - where to begin, where to begin. I'd love to create this long, witty blog that will have you in stitches - but I'm still in stitches so let's go back to the drawing board.

I've been flat on my back for the last two weeks, and am just now beginning to join the human race again after a recovery from hell. I had the breast reduction surgery on March 8th, and its been rocky. Of course that led to three weeks off from the Masters of Education program - leaving me up to the proverbial tits in work (pun intended)!

All inappropriate joking aside - I thought I'd take a few moments to talk about this whole plastic surgery thing, and tell some truths to those who are thinking about it.

First shocker: it's not as bad as you think it will be!! And I'm being completely honest. Here in Ontario, it is day surgery. So basically I went in at 7 am and was on my way home around 2 pm. I spent three hours in the recovery room, and 2 hours in actual surgery. I WILL say, however - that is SUCKS when you first wake up after surgery (before the pain meds come along). I woke up FREEZING and in serious ouch. To top it off, the breathing tube they placed in my airway compressed my lip against my teeth, so I had a major fat lip as well! Thankfully, the lovely recovery nurses brought me a warm blanket (actually blew hot air on me) and some morphine for my IV. That made the world a little better.

Who am I kidding? That made the world a WHOLE lot better half an hour later after they gave me enough to take off the edge...

...of consciousness.

The tricky part at first was the drainage tubes that ran into each breast, and the little self-contained collection drums that were suspended from my bra. The entry points were very tender and it was hard to wear regular sized clothing. They were removed a day later (SUCK), and it was easier to move around after that. I have to admit that taking care of myself was not an option, so I shipped Thing One and Thing Two off to Dad's for the week, and stayed with a special person who was able to wake me for my pain meds (every four hours), cook me meals, assist me with getting dressed and helping me wash my hair in the sink. I was also fortunate to lean on my old friend Jenny to get me to appointments and help me once I returned back home. I thank those two very much for all their help and support. And of course - dear old Dad was my chauffeur and nurses aid on the day of surgery.

The pain was not what I thought it would be. To be honest - the problem areas were: drainage tubes, pot holes, seatbelts and anything that flies through the air. The pain was not how I imagined it, it was a severe discomfort. It felt like I was a breast feeding mom who missed sixteen meals (SO FULL AND UNCOMFORTABLE), but without relief. Certain parts of the breast were numb, probably thankfully so, but it creates an uncomfortable irritating feeling. I used ice packs to bring down the swelling, which did help. I should mention that although nipple sensation has been completely restored (PHEW), some sections of the breast are still numb.

During week two, I developed an infection in ole Lefty - which created a hot, swollen and painful addition to my recovery. I was placed on a 10 day cycle of antibiotics, which helped. To be honest, currently the right one is feeling quite well and minimally irritated, but the left is still causing me issues. I think perhaps the infection has just slowed the healing process on that side a little, so I'm anxious to have them catch up to each other. It's still swelling now and again and feeling irritated. It's almost like I've been wearing a bra with sandpaper on one side. I can't seem to get it comfortable. I am hoping it continues to improve.

Last Friday I had the sutures removed. Which is somewhat of a misnomer. They are dissolvable stitches, so they needed to clip the knots on either side of each breast and at each nipple. I have to admit that burned A LOT, but I was happy to have only that to deal with, and not the actual removal of each stitch. It did make me feel a bit like a patchwork quilt, and I'm still a little afraid of just busting apart. Like one minute everything is fine, and the next there are shards of breast flying in the face of my colleagues. I'm sure I'll get over that.

I was forbidden to shower until the stitches were dealt with, which was an arduous process of bathing from the waist down, then drying off and washing my hair with a measuring cup. I was happy to finally clean myself properly, however I did (and still do) get a little freaked out touching them. It's like alien breasts - they don't look or feel like mine, and the incisions freak me out exponentially. I''m sure once the numbness subsides and the scars aren't so fresh - we will become better acquainted.

So - all in all - I'm week three and doing ok. This lefty is going to have to get it together soon, I'm becoming frustrated with the irritated feeling and the swelling, but I have to remember to have patience as my body adjusts and heals. I'm beginning to get my energy back - but am finding I still tire very easily and would prefer to nap every day, although it is not a luxury I can afford. At the end of the day - I think it was worth it. Although I have to buy all new clothing because my shirt fronts sag to my bellybutton.

Argh.

DAG.

Finding Strength in Cliche Dreams...

2011-03-01T17:40:00.003-05:00

This post has been a long time coming. Perhaps thirty-one years long, I cannot be sure. Somehow I had always hoped to arrive at this point - while at the same time feeling quite sure it would never come. Isn't it funny.

We all like to think we are strong. That the experiences of our childhood do not truly affect us - or make us less than what we should be. That WE will overcome it through our own perseverance, strength and determination. We use these as walls to build around our hearts - impenetrable fortresses of our own personal will that somehow prove our resiliency. But do they?

All my life I have longed to be loved. Truly loved, cared for and respected for just the person that I am, flaws and all. Although that search has led me through dark alleys and into the arms of blackness and back, somewhere I forgot what I was looking for. At some point, I raised those walls of strength to prove that I am independent, secure and self-sufficient. That trust is not something that I need to give away, but something to find within myself. In doing that - I stopped growing.

I have had a few great relationships and some terrible ones. I thought I was giving everything, working my hardest and yet failing miserably at each attempt. I walk away from those ruins with some beautiful memories and some lessons learned. I also walk away with deeper questions for myself. When the walls came tumbling down, the pyres burned and what was left of them were consumed in the inevitable stench of bitterness. I noticed that I, too, was in shambles. If I am honest with myself, I have been in shambles for some time now.

So what to do with it? As we all do, I laid in the corner and licked my wounds. I spent months carefully peering through the holes left behind, trying desperately to match up those tattered edges with who I thought I was. When I couldn't make that happen, I retreated.

And here is where the cliche comes alive. I breathe life into it, only because for me? It is everything.

Love heals all.

I can say I have never put much stock in these lofty ideals - and now I know why - I had no idea what love really was. I had a version - where I hid behind my strength and mistrust and asked others to jump over insurmountable obstacles. And yet I wondered why they failed. Every. Time. I had no idea that the one thing I held back was the very thing I had to give - myself.

How could I have ever imagined that tearing down these barriers that protected me would make me the strongest I have ever been? That the fear of placing the most tender part of me in someone else's hands would be the most frightening - and yet most freeing - thing of all? The commitment has been tried and tested - first by you and then by me - pulled at, turned inside out and then lovingly cradled. I have been afraid - really afraid. Trembling, overwhelming and teary afraid. Your strength has propped me up and allowed me to release the reins on my heart. To trust in your weight beneath me, the shelter of your arms and the warmth in your heart. And when I could finally stand, I was more than strong enough to prop you up too.

We haven't taught each other how to love. We must have known how - somewhere deep inside ourselves. However, we are still teaching each other, and ourselves, how to allow it to come. Like waves, it crashes over us, consumes us and erases the fallen sandcastles of old hurts. It leaves us refreshed and intact. Perhaps then, the cliche could be modified. It may not be that love heals all - perhaps just the *right* love can heal our fears, quell our anxieties and soothe old wounds. The questions I ask myself now have drastically changed. No longer do I need to re-evaluate my relationships or meter out my heart. Now I go freely forward with you - in the face of risking the sweetest part of me - the most fragile side, asking myself: how can I show you TODAY how much more I love you when, as you say, "there is no conceivable scale that could ever measure how much love that is."

Aaaaaaannnnndddd Plastic Surgeons Take over the World!

2011-02-22T16:39:00.002-05:00

Hello!!!

It's been some time since I've posted anything out here in the virtual desert, but I thought I'd write a little note to share something up and coming.

I? Am finally!!??!! going to have my breast reduction!!!!

It's scheduled for March 8, which means that I'll be needing to pull away from the university rat race for a week or so, but hey - its totally worth it! I've arranged for Thing One and Thing Two to sleep elsewhere for a couple nights while I suffer and made all the arrangements to be sure I'm not totally on my own.

I'm looking forward to bathing suits that fit and bras that are cheaper and prettier. Cause we all know that anything over a DD is total grandma land. Ugh.

Wish me luck!

Random Love Notes from My Inbox

2011-01-20T22:56:00.003-05:00

Coming home from class tonight I found a random love note in my inbox:

"You are my lover, my friend, my partner in life
The reason I breath and truly love life
You're the snow that falls down on a slow winter's day
My passion, my love, the reason I gaze
You're the sole reason I love
Please never go away"

To the man who wrote me such words:

You my love? Are ADORABLE. Thank you for loving me enough to write these beautiful little things and sending them my way. I couldn't be happier - loving you is the easiest thing I've ever had to do. You make my life shiny.

Amor est Vitae Essentia

2011-01-12T16:08:00.002-05:00

Never could I have EVER known that I would feel this happy.
It is this warmth, every morning when I open my eyes and I think of you, it crashes over me like waves - warming my toes, tummy, arms... my heart. It starts a smile tickling across my face, ear to ear -a silly teenage grin that never wipes off.

I start my day - EVERY day, knowing that I am loved. And that I love. Real storybook love - where nothing matters, there are no boundaries, no rules - no exceptions. That my flaws are loved - that I love yours. That there is nothing in this world that can take it apart - this crazy head-over-heels, tight chested perfection.

That we are so connected - that I often pick up my phone just before your text rings in, or that just the moment that I am thinking of you - the telephone rings and I hear the deep rich sound of your voice. That we can talk about anything, be completely vulnerable, lay in bed for hours just sharing minds, souls and skins. That we do not ask anything of each other, or expect anything more than simple honesty, respect and love. That we didn't plan this thing of ours - that we came crashing into each others lives just when we needed each other.

Fiercely, madly - truly...

You.

Winter

2010-12-21T19:23:00.002-05:00

Winter!

Quiet, snowy evenings - perfect for a peaceful walk.
Except when it includes smashing windows and screaming children.

Last night, Thing One tripped and fell - going right through a double paned window in the living room. Luckily - he doesn't have a SCRATCH on him, but WOW! It was cold in here last night.

One piece of cardboard does not a window make.

Well, the window has been replaced - and no one is hurt so I scratch it up to life. OY VEY!

Just for the record, I? Am very very happy. You know who you are - and I have never felt so loved. Thank you for reminding me of what love can really conquer.

Christmas is just around the corner...

Hold

2010-11-28T20:46:00.002-05:00

Quiet moments between us stretch out before me.
Calling, calmly....
free me.
With each caress, my skin rises to meet you.
Entwining, sweetly...
define me.
I can hear it within you.
Beating, bleeding...
Igniting.

Standing on the edge of fearless.

Just an Option

2010-10-25T14:36:00.008-04:00

It always starts the same,

Want, need, crave, desire - love.

It is beautiful and dangerous,

it will bring you

to.

your.

knees....

That moment before your forever can begin.

Sleepy morning voices whisper promises.

You love me. I love you. We love us.

Even the old know that.

I am the left..... ......to your right.

Tomorrow's band-aid to yesterday's pain.

Today,

the lifetime before and

two.

more.

after it.

Those whispers have faded,

Blown away on the backs of last week's kisses.

It always ends the same,

Lack, retreat, yearn, covet - love?

It's beautiful and tragic,

It will bring me

to.

my.

knees....

It will break you.

I have become......

.....just an option.

Are you with me?

It's always so hard to choose

between the pleasure... ....and the pain.

-or-

are we just not strong enough to stay away?

The One Where I Take Residence Under the Mulberry Bush

2010-10-21T15:51:00.002-04:00

Today Thing One had an appointment with the new child psychologist. As some of you know, he has had two previous doctors, Dr. Monkey and Dr. Weasel. Dr. Weasel was our regular child psych and Dr. Monkey took over when Thing One was hospitalized on the unit for two week observation.

This doctor needs a new name, but I haven't quite been able to figure out how she fits into this whole mess. After moving back to our hometown in June, Dr. Weasel increased his medication due to a recurrence of some of the hallucinations he experienced beforehand. This was attributed to the stress levels of moving, and a child like mine DOES NOT DEAL WELL with change. So up until now, he's been taking 150mgs of Seroquel daily.

However.

Over the last couple of months, Thing One's aggression has been way up. He's been throwing things, raging, trashing the house and verbally and physically abusing Thing Two. We've tried all the usual things: time outs, behaviour mods, token economies and the like. To no avail. In fact, the aggression has only gotten worse. Over the last month, I've seen more issues that cause me concern:

-increased apathy and reduced or inappropriate emotional responses

-sleep disturbances

-talking to himself about things he has done throughout the day (full blown convos)

-signs of depression

These things I brought to the attention of the new doc (yet to named), and she promptly asked him if he'd like to come into the hospital onto the unit for a little while. At this point, Thing One fell apart... burst into tears. He has this irrational thought that if he goes onto the unit, he will never ever come out. When a child is admitted onto the psych unit, no release date is given. It is common knowledge that the child is there until they don't need to be anymore. Last time that lasted two weeks. It was the wrong thing to ask him, and it totally ruined any chance of a real observation period for him. Obviously, we don't want to make him do something that makes him acutely stressed, but I think that maybe that is the right place for him right now. Especially since the new doctor is ready to change his medications.

Most of you know that Thing One's descent into insanity came while he was under a Prozac regimen. There is some question that that drug specifically may have been the trigger for his Psychosis, as he suffered his first reality break while taking it regularly. In addition, the main reason he WAS hospitalized was due to the suicidal and homicidal thoughts. The NEW drug that she wants to start - is also an SSRI. The first warning I saw in researching the drug was: that people who take this drug can find themselves having feelings of self harm. This behaviour can occur spontaneously and decline rapidly.

This?

Is the same as Prozac. It also cautions giving this drug to anyone under the age of 18. In addition, the new doctor hopes that it will work so effectively that Thing One can stop taking Seroquel and be fine. I feel like we are going backwards. We tried an SSRI on its own and wound up with psychosis and hospitalization. Now she wants to work backward to the same treatment, with the same class of drugs.

I think I'm losing my mind.

I am FRIGHTENED.

If anyone knows anything about the drug "Cipralex", please comment to me and let me know what I should watch for.

DAG.

Again.

2010-10-06T20:50:00.001-04:00

Today I watched myself.

From a hidden corner I watched as this shell of skin lived.

Perform puppet. Smile on command, raise your eyebrows and feign interest. Move through the day, accomplish this, finish that, start the other.

I watched as “I” moved my hands up and down, extending digits, retracting them. Laying the ridged pads on textures around me and feeling nothing. Disconnected, I peered through my own wet eyes, dulling colors and fading details. Lain aside.

Turn the pages, one by one, take in the words. Black and white impressions that I see when I close my lids, but I cannot ever know what they say. Scan and re-scan, look for the meaning, pretend to invest . . . sleep peasant. Tomorrow is another day.

I watch as my feet lift and lower, planted on the ground, toes splayed - solid. I do not move them. I sit in this darkened corner and I will those ligaments to refuse. Disconnected. They owe me nothing and do not heed my commands.

Chew and swallow. Gnashing teeth, pulverizing what goes in. Over the tongue and down the throat into the gaping blackness. Digest. Make eye contact, show smile lines - say interesting things. Dance puppet.

Motionless motion.

Loss. Disconnect.

Sleep.

From the Cradle to the Grave

2010-10-03T22:42:00.004-04:00

I never thought that I had any more to give.

It's fair to say that I am struggling. I'm shuttled between euphoric highs and desperate lows. Thinking and re-thinking, confirming and re-confirming. Still, I'm at a loss on how to move forward when I'm chained to what is behind. This is not about you. This? Is about me.

How do you stand on top of the world comfortably? When I'm here, I am so busy waiting to feel the coming shift of the world's axis that I forget to enjoy the view. Sometimes I cannot be sure if I can feel the tremors in my toes or if anxiety is only cramping my feet. I want to be here. I want to enjoy. I want to give. I wish this could last forever.

I am afraid to give. Afraid to trust. Afraid to fall. I laid my worry stones on that imaginary line half way between and then travelled away from them in faith. Now, when I thrust my hands into my pockets on a cold day, I find no polished stones and no unpolished truths. I ask and am sometimes answered. Sometimes I am not. As if this could last forever.

I want to believe that my time will come. That I will be rewarded with happiness that I can feel in my hands despite what I find in my pockets. I see threads of that on tomorrow's horizons and they are beautiful. And unreachable. I am waiting for that string to be tied to my finger so that I may always see that I am connected to it. To find comfort in everydays seems an impossible tail I've been chasing for FAR too long.

How do I accept that, this time, there are no cruel handed fates with sharpened scissors? How do you hang your hat on tomorrow's promises and keep your head warm today? Or will it become another collection of possibilities? Pictures, cards, letters and whispers. Music and memories and cotton embraces? Lay them upon my buried hope.

Wishing for a cradle to lay my heart in.

Between Brock and a Hard Place

2010-09-12T19:21:00.006-04:00

I do not know for sure just how many of you read me. Further, if you do meander through my crazy haze (and I THANK you for it), I don't know how long you've been at it.

So - those of you who have, do know that I am a single mother with two children. You also know that one of my children suffers with anxiety and child psychosis NOS. You also may know, that I am (and have been for the last seven years) a university student. Last year I almost lost the opportunity to be awarded my teaching degree due to Thing One's hospitalization, but I pulled the rabbit from the leg trap and will receive my B.ed in October.

Also? I just began my Masters of Education. The problem is: I don't know how long I'll be able to attend classes.

Last spring, I had a major malfunction with my crappy car. As in, the wheels fell off. Literally. Balljoint malfunction, drive axle snapped and wheels? Fell off. While I was driving it. The day AFTER I transported my children two hours on the most dangerous highway in Ontario. For those of you who remember, said car has let me down in the past, namely when the transmission died at 120kms/hr on the 403. In the rain. At night. My children and I got soaked waiting for a friend and a tow truck to rescue us off the embankment at the side of the highway. Obviously, this car was a death trap.

And so? I got a loan. And got a new car.

Now OSAP says I shouldn't have a reliable car, and its a $16000.00 asset. WHA??!

Where I grew up - basic accounting goes something like this: asset-liability= value. Apparently not in the province of Ontario. Here, asset - liability = asset anyhow and by the way, if you sell it to PAY the LOAN, then you're also considered to have $16000.00 in your proverbial pocket. Which also? Disqualifies you from getting an educational loan. Further, Brock University wants their tuition yesterday, but I'm eight weeks out from a review of said asset decision.

I? Am between a Brock and a HARD PLACE.

Further, OSAP loans fund our living expenses, and I'm not seeing any of that money either (and for the record, it's been denied). So, I've applied for some retail jobs at the mall because there is no work for teachers to pay the bills. Which? I'm totally fine with.

But - I can't afford my $3300.00 tuition bill. If I drop out of school then my loans come due at Christmas time (ho, ho, ho), to the tune of $700.00 per month. For the rest of my life. If I get a student line of credit at the bank, I need a cosigner (which I don't have), and if I DO get it, that screws me for any funding in the future, while obligating me to pay interest from the first dollar spent.

And even worse? Is the attitude of people around me who behave as if earning your Masters degree in Education is equivalent to a pedicure: nice, but an unnecessary luxury. They turn their eyes away from the fact that only 15% of the population is smart enough to DO this program, and that I beat out THOUSANDS of people for this seat. Just this past Friday, a government employee offered her opinion to me: "Well, its not going to do anything for you anyway. Might as well get a job at Community Living". First? Since when did a teaching degree qualify me as a Social Worker. My answer?

"Well (insert asshat employee name here), I don't believe in quitting. When the going gets tough I certainly do not throw in the towel. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to continue to try to find a way to make this happen."

Why are people allowed to throw their misguided opinions around?

For now, I am attending night classes for as long as the university will allow me. Which won't be too long, considering they'd like their tuition paid. Here's hoping the tuition fairies leave it under my pillow while I sleep.

I'm desperately trying to achieve my career (one I've worked SEVEN years towards), and yet not one ounce of encouragement from anyone. Tough luck Charlie, you're on your own.

Yes. Suppose I am.

If any of you come across someone in this situation? Please encourage them. Encourage them for having the moxie to get off their butts and the system and do something with their lives. Give them a pat on the back for bucking down, raising their kids, working their magic and earning their career, one loaned dollar at a time. And if you can help it, throw five bucks in their general direction. They could use it.

Whatever you do, DO NOT offer your crappy opinion that they should walk away from years of hard work and self improvement. Do not, like some, feel the hard bitterness in their gullet for not achieving the same goal, and in turn deny someone else from getting it.

Evolve.

Gray Around the Edges

2010-09-08T15:27:00.002-04:00

I feel a bit lost today. A little wrapped up in what could be's and forgetting the hard realities of the struggle...

How many times can you reach inside the basket when all you've ever found is emptiness?
Faith is just that, faith. It doesn't guarantee you'll be ok, it only guarantees that you have the ability to hope beyond any real proof that you will be.

Doesn't it?

Looking for solid ground.

Today's soundtrack....

The fall comes rolling in....

2010-09-06T13:14:00.003-04:00

It's only labour day, but its crisp outside like fall. The warmth of the summer sun has faded away and a gray chill has settled over the beautiful Niagara sky. It is coming.

Thing One and Thing Two have fallen asleep, wrapped in blankets on the couch. Meatball, their newly rescued kitten is napping between them. It's only early afternoon, but the chill makes us want to curl into ourselves and dream through the world. I'm the only one awake, contemplating the difficult summer and the fall coming ahead. I've got the windows open, and although I keep blowing away the chill from my fingertips, I enjoy it.

I feel strangely nostalgic today. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but after spending the weekend away in London, the house seems changed. Or I do. Or we do. Somewhere, something has turned a corner and I didn't see it pass me by. I follow in its wake, eyes closed in my faith of the world's currents... moving in the coming fall wind.

Yesterday's Soul Mates

2010-09-03T18:27:00.002-04:00

It's funny how things happen. Things that seem totally random, yet bring on their tails exact pieces you are missing. Fragments of what you are, forgotten and tossed into the winds. They make places of their own, embedding in the memories of those standing next to you at ground zero.

Fate plays silly games with my strings. Meeting for Sunday coffee clutches, those ladies grin and smile while they jostle what is me, fraying ties and bending lines that should always be straight. Spilling droplets from their saucers that scald yesterdays and burn holes that become tomorrow's windows and doorways.

Just when I've been the most lost, something found me. An old piece of my soul reached out and touched me from the deepest memory and brought with it a sense of completeness. Something that I had lost so very long ago, that I thought had blown on the winds of life's change. I learned, it isn't gone. It's been here, all along.... waiting.

Just when you think your path is true north, these things sneak up behind you and sweep you off your proverbial feet, hold you close - whisper their quests to find you again. On their breath you can taste the promises, in their arms feel the pieces coming back together, restoring souls in their rightful places.

And when that happens... you cannot help but wish for a few more minutes in those arms.

Can you?

Still learning...

2010-08-03T23:01:00.003-04:00

I cannot believe it's been a month since I last posted. I cannot believe that it can only mean that I've spent a month on the couch. In jammies. I haven't really made contact with old friends, I've seen very limited amounts of my family and I'm still struggling to get up in the morning.

The last few months before the big move were so stressful. SO stressful. Working hard in teacher's college, challenged with a changing household and relationship, Thing One's descent into madness, hospitalization, struggling to finish practicum teaching while keeping up with psychiatric appointments, medications, packing the house and moving. It was almost too much. I know that friends and family were frustrated with me, I went inward, I cried more, I reached out less. I tried desperately to hold on to my family and normalcy while everything we've worked for stood threatened.

I know that its over now. Despite all of that, I've climbed the mountain and am standing on the other side intact. Not unscathed, but intact. Thing One pulled out of his relapse in early July with a med increase, and although he is SO combative, angry, rude and intolerant, anxious, mean and a bully to us in the household - he's here, in our reality and isn't being chased by his demons. I am THANKFUL. For however long it lasts I am thankful. I worry because he seems so UNCOMFORTABLE in his own skin, its almost at times like he cannot stand to be him, and I stand by helpless as I watch my nine year old struggle. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live in his world, and I do not think that even my impressions of that should be wished upon anyone.

I am struggling financially. Staying home with the kids this summer has been a good thing for them (on my good days), but a bad thing for the family finances. We barely have enough to squeak by and I worry and fall on the mercy of Gail Vaz-Oxlade's budget busting tips. No matter how much I wish can I make money multiply in those stupid little jars and I curse the gods of money. Further, because I have the new car, my student loan estimates have dropped significantly, suggesting that I am going to have to work at least part-time while I work on my Masters of Education. Worse, the classes are held in the evenings, and I struggle with how I will spend meaningful time with my children, help them with their homework and maintain an ounce of stability. Working all day, class at night and a few hours here and there to steal with them. I don't know how it will all work but I'm still learning. I'm still learning about what I am really capable of.

Despite those issues (and sometimes I feel like that's all I do is bellyache), I am not happy. I feel pushed under the water and both my arms are asleep. I struggle to get up in the morning and I work hard at being functional all day long. I have a hard time going to sleep at night in my crushing loneliness. I am lonely, although there are friends around. Its me, its not anything in my life, I know its all in my head but I don't know how to put words to it.

I don't know what is plaguing me. I'm lonely, I recognize that, but I wonder how self-imposed that is. I feel like I've done all the complaining, reasoning, talking out of the issues in my life for the last year and that maybe my friends can't hear anymore. Or I don't have anymore words. I wonder if I'm just starting to process the grief and stress of Thing One's mental health issues and crises now that I have time to sit down and think. I don't want to sleep alone, I don't want to wake alone. I feel like I'd give just about anything to have a hand to hold all day long. To somehow have that feeling that even though I can't talk about what hurts, I can steal strength in the touch of someone who loves me.

And somehow, I've long ago lost the ability (or the willingness?) to ask for it.

Home

2010-07-01T11:36:00.001-04:00

It seems to me that every time I pick up and start over, there is a period of time where I am drifting. It's coming upon two weeks since we moved back to our old stomping grounds and I think I'm starting to adjust.

For the first week, I had this feeling like I was an alien, dropped off in this quiet corner of grass and sunshine and was totally disconnected from all that was yesterday, and all that will be tomorrow. I tried to make this house look like home, to reconnect with who I am and where I am going. At first the pieces just didn't seem to fit together, off by just a hair no matter how hard I pushed on their edges.

But finally I am feeling a settling around me. As I sit here writing this, I hear the summer sound of a neighbour's lawn mower, followed by the scent of fresh cut grass- and I wonder. When was the last time I heard this? Life in a small apartment box has robbed us of those wondrous moments - the smell of the rain on the grass, the cool feel of the lawn between our toes on a hot day, the stars that rivet the night sky. I missed this. I hear the kiddos playing an intense game of hide and seek with other neighbourhood kids, see the abandoned soccer balls and sidewalk chalk in the yard and feel contentment.

I've reconnected with old friends and made new ones, spent lazy afternoons in the park sun watching all of our children splashing in the water. We've laughed and eaten and shared our yesterdays. We've gone home with the smell of summer sun in our hair and fading sunscreen between our fingers - happy. We've chased white bottomed rabbits through the grasses in the park and stood silent sentries as they moved in front of us.
The kids sleep the deep sleep of spent energy, reeking of the outdoors in the damp hair around their temples.

I may not be who I was yesterday, but as we continue to set roots in this quiet corner, I certainly look forward to who I will be tomorrow.

Frightened.

2010-06-22T18:12:00.002-04:00

It's been a little while since I've written out here, but many things have changed.

I finished up my practice teaching and finished the program and packed up the house. I was lucky enough to be accepted into all three Masters of Education programs that I applied to earlier in the year, and after a LOT of thinking, chose to return to my old hometown and accept at the local university.

The reason I decided this was because of Thing One's issues, and the difficulty that surrounded caring for his mental health and juggling Thing Two and a busy life. I figured that being closer to my family and friends would be helpful should he relapse, especially since it was so much stress while we all practically lived on the psych ward.

So, here we are. Spent Saturday loading a 26ft one way U-Haul and moved all of us back here. It's a lovely place here, we've got our own little piece of paradise in a cute 3 bedroom townhouse in an isolated area. Our front yard is literally a city owned park, with a play structure and winter ice rink. It's lovely - but I'm still struggling. I miss the big city and those people in the big city that I love. I've found myself (after the stressful whirlwind of the last year) plopped down here in a green lazy field with nothing to get me up in the morning, or knock me out at night. The kids have been loving the park and the new house and an early summer vacation. I'll adjust, I'm sure of that.

But now, I've got that cold peach pit of dread in my stomach. Sunday night Thing One had a panic attack after I slightly electrocuted myself on a table lamp. I'm seriously fine, it's just broken and there must be a wire touching inside because I plugged it in and zapped myself. I jumped a bit because it hurt, but the boy child suddenly started clutching his chest and sucking in loud breaths and turning a bit blue around the mouth. I had to shake him to get him to snap out of it and he cried off and on for almost an hour afterward.

Then today - sigh. Today Thing One played out in the park alone while Thing Two watched tv. He came running in frightened, saying he felt someone was watching him and he saw a shadow man by the garbage bin. I can see the whole park from my front window, and there is no one there. A little later he headed upstairs to the bathroom and came down upset because he heard voices whispering in Thing Two's room. Thing Two was downstairs on the couch with me.

He cried and doesn't know why "these things are acting up", and saying that he "doesn't know if its real or not"... this feels an awful lot like the beginnings of what we experienced when he was in crises.

I am afraid, and we don't yet have a child psychiatrist here. What do I do...

The One Where: Not Otherwise Specified really just means We Have No Idea

2010-06-11T18:51:00.002-04:00

NOS.

These are the three little letters that haunt me.

This week Thing One visited with Dr. Weasel. Again.

I do not know why.

She finally had a copy of the discharge notes on Thing One's period of observation. His (Dr. Monkey's) diagnosis on paper is 1) Anxiety 2) Psychosis Disorder NOS. He is considered to NOT be in an acute state currently.

NOS. "Not Otherwise Specified". Which means basically this:

"We did not observe anything specific during the two weeks you entrusted your very broken son to us. We know something is wrong, but we don't know why. It may be his medication, but we are not willing to admit that on paper despite what we have told you in person. It is a mystery, and he should remain medicated to be sure he doesn't want to hurt himself or his family."

And then? She upped the medication.

If there was a way to replicate the sounds that the tazmanian devil makes when he is spinning and spitting and tearing out his hair into type - you'd read it here.

I'm slowly packing up the house around me to return to my hometown and my family support system. I am looking forward (IMMENSELY) to the move and the referral to a new set of eyes.

God help us all but I'm really starting to wonder what the HELL is wrong with this system?

Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush! OR Who do I punch first? The monkey or the weasel??

2010-06-02T21:29:00.003-04:00

Thankyou to all of you that commented on my last post about Thing One's return to the nest. I was, and AM, very happy to have him home again and feeling better.

This week we attended a follow-up appointment with Dr. Brain. Which? Left me nothing but frustrated. I canNOT keep pulling out my hair, there will truly be nothing left.

While Thing One was in paeds psych, he was under the care of a different child psychologist. We'll call him "The Monkey". On the weekends, we were cared for by the original Dr. Brain (The Weasel). I do not have a great history of confidence with The Weasel. She has a very poor bedside manner to say the least (which is NOT good when you're dealing with sensitive mental health issues and their impacts on families). In my first appointment she actually commented "OH, I see..." and nodded emphatically when she discovered that I was a single mother. As if that answered everything, as if attending "positive parenting" classes would be enough to cure my son from his issues.

(Which I did attend, to appease her, but I'm still unsure why I felt the need to prove my parenting prowess....)

Over the last year we've changed meds, diagnosis and opinions. I've been questioned, turned inside out, disbelieved and dismissed. During Thing One's observation period in hospital, Dr. Monkey was quite distressed about the Prozac factor and quickly took him off the drug. He maintained the Seroquel (and still does), and after two weeks of leeching this from his system, the symptoms of psychosis abated.

It is my understanding from Dr. Monkey, that Prozac was the culprit, and that it can happen in children, and has. I did some layman research myself and found the same results. Yesterday, after a week has gone by since Thing One was released, we visited Dr. Weasel, who began the appointment by asking me what the result was from the hospital. Apparently SHE hasn't recieved the report from Dr. Weasel just yet.

Then, she looked at me like I had four heads and calmly told me there are NO case studies showing Prozac to cause symptoms of psychosis and she has no idea what Dr. Monkey is talking about. She was so adamant she insisted that if we were to accept that reasoning, then we should be WRITING A CASE STUDY on my son's experiences since its NEVER happened before.

Colour me confused.

We discussed the recurrence of Thing One's mood swings, temper and aggression (something that abated during his Prozac course and has now reappeared since we've removed the drug). Despite that being true, she now thinks that it's not anxiety that's causing the behaviour changes but the need for limits in the family. (HOLY FREAKIN CRAP BATMAN. I've been down this road...) So now, we are back to serving up the latest token economy to cease Thing One from hitting his sister when he's mad 83 times a day. Which? Doesn't work.

Know why?

I set limits. Have ALWAYS set limits. Have tried the token economy, it fails in the face of a child who cannot control wild emotional response. In fact, in some cases it actually exacerbated his issues, as he began worrying about his performance and chance for rewards. Which makes him anxious. Which makes him volatile. Which leads to explosive behaviour... it's round and round we go.

So, like I said before, WTF? Who do we believe, and WHAT do we do now? Thing One is WAY unregulated and both Doctors can't see eye to eye on anything.

Who do I punch first?

Prozac: The Good, The Bad and the UTTERLY RIDICULOUS

2010-05-26T18:37:00.002-04:00

Update time!

Thing One has finally come home (WOOT WOOT)!!

After a very LONG two weeks, and very expensive parking - I have my boy back where he belongs. The first week was SOOO difficult, with the continuing hallucinations and depersonalization - but we've conquered it.

The consensus is - the psychosis was induced by the anti-depressant Prozac. Let this be a warning to all other parents out there... avoid AVOID AVOID this drug. Thing One started taking it after Zoloft failed to help with his anxiety disorder, back in late December or early January. It wasn't until late March that he began presenting with the psychotic symptoms, and they got progressively worse. He lost his personality, his feelings (complete apathy), became very aggressive and harbored suicidal and homicidal ideation. When he was initially hospitalized, they weaned him from this drug while continuing the Seroquel (because it has anti-anxiety properties). The first week didn't produce much change (as you've read earlier), but once it began to exit his system we experienced a GREAT improvement.

Prozac builds in the body and takes time to exit the system. It can take a few weeks before it finally leaves the body, and once it began happening, Thing One's psychotic symptoms disappeared one by one. He did (and still does) have wicked mood swings since coming off the Prozac. I'm not sure what we will need to do for that, but I'll take mood swings over hearing voices ANY DAY. He continues on the Seroquel, and Dr. Brain advised me that his anxiety levels are really much higher than we initially anticipated. According to them, there is actually very LITTLE time during the day that he isn't at an extreme level of anxiety. Which sucks, because he has Generalized Anxiety Disorder, so there is no way to remove him for a break from whatever makes him anxious. It is everything and nothing, all the time.

DO NOT give this drug to your children! When I consented to this medication, I WAS NOT informed of this side effect! I asked very specifically what we could expect or should watch for and I was told that these types of side effects are so negligible that it didn't even need to be discussed!

Not.
True.

Prozac made my son into a different person. Instead of controlling his anxiety and making his life easier to live it turned him into a possible schizophrenic. Be AWARE of these things, lend credit to what you read when you google it and remember to insist on ALL the information. There are many other options (SSRI's), but a lot of them are going to carry the same types of side effects. Try to opt for one that doesn't accumulate in the system, if you have to use them at all.

Thing One is still not better as a whole. His anxiety and ODD are still rampant however I can be sure that he will not harm himself or the rest of the family in the dead of the night. I'm sure, when he's old enough to understand what happened to him, he'd choose the anxiety any day.

Now - to just get the meds tweaked just right....

Breathing a HUGE sigh of relief, and again thanking all those who cared for us during this horrible TERRIBLE ordeal... I'm off to cuddle with my boy.

DAG

The Mental Health System is designed to make me crazy.

2010-05-18T20:57:00.002-04:00

Dr. Brain continued to say that she wasn't sure if this was obsessive compulsive (so the hallucinations are actually obsessive intrusive thoughts and images he cannot stop) or bipolar or schizophrenia. She says his issues are complex. I broke down (FINALLY) in that meeting. She passed me a kleenex box and said "I've been waiting for you to fall apart".

*Blink* *Blink*
I hope I met your expectations. Did you have money riding on it?!?

I shared with her my GREAT concern that the staff isn't observing Thing One. They said Sunday morning (when my Mom and brother and I arrived) that he had a great morning.
Yet, he came out of the lounge looking like his best friend had just died. I seriously appeared like he was going to burst into tears at any moment. But when we asked, he said "I'm fine". Clearly NOT fine. Clearly NOT "great". He sat across the room doodling on a magnet board in the window sill and did not interact with us for some time.

I told Dr. Brain that I was worried that he was going to come home at square one and I'd be sleeping across his doorway again because he thought he'd harm himself or others. She said she was committed to finding out how to help him, that his issues were "complex" and that we couldn't live like we were before he went in. Obviously.

The afternoon only got worse. I took him to a movie on a day pass. Half way through (everything had been fine and he'd been laughing just a moment ago) he suddenly sat up in his seat and looked at me like I was an alien. He said "Mommy?" like he was surprised to see me there. I said yes? Then he said something mumbly and quick, which I thought I heard "we need to go back". I said, go where? He stared at me and slowly said, Nevermind. I said, "what's wrong?". He looked around and said slowly, "nothing". I said "are you confused"? He clearly seemed disoriented and unsure. He said, "yeah, I didn't really know where I was for a few minutes". He then asked to leave although we were only an hour into the movie. On the way out he said he needed to go to the bathroom, and asked me to hold Jack the dog.

He was in there for 20 minutes. Aftermath showed up and I sent him in to check on Thing One. Apparently, Thing One hasn't pooped the whole time he was at the hospital (almost a week now), so he was clearly clearing the decks. We waited outside. When he came out finally he told Aftermath about that moment in the theatre and how he had no idea where he was for a few moments. Then we decided to go to the park so he could ride his scooter. In the car he burst into tears again and I asked what was wrong. He told me he was just "so proud". I said proud of what? He said proud of Jack. I said why? He said "because when I was in the bathroom trying to poop I could hear Jack saying "you can do it!", I've never had a stuffed animal that encouraged me and talked to me and I'm so proud that he helped me through it". He sobbed away in my backseat.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH HIM.

When we got there, he rode around for a few minutes and then went across the parking lot from us, sat down on the concrete with his back to us and sat for a good 5 or 10 minutes. Then he wanted to go to the playground part, so we did. He slid down the slide once and then laid down on the rocks and just stayed there. I finally took him back to the hospital. I talked to the nurse, who mused perhaps I am a trigger for his anxiety and so is the dark. I looked at her sideways because she's clearly out of her god-damn mind.

He had a good day today, I spent a good chunk of the day with him. Except he really has no interest in me. I get there and he goes off to play in the lounge or the gaming room and wants me to wait in his room till he gets back. I don't understand why my son doesn't want to be around me.

I met with the other doctor (Dr. K) who runs the unit and he's telling me that Thing One's continuing on the Seroquel but he doesn't think this is bipolar or schizophrenia and that Noah's hallucinations are a product of severe anxiety. I don't understand that either, its not like these things happen when he's uber-anxious. They just do randomly. So from the sounds of it, I'm going to have a little boy coming home on an anti psychotic and a new SSRI (he's talking about starting Luvox now), which in my opinion leaves us in the EXACT SAME POSITION WE ENTERED UNDER. I'm so frustrated Ive been crying my eyes out because I feel like I did this to him for nothing. I justified the trauma of staying in the hospital by thinking that they'd get to the bottom of what was happening with him. It clearly is not the case. Also - I don't think the left hand knows what the right is doing, especially because both Dr.s are talking about totally different disorders and totally different symptoms. I'm going OUT OF MY MIND.

I really feel like no one is in our corner or committed to helping my son alleviate what is clearly TORMENTING him.

And it's tormenting me.

Clearly.

Gratitude

2010-05-18T18:03:00.003-04:00

Hello to all of you who have commented to me, de-lurked and made your presence known, or have just began reading Between the Crosshairs.

This is just a small note to thank you all for sharing your best wishes, your generous offers and your positive energy. You do NOT know how much that means, to know that somewhere, you are not alone.

Mental illness lives under stereotype and stigma. It is not treated like a terminal illness, yet in some ways it really is. Often you do not have a diagnosis, and most often, no cure. I am fighting for my son because he cannot fight for himself. It's a long hard road, and sometimes - when the day has kicked me right in the heart - when I am paralyzed and feeling UTTERLY on my own - coming home to read that someone else, somewhere else in the world - is rooting for us: it helps.

It's like a hug you can't feel, a casserole on your doorstep when you get home - sometimes - it's the one thing that allows you to set aside your stone face and courage for a moment and just cry.

Thankyou. It is everything.

New post coming tonight.

Much Love

DAG

Humanary Stew

2010-05-17T21:08:00.003-04:00

Consider this a braindump.
Or a heartache.
A headache.
A heartbreak.
Call it what you may. The lines are nothing but blurred.

Last week, Thing One was hospitalized. After a LOOOONG and scary weekend with thoughts of harm and hallucinations, Dr. Brain decided to admit him to pediatric psych for a "period of observation". This was tough for me. I listened to my 9 year old son tell me he needed to be at the hospital because we weren't safe, and I believed him. So, he rots on the unit.

The idea is that he's under the watchful eye (24/7) of trained professionals, and although this is a traumatic event for my child, the trauma is mitigated by the hope of getting to the bottom of it all. Since I spent the weekend sleeping on a couch barring Thing One's door so he couldn't get out or hurt himself in the night, I agreed.

I have been assured by the staff not to worry or be "discouraged if Thing One doesn't demonstrate the behaviours on the unit". That it can happen often, especially when children are as young as Thing One. I have been assured that "they believe him and me". That there is no set discharge date and its a game of wait and see. That he will have a CT Scan and an EKG to rule out organic causes. That WE WILL GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS.

I f**king doubt it.

So this is Thing One's world now. He has the run of the place (cause he's just a lil' guy). He watches what he wants, plays when he wants, orders his dinners according to what he wants, and SAYS NOTHING to them. They tell me he's having a great day, that he's adjusting well and happy and polite.

Even though he calls me and my father five times a day to check that "we're safe". Even though on the first night he heard voices talking in his bathroom. Even though he heard them again the next morning while he was showering. Of course, there was no one else in his PRIVATE ROOM AND BATHROOM. He's doing just fine even though they've taken away the Prozac and his moods flip faster than a pregnant lady out of pickles. That he hates me and then cries and then is normal and then hates me again. All within TEN MINUTES.

Yeah. He's fine. Fricken PEACHY.

So I should think nothing of the fact that on Saturday he LOST HIS FRIGGIN MIND when I said I wanted to talk to the nurses about his meds. That he didn't become so angry that he demanded that I DO NOT talk about him to the nurses. That if I do, he'll have to stay even longer and he DOES NOT want to stay. That when I took him out to dinner with his Grammy on a day pass he DID NOT stomp his feet and tell me "IF you tell, I STAY". Because we just had a lovely dinner together. He certainly did not burst into tears in my backseat and confess (and Tink was there to hear it) that "the man" is talking to him at night and telling him not to dare tell the nurses that he hears him. That telling them that means he has to stay forever. That my wee little boy is hiding the things that torment him because THEY LIE to him.

Except he did. He cried and he talked about the voices still tormenting him and his belief that "the man" must travel with him because he doesn't go away. That he doesn't feel safe at the hospital because the man is there. All the while, he is stuffing his toy dog "Jack" into an empty cereal box and telling me Jack is scared too. That when his tears come hard and fast and he shares his fears that he ACTUALLY WHIMPERS when he tries to speak.

But he's fine.

Adjusted.

So guess who has to tell the nurses the truth??

Yeah that's me.

Miss Munchausen.

Groping through the fog

2010-05-04T08:56:00.004-04:00

Dealing with child mental illness isn't easy. You cannot see it, measure its advances or prepare for attack. It's insidious, growing like cancer in the recesses of the mind and I hate it.

I keep hearing that the three most important things a mother does is keep their children happy, healthy and safe. I can do NONE of these things. Superficially I can alter their environment to promote these ideals, but when the "badness" is in his brain my hands are tied. More than that, Thing Two suffers as she continues to be his punching bag, his victim, his enemy. He is the problem AND the victim and I don't know how to make her world safe again either.

The Seroquel had been working to at least sedate him. He had been sleeping through the night without incident the first week and most of last. But its effects are slowly wearing off. Last night I found him asleep in the living room once again, awoken and frightened by "the man". I worry that he doesn't get enough rest from the torment of his demons. I worry more that he wanders while we sleep.

This weekend, Thing One threatened to kill myself and my daughter. He was raging, out of control and screamed "I'LL KILL YOU ALL!! I PROMISE YOU!!". After he calmed down, I spoke to him about that comment. He admitted that he considers killing myself and Thing Two "sometimes, but not everyday". He says the voices tell him to do it while I'm sleeping, but he's afraid I might wake up. It's chilling. Then, he burst into tears and ran from me. I grabbed him, gathered him in my arms while he sobbed that he didn't want to think those bad thoughts and he just wanted to be normal. He worries that his sick brain will never get better.

I can offer nothing to assuage him.

Last night, after one of the biggest meltdowns I've seen with him to date, he went for a walk with my dad and Thing Two. They came across some dandelion puffs and made wishes on the wind. Thing Two wishes fervently that Thing One's brain would not be sick anymore. They cried for each other. I died a little inside.

I feel like I'm sailing on the seeds of those wishes, bending to the wind and the whims of an unkind fate.

DAG

Genesis

2010-04-26T07:14:00.000-04:00

As some of you already know, my parenting journey with Thing One has been a rocky one. He was diagnosed last September with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Oppositional Defiant Disorder. We tried and rejected Zoloft and settled with Prozac.

Despite those efforts, Thing One didn't change very much. We had some reduction in anxiety but all the anger, aggression, defiance and depression lingered and lingered...

Over the last month, there has been a dramatic increase in aggressive behaviour, both at home and on the school yard. He had many verbal arguments and physical altercations with his peers and became even more unfocused in the classroom. There was less eye contact, no interactions. Thing One retreated into his angry self and pushed us all away with his words and his curses. His grades continued to suffer, despite an acommodated, and then modified Individual Education Plan.

And then the thing happened. The giant red flag, the MOTHER of all red flags that sent me reeling and then rushing to the phone to schedule an appointment with our child psychiatrist (Dr. Brain). It isn't easy to talk about this, to tell others the horrors of my child's first slip from reality. In in interest of helping other parents, helping ourselves and refusing to hide from the stigma of mental illness I have chosen to tell it here.

I discovered that Thing One had been smearing feces on the walls and furniture in his room. He didn't have an answer why he did it, said he didn't know, couldn't tell me, didn't understand. He had NO emotion during this discussion, in fact - behaved as though this was a perfectly normal Saturday morning. That afternoon he began shrinking - anxiety building as he complained about the closeness and crowding of the local market, the issues surrounding any simple daily activity.

And then - the hallucinations. The came from nowhere - a man who wakes him in the night at tells him to sneak out of the house and runaway while we sleep, to jump off the balcony - to do it, do it, DO IT, you won't get in trouble!" The whispery things that make it hard for him to concentrate on what we are saying to him. The bugs in the corner that "the man" makes come. The paranoia that "the man" takes his toys, moves them around or makes them disappear for awhile. When they return, they are broken. The disrupted sleep, waking night after night and wandering about the house. Falling back asleep under the coffee table in the living room.

The Seroquel is helping. He's been sleeping right through the night (sedation is the main side effect). I've seen glimpses of the little boy I used to know (more than 2 years ago). But "the man", the whispers, the voices are still here. We are beginning a journey to eradicate those things that torment him.

He is broken.

The worst of it is that I cannot see where the sickness lives, how it grows, what he sees. I can't fix it or put my hands on it or even evaluate it. I have to rely on the reports of a 9 year old boy who barely understands what's happening to him.

What's happening to all of us...

A Dark Day

2010-04-22T21:51:00.002-04:00

Hello all (yes, all three of you that read me...)

I've not been around lately. Been extremely busy dealing with a crap bag that hit the fan and drowned us all. The details are to come.. but for now I'll say this:

Our struggles with Thing One (9yrs) have exploded. After many different (and frightening behaviours) in the last month or so, Thing One has recieved a new diagnosis.

He has been diagnosed (as of this morning) - with psychosis. Tonight he had cookies and milk, 20 mgs of Prozac and his first dose of the anti-psychotic Seroquel. What I thought was my child is clearly changing.

On the way home from school this afternoon he burst into tears, crying that he felt so stressed out. He cried and said that his thoughts tell him he's a bad kid and that he so badly wants to be a regular kid like everyone else - a good kid.

I've not yet scraped up the pieces of my heart.

I am frightened.

Let the Wild Rumpus BEGIN!

2010-03-15T22:50:00.002-04:00

It's a cause for celebration!!!

Recently I've been tying up some loose ends in the double agent life. I finally officially finished Teacher's College Faculty classes! Although I have some weeks of teaching ahead, the major part of this crazy year is done!

The last two weeks have been a blur - little sleep and more than fifteen assignments to finish. My poor children forgot who their mother was. They certainly disliked the rumpled, frazzled monster who took her place - wielding power and discipline in a polka-dot robe and mismatched socks. We've eased into March Break together - and are looking forward to re-connecting this week.

Today was monumental. For me. Today? I purchased a new car.

Last week, in the mid of the hustle of finishing up at the Faculty, my car took a serious turn for the worst. While turning into a parking lot my balljoint let go. Which meant? Drive shaft halved and the wheels fell off.

Fell. OFF!

Thankfully, no one was maimed. Well, all but my checkbook. I decided that I'd had enough of the death machine and spent all my free time (HA! FREE. TIME. !!) scouring dealerships. Today I handed over a very significant sum of theoretical money, and drove away in my 2009 Pontiac G6.

I? Is a happy agent.

Tomorrow is Wild Rumpus Day. In honour of reconnecting with the agents in training we are making crazy cupcakes (chocolate OF COURSE) and watching Where the Wild Things Are. It will be a good day.

For now, I gaze longingly at the nice car outside my balcony window. In white jammies with lime green polka dots I revel at this feeling inside my chest. Happiness.

Just when I thought I'd lost it.

DAG

All of the words just got in the way...

2010-02-23T19:58:00.002-05:00

I've been lying low, dodging bullets, dressing wounds and packing the holes you left in my life. I've been sitting on my words and wrapping my feelings in wet tissue paper. They wriggle and twist and tear into tiny tomorrows.

The past month I have built. I have used those hurts, polished into tiny diamonds in the pit of my stomach, to build a panic room. There is something so useful, so intensely satisfying about a place designed to keep the demons out. I'm in it, with no windows to yesterday and no doors to tomorrow. Safe. Quiet. Calm. I've sat and let your storm rage through my tendons, stretch into sinews and escape through the hollows. Time has stopped and now has happened - and I've survived. Intact.

Around me lies the pieces of who I was. Who you were. Who we were. The burden has lifted, I no longer am responsible for keeping it together, carrying it on my shoulders or choking on its tail. It has left me to lie in shards, reflecting the mistakes we made. I see them. They are pieces of me.

I lie here now and my burden is no longer mine. Parts of me, long forgotten, are falling like feathers from sullen ceilings. I watch them dance in the stillness, fall fearlessly and land on my lashes, tickle my body, cover me in promises. They are still apart from me but the softness breathes upon my shriveled soul. I want to breathe in a new beginning. I want someone to wrap their arms around what's left of me...

How Empty Words Can Be

2009-12-05T19:10:00.003-05:00

It's been a fight this week. A true fight to stay where you can see me and not succumb to the darkness creeping in around the edges. To fight for equilibrium, to temper the anger and hurt and pain, the sharp and constant pain and accept the quiet. I'm barely hanging on sometimes, going minute to minute, reeling from emptiness to acquiescence just to lurch back again.

At some points, the minutes fly by while I stare blankly at the wall or the television, and I'm suddenly frightened by the passage of so much time. Time where I was gone somewhere, back into a minute, a place when things were easier. Other times the moments tick by excruciatingly slow - taking with them another small piece of a shattered me. Notching up the panic bit by bit until it's crushing me and I can't catch my breath between heaving sobs.

The days slide by in a haze while the nights drag on forever. I find myself just dozing off in time to awaken to the melodic tone of your presence. I answer, I doze, I read and answer again. I cannot permit myself to go to the depths of sleep in the chance you might need me. Sleep eludes me, it's too dark, it's too quiet, it's too lonely. The lights and the fan and the movie playing cycles on the laptop do not compensate for your breath as you sleep beside me, the weight of your arm on my waist, our fingers entwined beneath my pillow. Between the sheets I cannot find your radiating warmth, instead I feel only trapped coldness. My mornings are empty and humbling, I stumble around the room searching for the scent of your cologne in the bathroom after you've gone to work. No matter how hard I search I cannot find enough of you to sustain me.

Friends reach out, and they share with me those phrases they think will comfort me most. We've all said them, "you're better off", "this too shall pass", "time heals all wounds." These are emptier than the spaces next to me. They do not allow me to shatter, to feel crushed, to miss and to fall apart. They have no allowance for the good times, the fun things, how sweet the music is with you. They do not comfort me, but leave me colder than the winter wind whistling past my quiet window. They cannot chase from me the dream - that somewhere you murmured that my kisses were the sweetest thing.

Beaten.

2009-12-01T10:17:00.000-05:00

We crossed the line
Who pushed who over?
It doesn't matter to you
It matters to me
We're cut adrift
We're still floating
I'm only hanging on
To watch you go down
My love.

What he doesn't know is there is no further down to go.

You Can't Stop Me

2009-11-28T00:41:00.003-05:00

HA! It's Friday night (or Saturday morning I'm not sure). It took me a few tries to sign in, but here I is. I've been hurting and fighting and drowning and tonight - drinking. I'm sure I'll regret this post in the morning but for now, here it is.

You can't stop me. Tonight I was filled with so much ugliness it boiled over my head. It scrambled my brain and whispered in my ears. It made me want to scream at the heavens and tear holes in the universe just to see my own damage. I wanted to jump from the balcony and stand in the parking lot and scream until my voice had deserted me. I wanted to rip out my fingernails just to feel tangible pain and escape the hell in my head.
But I didn't. Instead, I got quiet.
I quietly sat there while she demanded attention, hovered at the entrances and navel-gazed. I sat in the corner, shrouded in darkness and twiddled the fringe of my scarf to avoid scratching out my own eyes. I sat and I listened and I grew quiet and I grew calm. You couldn't stop me.
I drank and I felt and I fuzzed and grew warm at the center. I read and I wrote and I laughed and I cried and somehow, somewhere I died. But you couldn't stop me.
So I stumbled in the door and across the bedroom floor where I found your discarded t-shirt and I donned it. I sprayed it with your cologne and I marveled at the line I drew around myself, lost in the comfort I made and you couldn't stop me.
Tonight I am safe and I am held, even in the absence of your arms. The world is spinney and the bed is empty but I'm ok.
And you couldn't stop me.

Routine

2009-11-17T07:20:00.003-05:00

Routine is slowly swallowing me whole.

Every morning I wake at 530 am to begin preparing for the day. Lately, 530 am brings with it a feeling of despair, stress, worry and I spend the next ten minutes contesting my muscles. They want to sleep. I want to sleep. Collectively we would prefer to hide under the mocha duvet, finding comfort and security snuggled in the down. We want to spend the day curled around the heat of last night's sleeping bodies.

The mornings are getting colder now. The floors are cold on my warm toes, frigid whispers of winter's promise. The children protest against my gentle murmers, wanting to remain in the vestiges of sleep where dreams become adventures. I pull them from their reveries with bowls of steaming oatmeal. Bleary-eyed and rosy cheeked, they slowly wind towards the day with complaints dormant on their lips.

It is moments like this that I wonder when I will be able to enjoy them. This. Life. When will the spinning top come screeching to a halt and rust, stuck in the moment. When will I have a chance to pause. Take in. Breathe. Will there come a day that I greet the morning with optimism, pushing up from the calm and not feeling the pressures to perform, dance, create - obtain.

Excellence.

Demanded.

Blurred

2009-11-12T09:57:00.005-05:00

We dance, he and I.
We dance in and out of the real,
the imagined,
and tear at the seams.
I reach for him and he skips away,
A shadow of yesterdays.
I feel him slipping,
the whisper of clothing sliding between my fingers.
Hands cramping and fingers splayed I scrabble in desperation.
Bring him closer.

We dance, he and I.
It is ugly and broken.
Our limbs akimbo, we gyrate and sweat.
We curse, we grimace and we hate.
I struggle for the fluid motions of moments gone
While he struggles to find what he has lost.
We spin and the world melts to blur,
Images doubled and distorted, trailing away like the laughter of innocence.

We fall, he and I.
In a jumble of arms and legs we lie piecemeal,
kneeling on pride and crushing spirit.
In a heap I dig,
Fingernails ragged and dirty
Searching.
Beneath the hate and the ugly and the arms and the legs.
Seeping from between hurt pride and broken spirits I know it hides.
Haunting.

We cry, he and I.
Shattered and crushed beneath turmoil and fear.
Panic flutters in his breast and helplessness stays my heart.
We drown in the layers I've exposed,
ugly and broken.
In a chemical haze, we tumble.
Darkened. Lost. Looking.
For the elusive Mickey Blue.

Don't worry. Mommy will find you once again.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-11-03T20:58:00.002-05:00

October Wedding

2009-11-03T07:52:00.004-05:00

I recently shot a wedding for my cousin in Niagara. It was a beautiful
fall day. Thought I'd share one or two from a truly lovely fall wedding.

DAG

The Epic Illness

2009-10-22T09:00:00.002-04:00

Sick.

Sick.Sick.Sick. On my back for the last six days, sweating, swearing, crying. My eyes are like two orbs of molten lava, dripping hot, sticky pain into my body. My skin hurts to look at, prickly, chilled. But no actual fever. Body aches, leg pain, back, arm, jaw (WTF?! JAW??). Tired, so very tired. The walls of my stomach throb dully and the world continues to turn on a off-kilter axis. I'm sick.

Other than making great relationships with school secretaries and university office answering machines - I'm hardly upright.

Send soup.

Or death.

DAG

My Parenting Journey

2009-09-29T10:23:00.002-04:00

I've shared a little here and there about the struggles I've had with my 8 year old son (Thing One). For the last two years the struggle has been to try and get some psychiatric assessment for him in the face of a referral based health system.

Finally, I was able to get that. After a long hard road, I took him to be evaluated and here are the results. Thing One has been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). These are companion disorders, and they are wreaking havoc in our home. We now have him taking 25mg of Zoloft (a SSRI to help ease the anxiety), and I am now currently enrolled in a Triple P (positive parenting) class for one on one tutoring in behaviour modification. In theory, these classes should help me to condition him to remove the "unwanted behaviours" and reinforce the positive ones. But - I am warned, this is a long process and behaviours are hard to change.

I can see that the Zoloft helps him (however minimally) to control his anxiety levels. Where he was once the child who needed to hear the fire safety plan every night for 8 months, he now accepts things more easily. He transferred to a new school and before school program this year with ease. Gone were the tell-tale signs of stress and repetitive behaviours (for the most part). But, now we see an increase in the oppositional and defiant behaviours.

It is so very difficult to look at this eight year old boy, right into his baby blue eyes and feel all of the love I have for him at that moment, at every moment, and accept the ugly words coming from his mouth. I've heard it all, been told to shut up, to leave him the "f" alone, that he hates me, wants to live somewhere else. All because I asked him to please brush his teeth. I have experienced his hate, his rage, his fists. Been pinched and slapped and watched him destroy my possessions. All because I told him we couldn't buy two boxes of cereal.

I've seen him walk by Thing Two and push her, slap her, pinch her, just because he's angry and she happens to be there. I've sent him for time outs exhaustingly, taken away his favorite possessions, retracted treats and special outings and gotten absolutely nowhere. I'm at the end of my rope with this kid and I don't know what to do. I fear that his life, social/emotional/home/school will be so deeply affected that he'll never experience true happiness. My heart is heavy and my reserves are empty.

Yesterday, the Aftermath asked me "How much of this are we supposed to take?"

My answer?

All of it.
Until there is no more.

Because that is the depth of a mother's love.

Sigh.

If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got...

2009-09-17T11:50:00.002-04:00

Yes Hi (rapid breath)....

*gasp*

Ok - sorry, I've been gone, missing, AWOL or otherwise engaged. I've been BURIED under the enormous undertaking that is Teacher's College, trying desperately to find my way, my niche and my god- DAMNED day planner.

I'm an organizational nightmare.

That is all.

DAG.

And So We Begin Again

2009-08-28T14:16:00.003-04:00

Today marks the day that I've officially been found just as long as I was unofficially lost. Today it has been fifteen years since I first met my dad, and I was fifteen on that day. We're equal - reached stasis - our equilibrium is restored. We've been building, rebuilding, restoring and breaking down until we're calmed in this dual symbiosis.

For those of you interested, you may have read HERE about the day I met my dad. This a true account, written many moons ago about the day that changed my life. And kept it changing.

Now, I'm an adult. With children of my own. Children who have Mommies and Daddies in their lives and haven't experienced the pain of not knowing where they've come from. I'm proud to say I've worked hard to prevent them from that black hole. More importantly, they have a "Papa" who loves them dearly and they're little lives are enriched because of it. I cannot imagine being here, being me (albeit a constant shifting definition of me) without my dad.

When I was broken and untrusting, lost inside myself - hiding from the world and its hurts - he reached for me. He held out an unwavering hand and doled out love in copious amounts. He drowned me in it, although at first I couldn't swim. He dove in and supported me, never overburdened, never tiring. When I started to cut through that water with more confidence he stepped back, but always right behind me. Out of the ashes I was reborn - the pheonix, the teenager, then the woman. His love makes me a better Mom, a better daughter, a better friend. He has shown me that although the world can hurt - and DOES, it is better to be hurt and experience greatness than to bunk down in the bogs of fear.

Today, and all other days of my life - I thank him. Thankyou Dad, for restoring myself, my confidence, my worth. For seeing that which was lacking and filling those fractures, quenching my thirsts - driving me on. Without you, I am only a scared girl on a cold street in a strange town. I love you.

We've come a long road, the long way round. Here's to a smoother path together.

My father has written his own post on this momentous day - you can read it here.

Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde

2009-08-18T16:39:00.005-04:00

The Aftermath and I got excited and pulled out the photography equipment last night for some late night fun...

Randoms

2009-07-17T12:43:00.002-04:00

I have writers block. Words evade me, slipping around corners and dancing just outside my peripherals. I feel like I don't have anything to say to the world, or perhaps I just have too much.

Something is damming up the flow I've never struggled for, clogging the recesses of my brain and turning me to inward silence. Stresses hover all around, finances, health, relationships, children. They are there, as they always are - but I can't get around them. They fall like granite boulders and crush the brittle reservoir of words. They crumble to dust that runs silkily between my fingers to the beyond. Perhaps they were empty to begin with.

I've tried to keep my emotions out of this corner of space - after the "thing which we will not talk about" happened and I came humbly back to this wee blog. It may not be much, but it's all mine. I fear that somehow those things I expose, the soft underside of the real me will again be gutted by those I loved and trusted. Correction - those I still love and miss terribly. I worry that exposing myself again will lead to the same terrible conclusion. How frightening to think that those things you are most worried about, those things that make you cry out in your sleep - those insecurities you try bravely to hide - become ammunition in a game of one-uppance. My fingers are still scorched.

I've seen my readers go, numbers dwindle down into single digits. I've grieved those losses, thinking that those who returned to read my little words - things I've tossed out into space, read me (as I do them) for the pleasure, or commiseration or understanding flowing out of them. I've come to understand that perhaps those who failed to return to this page really weren't invested in those words anyhow. I've accepted that those few that return do so from choice, not obligations to those they know or social circles they travel within. I'm ok with that, and to those that are here reading this - I want you to know that I appreciate you. Even those that lurk and never comment - thank-you for reading my measly thoughts. It makes me feel a little better to know that I'm not truly talking to myself.

In the battle I've been fighting for my son I am travelling in endless circles. From clinic to clinic I jump, begging for someone to step in and help this little boy with all the anxiety that crushes his spirit everyday. To take the pain from his voice and fill his life with self-confidence, friends and joy. I long to reach behind that which is broken inside him and tinker - adjust, bring to him all the joy I promised him as a newborn babe in my arms. I'm desperate to see him happy. I'm crushed with the guilt of failure. For if Mommy can't help - who can?

Perhaps I did have something to say after all, as I read through these meandering paragraphs. I don't know what they mean, or if they truly ever went anywhere. But they're here, and they are not empty ashes of yesterdays. They're cold truths, hard as diamonds that block my heart.

DAG

When Life Costs A Quarter

2009-07-08T05:54:00.005-04:00

It's only a piece of paper.

It's a piece of orange paper with a phone number on it. It might not even be him. It could be anyone, right?

Clutching my quarter, I left the white brick apartment building and walked down the worn grey sidewalk. I turned the idea around in my head, my heart thudding in my chest.

What are the chances? One picture. Some guy saw one picture in a cheesy florescent-lit dispatcher's office at some lousy money pit of a taxi company. How could a stranger know? Looking at an old picture of a kid that doesn't even look like me anymore? It's practically impossible.

Maybe possible. Maybe I look really distinguishable. It could be him, right? Thousands of things like this happen every day.

Wait a minute. Why am I getting my hopes up so high? I've been waiting fifteen years for this day, and it's my luck that its the wrong number. How could anyone now from a picture anyway??

Struggling with my own feelings, I brought the quarter up to my face. It was a nineteen-eighty-five quarter. I could smell the tangy metal smell. The antlers on the caribou were worn off. I turned it over in my hand and rubbed the raised head of Queen Elizabeth the Second herself with my thumb. The quarter was dirty. I put it back in my pocket.

I stopped halfway down the street and leaned on a big maple tree. The August air was thick and humid. Maybe it will rain soon. It was supposed to rain four days ago but I'm glad that it didn't. It was a beautiful day for the drive to Toronto and the trek through the CNE. I'd even picked up a cool pair of sunglasses to replace the ones I'd lost the year before. The drive back was nice too. Clear and sunny. There was a beautiful sunset when we stopped at that Italian place for dinner and, of course, it was topped off with a cake and fifteen candles. One more year until Sweet Sixteen.

I examined my shoes and chewed on my lower lip. Should I bother? Could everything SHE said be true?

I kicked at the raised edge of the sidewalk. I wonder if you could sue the city if you tripped over these things. It could be dangerous. You could break a toe or something. I broke my baby toe once. My babysitter put my shoes on the wrong feet. I also broke my collarbone once, falling off a Fisher-Price slide.

My palms began to sweat in the heat. I looked down and saw that the number on that orange piece of paper had transferred itself to my hand. If this doesn't turn out the way that I'm hoping, it will be my tattoo of rejection.

I bent down to tie my shoelaces. Stupid laces. Tie them in double knots and they still come undone. I wish Velcro shoes were fashionable. Well, maybe I do.

I turned and walked further up the road, and came to the corner of East Main Street and Lyons. I can see the phone booth from here. My fingers began to tremble and there were butterflies in my stomach. I wish I was calmer.

I looked up at the sky. It was darkening as clouds shifted to block out the sun. There are lots of cars on East Main Street today. Sunday's aren't usually this busy. I guess people wanted to enjoy what had been a beautiful day. Waiting for the light to turn green, I thought everyone back at the apartment were probably wondering what is taking me so long.

The light turned, I crossed.

The phone booth is about ten steps away now. It's right in front of the corner store. I am not ready. I need some chocolate. Do you ever notice that when you're stressed out you make a bee-line for sugary courage? I sauntered down the aisles and took in the sights. Peanut butter cups, sour candies, corn chips ... OH! Swedish Berries! I used to eat those when I was a kid. Get a hundred for a dollar. I purchased some rosebuds and I left. Two steps from the phone booth and counting.

While the sweet happiness melted on my tongue, I took the warm, dirty, worn quarter from my pocket and pondered one last time. When it slid into the slot with a satisfying click, the first heavy drops of rain fell from the sky. With a quivering hand I punched in the phone number.

"Hello?" I said. "This? Is your daughter."

That was the end of the the beginning of my life.

DAG (circa 1998)

Dusting off the Pentax

2009-06-22T22:39:00.002-04:00

I went out to the Pioneer Village this weekend with my family. I brought my camera, and revived an old passion that has lain dormant over the last six months. Here's a few of the days accomplishments. Whatever you think, it was rewarding to find in myself something that defines a part of who I am. Moving from the shadows back into the light. One baby step at a time...

DAG

Tough Breaks

2009-06-16T16:00:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to get across the horrific nature of Thing Two's accident, however I continue to get incredulity and misunderstanding from my fellow folks.

SO-

I decided to post these x-rays. The surgeon in Niagara Falls gave us her information on CD, and Aftermath played around with it until he was able to extract these images. These are the ACTUAL X-RAYS of my daughter's left arm, taken before surgery on Sat., June 6th 2009.

**** WARNING - Not really for the squeamish ****

Just in case you didn't notice the warning above, I'll start off with manageable images.

My Friend Jenny

2009-06-16T09:00:00.000-04:00

Everyone has one. One friend who you can count on in a pinch, who can make you laugh when life isn't funny, who you never tire of, never see enough. One person who you can travel with, share a double bed with, laugh until you're sick with. The person who you'd give the shirt off your back to, who's already given you hers, who acts like a surrogate mother to your kids and makes the two hour trek to see you anytime she can. The one who calls you when she's in pain, cries with you, laughs with you, and one that you'd drop anything to be by her side at a time of crisis.

That's my Jenny (aka Tink).

I met Jenny one day in college. We happened to sit side by side in a huge auditorium on the first day of orientation. We sat next to each other, giggling at the outdated hairstyles and clothing of the school officials, making note of the extraordinary people sitting around us in a failed attempt to feel comfortable in the midst of a new experience in life. We only shared a couple of classes together, but we'd sit there in psych class, whispering, laughing and attacking each other with toe socks. Alright, maybe that was just me. My Jenny hates feet. Which makes it THAT much more inviting.

We'd meet at the doors and chat, Jenny shredding her sweater and me juggling my backpack, anxious to get to the daycare and get (then 1 and 2) Thing One and Thing Two. She'd come by my place, listen to music, laugh at my children and bond. We became inseperable - doing everything together and loathing when we had to be apart. When my 25h birthday rolled around she planned a surprise birthday party with my boyfriend and another friend Sarah, taking the greatest pains to keep it secret and surprise the pants of me. She succeeded. We've gone to countless concerts, trips to Ottawa and on her 25th birthday: New York City. On her birthday the previous year we got tattoos on our feet - hers a dragonfly, mine ladybugs. It was my gift to her. I appreciate Jen, I've always appreciated her and loved her like a sister. But this past week has shown me not only her deep commitment to our friendship, but her love for my children.

I was with Jenny when we got the phone call for Thing Two's accident a week ago, and she rushed me to the hospital. She immediately took over care of Thing One until my mother could come and collect him, and then she stood by my side, followed us in the ambulance and set up camp for the difficult night while Tay was in surgery. She left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, just to return at nine am, on a Sunday morning with coffee and a bouquet of flowers. She drove myself and my grandparents back to London that evening for Monday mornings graduation - and she cancelled her shifts at work to help me care for wee Taylor. She operated like a second mom, helping her to the bathroom, assisting me in getting her medication, changing her clothes, sponge baths. When I ran out of money she gave me her last 60 dollars to buy groceries and activities for Tay while she was on bedrest. She stayed an extra day just to accompany me to the surgeon, so that she could help us out with the transportation and to learn about Taylor's progress. She gave of herself SO willingly, I feel I need to honour her in some way.

Thank-you Jenny, dear friend, confidant, travel companion and co-mom for all that you have done. I know you told me not to thank you anymore - that your love for my family drove you to do it, not thinking of yourself, but them - and me. You are a rare jewel, and I appreciate you everyday. Without you, my heart would crumple. I love you, my sister.

Oh, and by the way Jen - Enter to win Ben Stein's food stamps! Who the f*ck IS Ben Stein? And why are his eyes so dry anyway??

DAG

Touche Pussycat

2009-06-15T18:00:00.000-04:00

Kid with Broken Arm: Mom, can I play on the computer?

Overworked Mom: Yes KWBA, here you go.

KWBA: Thanks. Can I have that game?

OWM: Coming up.. hang on.

KWBA: Can I have a drink too?

OWM: Yes, lemme just ...

KWBA: Can you help me move this over here? And pass me that? Oh, and ...

OWM: Just a sec Tay! I only have two hands!!

... Complete silence while KWBA contemplates ...

KWBA: Well ... I only have one.

Touche pussycat. Touche.

The Little Things ...

2009-06-15T07:25:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was the first day that Thing Two was able to spend "outside". Of course, that is limited at this point, and really just refers to outside of our apartment. We went out to see the movie UP, (omg - bawled my eyes out. WTF Disney?!?!) and then headed over to a friend's house while the boys went for a bike ride.

It's difficult to try to find things that she CAN do - for instance she is jealous that she can't ride her bike with the boys, but I thought at least getting her some outside time would be beneficial. Heather is a wonderful friend and her and her fabulous husband put together a little get well gift bag for Taylor. They included movies, crafts (that she could do one handed), paper, stampers and a shirt that had button straps so that she could fit it on over her cast. I cannot tell you how sweet this was. I don't think I've ever appreciated my friends more than right now - when I see how unselfishly they give of themselves in the face of a small crisis. I owe them many first borns ...

Anyway, Heather had a plan for Tay, and we spent the afternoon in the backyard putting flowers in a planter intended for our balcony. Poor Taylor wasn't able to get her hands dirty, so Heather spread out the soil and encouraged her to stomp in it with her feet. Watching my baby enjoying the feel of cool dirt between her toes reminded me that there are still some pleasures she can enjoy. Heather buried and uncovered her feet over and over, made dirt balls she could throw with one hand and giggled in the afternoon sun. Once Tay's feet were inky black, Heather suggested her special foot spa to clean up those piggies.

It is amazing how little things can be so much fun. Squishing your toes in the earth, laughing in the sunshine, walking through the grass - and blowing huge bubbles that come from the depths of a foot spa! Heather added a dollop of body wash which turned out to spawn wall after growing wall of excellent bubbles and foam! Taylor, Heather, Ally and I blew bubbles in each other's faces, on our hair, on Ally. We threw them at Kyle while he took pictures of the fiasco - all the while laughing and laughing until our sides hurt.

Taylor forgot all about her limitations yesterday afternoon, and for that I am grateful. Someday, in someway, I'll be able to repay Heather with the joy she paid to my daughter at a time when she needed it. For now - I just want to say thank-you to the T-R family. We love you so much.

My father has been inspired to begin his own blog adventure - and so if you have the chance, please hop over to his page and check it out! He could use some beginners support. His account of the worst day of my life as a mother is touching.

So TIRED...

2009-06-11T12:32:00.002-04:00

Nurse DAG is running on fumes these days. Taylor is doing so-so, she had a really rough night last night, waking at 130am and 4am crying for some pain relief. I'm still sleeping on the floor next to her bed in order to assist her in the night. This morning didn't fare much better, the advil seemed to not be touching the pain and I actually prepped her with some Gravol so that if it came to it, she could have some Tylenol with codeine. It makes her stomach so nauseous, we're doing what we can to avoid vomiting up important medications. She is still on a high dose of antibiotics to combat infection (from the grass and dirt the surgeon found inside her arm). So far no fever, and with exception to last night and this morning, she has been in pretty good spirits. Considering she is on strict bedrest and cannot leave the house or walk around, she's been a trooper.

I've officially been off work for the full week, which is problematic. With Taylor's condition as such, I obviously cannot work either of my jobs. It's going to be tough going come rent time. I don't know yet when I can return to work, tomorrow we see the new pediatric surgeon, so I may have a better idea of when she can return to normal activities. To be honest, I'm hoping she has another fews days because I can't imagine her (in her present condition) attending a full day of school and daycare. She seems so fragile still. One step at a time.

Thankyou for your comments and concern, I appreciate each and every one of them.

DAG

Refitting the Pieces

2009-06-10T11:32:00.003-04:00

Taylor has come home! We are very happy that she is back home from the hospital and in our care. According to the orthopedic surgeon, she is very fragile and must remain on bed rest until Friday when we can see our new pediatric surgeon here in our town. She came home Monday night, after I walked across the stage and was officially convocated. While my family lunched and toasted my graduation I stood outside on my cell phone arranging for a new surgeon so that Taylor could be released from Niagara Falls. She had a rough night on Monday due to extreme nausea from the codeine, and another rough morning on Tuesday. We've since switched her to children's advil, which seems to keep her pain in check and her small tummy happy.

She is resting comfortably in the living room (where we have moved her bed) and although I'm sleeping on the floor next to her in case she needs me in the night, it's a small exchange for getting her home. We see the doctor on Friday, at which time I'll have more information on when the pin will be removed from her elbow and when we'll be getting a more stable cast. Little miracles.

I just want to say a BIG thank-you to all of you who unselfishly came running in her time on need, including Dad, Aftermath, Tink and Heather. You've all given us immeasurable help and support at a difficult time.

Until I know more ....

DAG

My Taylor lies broken...

2009-06-07T21:54:00.002-04:00

This weekend Thing Two had a terrible accident while she was visiting Daddy for the weekend. While no one was watching, she stood up on a swingset and fell, dislocating her elbow and fracturing her arm.

This is not a little thing. She had an open fracture, where the bone broke through the skin and then back in, taking with it grass and dirt from the backyard. I met them at the hospital right away, where I watched, in awe, my tiny little peanut be the bravest little girl I've ever seen. Despite horrific pain, she allowed the doctors and nurses to do what was necessary, recieved her first IV WITHOUT MAKING A SOUND, had her first ambulance ride to another hospital and had her first surgery.

Currently, they've backed her off the morphine and demerol and she is resting uncomfortably on tylenol with codeine. She has a pin that goes from the outside of her elbow through to connect her broken bones, and two incision sites necessary to clean the wound of grass and dirt and the other to set the bones. She also has a laceration that has been sutured from where the bone exited her arm.

Tomorrow is graduation day. I am supposed to proudly walk across a stage and recieve my award for the last four years of hard work. I returned to London reluctantly, at the urging of my family and left my Taylor in Niagara Falls hospital with her papa. I know she is well taken care of, but it feels wrong to be away from my peanut when life hurts. According to the surgeon, she should come home tomorrow. It cannot come soon enough.

Thinking of you Taylor Boo.

DAG

New York Day Four - FAO Schwarz

2009-05-30T09:57:00.005-04:00

Today was Jenny's birthday. For her birthday she wanted to cruise Madison Avenue, hit FAO Schwarz and Times Square. Fun for everyone!!!

Make Your Own Muppet Workshop!!!

Pierre the singing pottery man!

The helicopter flyer dude!

Giant Piano - UH HUH we did it BIG style!

Good Times!!

NYC - Rain Rain Go Away...

2009-05-29T18:00:00.000-04:00

It's raining in New York City. It's been drizzling for the last two days, prompting us to purchase an umbrella from the nearest "tourist shop" the other day. It's hanging out in my purse, coming out when it's really raining and Jenny and I are lamenting our frizzy hair and weather unluckiness.

For that reason, I've also held off on taking any "real" photographs. I've taken a few of the neighbourhood, a brownstone here and there but for the most part I've only squeezed off "tourist" photos. This is a big disappointment for me at the moment. I was really looking forward to taking my camera out and loving up the big city DAG style. And according to the weather - it's gonna rain today and maybe some of tomorrow. Regardless, it's coming out today and tomorrow - because we're leaving on Sunday morning!

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the sun comes out for our day in Central Park. For today (Happy Birthday Jenny!), I'm taking it along to Fifth Avenue and Times Square. C'mon weather. Let's get it together!!

DAG

NYC Day Three - The World Trade Center Memorial Museum

2009-05-29T09:22:00.004-04:00

Yesterday we visited the World Trade Center Memorial Site. There really are no words for such a humbling place - so instead I just present you with some photos from the day.

DAG

Day Two - FDNY Baby!!

2009-05-28T10:15:00.004-04:00

New York Journal - Day Two!!

Yesterday Jen and I decided to hit SOHO, NOHO and Tribeca to see what we could see. And buy. As it turns out, the best thing we saw that day is firefighters. Also, Jen and I rode the subway for the very first time -OMG that thing is filthy. We'd like to personally thank the little ole lady in orange wellies who told us to go to Century 21 - which was horrible, overcrowded and teeming with mice. Thanks crazy. Have a New Yorker day. Anyway, back to the important things:

Hot. FDNY.

After joking around that they charge per photo and assuring us that their asses look much better OUT of uniform (to which we wholeheartedly disagreed), they were kind enough to allow us to photograph their hotness. Sorta.

We canNOT tell you how exciting this was!!! Viva FDNY!!

SOHO was a very interesting place to be. Lots of exciting (and expensive) shops to peruse and a lot of things to look at. We ate at the SOHO Cafe, great big sandwiches at good prices. All in all we spent around six hours walking around. Until our feet begged for mercy and we hunted around for the rush hour subway.

What a day. A hot, FDNY, hose me off kind of day. More to come!!

Ps - after our hurting ourselves business on Tuesday, I photographed Jen's bruises. Wanna see what disembarking does to Canadians??? LOL....

Peace out!!

DAG

NYC!

2009-05-27T09:40:00.002-04:00

Wow, what a day yesterday was! I was up and on my way to the Buffalo airport at 6 am yesterday to begin this journey with my girl Jenny. Although I don't have any pics YET, there is plenty of time to get all those duckies in a row. Right now, we're still making sure all our pieces are together.

Flying scared the ever lovin' sh*t out of me, can I just tell you. I've never flown (except for a trip at 3 that I cannot remember), and neither had Jenny. We were two loose canons at the gate, the dueling panic twins... LOL. Strangely enough, once we were ON the plane, there was no getting out of it, so I sorta settled. (Thanks Jenny for holding my hand :)) In fact, everything went almost without a hitch - until I stood up to exit the plane.

....and smashed my head on the carry-on compartment over my head. In all fairness, I still had jello legs from the anxiety of the trip, AND the compartment was empty and so it SOUNDED a lot worse than it was....

Of course, I laughed at myself and resumed disembarking - but Jenny? Oh that Jenny couldn't stop laughing at my stupidity. She laughed and laughed at my expense, but you know that saying: Karma is a bitch to those that need the lesson? OMG - did she get learned. As she giggled away behind me on the stairs out of the plane, she laughed so hard she slipped, fell down four stairs and landed on all four on the tarmac. In front of ten people, with twenty more behind her. And airport staff chasing her down and yelling "MAM! ARE YOU OK?!?!" OMFG. Sweet baby Jesus did we laugh. Way to represent Canada. LMFAO.

After we licked our wounds (in Jenny's case - put cold paper towels on the road rash and bruises), we walked out of the terminal. We had a slight issue at baggage claim - mainly that all our baggage came EXCEPT Jenny's plaid suitcase (which appeared some twenty minutes later) but we survived that too. This guy stood at the exit and was asking us "do we want a cab?". We followed him outside, but then he grabbed my luggage (not Jen's) and headed off at warp speed past all the cabs and towards the parking lot. We were having none of that, so we ran ahead, rescued my luggage and climbed into a legit yellow cab (No Mr. Stranger in a green Aerostar, I DO NOT want a ride).

Needless to say, we made it into Manhattan and to the TINIEST room I've ever seen (seriously, wait till I post some photos). We're living in a closet. A closet with a cubbyhole for a closet. It's not even as wide as my shoulders. BUT - who cares! It's New York bitch!!!

Headed out to Greenwich Village, Soho and Ground Zero today. Look out Manhattan - the Canadian crashers are coming....

DAG

Long Weekends are for the Weak

2009-05-19T09:04:00.004-04:00

Whoever decided there should be a long weekend in Canadian spring should be shot. No one goes away. It's too damn cold. And so - despite the long weekend I was working. And every child in this city of 350,000 showed up for my shift.

I was fortunate enough to see both my children off to Daddy's house - a rarity for an off visitation weekend. After they left, I reveled in my newfound freedom. Then? I went to bed at 9 pm. Gawd I'm old. Or something. Instead of painting the town red I was snuggled up in bed because I had to work on Saturday morning. At. 8:45. AM. Of course after I looked after the bazillion children home for the long weekend, I was too tired to paint the town ANYTHING on Saturday night.

Silver lining, Jen came up Saturday night, bringing with her the giant suitcase I'm taking to New York next week. So we rented movies, loaded up on sugar and salt and went straight to work on doing absolutely nothing. I love that girl. She can laze with the best of them. Work ethic is seriously overrated.

Sunday was rather lovely - Jen, myself and the Aftermath headed downtown with our cameras to do some random shooting. After three hours of wandering around we stepped into a coffee house for a latte and some rest. Of course, after placing the order my bank card was declined for insufficient funds - isn't THAT great. The girl who works two jobs - jobs that hold pay for almost a FRIGGIN MONTH before I get my first pay. Now I can't even afford a latte. God help me. I attempted to loop my camera strap around my neck after I climbed up on the barstool but the damn barista refused to kick out the chair. Probably cause she knew I couldn't tip her. Thankfully, the Aftermath swooped in with paper tender and I went on with my life.

I worked Monday. With a bazillion more children. Then my children came home. Goodbye long weekend.

C'mon New York. Seven days and counting . . .

Until then, I leave you with this. Aftermath took the original photo. I cropped it and had some photoshop fun with it. Enjoy . . .

This is what happens.

2009-05-08T14:48:00.003-04:00

Sigh.

So, the other day while I was cleaning up at job one, I cracked my gel nail right through the middle. Which? HURT. Also, I was worried that I might lose half my nail in the process so I promptly attached a bandaid to the fracture and went about my day.

The other day I shared with you my list of vacation "do's". Notice that nowhere did I mention spending the morning of your day off in the nail salon being tortured. And....this is what I get for not observing my own rules.

This morning I went down to have the nails removed since job two requires me to work with children and involves frequent handwashing. Oh, and because one was BROKEN. I walked in the salon, expressed my request for removal and sat STUPIFIED while a "technician" (I use this word loosely) yanked them off my fingers. For ten dollars.

Call me crazy, but I'm thinkin' I could have done this myself at home. For free. But I digress.

As I sat there, she grabbed an unused "tip" and jammed it between my fingernail and the gel overlay and ripped it across my finger. Which means? Sixteen layers of natural nail being viciously peeled off. Seriously? Technician? Aren't we supposed to be soaking and grinding? Oddly, it wasn't the broken one I needed to worry about. When she met the still secured nail on the middle finger (ironic, I know) on my right hand, instead of stopping when she met resistance, she tugged HARDER, which resulted in ALL layers of natural nail being ripped from the nail bed and dripping blood on her pretty white towel.

Blood. BLOOD. The bitch made me BLEED! AND?!?! I'm paying for this!!!

Imagine my surprise when she turned to me and asked:

"You want new nail again?"

UM. NO. But I'll take your "technician certificate" off the wall to staunch the bleeding.

Sigh. This is what I get for abandoning my ass groove. Duly noted world. Duly noted.

ps. Although I have restored this blog to white, I am still carrying Maddie in my heart. We have not forgotten. I will never.

No Moss Growing Under This Fat Ass!

2009-05-07T11:45:00.002-04:00

After four CHALLENGING years at university, I am finally reaping the over-worked rewards. My last exam was April 28th, and immediately after I launched campaign "Get a job loser". I have to say, it is a success! As of yesterday I am in possession of two summer jobs.

At least I know the kids will eat for the summer.

That out of the way, I've been L--A--Z--Y! My second job hasn't started yet, so I'm only working occasional nights and weekends at the first. This leaves my days free to accomplish all those things I ignored during the school year. After revising the new "bucket list" for this vacation, I decided I should share it with you!

1. Become re-aquainted with the couch. This takes a tremendous amount of time. Ass grooves don't contour themselves after all.

2. Ingest copious amounts of snack foods. This must be weighed carefully to ensure a balance between chocolate, salty snacks and those of the frozen variety. Thankfully the Canadian weather has warmed enough to allow drumsticks back into my life.

3. Faithfully ignore mounting household chores, including dusting, vacuuming and especially laundry. All three of these things will interrupt completion of #1.

4. Aim to spend the day in pyjamas. In order to observe #3. effectively, it is best to have one outfit set aside to wear daily when you drop off the children at school and pick up morning coffee.

5. While working at #1., it is best to watch a line up of Mystery Diagnosis, Most Daring, Cops and Beach Patrol. This way, you can be fully informed on health issues, social politics and criminal behaviour while enforcing what you already know about the stupidity of other people.

6. Take frequent naps. Television becomes much more interesting if you take small breaks to rest your eyes. Blankets and pillows make this much more effective.

7. Catch up on phone calls. Spend hours chatting to your friends back home while painting toenails and eating snack foods. Although your ass is growing by the minute, there is no excuse for a bad pedicure. In addition, avoid phone calls of the responsible variety. Do not accept calls from bill payments, parents or telemarketers. These are all things that require complete attention and moderate mental acrobatics.

8. Lastly, and most importantly, when spouse and children return home, sigh deeply and claim exhaustion due to your busy, busy days. Give little detail and moderate complaint. Never let them see you relax. Dispose of all snack food wrappers, toenail polish and napping paraphernalia.

Enjoy your vacation!

DAG

Spring Fever

2009-05-03T07:03:00.005-04:00

I don't know about the rest of you, but we're all about outside suddenly. The weather has turned lovely up here in Canada, buds shaking loose from the trees and grass sprouting from the warming earth. Yesterday we took the kids out to play around with bubbles and other random activities.

Here are the results:

Enjoy!

DAG

Me, Myself and Laundry

2009-04-21T11:16:00.002-04:00

For the last two months I have been sidestepping a hallway landmine.

Between final papers, catchup reading and general life in the agent's scope, I've been seriously neglecting my inner laundress. Every week I set aside just enough clothing to get us through that week, ignoring the ever growing, sock devouring double laundry bin hiding in the back hall. Until today.

Armed with two rolls of loonies and a new bottle of Gain - I planned to sneak attack the cotton blob plotting to take over the world. Fueled singly by my tiny little family. I must tell you that laundry sucks my will to live. Costing four dollars a load, and taking over two hours to complete one - I avoid laundry purgatory like the bubonic plague. However, seeing that my children are rotating the same outfits and sporting mismatched socks - I felt it was time to stop risking their social development and sort the pile of doom.

It is AMAZING what you can find in a pile of laundry. I am baffled by the ten or more pairs of pants sized four and under (since my kids have almost exited 6X), with holes in the knees and chapstick in the pockets. How long have they BEEN there? Are they breeding? In my initial sort alone I ditched two BAGS of clothing based on size. And then there were the socks. THE SOCKS. A whole load of socks alone!! *shudder*

I've got two loads washing, and another four staring me in the face. I'm convinced that my children own more clothing than myself and the Aftermath combined! I'm confused as to why my son and I argue everyday over the same plaid shirt! He only has 500!!!

Someone save me from the laundry life. Please. Or at least toss me a roll of loonies. It's gonna be a long day.

**I still feel somewhat wrong for posting on the mundane details of life after the devastating loss of little Maddie. Please, donate today. They say it takes a village ... and if anything, I've learned that the internet is today's community. I am truly proud to be part of a community who rallies together and gives their everything to a family in distress**

Purple

2009-04-17T07:40:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I logged into my computer for the first time in a few days. I wandered around, read some blog bits and stumbled across the saddest thing I may ever read. I don't have words for the amount of sadness, the heartbreak. My heart goes out to the Spohr family.

Even though I've never met or spoken to Heather or Mike, the Newborn Identity was the very first blog I started to follow regularly. When I first discovered it, I spent hours searching through the archives. I couldn't get enough of the adventures of Maddie, and soon enough I was reading both Heather and Mike's blogs religiously. I enjoyed the stories of the Spohr family adventures, the silly pictures with Maddie pulling faces, beaming at the camera, loving life with those big, blue eyes.

I am shocked and heartbroken over her death, and I can NOT imagine the pain her parents are experiencing. I can't say I understand. I do not. I extend my love to Heather and Mike and all those touched by their daughter. I wish you peace.

Like many others, The Agent is appearing in purple in memory of that beautiful chick pea.

Save Travels Maddie. You are missed.

DAG

Please take time to donate to the Spohr family. Every little bit helps in such a difficult time.

Mistrusting the Multitude

2009-04-10T07:51:00.002-04:00

Hey all, today I'm over at GNMParents talking about the fine details of life and the trouble in trusting a wounded heart with a new danger. Come on over!

DAG

Life in Limbo

2009-04-03T18:18:00.002-04:00

Hello all - today I'm over at GNMParents talking about choices and change. Come on over!!!!

DAG

ACCEPTED!!!!!!

2009-04-01T10:40:00.002-04:00

After a long and very challenging six years, I am about to see my ultimate goal realized.

From the very start, some six years ago - I dreamed of becoming a primary school teacher. After two years at college, four years of university, being a single mother of two young children and volunteering until my eyes popped from my head: I've been accepted.

This very morning, I received email notification that I have been extended letters of admission to both the University of Nippissing (North Bay) and The University of Western Ontario's Althouse (London) teacher's colleges. I'm waiting on Trent (Peterborough) and Sir Wilfrid Laurier (Kitchener-Waterloo) to round out the applications, but that is no matter.

I'M IN! I? Am GOING TO BE A TEACHER!! It's official!!!!!

This? Is dizzying.

DAG.

Dream a little Dream...

2009-03-25T07:13:00.002-04:00

Last night, after a very LONG and challenging day, I fell asleep.
No, really...

After a late dinner, while my dad was visiting in the very same living room, I fell asleep. At 7:30 pm. And I slept all night long. I slept the sleep of the dead, and woke at 5:30 am to find myself?

Tired.

Will there never be a morning that I wake up ready for the day? Where I climb from my bed, wipe the slumber from my bleary eyes and think: Good morning! I couldn't sleep one more wink? Why is the necessary condition of adulthood sleep deprivation? I swear that after an entire day in the academic life, of challenging my brain to acrobatic feats of theory and conjecture, after stuffing it full of all that the world has to offer - it doesn't turn off. I'm becoming convinced that while my body sleeps, my mind twists and turns, reformulating, assimilating and regurgitating those concepts into understanding. So that when I wake, I am aware of the simplicity of these theories, aware of their relationship to WHICH EVER essay I'm working on - asking myself new questions while more sophisticated arguments are spinning from the yarn of yesterday.

But, DAMMIT. I'm tired. And I don't care!

Wishing to sleep the sleep of the insane...

DAG.

Mondays Shall Die a Slow and Uncomfortable Death

2009-03-24T09:46:00.003-04:00

Mondays? Suck.

Donkeys.

Yesterday was the Friday 13th of all Mondays. It started out bad and ended worse. While getting my face on (and believe me, you wouldn't want to see me without it - all nerves and muscles and junk) I dropped my eyelash curler into the toilet.

Um.

Ew.

After I fished it out, I secretly wondered if perhaps soaking it in a vat of lysol, it may actually be salvageable. Maybe. Let us remember it was 6:30 am. I've had this curler for FIVE years. It's awesome. It's small, compact, one of those plastic ones with a lever instead of pincers that pull out your eyelashes one by one in a torturous dance. It rocked. Anyway, I digress.

As I stood there with this bacteria laden thing in my hand, contemplating it's future in my makeup bag, I dropped it onto the ceramic tiles where it shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. I *should,* at this point, have gone back to bed. The day was a write off already, I assure you.

However, I pulled up my argyle socks, donned the plaid hightops and hit the streets. After a freezing walk to my class building on a sunny, sunny day - I entered the english department with my backpack in place and sunglasses over my eyes. At which time, I got a text message. Which, sounds like the day was looking up, right? Popularity can rescue the worst of all Mondays. I was actually feeling better as I traipsed down the stairs. Right before I stepped out into thin air and came crashing down on the marble floor.

Yes. I? Fell. Down the stairs. In front of other people. I smashed my knee and twisted my ankle, and the damned 45 lb backpack pulled a muscle in my shoulder. Oh, and I smashed my pride. Of course. Pulverized like a little clove of garlic. It truly had no chance.

I won't go on - cause I can't top it. My knee hurts - but it looks pretty. If you like purple and blue. The rest of the day went to hell in a handbasket. It ended with me curled up in the armchair in my living room - crying like a baby.

F*ck Monday.

DAG.

Bare Legalities

2009-03-20T07:26:00.002-04:00

Hello faithful friends!

Life has been extremely busy these days. I'm floating from week to week in a haze of late night essay writing binges. The end is near - I can taste it. Freedom!!

In the meantime, you can find me over here at GNMParents, discussing my rights as a parent to keep health care sites "family oriented". Come on over!

I'd love to hear your thoughts....

DAG

Mommy knows best...

2009-03-13T07:08:00.002-04:00

Today I'm over at GNMParents talking about safety nets. Sometimes I wonder if knowing you'll land on your feet stops you from truly jumping. Come on over - tell me what you think...

Photography Thursday

2009-03-12T10:39:00.005-04:00

It's been awhile since I've done this, but I thought I'd share a few images from a recent shoot. These clients are an awesome family with an adorable baby who've signed on for a year of photographs with me. Bless them!

Beginnings

2009-03-07T22:45:00.003-05:00

My Guy Friday? Hates me.

2009-03-06T07:38:00.002-05:00

Hello Friday. I'd like you to know that no matter what you have in store for me, I'm not in the least bit interested. Keep your fate and your karma and your crap to yourself. In fact - talk to Monday. You may have more in common than you think.

In the meantime, I've been over at GNMParents asking some questions about blended families. Come on over and join in~ I'd love to hear what you think.

Until then, I'll be hiding under the mattress wishing the week away.

DAG

Mystery Diagnose Me

2009-02-27T18:39:00.003-05:00

Hello, my name is DAG and I think I have a problem.
I am horribly and irrevocably addicted to the television show: Mystery Diagnosis. The Aftermath hates it, and actively tries to hide my remote. But I'm on to him.

I discovered this beauty a few months ago by accident and have been hooked ever since. Who knew that simple salt cravings could indicate a deadly disease?? Ok maybe not simple - consuming an entire bowl of rock salt cannot EVER be good. Or that I could actually wake up one morning and discover my joints are locked in odd positions for ever and ever? Hello! Nice to meet you! I'm the incredible popping princess! Listen, if any of you should witness- say - nocturnal vomiting and drooling? I'm probably dying and you should make sure the doctors take you seriously. Please, save me. I'll thank you later. Probably by listing all your symptoms and assigning you a serious disorder - misery loves company.

In the meantime, I've taken to limiting my salt intake (in case I should miss something important) and have taken to sleeping completely flat with my arms straight out and over Aftermath's face. Just in case.

Cause I have no desire to become a permanent ass scratcher. Kthnxbai.

Sicko!

2009-02-27T07:23:00.002-05:00

Hello all. It's Friday - yet AGAIN, and I still haven't managed to get one decent word down on these blog pages. But, I did discuss my tango with el-flu bug over at GNMParents. Come on over!

Exciting things are happening... and when the horror of my final term eases up, I'll be able to get back to this thing I used to call writing. I hope.

In the meantime - burn the mortar boards.

DAG

Devil's Advocate

2009-02-20T06:46:00.003-05:00

Good morning and happy Friday! Today I am playing devil's advocate over at GNMParents. I am throwing my hat in the ring concerning the debate over the Suleman Octuplets. Join me!

Next, a little housecleaning. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I had been selected to interview with a University for a place in Teacher's College. I have to tell you all that I had that interview on Tuesday afternoon and it went exceptionally well. I was lucky enough to be able to answer their four prepared questions concisely and avoided the dreaded "Um..." and "Ah...". Thank you to all who kept me in their thoughts during this nerve wracking hour!

The flu is taking a small break in the house, I've recovered as has the Aftermath. I am praying that it goes dormant and dies and does not spread to the children. Lord knows I don't have the time for two more unknowing pukers. It's going around - wash wash wash your hands!!!! I'm rounding out the end of my spring break at University, and although I spent it all sick or caring for the sick, it's about time to get back. Nevermind the pile of work I didn't get done. It's really nothing new!

Last, I have a new photoshoot this weekend! I'm excited to try my hand at photographing a baby around four months old. It's a new challenge and I'll let you know how that goes!

Enjoy the weekend!

DAG

Happy Birthday Thing Two

2009-02-13T21:14:00.004-05:00

Your special day has come and gone little one, but these words have lived inside me since. I watched you solve the puzzle clues and retrieve your presents and I laughed. I laughed because at seven you are still every bit the go-getter you were as an infant.

I thought about carrying you deep inside me, warm and protected while my life roared around you. Everything changed, turned upside down and inside out but your presence remained. Like your brother, you kicked me incessantly and gave me hideous heartburn - rolling and undulating like an alien child beneath my skin. And I loved you from the moment I knew you were there. I remember the hours of active labour, seventeen hours with no dilation, living in Taylor time. And then, suddenly - as is only your way - you came crashing into the world unexpectedly within forty-five minutes. I can still hear the sounds of crashing metal as the nurses ran to deliver you in my hospital room.

I remember how different you were from your older brother, not caring for cuddling and carrying but preferring to lay on your own to observe the world. I thought about the way you would squirm if I held you too long, longing to be just you in your own space. How you were insatiably hungry, never getting enough - wanting food every hour of your little life.

I thought about how, at five months old, you crawled. Determined to chase your brother you moved about "commando" style, interested to see, hear, touch and taste all the colours of your brother's world. I thought about the out and out battles we had, getting dressed, cleaning up your toys, eating dinner. I can still hear "ME DO IT, BY SELF" echoing in the hallways of my heart. But I also remember the sweet stillness of night, while I rocked your damp curls in the crook of my arm, heart to heart with your thumb in your mouth. Your fountains of ponytails on the top of your head - those big beautiful eyes and straight from the gut laughter.

There was a time you were very sick, very often - nights of rocking your feverish body to sleep in the muted lights of the hospital, praying as I kissed your hot forehead that the fever would break. I remember taking you to the emergency room for your first stitches - and holding your wee arm for your first broken bone. Your frenzied energy has always steered you at breakneck speed, and I've been right here (and will be) to help you pick up the consequential pieces.

I still remember your first day of kindergarten, watching you run FROM me to the line up, throwing a cursory "I love you" over your shoulder. You didn't need me to mediate your world anymore than you did as an infant. You love purely with every fibre of your being and with a fierceness that takes my breath away. You are all go and no stop - and by GOD do I love you sweet girl.

Happy Birthday Peanut.