Hello Bill, have we met before?

So tomorrow I must ante up and pay a four hundred dollar vet bill. After that, we will only owe four more hundred, so I guess I should be happy. In retrospect, I'm not so sure why I insisted that we need to spend all this money on the sodden dog. All she ever does is bark and I'm pretty sure she has fleas. Add that into the mix with the tapeworm situation and we are one messed up family. In fact, it seems that the dog spends 99% of her time annoying me-- ie) digging in the garbage, running away, barking like mad at some stray newspaper blowing down the street, scratching herself and licking herself, and worse stuff than that- stuff that I don't dare even speak of. And for this I must pay this exorbitant amout of money. I finally get a raise at work and this is what happens- the dog starts puking green shit and my muffler falls off. Bye bye extra money in my bank account. Bye bye new clothes. I shall have to make do with my INXS Tshirt and tight black jeans for another month. Oh well. The heavy metal look is one that, I'm sure, will never really go out of style.
In the spirit of vet bills, I shall tell you a joke which I thought quite amusing. Ready? OK. This guy takes his dog to the vet and puts him on the table. "My dog is very sick. He won't eat, won't move, just lays there like this all day," the owner tells him. "Sir, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your dog is dead." the vet replies. Lets call him Stew.
"No, he can't be dead!" The man protests. So then Stew leaves the room and comes back in with a black lab. The lab walks around the table, sniffs the dog and leaves the room.
"Yes, he's most definately dead." Stew says again.
"No, no, he's not. He can't be," the man says, beside himself. So Stew leaves again and returns carrying a small cat. He puts the cat down on the table. The cat sniffs the dog, paws at it a bit, meows, then jumps down from the table and leaves.
"I'm so sorry. Its official. He's dead. That'll be $1500.00"
"What? $1500 just to tell me my dog is dead!?!" The man says, horrified.
.
.
.
.
..
.Wait for it.
.
.
.
.
... And the punch line
"Well, yeah" Stew replies "what with the Lab test and Cat scan we had to do..."
Get it?? Lab test?? Cat scan?? Isn't that hilarious. So funny. Oh, I just can't stop laughing.

Anyhoo, back to business. So big week coming up. I have this method for getting pregant, which some of you are familiar with. It goes like this: you have sex on day 11, 13, 15 and 17 of your menstrual cycle, starting with the first day of your last period as day one. The reason being is that fertility peaks on day 14, but thats plus or minus three days. And you have sex every other day because it takes 48 hours to build up a full sperm count, and you want to make sure that as soon as that little eggs pokes its little head out of your ovary that there's a full arsenal of sperm lurking around, waiting to pounce. And besides that, who really wants to have sex every day??? Saturday, for me, is day 11, which also (coincidentally??) is the same day that we get our new bed. So I'm getting prepared for the big week ahead, you know, shaving my legs and such.
Well, that is it for today. Three more sleeps til the new bed comes.
And PS-- I just can't sign off without clarifying that I was kidding about the INXS Tshirt and tight jeans. Honest.

Tit for tat

I'm very disapointed. Every day I toil away at this blog and what do I get in return??-- a few stray comments from my mom and dear SIL, which I appreciate very much, by the way, but come on, there's got to be more of you out there. I mean here I am, my own brother is going under the knife tomorrow, but I'm still on here blogging for you- my public. Is it so unfair to expect a little something in return? A simple comment here and there?
So, I've decided that its time for a little tit for tat. If you're not going to participate in this blog then you know what?? Neither am I. I've told you before and I don't mind to tell you again- this relationship is a two way street. So instead of posting an actual post tonight-- and believe you me you are missing out BIG TIME because there is scads of stuff going on in Randinoland right now, stuff that would knock your socks right off if I posted it. But you chose this path for both of us. For all of us, I daresay. So instead of an actual post, I am posting this- an excerpt from my favorite book Shopoholic and Sister by one Sophie Kinsella-- my favorie author. I know that in some circles this would constitute plagiarism but at least I have quoted my source and am not trying to pass it off as my own work. Hope you enjoy!
(This is chapter nine-- by the by. The part where Becky finds out that she has a long lost sister. The plot really begins to thicken).

For the past week I haven't been able to sleep. Or concnterate on anything. All I can think about is the fact that I have a real, blood sister.
At first I felt totally shaken up. Its OK for mum and dad: they've had weeks to get used to the idea. But to find out that dad had an affair years ago... and got somebody pregnant... I never thought that Dad was like that, to be honest.
But he's been really sweet about it. The day he and Mum came round to tell me, he could see I was a bit shell shocked. So he sat down on the sofa with me and told the whole story. He kept reiterating that this happened before he even met Mum, and that he had no idea he'd fathered a child... (skip a paragraph)... And today I'm going to meet her!
Just the thought makes me exilerated and jumpy all at once. How will we be the same? How will we be different? What will her voice be like? What will her clothes be like?
"Do I look OK?" I ask Luke (her husband) while anxiously surveying my appearance in the mirror. We're in my old bedroom an my parents house, and I'm putting the finishing touches to my meeting-my-long-lost-sister outfit. Its taken me several days, but after a lot of thought I've decided on my most falttering Seven jeans, some boots wtih spiky heels, a gorgeous pale pink March Jacobs jacket and a Tshirt made ages ago for me by Danny (her gay friend/designer).
"You look great," Luke says patiently.
"Its like balancing formal with informal," I explain. "So the jacket says 'this is a special occasion' whereas the jeans say "we're sisters so we can be relaxed with each other, and the Tshirt says.."
I pause. Actually, I'm not sure what the Tshirt says, apart from "I'm friends with Danny Kovitz", and I'm not even sure thats true anymore. He hasn't called back, eventhough I've left two messages.
"Becky," says Luke, "I honestly don't think it matters what you wear."
"What?" I wheel round in disbelief. "Of course it matters! This is one of the most important moments of my life! I'll always remember what I was wearing the day I meet my sister for the first time. I mean...you remember what you were wearing when you met me for the fist time, don't you?"
Luke looks blank.
He doesn't remember?? How can he not remember?
"Well I remember," I say crossly. "You were waring a gray suit and a white shirt and a dark green Hermes tie. And I was wearing my short black skirt and my seude boots and that awful white top which made my arms look fat."
"If you say so." Luke raises his eyebrows.
I smooth down my Tshirt. "I just want to look right. Like a sister."
"What do sisters look like?" Luke asks, looking amused.
"They look... fun! And friendly. And supportive. And like they'll tell you if a brastrap is showing."
"Then you look exactly like a sister," Luke says, kissing me. "Becky, relax, you'll be fine."
I know I'm a bit wound up. But I just can't seem to get over the idea of being a sister after being an only child for so long.
Not that I've minded being on my own or anything. Mum and Dad and I have always had a great time together. But sometimes I've heard people talking about their brothers and sisters and wondered what it was like. I never thought I would actually get to find out!
What's really spooky is that all this week, I've suddenly been noticing sisters. They're everywhere! For example, the film Little Women was on telly the other afternoon- and right after was a program about the Beverly sisters. And every time I've seen two women together in the street, instead of just noticing what they were wearing I've thought"Are they sisters?"
Its like there's a whole world of sisters out there and finally I'm part of it.
Thats it for now, I'm getting tired of this typing thing. If you want to read more you shall simply have to read the book. Thats it for today. Good day and good night.

There's more than one way to cook a chop

Well now I'm worried. Last night I ate supper. And then an hour later I was hungry, so I had a snack. A very healthy snack: a pear. OK, OK. I'll admit that I sectioned the pear and dipped it in boiled chocolate. But it was still for the most part very healthy. And then, about an hour after that, I was hungry again. I looked and looked for something to eat, but there was nothing really appealing, so I simply went to bed with a book. But the hunger was still there. And I started to think "what if I have a tapeworm?" Why else would I have this insatiable hunger?? I'm getting a little nervous about it now. Every cloud has its silver lining, or so they say, and I suppose the upside to having a tapeworm would be that you could eat and eat and eat and not gain any weight. In fact, I actually remember once hearing about this diet pill that you could buy, and it was really effective, everyone who took it started shedding the pounds. But then it was pulled from the market because it was discovered that it alls it actually did was cause tapeworms. I'm not sure if thats an urban legend or a true story or what. But anyways, thats the upside. The downside is that- well do I actually have to spell it out for you?? There's a freaking worm growing in my gut. How sick is that?? And whats even worse than the thought of a worm in my gut is the thought of it coming out. I mean, what we don't know doesn't hurt us, right? But I remember hearing this other story once about a girl in high school, and she was eating a piece of cheese but also conversing with a friend and she was just holding the cheese to her mouth while she was talking, when all of a sudden the freaking worm comes out of her mouth and snatches the cheese. Just like something out of Alien or something. Could you even imagine that? So now I'm scared to eat cheese. Which is really too bad because I like cheese, and its really the only form of dairy that I'll eat so without it I'll probably break my first hip at the age of 35 instead of 40. Oh, God. Better start checking out walkers now.
Being the educated person that I am I know, of coure, that there's another explanation for the hunger I've been experiencing. The other possibility: repressed memories of childhood sexual abuse and I'm literally stuffing food down my throat to cram the memories in further and further. I really don't know what to hope for- the worm or the abuse? They're both pretty nasty. Hard pressed I'd have to say the abuse would be worse. But then- maybe not so much if the memories are repressed. I don't know. I'm just going to try not to think about it.

As if I didn't have enough on my mind, enter a new problem, well not so much new, just revisited: Marital Strife. I come home from work today. Its 5:24. No supper cooking. My husband said, by way of an explanation, that he was going to make pork chops but there was no tin foil. Okay, now maybe its just me, but I honestly don't see what A has to do with B (the A being the Pork chops, the B being the tinfoil). But apparently, he was going to make Shake'n'Bake, and you need the toinfoil to do the Bake part. Here are some suggestions that I can think of in thirty seconds, but none of which appeared in my husbands brain today:
--fry the pork chops
--Throw some lemon pepper on the chops and grill them
--Throw a can of mushroom soup on them and bake them
--Cut them up and stir fry them with some veggies
Like, is it really rocket science?? I don't understand. He can run the entire food and beverage department of a million dollar company but he cannot fry a freaking pork chop. And then he says, he says 'well we didn't have anything else to make and I couldn't go to the store because I had the kids" And its like "Oh really?? You can't go to the store with the kids?? Guess I must have missed that memo because here I've been like a fool dragging them around with me every damn place I've gone for the last ten years." I'm honestly rethinking lesbianism. I'm sure that if I were married to a woman, I would come home to a clean kitchen and pork chops on the table, how-ever they were prepared. I'm sure I could get past the whole homosexuality thing in time. I mean, I never really pictured myself having sex with a balding man with dentures, either. It wasn't exactly in any of my fantasies, but alas we make compromises. Anyways, the whole point is probably moot anyways because who's gonna want me with the whole tapeworm/sexual abuse thing I've got going on??

Noteriety- or something sorta like it.

Well I have finally achieved it- notoriety. I got an email this morning from a person at Ford asking me to post my blog on their website- fordbloggers. com. Anways, I was trying to think why on earth they would solicit me for this but then I realized-- I made mention yesterday that my neighbor drives a Ford. I think they probably flag all sites that mention their name or something. In essense, what they want is that I would write about Ford on my blog, I guess. I'm not going to, though, because, really, how much can I write about Ford?? I drove one once and it was a peice of crap. But, to be fair, I think it was a piece of crap because it was thirteen years old and had two hundred and sixty some thousand kilometers on it. Any vehicle that heavily used would probably be, you know, not that great. It actually wasn't so bad- it drove pretty good. But then one day, it suddenly was no more. Of all the places where it could have died out on me, where does it have to happen but the McDonalds drive through. I'll never forget my panic when the voice in the intercom said 'please pull ahead', But I coudn't pull ahead, the vehicle was just dead. "Ma'am, ma'am are you still there?" "Is everything OK ma'am?" as I kept on trying, in vain, to restart it. And then there was Gage, with his wierd phobia of running out of gas/stalling in a vehicle for some reason, although I honestly don't understand it as we've never run out of gas before in his life. He was freaking out "Get me out of here!!" Crying and screaming and grabbing frantically at the handles. Honestly, you'd have thought that the engine had a bomb in it that was about to detonate. Anyways, alls well that ends well. Some nice young fellows came out and pushed me out of the line up. And that was the last time I ever drove 'the grey ghost'. Rest in peace.

But this whole thing with Ford has given me a new hope. A new reason to live. You see, Ford contacted me after I posted their name on my blog. And, as a loyal reder, you must know that I've already made mention of Matt Damon on here. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll hear from him soon. I'm going to have to get my highlights fixed up a bit. And I wonder if I shouldn't spring for a bikini wax?? One can never be too sure.

Bed shopping went well today. We got a new bed but its in Edmonton right now. It will come to Saskatoon this week sometime and we can pick it up on Saturday! It is s-w-e-e-t let me tell you. Its one of those pillow top ones with that memory foam stuff. Its like laying in a bowl of jello. Except its not sticky or wet. Or lime flavored. Hmm. Upon reconsidering, perhaps its not so much like laying in a bowl of jello. But when you lay down it just molds around you and you sink right in. I could have fallen asleep right there in the store. I can't wait. And even though I have already said that I don't like dealing with the Brick because they're a bunch of scam artists who wear too much hail gel and may as well go into business with the bastards at KFC and run a company called "We're going to charge you up the ass for service that is more or less non existent". But let me tell you, we got a really good deal on this bed. And I'm not just quoting what the sweet talking sales person said. It was regular two thousand dollars but it was on for half off. Can you believe it? Are you still with me or have you fallen off your chair?? Are you OK??. Sorry, should have given you some warning. Anyways, please feel free to come over next weekend to check it out. Just give me a ring before you come, because I'll be fertile then so the bed could be in use, if you know what I mean (wink, wink).
Well, I guess that's it for today. TTFN.

Hope really does spring eternal

Today I took my little darlings to a movie- seeing as my husband was unavailabe due to his work schedule. So since I was bringing them instead of Geoff I had to pick a different movie, didn't really think that 2 year old Payty would be much interested in The Good Shephard - which chronicles the origins of the CIA. So we saw Charlottes Web instead. It was actually very good, though sans Damon. It was moving because first off the movie itself was kind of touching. But more than that, it moved me because as I was watching the film I could clearly remember reading the book as a child of eight. And it struck me, here I am twenty one years later, watching the movie with my own children, one of whom roughly the same age as I was when I, myself, read the tattered pages of E.B Whites classic book. The passage of time, normally so subltly slow in the minutiae of day to day life, was suddenly clearly illucidated. It was a feeling that left me both happy and sad simultaneously. Happy about what I had accomplished in the intervening twenty years- more proud of my children than anything else. I love my kids for their unique traits- Gage, so pensive and anxiety ridden "mom are sure we have enough gas to make it there?", and Payton, so polite and social "but I don't know how, mom," when you tell her to go to sleep. But I also love them for the relationship they have with each other. Nothing warms my heart more than seeing the two of them interact, seeing Gage comfort her when she cries or making her giggle the way that only he can. I so anxiously look forward to what a third child will bring to the family dynamic. Anyways, but I was sad all at the same time, thinking that in another twenty years I will be fifty years old, likely a grandma and my own children will have left their childhoods behind. I'm getting a little verclemp. I'll give you a topic: euthanasia. Discuss amongst yourselves.

All right, I'm back. Okay. Anyways, the topic of the blog. Hope springs eternal. Now you know that I got my period the other day. But even still, there is still this crazy part of me that thinks I could still be pregnant. My period was a lot lighter than usually this month. It was maybe a bit heavier than spotting, but a lot lighter than actual flow. And it only lasted two days. It was a little unusual. And my breast still heart. And last night I was so tired that I actually went to bed at 8:30. Anyways, I'm sure you know a lot more about me know than you ever wanted to. I don't know. I was actually contemplating buying a pregnancy test today but then I was like 'no. Get a grip. Give up the dream." A month is not that long in the scheme of things. I'm 95% sure I'll get pregant this cycle. Thats how confident I am in my husbands sperm. They're fiesty buggers. I know this from experience. Anyways, if I do get pregnant this cycle my due date will be October 31st. Cool, hey. The built in advantage is that if I go overdue I can go trick-or-treating as a fat cow, and if I have the baby early I can go as a lactating cow. Imagine the surprise on childrens faces.

Big news on Vanier cresent. The new neighbors have moved in. I have not caught sight of them yet but what I do know is they drive a Ford truck and an SUV of some sort. There couch appears to be some sort of a chinz pattern so I'm thinking that suggests mid50ish. I had been hoping for some kids, or maybe even a teenage girl with a penchant for babysitting. But oh well. I'm pretty antisocial for the most part anyways, preferring to sit in the basement in semidarkness and blog rather than socialize with real people, so I suppose it doesn't much matter one way or another. Well, I will go now. Have a good weekend. Perhaps tomorrow I will bring news of the new bed.

Just some clarification for you, Lorrie

This morning my SIL left a comment about my last post that I must admit, bothered me a little. She actually thought, whilst reading 'A very warm welcome' that I had wet my pants. And I started thinking back, and I remembered a couple of months ago when I was telling my brother a story. I was saying how I was on my way home after a tense Scrabble game at Gail's. I had just turned on to Circle Drive when all of a sudden I was gripped by terrible stomach pain. And there was no way to stop or pull over on the middle of Circle. The upshot of the story is that I upchucked all over the damn place, driving all the while. Anyways, after I told him the story he let out a sigh of relief "oh, you just puked.""I actually though you were going to say that you shit yourself and I kept on thinking to myself- please, no. I don't want to hear this."
So what I want to know is: what kind of a person do you think I am?? I will have you know that my bladder and bowel control are quite excellent. I have had NO issues at all whatsoever in that department-- aside from one rather embarassing incident in kindergarten (thank you Mrs. Labrash for telling me I had to wait until recess when I told you I couldn't wait.). I admit that I may be "lovingly neurotic" when it comes to some issues- but I'm still a far cry from being stark raving full out pissing on yourself crazy. Please, give me that much.

Anyways, moving on. Today is Friday and I am very much looking forward to the weekend. I'm thinking about perhaps taking in a movie on Saturday or something of that nature. I believe there's a little show playing at the cinema that looks rather interesting and also, coincidentally, stars Mr. Matt Damon, who I happen to find rather an attractive sort. And since I missed out last weekend on the popcorn (thank you very much Gage for ruining it for all of us. Well, both of us), I'm going to try to get in on some of that action this weekend. Also of note for the weekend: bed shopping. Hopefully, we shall find something suitable-- though surely we will because anything will be an improvement at this point. Well that is it for now. I must use the washroom.

A very warm welcome

Came home from work today to enjoy the company of my dear children. I was holding Payton and singing "Mary has a little lamb" (her favorite) when all of a sudden I felt this warmth spreading on my lap. And then I realized, it wasn't just warm, it was also wet. Just great. Nothing tops off the day like being urinated on. But she's so freaking cute that I can hardly be upset about it. I will leave you some pictures of her to enjoy at your leisure, since you don't have the luxury of seeing her 24/7-- well neither do I actually, but thats neither here nor there. Anyways, you can enjoy her through the pictures and run no risk of being peed on. Win-win.

Nothing really interesting to report. A very busy day at work. It seemed that everyone needed the nurse- two complex dressing changes, venipunctures, suture removals, injections, a couple of well baby checks and a little bit of counselling to top it off. I'll sleep like a baby tonight.

Now you may know (those of you with calendars) that is January right now. I have always hated the month of January for three reasons:

-- the cold (todays weather notwithstanding)

--the dark

--the post christmas, anticlimactic, shit-I-think-I-may-have-overspent-last-month financial slump. So yesterday I saw this article in this magazine entitled how to get out of debt. Actually, I don't think that was the title, per se, but more the subject matter. I can't really recall the title. But anways, whatever the title was, my interest was piqued. But what a letdown. You know what it said?? You know what it actually said?? It said 'oh yeah, its really simple to get out of debt. Simply pay an extra thirty dollars a week on all your credit cards. You won't notice the money missing, and you'll get your credit card debt paid down in no time'. OK, maybe YOU won't notice the $125/month per credit card (translation- $500/month in my case) MS. financial planner chic, but I'm pretty sure my kids sure as shit will when they're wearing my hypercolor Tshirt from 1993 because its the only article of clothing we can scrounge together for them. "No Gage, I swear- this stuffs gonna make a comeback any day now. Its totally vintage retro- you'll start a new trend". Give me a break. I mean, do you actually have to have an MBA to know that making larger monthly payments will get you out of debt faster?!? Obviously, I'm well aware of that. Its just the impracticality of actually doing it. What a waste of my time. Three minutes of my life I will never get back. And you know what they say... time is money. So now I'm actually even more in debt, thank you very much. Well, peace out. Pizza's here.

Deeper the descent into the heart of madness

As you may note by the title of this post, my mood has darkened substantially today. First off, this horrible cow of a woman pissed me off straight away at work this morning Can't really get into it, confedentiality, blah, blah, blah. Anyways, so that pretty much sucked. I stayed low in my office for a bit. Then I thought 'extreme irratibility- maybe a sign of pregnancy??". But then that hope was extinguished when I went to the bathroom and discovered that my 'friend' had finally decided to pop in. Not a very good morning all around, I would say. But then I talked to one of my coworkers about it and she went out in the waiting room and told that miserable cow to get out of our clinic and never come back. The lady was arguing a bit but Del just told her 'we do not allow people to abuse our staff' here'. So she left and a note was put in her chart that she was banned. Good riddance. I felt better after she left but I just hate crying. They say its supposed to be good for you but you always just feel so drained afterwards. And then, at lunchtime, I burned my mouth eating soup. It was just one thing after another. But the good news: my fortune cookie said "you will recieve an unusual gift". Although I'm sort of nervous about that. Where I work I'm not sure that I want to know what an 'unusual gift' might entail.
Oh, well. I guess things are fine. I will take a bubble bath tonight and open a bottle of wine. I will take my kids shopping and buy something really cool for them. Try to live vicariously through them where a nerf ball holds all the potential in the world.
And PS- I will drink the wine and take the bath after the shopping trip, just so you know. I'm not planning on getting corked and then dragging my kids out in public with a bathrobe on and curlers in my hair. Not yet. That may be looming in the horizon...

If A Crazy Person Falls in The Forest..

So, I guess, it seems apparent that I must be crazy. I did that test this morning (with my EMU, no less!) and it was El Negatario. (I have this thing, a quirk, I guess- that if I make the word 'negative' appear spanish it makes it seem less negative. It seems happier somehow- more positive. Its like a fiesta). But I still have not got my 'moon time'. And my breast hurt like a sonofabitch. But I guess that could also be premenstrual, so who the heck knows anymore. So I concede that I could be crazy. But then, that brings to light a whole other issue. Would a crazy person actually concede that they could be crazy? It seems to me that truly crazy people actually believe that they are sane, and that the rest of the world is crazy, or otherwise out to get them/CIA agents/aliens who have perfected mind control. The mere fact that I question my sanity naturally draws forth the conlusion that I am therefore sane. Right? Its just like the age old question. "If a tree falls in a forest, does anyone hear?" Except for without the trees. Or the forest. But, in essense, the same.

Anyways, pressing on. I had my doctors appointment today. It went tickety boo. In and out in half an hour. My doctor apologized for not being able to see my last time to the point that I felt like an asshole for getting into a big snit about it in the first place. But bless her. She basically said we were 'good to go' as far as trying to get pregnant again. She was also able to decipher the cryptic, inscrutable pathology report. Basically, bottome line, she thinks that the placents abrupted (that is-- a part of it tore apart from the uterine wall- thereby causing a massive bleed). I feel a bit better knowing that. At least I kind of know what caused the baby to die, though we will never know why the placenta did that. She said it was just a freak thing, though I do have my suspicions about it. She said as soon as I get pregnant to book an appointment so we can do an ultrasound as early as possible to establish that its a 'normal' pregnancy to begin with. So that was good. Oh, and one more thing. She said that I seem to be "in a very good space" right now. So there you go, for those of you who not-so-subtly suggested I could be "losing it" who shall remain nameless-- MOM-- Where did you get your PhD MOM?!?--- oh yeah, that's right. You don't have one. Hmm. Interesting. Whom shall we believe now? I don't know (when you read that last sentence please say it with sarcasm. If you did not do so, please go back and reread it).

What else?? I guess that's it for now. If I don't get my 'moon time' tomorrow I will do another test on Thursday morning. I just hate all this cursed waiting. If I was going to get my period I wish I would just get it already. Christ, it would be damn well over by now if it came when it was supposed to. But such is life.

Still no sign

Here we are, day three after my period was supposed to start and still no sign of it. I plan on testing my EMU tomorrow morning (for those of you not in the know thats Early Morning Urine. EMU is the "gold" standard--pardon the pun, I simply couldn't resist throwing it in there-- of urinalysis, as it is the most highly concentrated). But I will NOT be posting the results on this blog as some of you, who shall remain nameless-- MOM-- think that I am going "crazy" and "losing my perspective on things". Whatever that means. Imagine my surprise when I get invited to a nice dinner out last night at Gail C.'s (I scoped it out- the magnet is being very well utilized and prominently displayed), only to discover upon arriving there that the true reason for the evenings get together is to host an intervention for me and my little pregnancy test addiction. I managed to convince them that I wasn't an addict. I have been clean as a whistle for four days now. Or wait, no, three. But still. Three or fours days, its all the same thing. The point is, is would a bona fide junkie really be able to go three or four days without a fix?? Indeed, would a junkie actually use the words "bone fide"?? So, clearly, you can see that I am perfectly in control of the situation. Although I did smuggle out a test for the morning. But I'm sure that the company doesn't mind that. Anyways, I guess we shall in the morning who's the crazy person.

Other than that, there's not much really going on. A bit tired today as I didn't get much sleep last night due to my dear husband. And no its not what you think. He was at his friends house yesterday to watch the game, and helped himself to quite a helping of bean dip. This did not make our bed a welcome place to be. I was so mad that I took my blanket and slept on the couch, albeit not very comfortably, but at least the air I was breathing was not toxic. A word of advise: if your hosting a football party for a bunch of middle aged dudes: DO NOT serve bean dip!! God, what was he thinking?!? Or at least if you do, serve it with a side dish of Beano or GasX or something. Something. So hopefully tonight will be a better night. Even the animals wouldn't sleep with Geoff. It was me and the cat and the dog on the couch. I think I've said enough. I shall go now.

So Far So Good

The potty girl is continuing to go potty. 5 out of 5 times for today. And this morning she woke up with a bone dry diaper. We are going through the stickers like... like I don't know, can't seem to think of an appropriate metaphor, but my point is we're going through them quickly.

Geoff and I have never owned a bed of our own. Its sad to admit it, but we've been sleeping in hand me down, crap beds for the last eight years. The first bed we had was a double bed that he had from his childhood. Being that he was in his thirties when we moved in together, it was on its last legs even then. So then, a few years ago, we got a bed from my parents that once belonged to an aunt and uncle of mine. God only knows how old it is. But it, too, is on its last legs. So finally last night we decided that we absolutely must buy a new bed. Neither one of us is crazy about spending that kind of money, but we have little choice. We're practically sleeping on the floor. So next weekend we're going to the Brick to buy a new bed. Now, you may know that I hate the Brick, and have sometimes referred to them as the Prick because of their propensity to screw you over and screw you over hard core at that. Geoff and I went there last year to purchase a new TV. It all seems like such a sweet deal when you're there, the heavy scent of leather and abundance of plasma mildly hypnotic. But now, now the bills are rolling in and it is not so sweet. Now we must return to the dragons lair again. But our backbones will thank us for it even if our pocketbooks won't.

Onto other matters, though. My period has still not arrived. Its weird because before my period was due I was so anxious to find out if I was pregnant or not. And now I don't seem to care one way or another. Suddenly the urgency is gone. I have no desire at all whatsoever to do a pregnancy test. I don't know if it's because I'm scared that it will be negative or scared that it will be positive. I was thinking today 'I can't seriously be pregnant already, what are the chances that I would get pregnant the first month that we started trying??" But then I realized, reality check, the chances aren't half bad. Here are the facts:
Gage-- pregnancy number one. I have unprotected intercourse once in my life and I end up pregnant.
Pregnancy #2-- off the pill Sept 21/02. First positive preg. test: Oct 31/02
Payton-- pregnancy number three-- off the pill Sept 20/03. First positive preg. test: Dec 8/03
Pregnancy#4-- start trying: July 31/06. First positive preg. test: August 29/06

So, in summatoin, the longest that its taken us to get pregnant was ten weeks. So its perfectly possible that I could become pregnant the first month of trying. I guess only time will tell. If I don't get it tomorrow I'll do another test. Well, thats all for now. Must get ready to go to Gail C's house. I'm planning on doing some snooping to see if she really has that magnet on her fridge. Oh- and Jen C. I'm going to mail your magnet tonight. Oh, and Nikki, based on your comments on my last posting, I think that you need to start you own blog. There's a wealth of material on the underwear shopping alone.

The Potty Girl

Big day today. Payton woke up this morning intent on wearing panties. Traditionally, in the past, this had led to urine ending up everywhere but the toilet. But I thought, what the hay, give the girl a chance. So she's been in panties for about twelve hours now. And she's gone to the pottie three out of four times. I took her shopping to Superstore and we picked out new panties (with kitties) and stickers. She's done pretty good. My little girl growing up. I was going to take my other child, Gage (9), to a movie. But then he kind of ticked me off. He was playing with Paytons playdough and he wouldn't let her play. She was crying. I talked to him about letting his sister play with him and he was a total dickhead about it, just arguing with me and copping an attitude. So I made a split second decision to cancel the movie. Now I know what my parents used to mean when they said 'this hurts me more than it hurts you' because, damn it, I really wanted to see that movie. And I had a hankering (shall I use the term CRAVING???) for movie theatre popcorn. Now I know you can buy so called "movie theatre popcorn" in the store, but it's hardly the same thing. Anyways, I'm getting a little off track here. So I cancelled the outing. Yesterday a coworker of mine who I hold in quite high esteem made a remark that we do no favors for our children if we raise them to be adults who are totally unlikable. And I realized, of all the things that I would hope my children will become- rich, successful, smart- I hope that above all else they are likable- caring and compassionate and polite with a social conscience. Not only does it benefit others but also, you fare alot better in life if you are a likeable individual. So I just hope its not too late after nine years of my previous parenting philosophy "My son is perfect and if you don't think so you can just screw yourself". Everyone is probably wondering about my period and whether it came or not. Well... so far no sign. But who knows, I could get it tomorrow. Its not an exact science and it sometimes is a day or two late. Anyways, I guess I'd better got off of here. I'm at my parents house and I should probably socialize. I will continue to keep you posted.

The Ban Is Lifted

Yesterday, or was it the day before?- I asked you to support me in boycotting KFC, due to some rather shoddy service on thier part. But I have to let you know that last night, in a moment of weakness, we picked up a bucket of chicken. And I still do maintain that they are a bunch of no good rotten jerks, but I can't help it if their blasted chicken tastes so good. And it was the kids. They really wanted to have it. So what were we to do? Deprive them and have them hate us and then possibly open fire on thier classroom later on down the line from all that stifled anger? I knew you'd see it my way. So I guess, in light of that, the ban is lifted.
So tomorrow is the big day. D-day. And by D day I mean period day. So this will be the moment of truth. I can't really predict which way it's gonna go. A part of me is like "I'm for surely preggo", but then another part of me is like "no, you're not." I know you're probably thinking, obviously, I'm going to get my period. And I admit that you would be somewhat justified to think that- what with the blankety blank pregnancy tests that have turned out to be negative (I'm not going to bother to put an actual number-- is it really so important to quantify it?) But don't forget there was that one, that one with the possibility of a hue of a positive. And another thing. Last night I was trying to sleep, and I was so tired that it was like I couldn't fall asleep because I was so tired. Now, you probably don't think that that makes much sense. But it was like I was so tired that I was uncomfortable, and I was so uncomfortable that I couldn't get comfortable. And I couldn't sleep. And I thought to myself, I thought 'self, this is a different kind of tired'. Its not just your ordinary end of the day tired. Its a tired where your too tired to sleep, which is very bad indeed. I know it seems absurd, but it is possible. I've gotten so hungry before that I wasn't hungry anymore. You know, you get to a point where your stomach hurts and then you just don't even want to eat anymore. Anyways, such paradoxes exist. Its all part of this crazy world we're living in.
So, I guess thats it for now. I will keep you abreast of developments as they unfold over the weekend. I trust you will keep your computer near at hand.

The Impatient Patient

I had my doctors appointment this morning at 9:45. I told my boss I wouls be in by around 10:30 thinking forty five minutes would be plenty of time. But apparently my doctors office is in kahoots with the folks at KFC and suscribe to the 'slowest service possible' philosophy. It was 10:10 and my name hadn't been called. So I went and asked when I was going to be seen. They said 'probably about half an hour- there's still two people ahead of you'. A bit better than 'oh, I don't know', but still pretty darned frustrating. I was like 'well I can't sit here all morning, I'm due back at work in half an hour'. And she was like 'do you want to reschedule then?" so I said 'fine, when's the next available appointment?" Her response? You won't believe it. March 11th or some such thing. I was like 'well she told me that I was supposed to see her six weeks after my miscarriage. Its already been two months. If I have to wait another two months then we might as well just forget it. I mean what is the point of going there six months after the fact or whatever. I was very upset when I left. So now I don't know what to do. I'm either going to have to accept ridiculous wait times or else find a new doc. But you know what its like finding a new doc. I really like her and want to keep seeing her but I simply can't sit there all day and night. My coworkers don't mind me slipping out for an hour for an appointment, but if its going to be longer than that it becomes a problem, as there is noone to cover for me there and the patients begin to pile up quite a bit. Anyways, after my outburst and throwing the 'm' word in her face she become all apologetic and offered me an appointment on Tuesday at noon. But I have visions of myself sitting there all lunch hour waiting, thinking forlornly of my bologna sandwich left behind. Please don't take that too literally. I'm just saying it to be melodramatic. I don't actually eat bologne. A wise person once told me 'if you don't know it's parents- don't eat it'. I abide by that rule. For the most part. I can't help it if I like those darned pepperoni sticks so much.

So my day was no better today. And then I thought when I got back to work "I know what I'll do to pick myself up-- (can you guess it??)-- A PREGNANCY TEST. But then that was negative. Not even that slight hue I thought I detected yesterday. Very disapointing. The highlight of my day came when my coworker brought me a raspberry hot smoothie from Tims, caffiene free (just in case). It was a little thing, really, in the scheme of things. But just in light of the pissy week I've been having, I was genuinely happy for the first time today.

Exciting news: I've hired a house cleaner for four hours a week. She will come Fridays from 1-5. I think this will help me out a lot. Its like I work all week outside the house, but then on the weekends I spend all my time trying to get the inside of my house in order. And its a futile battle. The more I clean, the more the kids mess it up. So tomorrow I get to come home from work to a clean house for once in my life. But its strange, I almost feel like I need to clean the house before she comes. Its pretty messy. I don't know if I can stand a stranger in my house milling about my mess. But I guess I will just have to get used to it. Hopefully she will not report to child welfare for the state the house is in.

Crossing over

I am beginning to think that I have crossed over from 'neurotic' to 'psychotic'. But lovably psychotic. Rather like that fellow Norman Bates in that charming hotel. I have told you before that I tell all on this blog. But there is, I confess, a lot that I leave out. To be frank, I can't even count the number of pregnancy tests that I've done. And frankly, I think it may be getting a tad out of hand. But I don't know how to stop. I tell myself I'm going to stop, but then the urge hits. And I just can't control it- with all those tests just laying around, practically begging to be used. You can hardly blame me. But I hit rock bottom today. I was standing on a stool, holding the test to the light and tilting it to a 45 degree angle, and when I squinted my eyes a certain way I could have sworn that I saw the vaguest suggestion of a positive result. It was faint to put it mildly, and after a while, I realized just how crazy the whole thing was. But that didn't stop me from picking up yet another pregnancy test on my way home from work. The possibility of a positive result was just too exciting. So I got one of those that you can test five days before your period is due. But it was clearly negative. So I'm just going to discount that one and revert back to the other one- which was negative as well, but if you held it to the light and held it a certain way it looked as thought it could have a slightly positive hue to it. Oh, I know. I'm crazy. Losing it. Lovingly psychotic. Off the nut. Whacko. You get the picture.

Onto other matters, as you know, I am seething with KFC for thier recent antics (if you are unaware then check out the post 'And the freaking chicken never came'). I am publically pleaing with all of you not to give them your business. If you are a fan of this blog, please boycot KFC. Perhaps if all six of us stop eating there they will realize thier dreadful mistake and come crawling back. They didn't know that they were messing with such a powerful woman, indeed- a public figure, really. Lets send them a message!! In keeping with that, I am goint to post a list of all the restaurants that I am through with:
Taco Time- I ate there on October 19/06. October 20th 0700hrs: I wake up with horrible stomach cramps. I go to the washroom. What happened after that was crazy, and I don't even know if I should publish it on this blog. But I've made a commitment to 'tell all' so here it is. I don't want to be vulgar, so let me just paint the picture for you. A picture is worth a thousand words anyways, right. Think of the bathroom scene from Dumb and Dumber. You all know what I'm talking about. That was bad enough as it was, but at the same time I realized that I was also going to throw up. Horrified, I did a quick scan of the bathroom, my eyes darting wildly here and there, trying to hold it in, but there was nothing- no bucket or bowl, but I could not get off the toilet, not for a second. Anyways, suffice it to say that the bathroom was not a pretty sight after that. And I will never eat at TacoTime again. And I implore you: if you care about your gastrointestinal health please do not eat there either.
Homers Pizza- Its a long story but I'm just mad at them. There are plenty of other pizza places out there. I would recommend Family Pizza. They are super nice. In fact, one of thier delivery personnel actually saved my dogs life once. Its the truth. The entryway to the house was wet, and the dog was standing there, and then she stepped onto that metallic strip at the bottom of the door which was all frosty cuz its cold outside. And the pad of her paw, being wet, got stuck, and she kept on trying to jump up on the pizza guys leg, but she was crying cuz everytime she jumped it hurt. So he got a glass of warm water and got her paw unstuck, all the way talking to her and petting her and reassuring her. So he got a pretty good tip that night. And no I don't mean that in a porno movie kind of way. I mean it in strictly a monetary fashion. But its just heartwarming though, isn't it?
So I wanted to leave you with one last thing, a testomonial from a client who recieved her magnet yesterday. "This magnet is magnet-ificent!!" Isn't that clever??

And the freaking chicken never came...

I came home from work tonight- did you sense it?- in a rather dark mood. So rather than cooking we decided to order chicken. An apparently easy solution. But, after waiting two hourse we thought we should phone and see what the hold up might be. But the friendly people at KFC are not so friendly, or smart. They're like 'oh, I don't know'. When will our food be ready? "oh I don't know", has it gone out yet? "oh, I don't know", is there anyone we can talk to who might know? "oh I don't know". So we said, well then I guess we'll just cancel our order if you can't even tell us when we might expect it after two freaking hours of waiting. And he was like, 'okay'. Click. So now its eight oclock. The kids have not eaten and are miserable because they're hungry and we've been promising them fries for the last two hours. Argh. Screw the booze. Where's the razor blades?

Friggin' Tuesdays

I was checking out the agenda for the staff meeting tomorrow. Item number 4: Internet use policy. Now I'm totally ticked off, anticipating this big lecture about not using the computer for personal use. Argh. I honestly don't see what the harm is in checking my emails at work. For me, telling me that I can't use the computer is like saying I can't use the phone. Its my lifeline to the outside world. Not to mention the fact that practically everyone else I work with are smokers, and they take several liberties during the day to go out to smoke. But I cannot use the computer for a moment or two here and there. Total BS but there is not much I can do about it. I hate my job.
Another reason I hate my job: yesterday I did two pregnancy tests. One girl was sixteen with a four month old baby already. The test was positve. She was happy, though I can't understand why. The other one was a woman with five kids already. She said she wants to 'get rid of it ASAP'. Then today, another pregnancy test on this woman with three kids under three. Positive. She was crying. I don't get it. Have you not heard of birth control?? It seems that everyones turning up pregnant but me these days. I don't get it. But what can you do?

I know my blogs aren't as interesting as they used to be. Someone (namely my mom) was complaining about yesterdays content. I now understand the pressure that movie stars are under. Its hard to always be putting on a happy face for your public. The pressure gets to you, and next thing you know you turn up on the cover of a tabloid with your hair all messed up and looking blotto. Speaking of blotto, I think I shall have a drink to cheer me up. Thanks for tuning in.

Friggin' Mondays

Well, here I am in my post pregnancy test slump. Not to mention the fact that my husband bought me an iced cappucino at 9:30 last night, which seemed very thoughtful at the time, but was a little annoying while I laid awake half the night, unable to sleep a wink. I don't know what those things are made of-- straight NoDoze?? Take it from me, don't have one right before bed time. So today I'm tired and irritated that I must be back at work.

The fridge magnet promotion was a huge success. Some of you did not give your mailing adress, so this is a slight problem (Jennifer C. and Lorrie. S this means you). It is not too late to recieve your magnet, simply email your adress to randiner@shaw.ca. The other magnets were sent out on Saturday so should be arriving later this week. Everyone answered the questions correctly so this means that people are paying attention!

Anyways, there is nothing much new with me. I really should have been doing this blog at three in the morning when I was hopped up on caffeine, because right now I just don't have much creative outflow. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day. TTFN.

Good news/Bad News

Bad news first. I waited all blasted day for that "stat" bloodwork to come back. Finally I phoned the lab. Negative as negative can be. But, oh, well. Thats OK. Its still pretty early on, and there are many more pregnancy tests out there. I just ordered a shiny new box today...
Good news is I can drink tonight! I am meeting up with Jennifer C. and Jodie C. later on this evening, so that should be a good time. Anyways, just wanted to let y'all know.

The waiting game

I got a req. for the pregnancy test yesterday afternoon. It burned a whole in my pocket all night long. I just couldn't wait to get it done. But then, a setback. My vehicle is a no go. I guess thats what you get for driving a 1994 vehicle. And leaving it unplugged when its minus forty four outside. Woops. Geoff had to drop me off at work today so I wasn't able to go the lab and get the test done, as he thinks that I'm "neurotic" for even doing a pregnancy test at this early stage. I was actually considering drawing the blood on myself here at work. The only hard part would be whether or not I could actually put a needle into my own vein. But then, a glimmer of hope from an unlikely source. The doctor that I was working with offered to try, which let me tell you was very nice of her because doctors don't do blood. They send people to labs to get it. So she certainly went out of her way. She said 'tell me which tube to use and which vein to use'. She got it on the first try. Only afterwards did she tell me that she was horribly nervous about it. But she did a good job. So now the blood is in a lab somewheres being processed. The results should hopefully come in soon. I'm getting pretty impatient. Every time I see a fax come through I get this surge of excitement "my results!". But then it turns out to be the results of some old guys colonoscopy. Not that I don't enjoy reading a good colonoscopy report from time to time, but today its just not what I'm jonesing for.
Secondly, I have decided that I must try to keep my readership up. Things are at an all time high. I have now six readers. I recieved SEVEN comments yesterday. Granted some of them were from the same people, but still... Its incredible. So I've decided that its time for me to up the ante. For readers of this blog, I will issue a complimentary Westside Clinic fridge magnet, which I have "borrowed" from the company I work for. All you have to do to recieve your very own fridge magnent is write to randiner@shaw.ca, leaving your name and adress. You must also answer three questions about the blog. Here are the questions:
1) Name one advantage of working in a medical clinic.
2) How many cups of coffee does the new coffee pot hold?
3) What time did my husband get in from his poker game on the weekend?
The answer to these questions are on my blog, so loyal readers should have no trouble. If you answer these questions correctly, I will mail out you magnet (please allow 1-2 weeks for delivery).
I just wanted to thank everyone for thoughts and prayers on my injury- actually, surgery, that I underwent yesterday. I have recovered quite well and the finger is now fully functional again! Its a miracle, and I have no doubt that the power of positive thinking as well as the outpouring of support I recieved is behind it. Thank you, and please don't wait to act on that fridge magnet- supplies are limited.

So thats what letter openers are for...

A freak accident today at work. I won't use the word 'tragedy' as poor Lorries nerves are shot after "Blizzard '07". But it was practically a tragedy. If it wasn't for my quick thinking and the help of my coworker, I don't even want to think about what might have happened. I was going about my morning routine, opening the mail and such. One envelope was stapled shut so I ran my finger along the seam to open it. I honestly don't know how it happened, its a medical mystery, but somehow the darned staple got lodged into my finger. Like really lodged. It hurt like hell. At first I thought I must have got a papercut or something. Imagine my horror when I looked at my finger and saw half of a staple poking out of it. But this is one benefit of working in a doctors office- I rummaged through the med cupboards and found some BetaCain- a topical anisthetic. I slathered a bunch of that on and then it went kind of numb. And then I took a pair of forcepts and asked my coworker to remove it. It hurt. It was bad. There was blood. So then I cleaned it up and put some more betacain on it, which helped. So that was the first part of the tragedy. Now I must face another grueling procedure. I need a tetanus shot. My coworker is going to give it to me, but I begged her to wait until the end of the day. Haven't I been through enough already?? Give my body a chance to recover from my first wound. But now I see the utility of a letter opener. I have always wondered, who the hell uses a letter opener. I mean, how god damned lazy can you be?? Is it really so hard to rip an envelope? But now I know- it's not hard, but it is dangerous. So now I'm thinking that those will make great gifts for people with birthdays coming up (Lorrie- that means you). I would like to get one for work but the budget is probably blown now with that fancy coffee pot and now the trolley.

I am sure that all of you are wondering about the state of my breasts. So I will tell you that they continue to be sore. And because I do not like to wait and also because I work in a doctors office with easy access to pregnancy tests I broke down and took one. It was negative, of course. But now I have a new idea. I think that a blood test is more sensitive than a urine test so I might ask the doc this afternoon if she will order one, and I will do it tomorrow. Another benefit of working in a doctors office: you can order tests on yourself pretty much. And get the results faxed to myself. And I will add the word STAT to the req. so it will be back fast. Otherwise I'd have to wait the weekend anyways, and that would defeat the whole purpose. I just suddenly had this vision of myself three months down the line, still trying to get pregnant but with track marks all over my arms like a junkie from multiple blood tests. If I get to that point, please just tell me that I'm losing it. Anyways, that is it for now as it is hard to type with this finger, which is all bandaged up and still kind of numb. Apparently, painful though it is, staple wounds do not qualify for workers comp. I honestly don't know what it takes if that doesn't qualify.
Enjoy your day and do take extra care opening your mail today if you have not already done so.

Odds and Ends

Before I get to the meat of this post, I would like to fist of all like to take care of some housekeeping issues. First off, I welcome my newest reader, Nikki S. (I have abbreviated her last name so that she will remain anonymous). Since you have tuned in, Nik, I have increased my readership 25%-- up from three to four fans!! This thing is getting huge. I honestly never expected such a wide audience, but it's just snowballed. So just bear with me as it may take a long time for me to respond to all of you.
Secondly, I would like to invite more comments. I can't help but notice that Lorries' blog is receiving more comments than mine-- on one post she actually has 11! The double digits. I can only hope to reach that level of notoriety. Anyways, some of you started out strong with your comments and now they have dwindled away. I count on these comments so that I know I have readers. This relationship is a two way street people. You can't expect me to do all the work...
Thirdly, several of you have indicated to me privately that you are also rooting for the trolley. I appreciate that you are backing me on this dicey issue. I know it represents a higher cost than the pitcher, but I do think that it will be a wise investment in the end. When you have values you just have to stand up for them sometimes, even it means a bigger monetary sacrifice.
So now, for the subect of this post. As you know, I could be pregnant right now even as I type this message. And that is what I wanted to write about. It seems that my breasts have been a little sore these last two days. Its not all the time, but sometimes they really hurt. So now I am getting my hopes up. That's what I hate about trying to get pregnant. Everything becomes a possible symptom. It's like "I went to the bathroom twice this morning- I think I must be pregnant' (Nothing to do with the fact that I drank two cups of coffee this morning and a glass of iced tea); "I fell asleep really early last night, I think I must be pregant"- (Nothing to do with being run off my feet at work for eight hours and then cooking supper, cleaning the kitchen, and struggling with Payton for an hour about bed time); "My pinkie hurts-- is that a symptom of pregnancy??" Its a little crazy, and sometimes I think maybe its all a big delusion. I have to wait until Monday before I can do a test. I hate waiting.
And speaking of waiting, just to let everyone know that I did submit that article to a few magazines. So far, I haven't heard anything back. But it will probably take a good six weeks or so, as it takes a long time for them to wade through all of the submissions they recieve. Anyways, as I far I'm concerned, no news is good news.
One last thing before I adjourn, some of you have been asking about my husband and whether or not he approves of my blog. The answer is 'frankly my darling, I don't give a damn'. I asked him to read my blog and he said that he did. I then asked him what his favorite part was and he said 'uh... all of it?" Which leads me to suspect that he didn't actually read any of it. So then, I figure, if he's not going to be reading it then I can write whatever I want to on here about him. So let that be a lesson to you: better keep reading or else you will be smeared on here like K Fed on Letterman. But in truth, I do love my husband, and feel compelled to tell you that while I might have painted him as a clumsy lover in previous posts, last night he TOTALLY redeemed himself. So on that note, I shall leave you to reflect.

Bingo Hall Romance

Before I get started, let me just bring you up to speed on the coffee pot situation. I don't mean to keep you in suspense, and I know that several of you are quite curious for some news on this front. Yesterday when I got to work it was there. All set up and brewing away. You should see her. A sixteen cupper. Silver, sleek and sexy. And oh, the aroma she puts out. Actually, its basically the same as before because we still use the same discount store coffee grind, but I think that psychologically, it seems to smell better. Everyone was pretty pumped. But then it was brought to our attention that the new coffee pot is quite heavy- and it has to be put away in the back of the clinic every night. Apparently, when full, it takes two receptionists to carry it out front. So this is a problem because we don't always have two full receptionists. We discussed some options. We decided that we could probably purchase a trolly to put the coffee pot on, and this way one person would be able to manage it. So now we have some more decisions to make. The other option is buying a large bucket and then it could be carried out front and then filled with water from the bucket. So who knows what will happen. Its a nail biter. I, for one, am in favor of the trolly, but I'm just trying not to get my hopes up. I must prepare myself for the more likely, cheaper option, of a bucket, and I know that in the end it will suffice. But God, that trolly would really be something.
So today at lunch time I went to play Bingo with my coworker, Sandi. I have never been to a Bingo hall. It was totally an adventure. Here I thought it would be so much fun, but it was stressful. First of all, I didn't have a bingo dabber so I had to borrow one from the chic next to me who had like seven all lined up in a row. She grudginly let me use one (orange- yuck. I wanted the blue), but I don't think she was happy about it. Secondly, they have all these different cards. I thought I could just ask for a bingo card, but then the guy was like 'what do you want? Seven up? Odds 'N' Even? Speedo? So I said, just give me what she has, motioning to the girl next to me. He said that would cost twenty five dollars. So then I said, well maybe not. Maybe I'd just like one of each. It was scary. And then the actual number calling began. I tell ya, they really mean business. Those numbers were being called so fast. I couldn't keep up. And I was getting seriously stressed out because the guy who sold me my tickets was watching my every move, telling me the numbers I had missed, and as much as I wanted to be like 'screw off toothless dude', I was actually really glad that he was helping me out. At one point he laughed at me and said 'whitey, you really suck at this game.' I was like 'yeah, dude I know." I mean, how can a person actually suck at Bingo?? Chess I can see, even checkers. But bingo- even first graders play it. But its hard. And then I thought that I had a bingo, because I had a line. I got really excited but then he was like 'no, its a blackout round'. Okay, so I didn't know that. Anyways, after half an hour my lunch hour was over so I went back to work. My coworker stayed for 'one more'. She said when she came back that toothless guy asked about me after I left. He said 'hey, what happened to my future wife?" Isn't that endearing?? I was like 'I could see him wanting to marry me if I was winning. Hell, who wouldn't want to marry someone who just won the ten dollar jackpot??' But I had lost, and probably because of my own inability to keep up with the game. And he was still referring to me as his future wife. The man has a heart of gold. And I think it is worth mentioning that he wasn't totally toothless. He was only missing a few. Just goes to show that romance can sneak up on you anywhere. Just like in the fairy tales.
One more thing, a quick shout out to my sister in law, Lorrie, for providing me with a picture of my kids for the blog. And for an interesting discussion on spaghetti, check out her blog if you haven't done so already. Have a good night!

Marital bliss

Last night my dear husband went out to play poker with his friends for a "few hours". He came home at six this morning. I wasn't necessarily surprised to hear him come in at this hour. When he said he would be home by midnight I didn't really buy it. But I was annoyed. Especially when he crawled into bed, reaking of alcohol and talking of mosquito nets. Mosquito nets, in the dead of January. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I told him as much. But then this led him to talk more feverishly about the subject. So I tried a new tactic. I feigned sleep, something which I have managed to perfect in our three years of marriage. Unfortunately, I think he's managed to detect it.
I plan on posting everything on this blog. Everything about this pregnancy, starting from preconception on. So there will be stuff on here that is a little personal. However, be assured that I will refrain from posting actual photos or video of the conception. For that material you will have to check out my other web site. Kidding. But just be warned.
So having said that, last night at six in the morning Geoff decides is a good time to 'make love'. I use quotation marks here because I am using the term quite loosely. I'm not sure that drunken, hurried sex at six in the morning qualifies as 'making love'. I'm tired and annoyed with his drunken talk of mosquito nets. So at first I just try to perservere with my sleeping act. But then an idea begins to formulate in my mind. Today is day sixteen of my cycle. Fertility peaks at day fourteen, but you are considered fertile plus or minus three days of that. So that window was still open a crack. So then I thought, perhaps I should just go along with this, "take one for the team" as they say. It might be worth my while in the long run-- because in the short run I'm sure that it will be about as gratifying as watching grass grow. But one must make sacrifices. Now, I know I'm supposed to wait for my next cycle, but I figure, what is meant to be will be. Who I am I to deny fate?
I am taking folic acid. Well, actually I'm taking prenatal vitamins. I was told to finish off my bottle, and at first I must say it was weird washing down Materna with a glass of wine. But you get used to it. Anyways, only two materna left and then I will start taking folic acid. So I'm all ready to go.
The earliest that I can find out will be around the fifteenth of January. They have pregnancy tests now where you can test five days before your period is due. I must admit that I have never actually been able to get a positive result that early. But that won't stop me from rushing to the drug store on the fifteenth to pick up a test. A sucker is born every day.
On other issues, work tomorrow. We've ordered a new coffee pot at work. At first there was vague grumblings about the old coffee pot. The cord was too short for our purposes, it only made 12 cups and we now have a fairly large compliment of staff. And then there was several staff meetings in which this was discussed. And then there was several quotes and lots of back and forth about that. So last week the coffee pot was finally ordered. The excitement was palpable. And even though I don't really drink coffee per se, I must admit that I seem to have caught the excitement. I wonder if I'll sleep tonight at all, just knowing that the new coffee pot could be coming tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Well, I guess thats it for now. I promise to keep you apprised of the coffee pot situation.

A not-so-quick thank you

Wanted to thank everyone for their comments. They make me realize how lucky I am to have such caring and compassionate people in my life. I want to stess that I wrote Losing Reid as part of my healing, not because I am in a lot of pain over it. At this point I am actually doing very well, except for the mannequins in the basement that I mutilate at night when the kids are in bed. Just kidding. But honestly, I am very much back to normal now and everything is okay 'down there' (Lorrie, et al, will know what I mean), largely because of the support I recieved from you people, my family and friends. I want to stress the words my family, as my husbands family only added insult to injury by thier gross insensitivity (for more on this check out the up and coming post 'why my inlaws are outlawed'.)
Anyways, I have submitted Losing Reid to a few different magazines. I'm not going to get my hopes up over it, though, because first of all I'm sure that it won't be published. I'm accustomed to getting rejection letters-- my fiction work 'Blood Relations' received several. But thats OK. My nursing gig will keep the bills paid and the kids clothed. Such is the life of a wannebe writer. Secondly, even if they do publish it I think they pay like fifty bucks for articles, so I won't exactly be able to quit my day job. But it will be worth it nonetheless because I think its an important story to tell. Miscarriage, in my experience, is poorly understood in our society. I think it boils down to deeply entrenched gender issues. By its very nature, miscarriage is solely a womens issue. But trust me, if it were a mens issue, it would be out there. Everyone would know about the pain and the injustice of it. But we women endure it in silence, because we sense that that is precisely what it is expected of us in this male dominated society.
Well, perhaps its just the 'women and gender studies 101' coming out of me now, but I think that it rings true. So I want to try to break the silence and put the issue out there a little more. After all, 15% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, yet I don't often hear it spoken of. Anyways, we will just wait and see what happens.
On to other issues. Since people have been inquiring (well, mostly my mom has been inquiring) but I'm sure its on everyone's mind, I will let you know that my period is due on January 20th. That will be my second cycle after the miscarriage, and after that point we will likely get the OK to start actively trying to get pregnant again. I see my doc on January 18th and I'm sure thats what she will say. So we have about two weeks to go, although at the present moment we are not actively trying not to get pregnant, either.
On a completely unrelated matter, I had to get my muffler repaired today. I had been putting it off for quite some time but today I noticed it actually dragging on the ground, so I had to break down and get it fixed. It cost $277, which was hard to part with, especially at this time of year, but now my van works like new again. It seems as though my pockets have big, gaping holes in the bottom as my money trickles out as quickly as I put it in. But "what can you do when you live in a shoe?" (from Plato, The Republic).
Well that is it for now. Thank you for staying tuned. Oh, and I will have hopefully be able to post pictures soon, but for now my memory card seems lost. At first I thought it was simply misplaced, but I have now upgraded that to hopelessly lost. Its a very small card you see, and given the fact that every corner of my house is crammed full of stuff, it seems unlikely to turn up. Until I buy a new one. Rest assured, the second I go out and spend $60 on a new memory card my old one will miraculously turn up. Murphy's law. Well, enjoy your weekend!

Losing Reid

There was no warning. No spotting. No cramping. Nothing.
Okay, maybe in retrospect there was some warning. Suddenly I wasn’t nauseated anymore, a fact which I was elated about. And I had so much more energy. My pregnancy had taken a sudden turn for the better. Or so I had thought.

At the time I didn’t question the loss of the symptoms. I was seventeen weeks, and it seemed reasonable that those symptoms would disappear at that point.
So there was no obvious warning. I don’t know why that matters so much. If I had had warning, would I be happier now? I doubt it. I somehow don’t picture myself sitting here saying ‘oh, well, at least we had warning. Guess we can't complain’ I can’t figure out exactly how it matters that we had no warning, but yet, somehow, the fact remains: it does.

It was just at a regular prenatal check. I remember sitting in the waiting room, flippantly reading this cheesy romancy novel. My mood was light, like the book I skimmed, and I waited patiently for my name to be called, not anxious or fearful in the least. After all, there was nothing to be fearful of. Just a routine check. Weight, blood pressure, and a quick listen to the baby’s heart.

But a quick listen to the baby’s heart took a lot longer than it should. For the first ten or twenty seconds I was not alarmed when the doctor struggled to find the rhythmic lub dub, a simple sound that conveyed so much. But as the seconds ticked by, a growing dread mounted. The doctor repositioned the Doppler several times, each time turning up nothing but the sound of my own heart beating and a bunch of static. After a few minutes, the doctor turned the Doppler off. She stated the obvious, that she was having a hard time finding the heart beat. But obvious though it was, hearing the words spoken out loud changed everything. It brought the gravity of the issue into startling focus. And though I tried to tell myself that these things happen, that fetal heart rates can be hard to find and it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I couldn’t help but recall my previous appointment, where the heart beat was instantly audible.


Within minutes, I was in another waiting room. It wasn’t so much a room as a small antechamber with three folding chairs lined in a row. Two other people sat, awaiting ultrasound. They were much more composed than I was. They glanced surreptitiously at me now and then but said nothing. A part of me couldn’t wait for my name to be called. I needed to know. Another part of me wanted to give up my turn to someone else when my name was called. I didn’t want to know. My stomach flip flopped with my mind. I felt sick, I felt okay. My name was called. I found myself standing up and being led to a small exam room. It took but a moment for the ultrasound to simultaneously confirm my worst fears and obliterate my highest hopes.
"I'm sorry," the radiologist told me. "You're little person in here has died."
I cried and cried. None of it seemed real. This couldn’t be happening.
After all, we’d had no warning.
Nothing.

They had to induce me into labor. It’s a weird feeling, being in labor when you’re seventeen weeks pregnant. I could feel my stomach hardening. I would put my hand on my stomach, feel the baby in my abdomen. And I always felt this urge to try to protect the baby, to try to stop things from happening. I didn’t want my body to expel it, though I knew intellectually that it was dead no matter what. Dead if I expelled it, dead if I defied my body and kept it tucked away inside me. Anyways, it’s a feeling I can’t explain. I wanted it to be over. I didn’t want it to be over. I just wanted to be back in that waiting room. Reading that dumb book, innocently unaware of everything that lay ahead.


It took a long time.
Throughout the night the pains would come. I would wake up, shift around, fall back asleep. I didn’t try to time the contractions. It wasn’t a happy labor, like in the movies when the wife wakes up and nudges her husband “I think it’s time”. It wasn’t like that. I think I wanted to ignore the fact that I was having contractions. Just wanted to be asleep.
In the morning I woke up to go the bathroom. Going to the bathroom was scary. The nurse had put a hat in the toilet the night before “just in case”. The silent implication of that stared at me every time I went into the bathroom. But I told myself there was nothing I could do. It was going to be traumatic. Whether it happened or in the hospital bed or in the toilet, the baby would come out one way or another.
I went to the bathroom rather uneventfully, though I did notice some blood in the hat, which hadn’t happened before. I stood up to go back to bed. Water trickled out and formed a little pool on the bathroom floor. My water had broken. It struck me as odd. I didn’t realize that the water broke during a miscarriage. Didn’t picture it this way at all. I shuffled back into bed. Startled and scared. I woke up and told my husband, Geoff.
“That’s a relief,” he said.
“A relief?”
“Well, finally, things are starting to happen.”
We had been in the hospital now for about sixteen hours. I understood what he meant but certainly I did not share in his relief. I sensed that things were about to get intense. Was I prepared for what lie ahead? Could one ever be prepared? For this??


We had talked last night, Geoff and I, whispering under the low light of the hospital night light. It would have been quaint had the circumstances been different. I decided that I wanted to see the baby afterwards. Geoff decided emphatically that he didn’t. We respected each others choice. For Geoff it was like the less he knew about the baby the better. But I wanted to know everything that could be known. But now I was second guessing myself. Did I really want to see? And would I really be able to face it alone?
The pains got steadily worse. A resident examined me. Snapping her gloves off, which I couldn’t help but notice where heavily soiled with blood, she said that I was sufficiently dilated to deliver the baby, but the baby was still really high up. As soon as it came down a bit, it would be over with. In the meantime they offered me morphine. I waited for them to hook up the IV and the tears streamed down my face. I was crying because of the pain, first and foremost, but also because of the sadness. I was delivering my baby. What I had anticipated as such a happy moment in my life was near at hand. Except it wasn’t happy. I would leave the hospital with empty arms and a flat stomach.
Well, sorta flat.

It happened fast after that. The baby came quickly and quietly. Indeed, at the time I wasn’t even aware of it happening. A doctor came in to examine me again, a different doctor this time. I felt a kind of gush as he removed his hand. He informed me that the baby was passed. And with that it was over.

Later on, the nurse brought the baby to me. Though I was scared for this moment, I knew that I needed to say goodbye. And to know everything that I could know about the child that I had carried. The child that I had lost. He was brought to me in a little wicker basket, which had been made up with yellow blankets. His whole body fit into a bootie, and the little face peered out. I cannot say that the face was cute, nor was it ugly. Google a sixteen week fetus and that’s pretty much exactly what it looked like. What I can mostly remember was how he had his one hand curled into a fist and tucked neatly under the little chin. I remember him that way. Little fingers the size of spaghetti strands. And it gives me a good feeling. He didn’t look cute, objectively speaking, in fact he was down right alien looking. But he was posed in a cute way. And that is what my mind has chosen to remember. That tiny ball of a fist.


It is what it is. Nothing less and nothing more.
That’s what I was told by a resident, one of many I had seen during my stay at the hospital. Of all the things I had been told, that for some reason seemed to be the most prophetic. A simple statement, but I come back to it often. So simple, but at the same time so complex. I struggle to make meaning out of it. It is what it is.
But why is it what it is? My logic goes in a circle. Was it my fault? No, it was no ones fault. It just is. It is what it is. But why? Why is it what it is? Why couldn’t it be something else? It must have been my fault. And so it goes round and round. An insolvable riddle. But we live in a strange cosmos where we are forced every day to accept the strange and the incomprehensible. Why do children get cancer? Why is there war? Why does Blockbuster claim that they have no late fees but then charge you “restocking fees” when your movie is late?? It makes no bloody sense, but alas we must simply accept it. It is what it is.
A month has passed and I have never been able to get back into that book I was reading that day. Just can’t seem to go back to that place. But I know that in time I will. For I will bring it along when I go for my next prenatal appointment- I can only hope that one looms in the future for me. And only then, once I am seated in that waiting room once more, with new life blooming anew, will I be able to truly pick up where I left off.

First entry

This is my first entry in my blog, or any blog for that matter. The objective of this blog is to outblog my sister in law, Lorrie, which, it seems, could prove to be a little challenging. The subject of this blog is 'here we go again', which will detail my fifth (and final) pregnancy. I certainly never thought that I would ever utter the words 'fifth pregnancy' in reference to myself, but here I am. No, not pregnant, not yet, but planning on becoming pregnant. Hopefully within the next three months. The countdown is on.
My husband has finally relented and agreed that we could try again. One more time. So hopefully things will work out a little better this time around. It took a little convincing to get my husband to agree. I think he's scared about it, though he hasn't out and out said as much. Anyways, long story short, I cried and he caved. I worried for a moment afterwards that he might feel manipulated into having a baby that he doesn't truly want, but then the moment passed. I mean, if the kid turns out to be dysfunctional because of that I take no responsibility at all whatsoever. Surely any offspring of ours are bound to be dysfunctional regardless. The two that we have already have are strong evidence of that. It took us three hours last night to get our darling two year old to bed. It was an adventure to say the least, as is every night since she got her new Dora toddler bed. The whole time my husband was glaring at me, as if to say 'why? Why do you want to do this again?, they'll out number us if we have a third', which is true, I suppose.
The reason why I want to have a third child, in all actuality, eludes me. Children, they're expensive, they whine and cry on road trips, they'll get fries and ketchup all over the back seat of your new vehicle (if only a new vehicle could be afforded), my kitchen floors haven't been clean since 1997, no matter how many times I mop. But hey, they're cute and the clothes these days are adorable. We thought that we would be finished our family after our daughter was born. A boy and a girl. What more could we ask for? And then one night I experienced a dream in which I had another baby girl. She was so perfectly angelic, and in the dream I was just euphoric over her birth. When I woke up I felt this disapointment, this sense that I was missing out somehow. So then I started thinking about how great it would be to have two daughters. Two girls who could share a room, borrow clothes from each other, talk about boys when they got older. We could have shopping trips and manicures. They would be each others maid of honours in their weddings. Well, perhaps I was getting a little ahead of myself, but nonetheless, once the idea was planted it kept on growing and growing. So we decided to start trying again. We got pregnant easily, almost too easily it seemed. But sadly, the pregnancy came to an abrupt end when I was just sixteen weeks and six days pregnant (for details check out the posting 'Losing Reid', an afticle which I intend to submit to magazines for possible publication).
So now here I am. Not pregnant, but waiting to try again. I find myself not apprehensive about this pregnancy, but even more commited to having that 'dream baby'. Here we go again!