Joined at the Hip

So yesterday was Geoffs first day off from work. Was it as bad as I feared. Hell yes. First of all- they had this Dateline Marathon on on TLC, which of course I really wanted to watch. But no. Football was on. So we had to watch that. It was so stupid. Finally football was over. But then what does he do?? He finds the stupidest movie to watch- Jurassic Park 3- and proceeds to watch that- while Christmas Vacation was on! I watch that movie EVERY Christmas, and Christmas just isn't Christmas without those crazy Griswalds. And what does he do for chores?? Nothing- except for to go behind me after I've already loaded the dishwasher and load it back up again- PROPERLY this time and makes a big huff while he's doing it. Like- OK, I know nothing about loading that dishwasher except for the fact that I'm the ONLY person who's ever loaded it during the entire time that we've lived in this house- which is over four years now. He has the nerve. But I decided to let it go. It's Christmas, why get into a big row over something trivial like that??
And Christmas- another bone of contention. Every time the children pick up thier presents and shake them to try to guess what they are-- and they have guessed some of them- he gets all riled up, like "why can't you guys just leave things alone?" Like: Hello, they're kids- it's what they're supposed to do. And he's like 'back in my day we NEVER did that'. And I'm like- ya, back in your day you didn't get your Christmas presents until your Adopt-A-Family donors dropped them off. And then you were in a foster home and probably got a lashing and a bowl of broth on Christmas, so I don't think we want to hold the children to your standards, do we? Like, let's let them be happy. I know it's a novel concept, but do you think you could try it??????
And then this morning I was reading the paper and I saw this Royal Albert China set for sale- Spring Roses- only $1900!! I really wanted it but then he was like "No- two thousand dollars for some bleeping plates, that's bleeping bleep". He doesn't even know that that's like so cheap for Royal Albert and we really, really need it in case we ever have any fancy company over. So then I gave up on that idea. And then I saw on the front page a cat that was really, really cute and needed a home for Christmas and I was like "Oh, Geoff, but we must get this cat!!" and he was again with the bleeping- which isnt' actually beeping but a bad profanity that I won't put on here because it could be seriously offensive to some people. Like- he doesn't even care about the homeless kitties at Christmas. OH, I would just love to get a few and bring them home and put them in the childrens stockings. Imagine the joy on Christmas morning- assuming of course that the cats survive the night. And then I saw that there was a snowboard for sale- mint condition!! I really wanted to get it, because I've always wanted to try snowboarding and with all the snow we've been getting lately it would be the totally perfect thing to beat the winter blues!! But he was like "No- you've never wanted to try snowboarding. You don't even like to go outside to start the car." And I was like "You're calling me a liar?? Well I won't have it!" And then he took the newspaper away from me.
Who knew he woke up in such a grumpy mood??? God.
So then we were watching TV and an infomercial came on for a scooter that you could qualify for a free assessment, and I really wanted to go for it. And then he gets all mad, saying that I dont' need a scooter for Gods sake, but I was like well, I don't really need it but it would sure be nice for like shopping downtown and stuff like that. I took down the number but he ripped it up. Said I should just forget the whole thing.
Men sometimes. They just don't understand.
Anyways, as you can see, things are not going well.
I'll just skip forward onto other matters. The basement is coming OK. We picked the carpet samples- pretty much exactly the same as what we had to begin with- turns out it's pretty low end stuff to begin with and we don't have much choice. I've tentatively picked the paint color- Nature's Mist- it's like a light sage green color. They are working on the drywalling now and will wrap up tomorrow. Then, after Christmas the painting will commmence. Early January the carpet will go in. Things will wrap up soon after that. I'm excited for the new basement. It has also been a good oppurtunity for us to go through the basement and get rid of a lot of the junk that we have down there.
And finally, one more observation of mine. John and Kate plus 8 is a good show. People like John and Kate. That was all well and good. But then they've started up this new show, this 17 kids and counting with this Duggar family. And now I think it's just getting really carried away. Because this family is really crazy and weird and all thier kids names start with J and the mom looks like she's strung out on coke and hasn't had a hair cut since baby number three (which might very well be the case), I mean the whole thing is just weird. Like- since when do we reward people with the semi celebrity of their own TV show because of their own idiocracy?? Like- the mom must be pushing 50 by now. Give it up. Let it go. Go to the freaking mall and pet a kitten if that's what makes you feel good, but your baby days should be over. So, that's how I feel about that.
And petting a kitty at the mall really does work. Makes you feel all happy inside.
I should activate my Petland card again.
I'll talk to Geoff about that later.

Upheaval

The other day I was sitting before the computer and I noticed that my feet were getting kind of wet. Damn kids was my first thought, as it often is. I thought "yah- they spilled something down there or were wearing their boots down here." Typical of them. Didn't think too much of it. Next day I'm back on the computer and it's still wet. So I get down on my hands and knees and crawl underneath the computer desk. The carpet reeks. Its all wet. I don't know where it's coming from. So I start pulling everything away from the wall and the exact words out of my mouth were "Houston we have a problem". The baseboards were compelely warped and the wall behind it was like buckling- it was all moldy and disgusting.

Merry Freaking Christmas. Here's your gift. Water damage and black mold.

I was really sickened and saddened, but a few phone calls later and I was feeling a bit better. As it turns out, it's covered by our house insurance. So we've had contractors in and out, but basically we're talking a full basement remodel. Ripping walls out, ripping carpet out, new paint job. The bathroom needs to be gutted- so new sink, new lino, new shower. We are excited about the basement remodel- although I think it is going to be a major inconvenience in the short term. Not fun. I am thinking of going really neutral with the colors- a really pale sage green color for all the walls and a beigy kind of carpet. We are hoping to list our house within the next two years, so I will choose the colors bearing that in mind. So that is my life right now. Even as I am typing this there is a heavy duty industrial fan blowing loudly in my ear. Nice.

Everything else is coming along. Christmas is on it's way and I am less stressed now. Just about all done our shopping, the Christmas parties are over with, Gage's birthday is over with. Most of the hustle and bustle is behind us, now we just have Christmas- which should actually be relaxing because we are planning on spending it at the lake this year. I am hoping it is nice outside so that I can take the kids toboganning and ski dooing. And when I say "I can take them' what I mean is that my parents can take them. I don't really want to stand outside in the cold. Not really my thing.

Only a few days left and Geoff will be off for the winter and we will be officially joined at the hip. I am hoping that I will be able to do some writing then, we will see how it goes. He has been off for the last three days, and things have been OK, except for few minor things. For one, he apparently has never heard the words "spray and wash" before. Alex was having bare bum time on the floor on a blanky and did what he always does- decides to take a number two. What I usually do is pick him up and bath him. Once he is bathed, I pick up any affected clothing or blankets, rinse them out in the bathroom sink, spray and wash them and then promply launder them. What Geoff does- wipes Lex with a wet wipe, puts a diaper on him, throws everything in the laundry as usual. Which was not a pleasant surprise when I stuck my hand in there to grab stuff to throw in the laundry. It's just like they say- if you want anything done right you have to do it yourself.

Lowered Expectations

I have heard it said that the best place to meet a man is in the supermarket. I spend a lot of time in the supermarket, not looking for love, but doing far more mundane things like buying diapers and food and such. But whilst doing so, I have often wondered if anyone has ever met their soul mate during a supermarket encounter. Because all of the supermarket encounters that I have ever had have made me really skeptical. Recently, there was a man in front of me at the check out aisle. A hefty man, maybe say in the three to four hundred pound range. And his cart is filled, no overflowed, with 12 Packs of Pepsi (not Diet Pepsi- just Pepsi- rather bold of him I think, but I daresay that he may be rather advanced in his obesity for Diet Pepsi to make any difference at all), Smokies and Doritos. Like, I am not talking about a pack or Smokies and a bag of Doritos. I am talking about a cart overflowing with just these three items. And I'm like- either he's hosting some kind of a children's wiener roast for the neighborhood co op- or he came by his weight problem honestly. And as a nurse, I'm kind of worried about this guy when he gets home. Hello heart attack. It's like- Dude, if that's what you're buying then at least throw in a pack of Aspirin to hold off major heart damage until the paramedics can get to your house. Anyways, he must have seen my quizzical expression, because he offered me an explanation. Poker Night. And he goes on to tell me how he has to stock up on supplies for Poker Night because he lives out of town and yada, yada, yada- the price of gas nowadays (the price of gas- what an original conversation peice there) being what it is you can't drive in and out of town every week because his car only gets x amount of miles per the gallon, which translates to x amount of dollars per trip. And I'm thinking- damn those people who stole my wedding bands. And he's talking and talking and talking and I'm like- you know what, didn't want to hear your life story there Smoky Breath.
And then another time, I was buying lettuce and some guy comes along and he's like "ya, did you see that? The price is up again." And I looked at the sign with the price- because I never look at the sign- I know that lettuce is in around the dollar range and that's good enough for me. $1.38 the sign says. So I was like "well, isn't that usually what it is- around a dollar" And he was like "well, ya, but that's what I mean- it's gone up thirty eight cents." And I was like "oh." I mean, I can do the math, but it's just that it seems to me like such a minuscule amount of money that it's totally inconsequential. But he's like "you have to want a head of lettuce pretty bad to pay that price" and I was like, "I guess", but I didn't really know what to say. It was bizarre. Like, I mean, if thirty eight cents is going to blow your grocery budget then you're in deep shit my pal. I would suggest taking up a paper route or something. Anything. Frick.

So such encounters have led me to an idea for a book- "Shopping for Love" in which a young woman purposely peruses grocery stores to meet men and encounters similarly disapointing results. But then, I thought, realistically, it could be hard to stretch that out into a four hundred page book. So then I decided to write it as a short story. I am working on it now- it is coming slowly as I find it hard to write a frigging word these days that isn't a grocery list, but I am planning on submitting it to magazines and hopefully can be published in that arena first and maybe, maybe that will help me get my novel published. If I can give some kind of credentials that I've been published before. And at first I was thinking of like Cosmo or Vanity Fair, but now I'm like- you know what- who cares? I dont' care if it's published in some obscure Swedish magazine. I'll just change all the names to Sven and Johann. Whatever it takes to get my name in print. So I've lowered my expectations that way. I guess that is the real world. Success won't come all at once but from a series of smaller successes. I hope. I don't know. I just tell myself that to stave off self pity and self loathing and desperation and self mutilation.
Well, either way it probably won't come down to self mutilation.
I am scared of needles and that, need I remind you?
But ya. Those are the plans.

A Tale of Two Mouses

Yesterday I took Payton and Alex to see Santa at Midtown. It was pretty cute. They both got little plush christmas mice from Santa (much cuter and less maintenance than actual mice- note to self). Anyways, Payton pretty much discarded hers when we got home. Lex, on the other hand, loves that little mousy. He likes to bite it, slobber on it- basically abuse it every way possible. Paytons mousy is pristine. Lex's is all matted, the whiskers are all askew, the Santa hat is all cock eyed. He looks like a mousy that hit the holiday egg nog too hard at the office Christmas party and then crashed in some flea bag motel with some cheap prostitute. It even smells faintly of vomit. He staggers into work the next day, trying to downplay things, smoothing out his whiskers and straightening out his Santa Hat. He's like "she wasn't actually a prostitute- really more of a dancer" But I love that mousy. When Lex is asleep at night I just look at it and laugh at how tired and worn looking it already is. I love it because he loves it, not because it looks hungover, although looking hungover does add to his charm. I think in the years to come I'm going to hang it on the Christmas Tree.

Lex is doing so good, getting so big. 5 months old today. We are looking forward to his first Christmas. I think he is, too, though it is hard to tell. Lately he has been falling himself to sleep- as we call it in our house when he falls asleep without any intervention on our behalf. You just put him to bed in his crib, and then he falls asleep. Just like that. We brace ourselves for it- that little whimper that eventually becomse a cry and then a whail. OK- I admit it, we have not gotten past the whimper phase. We do not know what happens after the whimper, but we think that it's probably a cry. But the whimper doesn't come. We cannot believe that this is working. We are cautiously optimistic that it will keep up.


Everything else is going well. I am happy to report that we are using the Celeb margerine and it is working out pretty good. It is good value for your money, and to be honest, I really can't tell the difference. The only thing is that I think it is slighty more watery when melted on popcorn, but I don't really eat the popcorn-the kernels get stuck in my teeth so it's not really worth it to me. So. That's that.

25 Days Til D-Day and things are looking good. Geoff doesn't balk at all at the idea of surgery and in fact is like "I can't wait for it"- I guess he really doesn't like the idea of twins. I think he is likely to go through with it.

A Conversation with Mother

I talked to my mother today. This is what we talked about:
1)Her up and coming dental appointment (extraction. Long overdue, believe me)
2)Possible gift ideas for Gage-- very difficult to buy for (looks like an Ipod could be in store for him).
3)Greyson looking cute at Mason's birthday Party
4)Making a Christmas Newsletter
5)Moms upcoming cookie exchange at the lake (she is to bring 9 tins of cookies to exchange. She is going with the Black Forest cookie- an instant classic)
6)My inadequacy as a mother- one of her favorite topic these days- or should I say rants? Rants would be more like it. The flavour du jour- not spending enough time with the children, not cleaning my floors properly and the fact that I don't know a darned thing about darning.
7)My failing writing career and how she saw on the Ellen show a girl who just wrote this book called "Twilight" and was an overnight success and gee, why couldn't I be more like that. Just write something more appealing and then I would get it right. Honestly. It is no wonder that I have been driven to criminal behavior. She just has to be so in your face.
8) Her ongoing struggle with feelings of sexual ambiguity, recent experimentation that she labels "bi curious", but not gay. She is debating about how much to tell my dad, especially in light of the recent events surrounding his "identity crisis"
All right, all right. So I guess number 6, 7 and 8 are kind of not really true, not in the literal sense, at least. But the rest of the conversation was just so bloody mundane. I had to do something to make it more interesting. They say "write about what you know"- but I have to assume that they didn't mean that literally. Because what I know is not exactly overly exciting stuff. Like- I mean- the price of Becel has really gone up- can you believe it?? Nine dollars for a tub. That's the kind of thing that makes news in my house. Boring. Trivial.
Although I am actually quite flabberghasted. Nine dollars?? When did that happen? I remember the days it was four something, and that seemed pricey. So now we are trying "Celeb"- I guess like a cheap knock off of Becel. I will let you know about that....Haven't tried it yet. I feel uneasy. Change doesn't sit well with me.
Anyways, that is all for now.
Thanks for reading.
Sorry mom.

Terminal Velocity

I have renamed the month of December "Terminal Velocity"
I remember once, at a job when things were starting to get crazy, a coworker of mine remarked "I feel like we've just reached terminal velocity and the pieces are starting to fall off." Well that's pretty much how I feel right now. When I was a kid Christmas was this glorious, magical time when everything was sparkly and sugary and sweet. And now it's just expensive and time consuming and maybe still sweet but even that is my enemy now in the grown up world. The hustle and bustle that was once so charming when I was a kid is now just irritating and annoying. This month will be a busy one for me: school concert on the 3rd, work kids christmas party on the 7th, Geoffs work adult party on the 8th, Gages birthday party on the 14th, kids dance christmas party on the 20th. And then of course, there's Christmas. It just seems like there's less and less time every year, and less and less money but a bigger and bigger list of things to do and people to buy for.
The most wonderful day of the year, indeed.
But, it will be OK. Deep down inside, I DO love christmas. Christmas is great- all that family and togetherness and peace and joy and harmony- of course that's what it's all about. That and the presents. Mostly the presents. But the other stuff is nice, too. Makes the presents nicer.
One year, a rather terrible incident happened while I was Christmas shopping. It is something that I don't normally talk about too much, because of it's illicit and illegal nature. I don't want to spend Christmas in The Slammer. Not this year nor the next. Brings a whole new meaning to "jingle bells." OK that makes no sense but I'm not really that great in the whole Christmas/Jailhouse metaphor thing, never really have been so you'll have to learn to deal. Anyways, what happened was I was doing some shopping, and Payton was then a baby and in her car seat. I paid for all of my items and left the store. When I went to put Paytons car seat into the van, and I realized with a heavy heart that a Teething Ring had fallen underneath the car seat. I did not see it there when I was ringing my stuff through, and apparently, neither did the cashier. So now, there I was, hot merchandise in my hands. Quickly I sped away, fearing that a security gaurd could be hot on my tail. You would think that you would get over something like that. But you don't. Every time I hear sirens I think they are coming for me. It is something that I will have to learn to live with. Shoplifting is no joke. At Wal Mart, they have a big sign that says that, and it also says that you could be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. I'm not sure what that is, exactly, but I'm thinking at least seven to eleven year. At least. Maybe with good behaviour a little less. But still, that haunts me. I have the gastric ulcers to prove it. It's why I smoke a pack a day. Troubled past. Running from the law, the fuzz, the 5-0.
And I guess, maybe, at the heart of it, that's why Christmas is not as fun as it once was. Once upon a Christmas bleary, I stole a teething ring along with a little piece of my innocence. And maybe that teething ring did soothe my babys gums, but I can't use it now to soothe my guilty conscience. Only Wild Turkey can do that.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

D Day

A date has been set.

January 5th 2009

Take the poll... will Geoff get his surgery before it is too late???

Geoff will be getting 'the snipper snappy' as we call it, in the hopes that giving it a whimsical name will make it slightly more appealing, which seems to be working because my husband is taking the bait. So I guess my dream of having twins is out the window. I really didn't get much support for that idea in the first place, though, I have to say. People seem to think that it's a bad idea. They obviously didn't watch the Twins Marathon on TLC. I guess I, too, am coming around to thinking that it might be harder to actually have twins than it was just to see them on TV.

Anyways, I will let you know how Geoff makes out with the surgery- including before and after pictures. (Just kidding.) In the meantime, there is little worry about getting pregnant because Geoff and I have not been alone together in the same room since the day Lex was born. Generally, Lex sleeps with me and Geoff sleeps on the couch- as he gets a better sleep- doesn't like sleeping with the baby in the bed, and I get a better sleep,too- pretty crowded with three of us. So this is the way that it is. It's kind of an interesting thing. My parents were visiting and my dad seemed a bit disturbed by this notion. He offered the opinion that "lack of sex will ruin your marriage", to which I thought a)that is blatantly untrue as he and my mother have been married for thirty years and clearly do not themselves have sex and b)marriages are like children in a way- they can go coast along on Teletoon and Skittles for a long, long time. But then, it kind of got me to thinking about how our generation has such a different attitude towards it. It almost seems like the norm now is that parents eat, breathe and sleep with thier children. Most of the parents I talk to are in the same boat I am in. And the thing is that it is almost something that we take pride in. Once upon a time people would brag about their sex life, and todays generation almost boasts about thier lack thereof. Like it is good to be the self sacrificing parent who forgoes everything. I guess it's just a sign of the times- the parents that have thier children in dance, soccer, gymnastics, guitar, French, German and Portugese lessons. Although, you just never really know when you're gonna meet some Portugese hearthrob and then it will pay off. Our children consume us to the point that there is no 'us'- but for me, I am OK with that. I feel that our children are only our children for a short time, whereas we will be married (in theory) forever. There will be time for 'us' later... Although, I guess then there will be the grandchildren, which I fully intend to be VERY involved with. My son and daughter in laws will love me!!

On an unrelated matter, another thing that I have been thinking about a lot is what people mean when they say "get your shit together". Like this is supposed to be a good thing. "He's really got his shit together." WHY is that a good thing? It makes no sense. And it leaves a really disturbing mental image. I think people need to rethink this phrase. I don't know. It just bothers me. Anywyas, enough of that.

I've got to go and get my shit together.

Are We Done Yet Part 2

So yesterday I posted on here that I would never waver on not wanting another child.
That was yesterday.
Today I was watching this Twins marathon on A Baby Story- Cuz my own baby is stone cold asleep after being awake almost all day and half the night last night. And now I'm convinced that I really, really, really want a pair of twins. OMG they are so cute!! With thier little matching outfits and thier tiny tiny little fingers, and when you put them to sleep in a bassinette together they hold each others hands!! I am TOTALLY crazy jealous of these people who have these precious twins.
I ran the idea past Geoff and of course he's like "I don't think so Randine", ever the naysayser that he is. I can probably work him a bit, he usually will give in to me sooner or later. He did agree with me that twins are cute and it could be kind of fun, but then he was like "Remember when we brought Lex home from the hospital and you were so tired and only sleeping like half an hour a day cuz you were nursing around the clock- imagine that times two??" And I was like "Bring it, baby." Tired is such a subjective term. I mean, who's to say what's tired and what's not??
One of the reasons that I'm so happy to have 3 children is that- let's face it, Geoff and I are both mortal. We will not always be there to take care of our children. Its hard to say that or even think it, but it's sadly true. And it gives me peace of mind to know that when we are gone the children will have each other. We need our family- and I think that giving my children family is the biggest and best thing I can do for them- even if they don't exaclty appreciate it now.
I know how important my own family is for me. My brother and his wife have been there for me time and time again- for little things like babysitting and big things like when I have struggled with pregnancies and even my marriage.
I look at pictures of Lex at birth and even in four months he has changed so much. It gives me much joy to see that, but also a tug of sadness. My little baby, not so little anymore. He has already doubled his birth weight.
Truly, it is hard to know when to call it quits. My house is small but my heart is big. I love children. I love Christmas- seeing them open thier presents with such wonder and joy. I love bathing Lex. I love the chaos, the noise, I love the quiet moments- few and far between. I love reading bedtime stories. And though I say I want to see the day when there the warning "not intended for children under 3" bears no relevance to me, I simultaneously fear it. Who am I if not a mother, a nurturer,...
These are hard questions to answer. I can only hope that Geoff will get his "procedure" done before I have had the chance to ponder it too much.

Are we Done Yet

This is a question I get a lot these days. "Are you done yet?" The answer is yes. After seven pregnancies I am more than ready to hang up my pregnancy pants. I mean, if I don't do it now before you know it I'll be like that family on TV with seventeen kids that travels around in a big bus and wear polka dot dresses. Yes, the time has come to call it quits.
The fact that I'm end of the child bearing road is not something I will ever waver on, but having said that, it's not without some sadness that I arrive at this. I'll really miss those crazy pregnancy test. How much fun it was to have a shiny new one. And I will miss feeling fetal movement. Pregnancy is such a special time. Even labour- the drama, the excitement, the anticipation. It's not that I don't want to have another baby, per se. I would love to have more babies- who wouldn't?? They're cute, they have adorable little tiny clothes, they smell good (usually). But it's the fact that babies come at a price. A bedroom that is not fully mine- a crib beside the bed and doll clothes all over the floor. Treehouse on the TV all the time. Bubble gum tooth paste caked all over the bathroom sink. Going out for two hour intervals only. Ketchup chip crumbs in my bed. Laundry, laundry, laundry. Daycare bills. Fights over dishes. Banging on the bathroom door every time I go to the bathroom "mom, let me in!" It's a lot. Someday I would like to have a house that stays clean for more than five minutes, an uninteruppted bath, a full meal sitting down, a day to sleep in til ten o'clock. These are the things I dream of. Simple things, really, but not so simple with kids. Even right now, I am trying to type and holding Lex and I just got puked on.
Oh, well.
Now onto other issues. Firstly, I recieved another rejection letter the other day. It's frustrating. I will try again with another agent, but I'm now running out of agencies to try. I guess I will have to keep my day job after all, which technically I don't have one right now, but you know what I mean. Now I know why people in the writing industry are all moody and depressed and alcoholics. Honestly.
And speaking of depression, I think I may be. These commercials for anti depressants are like "do you feel like you don't want to get out of bed in the morning?" And it's like HELL YES. There has quite honestly NEVER been a day in my life where the alarm went off and I was like YES!! I get to get out of bed! And just jumped up and was all happy. Usually I am putting pillows over my head tyring to ignore the kids and/or the alarm clock in the futile hope that it will all just go away.
Thirdly.... there is not thirdly. That is it for now. I am moody and depressed and I'm pouring myself a glass of wine.

Highway Robbery

So now I see how these corporate big wig companies work. A few months ago, I wrote about my excitement about the purchase of Gain laundry soap for only five dollars. I have been happily using that laundry soap- very happily- ever since. And today I ran out so I went to get some more. And now, low and behold, they went and jacked the price up to $6.88! I flipped out, asked to speak to the manager. I wasn't going to pay an extra dollar and eighty eight cents when I know darned tootin well that they can and have sold it for a lot less. They must have thought that I just came in off the turnip truck, but they ain't gonna play me for no fool. But the manager, he was all like, blah blah blah, inflation, yada, yada, yada, speaking his crazy manager speak. So I offered him five dollars and fifty cents. I know that the product has a huge mark up on it, so 5.50 will cover the cost of it and we will both walk away happy. Doesn't work that way, or so he says. So I say 6 dollars, final offer. Then he calls securtiy. There was a pretty bad scene, lots of laundry soap all over the place. Long story short, I'm banned from Superstore/Loblaws/Extra Foods. That's how those criminals work, you know the type, real shady, wear bandanas, clocks around thier necks, sucking soothers, listening to rap music like MC Hammer with thier crazy ear plugs, the Bloods and the Crips. They get some kid to try a marijuana cigarette ("a dooby" as the kids call it), offer it for free. Then the kids gets all hopped up, addicted to it, then BAM they jack up the price and if you can't pay then they'll just as soon cut of your arm or take your eye, or both and you'll end up with a hook arm and a patch eye. That's what happened to the pirates. Well, anyways, apparently those dooby smoking rap listening petty thugs grew up to work for Superstore/Loblaws/Extra Foods and work their litttle scam with Gain Laundry Soap. Wasn't gonna work on me, and I dont' care if I end up with a patch for an eye or a hook for an arm.
All right, that's not entirely true. It's true up until the part about flipping out and talking to the manager. Basically, I went, noted the price difference, figured "what's a dollar?" put the laundry soap in my cart, paid for it and went home to enjoy my Apple Mango Tango Laundry Detergent. However, that does not a good story make, so I embellish a little here and there. That's basically the excitement around here.

Onto other issues (note the space, Lorrie), my husband, AKA the Devil, is supposed to be getting a little procedure, which we like to call "they snipply snapply' in the hopes that giving it a cute little nickname will make it more appealing. So far it hasn't really been working too good. He hasn't so much as phoned for an appointment. I am somewhat skeptical as to whether or not he will really go through with this procedure, vis a vis the fact that it took him over three years to go in for a blood pressure check. This ain't no blood pressure check, and he ain't gonna think it's a blood pressure check, unless HE just came in off the turnip truck, which I'm pretty sure he didn't because I haven't seen any turnip trucks around here. I don't even know exactly what turnips are- are they the same as Rutebegga?? If so then I like them. Well, that's besides the point. Anyhoo, I guess things will work out one way or the other eventually.

Lastly, I am thinking about changing my look. The librarian look has been working well- people tell me I don't look like a librarian, but these are the facts: this is my everyday outfit: gray slacks, black shirt (or white sometimes), black wool sweater, loafers, and an updo, Blistex for makeup. I don't really care if I look like a librarian, I mean it's not a bad thing. People like librarians. Its an honest living. And I do like books. But my SIL Lo has inspired me with her new look. She was trasformed from MILCW (mom I'd like to crochet with, for those not down with my made up lingo) to MILF overnight with this crazy sexy cool hair cut. So now I'm thinking about going for it. The only problem is that men will probably be falling ALL over me if I do it, and I'm telling you I really don't need that right now. I've already been preggers seven times, and believe me you you don't even want to mess with me and my uterus. Just say the word sex around me or I've done got pregnant again. But we'll see how it shakes out.
And I just want to say, that when I referred to Lorrie as a MILCW, that was not true, I said it more to be funny that anything. She has never looked anything less than fanfreakingtabulous.

3 Months In

So I'm just recovering now from a visit from my mother. I love the dear woman but she's so critical of me that it can be hard to takem, especially now when I'm feeling so vulnerable on the spur of Geoff's affair. Like the other day, she made the comment that it looks like I'm still pregnant and carrying the baby in my ass. That stung a bit. And then I wonder why I have such low self esteem and why I was a "slasher" in high school and spent more time in the school counselors office than in the classroom. To be honest, I still do it sometimes- slashing. Well, mostly by accident, though. Like the time that I stepped on a piece of broken glass in the kitchen. That was a bad scene. A supposed accident, but who's to say what's an accident and what's done deliberately by a devalued subconscious? It's something that I should definately bring up with my therapist. There's some issues there, I'm sure.
All right, so that's not completely true. My mom never said that. I'm not a slasher. Never have been. Mighta been, maybe, were it not for the whole cutting thing. Sounds painful to me and you know how I feel about that. I still need that tetanus shot, but I ain't gonna get it. No way no how. I'll die of some obscure tetanus related illnessess before they stick a needle in my arm. And I don't have a therapist, although I'm not saying I don't need one. But I really did step on a piece of glass in the kitchen. And a thumbtack in the bedroom, too.
Anyways, the time does go by. I realize it has been three months since I started my maternity leave. Another depressing fact is that it has been almost a year since I first began sending query letters regarding my manuscript. I sent my first query letter November of 2007, eager and excited. Ten months later and the process continues. I sent out another query letter a couple of weeks ago, and am awaiting a response, but not feeling optimistic. After so much rejection it's hard to feel optimistic anymore. It's disheartening to say the least. There are only few agents left to try. I have started writing another novel, so then I guess the process will begin anew when I complete it.
As far as my maternity leave goes, it's been three months and I am starting to tire of it. Geoff is never here. The house is always messy. The dog is always yapping. Even Payton is always whining. It's very hard to hold it together some days. Sometimes I feel like having a temper tantrum right alongside the kids. Life isn't fair. You're telling me. All I have to show for my 8 years of University education is very small house, a very old vehicle and a very limited wardrobe of Joe clothing that is mostly ill fitting and stained. My mom has this magnet on her fridge. It says "A good mother has dirty floors and happy kids." Well, I have the dirty floors down pat. The kids, well they're happy. If you buy them a toy or bring them to McDonalds. Other than that they yell, they scream, they cry, they whine, they tell on each other insessantly for things that are SO stupid that it's absolutely pointless, like for example "mom, Payton pointed at my belly button",and on and on and on.
I love my life. I have to keep on repeating that to myself. I love my life. I love my life. It doesn't really help but maybe someday, eventually, if I say it enough times...
So amidst all this drudgery, I have found my imagination thinking of things that I otherwise might not have considered. Like the other day when I was at Superstore, and I saw a sign at H&R block to take a tax course. So I started to think "I should take a tax course!" Yes, a tax course is exactly what I need!! How cool would I be if I could do taxes! And then I could work for H&R block during tax season. Make a load of extra cash. Maybe get a cute pair of glasses and a power suit. Wouldn't that be fun! And then today, these people came to my door, campaigning for Nettie something or other for the NDP. I took a brochure. The fine print on the bottom caught my eye. "Join our campaign!", it said and it had a phone number. I thought "Hey- that's what I should do! I could just picture myself, life on the campaign trail! All cocktail mixers, dressing up, rooting for a cause, looking through papers with a very serious look on my face. Again, I would need a cute pair of glasses and a power suit. Let's get that bitch elected, I was thinking. But then I thought, well, I can't exactly show up to a cocktail mixer with a baby on my hip and puke on my shoulder. Unless the campaign was in Backwoods, Tennessee. And I can't exactly go to tax school and come home every forty five minutes to breast feed that bottomless pit of a baby.
I love my life.
I'll just keep saying it.

Random Thoughts

1. I love it when I'm brushing my hair and my kids all start to panic and say "Where are you going mom?" I say "I'm not going anywhere." And then they're like "But why are you brushing your hair?" Just makes me feel so good about myself.
2. I hate it when people pronounce the word frustrated as "fustrated". One time I was talking someone with this affliction and I was like "I'm getting frustrated with you not prounouncing the "R" in the word Frustrated. It's not like "February". The "R" isn't silent. I didn't say that, though. Inside voice.
3. Men suck. My husband(AKA the Devil) has a cold and I swear to you that he complained more in one day from a frigging sniffly nose than I did during my whole pregnancy, delivery and postpartum course with Lex. And then he's like looking for sympathy and I was like SHUT IT- again with the inside voice, though. And so then I said to him, I said, on another topic, "I was thinking that we could put Payton in daycare for one day a week." And he was like "What? Are you going to go back to work one day a week?" And I was like "well no, I'm going to stay home" and he's like "What, you mean like, to get caught up on the housework?" I was like "No, like to watch TV and paint my toenails." Obviously the idea didn't fly. My toenails shall remain chipped pink, so I guess I'll just have to learn to deal.
4. I think I may be bad looking. I know for sure I'm not like super gorgeous or anything, but I have always thought of myself as a good solid average. And I'm happy with average, believe me. I stive for average. But every single time I go out, the ugliest SOB in the joint will approach me. Lorrie can attest to this. Remember those toothless guys from the lake?? So these ugly dudes are always like coming on to me, and I don't mean ugly as in just slightly subpar. I mean like totally blitzed drunk, slurred words, no teeth, abnormally fat or skinny- I've seen both extremes- bad BO, the whole nine yards. And I think "Really?" "Really?" "You actually think that you are even remotely in the same league as me??" And then I have to wonder "which one of us is deluding yourself- is you or it me, becuase I'm pretty sure it ain't me, honey. If I didn't laugh about it I would honestly cry. It's pathetic.
5. I will never be hoity toity. I think that people who actually use the word "Hoity Toity" in a sentence are mostly destined NOT to be. But that is something I was thinking about today, for some odd reason- If I had money(and really, people, it's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when-- as soon as I iron out the kinks in the chicken farm idea, I'll be laughing all the way to the bank) I don't think it would change me. Oh, sure, I might buy a bigger house and maybe take a little VayK, but other than that- it would still be plain old me- average, as I said, is what I strive for. I just don't think I could ever justify paying $300 for dinner or $100 to get my nails done. I don't know. I have this spiel that I sometimes say (mostly with my inside voice, again) that the REAL beautiful people in my life are the people who work hard every day- like the volunteers at the food bank or the doctors who work a double shift to keep watch over a sick baby or the people who work with me in the core of the city- where most people would dare not walk- to extend a helping hand to some of the poorest members of our society. It's not glamorous, but it's beautiful. I don't know, that's just me. That's just my opinion. But that's what I'll always strive for.

Laundry Room Drama

Thus far, approximately 1/3 of my time is spent in the laundry room. Usually, it's pretty boring. Oh, once in a while I'll come across a quarter or a loonie, but that's about it. But today some rather dramatic events "unfolded" (I purposely used the word unfolded- rather humorous, isn't it- you know, because I'm doing laundry). Some of Geoffs khakis were in the laundry pile, I was going to just throw them in the wash when I noticed that the pocket area felt rather full. Thinking that this might be one of my lucky days when I find bills rather than just coins, I pulled out the wad. It was a notepad. Thinking it was just a notepad that he had hastily used to write orders on or something I gave it only a cursory glance. But it was a letter. Written in flowy script, with the I's dotted with hearts. So I read it. Seems one Ms. Wendy Waitress was writing Geoff a rather provacative letter. I asked him about it and he just told me to mind my own business and to stay in the laundry room and out of his business. So I don't know what to do. I guess I'm just making mountains out of molehills, like Geoff says.
Ha ha, ha. I'm so funny. I bet you were reading that, just getting ready to grab your torches and pithforks. No, no. It's untrue. I did find a letter, but it was like asking about days off and stuff, pretty mundane, I was actually wishing for something to get excited about. Sorry if that was in poor taste, but there wasn't anything really interesting to write about it so I thought I would weave a little fact with fiction. Writing fiction is what I do best. Well, actually I do it pretty mediocre, but if you count rejection letters a sign of success than I am plenty successful. OK. A sign of success they are not, but a sign or perserverance they are. And when it comes right down to it, in the end, perserverance is what it's all about. Tru dat you can't take it to the bank or buy your kids a Wii with it, but that's totally irrelevant. The kids are just as happy playing marbles. Well, if you count crying and cursing as happy.
No, the truth is that I don't often worry about Geoff cheating on me, even though he does work in a female dominated industry. Let's face it, Geoff isn't exactly the pick of the litter, so I think I should be OK in the affairsville department, even if I am slightly jilted in the romanceville department. It's a fair trade. Sorta.
Actually, Geoff and I haven't been seeing much of other. He totally could be having an affair. All the signs are there: the late night "meetings", reciepts from Days Inn which he claims are "business expenses", lipstick on his collar, annoying people coming up to me at Geoffs work, saying "Geoffs having an affair".
Kidding again, but he does work a lot. A fact which I have learned to live with. And more than that, recently I have discovered that not only do I tolerate it, I actually enjoy it. I like to have the house to myself. Watch Slice all day, have the house smelling like Vanilla Lavendar Glade rather than the smell of men- which is like socks and fart mixed together, maybe with a little bit of Old Spice in there. So then Geoff tells me that he's going to be off, OFF, completely OFF, for the months of January and February and half of December. So I feign my excitement. "Oh, great, we're going to spend so much time together!" and then sneak off to the bathroom to vomit. Is that wrong? Does that mean there's something wrong with our marraige? Or what? Well, truthfully, I didn't actually vomit. Just wretched a bit.
Oh, well, it will be interesting to say the least. And isn't that what it's all about, living on this big old rock in the sky?

Here's the skinny

Here's the skinny and it ain't me. That sentence doesn't make very much sentence grammatically speaking but the point is this: Yesterday I went shopping for jeans and YIKES. I thought that I was ready for this step: mentally and physically. I had thought that I was making a lot of headway in losing my pregnancy weight, but now it seems apparent that I was living in a delusional little bubble where the grass is always green and I'm still a size 8. I ended up with a size 12 and they still don't really fit properly at all. But then I have to put things into perpective. I look a the little face above and remind myself that it's TOTALLY worth it. Even if I was a size 22 or 32 it would still be worth it. I honestly think that he is one of the cutest babies EVER. I know its not really appropriate to brag about your own kid, and I'm not normally one to do that, but how can I help myself? He's breathtaking, and not in a bad way like the ugly baby on Seifeld. He is doing well and is weighing 12 lbs, 8ozs now. I enjoy him a lot. When he makes that little face, no matter how many times he does it, I just can't help but laugh.
So onto other matters. Life at home is good. I spend my days experimenting with Play Dough recipes, so as you can see my life is pretty exciting. I must be a loser though, because I actually AM really excited about this new Kool Aid PlayDough. It smells pretty good (But please note that it does not taste very good, a fact a wish I had noted earlier).
I went out the other night for the first time, and I must thank one Mrs. Nikki Straker for the company. It was good to get out. Geoff stayed at home with the kids. I was interested to see how he managed, and of course he says "oh, it was so good. The kids are so easy." Translation: "I don't know why you complain about it." But then I walk into my bedroom to find Payton awake and walking TV. And then I ask if Gage went to bed OK and he says "oh, I forgot." And then I look at the kitchen and it was a mess. I mean, OK, I guess it would be easy to stay with the kids if you put a football game on and just ignore everything else. Men. It's like they say, if you want anything done right you just have to do it yourself.
Speaking of which, something totally crazy just happened. When I was on the computer earlier, Payton came up to me, crying and saying that she wanted me to put her to bed. I thought she was just yanking my chain and just wanted me to get off the computer, but no. When we got upstairs she was all happy to climb into bed and she said, "I'm so, so tired, mom. Good night."
I cannot believe this is my child. Alien zombies must have abducted her in the night and implanted something in her.
Or maybe she is in there right now with a pack of matches that she secreted away at some point earlier today. She must have some ulterior motive. I will have to watch my back.
Okay, and since this blog is rather blah this far, I'm going to offer up something more interesting. It's not something that I like to tell everyone, but let's face it no one reads this dumb blog and I do it more or less to maintain my typing skills. So I have a baby, which you know, and he's breastfed, which you know. And all along I've been really curious about breast milk. You know, how it tastes. It looks pretty much like regular milk. And anyways, I had been pumping some milk and I had a bottle of it in the fridge. And I got tempted. Really tempted. So I dipped my finger in it. And then I thought, no. I can't. That's gross. But then I thought, well, what's one little nibble? What are you, chicken? I said to myself. Bock, Bock, I clucked to myself. (I'm not sure if that's the proper spelling of the word Bock. If it isn't I do apologize, it wasn't in the dictionary).
So then I had to do it, you can't walk away from a bock. So I closed my eyes and I tried it, and I have to say it's not half bad. A little shot of that in the coffee in the morning would be AOK. It doesn't taste really much like milk. It's more watery like, and really sweet. I don't know if it's just what I ate that day or what. But anways, there you go. Everything you ever wanted to know about breastmilk but were afraid to ask.
Free samples tomorrow at noon.

Here he is, my pride and joy! For some odd reason, this is the face he always makes whenever I dance or sing to him. Actually, come to think of it, a lot of people seem to make that face when I dance or sing. I don't understand why. I sing perfectly well. In fact, when I suggested that I try out for Canadian Idol, everyone discouraged me only because I would be too good for the show and put all the other contestants to shame, which obviously I wouldn't want to do. I mean, lets face it: not everyone can be of my calibre so I might as well let them have thier fun.

Anyways, Lex, though he looks rather disgruntled in the aforementioned picture, is actually growing into a very happy baby. He smiles a lot, and is sleeping well. Last night he slept from 10:00 til 5:30, so I was a very happy mama. Now, that doesn't happen every day, but every once in a while is fine with me. He weights 12 lbs, 2 ozs, which is pretty good for just eight weeks old, but it's kind of scary for me to see him growing so fast. I want him to stay my little baby forever. Obviously that isn't going to happen, though.

So, exciting news for me: one Miss Rebecca Bloomwood is coming to the big screen! For those of you who areren't familiar, Rebecca Bloomwood is the main character in Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic series. When I saw that preview on the telly, I just couldn't believe it! I haven't been this excited since I emerged from the bomb shelter on Jan 1 2000 to find that civilization still existed. If you have not read the Shopoholic series you definately should. It is rather addictive, just like shopping itself. At first, I was a skeptic, too. The first time I read a Shopoholic book was at work. It was a cold, dark night and I was stationed to work right through until the daylight. Technically, at work you're supposed to do actual work, but I have always found that policy to be totally outdated and irrelevant. Work is such a buzzkill, so generally I try to read at work and intersperse it with bursts of work or work related things. But without a book to read, the night was going long and I was getting bored. A coworker of mine had a book that she had just finished and offered it to me. I looked at it, distastefully. Reluctantly, I took the book. It sounded stupid, downright frivolous. An entire book about a girl who goes shopping. But I had little choice. I needed to read to survive. So I read a page. And then another. And then I was hooked. I found myself the next morning, instead of going home to nice warm bed, out shopping, looking for Shopoholic books. Such is the appeal of these books. It's like crack on paper. Very addictive but less expensive, and it doesn't leave track marks which is good if you have kids. Well, I guess it's good all around. Track marks are so unsightly. So when I saw that they were making a movie you can imagine my excitement. The bad thing is that I have to wait until February for it.

February is such a stupid work. Why is there an "R" in it?

Anyways, that was just an aside. So that is the excitement in my life. Oh, ya, there are the kids and the husband. They're still around, well the husband, not so much. His work schedule is pretty hectic, so I don't see a lot of him, which isn't always a bad thing. The only difference between when he's home and when he's not is that there's football on the TV when he's here and Slice when he's not. Obviously, I prefer Slice.

Anyways, that is all for now.

Two Months In

It has now been just over two months since I started my Mat. leave. Pretty scary how fast it goes. It is getting dark out sooner, the air has that chill in it. The seasons are changing yet again, and tis the season for my birthday. Tomorrow is the day, that special day that they forced me unwillingly to enter this world. In retrospect, though, I think they made the right decision. I'm glad I'm here. Turning 31 is pretty OKish. Getting over that 30 hump was the worst, I think. I've accepted the fact that I'm getting old. No, not old. Oldish. For me, turning 30 was sad because I felt that my twenties were the best years, or at least, the most exciting: finishing University, getting married, having Gage and Payton, buying our first home. Lots of highs. And now it's all downhill: the excitement of the new house is now replaced with the reality of leaky pipes and mortgage payments. Excitement over the new marriage is now replaced with the reality of an overweight balding husband who gets more excited over football than me, and who has the incredible talent of seeing the negative side of everything. I mean, honestly. Yesterday I asked him if he liked having a stay at home wife. He replied "well, the money sucks." And I was like "but don't you love it that you're laundry is always done and put away (and vanilla meadow scented, by the way), the kitchen is clean at the end of the day (somewhat), your meals are prepared for you, the fridge just magically is perpetually stocked with groceries." I mean, honestly, I would be ecstatic over being married to myself. Really and truly, I'm not normally one to toot my own horn, but consider it tooted. I'm pretty freaking good in the domestic realm. I'm not Martha Stewart, for sure, but nobody can stand her anyways. And who wants pine cone tea cozies, anyways?? But Geoff, he just shrugged, said 'ya, I guess it's all right.' But I guess it's like they say, the grass is always greener on the other side. He probably thinks I have it easy sitting at home all day, not having to go to work. In some ways, he may have a point. Like today, they had this Project Runway Marathon and I got totally addicted to it and watched it ALL DAY. But he doesn't need to know that. That shall remain on a need to know basis and he does not need to know. But still... staying at home is no picnic. Sometimes, at the end of a long day I just feel like an old worn out cow as I roll over to feed my young. Put me out to pasture, I think sometimes.
Another example of him seeing the negative side of things: he refuses to consider my ideas in a positive light. First it was my comedy routine. You know I want to be a stand up comic, and I have a routine all worked out. You would think he would be supportive, right? Wrong. He says that my routine is "painful" and "difficult to watch" and that "I should try really, really hard to hang on to my day job for as long as possible." So then I 'hatched' a new plan: A chicken farm. Right in our back yard. I drew up a blueprint for a chicken coop, bought some chicken wire, crunched the numbers: If we could produce a dozen eggs a day and sell them at a dollar a dozen we could be making upwards of thirty dollars a month! Right away, he says that thirty dollars a month isn't actually very much money, and in fact we would be well below the poverty line. I said that it wasn't too bad when you consider the fact that the chickens are doing all the work. But no. He says it won't work and outright refuses to even try. So then last night, I had a brilliant new idea. The worlds most giantest taco. And he says that the ingredients would probably be really expensive. And I said but "you have to spend money to make money, right?" and he says "but we wouldn't be making any money off of it." And I said "of course we would: royalties from the Guiness Book of World Records". But apparently you don't get royalties from that, but whatever, I said. We would still be famous, anyways, and famous people are rich, aren't they? And besides, it doesn't matter about the money. If you're passionate about doing something you take that leap of faith and do it. I mean, did Van Gough make a ton of money when he painted 'Starry Night'? No, I don't think so. He cut his freaking ear off so I guess times weren't very good, but that certainly didn't stop him, did it? But Geoff just doesn't get it. And then it's like he gets mad at me, when I'm the one coming up with all these innovative ideas. It's like they say, "if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem". Dude, you're part of the problem.
Anyways, onto other issues. Lex is getting big, and he's doing well. It's a funny thing watching your children grow. The moment they are born you look at them and fall so in love and you think "I couldn't possibly love someone more than this" but then two months later they look at you in the morning and just give you this amazing smile, and you realize, you can. You just love them more and more all the time.
Until they start wearing the same socks for three days in a row and refuse to change them.
Then some of the charm wears off. But that's way down the line...

Too much coffee today

So here I am, all strung out on coffee. Let me tell you, I don't usually drink coffee. I'm just not a coffee person. Never really have been, except for a few casual encounters here and there. If anything- one cup. I don't really dig the taste of it, but if I'm tired enough I will chug a cup quickly. But this morning I had company over for coffee (and by company I don't just mean my dog- I mean actual people this time, and if you don't believe me I have the pictures to prove it.), and it ended up that I had three cups of it. Peer pressure, I guess. But that's OK. I've learned that three cups is too much for me, and that's good to know. I'm all hyped up. But that is OK. When you have three kids, being hyped up is not a bad thing.

Lex is already five weeks old. He is doing well, and as you can see- getting bigger. He now tips the scales at just over ten pounds. He is starting to sleep a bit better now- and in fact- last night was his best night ever. He slept from 10-4 and then from 4:30-7:30. So that was good. He is starting to smile a bit now- though he's pretty stingy with the smiles and reserves them mainly for the couch, which seems to amuse him, which I find slightly concerning, but hey, different strokes for different folks, right? If you're into couches, you're into couches. It's cool. And it's not just a couch. It's leather, and you know that leather takes couches to a whole notha leva.

I am adapting well to domestic life. It's not as exciting as my former career. I have yet to see any stab wounds or HIV tests, which isn't a bad thing when you're a stay at home mom, although I could stand to see a little more blood, could do with a few more needles. I just miss that jamming motion. But there are other things to get excited about, I guess. Like the other day I spotted a sale at Wal Mart. Gain on sale for $5 a bottle!! So now I am washing my bedding in Vanilla Meadow. Can't wait to rest my head on my pillow tonight, let me tell you. That is going to be some good sniffing. And I'm also excited about the fact that I have two semi rotten bananas, which I intend to make full use of and make banana chocolate chip muffins for the morning. So that should be an exciting evening for me, and morning as well when I get to eat those delicious little muffins. I might skip the coffee tomorrow, though. Try to dry out for a day or two. You gotta be careful. These addictions can creep up on you. I watch Intervention, so I should know.

And speaking of excitement, yesterday was also a big day for me. I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda (finally). It was an interesing adventure with a four year old, newborn and 'tween. I don' t think I was the most popular person in the movie theater with Payton's incessant "I need to go the washroom", "I need to wash my hands", "I spilled my drink", "I spilled my popcorn", and Gage's vehement shushing that was louder than Payton ever was and my sweet, shrill voice trying to put the kaibosh on both of them. Anyways, people say that I'm crazy to take three kids to a movie like that. But it's not crazy. It's clever. You see it's a double whammy of motherly weaponry. In the morning, you can use it as a bribe "If you don't smarten up I'm not taking you to the movie!!" And then after the movie, you can use it as a guilt trip: "How dare you talk to me like that when I just took you to a movie!!" I didn't just come in off the turnip truck. I'm getting this motherhood thing down. Not only am I getting it down, I'm pinning it to the ground and making it my bitch.

Settling in and settling down

There was a lot of activity for the last few weeks- starting mat. leave, anticipating the arrival of babe, the induction, the delivery, the homecoming, the visitors, etc. But now we seem to be settling into normal life as a family of five. Generally my days are starting to follow a pattern. The mornings are filled with feeding Lex, changing Lex, feeding Pay, getting Pay dressed, feeding myself, getting myself dressed, then feeding Lex again, then starting lunch. After lunch we generally go on an outing to the park or something to break up the day. Home by two to feed Lex, put him in the swing. Nap time from 3-4, then wake up and start preparing for supper. Not very exciting, but it there is a certain niceness to having a routine. We are even starting to get Payton into a routine of going to bed at 8:30 so that I have some quiet time in the evening. She has been adjusting well to it, amazingly enough.
For myself, at first I struggled a bit with the fact that all the excitement was over and suddenly it was just me alone with three kids and not very much social contact. But I am finding ways of keeping busy- visiting with people, even just going to the park, talking on the phone, internet. It helps to set goals and make plans- having things to look forward to so that the days do not seem so monotonous. I have eleven months of mat leave left and lofty goals:
1. Complete my third novel
2. Continue to try to publish my second novel
3. Try to publish my short story.
4. Take a scrapbooking class
5. Complete a scrapbook for Lex detailing the pregnancy, delivery and early days at home
6. Enroll Payton in dance lessons
7. Paint the upstairs bedrooms
8. Cross stitch something for Lex
9. Take a trip to Calgary to visit Nadine (with Lex)
10. Get involved with the writing community here in Saskatoon and network with other wannabe writers.
Having these goals saves me from insanity. Going from career mom to at home mom is a big change, and I sometimes find the days tedious. There is something rewarding about doing laundry. I love the smell of fresh laundry. BUT, that being said, doing laundry day after day is not very fulfilling or exciting. And speaking of laundry, the other day when I was folding my... shall we say... unmentionables, I noticed (and don't ask my why I read the label, I'm honestly not sure) that on the label it said "wash in cold water, tumble dry, do not iron." And I thought to myself "What kind of a person would iron thier underwear?" But then I started to wonder, is it just me? Am I the only one who walks around in wrinkled panties? I don't even own an iron. I would need to get one. But anyways, what I was saying was that laundry is rewarding in a way, but I need something more... more fun, say. A way of expressing my creativity and also a way of meeting other people with similar interests. It's not easy meeting new people, though. Its something I'm simply not good at. Once I went to a drop in Aquafitness class, thinking I would meet all these other people and I would go every week and have all these Aquafitness friends, and we would eventually wear matching outfits and advance to Synchronized swimming. But, when I went it was mostly fifty something year olds in bathing caps talking about thier bone density and mammograms. Needless to say we did not forge a lifelong bond and my dreams of synchronized swimming went by the wayside, like so many of my other dreams (the chicken farm, or life on the road as a stand up comedian, for example). I'm not sure if I expect much better at Scrapbooking lessons, but a girl can dream.
Anyways, life with three kids is good. I am enjoying it for the most part. It is not glamorous, really, and for the most part I walk around in sweat pants and milk soiled T shirts doling out Apple Juice and wiping noses, but I remind myself to enjoy the little things: the sounds that Lex makes in his sleep, a quiet moment outside with a book, the smell of Lex after a bath (I could sit and smell his head for hours. It's utterly intoxicating.)
But for now, I must go and do the laundry. Again.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Well, how to sum up labor and delivery... not an easy thing to do in one sentence, but I guess if I had to I would say that "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" is the best way to put it. I mean, there is no feeling more awesome than pushing a new life into the world, hearing that first cry, coming face to face with the little person that you have loved all along. But then, there is no worse feeling in the world than the force of contractions, the pressure and pain of seven pounds of baby being expelled from the body.
Now, just to be clear, I have not been in labor this whole time since my last post. Mostly I have been sleep deprived and otherwise occupied with a kid on my boob, so that is why I haven't written for some time. Alex Reid Makepeace (Lex) was born on July 11th at 0119 hours. He came into the world in a hurry. Well, sort of...
We got to the hospital at about 10:00. An ultrasound confirmed that his head was down, and so we were set to start the induction process. At 1:45 they gave me the medication to start the induction. I didn't know what to expect. I was told it could take days. But it was almost immediately afterwards that the contractions began. Things were fairly textbook for the first several hours, slow and steady progress. At 9:00 pm I was 3cm and fairly uncomfortable, so they gave me some morphine and then I went into the tub. I was in the tub until 11, and while I was in there the contractions were fairly tolerable. As soon as I got out they were noticably worse. Much, much worse. They checked me and I was 6cm, so at that point they moved me over to labor and delivery and got me set up with an epidural. After that it was like labor on speed. Things just got crazy fast. I waited for the pain to lessen, but it continually got worse. Then I started feeling pressure. And then I was pushing despite myself. The nurse kept telling me not to push, but I just couldn't stop. I was laying on my side, all curled up, and she wanted me to move on my back. I honestly felt as though I could not move, but finally she managed to get me on my back so she could check me. As soon as I rolled on my back, there was this gush of fluid and I could feel that little head coming. That's when I lost control and the screaming started. The nurse said "I guess I don't need to check you, the head is crowning." So then there was chaos, doctors rushing in, instruments being set up in haste, and then all of a sudden, there he was. A perfect little round face, a healthy pink hue and a good set of lungs. How to describe those first few moments with him... well, there simply are no words for it. I still look at him sometimes and just can't believe it... can't believe that he's here, that he's ours, that he's so beautiful. He's wonderful, and I just know when I look at him that I have everything I've ever wanted in life: three beautiful children to love. And as tired as I can get sometimes, I never get tired of being a mom. It's truly a blessing.

The best laid plans...

It all started with the Slurpee on Tuesday. I went to the store, more or less just to go for a little stroll. So I got a Slurpee when I was there. The lady in front of me was scanning every single lottery ticket she probably ever bought since 1999. Not only that, but the woman working the till was commenting on every single ticket and conversing to a degree that I felt was excessive given the fast growing lineup. All I had was a Slurpee so I put a toonie on the counter and said that I didn't need my change nor a receipt. She said "You have to wait in line like everyone else," and I reiterated that I didn't need the receipt, and she said all snarky like "It DOEST"T WORK that way". So I put my slurpee down on the counter and said "I'm not going to wait in line for half an hour just to buy a slurpee. I simply don't need it that bad." And I walked out. I am not usually a contraversial person. Not at all, Not in the least. If anything, I'm overly accomadating, people that know me can verify this. If, say, someone cooked something that was terrible tasting, I would eat it just to be polite, even if it actually made me vomit later. This actually happened once. But this time I took a stand. It was an important isssue, I simply wasn't going to let it pass. It felt pretty good. I had a glass of Crystal Light when I got home, which was refreshing all the same and less calories.
That was an ordeal, but I got over it. Little did I know that another ordeal was looming on the horizon, somewhat similar to the Slurpee ordeal but on a far grander scale. Wednesday morning started off well. ("Today's the Day!" I announced as the alarm sounded). We got to the hospital, were seen straight away by the doc, she performed a fairly painful but ultimately successful procedure to turn the baby head down, I was put into a room on Antepartum and hooked to a monitor. They were calling my GP to get the induction started.
And then it just all went to hell. A nurse comes in and just like that informs me that they're discharging me because there aren't enough beds on the unit. I was so upset. How could they do that? They said they'll plan to induce the following day, but I was like "Oh, and this baby's gonna stay like this for twenty four hours?" Highly unlikely. So I basically went through that horrible procedure for no reason at all whatsoever. I'm basically 99% sure that the baby has turned now into a COMPLETELY different position, and that was the whole point in inducing me the same day as the version. But there's no reasoning with those people, they're even less sympathetic than the crazy slurpee Nazi, basically it's "you're turfed. We don't care if you end up needing a CSection or whatever. Bad timing. Toodles." I was bawling. I mean, here I thought we were having our baby, and instead, I was going home. And they can't give me any kind of gauruntees for tomorrow. If there's room on the unit tomorrow they'll call me. If the baby's head is still down they'll induce me. If not, they may try turning it again but it depends, if they don't then they may plan a C Section or then again maybe not, it all depends on which doctors are there and bla bla blah. I'm frustrated. Extremely.
And yet, what can I do? I guess I'll just have to hope for the best tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow at this time I will be having my baby or close to it, but I don't hold out much hope at this point. Life sucks sometimes, first you don't get your slurpee and then you don't get to have your baby. Anyways, gotta go and try to sleep. Tomorrow's a big day. Maybe.

Times Up

Looks like tomorrow is the big day. The baby is gotten itself into some kind of a crazy position, and they were going to try to turn it twice last week, but it moves so much still that they decided not to bother trying until they could do it in conjunction with a planned induction. So tommorow I go to the hospital at 8:00 and they will try to turn the baby so it's head is down. Once they get it turned, they will induce me into labor so that the baby will hopefully be born before it decides to move again. It seems crazy. At first, I was all excited, thinking "I'll get to meet and hold my baby soon". But now the mix of emotions is complex.

It just seems as though the entire pregnancy has gone entirely too quickly. I can still recall being in the lab at work and peering at a pregnancy test at an odd angle, trying to determine whether it was positive or negative. I tried to quell the stirring of excitement, thinking it was probably negative and I was just imagining the line. A blood test would settle it. So I asked the nurse practioner to draw a tube of blood from me. Nice thing about working with docs and that. So she did and I sent the blood away, awaiting a result. I was expecting the result to be negative. But when I checked my faxes a little later, there it was: Randine Sorowski Makepeace: Beta HcG: 12.

So then my heart does a little flutter, because it's positive!!! But then my heart sinks a bit, because 12 is a ridiculously low number. Here we go again, I think. Another failing pregnancy. But a subsequent reading three days later was in the thousands!! The baby was thriving. At that point the pregnancy stretched before me, it was early November and I wasn't due until July. But the time has flown. Weeks turn into months, and now here I am, mere hours away from (potentially) coming face to face with the little person inside of me. The little person who I have grown so familiar with as it lives and moves within me. The pregnancy has been so wonderful, I think especially so since it was so very wanted for such a long time. Everything was such a high point. Like my first ultrasound, I was so nervous I thought I might puke. But when I saw the little jelly bean on the screen, with a great heartbeat, I was so elated. And then when I was at the end of the first trimester, I used to take the Doppler home from work on the weekends and listen to the baby's hear beating. I could listen to it for so long and never get sick of it.

So tonight as I look at my baby bump, I feel some sadness that soon it will be no more. Well, I suppose the bump will still be there in some shape or form. But no more hiccuping. No more little squirming or nudging. And what makes this particularly sad for me is that I know I will never experience these sensations again.

Am I nervous for tomorrow? Not really. I feel ready. I began this blog on the fifth of January, 2007 as I began this journey. In the meantime, there have been 135 entries, probably as many pregnancy tests, eleven ultrasounds, many laughs and a few tears. The journey has been longer than I expected it would be, but I don't know that I would change it, because it makes this moment in time even more special for me. Tears fall freely from my face as I even try to imagine holding my baby and knowing that he or she is finally here! At times it seemed it seemed impossible and at times we were ready to give up. But now, Times Up. I am ready to begin a new journey as a new mother once again.

32 Weeks

32 Weeks, things are moving along. Me, I am mostly waddling along at this point. I fear that this is going to be a big baby indeed. I'm usually a fairly small preggo person, but with this one it seems like all hell is breaking loose. My weight gain is basically on track, and I measure normally, if anything its on the low end of normal, but still my stomach seems like it could not get much bigger. I'm feeling pretty good, though. A little tired here and there but overally pretty OK. I was at the doctor on Monday and it was good. The baby is still sideways, so she said if doesn't move by my next appointment then we'll talk about what the implications are. I think it will move, though. I've never had problems like that before, so I think it'll be a breeze like last time. When Payton was born it just seemed crazy that you could have a baby and feel 100% before, during and after labor! The labor was just so textbook. I woke up at three a.m, gripped by pain. I shook Geoff awake "it's time to go to the hospital," just like in the movies! By the time we got there I was a cool 4cm, so they put in the epidural straight away. After that it was all smooth sailing, popsicles, ginger ale and Jello.
Well, I'm still aways away from that point, but I have one month left of work, and I am starting to try to slowly organize things a bit for my departure. It is weird that is coming so fast. At first I thought I might miss this place, but now I think I'll be like "so long, suckers!"
Things at home are fairly swell. The van is having some more issues, and is in the shop once again. Hopefully the repairs will not be expensive this time nor take too long. It's hard to say. I've definately been cursed. Whenever we have some cash on hand, things go awry. We have some extra cash now and what happens: first Geoff gets a traffic ticket (don't ask, he's a dumb ass), and then the cat goes in heat so we have to get her fixed, and then the van starts overheating. This is exactly what happened before when we happened upon some extra money when I got my retro pay. The muffler fell off my van and then the damn dog starting vomiting bile and landed up in the vet for three days on IV and needing exploratory surgery. Damn dog. All she does is lay around and yap.
Spring is in the air, and the weather is finally getting better. I don't have the garden in yet, mostly because I don't have a garden, so that seems to be a problem. I do have a flower bed, though, and am thinking of planting some flowers maybe this weekend. Last year I had some good success with petunias and snapdragons. So I shall try that again. I guess I really am getting old because I'm starting to enjoy stuff like that more. Also, I notice that the young folk are different these days. Today, a patient comes into see the doc wearing a shirt that says "Free Breathalizer. Blow Below" and it had an arrow pointing down to-- well, I'll let you guess which body part, but let me say that it was in rather poor taste. Why one would wear such a shirt at all is beyond me, and further more, to a place of business! Give your head a shake buddy. I might have thought that was cool when I was 14. And he wasn't a teenager. He was a grown man. Honestly. Some people just never grow up.

On Being an Adult

Well, being an adult sucks. This I have realized. When I was a kid I had this glorious vision of being grown up, driving around in some really cool vehicle, staying up as late as I want, no rules, no curfews. And here I am. Driving a 94 mini van (how much more uncool can you be??). The cruel irony is that now that I am of an age to stay up as late as I want, I am usually in bed I before my kids are. And now that I am of an age to party as late as I want or with whomover I want, I find that the things that I want are totally domestic boring stuff- like say, watching Robots with the kids. My major excitement for the month is going to see Walking with the Dinosaurs: A BBC documentary. I guess I turned out to be pretty lame, and the child me would be disapointed to see the adult that I have become. I spent my childhood and youth wishing I would hurry up and grow up, and now that I'm grown up, I wish for some of that youthful exuberance I once had. Well, in reality my teenage years were not necessarily always so exuberant. From what I recall I believe I slept until three on most days. These days if I sleep until nine I'm shocked. Today Payto was up at 5:30. The joys of parenthood. But another irony is that I have often found that as I parent, it is my children who give me insight and strength, rather than the other way around.
For example, this weekend I drove out to the lake and back by myself. I have always been able to fanangle a ride with someone else, but this time, there was no one else. So there I was, loading up the vehicle at seven a.m, dragging my sleepy, pajama laden children out into the vehicle, trying to mask my nervousness and anxiety for the kids sake. I feigned enthusiasm as I pulled out of the garage "Let's hit the highway!" I said to the kids, but basically I thought I might vomit. "Fake it til you make it" is a saying that sometimes come to mind. Sometimes you have to pretend to be stronger than you are for the sake of the kids, and then somewhere along the way, you realize that you actually are stronger than you thought! Anyways, my first highway experience turned out to be all right. It is a good feeling to know that I can do it.
And as if conquering that fear wasn't enough, I had to face another one soon upon returning home: The dentist, AKA sadistic, drill wielding mother f'ers. I hate going to the dentist. Even if they don't even do anything. It's just their scrapers and their pickers and pokers and the way gauze feels and tastes in your mouth and the coppery taste of blood in your own mouth. Argh. It makes me uneasy just to think about it. But it was really my children who taught me a lesson. Last month I took the kids to the dentist, and of course, they had cavities, how could they not with the amount of junk food they eat. The ratio is probably something like for every thirty pounds of sugar they ingest, they spend thirty seconds brushing thier teeth. And then I was so nervous for them to have thier cavities filled. Seeing them in the big dentist chair with the overlight glaring into their faces just about broke my heart. I was thinking they were going to cry, scream, try to writhe free. But they didn't. They just sat there. Perfectly calm. And I realized I was the only one who wasn't calm. I was projecting my own fears onto them. So that caused me to think about how irrational my own fears are then, if a three year old can sit there for half an hour and have her teeth worked on with nary a complaint. So this time when I went to the dentist, it was really the image of my kids that kept me in the dentist chair. If they can do it, then so can I. And besides, I got a free toothbrush out of the deal, so it was pretty good. It's a pretty nice toothbrush, and so far it has been working out well, thought I'm not sure about the long run.
Other than that, things are going well with the pregnancy. I am getting bigger, and it hard to imagine that I still have two more months of growing ahead of me. Yikes. But it's all good. I try not to complain about being pregnant. I remember once when I was in Superstore about three days after Payton was born. This chic ahead of my was hugely pregnant and complaining to her friend that "I just can't wait until this baby is born so I can finally get some sleep!" I almost choked and fell to the floor. I just thought "Man. I would switch places with you right now in a heartbeat. Maybe you are sleeping poorly now, but poorly is better than not at all, which is pretty much what you're going to get once that little sucker is born and it's round the clock feeding, burping and diapering." There I was buying Motrin and Tylenol, chocolate and caffeine, trying to keep my poor body going despite seventy two hours of very fragmented amounts of sleep. So, as I said, I try not to complain. The miracle of having a newborn is truly a miracle, but at the same time, I won't overglorify it. At times, it can plain out suck. Well, on that note. I have to be going now.

Thirty Weeks

Well, today I turn 30. Last time I turned 30 I was sad, distraught, suicidal, contemplating whether or not to turn my back on it all, buy a houseboat and live my life on the open sea, endlessly adrift in my middle ageness. But this time I'm happy to be turning thirty, because it is only weeks that I'm talking about and not years, so that makes a big difference. So now things are going well. I'm feeling pretty OK, I get a little tired sometimes, finding it hard to stay up past nine o'clock most days. But I don't mind getting the extra sleep now. Soon enough sleep will be a distant memory. I have an online baby pool, which some people have participated in (and some people have participated in twice, which, technically, is not really allowed, I might add, hint hint, mom.) I must say that I'm surprised that many people are guessing the weight quite low, like in the 7's. I have to say that I would be very surprised if the baby was anything less that 8ish, because statistics say that each baby gets bigger. Gage was 7-13, Payton was 8-4, so if the pattern continues (which it should, barring of course, that I take up a heroin addiction, which I probably won't on account of the fact that I'm scared of needles. I still haven't gotten that Tetanus shot I was supposed to get back in the fall of '07. If you need your memory refreshed, its all there in "So thats what letter openers are for") it could be close to nine pounds. My guess is 8-11. I think that seems about right.
Last night I did something which I thought I might never do, which is to go and see Tina Fey the idea stealing wench in her movie which was blatantly stolen from me and now she is capatilizing on it and I have now contributed to her further success by giving my seveny three dollars or whatever ridiculous price they are charging now for admission. But it had to be done in the name of market research/recon. It was actually a very good movie, two thumbs up. Actually four, because the baby was enjoying it as well, moving around a lot. But that could have just been the sixteen ounces of pop I drank. But in any case, it was good. And it was actually quite different than my book, so I feel better knowing that.
Other than that, not much new with me. The cat is still not speaking to me after I tried to establish communication with her last week. I'm pretty sure that she's angry with me, and I realize that the nuances of feline speech are perhaps more intricate than I thought. Meowing seems simple, but it's apparently a complex language. So I've aborted my mission for now. I will need to do some background research first, but unfortunately, this is slow going because there isn't a wealth of information available online about cat communication.
As for me and my writing, well, things haven't been going well. I've been sending out query letters to agents since November, but haven't really gained any ground. I've gotten only rejection letters so far, some replies are still pending, but it's hard to be really hopeful. It's discouraging, but there are still avenues to persue and I believe that persistence and patience will maybe some day pay off. If not, I continue to write and work at another book. I have decided that ultimately, I am a writer whether or not the greater publishing community thinks so or not. Maybe it is all a pipe dream, but I once heard the words from a very wise source "you can take a stand or just compromise, you can work real hard or just fantasize". OK. So it was KISS that sang that in "God gave rock and roll to you", but still. You can't argue thier success. You simply can't.

Twenty Nine Weeks

Day one of cat communication log:
May 6, 1800h: I have tried initiating communication with the cat. Said a few sentences to her. She maintained good eye contact throughout, but did not meow back. After approximately thirty seconds, she twinkled her nose, and then departed. I am not sure if the nose twinkling is significant or not. Perhaps it is a non verbal cat gesture. Perhaps her nose was itchy. At this point so early in my research, it is hard to say. I am also not sure if her hasty retreat from the conversation is indicitive of A)her inability to understand my primitive meows or B)that I may have inadvertently said something to offend her. I am a little discouraged by my lack of progress with her, but feel that with some patience and persistence, the endeavor is worth persuing. I am contemplating immersing myself more fully into the cat culture, though this may be difficult for me because of A)my inability to lick myself "down there" (have tried sereral times, but unfortunately, my species lacks the agility of the cat species.) and B) the logistics of using a cat box due to both the size and position of the litter box. At any rate, I will have to reevaluate my tactics and try again to initiate contact at a later date.
As for other aspects of my life, things seem to be on track. Twenty nine weeks now and things are going quite well. I am getting fairly big, am expecting a big baby. High eight's, I would assume, hopefully not much bigger. I want a baby that still looks like a baby, after all, and not a six month old crammed into a onesie and jammed into a bassinette, although I suppose at this point, such a baby would indeed suffice, though I would prefer a somewhat sleeker model, more aerodynamic like. But I do go on... the point is, I'm getting big. This morning I changed my shirt five times because the first four made me look too big, but then finally at the fifth, I was like "well, OK. I guess I am actually big, and I guess it's not just the clothes." So I'll have to learn to deal. Interestingly, this fear of getting big and having a big baby does not really stop me from doing things that could lead to further bigness, on my part or the baby's. For example, today after lunch I wanted to try the new Brownie Ice Cap they have at Tims. Tim's is about two blocks away from work, so I was thinking, it could be a nice walk. But then I was like "who am I kidding. I don't want to walk. What's the point of having such a flashy vehicle if all I'm going to do is walk everywhere I go??" So I drove. And then today, I got this bag of fudge from Wal Mart. I was going to just eat a piece or two. But then I actually ate several. But anyways, I believe that that should be OK because there is no trans fat in them, so it's practically health food anyways.
And speaking of food, I have recently heard some news which rather disturbs me. The pickle industry is diversifying into the frozen food business. I have learned of a new product called "The Picklesicle" which is precisely what is sounds like it would be: frozen pickle juice on a stick. I don't know what kind of a person came up with this, or better yet: who looked at the business plan and was like "Yeah, this sounds like a sure thing. I want to sink all my money into this." What is this world coming to? I mean why stop at pickle juice? Surely gravy would make a nice frozen treat as well!
But back to me and my pregnancy. Here's the rundown: lots of hearburn, a moderate degree of back ache, some irritability (though I'm sure this is not due to the pregnancy, it's just my nature), names are more or less finalized: Olivia Jacqueline for a girl (the Jacqueline, of course, is after Jackie O., my idol. Well, actually I don't really know who she is. I think she was married to some politician or something, though, so that sounds good). For a boy Hunter something something. The middle name we don't really know at this point. Geoff wants it to be Geoffrey, which I think is a little nervy on his part since it is ME who is carrying this baby and will be pushing it out into the world. But whatever. I guess I may end up letting him have his wish, because technically I'm supposed to be married to him and care about what he wants, or some such thing like that, according to my wedding vows and so on and so forth. Should have read the fine print when I signed on for that, let me tell you. Anyways, as for the birth, Lorrie has generously agreed to do the fluting, but I'm a little ambivalent about that seeing as she doesn't actually own a flute, so I'm not convinced that she really practices or even knows any songs for that matter. So I am compiling a list of songs which have special meaning to me, or are just songs that I've always liked. I only hope that the CD players on L&D will play burned CD's, because some CD players don't. Anyways, lots of time to worry about that. But the thing is: time is going SOOO fast. It makes me a little nervous for some reason. I'm already at the point of biweekly dr appointments, which is actually good because I do enjoy seeing the doctor, which is strange because I work in a doctors office and am around doctors all day every day. But, anyways. I think I shall go now, as I am getting tuckered. It's not easy drinking ice caps all day and eating fudge. Very tiring. Very much. Will report later on developments with the cat. Have a good night.

Chapter One of New Book

ONE

I’m starting to get a little nervous.
Starting to get nervous? Cripes. I’ve been nervous the whole freaking hour that I’ve been trapped in this dingy office.
Technically, I’m not trapped. I just feel trapped. I’m free to go at any point. The door is open, and freedom is just a few feet away. But I still remain seated, arms folded, legs crossed. The walls are completely white except for one single poster. When I first saw the poster I really didn’t pay much attention. It was of osteoporosis, of all things, and I figure that unless I’m seventy nine years old, there’s not much I need to know about it. But then I started to get desperate. And now I have read that poster over a dozen times.
Frankly, I’m starting to get nervous about osteoporosis. My diet is lacking in dairy. I just know that it is. Unless you can count Coffee Creamo.
Or chocolate bars.
I resolve right then and there that as soon as I ever get out of here I’m going to buy a big bottle of calcium supplements. I’m going to have the biggest, densest bones ever. I’ll be freakishly solid. People will envy me for my bone density. This is my new goal.
Finally, the doctor enters the room and closes the door behind him.
“It’s a good thing you came in today, Maddy,” he began as he sat down. The strained, pinched, expression on his face worries me.
My stomach lurches.
“It was positive, wasn’t it?” I ask. I was sure that it was, but still, this is hard to take.
He shook his head. “The pregnancy test was negative. But while the lab tech was running the test, she noticed that your urine had a fairly strong, foul odor. So we ran some other tests on it. As it turns out, it has some very unusual characteristics to it.”
“Unusual how?” I ask.
“There are organisms in it that are very unusual. In fact, there are no documented cases of them ever being seen in humans. It’s very perplexing. I’ve consulted with a specialist in ID, infectious disease, and he wants you admitted for tests. It could actually be quite serious,” he says, his face grave.
“Admitted? Like to a hospital, or something?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so. But it looks like we might have caught this thing early enough to nip it in the bud, so to speak. You’re vital signs are stable, and your physical exam seems perfectly normal, so there’s reason to be hopeful that it hasn’t started to effect your other systems.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” I say. “I feel quite fine, so…”
“You may feel fine now, but…it’s a race against time to figure out what is going on here. Frankly, we’re all stumped. Right now time is on our side, but soon- and there’s no telling how soon- you’ll start to deteriorate into kidney failure, which will lead to other organ failure. We have to pursue this rather aggressively. There is no other choice, I’m afraid.”
I slink down in my chair.
“I just… I have a paper due, and some other stuff. But once things settle down with school I’ll check myself in. I promise.”
“All the arrangements have already been made. The ID specialist will meet you in the ER. He’s waiting there now.”
I slink down further into my chair, trying to make myself invisible. I chastise myself for this whole stupid, hair brained scheme. If only it wasn’t for that damn lousy, nosy lab tech. What business is it of hers to be smelling my urine, anyways? She should have just done her job and done the pregnancy test, nothing less and nothing more. I would be out of here now, enjoying my calcium pills.
“Can I tell you something… off the record?” I ask.
He looks puzzled and gives a slow, wary nod.
“Would it make a difference if I said that the urine wasn’t mine?”
“Well, yes, it would make a difference. A huge difference. You need to tell me exactly whose sample it is. Her life could be in danger.”
I look down at the floor, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
“It’s not exactly a person,” I confess.
“Come again?” he asks.
“It belongs to my cat, Shirley.”
“You brought your cats’ urine in for a pregnancy test?”
I nod sheepishly.
“For what purpose?” he asks.
“Well, do you know how expensive it is to take a cat to a vet? A simple test like that could cost a hundred dollars!”
“I see,” he says pointedly. “So you decided to commit fraud?”
“It’s not fraud, it’s just…I’m a student. I don’t have any money for vet bills. I don’t even have money for…for food…or calcium supplements, which I apparently might need, by the way. And there are no free clinics for cats. So what was I to do? And do you have any idea how hard it was to collect a urine sample from a cat?”
“No. And I am certainly not interested in finding out. I have spent half the morning on the phone consulting with other doctors because of your little scheme. You’ve completely wasted my time, and the time of all my patients whose appointments have been delayed because of you and your cat. Not to mention the fact that the very head of infectious disease has cleared his while morning for you. You have made a complete mockery of the Medicare system that we are so very fortunate to have. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask that you not return to these offices.”
I nod slowly. “All right. I suppose that’s fair. But just for clarification, before I go. That test was negative?”
“All I can tell you is that it was negative for Human Chorionic Gonadotropin. The test was not exactly designed for cats and the results are totally invalid,” he said with indignation before he stalked out of the room.
At first, I’m a little slighted that he reacted so harshly. But then the more I think about it, the more I begin to take offence to it. It wasn’t like I did anything wrong, or at least not really wrong. Some people don’t even shower before their Pap test, and that should be grounds for dismissal right there. I for one, I am very meticulous in my grooming before pap tests, a fact which I would think he would at least consider. Maybe what I did was a little wrong, that I’ll concede, but no one’s perfect. But still, I’m surprised he wasn’t a little more understanding of my situation. Perhaps it was all for the best. And besides, it’s not like Dr. Reeder’s the only doctor in the world, right? There’s other fish in the sea. And the least he could do is have trendier posters on his wall. Like for Lupus or that disease that Micheal J. Fox has, whatever that was again.