Jacob's Birth Story--Dad's point of view

I know, I know. I promised the birth story and now, ta-dah! Just shy of Jacob's 3 month mark, here it is and I didnt even have to type it out! Dwayne was telling his friend what happened and it was a great story so why mess with a good thing? Without further ado, here is Jacob's birth story, via his daddy:

"Jacob Neill Marlowe was born on May 15th, 2007, at 10:34 am. It was kind of spooky because the conditions that Christine came to the hospital were identical to when Elena Nicole was born. The 15th was a Tuesday; on Monday, Christine got her membranes scraped by her Ob/Gyn and was sent home.

The contractions started that night at 6:00 pm... by contractions, at this time, means she started having some kinda regular kind of strong contractions... like strong Braxton-Hicks (so she tells me). We were anxious to go home, as we'd spent by this time 10 days living with my Mother-in-law, a fairly demented woman in her mid-to-late fifties from Malaysia. We were hoping that things would progress, but of course the Ob/Gyn makes no guarantees and I, as always, was cynical, believing none of it. However, the contractions started getting more uncomfortable (I hate to use the word stronger here, as it implies hospital-going strength, which they were not), so we made plans with "Ahma" (Cantonese? for Grandma... or something else (that I cannot type as some wife of mine is reading this email as I type)), left a bag of essential goodies for the kids for the day in case we were not there, and went to bed.

At 0400 Christine woke me up saying it was time to go. Eerie. It was 0400 when she sent me, almost 2 years ago at that point, to fetch the babysitter for Julia when she was having daughter #2. So, we woke up lovely Ahma, gave her the news and drove to the hospital.However, I remembered that when Elena was being born that it had taken quite some time and didn't at all expect this baby to be born before noon; Elena after starting contractions at 0400, didn't emerge until 1620 that afternoon. And I was hungry. So on the way to the hospital (well, kinda... 8 blocks out of the way), I went to the McDonald's 24hr drive through. There was no answer. The lights were on. Christine allowed me to wait about 15secs before she mashed on the horn for a good 10secs. Then, with no response, and thoroughly disgusted, she ordered me onwards, which I happily complied with as much speed as a lightfooted 106 year-old grandma in a Smartcar along a well-travelled truck route. Eventually, we reached the hospital.

When we arrived, Christine was sent to Maternity, where she was placed in the same birthing room that Elena had been born in. Spooky. Then the same nurse that had started the Elena delivery on night shift was again working night shift, and was assigned to Christine. Now this is beginning to feel more like fate. (Highly memorable person... she had a peculiar British accent that I couldn't immediately place - turned out to be Welsh, and SNARKY... ah what a woman! If she had been 15 years younger...).

Christine got seen by her most excellent Ob/Gyn when she was doing her 0600 rounds at the hospital (note, she wasn't on call, apparently, this woman starts her days doing rounds at the hospital if her patients are admitted. Very commendable woman). She broke Christine's water. We were getting excited.STOP went the contractions. They virtually stopped for an hour or so, and Christine was finally allowed to walk ( I say finally because another night shift nurse/intern/person forbade her to walk since she's a VBAC - vaginal birth after Cesaerean. Christine playing coy for awhile, finally had enough of the wench and started giving her the orders, letting her know that she would be walking after the doc said so. So, the doc said so. She walked.

At 8 or so, Contractions started coming strong and fast. By 0835/0840 they were getting hard for Christine to handle alone. Of course, Christine's sister being who she is, decided this was the perfect time to get the car seats out of our car to put into her truck. So, like a dutiful husband, I left Christine alone and went to get the damnable seats. Christine took a shower. I foresaw what happened next, since it wasn't actually the future - it was the carbon copy of the past with Elena - damn near to the minute - when Christine's contractions started getting into that "strong" phase and she had then, like now, taken a shower. And that stalled her birthing for an additional 4/6 hours.

So before I left, Christine, myself, and the nurse talked about options. Christine had requested an epidural and the nurse, soothingly (like Satan was to Eve) replied that it was"coming" (only later did she explain that the mat ward had 4 C-Sections and 8 screaming bundles of joy slated for that morning... poor guy had to run from patient to patient when not in the OR) and offered morphine. Christine hesitated and said to hold off Morphine in case the epidural became available, and decided to take a shower. At that point, I left to meet with Christine's sister.So, believing time wasn't of the essence, since my wife was upstairs stalling her pregnancy, I gave the seats to Christine's sister and went to the cafeteria for breakfast. Some juice, a muffin. I think that was all. I got back into the room at 0910 or so..., and had been gone about 25 minutes. She was in the shower, stalling her labour. Well, this time (learning from last time, always commendable) she kept the water off her belly and only poured on her back. Perhaps stupidly, I believe this made a difference. This time, no stalling.

She told me to fetch a nurse, I did so. She checked her, and she was at 6.5cm. I was like damn, this is different from last time (You'll notice that's the 1st time I said something of this effect in this message - some 5hrs after the start of the "fun"). The nurse again brought up the fact that likely the anesthesiologist was not likely to make it to Christine by the time she was going to be 8cm (I thought this was a good hour off and wanted to wait - but hey, it's not like I was feeling the pain, right?) so she brought up the idea of morphine again. It'd take 20 minutes to kick in she said, and "won't kill the pain, but it will take the edge off". Christine must have hmmm-and-hawed about it for a couple of minutes, because I remember having to go to the desk and telling the nurses there "My wife needs to be shot". Wow! Such stupified faces! You'd think I was Harry Potter with his non-killing, weakling curses. "Uh, what did you say?" "Morphine. My wife would like some shot into her body". "Oooohh". Stupefy!

Christine continued to labour, and the nurse said come get her when Christine says it's time to push. Inside, I was like, like fuck, that'll be 2 hours away yet. Not even 10 minutes after, Christine said "I feel like I need to push!" I was thinking "don't overreact", but went and fetched the nurse anyways. I used the words "My wife says she needs to push". The nurse jumped out of the chair and came "running" (I say running, but it was more like a slow jog... they are forbidden to run after all).

She checked, and Christine was at 9. And I was like holy fuck that was fast!. The nurse had grabbed the resident on the way in, got on the phone to get our Ob/Gyn because the poor resident was some high-school droput 19 year-old straight from the inner-city burb of Brooklyn...Luckily, after only 10ish minutes, out Ob/Gyn had gotten in just as Christine was "setup" (i.e. put her legs in a human stirrup) for pushing. What a sight that must be to walk into a room. Some people choose this for a career.

Guiding Christine through, she got Jacob born in about 7 contractions, lasting maybe 10-15 minutes. I'd like to point out that Christine got the morphine soon after 10; they hadn't kicked in yet. After Jacob was born, her eyes kinda rolled back... and you'd swear that her tongue kinda hung out of one side of her mouth... the doc was like "yeah, she's feeling happy now!" I think it was in reference to the drugs, rather than the arrival. I took it that way anyways.

At any rate, I was quite blown away by the speed of it. And even with the big burst of speed to the finish line ...before I continue, I just remembered a great part. When Jacob was being born... that last push to get his head out, Christine yelped and said she got a sharp pain in her left ribs. Apparently Jacob, tired of waiting for mommy to pull him out, decided to set both feet on her ribs and push himself out. I'd like to point out the fact that it worked. Atta boy... anyways, with that great burst of speed that Doc.Brox did a commendable job of guiding Christine through the contractions as she didn't tear, and didn't get an episiotomy. Quite a feat. No stitches at all. Elena had given mom 3 sticthes, none in a row."

Well its relatively accurate, anyway :) Other posts to come, uh, when I have more time.

I have a BOY!

Jacob Neill Marlowe arrived on

May 15, 2007

10:34 am

8lbs 4 oz.

20 inches long

Birth story to come when I have a few minutes!

Coming and Going?

3D Ultrasound at 34 weeks

So we have been down in Edmonton for 3 days now and while things are slowly taking some semblance of a routine, it is a hard adjustment for both girls and for myself. And, in a lot of ways, for my mother and brother, who are not quite used to having small children underfoot. My mother seems to struggle a bit understanding what I am and am not allowed to do ("Come run down here right now!" is NOT on my list of things I should be doing. Sigh.) and I am feeling rather uneasy about the girls running about the house. It is hard to feel like I can truly feel rested here while I am watching the girls so closely and to relax in someone else's home with other people's things around and not a lot of comforts of home. I am tempted to just go home for a week, as we had originally planned and come back down again for my appointments on the 23rd but that is 10+ hours of driving.

I had an appointment yesterday with my family doctor here and she agreed that I should be resting more and being active less. She also told me that she didn't think it was a good idea for me to drive back home by myself so that throws a bit of a kink in the "go home" plan since we would then have to arrange for someone to drive with me and the kids. So now to decide if the hassle of finding someone to drive with, coupled with how hard it would be on the kids to go back home only to have to come back to Edmonton a few days later.

The baby seems like things are stable and not going anywhere anytime soon so I think it would be OK to travel so much but I don't know if it is really worth going back and forth. I want to be home so much because it would be easier in so many ways but the girls are starting to get used to the idea of being here. Sigh.

I need a private jet or something.

Green Light!

So, at my appointment, the OB here found that I had no changes in dilation or softening from the last appointment (hurray!) and so I had the green light to drive down to Edmonton. I will be there for about 3 weeks, I think. Rather than drive back and forth every week, like we had originally planned, so that Julia could have more normal routine going to school, etc. we dont want to risk chance TOO much by having me on the road with two kids by myself for so long. So, three weeks there, and 2.5 weeks back home and if everything keeps going well and Pumpkin does not spring any surprise moves on us, we should be good to go for May when we will be down until the delivery.

Sounds like a plan, right? Now if only Pumpkin will get on board with the plan, we'd have it all set!

So I will be down in Edmonton on Monday night and will be trying to sort out how life will proceed as normally as possible for that time :)

Welcome to the Super Crazy

About 10 days ago, I had a doctor's appointment. It was supposed to be pretty routine and supposed to help set me up for my upcoming trips to Edmonton for Spring Break where I would begin to see my Edmonton family doctor and OB/GYN on a regular bassis up to anticipated delivery date (May 19-22-ish for those of you keeping track). I mentioned that I had been having a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions and that sometimes they were getting quite obnoxious and frequent. She asked me how frequently I was getting them and when I told her I was up to about 3X per HOUR and that the baby had dropped rather uncomfortably low in my pelvic girdle, she insisted on doing an internal check to make sure that everything was as it should be. I was sure that she would tell me that having a Pumpkin sitting in your pelvis is perfectly normal at 31 weeks. Alas.

Of course, since my life is rarely simple or straight-forward, she found that things were not as tickety boo as they should have been at 31 weeks. My cervix was softening and I was fingertip dilated. She took me off work, post haste (creating a total upheaval in my school life that I cant even begin to get into without throwing myself into further contractions) and told me that I was to start seeing an OB/GYN up here in the sticks just in case my go-to-Edmonton plan just wouldnt work out. I was placed on "rest" which meant that I was to spend as little time stressing and on my feet as possible. Ha!

I cleaned up my classroom, left my plans for the sub, sorted out my marks and left school to deal with itself. I could tell that not being at work helped with the number of contractions rather tremendously, but that stress happens even when it should feel like you are now on Easy Street. Especially with a 4 and 2 year old running around causing havoc.

I went to the recommended OB/GYN here (lovely lady, thank goodness) who did another internal to check on things. She found me more dilated and my cervix softening further. I was placed on more restricted rest--no more groceries, picking up the girls, vacuuming or other exertive chores. Walking was still Ok, as long as I didnt overdo things. Before I left her office, she gave me a small ultrasound (with a neat setup right in her office!) in which she measured the baby and told me that it was laready at 4.5 lbs and that things looked good even if baby decied to make an early entrance. She sent me from her office to the hospital to get a steroid shot to help strengthen the baby's lungs and a non-stress test to see how the contractions were going. There were some small contractions in the 20 minutes I was there but mostly the baby was unhappy with the damn belt strapped tightly around my belly. I got the boot many times to illustrate Pumpkin's unhappiness.

I have a follow-up appointment on Wednesday and if I am dilating any more, I am not going to get the green light to drive down to Edmonton, and that she would rather that I flew there and stayed until delivery. But! If things remain as they are and I do not dilate anymore or have more cervica changes, I should be OK until...35 weeks, perhaps? Here's hoping Pumpkin bakes just a bit longer.

Elena sings Twinkle twinkle

What Teachers Make

It has been a hard week and it is only Monday. Dwayne is coming off a string of overtime nights and I have had to cope with all the stresses of life, teaching full time and busy half sick kiddoes.

Did I mention the last round of teaching evaluations, interim report cards, 80 handwritten in class essays to mark and parent teacher interviews this week? Oh and becuase I simply wasnt busy enough, I also had an Advanced Placement Parent Information Night. Oh and colleagues who think that bugging me in the middle of my classes to ask about inane impossibilities is wonderful timing. My head feel like it wants to explode. And that is only what I have to deal with at work!

So, when I stumble across a video like this, it makes me think that maybe, just maybe, it is really Ok to stick it out until my official mat leave date (April 18th!!!) and not just call in sick from now until then :P

Goals and the rush of childhood.

I had long neglected my 101 in 1001 blog but that isnt to say that time doesnt truck by and the goals aren't slowly but surely being accomplished. I am down to 50 tasks out of the original 101 and have surpassed the half way to goal mark! It is exciting and I still have 258 days left in my 1001 days!

Life changes so quickly and I am confident that no matter where life takes me in 258 days, my dreams remain as they were when I started my 101 list. Watching the time tick by on my 101 blog counter, I am reminded of how quickly time is escaping from us. The girls are bursting (as am I, literally!) and I can hardly keep up with them. In the little things that take up the hustle and bustle of the days, the girls are growing and learning and challenging me every day. I feel extraordinarily lucky some days (even when they are their most trying darling selves) watching them develop into themselves.

Julia's mind whirs by, clicking into ideas and mulling over details, spitting out ocasional tunrs of phrases that stun and amuse me. The other day over dinner, she asked if the baby was eating the spaghetti I was eating. I said yes, in a way, the baby would get spaghetti too. She thought about it for a moment and laughed--the brilliant four year old light bulb moment laugh--about how the baby was inside my tummy so unless spaghetti was inside my blood, it would be silly that the baby was eating spaghetti too. And then she added, "I think the baby is covered in blood!" I looked at her a moment, thought about the streaky newborn baby bodies awash in vernix and blood and said slowly, "Yes, the baby is sort of covered in blood." But, knowing my daughter's uncanny knack for filing away things that I tell her and regurgitating it for random company in random moments, I decided that I wanted her to have at least some of the facts straight. So I said to her, "You know, the baby in mommy's tummy isnt swimming around in mommy's blood because the baby lives in a special bag called a uterus." Her eyes widened for a moment and she repeated, "Uterus? The baby lives in a uterus?" I nodded and she thought about it for a moment more, absorbing and filing it away, picked up her fork again, and tucked into the rest of her spahetti. Some people might think that I tell my four year old more than she needs to know but I can live with that.

Elena is an altogether different fish. She is proud and stubborn and headstrong (she gets it all from her dad, didn't you know) and she constantly amazes and annoys me. I guess I have to admit that, maybe, just maybe, she is enough like me to frustrate me. When she was smaller, I was sure that she would be all tomboy. She climbs and jumps and dares things her sister would never think of doing. She throws herself into situations and people in a wild headlong fashion, as long as they are her terms. She has moments of hesitency and simpering softness but, again, only on her terms. If someone dares to dictate how she ought to be feeling, or wearing or doing at any given moment, she will do an immediate 180 and suddenly, everything that was red is now blue. Her temper is fierce and quick and she is shockingly adorable with her fist shaking and foot stomping. Elena has a natural leadership and empathy for others that sometimes leads to amusing, if terrible flares of temper. Sometimes if we are engaging in tickle games with Julia, Elena will declare, "Oh no! Ju-ya in twu-bull! I got to save her!" She will then charge towards the offending person who is holding her sister hostage and shake her fist in their face, "You wet her go! No mo' tickowing! Un'erstaaaand?!?" She, of course, punctuates every other word with a stamp of her foot. After trying to "reason" with the person for the release of her sister, she will then resort to trying to physically pry her sister bodily away from the situation, "Don't wowwy Ju-ya, I save you!" She plays out this scenario with her dolls, with her animals, with random peas that fall off her plate. Always the brave hero. She walks around the house hoisting various toys and tupperware over her head, "I so stwong! I Ewayna, the superhewo!" And despite all this, she is also a balance of girly girl who loves frilly tutus and flouncy dresses, she likes to wear tiaras and carry magic wands. She is unendingly maternal with her dolls and presses kisses to the fishtank becuase we won't let her pet the fish (though heaven knows she tries "Look mom, the fish are all wet!"). Sigh. And now, she is potty training herself (again, yes, we tried before but this seems to really be happening) and this time? She loves the idea of being in total control over what she wears and when she takes herself to the bathroom. The last time, I still had to lift her onto the toilet seat and it didnt scream "independent" enough for her so it stopped. But now that she dresses and undresses herself, picks her own wardrobe and put on her own shoes, she is determined that she will do this herself too.

I am so excited to see #3 and to catch my own little glimpses into the personality that will eventually grow beyond me and burst out into the world, a dove, a grouse, an eagle in flight.

Semester Ending

Time fles, whether or not you are having fun! I had just been musing about how the girls had gone back to the dayhome after the long winter break and hadnt picked up strange bugs from th other kids yet. And boom! Just like that I cursed myself. Elena woke up this morning to see Dwayne off to work and then just after he left she had the hugest messiest diaper ever. I brushed it off thinking that it was a one-time deal. I gave her breakfast (mistake #2) which she promptly threw up all over my carpet. Eww! I had just ironed my workshirt and was trying to decide if I wanted to strip first, clean up the mess or call in sick right in that moment and felt foolishly undecided. but it was late enough in the morning that I had to call in sick as soon as possible and deal with the mess. But I couldnt leave her close to the mess without chancing that she would walk through it and track it elsewhere so I cleaned up the big stuff, called in, stripped and then got out the carpet cleaner. Sigh. It isnt a good time to be away from school with only two more days of classes before final exams and all of my classes writing in-class portions today and tomorrow.

She seems to be better now and is holding down food but I cant be sure that she is entirely over her bug and so Dwayne has kindly offered to stay home with her tomorrow so I could go and do what I needed to before exams begin in earnest. So much to do and so little time!

In the same vein of bad timing (or perhaps comedic timing, as the case may be) Elena has also taken it into her head that she is done with diapers and despite raging diarrhea and an inability to make it quyite on time to the bathroom, she has begun refusing to wear anything other than big girl panties. 'Cause I have nothing better to do with my time than follow a sick toddler with a carpet cleaner. I should be happy she's growing up, but now? Like this? Gah.

So, another semester draws to a close. It was good, I had good classes and not as many challenges to my authority as I had when I began. The next term will be more challengin, not even slightly because I will be ginormously pregnant through it, but because I am beginning my Pre-AP English class and will be interested to see just how many of the 33 enrolled stick it out until grade 12 to actually end up writing the AP Lit exam. Next to the 10-1, 20-1 and ESL classes, I have much to be excited about as I round up the year. I cant guarantee that I will have time to write about it all but I can guarantee that I will be willing to share if asked :)

Pumpkin (aka OHB, the Whale) is thumping along at a good rate, keeping me up at nights already and making sleeping an interesting challenge. I am at 22 weeks and the girls are slwoly beginning to ask about the baby more and more often. Julia is always amused and amazed at the size of my belly and will pull up her own shirt to see that her tummy and belly button have not also magically exploded overnight.

And so it goes...

New Year's Eve

Well, it is New Year's Eve, and like most people, I have reflected on the excitement of this past year. It was a tumultuous but exciting time, filled with adventures, challenges, heartache and joy.

In the past year:
-I applied for and got a full time English teaching position
-We moved in with my in-laws (something I swore I would never do) and stayed with them for 4.5 months
-We watched Julia's seizures become very severe, to the point of hospitalization in March
-Elena became more vocal and increasingly active
-We bought a house (a single family, no sharing walls with anyone house!) in late April
-Dwayne was accepted into Keyano College's Co-op Work Experience to become an Electrician
-Julia was finally diagnosed in July after an abnormal EEG showed a blip in her right hemisphere. She has Benign Rolandic Epilepsy which they say she will outgrow by 16
-I was sent for training in Victoria to be able to teach Advanced Placement English (I got a nice vacation out of it too!) and offered a probationary contract in the fall.
-Julia started school in the Early Entry program.
-In September we found out that we are expecting Baby #3!! I got so huge so quickly that everyone thought I was having twins. As it turns out, I am just having OHB (one huge baby!). Sometimes I fondly refer to my belly as "The Whale"
-I had glowing teacher evaluations and hints have already been dropped about a continuing contract when I return to work in 2008.
-I fought for Julia to not be labeled even though they lost funding because I made them change her IPP. She was labeled as having a "mild speech language delay" and being pulled out for mixing up "his/her" pronouns and had a one-on-one teacher's aide. I didnt think it was necessary that she was labelled as "gross motor delayed" becuase she couldnt jump 18" with both feet together, landing with both feet together. Heck, I dont know that I could do that or that she was "fine motor delayed" because she couldnt cut within a half and inch of a line in a smooth continuous motion around a circle. Who makes up these tests? Anyway, I know Julia and agree that if anything she could use more work on her gross motor skills but language delay? Give me a break, she tells me the difference between a cheetah and a jaguar.
-My fathe moved into the basement with us whenever he is on shift (10 on, 4 off, how's that fpr a terrible shift?) and it is actually not bad. We get a minivan out of the deal so no complaining here!
-We are starting to save our pennies for a house back in Edmonton. Now that housing prices have skyrocketed there, I am not sure that we will be able to upgrade our house down there as originally planned when we first bought real estate here.

I am looking forward to 2007, even as I know that there will be many more challenges that will face us. I am excited and freaked out, just the way any adventure should begin.

Christmas Day Excitement!

Well after a bit of a tussle with stockings and the idea of shifting traditions around now that we are in our own house for the first time for Christmas since we have been together (Prince George being the only blip in the 8 year run), we have things squared mostly away.

It was a bit off to talk about how Christmas was going to go, since we are so close to how we used to celebrate (being in the same town and all) but not being in the same place to wake up in, not knowing where to hang stockings and who was going to fill them once they were hung!

After much discussion, some grumbling, some hormonal teary eyes and some back and forths, Christmas settled into a nice groove.

The kids slept until 11am, having been up partying with their cousins at the traditional shingding the night before, and then got up to open their stockings. Elena was so enamoured with the toothbrush at the top of her stocking, she wouldnt open anything else for at least 10 minutes!

Julia, on the other hand, was so into things she didnt know where to look next, but soon got into the groove of opening, admiring what she got and then moving on

Merry Christmas!

Just a quick note to wish you a very Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve Celebrations

The Worst Doctor's Appointment Ever

So after my little incident and being told to keep off my feet for a bit, to relax and not stress out, I made a follow-up appointment with my doctor. Only she was booked up and referred me instead to her colleague who works in the same office. This would have been OK if he hadnt been the biggest jerk to walk to planet.

When I was put into the examining room, his first question was "Well, what's the matter with you?" And when I explained what had happened, and that I had had 5 continuous days of headaches, his response was that I was being hysterical and that headaches were part of pregnancy so I would just have to learn to deal with them for the duration of my pregnancy. I stared at him in disbelief. He looked totally nonchalant, and proceeded to tell me that insurance companies didnt like for doctor's to approve people going on sick leave during maternity so I shouldnt ask.

I looked at him like he had grown three heads, I hadnt asked to be put on early leave, I asked whether I should be concerned with 5 days of headaches that Tylenol couldnt do anything for. When I explained that the headaches were combined with dizzy spells (spells severe enough that I would have to pull over while driving or else risk driving off the road) and that in my past pregnancy I was advised not to drive after the 5th month due to similar problems with dizziness and wanted to know if I should be concerned about the fact that they seemed to be getting worse not better.

He reiterated that I was concerned about nothing, that pregnanct women sometimes get dizzy and then got up to leave! I asked if there wasnt ANYTHING I could do--lie, down, elevate my feet, anything?!--and he replied, "Well, only you would know how to make it better for yourself. If sitting down doesnt work, try something else" I shook my head in disbelief at this guy. If I knew how to treat myself, why would I waste my time going to a doctor at all? So I called him on it, having sat there long enough feeling like a sheer idiot. "Well, since I came looking for a medical opinion about the headaches, can you please suggest something?" He scribbled out a requisition for some blood work and said, "There, you can have some blood taken."

So then, because I had just finished the round of antibiotics from the hospital for the UTI they had found during my visit to the ER, I asked if the lab results had been sent to the doctor's office because, silly me, I thought maybe all my prenatal records should be comprehensive. He heaved a sigh, because he had already gotten up to leave, huffed back to the desk and punched in some data. "Nope, nothing was sent" "Well, could you make a note of it in my record that I had a UTI diagnosed and treated this pregnancy, please? I understand hat having one makes me prone that having more?" "Well yeah but *you* know so isn't that enough?" And with that, he left the room.

I was so frustrated and angry I couldnt see straight for several moments. I had to brace myself to go out into public, to go back to school to teach my classes. I was so disgusted with the whole medical system in Fort Mac--crazy wait times, lack of second opinions, "One problem per appointment only", 6 minutes in and out policies, the list goes on. I know that there is a shortage of doctors and nurses, but this is a bit ridiculous.

As for the headaches, they continue to come and go. The dizziness is the same but school is out soon and hopefully a few weeks of vacation and downtime will help.

Christmas is Coming!! and Pregnant Adventure #1

My Santa Girls

Well, it's almost that time of year again. I am surrounded with surprises I have to keep hidden for the next few weeks and the girls already super curious already. What on earth am I going to do when they start *looking* for gifts hidden around? Gah. On the upside, I am 99% done the shopping and we havent really gone too far overboard in terms of expenses and unintentional gift buying. I have a few people left and some packages to figure out how they are going to make it to their intended recipients but otherwise, I actually have this Christmas thing under control.

Which is good, since some other things have stumbled a bit. Before anyone panics, the baby is fine. FINE. I heard the heartbeat yesterday and it is a merry 155 bpm. Sure the nurse was a bit incompetent while looking for it, but hey, while she was looking close to my chest area for the heartbeat, at least I got some peace of mind that there really is only ONE baby in there. Yeah I am feeling a bit unsure about what happned exactly but I am confident now that I only have one baby swimming around now. Speculation can now run rampant about what on earth I was feeling before but speculation is all that it can remain.

On Friday, I was putting up lights. Yeah yeah, spare me the lecture, there are enough people chorusing around me to knowck me into next week should anything more stupid enter my hear. But it was a nice day. And the lights were so tempting. And the ladder was so little. And I only slipped a little. One step. OK maybe two but not more than that! And I didnt land on my belly or face down in the gutter , I just skinned my knee! But then people started asking me in puzzled bewilderment why my belly seemed like it was *shrinking*. I was literally getting smaller within about a day. And, um, the little flutters I was feeling werent really there anymore. But I only skinned my knee! I didnt fall down, I swear! I just skidded a bit off the step!

I got my ass hauled down to the ER and they checked me. I wasnt bleeding, I wasnt losing amniotic fluid, I had mild cramps that were (and will remain) round ligament pains. I did end up showing a UTI, which sucks, but otherwise, I am fine. And the baby is fine.

And the doctor said that as long as I took it easy, didnt get worse or shrink more, and didnt lift anything heavy (including :( Elena) he wouldnt put me on bedrest. Since then, with my smaller belly, I havent felt kicking other than where the doctor said my fundus should be and all the other movement and kicking I felt in other funny places has stopped. So. I am trying not to think about it because the idea of twins never really existed in the first place, but there it is.

Did I mention that the baby is fine? And I have been solidly reamed out by everyone and their dog so yes, I feel guilty about being stupid. But I honestly didnt think that I was in any danger. Or that what I was doing was anymore dangerous than, say, carrying a squirming 2 year old out to the minivan on the slippery driveway. I know, I know, knock it off.

That was my adventurous weekend. I'll stick to gift wrapping, I guess, from here on in.

16 weeks vs 12 weeks

What do you think? Noticeably smaller?

Belly Pictures

Picture on the left:
Baby #1
June 15/02
9 months

Centre Picture:
baby #3
Nov 13/06
12 weeks, 6 days

Picture on the right:
Baby #2
July 26/04
9 months

News!

Well, if you didn't know yet, we have NEWS!!!



I am huge, look like I am well over 4 months along. I had to tell people at work quite early (8-9 weeks) simply becuase I couldnt wear any normal clothes and well, maternity clothes always *look* like maternity clothes. LOL

Two out of three of my classes know and the other class I think is just too polite to ask whether or not I am just getting fat. Still, I can't complain. I had horrible bouts of exhaustion in the first few weeks of the pregnancy but now I am moving out of the ever-tired phase and seem to have more energy (and nesting instinct!) to do all sorts of non-school related tasks, like baking cinnamon buns, shovelling the walk and building snowmen with the kids. Yeah, yeah, before you freak out about the fact that I am shovelling snow, it is light fluffy snow! Hardly weighs anything at all! It is less of a work out than walking up the stairs somedays.

It is just past midterm week and first report card marks are due on Tuesday, so things are hitting a bit of a stress level. Mostly, I have my marking under control, despite all the procrastination, and I have a start on the things I need to have done for Christmas so I guess stress is rather relative.

Name for the baby in utero is still under discussion. Julia was Bean, Elena was Peanut, and people have been bugging me about the fact that I am so big it looks like I could be carrying twins, I've taken to calling the baby "Whale" but I think that it might incite some sort of complex, you know?

Any suggestions?

The reason we went private

So, if you are reading this, you have been invited by email to continue reading this blog (and likely the accompanying picture blog). The change came suddenly and, like most things, might seem like it appeared out of the blue. Which it did, mostly.

I had always thought about the fact that there were questionable folk about, especially since we heard some as yet unconfirmed rumours that one of our ex-friends had been convicted of possession and accessing child porn, but always felt that there had to be more people I wanted to share my life with than I wanted to avoid. I was, and likely remain, too open and honest about my whereabouts, the names and ages of my children, my place of employment and so on. It all adds up to alot of information when it all Googles together.

I attended a conference on Thursday where I saw a presentation about the dangers of being online and how sick some people really were. How they could take random children's photos off the internet and Photoshop them for their own purposes. How they could add illicit details and gory horrific ideas and it was suddenly the tipping point.

Call me paranoid, but if I feel like I have *some* control over who sees the girls and how they're doing, I feel a measure better. I dont want to restrict my friends or family rfom sharing the joy of seeing the girls grow up and as such, if there is anyone out there that I know that has not yet recieved an invitation to the blogs (I had to make some random guesses among friends who still read the blogs and who was interested in being in touch) please email me and let me know what email address you would like the invite sent to and I will add you.

I agree that it is a pain and perhaps a stop gap measure for those who are really determined will find a way no matter what little things we can try but I have to at least try. Now that I have migrated the account to the Beta, there are all sorts of glitches and I hope that you remain with me through this next phase of blogging.

Mourning

"Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me . . ."- Shakespeare, King John

Please pray for my colleague, who lost his baby girl and whose wife and 5 year old son remain in critical condition after this horrific tragedy.

Pray to whomever you believe can help lift this sadness from this man, who was so kind and so unknown and so far from home, to make a living that was worthy of his family and now has lost so much.

Pray that there is some reason that this accident occured and why it makes me shiver with worry that if it could happen to him, why couldn't it happen to us all?

"Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts."- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Pray for us to come together as a community of educators to feel the loss of this tragedy and not slough it off as yet another headline. To embrace the loss not because it makes us feel worse but because it makes us feel. We are interconnected, even in our isolated pods of classrooms, in our own professional worries and difficult work-filled days.

Pray that we remember to hug our children, to kiss our spouses, to thank our friends.

Pray that we remember the value of the life we have now; not the one that we are working for someday or the things we want our children to be when they grow up.

Pray that the oft-embittered sorrows of the world will someday yield peace for all.

"Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain."- Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

Buddies

One of the goals of our family was to have children close enough in age that they were close--closer than my husband and I were with our siblings anyway--and it has seemed to work out that way. Sure they fight, they play with the same toys and have the same interests for the most part and squabble over little things. Elena knows how to push Julia's buttons and knows when to push away and when to zoom in for a snuggle. And Julia is a big softie who tries to be hard nosed about being the big sister but will, more often than not, capitulate to her baby.

The forced separation in early September of the kids by the childcare situation in the town was one that put an enourmous strain on all of us, but none more than the close relationship between the two girls. On the first day we had to go to our separate places--Elena to her dayhome, Julia to hers (and to school) and me back to work--we dropped Elena off first. Well as we were leaving she began to cry. Predicatably, she is only 2 after all. But the strange thing was that she wasnt crying for me, she seemed to understand that I had to go to work but she couldnt for the life of her understand why Julia couldnt stay with her. Her big sister had always been the constant that made all the other transitions of moving, new houses, new dayhomes, having to miss mom all day long, etc. much more bearable. And now they were forced to be apart? Incomprehensible.

Well, we had to go and Julia was feeling anxious about it, as she was putting on her shoes to get back into the car, she said to me, "Mom, Elena is crying. She's sad." I said, "Yeah, I know, but we have to do this today--you get to go to school, she gets to play here and mom has to go to work, but we'll see each other really soon" She nodded and continued putting on her shoes. After a moment, she said, "Mom, Elena is crying and calling my name" she paused, "Mom, its all my fault." Talk about heartbreak. What kind of four year old puts this kind of pressure on herself?

Later that afternoon while at school, she had an incident that made her wet herself. Coincidence? She never has accidents except in a seizure state, no matter how minor or quick they may be. She then continued to have accidents at night and during the day (very very unusual for the incidents to happen during the day when she is usually so aware of herself). There had to be something I could do for my poor girls.

So I called up some people and got meetings and made arrangements and the long and the short of it is that I managed to get an exemption to keep my girls together. Some people might feel like I was too overprotective but all I know is that since being back together, Julia hasnt had a single incident. And that? Is good enough reason for me. 

 

First Days

Julia's First Days at her Early Entry Program

Now that school has begun again, we finally have Julia in a place where she can attend school--the best part is that she goes every afternoon from Monday to Thursday and there is stability and routine and everything that she thrives on. From the looks of the "curriculum" there isnt much on there that she doesnt already know but the socialization aspect and following direction is huge and she loves it all so much.

We had hit a little bump in her road a bit when school was just beginning with her anxiety tied to her sister's absence and her acute sense of my unhappiness with the dayhome situation but everything has been resolved and now, miraculously, her strange bahviour and dont-quite-know-if-this-is-a-seizure state has gone back to normal life once again.

 

Ick a Boo!

Every morning that Elena wakes up all on her own,
she comes to find me and plays "Ick a Boo!"

 

Nerd Alert!

Uh, I guess I am pretty nerdy ;)

Luscious Dragonfruit

This is Dragonfruit



Dragonfruit is somewhat similar to kiwi--a little soft, a little sweet

It is firm enough to slice and eat with a fork and is a marvelous source of Vitamins B1, B2 and B12 as well as Vitamin C.

But the best part about this fruit is that it was onsale for only $1.99 at Safeway this afternoon. Delectable!

 

Gangsta Lit

So, I was reading about gangsta lit after stumbling across this blog post.

As an educator of the self-identified target market (that is, although only maybe 1% of my students are African-Canadian and have any link in their heritage to life outside of the upper middle class and most of the students here who spout gangsta talk are white iPod encrusted closet yuppies) I believed that anything that encourages reading, at any level, is a step in the right direction. I stand firm that being able to read and the lack of desire to read anything but the bare essentials is as bad as not being able to read at all. Anything to break them out of that cycle, then, is a welcome thing.

As with the Harry Potter phenomenon, where kids who wouldnt dream of waking early on a Saturday morning to crack open a 500 page tome, were suddenly clamouring at the gates of the bookstores, lined up on month long waiting lists to be one of the first to find out whether Herminone dies next or ends up snogging Ron. Sure, parent still need to have a role in what their children read but like anything out there, it is a hit and miss world. There are intellectual people out there who have discourse that is unique and mind boggling and astute in their observations. There is a keen eye for noticing things like this:

Hot ... and the measure of heat. Unfortunately, what we have now is judgment calls made from a boardroom. Calls that end up dictating to the streets. The streets can’t see it, cause they’ve returned to their original ownership. Like a rat a box... Corporations is like Americanization which is in turn like mcdonaldization ... McDonalds will give you fast food, and when its hot it may be considered good for the moment. But don’t let it get cold. Even your dog won’t want it. Little nutrition. Different from a meal prepared carefully from scratch whereas you can heat it up 3 months later from freeze and it damn near tastes the same on the reheated tip. Well this can also be compared to art.

and applying it to the songs that the kids are eating up like the fast food crunch frowned upon in a startling twist of dramatic irony. It would be a pity to brush a broad stroke of criticism of the poison that such genres as a whole will wreak upon society becuase we can't know the extent to which kids will take thier passions. That is, no less that other "banned books" of the past, now that gangsta lit has hit the streets and has garnered considerable street cred, it will not fade from the hands of determined youths just because the Christian Science Monitor said so.

Some people fear that reading about pimping and prostitution, sex and drugs will glamorize and glorify street life, but a walk down any down and out neighbourhood will set any 15 year old straight about what glamour is and how far the mighty can fall. I dont think that there is any more to fear from kids turning to dealing or smoking up after reading a book about a kid who does any more than installing condom machines in school is goint o encourage kids who wouldnt normaly have sex to begin. It is a faintly ridiculous notion that we can protect kids from trying out the things that strike terror into our kind parental hearts. Counteracting the condom machine with important information about sexually transmitted diseases, helping kids to see the non-glamourous side of meth addiction, letting kids see the reality of pimping and prostitution--these are things that we can do, and should do to help them come to a fuller understanding of "Fitty" and all of his compatriots. "Pretty Woman" didnt create the problem of prostitution and gangsta lit is not propogating gangs. As communities we have to have a commitment to giving kids things that will inform them and help them make choices that will shape a future that they want to live.

Floundering

I miss the water of the ocean. I miss the tranquility of the shore, the lapping water, the cry of the seagulls, the smell of the salty breeze. I miss the dancing reflection off the waves that slowly creep up the sand to lick my toes before stealing away again, an eternal rhythm that never fails or fades.

Perhaps, though, what I really miss is how I felt there- like everything in perspective was manageable and whole. It is hard to hold on to the peace when everything is falling apart without reason. Grasping at fragments of reality that seem to slip and cut with each renewed effort to hold on. I never wanted to feel the way I felt tonight, despite knowing in my head that it was never intended to hurt me that way, my heart is wounded and my brittle shell is cracking. I remember all too well the desperate wondering if I would ever be enough, if the whole of myself was fulfilling enough to fill a soul for an eternity of loving. And then failing that before, wondering if I had gotten far enough along to meet a new kind of standard, a new kind of acceptance. And allowing myself the luz=xury of thinking that it was Ok now. That I was safe from that feeling, that dread, that sinking. I am not drowning yet.

It is a stage, I know. A moment, or a passing phase. And the sun will return tomorrow but tonight, in the tender and fragile solitude of night, I am missing...something. I am floundering.

You cannot separate the just from the unjust...

We should fear what was to come and perhaps that fear is the currency by which terrorism peddles its wares. Is not the fear of what might happen, and the subsequent lock down of freedom, the entirety of terrorism? That we are to cease living the lifestyle of democracy and submit to the strict regime of military watchfulness seems to be progress in a direction that inspires fear in me.

Then one of the judges of the city stood forth
and said, "Speak to us of Crime and Punishment."
And he answered saying:
It is when your spirit
goes wandering upon the wind,
That you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong
unto others and therefore unto yourself.
And for that wrong committed must
you knock and wait a while unheeded at
the gate of the blessed.
Like the ocean is your god-self;
It remains for ever undefiled.
And like the ether it lifts but the winged.
Even like the sun is your god-self;
It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent.
But your god-self does not dwell alone in your being.
Much in you is still man,
and much in you is not yet man,
But a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep in
the mist searching for its own awakening.
And of the man in you would I now speak.
For it is he and not your god-self nor the pigmy in the mist, that
knows crime and the punishment of crime.
Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as
though he were not one of you,
but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world.
But I say that even as the holy and the
righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you,
So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree,
So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self.
You are the way and the wayfarers.
And when one of you falls down he falls for those
behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone.
Ay, and he falls for those ahead of him, who though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone.
And this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts:
The murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder,
And the robbed is not blameless in being robbed.
The righteous is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked,
And the white-handed is not clean in the doings of the felon.
Yea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim of the injured,
And still more often the condemned is the burden-bearer for the guiltless and unblamed.
You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked;
For they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the
white are woven together.
And when the black thread breaks, the weaver
shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom also.
If any of you would bring judgment the unfaithful wife,
Let him also weight the heart of her husband in scales, and measure his soul with measurements.
And let him who would lash the offender look unto the spirit of the offended.
And if any of you would punish in the name of righteousness and lay the ax
unto the evil tree, let him see to its roots;
And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined
together in the silent heart of the earth.
And you judges who would be just,
What judgment pronounce you upon him who though honest in the flesh yet is a
thief in spirit?
What penalty lay you upon him who slays in the flesh
yet is himself slain in the spirit?
And how prosecute you him who in action
is a deceiver and an oppressor,
Yet who also is aggrieved and outraged?
And how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than their
misdeeds?
Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that very law
which you would fain serve?
Yet you cannot lay remorse upon the innocent
nor lift it from the heart of the guilty.
Unbidden shall it call in the night, that men may wake and gaze upon themselves.
And you who would understand justice,
how shall you unless you look upon all deeds in the
fullness of light?
Only then shall you know that the erect and the fallen
are but one man standing in twilight between the night of his pigmy-self and the day of his god-self,
And that the corner-stone of the temple is not
higher than the lowest stone in its foundation.

It is hard, of course it is hard, to not judge, to not condemn. But I think that I shall be afraid for more than my life should the roots of our systems crumble into shadows of themselves. We must uphold our commitment to justice--that is, judge not, lest ye be judged; and strive to have a full understanding of what the other side of the story might be.

It is a difficult thing, in an emotional time, to want to examine the stories of the "terrorists", the "fanatics', the "Islamic people". We must not brush with broad strokes the fate of people in lands that do not have our stories, do not have our military, do not have our freedoms. For their blood runs red also, and the streets everywhere are flowing like rivers of hell; their children are crying and their mothers are grieving. Let us be watchful at whose lives we are holding as well.

*Taken from "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese author.

Write ' Til You Drop

May 28, 1989
Write Till You Drop
By ANNIE DILLARD
People love pretty much the same things best. A writer looking for subjects inquires not after what he loves best, but after what he alone loves at all. Strange seizures beset us. Frank Conroy loves his yo-yo tricks, Emily Dickinson her slant of light; Richard Selzer loves the glistening peritoneum, Faulkner the muddy bottom of a little girl's drawers visible when she's up a pear tree. ''Each student of the ferns,'' I once read, ''will have his own list of plants that for some reason or another stir his emotions.''
Why do you never find anything written about that idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it is up to you. There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin. You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.
Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?
Write about winter in the summer. Describe Norway as Ibsen did, from a desk in Italy; describe Dublin as James Joyce did, from a desk in Paris. Willa Cather wrote her prairie novels in New York City; Mark Twain wrote ''Huckleberry Finn'' in Hartford. Recently scholars learned that Walt Whitman rarely left his room.
The writer studies literature, not the world. She lives in the world; she cannot miss it. If she has ever bought a hamburger, or taken a commercial airplane flight, she spares her readers a report of her experience. She is careful of what she reads, for that is what she will write. She is careful of what she learns, because that is what she will know.
The writer knows her field - what has been done, what could be done, the limits - the way a tennis player knows the court. And like that expert, she, too, plays the edges. That is where the exhilaration is. She hits up the line. In writing, she can push the edges. Beyond this limit, here, the reader must recoil. Reason balks, poetry snaps; some madness enters, or strain. Now gingerly, can she enlarge it, can she nudge the bounds? And enclose what wild power?
A well-known writer got collared by a university student who asked, ''Do you think I could be a writer?''
''Well,'' the writer said, ''I don't know. . . . Do you like sentences?''
The writer could see the student's amazement. Sentences? Do I like sentences? I am 20 years old and do I like sentences? If he had liked sentences, of course, he could begin, like a joyful painter I knew. I asked him how he came to be a painter. He said, ''I liked the smell of the paint.''
Hemingway studied, as models, the novels of Knut Hamsun and Ivan Turgenev. Isaac Bashevis Singer, as it happened, also chose Hamsun and Turgenev as models. Ralph Ellison studied Hemingway and Gertrude Stein. Thoreau loved Homer; Eudora Welty loved Chekhov. Faulkner described his debt to Sherwood Anderson and Joyce; E. M. Forster, his debt to Jane Austen and Proust. By contrast, if you ask a 21-year-old poet whose poetry he likes, he might say, unblushing, ''Nobody's.'' He has not yet understood that poets like poetry, and novelists like novels; he himself likes only the role, the thought of himself in a hat. Rembrandt and Shakespeare, Bohr and Gauguin, possessed powerful hearts, not powerful wills. They loved the range of materials they used. The work's possibilities excited them; the field's complexities fired their imaginations. The caring suggested the tasks; the tasks suggested the schedules. They learned their fields and then loved them. They worked, respectfully, out of their love and knowledge, and they produced complex bodies of work that endure. Then, and only then, the world harassed them with some sort of wretched hat, which, if they were still living, they knocked away as well as they could, to keep at their tasks.
It makes more sense to write one big book - a novel or nonfiction narrative - than to write many stories or essays. Into a long, ambitious project you can fit or pour all you possess and learn. A project that takes five years will accumulate those years' inventions and richnesses. Much of those years' reading will feed the work. Further, writing sentences is difficult whatever their subject. It is no less difficult to write sentences in a recipe than sentences in ''Moby-Dick.'' So you might as well write ''Moby-Dick.'' Similarly, since every original work requires a unique form, it is more prudent to struggle with the outcome of only one form - that of a long work - than to struggle with the many forms of a collection.
Every book has an intrinsic impossibility, which its writer discovers as soon as his first excitement dwindles. The problem is structural; it is insoluble; it is why no one can ever write this book. Complex stories, essays and poems have this problem, too - the prohibitive structural defect the writer wishes he had never noticed. He writes it in spite of that. He finds ways to minimize the difficulty; he strengthens other virtues; he cantilevers the whole narrative out into thin air and it holds. Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed? Can the writer isolate and vivify all in experience that most deeply engages our intellects and our hearts? Can the writer renew our hopes for literary forms? Why are we reading, if not in hope that the writer will magnify and dramatize our days, will illuminate and inspire us with wisdom, courage and the hope of meaningfulness, and press upon our minds the deepest mysteries, so we may feel again their majesty and power? What do we ever know that is higher than that power which, from time to time, seizes our lives, and which reveals us startlingly to ourselves as creatures set down here bewildered? Why does death so catch us by surprise, and why love? We still and always want waking. If we are reading for these things, why would anyone read books with advertising slogans and brand names in them? Why would anyone write such books? We should mass half-dressed in long lines like tribesmen and shake gourds at each other, to wake up; instead we watch television and miss the show.
No manipulation is possible in a work of art, but every miracle is. Those artists who dabble in eternity, or who aim never to manipulate but only to lay out hard truths, grow accustomed to miracles. Their sureness is hard won. ''Given a large canvas,'' said Veronese, ''I enriched it as I saw fit.''
The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring. It is the sensation of a stunt pilot's turning barrel rolls, or an inchworm's blind rearing from a stem in search of a route. At its worst, it feels like alligator wrestling, at the level of the sentence.
At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your fists, your back, your brain, and then - and only then -it is handed to you. From the corner of your eye you see motion. Something is moving through the air and headed your way. It is a parcel bound in ribbons and bows; it has two white wings. It flies directly at you; you can read your name on it. If it were a baseball, you would hit it out of the park. It is that one pitch in a thousand you see in slow motion; its wings beat slowly as a hawk's.
One line of a poem, the poet said - only one line, but thank God for that one line - drops from the ceiling. Thornton Wilder cited this unnamed writer of sonnets: one line of a sonnet falls from the ceiling, and you tap in the others around it with a jeweler's hammer. Nobody whispers it in your ear. It is like something you memorized once and forgot. Now it comes back and rips away your breath. You find and finger a phrase at a time; you lay it down as if with tongs, restraining your strength, and wait suspended and fierce until the next one finds you: yes, this; and yes, praise be, then this.
Einstein likened the generation of a new idea to a chicken's laying an egg: ''Kieks - auf einmal ist es da.'' Cheep - and all at once there it is. Of course, Einstein was not above playing to the crowd.
Push it. Examine all things intensely and relentlessly. Probe and search each object in a piece of art; do not leave it, do not course over it, as if it were understood, but instead follow it down until you see it in the mystery of its own specificity and strength. Giacometti's drawings and paintings show his bewilderment and persistence. If he had not acknowledged his bewilderment, he would not have persisted. A master of drawing, Rico Lebrun, discovered that ''the draftsman must aggress; only by persistent assault will the live image capitulate and give up its secret to an unrelenting line.'' Who but an artist fierce to know - not fierce to seem to know - would suppose that a live image possessed a secret? The artist is willing to give all his or her strength and life to probing with blunt instruments those same secrets no one can describe any way but with the instruments' faint tracks.
Admire the world for never ending on you as you would admire an opponent, without taking your eyes off him, or walking away.
One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.
After Michelangelo died, someone found in his studio a piece of paper on which he had written a note to his apprentice, in the handwriting of his old age: ''Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time.''

Annie Dillard's most recent book is ''An American Childhood.'' Her narrative, ''Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,'' won a Pulitzer Prize in 1975.

http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/03/28/specials/dillard-drop.html

I Think It's Going to Rain Today...

"Broken windows and empty hallways,a pale dead moon in a sky streaked with grey.Human kindness is overflowing,and I think it's gonna rain today..."

This past week has been a bit of a mixed bag. The sun has been playing peek a boo with the rain, and losing most of the time. The odd bits of sun we get only serve as a teaser when the bluey grey clouds roll over it and wet down all the stuff that just dried off.

"Lonely, lonely.Tin can at my feet,I think I'll kick it down the street.That's the way to treat a friend..."

Inside, things are not faring so much better. I get one area of the house neat and my indoor tornadoes come and tear it all apart again. We get one not quite working bit fixed up and then something else springs a leak. I finally get all the cat hair off the floor and then we dog sit and suddenly, not only does it smell like wet dog, it is wet dog.

"Bright before me the signs implore me:Help the needy and show them the way.Human kindness is overflowing,and I think it's gonna rain today..."

In my head, much of the same. I send out email and get none in reply. I tear through lesson plans only to find no gems in the midst. I have a quibble with the hubby and it stretches out the whole week.

"Lonely, so lonely.Tin can at my feet,I think I'll kick it down the street.That's the way to treat a friend..."

I am tired and the rain is overwhelming me a bit. There arent enough sunny breaks and I feel like the steady beat of the showers wash away parts of me that I am trying to hold onto.

"Bright before me the signs implore me:Help the needy and show them the way.Human kindness is overflowing,and I think it's gonna rain today..."

Sometimes I wonder how I got here, this place so far from where I had imagined myself going. I keep telling myself that it is all about the journey, that the here and now are simply passages that will lead me to a different here and a different now and whether or not it is better or brighter rather depends more on me than anything else. I tell myself this, but I don't know if I believe it today.

Lyrics by Bette Middler "I Think It's Going to Rain Today" from the Beaches soundtrack

Northern Lights

 

Northern Lights over Fort McMurray

As we drove home from our crazy 36 hour marathon of fun holiday, Dwayne and I caught the northern lights shimmering over Fort McMurray, just outside of city limits.

 

Thinking...

My Julia wants to be a princess, and Elena calls all princesses "Stinker-Ella" (she cant quite get the "Cinder-ella" sounds yet)...

Rainy Days and Tuesdays

After days of intensely hot weather and unrelenting humidity, a day of rain and softened daylight, fresh breezes and occasional thunder is the perfect salve. Throw in some garlicy brushetta on crisp rice thins and a llittle bit of down time with the kids and you have an almost elusively perfect day.

Overwhelmed a bit

I am back from an emotional intense week long Summer Institute for the Advanced Placement program and also from being away from my family for the longest stretch since my kids were born. It was a tough week on so many levels and once I got back, there was no respite from the crashing wave of stuff awaiting me at home.

I finished up the second wedding guestbook of the summer within three days of returning. This will bring it to a total of three and a half brand new scrapbooks that I have finished this summer alone--one wedding shower book for Michelle, Matt and Michelle's scrapbook guestbook, another wedding scrapbook guestbook for Keith and Christina to take to Keith's sister's wedding on August long weekend, and one more surprise scrapbook that will be giving in December-ish but still needed doing this summer because the time was right. Whew. It seems like I worked really hard and I am so proud of the results of all of the books. I have considered doing the wedding guestbooks by commission, as I did for Christina but I am not sure. I have promised to do one for next summer's wedding and already look forward to doing that one!

Tomorrow I will be having a garage sale and hope that it clears out the majority of the stuff in our shed--I mean, it will, becuase anything I dont sell will just get pitched into the truck to be carted off the Goodwill. I still have to sort out all the teaching stuff I brought home for the summer and try to plan out my school year to some degree. I need to draw up a three year plan that will being me somewhat in line with the Advanced Placement Course Audit that is already making me sweat (I have to submit a course syllabus for approval from the College Board).

I havent even been home a week!

I have cleaned the house, somewhat, but there always seems to be more to tidy and the kids are drooping with me in the stifling heat. I cant even throw them outside to enjoy the sunshine because it is far too hot to even contemplate playing outdoors for longer than a few minutes at a time.

I know that it is probably more important for me to take it easy with them in these lazy hazy days of summer and just enjoy setting up the all important routine in their days but I cant sit still for long when there is a mountain of stuff looming overhead.

And so I go...

School's Out

Well, I have finished teaching my first full time semester of high school English and I take it as a good sign that, while I need a break from the hustle of it all, I can't wait to get back into my classroom in the fall. I can smell the crisp pages of fresh lined paper and newly sharpened pencils...ahem...I digress.

I attended the school graduation ceremony today--the new grads resplendent in their caps and gowns, sparkles and starry eyes making the horror of the "self-edited" Frost poem lessen somewhat.

When I was teaching preschoolers, the gratitude was overwhelming and tangible. I could count on people telling me that I was being effective and helpful and appreciated. Teaching high school students is a somewhat more intuitive appreciation. There are few overt gestures of thanks and tokens of gratitude for imparting wisdom and knowledge that will hold students in good steed in future endeavours. And I knew that going in and wasnt terribly disappointed with the lack of "tanglibe" thanks. And part of the salve that makes it more palatable are those little gems that adolescents leave like little diamonds in the rough.

Jot notes on exam sign out sheets, smiles wreathed in triumph, pride and accomplishment, or small comments, made off-hand and so subtly that they might be otherwise missed.

"Miss, are you going to be back next year teaching English?"

"Yes."

"Really?! What are you going to be teaching?!?" A quick breath of anticipation.

"Not the course you will have to take"

"Awwww" Deflated hope turns slowly at the door, "Have a good summer, Miss."

My own sense of accomplishment, every bit as intangible, buoys me through the rest of the drudgery of the day.

Tiger Lilies

We are weeding out the garden and are finding all sorts of treasure among the weeds. its funny how you might go loking for weeds and come up with lilies. Sort of an affirmation of all that is right with the world.

 

Word Porn

I just finished watching the National Spelling Bee on television and felt both thrilled for the high finish and yet disappointed when Finola Hackett took second place in the competition.

The fact that she made it to Round 19 was an unbelievable accomplishment--the only Canadian to ever have made it that far in the National Spelling Bee.

I think that it is at least partially the idea of competition that makes things like televised spelling bees, secret ingredient cook-offs and play off hockey such a thrill to engage in.

There have been bad press surrounding the response of some so-called hockey fans who showed their true colours after Edmonton defeated the Mighty Ducks to make it to the Stanley Cup finals. And rightfully so. There is no excuse for the hooliganism that tipped the scale of celebration into near riot. But. Sitting in my living room, heart thumping as the Canadian defender spelled her final word. And failing. By one letter. I could see how emotions could rise up, could choke you. And I was watching SPELLING!

In any case, satiated with my current fix of word porn, I pat down the clamouring emotion and head off to sleep.

Rambling and Mothering Day

So, I have stuff I ought to be doing--scrapbooking, making tags, cuddling my baby, sleeping--and yet, here I am drawn inexplicably back to this window, trying perhaps to reconnect with the world outside that hasnt heard much from me for a bit. Its hard to get back in the groove of writing. To think my own thoughts about random things and feel okay about using my time to collect them in a little basket and set them down here for all to see.

Yes, its like getting sea legs or riding a bicycle. A bit rusty, a little squeaky and perhaps irritatingly slow to those who breeze past. But since there is no quick solution for this except to drum on and ploddingly write drivel and nonsense until my senses return to me, i type on. Stream of conciousnesss writing is never a pretty sight and I am guessing that I have no readers here anymore anyway so it matters very little how boring this must be to read. Because as I type on, I can feel my fingers quicken and my sense heighten. I can ignore the grumbing in my belly and the strains of Dora's theme song has faded into the background of my periphery sense. The thrum of the computer's fan drives my breath and I feel a bit exhilerated at having said nothing and yet accomplished a lot.

Today was a wonderful day. It was my Mother's Day. My lovey brought me home and a card with a beautiful pot of cyclamen flowers awaited me on the table. And more good news--he was accepted into the apprenticeship program at the college and so will get into the trade that he wanted (Electrical!) and it makes me so relieved that things are finally coming together. Dinner--baby back ribs, garlic mashed potatoes and garlic toast and a tall frosty glass of peach slushie--and quality alone time with my husband and suddenly I was ready to pick my children up fromtheir dayhome and plunge back into it all.

Last crappy non-post, I promise

I just couldn't resist.

LITERATURE ABUSE: AMERICA'S HIDDEN PROBLEM
SELF-TEST FOR LITERATURE ABUSERS

How many of these apply to you?

1. I have read fiction when I was depressed or to cheer myself up.
2. I have gone on reading binges of an entire book or more in a day.
3. I read rapidly, often 'gulping' chapters.
4. I have sometimes read early in the morning or before work.
5. I have hidden books in different places to sneak a chapter without
being seen.
6. Sometimes I avoid friends or family obligations in order to read
novels.
7. Sometimes I re-write film or television dialog as the characters
speak.
8. I am unable to enjoy myself with others unless there is a book
nearby.
9. At a party, I will often slip off unnoticed to read.
10. Reading has made me seek haunts and companions which I would
otherwise avoid.
11. I have neglected personal hygiene or household chores until I
have finished a novel.
12. I have spent money meant for necessities on books instead.
13. I have attempted to check out more library books than permitted.
14. Most of my friends are heavy fiction readers.
15. I have sometimes passed out from a night of heavy reading.
16. I have suffered 'blackouts' or memory loss from a bout of reading.
17. I sometimes read without a donut in one hand.
18. I do crossword puzzles in pen when there isn't a pencil handy.
19. I have spent hours trying to program TiVO only to record Oprah
when it's her book club.
20. I eat biscotti at Borders, even though it tastes terrible, so
I can disguise my reading habit.
21. I have wept, become angry or irrational because of something
I read.
22. I have sometimes wished I did not read so much.
23. Sometimes I think my reading is out of control.
24. Amazon knows my credit card number.

Not sooo evil...am I??

You Are 64% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care. Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

How Evil Are You?

I CANNOT DO THIS ALONE


O God, early in the morning I cry to you.
Help me to pray
And to concentrate my thoughts on you:
I cannot do this alone.
In me there is darkness,
But with you there is light;
I am lonely, but you do not leave me;
I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help;
I am restless, but with you there is peace.
In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience;
I do not understand your ways,
But you know the way for me…
Restore me to liberty,
And enable me to live now
That I may answer before you and before me.
Lord, whatever this day may bring,
Your name be praised.





- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Two Weeks

It has been two weeks since I hit the ground running and back in the swing of teaching high school students again. It has been an interesting ride so far. High school students are creatures like no other. They are stretching their thought patterns and flexing their independence muscles and yet have a sort of vulnerability to them. They need to have their hand held but dont want to admit that they are needing help with anything. it is a dichotomy that makes me nuts and makes me proud. It takes a lot of patience not to strangle them somedays and yet I remember being there in that "sky's the limit" phase.

Well, maybe I wasn't there that long. Adolescence, as I recall rather painfully, was rife with things I would rather forget. And it is kind of interesting that the cycles of adolescence go around in much the same patterns that I saw as a teen. Growing pains, awkward and gangly and all around hell. Sure there were bright spots but school wasn't really one of them. Odd to hear coming from a teacher? Perhaps. I didn't enter into this profession becuase I was an A+ teacher's pet. In fact, there was a time when I was sure that I would barely pass high school at all.

In a way this gives me a good perspective that allows me to understand the needs of my students a bit more. I expect a lot from them but I also give them some room for mistakes and for growth. I understand late assignments and I try not to be totally overbearing. I am proud that some students came to me today completely voluntarily looking for help and then walking away feeling like maybe this Language Arts business wasn't completely foreign and impossible after all. It isn't ever easy asking for help when you are fourteen, especially from someone who is a relative stranger and has thus far proven to be a bit tedious in requiring work done when the last teacher only told stories and let mayhem reign. Nevertheless, it has begun and I hope that word spreads in that class that I am not so bad after all.