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.

The Ridiculous Allure of New Things

I have this thing . I guess you might call it a compulsion, a problem, a difficulty. You see, I like to accumulate stuff and part of the reason that I accumulate so much stuff is because I have a hard time opening things and using them. Yes, it sounds odd because they are often things that I want to use, want to eat, want to play with. But there is something about the allure of new things in shiny packages and sealed plastic that makes me pause in my tracks. CAse in point, over Christmas my mother gave me a few tins of candy. Very cute little tins that came from some posh hotel that she bought as a remembrance and thought that we might enjoy. Well, I just cracked the first tin open becuase I am moving and frankly, I dont have room to store little tins of candy and boxes of chocolates and bins of crackers. Even if the packages are delightful and I really do like the look of them. And besides which , I know my mother didnt purchase these itesm to accumulate dust in my cupboards, she bought them to be consumed and thrown away. I know this. But it is still hard.

The newness factor comes into play with more than just candies, though. I have notebooks and pencils, scrapbooking items and bath stuff that is just sitting here and know that it is all quite ridiculous but I cant do much about it. Well, until now, that is. I have resolved to put aside my "like it so shiny" ways and am working on polishing off this little tin of jelly candies and enjoy every last one of them, dammit. Because I can. And I should. Because who on earth will want to see a freaking tin of petrified candies. Upon unearthing it, they would undoubtably shake their heads and ask one another "Why didnt she just eat them?"

Why indeed.

Journey On

Well, as Holidailies is wrapping up for another year, I am feeling the excitement of the coming year. It is a journey that is just beginning to open up, like the tender petals of a blossom. It feels like I blinked yesterday and between the gasp of breath the new year took as the clock struck twelve to the seconds that flew between hitting send and getting a reply from the school, somehow I have set the year on a crash course journey. I am spiralling a bit out of control as I set out to get it all done in record time.

I have never shied away from change and things often happen quickly once things are set into motion but this takes the cake. If everything falls into place, there will be about 2 weeks to pick up the kids, pack and move to a new city. 2 weeks? My head is about to explode. And yet, I am happy. Excited. Thrilled even. Even though I was so vehenmently opposed to living so close to the in-laws, I am looking forward to the challenges that lie ahead.

It will undoubtably be a long road and a hard one at that. I dont expect to be able to waltz in and have the students eating out of my hand or that I will know how to cope with an ounce of the trouble they will throw my way. Nevertheless, I am eagerly anticipating starting this next step in the journey I set out on so long ago. I am feeling confident (and nervous beyond belief) as I get myself ready for the interview on Thursday.

And so as I draw this not so thrilling entry out for my last portal of Holidailies, I am setting myself up for a year of opporunities and anticipation. This holding pattern I am in is about to kill me.

Sleep

I like to sleep. I was never a get up early type of child, preferring instead to burrow into the warmth of my blankets and drift the day away. Sometimes I would wake and read there in my little blanket warren but it was a rare time that I would willingly leave it to face the coldness of the world around me. My parents, of course, did not ever indulge me in this fantasy of loafing about, but I did enjoy dragging it out as long as I could.

Sometimes my blankets (of which I had no fewer than three or four at any given time of the year)would hit that perfect nest and I would try my best to emerge from it carefully so that I could return to the perfection I had created later that evening. Naturally this meant that making the bed was out of the question. Smooth sheets? Hospital corners? Orderly pillows? How on earth would you be able to savour the warmth if you werent curled within it? So I left it, much to everyone else's chagrin. They simply closed the door to my bedroom and held thier breath as they entered. I would have been happier if they had not entered at all, but that is another tale entirely.

Now that I have children of my own who also enjoy their sleep, I can see my parents emerging from within me as I nag them out of thier beds (at 3 and 17 months, though, sometimes it is best to let sleeping babies lie) They, like me and my husband, like to stay up late and sleep the day away. Night owls all. Too bad the world doesnt revolve around folk like us. Still, on vacation days like I have now, I like giving them the opportunity to sleep as much as they would like and, while this may not be the delicate balance that the rest of the world strikes between waking and sleeping times, I think that they will be fine.

Besides, I like watching them sleep. It is a peaceful and gentle time, the next best thing to sleeping myself.

Lost: Sense of Reality

I am not very good at making Resolutions. Or rather, I am very good at making resolutions, but also very good at breaking resolutions. It has gotten to the point where I dont even think i should put up the pretense when I know that I am setting myself up for a fall from the heights of unrealistic expectations. I think part of the problem is that I have an overactive imagination that tends to run away with my expectations rigth around this time of year. I think if I put out a lost and found ad for it it might read:

LOST
Sense of Reality.

Last sighted by me in the mid 1990's dressed in red plaid flannel and wide whale brown corduroy pants. Might be disguised in resolutions around New Year's, romantic Valentines in mid-February, clad in bouquets of flowers around Mother's day and lingering around turkey during holiday gatherings.

Could be considered dangerous if one is near rock bottom.

Often accompanied by Overactive Imagination, High Expectations and Illogical Reasoning. Be warned that these companions are a bad influence and may lead one's Sense of Reality further astray.

Use caution when approaching.

I am trying to rein things in this year, even as I start with a level of stress that may be considered lethal in most cases. I am trying to give myself permission to take things one at a time, to not overplan for things I dont know I can commit to, to take the exciting plunge into the unknown. I am trying to tell myself that I have to look out for our families best interests because no one will do it for me. And so though I havent made official resolutions, I obviously have made a decision to make a concerted effort to accomplishment. Maybe i should call a spade a spade and move on.

And so it goes...

Taking 2006 by Storm

It is only 1 day into 2006 and already I am planning to ride out the year in a chaotic way. I am in the process of re-vamping my resume which, once sent, will plunge us headlong into uncertain territory as we decide which of the family needs would be served by what actions. I know it all sounds vague and clear as mud but if anything is clear it is that this year will be filled with uncertainty.

Some people look back on the previous year and re-hash and re-live the moments of clarity, moments of unrest, moments of great joy and moments of unbearable sorrow. In the same vein, as I re-write my resume, I cast my thoughts back upon the places I have been, the person I was at various points of life. I think about how odd it might be to work at the places I once did, knowing now what I know, how much growth has been achieved as I have moved forth in time. While I am sure that it is perfectly natural to do this reminiscing over this document, it feels funny to me, especially as I am simultaneously looking forward, projecting and trying to view the long term consequences of any decisions that may be made.

As with year-in-reviews, it feels uncanny that time has gone by so fast, that I could have crammed so much in so little time, and as I look to what this new year will bring, I see endless possibilities.

Holidailies: Change is in the Air

You don't appreciate just how much you miss home until you have spent 4 days away from it. Four days in an environment that is toxic and strange, festive and odd, rife with relatives and smoochey pooches, all rolled into one. Suddenly, no matter how messy and chaotic home may be, life seems easier. Easier, that is, if you aren't sadistic like me. You see, I could spend the remaining two weeks of my vacation resting, relaxing and recouperating so I am refreshed (and alliteratively attractive) for the rest of the school year. But instead I am cleaning. No, I am decluttering, which is suddenly a world apart from simply tidying ariund the mounds of stuff that accumulates over the course of the year.

Several times during the year I am struck with an urge to purge and change the layout of our place. I get incredibly fed up with trying to stuff toys in overflowing bins, to wade through papers that seem to breed overnight into mountains, which then become landslides. So I grab some garbage bags and go nuts. Since I am usually upset and angry while I am doing it (a result of trying to avoid landslides and overflowing) things are thrown away with little regard for sentimental reasons. I feel less inclined to mushy feelings when I am already gripped by hotter emotions, I suppose.

So when we arived back home and I tried in vain to simply find new crevices to force the gargantuan Christmas haul (you know, the one that filled the van we rented to capacity and we stillhad to leave things behind). Looking around at all the stuff made me almost physically sick. So it began. The last great purge of 2005. I am now over 4 garbage bags filled with stuff and only two rooms sorted through. It feels good and liberating, but also disgustingly commercial as I go through it all. No one should have this much to waste when others go without so badly.

In the past, with the pack rat tendencies that I am trying to break free from, it was incredibly difficult to do this sort of cleaning. It took hours of reading each little piece of paper, oohing over old trinkets, sighing over past remembrances. But the hours in my life are getting too precious to spend that way anymore and I am ruthless about what I need and what I can do without carrying around. There are murmurings in the air about change and I need to prepare myself for it.

I am all about change, it is one of the hallmarks of my existence and I am not afraid of changing to suit the needs of my life. But. It does require somewhat of a preparatory season. So as I shed the trappings of one lifestyle and try to move into a cleaner, more streamlined style of living, I purge on. And as we approach the coming year, already ripe with excited possibilities and somewhat scary prospects, I am changing, inside and out.

Holidailies: The Christmas Song

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Jack Frost nipping at your nose..."

Another Christmas has come and gone--the excited realizations that there are gifts to be unveiled, Christmas-only treats to be eaten, expressions of love to be exchanged. The day passed simultaneously quickly and slowly, long dregs of rest and lazy periods of lethargy. it seems that when there is nothing pressing to do or places to rush to, time takes on a different dimension. One that I can only assume that children feel at all times when they are young. Eat when you feel hungry, lay down and take a nap if you feel tired, run around examining new toys or books or people as the moments stike you. In a way this once a year time when I can revert back to this child like lethargy is a nice change but upon deeper reflection, I think that too much of this rather prosaic lifestyle would leave me bored to tears. I wander about the house looking for some way to occupy my hands, my mind, my time and, especially since I am inhabiting someone else's living space for the holidays, it is difficult.

As a typical Type A, always on the go type person, this type of living probably would create paroxysms of insanity. I like being busy. In this small-ish town holidays mean that the entire city shuts down--nothing open, no one available for last minute entertainment or boredom fillers. In a time when stores open in 72 hour stretches to accomodate last minute consumerism, and indulge in fast-everything to gooptions, this slower pace strikes me as quaint and annoying. A dichotomy not easily reconciled if you are used to having options 24/7 365 days per year.

There are some who would say that it is time for a reversion--a time to embrace the slower quiet lifestyle where Sunday walks after family dinners with only the midnight mass service to attend are an expectation rather than an exceptionality. They, the mysterious they, say that lifestyles like this would save our society from the moral decay that is raping the next generation without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. I am unconvinced that the decay is due to having busy lives although I agree that our children are rather over-scheduled and overwhelmed with adult-like activities. I think, rather, that people simply need to make wiser choices from the options presented. Just because there are 100 options to choose from doesnt mean that you need to cram them all in. I think that having options is one of the hallmarks of a democratic society and that any whiff of taking those options away feels a bit too Socialist for my tastes.

As the year wraps up and we are plunging into more political turmoil before the federal election early in the new year, I am forced to dwell on the impact that others might have on my rights to live my life, busy or not. I do not strive to be political and will seldom make more than obscure comments in this forum as to my political leanings, but since it is a topic that will dominate the end of year newscasts, I feel somewhat obliged to take it into account and digest it right alongside the turkey and stuffing. So long as I enjoy my rights to congregate at Christmas time with my friends and family, so long as I get to feast on whatever type of meal suits my fancy, so long as my children are allowed to make whatever choices might move them in the long laziness of holiday days, I am participating in politics and whether or not you realize it, you are too.

And, in the freedom alloted to me and my family,

"...I'm offering this simple phrase
To kids from one to ninety-two
Although it's been said
many times, many ways
Merry Christmas to you."

Holidailies: Do They know It's Christmas Time

"It's Christmastime; there's no need to be afraid..."

The EEG yesterday went as well as could be expected. We tried to prepare Julia for the 45 minutes of sitting around with a hat full of electrodes by telling her that she was going to have to wear a hat for the doctor. Her bedtime wish that night was that the hat she had to wear would be a cowboy hat. So I brought the cowboy hat she refused to wear on Halloween, hid it beneath my coat and gave it to the receptionist to put in the examining room.

She was tired, the seizures seem to have drained her a lot. She complained of aches and pains, as though her body had done a myriad of brutal exercises, which I guess it had. She was whiny and complainy but since the tech had wheeled a TV with Dora epsiode on it, she sat pretty well. I sat there on the bed that she decided was more comfortable than the chair that was first offered and we snuggled as best we could under the circumstances. She watched Dora and I watched the face of the tech who stared at the computer screen hooked up to my child's brain. Her face, of course, was inscrutiable and I had to content myself with wild imaginings and worst case scenarios. It might not come as a shock to you that I am prone to letting my imagination get the best of me.

After the minutes ticked by and she told us that we were done, she left the room to fetch a much deserved Dora sticker for Julia. I snuck a peek at the computer screen. Wouldnt you? Even if all I saw were meaningless squiggles of brain wave activity, at least I was able to see something, right? The quick glance was supposed to assuage my wild imaginings but what it did instead was boost the fodder with which I could imagine my scenarios.

On the screen was a series of black brain wave lines. A whole screen of identical squiggles that seemed harmless and, dare I say it? Normal. Except. One. Down at the bottom of the screen there was one lonely red line. So starkly red against the normal black waves that dominated the rest of the screen that I was alarmed. Beneath part of the red wave there was a line measuring..something. And perhaps it was noral too, but in my little bubble world, things outlined in red and measured when other parts of the screen are not, doesnt bode well. Maybe its the English teacher in me but when I circle things in red, it means something is amiss, out of place.

But Julia ws just glad to be done. She slapped the cowboy hat on top of her greasy electrode-conducting-gel-covered hair, snapped up the Dora sticker and skipped out of the office. Ah the forgiveness of youth unburdened with wild imaginings. So my Christmas gift to myself is the attempt at normalcy. For her to have joy unfettered at Christmas time is what she will remember this holiday season.

"Here's to you, raise a glass for ev'ryone
Here's to them, underneath that burning sun"

Holidailies: I'll be Home for Christmas

"I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me..."

Tomorrow, after the hiccup of the EEG that Julia is scheduled for, we are hitting the road to my husband's childhood home. It is one of those not so close but not so far away places, the kind that is far enough away that the journey needs a bit of planning (especially with little ones in tow) and yet close enough that the road is boring and unmemorable.

My childhood was rife with journeys--those close to home and those endless roads stretched along the blanket of Alberta skies and rolling hills. I preferred to read in the car, only every so often glancing up to admire the tapestry of the wheatfields, the multi-hued patchwork quilt of farmer upon farmer's daily bread. If the journeys seemed endless it might have been because the landscape changed so rapidly, and yet the variance was so minimal that, at times, in the capsule of the car, it felt like we were locked in some sort of holding position, waiting for the horizon to meet us with a new city, a brilliant sunset, a destination.

Of course, the key part of making these car trips bearable was the prep beforehand. Mom would pack along a huge bag of food and drink, snacks that we didnt get to enjoy other times of the year, fruits that could be eaten with minimal mess, drinks that were allowable only on journeys like these--complete with napkins and stern admonisions not to spill on the upholstory. The kids would bring a motley assortment of toys--Transformers for my brother, books for my sister and myself, our pillows for comfort and some small stuffie to remind us that no matter where we journeyed to, home awaited us.

Having lived close enough to my family home most of my life, I dont recall how if feels exactly to prepare to go home after months of absence. I dont know how my husband maintains the threads of familiarity with his family home and the people who are there. Phone calls, infrequent emails, short visits dont seem to be enough in my books, but since we cant have all the cake and eat it too, sacrifices are made and things go on as best they can.

Still, every year we make this trip to his home and this year, like every year that we have been together (save our one lonely Prince George winter), it will be a whirlwind of Christmas cheer. Yet I am reminded that no matter how far away we roam, a part of my heart will be here,

"...Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams"

Holidailies: A Baby Just Like You

"The season is upon us now
A time for gifts and giving
And as the year draws to its close
I think about my living"

There are platitudes, especially around this time of year, about treasuring the lives you touch, about hugging your kids and kissing your spouse. A couple weeks ago, my friend's father passed and I was reminded again how short life could be, how we need to grasp the moments that slip by. Yesterday my daughter had her fifth seizure episode.

You know how life sometimes moves in slow motion? Well watching her have the seizure was like the frame by frame train wreak you cant look away from. She had fallen asleep on the couch in the basement while watching West Wing with her dad. She wasnt sick, didnt have a fever and no indication of the fun that was to come.

About an hour later, my husband heard Julia making noises, grunty moaning noises, and he thought she was having some dreams so he glanced over and there she was in full body convulsions. He screamed for me and we talked her through it. It was an unbelievably long 60 seconds. Her face was completely ashen gray and her lips were blue. I was petrified and almost called 911.

I gathered her in my arms just after the convulsions were over, thinking that she was done with it and that we should take her in to make sure that her colour was returning and that she was really OK. But then she started having another seizure--a different one; she went completely rigid, her limbs stiff and locked, her jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscles in her face strained and taut. Her hands clenched tightly into fists that I couldnt pry open. Once again, I talked her through the seizure, trying to reassure her even though I think she has no awareness during her attacks.

We went upstairs to take her temperature and get her ready to go to the ER. While I was in the kitchen, her left arm began to move, of its own accord. Another seizure. I tried to hold it, as much to quiet its movements as to just be able to feel like I was doing something to help her. Julia drifted in an out of conciousness but was moaning as though she were in pain. My level of panic increased. This had never happened before and because I was getting as accustomed as I could be to the convulsions, this was a whole new scary level. Once they stopped I took her temperature. 37.8C which is high for Julia, not for anyone else. We bundled her sister out the doo with her aunt who came by to pick her up (thank god for small things like sisters who live close enough to babysit in emergencies) and packed Julia to the pediatric ER.

By the time we got there her temp had gone up enormously--the nurse in Triage found it to be 39 and climbing. What a disaster--if it continued to climb, her chances of having another attack were pretty high. Fortunately they got s in, the nurse gave her something to break her fever and the doctor came in pretty promptly. After examining her and taking her seizure history, he determined that the febrile seizures were becoming "abnormal" and would require a closer look.

We are booked for an EKG tomorrow morning. He brought up the scary "epilepsy" word for the first time last night and though I was calm through most of the night, it is only now starting to hit me. She might not grow out of it. This might not just be a routine part of her childhood. Life as we know it might be very different than what I imagined it would be when I woke up yesterday morning, last week, last year.
Still, its not a terminal illness, if anything comes of the diagnosis, we will manage. But it doesnt mean I am not scared shitless.

We are going to drive up to see my in-laws just after the EKG tomorrow morning. We are going to have a nice normal not worry-filled Christmas, dammit.

"And as the Magi came with gifts,
I come with my gift too
That peace on Earth fills up your time,
That brotherhood surrounds you.
That you may know the warmth of love,
And wrap it all around you"

holidailies: Up on the housetop

"Up on the housetop
reindeer pause,
Out jumps good old Santa Claus..."

We hired a Santa for the kids at the playschool. It was harder than I thought it would be to convince a sensible grown man that he wanted to jump into a red felt suit trimmed with faux fur and have little monsters mob him for a gift and a broken candy cane. Who knew? Oh I know, I should have said something about the joy on their little faces, the shouts of excitement at the sound of his jingle bells and the shrieks of delight induced by the rush of the sugar post broken candy cane. In the end, it was just easier to hire one out.

And it was fabulous and fun and the kids really did smile and shriek and go nuts over the sight of him and I loved every minute of seeing them with someone who, in the minds of preschoolers, is the reason for the season. They may say you can't put a price on happiness but Santa was worth every penny.

"...Down thru' the chimney with good Saint Nick."

Holidailies: It's the most wonderful time of the year

It's the most wonderful time of the year.
With the kids jingle belling,
and everyone telling you,
"Be of good cheer,"

Yes, things are hectic. Yes, I have more things to do than I have time for. Yes, I had good intentions fo remaining uncluttered during the holidays this year. Yes, I still have time committments piled too high and stuff piled high around my tree. Despite the things that I couldnt do this year (like keep up with Holidailies:P), the things that I *could* overwhelimngly make this one of the most wonderful times of the year.

I love the songs, the sounds, the smells, the tastes of the season. One of my families made me an assortment of homemade goodies and I am in cookie heaven! My Julia's class in daycare put on a little Christmas concert and the memory of her singing "Away in a Manger" while rocking a baby doll tenderly will stick in my memory forever--even when she hucked the baby doll across the room and announced that she was done singing. We baked cookie reindeer in my playschool classes and enjoyed fellowship with the parents and the smiles and shrieks of laughter with the kids.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year.
There'll be much mistletoeing
and hearts will be glowing,
when loved ones are near.
It's the most wonderful time of the year."

Holidailies: What Child Is This?

"What Child Is this..."

I am adjusting to a new life here at home. One that is less messy and less work. No, I didn't get a maid, I got a potty trained kid!!! For those who don't have kids, you will never know the thrill of pee hitting the potty is unmatched when its a new skill. Yes, it's that exciting.

Along with the potty training, though, my girl seems so much older and more girl-ish. Her sentences make sense, she babbles less using nonsensical words and when she sings a song (either to me or to herself) more often than not, I can actually understand it. She has learned things from school that I havent taught her--vocabulary, humour, organizational tings. It's like I suddenly have a new kid in the house and it is wonderful.

No one told me that things would change so quickly. That one day I would have a child who is dependant on me to keep her clean and fed and dressed, and the next thing I know she can clean herself, get her own food and choose clothes of her own accord. It baffles me most moments but all I am capable of in my shock is holdingon as I go along for the ride.

She still needs me for hugs and kisses, she still likes to snuggle over tea (yes, perhaps it is odd that she asks for tea, but there it is) and she still needs me to tuck her into bed with stories; a respite from the frantic growing up of the days.

"Raise, raise the song on high..."

Holidailies: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

"It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold;"

There is a heaviness in my heart tonight. It is a bit better than I felt yesterday and certainly not as terrible as I felt on Sunday night when I first got the news that my friend, my ladybug Angel of God, had lost her father. There was no warning, no explanations. He simply didnt wake up. It is a tough thing to look for bright things in times of dark sorrow, but for my friend's sake, I will try to embrace the things that she is glad about.

He went in his sleep and I imagine that when people die in thier sleep there is as little trauma as you might have in death. It is tough to think that sudden and unexpected circumstances might snatch anyone you know, anyone you love, even your own self, in any moment but if i had to choose how I might go, I would want it to be thus: without pain, without trauma, without desperateness.

"I love you" were among the last words that she spoke to him. There are a million platitudes about living each day as though it were your last, and making sure you dont go to bed angry and on and on. But we are human, fallible and coarse. On any given day we leave friends in huffs and relatives without a word of goodbye. We say things we regret later and think things that we really dont mean to come true. I am glad that she doesnt have words to haunt her final moments with her father.

There are things that I wish I could do to ease the pain in her heart and I send a prayer up to whomever will listen that she and her fmaily find peace and comfort. It may not be much that i can offer but it makes me feel a little less helpless and alone in the stillness of the night.

There is a glass bell on my Christmas tree and without warning, my cat pats the tree and I hear the little musical chime, the soft tinkle of the bell, the sound of another angel getting its wings.

"The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing."

Holidailies: Silent Night...

"Silent Night...all is calm..."

It is quiet now. I revel in the amazing stillness as my babe lies near me, her deep and rhythmic breathing calming her tumultuous cough. The other, her fever broken with the wonders of Tylenol and time, is also at rest, mending, healing sleep. I marvel now in their stillness, in the smoothness of their faces, in the gentle chaos of their limbs, in the soft flutters of eyelashes and intermittent moans of dreams unknown. Was the little one really shrieking with laughter only moments before? Had that one really just jumped off the coffeetable? It is hard to imagine and I find it both irritating and endearing, this dichotomy of childhood.

To be frank, when my own emotional state sways to and from sanity to madness in the invisible fractions of time, I can't keep up with their duality. I want to laugh when they cry, want to scream when they are exuberant, want to walk away when they cling. And yet, sometimes there are magical moments too when we finally click in sync with one another's rhythms and it is like a window, a sparkle, a dance.

In sweet repose their innocence splays out their fragility and that surge of fierce protectiveness--that which is oft lauded in charming sugar-coated tomes of parenthood-now comes over me and I curl up around their small bodies. I can not shield them from the world forever, but for tonight I can brush the tendrils of hair from the soft nape of thier necks, kiss thier squooshie cheeks and whisper to them,

"...sleep in heavenly peace..."

Holidailies: If only in my dreams

"I'm dreaming tonight..."

Where does your Muse hit you? Never when it's convenient and you are sitting in front of the blank screen, twitching your fingers and waiting for the words to come pouring out just as you envisioned them in your head, just as you can hear them in your fingertips? Sometimes inspiration comes in the middle of supper, when the kids are screaming for more and the pets are scavenging under the tables for uninspired dinner scraps. And sometimes, inspiration come to us like this and we can only get carried along by how it moves us.

I would love to find a message in a bottle, love the romantic idea of the mystery and chance that you take that they person who finds it would also take the time to read and take the message to heart and perhaps respond. When I was a child, we used to write messages and stuff them in helium balloons and release them to the wind. For weeks after I let go of that string, I would dream of the person who might have discovered my balloon. Perhaps they had found it twisting in the breeze and caught in some lonely branches, perhaps it was deflated by time, perhaps the message was read eagerly by a child who leaned out her window just as I was and talked to the stars about the mysterious someone who had let the balloon go. As time went by and no reply was forthcoming, I lost a bit of the shine in my eyes. Perhaps dreamers didn't live the world over after all.

Dreaming is something I happen to do a lot of as the days tick closer to Christmas. I dream of the things that I can count on each year--laughter, friendship, wrapping gifts, indulging in decadent desserts, feasting on turkey and finding time to give back to the community. I dream of snow and tinsel, bright lights and slow carols. I dream of the excitement of discovering what lies beneath gaily wrapped gifts and in finding the perfect something for the perfect someone. I think that may be my favourite part of the season--buying gifts for others and seeing their eyes light up when they peel back the paper to find the treasure hidden within. Shopping is all about the thrill of the hunt and the exhalted YES! of discovery.

Recently, I heard of a sport that was catching on, a treasure hunting game; one that required the use of cool tools, clever intellect and cunning skill. It could be done at one's own convenience, didn't have a loser element and was always evolving so that the challenge was always omnipresent throughout the game. And once again, I found myself captivated by the idea that there was a message out there for me to find, to unearth, to discover, to own. And though I might not ever know the true origin of the cache, might never stumble on someone else who was treasure hunting that same box at the same time that I was, I could imagine the thrill of the hunt and the excitement of discovery would inevitably bring together people of the same ilk. I haven't started geocaching yet, somehow I like the romantic idea of it and am afraid that once I begin, I will fall one of two ways--either I would not be able to stop myself or, like the balloon messages, I would be disappointed that my anticipation would come of naught.

So for now, I dwell on the ripeness of possibility and we shall see what arises.

"...if only in my dreams..."

Holidailies: Let it Snow

"Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire inside's delightful..."

After an unseasonably and rather grim November, I am taking great pleasure in the falling snow and the snap in the air. There is something youthful and revitalizing about the rosy cheeks on everyone I pass and the starkness of the snow covers up all the grey brown bare branches and dead grass. There are those who think that I am crazy for liking the weather, for revelling in the toe-numbing windchills and the frostbite warnings. I guess that over the years I have learned that I can't wish away the weather, no matter how much I detest icy roads and stupid drivers, so instead I revel in the moment. I know, it's so cheesy and chummy and warm fuzzy silver lining-y to think that way, but there it is. Another thing I think that I have dispensed with as time has passed is apologizing for the way I feel.

On that note, I am reading a book about censorship in children's books. Well, I guess "Places I Never Meant to Be" isn't really a book about censorship as it is a short story collection by a bunch of authours who have pooled their talents and resources to bring an awareness about censorship to the public. In it, the authors pull no punches about writing the things that are on their minds, writing about content that editors might label as "edgy" or "mature" when in reality they are simply writing what they know. And what kids are experiencing and want to read about. Knowing what to write about is 90% of the battle, isn't it?

Holidailies is a great forum, a way to entice new readers and find new audiences to devour the words that are written on this oh-so-tenuous connection. It is also a place where I am sure people write with a complete awareness that others are watching--would you post in Holidailies otherwise? Readers might include those who nod and agree silently in their little corner of the world, or might also include some who would get all fired up and blast the author for voicing the darknesses of their closets. Some people are afraid of skeletons, even in closets that are not of their own making. I'd be lying if I said I didnt write without something in mind. What kind of writer would I be otherwise?

And though I like to think that I write with impunity, I have a family and a duty to protect them from the crazies who might be out there. That said, I try not to censor myself too heavily. I write what I like, say what I know and admit when I am wrong. Although if you try to convince me that post partum depression is caused by some vitamin deficiency, I might have to kick you. I pull no punches and keep laundry lists of things I do so that my swiss cheese memory isnt completely responsible for keeping my children clothed and fed on time. If this makes me a bad mother or lousy writer, keep your opinions to yourself. If you think that it is reasonable to have off days, snowy days, and holiday cheer all rolled into one, stay awhile.

"...and if you've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go...."

Yes, it's true, the time for Holidailies is coming upon us and soon, dear readers, you shall be innundated with more updates than you can shake a stick at. You will be amazed at the frequency of updates and marvel at the amount of drivel that can be espoused on a daily basis here on this very page. Now that NaNo is complete, I still have wordiness in abundance and need an outlet to put it all, lest it make me crazy, er, crazier.

Speaking of crazy, some people believe that I am crazy to be thinking of putting up our Christmas decorations and tree and have an issue with Christmas. More specifically, they have an issue that Christmas seems to appear earlier and earlier every year. This year, for example, stores that felt that they were too "posh" to put up Halloween decorations, decided to begin hanging Christmas ones up instead. So, Christmas in October? A bit extreme. But right now with the snow falling softly and the chill in the air feeling crisper, I am beginning to feel like it really is looking a lot like Christmas. So complete money-grabbing retailers aside, I like the idea that December=holiday season.

I am the type of person who likes to go "all out" at Christmas--decking the halls, and the walls and the windows. And if I am going to go to so much trouble to out it all up, why not have it up for a while so I can truly appreciate the spirit of the season? My husband is a very tolerant person whose only stipulation is that all decorations be put up after Remembrance Day so that there is honour in the memory of all who fell so that we could enjoy peace (although truthfully he'd prefer I wait until after November). We have a compromise that I can only put up Christmas decor early when (and if) I have completed the NaNo challenge. This usually does a few things: it guarantees that I am pushing myself to finish as soon as possible and it usually means that he has bought himself at least until the last week in November before he sees tinsel on the carpet.

The spirit of Christmas is all about compromise. Or at least it is here.