Hi all, I'm back! For some unknown reason my blog was not allowing me to post anything new, just storing it all behind the scenes as a 'draft'. frustrating. Tonight it finally allows me to make a post again! yay!
I can't believe I am a month away from return to work. Wow. I can't freakin' wait to get out of this house! And make money again! And that is true, but it is also true that this has been a year that will live in my memory as a wonderful golden gift of precious time in my life as a mum. Ryan has just snuck out of bed, crept down the stairs and is laying on top of his dad on the couch crying. I know I should stop typing and go to him, but I really don't want to. He hasn't been sleeping well and an overtired 4 year old is no fun for any of us. Mummy is so overtired I can hardly see anymore, and man am I ever cranky. Daddy can take this one. I'm sure the middle of the night one(s) will be all mine.
I gave up on the food plan and went back to my vices. I gained 2.6 lbs worth of halloween candy in the last couple weeks. Can't wait 'til Christmas (sarcasm). I'll exercise at the gym at work, I promise... ugh. Why is weight management so hard? Why am I so obsessed with it? On Oprah this week I heard Portia de Rossi read from her book about her struggle with food and anorexia and she read a passage where her internal dialogue involved calling herself a 'stupid fat bitch'. I've called myself that too, in much the same way. It made me cry to hear her read that. If I can look at her and see how ridiculous it is that she would think that about herself, can I see that is is equally as ridiculous when applied to me? Intellectually yes, but in my heart, in my body, I think not. Not yet. Maybe if I lose 30 pounds. (yes, I know that I still said these things to myself back when I weighed 118 lbs... it isn't about the number) Sad isn't it? I know it's crazy but I still feel powerless with it. My counsellor once told me that "you aren't crazy, except when you are." too true. This is a journey for me, there is no quick fix. But I keep trying.
I want to write about my yoga life. Today I had a great walk/kid play date with a woman who has started coming to the regular yoga class I attend. It was really great to talk with someone who has learned from the same teachers I have, who teaches yoga herself. I have missed my yoga community since I moved here and now I realize that I need to build a new community. This was a start of that and it felt good.
In class lately we have been practicing poses that are about increasing confidence, strength, getting grounded and getting the energy really moving in the body. Warrior poses last week. Headstand last night! It has been so long since I have practiced headstand. My core strength isn't there anymore, so I couldn't do it the way I used to, but it was still great. How often do we turn ourselves upside down as adults? It gives you a new perspective. It gets the blood and energy moving in unexpected and delicious ways. I watch my son at gymnastics and how much he loves to tumble, balance, somersault. There is something about the energy that these activities create that really nurtures our heart. Kids just know this. Adults forget it. At least I did. And I personally plan to turn myself upside down and just breathe much more often. Will go do it now! Write more soon, I promise. kiss kiss.
PS. Ryan just popped in here for a hug on his way back to bed and he wants to know what my 'story' is called. He thinks 'upside down world' is a funny title. He has been writing stories lately too, he dictates them to me and I write them in a little book for him. They are hilarious! I will post a selection of them here one day soon.
Love to all, Kim
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
quick updates
The muffins were kinda-sorta edible. I made the regular recipe and took those to book club and they were good! :) Tonight we had rice pasta with homemade pesto that met all diet requirements AND was yummy! I'm getting it...
And I bought these AWESOME red boots with my winnings from the casino - as well as some clothes for the kiddos and a new bath mat. See, not so horrible of me!! LOL Steve didn't even notice the boots until the day after Kath was here visiting and Ryan heard me show them to her. So Ryan says, "hey daddy, look at these boots!" and gets them out to show daddy... BUSTED!
And I bought these AWESOME red boots with my winnings from the casino - as well as some clothes for the kiddos and a new bath mat. See, not so horrible of me!! LOL Steve didn't even notice the boots until the day after Kath was here visiting and Ryan heard me show them to her. So Ryan says, "hey daddy, look at these boots!" and gets them out to show daddy... BUSTED!
Friday, September 24, 2010
adventures in baking/cooking
As I type there is a batch of wheat-free, egg-free, dairy-free, soy-free, corn-free, potato, tomato, coffee, nut and kitchen sink-free muffins baking in the oven. It's my 3rd try with this pumpkin streusel muffin recipe, I keep messing it up! There are so many options for substitutions for all the regular baking ingredients, I haven't found the magic combo yet. Getting closer though! Does persistence count?
I used to think I was a great cook and baker. I take alot of pride in making lovely nutritious food for my family. But here I am, my pride decimated as I'm feeding them tasteless, weird-textured stuff. Steve and Ryan snuck out to McDonalds 3 (yes, THREE) times this week. The look on Caitlin's face when I spooned the quinoa/rice milk/blueberry breakfast combo into her mouth was priceless! Then she spit it out and smeared it around her face so the hunk of quinoa sticking on her nose looked like a booger. Yum Yum! She is back to the Cheerios while mummy soldiers on with the new food plan. Ryan and Steve both flatly declined to even taste it. And it actually wasn't half bad compared to the millet puffs I ate yesterday! I defy ANY GOOD COOK to make food taste good when you have so many limitations on ingredients!
Despite all that, I'm going to do this. I just need someone to tell me that I CAN, a bit of encouragement. My spouse prefers McDonalds to my cooking, it's in his interests for me to go back to being a good cook with things like wheat, dairy and sugar. But I need to figure out what is causing my digestive system so much distress and I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. But it's harder than I thought it would be. Maybe the brutal PMS and no sleep/sick kids combo wasn't a great time to start this... but then is there ever a good time?? I confess I had 3 sips of coffee with milk in it today. But surprisingly it didn't really taste that great... back to the green tea.
The muffins are out now, Ryan is asking to try one - he says they look good. Wish me luck! :)
I used to think I was a great cook and baker. I take alot of pride in making lovely nutritious food for my family. But here I am, my pride decimated as I'm feeding them tasteless, weird-textured stuff. Steve and Ryan snuck out to McDonalds 3 (yes, THREE) times this week. The look on Caitlin's face when I spooned the quinoa/rice milk/blueberry breakfast combo into her mouth was priceless! Then she spit it out and smeared it around her face so the hunk of quinoa sticking on her nose looked like a booger. Yum Yum! She is back to the Cheerios while mummy soldiers on with the new food plan. Ryan and Steve both flatly declined to even taste it. And it actually wasn't half bad compared to the millet puffs I ate yesterday! I defy ANY GOOD COOK to make food taste good when you have so many limitations on ingredients!
Despite all that, I'm going to do this. I just need someone to tell me that I CAN, a bit of encouragement. My spouse prefers McDonalds to my cooking, it's in his interests for me to go back to being a good cook with things like wheat, dairy and sugar. But I need to figure out what is causing my digestive system so much distress and I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. But it's harder than I thought it would be. Maybe the brutal PMS and no sleep/sick kids combo wasn't a great time to start this... but then is there ever a good time?? I confess I had 3 sips of coffee with milk in it today. But surprisingly it didn't really taste that great... back to the green tea.
The muffins are out now, Ryan is asking to try one - he says they look good. Wish me luck! :)
Monday, September 6, 2010
Fear and loathing in Surrey. (Ok, this is a little extreme of a title...)
I could call this confessions from the dark side...
The other day I set the baby on the floor for a minute after I took her out of her high chair. She ate a bunch of the cheerios off the floor that she had dropped while eating. I let her. then I didn't have to sweep up after her. I would do it again, but Steve won't let me.
I took the UCCB to the casino last month. I won. I pocketed the winnings, I still have them hiding for something special. This I will definitely do again. I haven't told Steve.
I got bitched out at the playground last week, by a drug dealer daddy. His son bolted out the gate of the playground while Ryan was coming in, me with the baby/stroller/bags/etc beside him. I looked around and saw the dad right behind the kid, heading for the door. He said nothing about not letting the kid out, he ignored us fully. It appeared to me that they were leaving and Ryan very politely held the gate for them. Then as the dad walked past me he said something nasty about letting the kid out.
I was afraid to let fly the retort I had ready on the tip of my tongue. He was big, musclebound, tattooed and clearly running a home-based business, I suspect doing some transactions with a few other unsavory characters at the playground. I LOATHE that everytime I take Ryan to a park in Surrey/Langley, there are creepy dudes in cars loitering around... at every playground that has a parking lot. And we live in a 'nice' area of Surrey.
I often wonder, and am saddened by, how it is that we are a society so full of fear. And then I get that nervous, scared feeling in my stomach at a playground, in broad daylight on a weekday and I hustle my son away, even though all he wants to do is play on the tire swing. I know I subscribe to a culture of fear myself. With reason?
My mom used to pick up hitch-hikers. The last time she did it, she saw the young man take a claw hammer out of his coat sleeve and slip it into his bag as she drove away. He had it in his hand the whole time he was in her car. i don't think she does that anymore... A friend and co-worker of mine was murdered by a guy she was dating. She still crosses my mind often, even though she's been gone for more than 15 years. Right now there is some stuff going on in my extended family that strikes fear of another funeral in my heart.
What to do? How to raise kids that aren't full of fear? I will keep pondering that. And share a last thing that I read once and kept because I love it. SOrry, I don't know who wrote it - but it wasn't me.
"Fear is the energy that contracts, closes down, draws in, runs, hides, hoards,harms.
Love is the energy that expands, opens up, sends out, stays, reveals, shares, heals.
Fear wraps our bodies in clothing, love allows us to stand naked. Fear clings and clutches all that we have, love gives it all away. Fear holds close, love holds dear. Fear grasps, love lets go. Fear rankles. Love soothes." (Anon)
Now I'm going to hug my boy and read him a good night story. xoxo
The other day I set the baby on the floor for a minute after I took her out of her high chair. She ate a bunch of the cheerios off the floor that she had dropped while eating. I let her. then I didn't have to sweep up after her. I would do it again, but Steve won't let me.
I took the UCCB to the casino last month. I won. I pocketed the winnings, I still have them hiding for something special. This I will definitely do again. I haven't told Steve.
I got bitched out at the playground last week, by a drug dealer daddy. His son bolted out the gate of the playground while Ryan was coming in, me with the baby/stroller/bags/etc beside him. I looked around and saw the dad right behind the kid, heading for the door. He said nothing about not letting the kid out, he ignored us fully. It appeared to me that they were leaving and Ryan very politely held the gate for them. Then as the dad walked past me he said something nasty about letting the kid out.
I was afraid to let fly the retort I had ready on the tip of my tongue. He was big, musclebound, tattooed and clearly running a home-based business, I suspect doing some transactions with a few other unsavory characters at the playground. I LOATHE that everytime I take Ryan to a park in Surrey/Langley, there are creepy dudes in cars loitering around... at every playground that has a parking lot. And we live in a 'nice' area of Surrey.
I often wonder, and am saddened by, how it is that we are a society so full of fear. And then I get that nervous, scared feeling in my stomach at a playground, in broad daylight on a weekday and I hustle my son away, even though all he wants to do is play on the tire swing. I know I subscribe to a culture of fear myself. With reason?
My mom used to pick up hitch-hikers. The last time she did it, she saw the young man take a claw hammer out of his coat sleeve and slip it into his bag as she drove away. He had it in his hand the whole time he was in her car. i don't think she does that anymore... A friend and co-worker of mine was murdered by a guy she was dating. She still crosses my mind often, even though she's been gone for more than 15 years. Right now there is some stuff going on in my extended family that strikes fear of another funeral in my heart.
What to do? How to raise kids that aren't full of fear? I will keep pondering that. And share a last thing that I read once and kept because I love it. SOrry, I don't know who wrote it - but it wasn't me.
"Fear is the energy that contracts, closes down, draws in, runs, hides, hoards,harms.
Love is the energy that expands, opens up, sends out, stays, reveals, shares, heals.
Fear wraps our bodies in clothing, love allows us to stand naked. Fear clings and clutches all that we have, love gives it all away. Fear holds close, love holds dear. Fear grasps, love lets go. Fear rankles. Love soothes." (Anon)
Now I'm going to hug my boy and read him a good night story. xoxo
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Joy on an Ordinary Day
Just got back from the playground and waterpark at Langley Events Center and both kids promptly fell asleep!
Had the most amazing time today. It was your average sunny summer day. But I've been complaining about summer lately - kids don't sleep enough, our routine is shot, it's too hot, they're cranky, I'm cranky blah blah blah.
Then we have this exquisite afternoon as I watch my son run through the water spray, shrieking and jumping with joy. Just an average summer day, but it totally reminded me of why I loved summer so much when I was a kid and how important it is to me to give my children this experience of summer. And how lucky I am to not have to work just for this one golden summer.
I once read a book entitled 'What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day'. I don't remember the book being all that, but I really loved the title. I would call today 'What Looks Like Joy on an Ordinary Day"! :)
Heading to Kits pool tomorrow!
Had the most amazing time today. It was your average sunny summer day. But I've been complaining about summer lately - kids don't sleep enough, our routine is shot, it's too hot, they're cranky, I'm cranky blah blah blah.
Then we have this exquisite afternoon as I watch my son run through the water spray, shrieking and jumping with joy. Just an average summer day, but it totally reminded me of why I loved summer so much when I was a kid and how important it is to me to give my children this experience of summer. And how lucky I am to not have to work just for this one golden summer.
I once read a book entitled 'What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day'. I don't remember the book being all that, but I really loved the title. I would call today 'What Looks Like Joy on an Ordinary Day"! :)
Heading to Kits pool tomorrow!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
If you can't say anything nice....
So my grand plan of writing here every Wednesday died a quick and somewhat painful death. I was lying in bed at 3 AM wondering why? Here it is: I've been cranky, stressed, overtired and overheated. I'm exhausted ALL the time. Tank is empty, has been for a while. I couldn't think of anything wise and pithy, or even nice, to write. Still can't think, yet here I am. I like my paper journal as I can (and did) write FUCK in angry large CAPS, red ink, across 3 pages both sides and then packed it up and felt better. This is so much more public than that, I'm just not sure I'm up for doing that! Yet that is how I've been feeling. Imagine if you will, those big red angry words.
In the spirit of that, it occurs to me that alot is said that is "not nice"... here are a few observations.
My friend (who will be nameless and I promise I won't tell enough of the story to make her identifiable) had an encounter with her 3 year old at the grocery store recently, where he kept yelling "f'ing b@$ch" at her louder and louder until she fled from the store, 3 year old in tow, baby tucked under her arm. He had never said that before. She was mortified. Humiliated. She shops at that store often and now wonders how she will ever show her face there again!
I was at the coffee shop recently and there were a couple of moms sitting having coffee with their toddlers playing around them. One of the toddlers was very determined to explore and he kept making a dash for the open door when anyone came in or out. He made one such dash as 2 women, perhaps in their mid-late twenties, were exiting. One of them turned to the mothers and said in a nasty tone "It's called BIRTH CONTROL, ladies!". She pranced out the door.
I was at the drug store with both kids last week. Caitlin was crying, Ryan was refusing to stay close to me and listening like a brick wall to all my requests and admonitions. I was getting frustrated. In the checkout line he declares in a sing-songy voice, "HATE me, YOU HATE me!" and then announces that I'm about to "Kill the baby". What?!?!? UGH. Where does he get this crap!?!? I know, I know, the wiser and more judgemental of you will tell me it comes from us, his parents, or our household somehow. Can you picture my big red angry word again? Please take a minute to do so! I take that out in my journal so it doesn't come out at my kids!!
I confess I used to be someone who saw these kids in the store lineup and assumed that the parenting was clearly very flawed. I send an apology to every mom I ever judged in such a way. Kids do have minds of their own. And preschoolers love to press buttons. And I'm not a bad mommy. I just need more rest. A few minutes of my own. Permission to be someone who gets angry and frustrated once in a while. And strives to show love, patience, kindness despite that. Imperfect. Please.
In the spirit of that, it occurs to me that alot is said that is "not nice"... here are a few observations.
My friend (who will be nameless and I promise I won't tell enough of the story to make her identifiable) had an encounter with her 3 year old at the grocery store recently, where he kept yelling "f'ing b@$ch" at her louder and louder until she fled from the store, 3 year old in tow, baby tucked under her arm. He had never said that before. She was mortified. Humiliated. She shops at that store often and now wonders how she will ever show her face there again!
I was at the coffee shop recently and there were a couple of moms sitting having coffee with their toddlers playing around them. One of the toddlers was very determined to explore and he kept making a dash for the open door when anyone came in or out. He made one such dash as 2 women, perhaps in their mid-late twenties, were exiting. One of them turned to the mothers and said in a nasty tone "It's called BIRTH CONTROL, ladies!". She pranced out the door.
I was at the drug store with both kids last week. Caitlin was crying, Ryan was refusing to stay close to me and listening like a brick wall to all my requests and admonitions. I was getting frustrated. In the checkout line he declares in a sing-songy voice, "HATE me, YOU HATE me!" and then announces that I'm about to "Kill the baby". What?!?!? UGH. Where does he get this crap!?!? I know, I know, the wiser and more judgemental of you will tell me it comes from us, his parents, or our household somehow. Can you picture my big red angry word again? Please take a minute to do so! I take that out in my journal so it doesn't come out at my kids!!
I confess I used to be someone who saw these kids in the store lineup and assumed that the parenting was clearly very flawed. I send an apology to every mom I ever judged in such a way. Kids do have minds of their own. And preschoolers love to press buttons. And I'm not a bad mommy. I just need more rest. A few minutes of my own. Permission to be someone who gets angry and frustrated once in a while. And strives to show love, patience, kindness despite that. Imperfect. Please.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
best laid plans
Planning?? What's that? Right when I think I've got it all planned, something implodes. I plan a play date. Then as I'm changing Caitlin to get ready to go, Ryan comes hobbling upstairs with his pants and underpants around his ankles, blood smeared all over his legs and hands and dripping profusely from a very private part. I'm not kidding, that happened today. So much for the play date, we are making an unplanned trip to the doctor! He's okay, just will be a bit tender for a while. Apparently he slipped while trying to climb onto the stair bannister in hopes of sliding down it.
I plan a weekly menu, do all the shopping and then order pizza or open a can of soup instead of cooking my carefully planned meals. All those lovely greens (what does one do with kale anyway?) hit the garbage can more often than our tummies. I think I'd cook more if i used paper utensils and didn't have to do the dishes afterward. I HATE DISHES.
I'm planning a wedding. And a post-wedding bash. I'm planning Ryan's September preschool registration (will Montessori be a good fit for him?) and his summer activities (pirate camp? soccer? bugs & butterflies?). I'm planning our summer holidays to the Invermere area. I'm planning weight loss and exercise. Sometimes I even follow those plans. Sometimes not.
Perhaps planning is my feeble attempt to create structure and exert some kind of control in my world. Life with 2 small children is anything but predictable, despite to grinding routine of it all. My lists comfort me. The outcomes are less important. At least that's what I'll tell myself tonight as I sit among the litter of my best laid plans. A really strong lemon drop martini also comforts me... hmm. Perhaps that will also be part of my unplanned for today!! I'm sure I had lemons on my last shopping list...
Hugs to all the mommies who plan for the best, expect anything and keep it all together regardless. Pat yourself on the back, while I sip my lemon drop.
I plan a weekly menu, do all the shopping and then order pizza or open a can of soup instead of cooking my carefully planned meals. All those lovely greens (what does one do with kale anyway?) hit the garbage can more often than our tummies. I think I'd cook more if i used paper utensils and didn't have to do the dishes afterward. I HATE DISHES.
I'm planning a wedding. And a post-wedding bash. I'm planning Ryan's September preschool registration (will Montessori be a good fit for him?) and his summer activities (pirate camp? soccer? bugs & butterflies?). I'm planning our summer holidays to the Invermere area. I'm planning weight loss and exercise. Sometimes I even follow those plans. Sometimes not.
Perhaps planning is my feeble attempt to create structure and exert some kind of control in my world. Life with 2 small children is anything but predictable, despite to grinding routine of it all. My lists comfort me. The outcomes are less important. At least that's what I'll tell myself tonight as I sit among the litter of my best laid plans. A really strong lemon drop martini also comforts me... hmm. Perhaps that will also be part of my unplanned for today!! I'm sure I had lemons on my last shopping list...
Hugs to all the mommies who plan for the best, expect anything and keep it all together regardless. Pat yourself on the back, while I sip my lemon drop.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The doc appt
"Honey, put the toys away now, the doctor is ready for us." We follow her ridiculously tall skinny frame down the hall into the bright room at the very end. I'm lugging the car seat awkwardly and prodding the 3 year old along in front of me. Once firmly ensconced on the small uncomfortable stool, with my 'baby fat' bulging out on all sides(okay, some of it is 'chocolate fat') I start to rock the car seat back and forth simaltaneously trying to hold the soother in Caitlin's tiny mouth. Ryan is zooming across the room on the doc's rolling stool and I'm trying to discourage this fun. Doc puts a quick, firm end to that as she reclaims her seat.
"What's up today?" she asks, and I sheepishly tell her about the lump that I have in my right breast. It has been over 2 years since I first discovered it there. Somehow I just thought it would go away. But when my milk came in 2 months ago to feed baby the lump was very big and hard by then and I don't produce much milk on that side. It hurts sometimes, as does my armpit now. The health nurse insisted I get it checked out. While I'm telling the doc this story, Caitlin spits out the soother and begins to wail and Ryan has now discovered the drawer at the foot of the exam table and is contemplating the speculum with glee. He's going for the latex gloves next, he loves that they have a maple leaf logo on them ("Mummy look, CANADA!" he says...)
The doctor figures that I have mastitis and have left it too long. I hop onto the table and remove my top and she examines it. At first she can't find the lump, but then she hits on it. I see her face change. Her whole demeanour changes. I realize that the lump in my throat probably equals or exceeds the one in my breast.
She doesn't say anything except that I can get dressed. Once I'm dressed she calls someone (another doc, I think?) stating that she expects me to be seen by him/her, despite some new policy stating that because I live in Surrey I can't see Vancouver doctors. "She is MY PATIENT." she states emphatically. Then she calls someone else to determine whether a mammogram makes sense for a nursing mum. After calling yet another clinic to make me an appointment herself, she hands me a requisition for a 'rush ultrasound and biopsy if needed' and a prescription in case it is a low-grade infection. I'm not hopeful about the infection idea, as much as I would love that to be the case right now.
Caitlin has fallen asleep. Ryan is playing with his toy cars, driving them on the windowsill and the wall. We bolt out of there as if the building was on fire and for once Ryan doesn't fight my desire to move quickly. That decrepit old elevator doesn't move nearly fast enough. We spill back out onto the sun drenched sidewalk, cherry blossom laden trees along the street make the sweetest smell I've ever experienced.
Everyone gets loaded into the car. There's still 50 minutes on the meter as I pull away from the curb. I realize now that I stopped breathing at some point. I take several deep breaths into my lumbar spine and feel my butt root into the seat. I brush a droplet away from my cheek, and head for the nearest Starbucks drive-thru. An hour later we are home, a chicken roasting in the oven, Caitlin sleeping in her swing and me and Ryan doing his Toy Story puzzle.
Late that night, as I lay on my side in bed nursing my precious baby girl, I allow the tears to fall.
(POST SCRIPT: U/SND and subsequent boob specialist appt indicates a big cluster of cysts, no cancer in sight! BUT LESSON LEARNED: Do NOT ignore these lumps ladies!!)
"What's up today?" she asks, and I sheepishly tell her about the lump that I have in my right breast. It has been over 2 years since I first discovered it there. Somehow I just thought it would go away. But when my milk came in 2 months ago to feed baby the lump was very big and hard by then and I don't produce much milk on that side. It hurts sometimes, as does my armpit now. The health nurse insisted I get it checked out. While I'm telling the doc this story, Caitlin spits out the soother and begins to wail and Ryan has now discovered the drawer at the foot of the exam table and is contemplating the speculum with glee. He's going for the latex gloves next, he loves that they have a maple leaf logo on them ("Mummy look, CANADA!" he says...)
The doctor figures that I have mastitis and have left it too long. I hop onto the table and remove my top and she examines it. At first she can't find the lump, but then she hits on it. I see her face change. Her whole demeanour changes. I realize that the lump in my throat probably equals or exceeds the one in my breast.
She doesn't say anything except that I can get dressed. Once I'm dressed she calls someone (another doc, I think?) stating that she expects me to be seen by him/her, despite some new policy stating that because I live in Surrey I can't see Vancouver doctors. "She is MY PATIENT." she states emphatically. Then she calls someone else to determine whether a mammogram makes sense for a nursing mum. After calling yet another clinic to make me an appointment herself, she hands me a requisition for a 'rush ultrasound and biopsy if needed' and a prescription in case it is a low-grade infection. I'm not hopeful about the infection idea, as much as I would love that to be the case right now.
Caitlin has fallen asleep. Ryan is playing with his toy cars, driving them on the windowsill and the wall. We bolt out of there as if the building was on fire and for once Ryan doesn't fight my desire to move quickly. That decrepit old elevator doesn't move nearly fast enough. We spill back out onto the sun drenched sidewalk, cherry blossom laden trees along the street make the sweetest smell I've ever experienced.
Everyone gets loaded into the car. There's still 50 minutes on the meter as I pull away from the curb. I realize now that I stopped breathing at some point. I take several deep breaths into my lumbar spine and feel my butt root into the seat. I brush a droplet away from my cheek, and head for the nearest Starbucks drive-thru. An hour later we are home, a chicken roasting in the oven, Caitlin sleeping in her swing and me and Ryan doing his Toy Story puzzle.
Late that night, as I lay on my side in bed nursing my precious baby girl, I allow the tears to fall.
(POST SCRIPT: U/SND and subsequent boob specialist appt indicates a big cluster of cysts, no cancer in sight! BUT LESSON LEARNED: Do NOT ignore these lumps ladies!!)
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I'm NOT a good eater!
Steve has taken Ryan to his preschool field trip at the farm and Caitlin is napping. Ahh. Will see how long the quiet lasts!
Ryan has developed a (yet another) strange little foible and I'm trying to figure out how to respond to it. Sheesh, parenting is a big job full of learning by the day/hour/minute/milli-second. Once upon a time I thought that self growth and personal development would be out the window once I became a mum, now I realize it had only just begun that fateful day after yoga class when the stick I peed on had 2 lines on it. That fateful moment also seemed to mark the end of my 'serious' yoga practice, but that topic is for another time.
So here's an example:
Mummy: "Ryan, please walk on the sidewalk, get out of the neighbors' gardens!"
Ryan: "Yah, well I'm not a good eater!" (as he continues to run in the neighbors flowers.)
other examples:
Mummy: "Ryan, please pick up your toys, wash your hands before dinner, take your shoes/coat/hat off, stop bugging your sister, wipe your bum, don't kick that soccer ball in the house, stop driving your cars on the newly painted walls, no playing hockey on the hardwood floors, etc etc etc." (Insert admonition of the moment here, there are millions of them. Ever feel like all you do is nag your child?? AND he doesn't hear any of it!)
Ryan: "Yah, well I'm not a good eater!" He continues to do whatever it was he was doing.
HUH? I'm not a good eater? WTF? Now here's the weirdest part... Ryan IS a good eater! Always has been. Eating has never been an issue here. I'm baffled. He seems to think that anytime I'm asking him to do anything it means he's a bad boy=bad eater. I'm not saying that. But clearly there is something going on here, I'm saying something that he's processing in this way.
His buddy Connor has also taken to saying this, and I note that it began right after a playdate with Connor. What are these 2 little 4 yr olds up to? Guess I can't assume they have thought anything out about this, they tend to just FEEL at this stage and react accordingly. So mummy needs to adjust her responses/requests somehow. But how?
Now Caitlin wails and my coffee is cold (yet again). Perhaps the thunderbolt of insight will strike while I'm feeding her. More likely the 'thunderbolt' of forgotten errands, tasks to complete, what to cook for dinner, will strike, but one can always hope!
Ryan has developed a (yet another) strange little foible and I'm trying to figure out how to respond to it. Sheesh, parenting is a big job full of learning by the day/hour/minute/milli-second. Once upon a time I thought that self growth and personal development would be out the window once I became a mum, now I realize it had only just begun that fateful day after yoga class when the stick I peed on had 2 lines on it. That fateful moment also seemed to mark the end of my 'serious' yoga practice, but that topic is for another time.
So here's an example:
Mummy: "Ryan, please walk on the sidewalk, get out of the neighbors' gardens!"
Ryan: "Yah, well I'm not a good eater!" (as he continues to run in the neighbors flowers.)
other examples:
Mummy: "Ryan, please pick up your toys, wash your hands before dinner, take your shoes/coat/hat off, stop bugging your sister, wipe your bum, don't kick that soccer ball in the house, stop driving your cars on the newly painted walls, no playing hockey on the hardwood floors, etc etc etc." (Insert admonition of the moment here, there are millions of them. Ever feel like all you do is nag your child?? AND he doesn't hear any of it!)
Ryan: "Yah, well I'm not a good eater!" He continues to do whatever it was he was doing.
HUH? I'm not a good eater? WTF? Now here's the weirdest part... Ryan IS a good eater! Always has been. Eating has never been an issue here. I'm baffled. He seems to think that anytime I'm asking him to do anything it means he's a bad boy=bad eater. I'm not saying that. But clearly there is something going on here, I'm saying something that he's processing in this way.
His buddy Connor has also taken to saying this, and I note that it began right after a playdate with Connor. What are these 2 little 4 yr olds up to? Guess I can't assume they have thought anything out about this, they tend to just FEEL at this stage and react accordingly. So mummy needs to adjust her responses/requests somehow. But how?
Now Caitlin wails and my coffee is cold (yet again). Perhaps the thunderbolt of insight will strike while I'm feeding her. More likely the 'thunderbolt' of forgotten errands, tasks to complete, what to cook for dinner, will strike, but one can always hope!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A place to start
I have a set of tarot cards that contains a card called "ordinariness". It has a lovely image of a small child walking among flowering trees, bathed in glowing golden light. In the months leading up to and since the birth of my second child 3 months ago I keep pulling this card. There are 78 cards in that deck and I keep getting this one!
I feel it is asking me to consider the possibility of ordinariness. Maybe even revel in it? Can I? Since I got straight "A"s for the first time in grade 5, won the "top grade 7 student" award, graduated with the governor general's medal from high school and so forth, I have pushed. Hard. I have the bruises to prove it. Even my journeys into myself, like yoga, teeter on the edge of being something I push. (I CAN do a headstand, dammit!). Today, can I admit I'm tired? What if this is it? I'm 40. Mother of 2, living in the burbs with a great guy, in an ordinary house, in an ordinary town with an ordinary job. Somehow I always thought I'd be something amazing. And I think I would certainly be if I could stop pushing and revel in my amazing ordinary!! My children need me every day and the ordinariness of my days with a 3 year old and a 3 month old feels like a place to start practicing the ordinary. Feel free to join me anytime! :)
I feel it is asking me to consider the possibility of ordinariness. Maybe even revel in it? Can I? Since I got straight "A"s for the first time in grade 5, won the "top grade 7 student" award, graduated with the governor general's medal from high school and so forth, I have pushed. Hard. I have the bruises to prove it. Even my journeys into myself, like yoga, teeter on the edge of being something I push. (I CAN do a headstand, dammit!). Today, can I admit I'm tired? What if this is it? I'm 40. Mother of 2, living in the burbs with a great guy, in an ordinary house, in an ordinary town with an ordinary job. Somehow I always thought I'd be something amazing. And I think I would certainly be if I could stop pushing and revel in my amazing ordinary!! My children need me every day and the ordinariness of my days with a 3 year old and a 3 month old feels like a place to start practicing the ordinary. Feel free to join me anytime! :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
