Early Friday morning my Uncle Maurice passed away after an all too brief, month long ravaging from esophagus cancer. He leaves behind his wife of 24 years and two sons.
When we were young, Maurice was a huge part of our family; visits from him were daily as he lived half a block away from us. I remember fighting to sit beside him on my grandparents' brown and yellow paisley couch to open my grey Barbie corvette at Christmas; I remember that he always knew who I was at Halloween because my shoes were on the wrong feet until I was almost a teenager; I remember that he sounded exactly like Dustin Hoffman- and to this day I cannot watch any movie that he is in without giggling at random and inappropriate parts; I remember him stringing my doll Chrissy to the ceiling fan to tease me and then chocking himself laughing at my horror; I remember being his flower girl when he wed my Aunt Louise and how pretty my red dress made me feel. Somewhere along the way, the adults had a falling out- I don't know what it was over: I was too young to understand. All I know is that we stopped seeing them, and our families grew up, and apart.
Thankfully my Dad and Maurice, Mom and Louise had a month to forgive and forget, sit and talk, share and reminisce. I can only hope that the bitter taste of regret on time wasted being angry was lessened by the time they were able to spend together at the end, by the opportunity to make amends.
Uncle Maurice's sickness and death has been a sharp and prickly reminder that life is not infinite, life will not wait for you to be ready to go, life is a gift that we all should live to the fullest every day that we are blessed to open our eyes (even those days that our eyes are forced open far too early on a Saturday morning by hungry toddlers who want to watch Sponge Bob.) I am taking advantage of this reminder; I for one do not wish to die with a soul weighed down with regret and longing. I made a list of regrets that I would have if tomorrow never comes (please read that last part singing like Garth Brooks) and over the next little while I'm going to cross them off. Carpe diem, grab the bull by the horns, YOLO- choose your cliche'd metaphor- I want to live happy. Better yet, I want to die happy.
I wish we had traveled more. Nick and I planned to take a trip every year, but things always came up. A new roof, strike at work; Noëlle's extensive hospital stays, new floors at the cottage, a car dying: we always found more important and pressing things to spend our trip money on. I wish I had seen more of the world.
I should have gotten that tattoo. It was important to me.
I regret spending so much time pinning things on Pintrest, and wish I had made/done more things that I found on there.
I wish I had made it back out East. I'd love to show Nick and the kids the places and people who helped shape who I am.
I regret not taking the kids to visit their relatives more. They are so lucky to have 75% of their great-grandparents still alive and well; they have tons of great aunts and uncles who love them and see them rarely. Yeah, it's hard taking three little kids out to visit anyone, but I should practice more.
I wish like hell that I had found a way to organize my life. So, so much time wasted looking for a lost item, cleaning and picking up, despairing at my messy house, missing appointments, losing important paperwork. An organized life would mean more free time.
I wasted too much time dieting. I should have worked harder to loose the extra pounds, or just liked my body how it was. Simple.
I have a fun, surprisingly (shockingly really) stable family. Why don't we hang out more? Because we're busy? What a shitty excuse...
I regret not being more involved in the special needs community. They are a huge resource and support network for us, and have provided relief, knowledge, advice, experience, and compassion when we need it the most.
I lost touch with too many friends. Yes, I'm busy- but am I busy with important things? Are these things more important than some of the most important PEOPLE in my life?!? Since when did doing laundry become more vital than connecting with some of the few humans who think that I am awesome??
I am way too much of a homebody. I regret not taking the kids out into the world more. They deserve to have a little adventure every day.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Cross Section of a Random Thursday
Today was a long one. Actually, they've all been long ones since the baby started crawling. Too tired to write this post in full, coherent sentences.
Woke up to dog farting noxious fumes at the end of the bed. Or was it Nick? I don't remember...
Carried three squirmy kids downstairs for breakfast.
Good morning coffee maker, the children's lives depend on you- do not let me down.
Take too long goofing on my phone, now I have to hustle to get Noëlle ready for school.
Bribe Dryden to pee in the toilet. Hold new Hot Wheels truck for ransom pending poop.
Put up all baby gates, close all French doors before releasing baby from the clutches of the Evil High Chair (or so she must think it is by the way she screams while in it.)
Me: "what is Raegan chewing on?"
Nick: *fishes a giant, dead bug out of her mouth while she grins like a fool*
Me: throws up in my mouth a little
Microwave coffee
Break up the 18th fight of the morning between Dryden and the other three year old I'm watching.
Thankful Dryden doesn't have a twin.
Put supper in the crock pot.
Chug tepid coffee.
Round #1 of Time Outs.
Sprint across the house, diving to catch Raegan before she tumbles down the toy room stairs.
"Good catch Momma! You runned fast!"- Dryden
Make lunch that only the dog thinks is delicious.
Go pee. Dryden knocks on the door the moment it closes. "Can I please have 23 seconds of privacy?!" I yelled.
"okaaayyy Momma, but baby has Kuku's nummies in her mouff."
Translation: Raegan is eating dog food.
Pick up dog food/water. He now dines at nap time and after 8pm. He'll adjust.
Nap time. *Halleluia* (insert heavenly singing and harp music here.)
Noëlle comes into the living room carrying the largest meat cleaver I have ever seen. Why do we even have that? It's not like we butcher our own cattle...
Accidentally launch baby off my lap in my haste to get to Noëlle/weapon of death.
Dog catches baby. Earns himself a treat.
Note to self: we need a lock for the knife drawer...
Break up fight #whofuckingknows. Make popcorn and put on "Max And Ruby" to keep the peace.
Pour myself a giant glass of Pepsi.
Take out craft stuff that NO ONE wants to use.
Color by myself.
Pull something vital in my lower back bending to pick up a plastic hot dog. Waddle over to the couch.
Smell like A535 for the next ten hours.
Discover that I forgot to plug the crock pot in this morning.
Curse. Loudly. Shake fist in the air.
Order wings, onion rings, and poutin. Everyone loves supper...
Bath time (this is a "Daddy job". I don't know why I thought I was as capable...)
Bath time cut short by floating poop.
Wash tub. Re-wash kids. Light a really strong candle.
Tuck three sleepy, lavender smelling babes in bed.
Exhale.
Pour another glass of Pepsi.
Blog while Saku farts at my feet...
Woke up to dog farting noxious fumes at the end of the bed. Or was it Nick? I don't remember...
Carried three squirmy kids downstairs for breakfast.
Good morning coffee maker, the children's lives depend on you- do not let me down.
Take too long goofing on my phone, now I have to hustle to get Noëlle ready for school.
Bribe Dryden to pee in the toilet. Hold new Hot Wheels truck for ransom pending poop.
Put up all baby gates, close all French doors before releasing baby from the clutches of the Evil High Chair (or so she must think it is by the way she screams while in it.)
Me: "what is Raegan chewing on?"
Nick: *fishes a giant, dead bug out of her mouth while she grins like a fool*
Me: throws up in my mouth a little
Microwave coffee
Break up the 18th fight of the morning between Dryden and the other three year old I'm watching.
Thankful Dryden doesn't have a twin.
Put supper in the crock pot.
Chug tepid coffee.
Round #1 of Time Outs.
Sprint across the house, diving to catch Raegan before she tumbles down the toy room stairs.
"Good catch Momma! You runned fast!"- Dryden
Make lunch that only the dog thinks is delicious.
Go pee. Dryden knocks on the door the moment it closes. "Can I please have 23 seconds of privacy?!" I yelled.
"okaaayyy Momma, but baby has Kuku's nummies in her mouff."
Translation: Raegan is eating dog food.
Pick up dog food/water. He now dines at nap time and after 8pm. He'll adjust.
Nap time. *Halleluia* (insert heavenly singing and harp music here.)
Noëlle comes into the living room carrying the largest meat cleaver I have ever seen. Why do we even have that? It's not like we butcher our own cattle...
Accidentally launch baby off my lap in my haste to get to Noëlle/weapon of death.
Dog catches baby. Earns himself a treat.
Note to self: we need a lock for the knife drawer...
Break up fight #whofuckingknows. Make popcorn and put on "Max And Ruby" to keep the peace.
Pour myself a giant glass of Pepsi.
Take out craft stuff that NO ONE wants to use.
Color by myself.
Pull something vital in my lower back bending to pick up a plastic hot dog. Waddle over to the couch.
Smell like A535 for the next ten hours.
Discover that I forgot to plug the crock pot in this morning.
Curse. Loudly. Shake fist in the air.
Order wings, onion rings, and poutin. Everyone loves supper...
Bath time (this is a "Daddy job". I don't know why I thought I was as capable...)
Bath time cut short by floating poop.
Wash tub. Re-wash kids. Light a really strong candle.
Tuck three sleepy, lavender smelling babes in bed.
Exhale.
Pour another glass of Pepsi.
Blog while Saku farts at my feet...
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Thanks
Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite days of the year. As a kid it meant helping my mom bake an endless sea of pies, tarts, and cinnamon rolls. It meant the scent of savory turkey and homemade dressing perfuming the air all day, and the soft bubbling of potatoes boiling in the background. It meant dressing up in our best clothes and feeling oh-so-grown-up with the tiniest glass of white wine with our huge meal.
As a teenager, Thanksgiving took on a deeper meaning for me. It was an occasion for all of us to get together. My brothers were no longer living at home- they no longer had girlfriends, they had fiancées- and they were away living exotic lives at college and in the real world. My sister and I were both working at a restaurant while attending high school, so sit down family meals were no longer the daily norm for us. Thanksgiving punctuated our busy lives of school, work, dating, and friends to remind us that family was just as important. We goofed around, helped prep the meal, and afterwards, when the table was cleared, the dishes done, and fresh booze poured for all- out the deck of cards would come.
When I entered university, Thanksgiving became the epicenter of my world. If I could just last until Thanksgiving, I could probably survive the move across the country. If I could remain self-sufficient until Thanksgiving, I could consider myself truly independent. If I could bond with new friends before Thanksgiving, my world would broaden considerably. If I could just make it home to celebrate Thanksgiving, I'd appreciate the holiday for its true meaning. Thanksgiving became my pressure gauge. I came home from out East to decompress, to spend time with my family, and to reconnect with my friends. It was at this point in my life that Thanksgiving became a very important time for me; I started to be thankful. For friendships that kept me sane, for my part-time job that kept my pathetic bank account afloat, for morning phone calls from Mom, for funny emails from Dad/the dog, for lunch dates at ESM with Ashley, for the opportunity to live in Nova Scotia, for family back home that cared.
Now that I'm that much older, and a parent myself, I love making holidays a big deal for my kids- any and every holiday. I want them to remember their house smelling like turkey and cookies, the sound of their cousins running around laughing, the anticipation and feeling of festivities. I want them to remember that we put family first, that I set aside my stupid diet to make fabulous food, that I took pictures like a mad fiend to immortalize our holidays, that we went out of our way to make things special for them. And so, I spend hours decorating our house and yard with the kids, we do crafts, and bake treats for everyone we know. We read books, and watch holiday themed cartoons. We get together with our parents, brothers, and sisters, and all their kids and - dressed in our finest garb- raise a super tiny glass of white wine in gratitude for the important things and people in our lives.
As a teenager, Thanksgiving took on a deeper meaning for me. It was an occasion for all of us to get together. My brothers were no longer living at home- they no longer had girlfriends, they had fiancées- and they were away living exotic lives at college and in the real world. My sister and I were both working at a restaurant while attending high school, so sit down family meals were no longer the daily norm for us. Thanksgiving punctuated our busy lives of school, work, dating, and friends to remind us that family was just as important. We goofed around, helped prep the meal, and afterwards, when the table was cleared, the dishes done, and fresh booze poured for all- out the deck of cards would come.
When I entered university, Thanksgiving became the epicenter of my world. If I could just last until Thanksgiving, I could probably survive the move across the country. If I could remain self-sufficient until Thanksgiving, I could consider myself truly independent. If I could bond with new friends before Thanksgiving, my world would broaden considerably. If I could just make it home to celebrate Thanksgiving, I'd appreciate the holiday for its true meaning. Thanksgiving became my pressure gauge. I came home from out East to decompress, to spend time with my family, and to reconnect with my friends. It was at this point in my life that Thanksgiving became a very important time for me; I started to be thankful. For friendships that kept me sane, for my part-time job that kept my pathetic bank account afloat, for morning phone calls from Mom, for funny emails from Dad/the dog, for lunch dates at ESM with Ashley, for the opportunity to live in Nova Scotia, for family back home that cared.
Now that I'm that much older, and a parent myself, I love making holidays a big deal for my kids- any and every holiday. I want them to remember their house smelling like turkey and cookies, the sound of their cousins running around laughing, the anticipation and feeling of festivities. I want them to remember that we put family first, that I set aside my stupid diet to make fabulous food, that I took pictures like a mad fiend to immortalize our holidays, that we went out of our way to make things special for them. And so, I spend hours decorating our house and yard with the kids, we do crafts, and bake treats for everyone we know. We read books, and watch holiday themed cartoons. We get together with our parents, brothers, and sisters, and all their kids and - dressed in our finest garb- raise a super tiny glass of white wine in gratitude for the important things and people in our lives.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Un-Stupid Yourself People
I've recently noticed a growing trend for using the terms "fucktard" and "dicktard" to describe someone who is being an idiot, or as an insult to someone's general lack of intelligence. It makes me wonder if the offenders are pleased with themselves for not using the offensive, and socially unacceptable term "retard." Would these same people call their mothers a "McCunt" and not expect a visceral reaction? Would anyone bat an eye if I greeted our priest with "Good morning Father Fuckface." (I can picture both my mother and mother-in-law's horror when reading this, but I'm trying to prove a point.) My point is this; this is not a new, or incredibly original slide of hand- when "fag" became universally socially unacceptable as a joking insult, it was replaced with the slightly less cringe-worthy "gay." When "nigger" became uncouth to say out loud it too was replaced with numerous and varied toned down versions of derogatory names.
Those of us within the special needs community are already battling the government for funding, the school systems for programming, our communities for respite, the medical community for research, various agencies for therapies, our friends and family for understanding and empathy, and our insurance companies for everything. Do we really need to scrape together more time and precious energy to fight against Fucktard and Dicktard too? Stop using them- they are equally hurtful...and you look like a BeJackass.
Those of us within the special needs community are already battling the government for funding, the school systems for programming, our communities for respite, the medical community for research, various agencies for therapies, our friends and family for understanding and empathy, and our insurance companies for everything. Do we really need to scrape together more time and precious energy to fight against Fucktard and Dicktard too? Stop using them- they are equally hurtful...and you look like a BeJackass.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Back to Back
Ever since I gave birth to Noelle over four years ago, my back has been fantastic. No more drugs, no more massages, bye bye magic bag, 'eff you acupuncture, piss off A535. I've kinda taken it for granted that I can move without pain now.
Tonight I bent over to scoop up the baby from the bottom of the playpen (before her older, and much larger, siblings squashed her) and I felt a jolt of electricity bolt up from the small of my back and race up to my neck. I dropped to one knee but managed not to drop Raegan. More or less- the dog broke her fall (don't call PETA...I gave him a treat.) I managed an hour of half-assed parenting in which I begged Dryden to go get me diapers, I encouraged the dog to eat a dropped Kleenex off the floor so I didn't have to bend to pick it up, I let Noelle drink the rest of my vanilla lattee because she was out of reach to stop, and wiped up the baby's milk dribbles with my shirt as I couldn't get off my chair to get a bib. I even managed to put them to bed without having to pick them up; I lured Noelle into her room with my car keys (hell, I let her keep them. Maybe she can drive me to the ER if it gets bad), I bribed Dryden to get his own sippy cup of milk, walk up the stairs, and climb into bed by himself. A baggie filled with marshmallows is, apparently, worth it's weight in gold. I strapped the baby to the dog and he carried her to bed. Kidding. But I did put a size 6 diaper on her so I don't have to pick her up to change her bum halfway through the night. Kidding...I only thought of that just now. Shit.
I raided the medicine cabinet and found some oxy pills Nick was prescribed but never used. Hallefrigginluia. They are definitely starting to kick in. I'm feeerling a whittle but woozi bjigcxfh nvhj snarf
Zzzzzz.....
Tonight I bent over to scoop up the baby from the bottom of the playpen (before her older, and much larger, siblings squashed her) and I felt a jolt of electricity bolt up from the small of my back and race up to my neck. I dropped to one knee but managed not to drop Raegan. More or less- the dog broke her fall (don't call PETA...I gave him a treat.) I managed an hour of half-assed parenting in which I begged Dryden to go get me diapers, I encouraged the dog to eat a dropped Kleenex off the floor so I didn't have to bend to pick it up, I let Noelle drink the rest of my vanilla lattee because she was out of reach to stop, and wiped up the baby's milk dribbles with my shirt as I couldn't get off my chair to get a bib. I even managed to put them to bed without having to pick them up; I lured Noelle into her room with my car keys (hell, I let her keep them. Maybe she can drive me to the ER if it gets bad), I bribed Dryden to get his own sippy cup of milk, walk up the stairs, and climb into bed by himself. A baggie filled with marshmallows is, apparently, worth it's weight in gold. I strapped the baby to the dog and he carried her to bed. Kidding. But I did put a size 6 diaper on her so I don't have to pick her up to change her bum halfway through the night. Kidding...I only thought of that just now. Shit.
I raided the medicine cabinet and found some oxy pills Nick was prescribed but never used. Hallefrigginluia. They are definitely starting to kick in. I'm feeerling a whittle but woozi bjigcxfh nvhj snarf
Zzzzzz.....
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Trojan Man
After a few weeks of thinking and talking it over, Nick and I decided that we are finished having children. For various reasons, we are happy with our little family of five. We've also decided to make the decision permanent, and final: Nick is going for The Big Snip. A vasectomy just makes sense- neither of us wants a surprise baby in a few years (or worse, when we're 40 and looking forward to the kids that we already have moving out and paying for their own food.) There is a bit of a waiting period for this procedure, so we are being extra careful.
Last night we enjoyed a date night. Nick's parents watched the kids while we went out for supper and hung out on a patio drinking and people watching. It was extremely warm out, but the patio was well shaded and the drinks were cold- the musical notes of ice cubes clinking in their glasses floated out beyond the sidewalk. At the embarrassingly early hour of 9:30 we were both ready to go home and go to bed. We were driving out of the city when Nick asked me to pull into Shoppers Drug Mart to get condoms. I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the van, and waited. Nick looked at me and said sheepishly, "aren't you coming in with me?!" I rolled my eyes and went in. Once inside I found the "planned parenting" aisle and grabbed a couple boxes, handing them to Nick to pay for. We walked up to the cash and was greeted by an extensive line-up filled with elderly grandparents, young attractive teenage girls, parents with their young children, and a whole bus load of Catholic nuns- or so it seemed to my husband who said, "Nope- let's keep shopping." We went up and down aisles killing time and looking for purchases that he could hide the condoms behind (we settled on two state of the art travel coffee mugs and a travel cup for my iced lattes.) We couldn't waste anymore time- they were closing the store- so we headed back to the cash. As soon as we turned the corner to get to the line-up at the registers, we run right into my sister's husband. Nick stashed the condoms behind his back and I burst out laughing, both at his embarrassment and the ridiculousness of our luck. "What are you doing here?!" Nick asked my brother-in-law. "Same thing as you," he replied, pulling out the condoms he was hiding under his arm. There was a tiny moment of *awkward* before we all busted a gut laughing. Between us we have five kids, and buying contraception is still embarrassing; it is a gleaming beacon, a neon sign that screams, "I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX. PLEASE TELL MY PARENTS AND SILENTLY JUDGE ME!" We said good night to Chris and put our purchases on the counter. To Nick's eternal credit, he did not blush when the pretty young girl scanned his condoms that he cleverly hid behind coffee mugs. "That will be $75.43 please," she said. "75 dollars!" Nick exclaimed. "Well, I suppose it's still way cheaper than having another baby," he said, smirking (and blushing fiercely) as he forked over the cash.
Last night we enjoyed a date night. Nick's parents watched the kids while we went out for supper and hung out on a patio drinking and people watching. It was extremely warm out, but the patio was well shaded and the drinks were cold- the musical notes of ice cubes clinking in their glasses floated out beyond the sidewalk. At the embarrassingly early hour of 9:30 we were both ready to go home and go to bed. We were driving out of the city when Nick asked me to pull into Shoppers Drug Mart to get condoms. I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the van, and waited. Nick looked at me and said sheepishly, "aren't you coming in with me?!" I rolled my eyes and went in. Once inside I found the "planned parenting" aisle and grabbed a couple boxes, handing them to Nick to pay for. We walked up to the cash and was greeted by an extensive line-up filled with elderly grandparents, young attractive teenage girls, parents with their young children, and a whole bus load of Catholic nuns- or so it seemed to my husband who said, "Nope- let's keep shopping." We went up and down aisles killing time and looking for purchases that he could hide the condoms behind (we settled on two state of the art travel coffee mugs and a travel cup for my iced lattes.) We couldn't waste anymore time- they were closing the store- so we headed back to the cash. As soon as we turned the corner to get to the line-up at the registers, we run right into my sister's husband. Nick stashed the condoms behind his back and I burst out laughing, both at his embarrassment and the ridiculousness of our luck. "What are you doing here?!" Nick asked my brother-in-law. "Same thing as you," he replied, pulling out the condoms he was hiding under his arm. There was a tiny moment of *awkward* before we all busted a gut laughing. Between us we have five kids, and buying contraception is still embarrassing; it is a gleaming beacon, a neon sign that screams, "I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX. PLEASE TELL MY PARENTS AND SILENTLY JUDGE ME!" We said good night to Chris and put our purchases on the counter. To Nick's eternal credit, he did not blush when the pretty young girl scanned his condoms that he cleverly hid behind coffee mugs. "That will be $75.43 please," she said. "75 dollars!" Nick exclaimed. "Well, I suppose it's still way cheaper than having another baby," he said, smirking (and blushing fiercely) as he forked over the cash.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)