Into The Future...

I'm afraid of dying.

Ever since Melissa died, I think of dying every day. I'm terrified that I will be hit by a truck...and vanish. Vanish from my children's lives, from their memories, from their hearts.

I worry about their lives without me in it.

I worry about them being "haunted" by my memory. What snapshots of me will they remember? What will they hold close? What will slip through their fingers? What will they be left with?

I'm scared that they will face hard times, that they will be on their knees, and I won't be there to help them up. I won't be there to catch their tears.  I won't be there to cheer their successes. I won't be there to hold their babies. And they will resent me, or God, or their father.

I'm "haunted" by my grandmother. There is so much that I don't know about her. So much that I will never know about her. Her favourite song. Her favourite place. What she thought about various things that happened in her life. Things that I never thought to ask her...

I sit in my cozy kitchen as I write this. The afternoon sun is pouring in. Music is on in the background. The children are playing happily in the living room. Everything is...nice. All I can think is that too soon this moment will be "a long time ago".

One day, my daughters will read this blog, hoping to gain insight into their lives, and into my life. I hope that they find what they are looking for. I hope they find evidence that I adore each of them. That they are the best things that ever happened to me. And that every day is made wonderful simply because I am able to be in their lives. And if I get hit by a truck tomorrow, I hope that I have imprinted their hearts sufficiently that they just know that my love for them doesn't stop when my heart does. It's forever.

P.S. Just for reference, my favourite song is "Baby Blue" by George Strait.

Tis The Season

I don't like Christmas.

 I never have.

Even as a child, Christmas caused me a lot of stress and anxiety. I had convinced myself that my parents would forget to buy me Christmas presents. They would only realise their oversight Christmas morning, when it was too late to do anything. And then they would be upset. So the weeks leading up to Christmas, I would worry and worry. Christmas morning, I would open my presents as slowly as possible so I could stretch out the few gifts I had and make it seem like I had the same amount of presents as my brothers. Every year, this would backfire because I would have more presents than anyone. And this caused me a lot of stress. Everyone would be done opening presents and there would be a mountain of gifts left for me to unwrap. And no one was thrilled with me at that moment. I just knew that the following year, my parents wouldn't make that mistake again and wouldn't get me presents...and the cycle would begin all over again.

Fast forward to now. I try to do everything in my power to make Christmas wonderful for my children. "Magic" happens everyday.

Some snaps:

Bethie (left), Katie, and Sarah decorating the Christmas tree

Holiday baking

Katie - helping to make sugar cookies

Bethie, Katie, and Sarah off to a Christmas party

Bethie - helping to put up Christmas lights. The snowman was a BIG hit!

Bethie, Sarah, and Katie each received an email from Santa.

I'm very excited for January!

Fancy Moi

Dan likes painting the walls in the house. He's not particularly good at it, unless you like the ceiling painted, too (I do not). He's also not particularly good at choosing paint colours. I learned that when he painted my tiny, windowless powder room "Holy Crap Blue" (yes, I believe that is  the official name).

Although, in all honesty, "Holy Crap Blue" is not as shocking as my cousin's bathroom, which he painted "WTF Orange".

Anyway, after Dan painted our living room, I strongly requested that he refrain from painting any more rooms in my house. That was about two years ago. For two years, Dan has been nagging and nagging me to let him paint another bathroom.

He wore me down.

I told Dan he could paint the bathroom, but I had to agree on the colour. I chose white (although I convinced him that it had a "rose undertone").

Dan  did a wonderful job. He primed the already white walls. And then he painted them white again. Simply beautiful. (Yes, I crack myself up).

But it was kind of ... boring.

Dan told me to leave the bathroom alone. He did not  want me to "fancy it up". Dan does not have the same approach to decor as I do. He likes classy things. He likes his rooms to look clean and modern and minimalistic. I like my house to look like a kindergarten classroom.

I promised to leave the bathroom alone, and Dan went to work.

Then I pulled out the paint.

How do you like the result?

Much better, eh?!

But the fun didn't end there, folks. We decided to fancy up the powder room, too!

"Cotton Candy Ice Cream" by Sarah

"A Bird in the Nest" by Katie (left)
"The Apple Tree" by Bethie

What did Dan say?

He was thrilled. Well, maybe not "thrilled", but he didn't take the paintings down...which wouldn't have been difficult considering I hung them up with thumb tacks.

Bounce

Just after Sarah's first birthday, we bought a Bouncy Thing for the children. The twinnies enjoyed the Bouncy Thing, but Sarah loved it. In fact, it rapidly became one of her favourite outdoor activities.

Sarah is constantly asking me or Dan to inflate the Bouncy Thing. When the weather is lovely, we will haul the Bouncy Thing out, inflate it, let her bounce, and then haul it back in. However, she wants to bounce during the winter, she wants to bounce when it's raining. She wants to bounce just about all the time. Not for a long time, but at least once a day.

Recently, I had a brilliant idea.

I suggested to Dan that we (and by "we", I meant he) set up the Bouncy Thing in our unfinished basement. That way Sarah can bounce whenever she would like. And it would be great fun during the winter.

Dan didn't think this was a great idea.

Turns out, he was wrong.

He just needed to put things in perspective. Really, Dan should be happy. It could have been worse...

In July, my father had asked me what Dan wanted for his birthday. I told Dad that Dan really wanted Dad to buy my brother's old Bouncy Thing With An Attached Water Slide. So Dad bought us the massive new Bouncy Thing, and I reassured Dan that he did, in fact, want this for his birthday.

The twinnies love the water slide.

And Sarah like the attached Bouncy Thing.

Dan should be happy that this is not going into our basement...yet.

Also, my brother has upgraded to a Bouncy Thing with two water slides.

I have my eye on this one, too. But, as of right now, there are no plans to erect this in my basement.

My (comparatively) small Bouncy Thing becomes a reasonable compromise, right???

Enid Blyton's Lives!

As I mentioned earlier, Dan had failed me by purchasing the wrong hats for the children. Mum came through...

My grandmother would have loved this!

 

And the obligatory shot of them dancing.

Sarah started to lose interest in the hat. Apparently, she does not accessorize for my amusement. 

After Mum and I took these photos, we wanted to see what the hats would look like with the sea as a backdrop. The sea is a bit far away. We settled for the Ottawa River.

And let me tell you, the hats looked GORGEOUS!

See!?!

The group shot.

And Sarah's hat?

Heaved onto the beach.

Sigh. Two out of three ain't bad.

Clarity

OK. Based on some phone calls, emails, and comments, I feel the need to chat a wee bit more about this surgery.

When I first got sick on Sunday night, it occurred to me that I might have appendicitis. But I quickly dismissed that idea, and never gave it any real thought again. And that is why it took me soooo long to see a doctor.

When I was driving to work on Tuesday, I turned the radio on to listen to the news. Instead, "Alberta Bound" by Paul Brandt was playing. This song reminded me of Melissa (who really liked it when it first came out). I thought to myself, "Melissa got sick. She ignored the Google search results, and died because of it". And that was what made me go to the hospital.

I stayed at the hospital because of my mother. She had driven me there, and refused to leave until I saw a doctor. Even though I yelled at her. Even though we had to endure hours and hours of watching "1001 Ways To Die" in the ER waiting room (for real!). Even though the other patients were driving me crazy!

There were some "funny" moments. I know this because people all around me would spontaneously break out in laughter. I, however, did not laugh.

The nurse weighed me, and the shouted out my weight three times. I said, "Do you want to shout that again because I don't think all of the people in the waiting room heard you?!". Mum and the nurses laughed. I did not laugh.

The lady who shared the examination room with me laughed when the nurse walked briskly away from me....while carrying the bag connected to my catheter. I did not laugh.

Mum and the nurses laughed in the Recovery Room. Apparently (and this is a wee bit hazy for me), the nurses had asked Mum if she had wanted to see my enormous appendix which had been shoved into a tiny bottle. Mum said that she did, and walked to the other side of the room to have a peak. I shouted out, "BRING THAT SUCKER OVER HERE". I didn't laugh. Everyone else did, but I didn't.

The next morning, when I woke up in a room shared with two men, I needed to use the washroom, but couldn't find one. I went into the hall and encountered a nurse. She directed me to the washroom. I ended up in a broom closet. She laughed and redirected me. I did not laugh.

I did laugh a couple of times though.

I told the anaesthetist that I didn't want my tombstone to read "May 24 - May 24", he raised his voice and said "I have put 15,000 people to sleep during my career and everyone of them woke up". This gave me a giggle. But what really made me chuckle was when he asked if I could "give him a deal" at work, and I replied "That depends on how well this goes". He said nothing. I laughed.

I laughed at the surgeon because he was kinda sarcastic. After being paged for my emergency surgery, he came rushing into my room. He said, "So you got sick today?". I informed him that no, I became sick on Sunday. He said, "So you saw a doctor on Monday?". Ummm, no. I kinda just lay about on Monday. He said, "So you woke up today (Tuesday) and came to the hospital?". Ummmm, no, I went to work first. He sighed, and said "Good for you". But he didn't mean "Good for you". It kinda came out like "Good for you, you IDIOT!"...and it tickled my funny bone.

And it also amused me when Dan brought Sarah to come and visit me in the hospital. She likes to push buttons. She pushed the ones on the side of my bed, raising and then lowering and then raising the bed. That was cute. I giggled. When she found the ones that would fold me up like a taco, not so funny!

How I Celebrated the Anniversary of My 27th Birthday

Sunday evening, I got a stomach ache. Not badly enough to tell anyone. Just a general ache.

By 12:30am, I was in intense pain. I contemplated calling 911. Dan and I decided that I must be having a gallbladder attack. I popped a couple of morphine pills (doesn't everyone have morphine on hand?) and went to sleep.

Monday was Victoria Day, so Dan was home from work. I didn't feel any better and decided that I should continue taking morphine while supplementing with Tylenol 3. Mum took the kids for 6 hours, and I sat on the couch trying to figure out why I was feeling so badly. But I didn't like any of the answers that Google was giving me, so I dismissed them and remained perplexed.

Tuesday morning, I was still in a lot of pain. I took my morphine, and my Tylenol 3, and Advil. And then I went to work. Because I'm tough. Because it was my birthday and I didn't want people to think I was flaking out. Because I was sooooo drugged that I lacked the ability to think straight.

I left work at lunch time and went to the hospital. No, I didn't go to any of the hospitals in Ottawa. I went to a hospital an hour away. Because when one is beginning to think that they have a medical condition that is quickly becoming critical, one tends to leave the city (and some of the best hospitals in Canada), and head for the country.

I had to wait three hours to see a doctor because order is based on the urgency of the case. The lady who needed 3 stitches and the man who needed a refill on his crazy meds were, apparently, more urgent than I was. Sigh.

Once I was seen by a doctor, everything went rather quickly. The doctor thought that I had appendicitis but needed to do a CT scan. I complied when I was asked to drink 3 enormous glasses of water laced with iodine. I reacted negatively when I was informed that I was about to have an enema. I simply said "No". Over and over again. Finally, the poor technician whose job it was to perform the enema left, and Mum said, "They're going to send in the Big Guns now.". And indeed they did. The doctor came in and explained that this enema would help make the CT scan better and my appendix would be more clear. And I looked up at him, with tears in my eyes, and whispered, "But it's my birthday". And the doctor said, "OK, we can do the CT scan without the enema". And Mum's jaw dropped. She was shocked that the doctor had given up so easily.

Guess what the CT scan revealed? Yup, I had appendicitis. The surgery team was paged to come back to the hospital (because they were all at home). The surgeon expressed some doubt about whether or not I had appendicitis because I couldn't have possibly endured the pain for 3 days. I said that if he was having doubt, then maybe we should postpone the surgery until he knew for sure. This annoyed him.

I was wheeled into the OR. The nurses were getting everything ready. The anaesthesiologist got to work. He gave me some medicine which would make my sight become blurry. Then he administered something else, and said, "You will fall asleep... NOW". But I didn't. Because I was fighting it. He asked me not to fight the medicine, but I couldn't help it. I have had bad experiences with anaesthesia in the past. I lifted my head up, looked directly in his eyes, and said, "Are you going to make sure I'm asleep before the operation begins?". Yup, this annoyed him.

In case you're keeping track, I have now pissed off both the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist.

I wake up from the surgery, and you'll never guess who my nurses were. Their names were Katie, Sarah, and Elizabeth. REALLY! What are the odds?

The next day, the surgeon came to see me. Again, he express shock that I had gone so long before seeing a doctor. He said that my appendix was huge, and he contemplated taking a picture (I wish he had!) and that half of it was hard as a baseball bat. He seemed awed by how sick I had been and how tough I am. I was pleased. Because I am  pretty tough.

The surgeon gave me a prescription for OxyContin and sent me home. The best bit? After arriving home, the pharmacy called and said that they had not filled the prescription properly, and I am entitled to TWELVE more OxyContin pills! I thought narcotics were hard to come by, but I seem to be as well stocked as any pharmacy!

Anyway, that was my birthday. It sucked. I missed all the nice weather. I missed out on spending the holiday with my family. And I missed my kidlings. Oh, and I was gutted. That sucked, too.

I'm thinking about starting a petition. I'm going to try to get a "do-over" for my birthday.

Real Live Women

There's a song by Sugarland that I really like. In it, there's a line about knowing "which hands to shake/which hands to hold". I've shaken a lot of hands in my life. I've been pleased to have met a person, enjoyed the time we've had together, and moved on. No hard feelings, best of luck with your future endeavours.
But I have been lucky enough to cross paths with some extraordinary women. Good women. Clever women. Make you laugh until you cry women. Let you cry until you laugh women. And their hands are the hands that I chose to hold.

Another Sarah. That's what I call her. When I was pregnant with my baby, Sarah, I didn't know anyone else by that name. Once she was born, I met 30 women named Sarah, each needing a nickname. Hence, Another Sarah.

Another Sarah has an ease about her. Being around her is easy. She makes people feel comfortable in their own skin. Especially women. Because people seem to know that she's not judging them. She cares only about the soul within the person. Another Sarah has the great ability to use her humour and her wit to lighten the situation. There is never the concern that she will use her humour to embarrass. Another Sarah thrives when everyone is laughing. When you speak, she looks you in the eye. Because she really is listening. She asks questions, offers supports, makes a joke. After being with her, I feel happy.

I've known Cara for about 10 years now. In my eyes, she's perfect (Cara is screaming her objections at her computer as she reads this!). She's beautiful... blond hair, blue eyes, peaches and cream complexion. She married a beautiful man, and had two beautiful children. You would think that I would hate her, right?! But Cara has a quiet kindness that wraps around you. She cares ... about her family, about her friends, about the world, about all the children in the world. She has opened up her home and her heart to an orphan in the Congo, because her love is not limited by lines on a map, DNA, or skin colour. Her heart only sees her child, in a far away country, and she's fighting to get to her baby.

Cara is wicked smart, and she has the advanced degree to prove it! She finds joy in the world around her.  She raves about how wonderful a father her husband is. She likes cuddling with her children and watching He-Man. When her life gets too hard, and too painful, and too much to bear, she looks for these simple joys. I admire Cara.

Lisa is my Erma Bombeck. She doesn't mean to be. Whatever struggle I am facing, Lisa has already faced the same thing, but it was ten times harder and 100 times funnier. Lisa "gets" me. She can take one look at me and know what I'm feeling and (typically) why. She knows the right words to say, when to say them, and when to say nothing at all.

Lisa doesn't care what the world thinks. She cares about what she thinks. I care about what she thinks, too. Because Lisa is clever. She's insightful. Also, she's wicked funny! Most people don't know that because Lisa is also very quiet. She keeps her thoughts (mostly) to herself which makes me feel privileged when she shares them with me.

Lisa is the strongest woman I know. She holds on tight to her husband and her children. Life sends massive "waves" to knock her down, and silent "drips" to erode her self-confidence. And my friend stands tall. She is the breaking wall between Life and her family. She wishes she were some pampered duchess in a time long ago. Instead she is a pillar of strength. She is the force that keeps everyone going. Safe. Together. I adore Lisa, and I am so proud to call her my friend.

Melissa would have made this list, too. I think about Melissa every single day. Her death has had ripple effects throughout my life. But it's still too soon to lay my heart out for the world to see. It is, however, important to me that everyone knows that she is included in my list of extraordinary women.

My Life Is A Cartoon

I was sick of my hair. It was long. Really, really long. So last night, while Dan was putting the children to bed, I went to have my haircut.

Before I left, I asked the twinnies how much hair I should cut off. Bethie suggested that I get my hair "buzzed". I said, "Do you think that would look good on me?". She replied it would.

I got my haircut, but I did not take Bethie's advice. I did, however, get an awful lot of hair chopped off. My hair hasn't been this short since I was about 12 years old. I also had my hair dyed. Brown. Because I'm fancy like that.

This morning, the twinnies wouldn't get out of bed. I said, "It's Pajama Day at school". That didn't work. I said, "It's Pizza Day, too!". No response. I said "I got my hair cut really short and I also dyed it". Both girls were out of bed and racing downstairs so they could see my hair in the proper light (ie not their dark bedroom).

Bethie said "Did you dye it orange?". No, Elizabeth, it's brown. "I think it looks orange!" she replies. Well, golly, I don't feel the least bit self-conscious now!

Katie said, "Mummy! It's wonderful! I love it! You look just like Dee Dee Doodle!". WHAT?!

Super.

That was totally the look I was going for.

I think I'm going to jump into my Big Red Car...

...so I can join my friends in their backyard.

Winning The Lotto

I daydream about winning the lottery. I've decided that I need millions and millions of dollars in order to be happy. Actually, about $65 million should do it. This isn't an arbitrary number. I've given it a great deal of thought and realised that I am an expensive woman to maintain (in the style in which I would like to grow accustomed).

The first thing I would do if I won the lottery would be to buy a new house. A big one. Painted yellow. Not a soft pastel yellow. An OMG What The Hell Is THAT yellow (I believe that is actually the name of the paint colour I want). Because nothing pleases me more than shocking my parents. They never see it coming!

I would then go to the grocery store. I would buy whatever we needed. Not the cheapo stuff either. I would buy name brands. I would buy all the ingredients that I needed, not just most of them. I might even start looking at recipe books again. You know, the ones that are entitled "Healthy Eating" but if you buy everything needed for the recipes, you couldn't afford to pay the mortgage (yeah, I'm looking at you Jamie Oliver...my "local grocery shop" does not stock "fresh" and "affordable" truffles!!!).

Then, Dan and I would go to Costco. We would take two cars. I intend to stock up. I still wouldn't buy the massive bottles of salad dressing or ketchup, but I would be coming home with massive amounts of paper towel, meat, and laundry soap. This would thrill me!

Directly after Dan unloads the cars filled with all things Costco, I will be looking for a maid. She can deal with this:

(yup, that's Dan lying in the rubble. Guess he gave up!)

(Bethie's "25 Days of January". She said she would take one clothes pin off every day in January...is this a normal response to the "25 Days of Christmas"????)

While online, I would search for a full-time nanny. Her only qualifications would be that she is available immediately. She can deal with this:

(A little bit of "tough love" from Sarah...I warned Bethie that Sarah would get bigger!)

(Twinnies getting fancy the night before I took them to Mum's office so I could show off my beautiful babies. Sigh)

(Bethie decided that she needed to be in a cocoon. Nothing I would say convinced her that she was really stretching the Hell out of my pillow case - which she took off my bed!!!)

Once in our new home, I would retreat to my "office". Not so much an office as a "quiet place that no one who resides in my home is allowed to enter. EVER.". This room would be sound-proof. The door handle would contain an electric current that would give a mild (because I love my husband and children) electric shock should anyone try to open the door. When all Hell breaks loose, I will scurry off to my "office" to do my "work" (ie read my book) while the maid and nanny deal with the chaos.

In order to make my dreams a reality, all I have to do now is get a job with the Ontario Gaming and Lottery Corporation so I can fix the lottery in my favour (oh, come on, this happens all the time!!!).

The Real Me

I've become disenchanted with social media. Well, not Facebook because mostly I just write wicked funny things to amuse my brother. And that has some real value for me. But Twitter is killing me. Most blogs annoy me, too. Why? Because I seem to be "friends" with women who are perfect.

These women love their children...all the time. They think their husbands are simply wonderful. The have lovely homes, and time to focus on cleaning and decorating those homes. I read this stuff, and take a look around.  My life is wonderful, but far from perfect.

I don't want to be perceived like that. Like I think I'm perfect. Because I'm not. I have surrounded myself with friends who are far from perfect, and I find that it's their idiosyncrasies that make them worth knowing. So, I have decided to share some of mine:

1. I read. A lot. And when I say "a lot", I mean more than any other person I know. I read non-fiction. I like learning about all types of things. Things that I would never have any use for. Because of all of this reading, I have a lot of useless information stored in my brain. My friends just love it when I wow them with whatever I have learned. When asked, "How do you know that?", I roll my eyes and say "It's common knowledge. How come you don't know this?". And they love me for it.
2. I get my books from the library, but I don't have a library card. Because I technically don't live in the City of Ottawa, I would have to pay $50 to have a library card. I'm too cheap to do this, so I "borrow" a card. When the owner of the card wants to take out a book, I get annoyed and say "Just tell the librarian that you forgot your card, and show them some ID". Then this person calls me and says "I showed my ID and they made me pay your late fees!". Oops.
3. I use Lysol. And Vim. And Mr. Clean. And CLR. Because they work. In fact, I don't think I have ever purchased any "green" products. Truthfully, I don't intend to. Want to hear the worst bit? I have hospital wipes that are meant to be used to sterilize surfaces (and are only meant to be used in health-care settings)...and I use them! I know, I know, everyone is against using these types of household cleaners. And that's why I don't tell them about my love affair with Febreeze. In my house, "Febreeze" is a verb, as in "Oh my God, just Febreeze the children!".
4. I don't like people. No, not all people. Just the vast majority of people that I have to come into contact with. It's kind of funny because most people like me. They look for me. They want to talk to me. They want to be my friend. And that's very sweet of them. But, unless you can make me laugh (and laughing at you doesn't count), then I really can't be bothered...
5. I can't remember things. I used to have a very good memory, but then I had kids, and the ability to remember things was destroyed. People have had lengthy conversations with me, and I have absolutely no memory of them. It's like it never happened. On the flip side, the situations that I do remember, I remember them very clearly. It's odd.
6. I have two pairs of shoes. Two. I have my regular old black shoes, and I have my $10 Walmart sandals. The sandals fell apart this summer. I taped them back up with electrical tape. My mother was horrified.
7. I love my children. Passionately. Completely. With every fibre of my being. But I don't always like them...mostly because they have plotted to kill me. Kidding! They would be content if I was simply shipped off to the Looney Bin.
8. My husband is a good man and an excellent father. Having said that, he makes me swear. A lot. I don't think it's physically possible to live with the man and not say "What the f@ck?!" at least 3 times a day. I think he intentionally dreams up ways to harass my sanity.
9. I have a super human skill. Ready for it? I have the ability to get red vomit out of white carpet. Not impressed? I can do it at 3am. In the dark! I know, you're green with envy.
10. It's all about me. I tell people this, and they laugh. They think I'm kidding. Or exaggerating. But I'm not. I've tried to work on this, but have not been successful. I have decided to "accept the things I cannot change".

And that's the "real" me. Obviously, not all of me. But enough for you to understand where I'm coming from.