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Random thoughts strung together

Missing Mooch

On our upcoming trip, we've decided to ask my parents to dogsit for us. It's a long trip and we need to bring so much stuff for Intrepid, that there's just not much room in our Jetta. Besides that, I'm sure that Mooch will have a much better time with my parents and her uncle (a border collie / shepard / who-knows-what-else mix who may or may not be excited to have his young niece dogging (pardon the pun) his footsteps) than traipsing all over with us. I'm going to miss Mooch. Sad to say, I take her for granted. She's my dog, through and through. She follows me around from room to room, and whenever I stay in one place for more than a minute, she lays down at my feet. It's a comfort, to know she's always there. When I'm feeling playful, she'll delightedly roll around with me on the ground. When I'm putting something together on the floor (Ikea furniture for example) or putting DVD's in the player, she's always there to assist me. And when I'm feeling down, she gives me gentle kisses and snuffles, and stays reassuringly close. The only times I've been away from her (once when she stayed overnight at the vet, and the two nights I was in the hospital after having Intrepid), I've found myself missing her very much. What can I say? I love that pooch.

I've Been Paying Men To Touch Me

Ok, so it's only one man, who also happens to be my husband. And I only paid him a dollar. My sciatica has been acting up recently you see, and the other day, desperate for relief, I offered to pay Comic for his back rub services. It worked, I got a nice rub (and he forgot to collect, not that it matters because my money is his money and vice versa). Certainly cheaper than going back to the chiropractor, which I could definitely benefit from, but just as definitely can't afford (especially going three times a week at the beginning to get cracked back into shape). No, I spent that money this month, on a nice expensive haircut, which in turn makes me feel sexy again, which in turn makes me walk more upright, which in turn helps my back. See? I'm always thinking.

Communication

It's everywhere. All around us. All the time. One of the many things I've learned by having a baby as company every day, is that words are overrated. Yes, there will come a time, not too long from now, I fear, when Intrepid will babble incessantly about this or that, but for the time being, he can tell me perfectly well what he needs by only body language, hand gestures (only occasionally rude ones), the odd grunt and of course his different cries. For that matter, so can Mooch (only replace the word 'hand' with 'paw').

A Keyboard, A Lap And Some Drool

Intrepid just had a fight with Freddy The Firefly. Everything was happy happy, then all of a sudden, Intrepid was giving Freddy a stern talking to. Then came the cries. Heck, I don't like hanging around with someone when I've just had a fight with them either. So he moved onto my lap. Blogging is so much easier when you have a baby in your lap and have to poke one-handed at the keys. Intrepid loves sitting with me at my desk. He'll be a great boss one day. Or maybe a judge. He bangs those pudgy little fists down on the desk with conviction. Then he chucks my ruler over the side and reaches for the post-its next. That's when he's finally content. A crumpled post-it in one hand and slapping the desktop with the other, and throw in some kicking of the underside of the desk for good measure. Then the flood gates open and dump puddles of drool all over the desk for my elbow to slip on. I only wish he would always be this easy to please...

One down, one to go...

Well, I did it, I survived the Chief's visit. She left an hour ago. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. I just spent most of the time watching Intrepid being bounced around like a rag doll in her lap (she doesn't just hold him, she likes to keep him on the move). Comic was sarcastic as always, so that was good for a few laughs. And whenever Chiefy started on one of her 'Well why would you do that?' rants, I tried this nifty little jedi mind trick where I stepped briefly out of the room, waved my hand in front of my face and said in as convincing a voice as I could muster 'It doesn't matter what she thinks'. Yeah. I learned that one from Obi Wan Kenobi (Not the old one. The young, hot, Ewan McGregor one).

After Intrepid ate so much that he practically fell asleep in his high chair, and I laid him down in his room for a nap, I was set the task of fixing an ancient excersaucer that Chiefy brought for him. I suppose I shouldn't put it down. I mean, we don't have one for him yet, so it's not like we can be too picky, but this is my blog, and my rules, so I'm going to whine. The seat was totally screwed up (last time we tried to put him in it at her house, his crotch was about 2 inches off the bottom), so I tried my darndest to fix it. About 8 hours and two broken thumbs later, I succeeded. When Intrepid woke up, I promptly stuck him in it (I wasn't going to do all that hard work for nothing) and he played with the few toys that remain working on it, and some crusty old dirt that I suppose will never come off because Chiefy said she washed it twice. I have to do something about that rusty screw though. I'm not a snob. Really, I'm not. I like second hand things, I shop at Value Village. But there's a difference between used, and broken dirty piece of crap. Whatever, he liked it, so at least now I know he'll really like the one I've been eyeing for months at Toys R Us.

We also need to get Intrepid a new car seat. Like, didn't we just get one right before he was born? Who knew these kids were so expensive? The one I have picked out proclaims itself to be 'the only car seat you'll ever need' (where was this one when I was getting the first one?). Anyway, this one should do him until he legally doesn't need a car seat anymore, which should be around the age of 16.

Back to the visit. We all ate lunch, and then sat around watching Intrepid play on the floor. I wasn't sure how long she was planning on staying, and I was running out of patience and things to say, so I figured it was time to pull out the big guns. We went for a walk. Not just any walk. I packed us all in the car, drove to a park near the water, bundled up Intrepid in a hoody, and dragged them all along for a good long walk (with lots of hills) against the wind. I kept up the pace too. I have to give her props though, she did keep up. By the time we got back to our place, everyone was slightly out of breath (we still hadn't caught it, even after driving home) and red in the face, and The Chief promptly announced her departure. It must have done the trick!

So all in all, a good visit. Everyone played nice this time. I didn't even want to smack Chiefy when she started telling Intrepid how he should come and see her more often, really loudly so that we would know she was really telling us. Comic saved the day by pointing out that Intrepid couldn't talk or drive for that matter, so why didn't she just tell this to us? She never will though.

So, one down and one more to go. I seem to be filling up my calendar for our upcoming visit. I've been spending quite a lot of time on Facebook recently, and of course, everyone wants to see us when we visit my hometown next (which happens to be this weekend). I feel quite popular (even though I know they only want to play with my cute baby and don't really care about seeing me). It will be good to catch up with a couple of old friends while showing off Intrepid's cuteness. Hopefully, this will come in handy when Stepthingy gets a little too unbearable, and I can just take off, tires screeching, to meet a friend, which is much different than when I lived there (since I was never allowed to use the car, and therefore couldn't go anywhere since we lived on a farm way outside town). I suppose there was always my bike, but you just don't get that same satisfaction: She slammed the door in Stepthingy's face, hopped on her bicycle and peddled off up the driveway, vanishing slowly from sight. No, it just doesn't work.

I also have an ace up my sleeve. Comic will be there. My husband has an annoying habit of speaking his mind, to hell with everyone else, but this can come in very handy at times such as these. If Stepthingy pipes up and says anything even remotely demeaning to me, Comic will step right in and tell her where to go. And who said chivalry is dead?

Family Fantasy Fighting: The Chief vs. Stepthingy

Wow. What a day. I painstakingly moved my entire blog over from wordpress.com and got it tweaked just the way I want it. For now. I must have changed my blog a dozen times since I started it in May, but this is the first time I feel as though I've finally reached a happy-blogging-zone. At last, I can rest. Well, almost.

Ya see, I have this tiny, little, infinitesimal stressor. My Mother in Law (AKA The Chief Out-Law) is coming for a visit tomorrow. Normally this would be cause for panic for me, but not this time. No, no. I finally seem to have been able to adopt an attitude of nonchalance toward Comic's family. Yes, even Snarflap. That, and a large quantity of weed should get me to a good place in my head before the Chief's arrival tomorrow. Joking.

At least this time, I've been able to avoid the usual pre Chief arrival meltdown:

• I haven't chewed my nails down to the quick. Check.
• No stress 'blemishes' (normally, pizza face wouldn't be far off). Check.
• No insomnia. Check.
• No blood pouring down the walls. Check.
• No frantic house cleaning. Check.
• No hiding of all questionable items (this could include certain brands of soap) Check.
• No stockpile of anti-anxiety medications. Check.

I'd say that I'm rather a changed person! I may have known the answer for years, but I guess I just needed time to come around and finally realize that I don't need to worry about what old Chiefy comes out with in her arsenal tomorrow. I am me and there's nothing she can do about it. And the interest I have in the way she thinks I should be doing things rates somewhere below Pokemon on my list of what I care about. It's taken me a long time to say that and mean it, so I'll now give myself a well-deserved pat on the back.

Now, I figure if I can get past tomorrow with my self esteem and sanity in check, then it will bode well for the upcoming trip this weekend. We're going to spend our first overnight trip with Dad and Stepthingy. I'm very excited about seeing Dad, nothing like a good BBQ, Intrepid will make his first trip into the pool, where Comic will show him the art of cannonballing, no doubt, but I'm a little nervous about Stepthingy (basically all you need to know is that this is a super manipulative, ego maniacal, self-esteem thrashing kind of person, who is so evil that I'd rather spend a month-long cruise with The Chief than spend one hour in her company). Should be a blast!

Tomorrow will be my first test. And now to bed, for a peaceful night's rest. Bring it on Chiefy.

Late Night Musings (accompanied by good tunes)

It hasn’t been often that I’ve stayed up late the last little while. I seem to be, if only temporarily, devoid of my insomnia, which is a rather great thing. It’s nice to walk through the world all day with your eyes more than half open. But tonight, I found myself meandering toward the computer on my way to bed (although my computer is not literally on my way to bed). And after turning on iTunes and picking out some great late night mellow songs, I went straight to my blog, because of all of my websites, I have been neglecting this one the most lately, although it has been getting the most attention.

So what to blog about now? Well, the mundane, of course.

A few days ago, while updating my firefox web browser, I found a great little add-on called FoxyTunes. This is a wonderful little gadget, that when installed, puts a little control panel in the bottom of your web browser so that you can play, pause, stop, skip tracks, and even eject in whichever music program you happen to use. For iTunes, this is especially great, because with no controls in the taskbar, I have to keep flipping back and forth to the program to change songs, etc. So that is just one of the little delights I’ve had this week.

Other snippets of pure happiness this week: Intrepid repeating my name (Mama) after me and giving me the sweetest, most heartwarming smile afterward. Going for walks, Comic walking Mooch, me pushing Intrepid in his stroller, around the back streets of our neighbourhood around sunset. An amazing time in my husband’s arms, that lasted two hours, just holding each other and talking and laughing like we used to when we first fell in love. (I remember going through withdrawal if we didn’t cuddle at least once a day). Getting my haircut and feeling sexy again. A now rare middle of the night cuddle and play with Intrepid one night when he woke up crying. Finally putting together a photo album of all of Intrepid’s pictures thus far. Visiting with my Grandparents (who I love like parents and whom mean everything to me).

I guess tonight was a self taught lesson. Sometimes, talking about the mundane can make things a little or a lot clearer for you. I realized just how fantastic a week I’ve had and that everything is finally starting to come together for me again, as I knew it eventually would. And now, I think, to bed.

Looking At This Picture, All I Can Say Is: I Love My Life

Weapons In The Form Of Words

This post is inspired by lyrics from ‘This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race’ by Fall Out Boy:

” I am an arms dealer
Fitting you with weapons in the form of words
And I don’t really care which side wins
As long as the room keeps singing
That’s just the business I’m in, yeah

This ain’t a scene, it’s a god damned arms race…
I’m not a shoulder to cry on
But I digress “

A couple of days ago, I listened to these words as I sped down the 401 en route to my in-laws*

(*As suggested by my father, they are more appropriately called ‘out-laws’, and shall hence forth be referred to as such.)

It occurred to me just how true those words are. When I think back to all of the terrible confrontations between Comic’s family and myself, they all came about by the utterance of some nasty words (often, though not always, behind my back) and what are nasty words, but weapons? Words can describe the joys and sorrows of our lives, limited only by the imagination of their speaker. They can evoke such feeling and passion, whether that be in the form of love or of hatred and all that exists between. I have suffered countless hours of anguish over words from my out-laws, mostly because as they are so important to Comic, I wanted more than anything to get along with them and to fit in. My fate however, was never in my hands. It had never mattered what I said or did, I wasn’t good enough before I even came into Comic’s life, because no one is good enough for him in their eyes.

Fortunately, over time, I have started to get over their words, and I’ve finally developed a thicker skin, a coat of armor, if you will, to deflect these continual utterances of malcontent. I am trying to turn over a new leaf in my life, and to no longer be drawn into their dramatics, which I know in the end will be better for Comic, Intrepid and myself. And so, in that spirit, I will not carry out a bitter diatribe about my visit as I had intended, but will take a step in the right direction and use my words for joy instead of pain.

At least I can say that Comic had a great time seeing his family, and that we are all now back at home. Intrepid sleeps peacefully in his crib. Comic plays archaic arcade games on his computer. And I am off to bed to drift into peaceful slumbers, listening to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on my iPod, and to dream of things left to my imagination.

Randomness

I find myself sitting in front of my computer in the late afternoon, and at a loss for what to do. This never happens to me. There is always some kind of demand on my time, but my kids (Intrepid and Mooch) are napping, Comic is playing computer games, and so I am free. Let me take this moment to enjoy it.

There is a fresh, cool breeze gusting through the window. I’m pretty relaxed right now. Well, as relaxed as I can be the day before a visit to my in-laws. They will be hosting a party tomorrow, with a Hawaiian theme, so we’ll be dressing up our little man for the occasion. My sister in law (AKA Snarflap) has put in her usual pre visit phone call to request something of Comic (whether it be money, a CD, or something Comic bought, which she now thinks should be given to her because she has no money). This time, it was Comic’s mp3 player, an expensive one he bought a couple of years ago, that would likely last for about half an hour in her house around the rug rats before being broken. He said no, and then there were the shouts, guilt trips and swear words flowing through the phone, so loud it had to be held away from his ear. Normally, this kind of thing would really bother me, but for some reason it doesn’t today. Maybe I’ve finally come to a point where I can just not give a crap about the dramatic tantrums that go on in his family. This is good news, because I’ve been working toward this point for the better part of 3 years now.

On to a happier subject. Over the past 6 months, we’ve been enjoying watching TV shows on DVD. We started with season 5 of the always riveting 24. From there, we borrowed all 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (a show which Comic loved, but which I had never seen) from my parents. We had a blast, following the adventures of the scoobie gang and were suffering through withdrawal when it ended. To ease the pain, we quickly dived into House, M.D, seasons 1 and 2. Eventually wrapping those up, we moved on to Angel (a spinoff of Buffy) which we loved just as much as Buffy itself. And after 5 seasons of that, it was over. After months of DVD entertainment, we found ourselves back to the reruns on TV. Then a couple of days ago, on an excursion, Comic came across season 9 of Frasier (one of our favourite shows) on DVD. Neither of us had seen many episodes of season 9, so we are currently eagerly enjoying the comedic stylings of the Cranes. I have laughed so hard and so loud at times that I have frightened Intrepid, who has shrieked in fear! Poor little guy.

Speaking of him, he has now started howling into the baby monitor, so my time is up. Until next time…I’m sure I’ll have lots of baggage to unload after tomorrow’s trip ; )

Magnetic Poetry

I recently embarked in the exciting world of magnetic poetry in an effort to creatively cheer up Comic and tell him how much I love him.

At Long Last…

After a two week hiatus from blogging, I’ve finally made it back to my keyboard, driven by a combination of guilt and the need for self expression. It is an incredibly hot afternoon. Sweat is pouring down my face. Comic is doing dishes in a somewhat foul mood. Intrepid is in his crib, enjoying the only ceiling fan in our home and intermittently playing with his favourite toy and napping. For now, it is enough that he is content, and most importantly, he is quiet. Mooch, the only member of our family both covered in hot black fur and completely unconcerned by the drastic temperature rise, has taken up her usual spot by my feet and is relaxing, only lifting her head occasionally to check on the whereabouts of Comic.

We knew this day would come and yet we made no effort to prepare for it. After the heat wave a couple of weeks ago, we decided that the need had arisen to install our air conditioner, which involves quite a lot of effort. We have to go to a store downtown to fetch some waterproof board to cover the area of window that will remain open after wedging the air conditioner into it and affixing it with a bracket. Then, when everything is sealed airtight, and approved of by Comic (who has the mostly endearing and occasionally frustrating quality of being obsessive compulsive), before we can even turn the thing on, we have to rearrange our already perfectly arranged furniture. You see, the air conditioner will blast directly into the back of our TV, so we have to drag our entertainment unit and Mooch’s crate to the far side of the living room and swap them with our shelving unit to get the full benefit of our heavily complicated new installation. And the icing on the cake will be my having to hook up all of the stereo equipment in exactly the same way, bearing in mind that a slight mistake will lead to the entire thing not working. This being quite an undertaking, we have been understandably procrastinating and enjoying a delightfully cool spell in the weather. We knew however, that the day would come when the heat would hit us again, and we would be without anything but our small oscillating fan which merely displaces the hot air around us. So we will now have to grit our teeth, and carry out the whole procedure in 35 degree weather. Oh joy. Oh happy day.

Aside from all of this, things have been going fairly well recently. We have started Intrepid on solid foods and he has developed quite the demanding temperament; I can hardly get the spoonful to his mouth fast enough. He has also started rocking back and forth a lot whenever we have him on our laps, giving one the impression that he is riding a mechanical bull. And, as so often happens around the six month mark, he has begun to make strange with everyone but us, only doling out a few shy smiles before a large pout crosses his face, signaling the terrified screaming that is soon to come. This last development should be a joy when we make our trip to visit my in-laws this coming weekend, a trip which has been getting closer and closer, corresponding with the tightening knot that resides in my gut. I will not describe my relationship with my in-laws here. There is simply not enough time or room. Suffice it to say, that while most of them are OK, the few that despise me for simply being married to Comic ruin it for all of them. My only comfort, however petty, is imagining the look on my dear mother-in-law’s face when her precious grandson takes one look at her and screams to high heaven. I would never go as far as to be vengeful in any way, but when an opportunity arises such as this, I can’t say that I won’t show the slightest bit of enjoyment.

And now I’m hearing the calls of my family. I believe a trip in the car is in order to get us all cooled down. So I’ll sign off until later…

Mid-Night Introspection

Here I am again, on yet another late night. Usually I’d be in bed by now (I’ve been sleeping better lately), but tonight, I find myself the only one awake once again. So naturally, this calls for a middle-of-the-night blog, which quite frankly, I’m glad about because I haven’t been posting as often as I’d like lately.

Things have been both better and worse lately. I know that sentence makes no sense at all, but it is what it is, just like my life. And right now, my life makes no sense at all. On one side, things have been getting better slowly but surely. The black dogs have backed off my heels for the time being, but I haven’t yet felt confident enough to celebrate. They are wily creatures and they have a nasty way of creeping up on you as soon as you turn your back to them. Even when I’ve banished them before, their spirits remained, floating on the edge of my consciousness. However, after saying all of that, things have been getting better of late. That much I will admit. And of course, as so often happens, as soon as one part of your life improves, another falls apart.

So now we come to the other part, where my best friend betrayed me. The ironic thing is that when you’re fighting off one enemy, you tend to lean heavily on those you trust, and you fall hard when they turn on you too. Not that he meant to hurt me, or that he tried to hurt me. He just did, because of something that is a part of his nature, and a side of him that I’ve snatched only glimpses of before.

This is all sounding a little cryptic about now, but at least it’s helping me to get some of this out. For days, I’ve been stuck in the middle of nowhere, with this sort of mist inside of my head. I really have no idea how to deal with this betrayal. I’m hurt, but there is so much else going on that I need to deal with right now, that things tend to get prioritized and this hurt is less important than some of my other wounds, and therefore lands further down the list. The saying ‘Time heals all wounds’ comes to mind. Or is it ‘Time wounds all heals’? I’m not sure which one is more true. For now it’s enough to know that I’ll deal with it later. I’ll try to rest. Yes, I’ll rest and catch my breath and lick my wounds before I leap back into the fray.

Bun

I’ve been having all sorts of strange dreams lately. Last night I dreamt I was a monkey and I was hosting some sort of party. I really have no idea what that was all about. But once I was awake, I couldn’t get back to sleep, and I drifted into that fuzzy existence between sleep and wakefulness when you travel into the past and relive some of your fondest (and sometimes worst) memories.

This morning’s trip took me back to when I was 20 weeks pregnant, lying on a bed in an ultrasound room, while the technician checked that my baby had all of the right bits. I was breathing heavily from excitement and nervousness, and from the fact that I had a fair sized being inside me pushing on all of my vital organs. I clutched Comic’s hand and we stared transfixed at the screen, desperate to see every single detail of our baby.

You see, this visit, we were going to try and find out whether bun (as we called our baby from early on, up until the time bun was born) was a boy or a girl. We had been talking about it for sometime, and although it didn’t really matter to us, we were leaning toward wanting a girl. When I try to recall now how I wanted a girl, I’m not sure why. I guess I pictured doing all of those cliched mother and daughter things together, and having the strong bond that I share with my mother. This was also going to be a fourth generation baby and I thought how neat it would be if we were all women.

The ultrasound tech wasn’t making any promises. Bun was being quite uncooperative and keeping their little legs closed tight so we couldn’t see anything. I was rolling from side to side on the table like a great whale, trying to get into a position where we could see something but to no avail. We were sure we were out of luck and we’d just have to wait until the birth. And then….’it’s a boy.’

The tech wouldn’t guarantee it for legal purposes, but she was pretty sure. I got off the table and headed down the hall to the washroom (I peed every twenty minutes at this point in my pregnancy). I didn’t know what to think or feel. I sat on the toilet in shock. I had been so sure it was a girl. And then I felt him kick. And I knew bun was a him. And this huge wave of love welled up inside me that I’ll never be able to describe. From that moment on, I was ecstatic that bun was a boy.

And bun, who is now Intrepid, is almost six months old. He’s incredible. I’m not religious, but I still thank whatever higher power there is out there for this miracle in my life. I can’t even imagine now, having a girl! I’m a tomboy at heart. I like to wear comfy pants, only the odd skirt, vintage t shirts and I collect baseball caps. I love rugby and hockey. How I ever thought I would be able to parade around a cute little girl in frilly dresses, I will never know.

I have everything I could ever want out of life, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Just me and my boys.

On Writing

I’ve been reading up on blogging a bit so that I can become a better blogger. I’m pretty new to this whole gig. The one thing that stands out is that you must blog often, so even though I am currently suffering from a severe lack of inspiration for anything resembling a great piece of writing, I’m going to write anyway.

I’ve had journals in the past. I’ve gotten excited about the idea, gone out and purchased a suitable book to write in, come home and made it my own, but I’ve never really stuck to it for longer than a couple of months at a time. My parents gave me a journal on my 19th birthday and my Mom, who is a calligrapher wrote quotes along the side of every single page to inspire me. I thought it was fantastic and I cherished it so much, in fact, that I carried it with me through two moves, and around Australia and back again without even writing in it, because I couldn’t seem to come up with anything I thought was worthy of this great book! This was very foolish of me, because when I write regularly, first of all, it’s very therapeutic and second, I actually come up with some decent content! (I have since written in said journal)

Although writing in a journal has its rewards, I prefer to type my thoughts, mostly because I can type almost as fast as I can think, whereas when I’m writing on paper, I get frustrated because I can’t seem to write fast enough to keep up with my mind. Hence, this blog. It’s great to be creative, to stretch my writing muscles and write about all kinds of profound subjects, but on occasion, it’s just good to write about the mundane. Sometimes I get this head rush, where everything swirls around in my mind like a tornado of thoughts and I can’t slow it down until I pour it all out onto paper or into keyboard. Then I breathe a sigh of relief and resume living.

The Formidable Path

I have just finished fiddling around with my blog. In a way, my life has changed drastically this past week, and I felt that it was time for a change. My former theme was too dark. I found myself needing something a little on the lighter side, just not too bubbly- that might be construed as hopeful, and I am far from hopeful at this moment. The way I put it - that ‘in a way’ my life has changed drastically may sound odd.

I will attempt to explain my wording. Things have been progressing for a while, pulling me down a path that I do not want to follow again. I’ve been there twice in my life, and twice is two times too many as far as I’m concerned. I can’t say that some part of me didn’t see this coming, but for the most part, I was impervious to the suggestion of my well trodden trail. It’s hard to see the big picture when we’ve got our noses in the paint. It was as though I was stumbling around with my eyes half closed for some time and all of a sudden I opened my eyes wide and saw my life.

But where I found myself wasn’t a pleasant place. I was being dragged along that path by a pack of black dogs, their jaws tearing into me and dragging me further and further into the darkness. I could see the faint impressions of footprints from my previous visits. Finally, the path ended in a dark chasm, so deep I could not see the bottom, and I clung on to the edge of it, my hands struggling on the stones and tree roots, my legs swinging wildly, feet trying to find a purchase against the wall of the pit.

And here I am still. Clinging to the edge for all I’m worth. I’m terrified of falling; I’ve been down there before and I can’t go there again. I won’t go there again. Some days are hard, by nightfall my arms are weary, my fingers so weak, I fear that I’ll slip without warning and fall into the gaping maw. Some days are easier, I feel that I’ve pulled myself an inch or two higher, closer to my salvation. What will become of me in the end? I truly don’t know. I must find the courage in my heart that I know is there, and fight once more to beat back those black dogs.

Deep Sea Diving

Today has been one of those ‘blue’ days. You know the ones where you can’t shake that down-in-the-dumps feeling from the time you wake up to the time you go to bed? (or in my case, the time you should go to bed, but can’t because of insomnia). Today wasn’t just a normal blue day. It was an especially dark blue day. Like a bottom of the ocean kind of blue - almost black because the sun’s rays don’t penetrate this far down.

This morning, when I realized it was one of those days, I valiantly tried to cheer up. Really, I did. But everything seemed to conspire against me so that I kept sinking lower and lower toward the ocean floor. First of all, the weather. It was extremely foggy and one of those days where the dampness in the air gets so deep inside of you that you feel as though you’ll never be warm or dry again. And then there were all of those really annoying things that normally aren’t a big deal, but on days like these can send you right over the edge: dropping things, spilling things, stubbing toes, etc., so that by late evening, I was a muttering wreck, angrily mopping at the floor with paper towels. And everyone in my household seemed to be out to get me too. Everyone was really needy today, on the day that I had nothing to give.

So finally, after everyone had gone to bed, in desperate need of escape, I threw on my sweatshirt, grabbed my keys and set out for a walk. A walk, I decided, was just what I needed. It would be a good way to vent, and I would finally be alone to wallow whole-heartedly in my self pity. As soon as I walked out the front door, that horrid wall of soaking wet fog hit me. I decided I might be more in the mood for a drive. By this time, I was nearly in tears. Fortunately I met no one because I’m sure I would have been a terrifying sight. I imagined my hair a shocking mess, eyes rolling in madness and a pronounced limp due to the copious toe stubbing incidents of the day. Everything was annoying me now. The loud fan in the parking garage, that Gremlin a couple of parking spaces over, that was, for some unknown reason, painted an almost impossibly bright shade of yellow, and the fact that I had to manually unlock the door to my car since the battery in the remote had recently died. By now I was bumping around amongst those albino creatures just above the sand.

I streaked out of the garage into the night and immediately started to feel better. Gliding down the city backstreets at 2 AM has a great feeling to it. It’s as though some earthly disaster has happened and you alone are left to roam the empty city. Well, alone but for the taxis…I don’t think anything…asteroid…nuclear bomb explosion…could kill them off. I cruised around for some time, trying to mellow out. I threw in a CD to listen to and half-heartedly sang along to John Mayer songs with lyrics like: “..I know the heart of life is good..” ,thinking that tomorrow I might just find myself believing them again. I played a game with the traffic lights where I drove just a shade below the speed limit so that I could hit every single green. I headed home, not yet happy, but feeling a good deal better than I had all day. I was slowly rising back toward the surface…

Now what could I do that would take that last little edge off? To buoy myself further toward the surface? And this is the answer. I needed the closure of pouring my tortured soul into my keyboard and sending my cry of pain off into the void. And now I’ve broken the surface and I can see the stars. So, goodnight dear void.

I’m married, but I’ve fallen for someone else…

Now that I’ve got you hooked…

On a side-note…It’s a droll fact about the human character that we enjoy gossip so much. Gossip is, by definition, idle talk or rumour, especially about the personal or private affairs of others, and probably the foundation for that old adage ’sticks and stones’. It is amazing to me that humans, the race of so-called ‘great thinkers’ on this Earth waste so much of their talent and energy on destructive behaviour. As if the physical atrocities of war and violence weren’t enough, we wage a daily verbal and written war amongst each other and the trump card for that game is gossip. To quote the music group Dilated Peoples, “The pen is mightier than the sword. The pen gives the word sending swords to war.” And on that note, I will end my bitter diatribe and move on to the fluffier stuff of this journal.

In truth, I have fallen for someone else, but it’s more of an ‘as well as’ case than an ‘instead of’ one (I really do adore my husband). I have fallen head-over-heels for my son. No matter how much you prepare yourself, no matter how many books or articles you read, how many people you pester for all of their parenting wisdom and stories, you will inevitably be swept off your feet by the intoxicating love of your baby. There is no way to know until you know. I have fallen in just such a way for my boy, and would have no matter what he was like, but his toothless grins, chubby cheeks and charming little baby personality are just so downright adorable, they make it all but impossible to swoon whenever I am near him. In fact, he has this effect on all women and most men. So now I have professed in words my adoration for him.

On being a new parent, diapers and other ponderings…

There are many things that you realize once you become a parent. Things like, you no longer need drugs for instance. You don’t sleep, you’re paranoid, you smell, it’s the same thing! Also, whatever new song you’re addicted to on the radio these days doesn’t matter because inevitably, it will be Fisher Price music that you hum in the shower. And even though as kids we all hated Barney so much we wanted to bash in his stupid big purple head, you find yourself actually thanking him because he’ll distract your kid for a couple of minutes, long enough to say, scarf down a quick meal. You forget what it’s like to go anywhere without a diaper bag slung over your shoulder and carrying a car seat.

Even TV changes. It’s as though all they ever show is diaper ads. I never noticed diaper ads before. They might as well have not been on TV. Now that they apply, you get hooked, and you find yourself actually comparing features: ‘Well those Huggies Cuddleweave diapers may sound nice, but they don’t even compare to the Pampers Swaddlers with the 5 star absorbency rating!’ I mean, who knew that 5 stars were used for anything other than restaurants and car safety ratings?

I have been quite perplexed for sometime about diapers. Many people never have to give diapers a thought, except for parents, very old people and the odd unfortunate sap who gets duped into changing someone’s kid. Nobody in their right mind would care. But when you start to go through them by the hundreds, you have no choice but to notice them.

Now, each diaper company has got some kind of copyright deal with another entertainment company. For example, Huggies has a deal with Disney and therefore can put Winnie the Pooh characters on their diapers, and Pampers (which incidentally, we use) have Sesame Street characters on them. (or Sesame Park or whatever the hell they’re calling it these days…those bastards force feeding Cookie Monster veggies…it’s a travesty! Don’t even get me going on this one!) Then there are the generic brands who charge less for their diapers and can’t afford a real character so they get someone to draw their own sad cartoon. (coincidentally these diapers are usually as useful as say, tying a shopping bag onto your baby and hoping it doesn’t leak.)

I have a few questions about this. First of all, why would you put cute little cartoons on these diapers when babies can’t even see them? Second, when the diaper is actually done up, the cartoon is hidden by the tabs anyway, so again, why? Third, if by chance, your baby is genious enough to recognize that there are characters on the diaper (he/she would much rather be filling the diaper, eating or stuffing things into his/her mouth), they would never know it was Pooh or Tigger and by the time they were old enough to recognize them, they’d be potty trained! And finally, why on earth, knowing that parents are the only ones who see the diapers would these companies use cartoons? I mean, sure, they’re cute in the beginning, but after you’ve changed like, 10 of them, you get sick of seeing baby Ernie with his sippy cup or baby Elmo with his choo choo train. Why not put something that parents would like on them? Like stock tips for example. Or they could have fortunes on them: ‘confucious say you be spit up on in two hour.’ Just a thought.

Facebook Addicts 101

About 2 months ago, one of my best friends sent me an invite via e-mail to join a website called ‘Facebook’. I was curious, if a bit skeptical, but I signed up, not knowing what I was getting myself into. Dear lord. Let’s just say that Facebook is now at the top of my favourites list in Internet Explorer (just above my shiny new WordPress blog link). Every day I sign in, head to the home page and scan it for all the delicious new tidbits of my friends’ lives. It’s become a ritual, like checking e-mail in the morning. Get up, change and feed A, check e-mail and facebook, eat breakfast…I have been able to catch up with so many people I’ve lost touch with…friends from school, buddies from sports teams, past teachers and coaches…the list goes on. And this isn’t just some catch up e-mail and then it’s over. We’re a part of each other’s lives again, even if it is over the internet. We can see each other’s everyday status (MR is yet again unable to sleep…GRRR!, JB is planting flowers at grandma’s house, JM is eating pineapple), keep up to date with pictures and posted items, write on each other’s ‘walls’, tag each other in old photos, share laughs over the same videos on YouTube. You can even join groups and meet new people to share discussions with. ‘Little Bundles of Joy’ or ‘Addicted to House, MD’ or the always thought-provoking ‘I will go slightly out of my way to step on that crunchy looking leaf’. The possibilities are endless! Perhaps this will be just another internet phase, but maybe, just maybe, there is some deeper meaning to this time consuming website. It could just pluck us out of our heads down, eyes on the road, every day life, and open us up once again to the people we used to call friends.

Haiku for Bamboo

Wistful green bamboo

Whose gentle roots weave through stones

Bringing luck to all

Jose, ya I knew Jose…

He was the bookie at that race track…you know the one. His mother was mad at him because of the incident involving his brother’s death.

Jose’s uncle’s girlfriend’s mother in law owned the racetrack. That’s how he got started there. He used to be a stable boy, just like his deceased brother. After his fit of rage that lead to the murder of his boss, he needed money to pay off the witnesses, so he became a bookie. His brother Armand had an unfortunate incident when he was shot by one of Jose’s clients, who thought he was Jose.

Their mother will not let Jose in her house again after his involvement in the murder of her youngest son. She blames the incident entirely on Jose. That’s why he just payed the hit-man to whack her.

Out back, there is a tree…

Out back there is a tree. It seems as old as the ages. Withered bark encases its core like a rough grey jacket. The tree is always there…has always been there, as long as anyone can remember.

I love to spend time in the tree. I love to sit on the lowest branch and watch the quiet country as I think about experiences the tree might have had. This tree could be the first planted by settlers here. It could have witnessed war and survived while its companions did not. Hundreds of years ago, it could have shared itself with another person. Maybe they sat in the same place, sheltered by the leaves.

I use a rope to climb it. It is tall, and there are no lower branches. I reach the lowest branch and hop across branches, spiralling upward like a staircase. I reach the top and feel the wind on my face. I trace the lines of its bark with my fingers. I am lucky to witness something so peaceful in this world where war waits on the doorstep like an unwelcome guest.

Once upon a time Sally…

Woke up. No, not woke up as in the alarm goes off and you get out of bed. She woke up to life; To the world around her. For Sally, you see, was stuck in a rut. A rut would be a nice way of describing her fucked up life. Every day, Sally followed the same routine. She woke up and did chores, went to school, came home and did more chores. She barely ever had time for friends, and when she did have time, she was so exhausted, she just wanted to sleep. The sad thing was that Sally was a vigorous, positive person (when relieved from her every day weight-of-the-world). The day that Sally ‘woke up’ was also the day she didn’t wake up. She slept in, and without meaning to, screwed up the ’sacred’ Schedule. When she did wake up however, she didn’t jump out of bed panicked. She just lay there. Sally didn’t care. She didn’t care if she got her chores done, or if she got to school on time, or if she never woke up again. That’s when she realized that her life was destroying her. She needed to change before she was completely engulfed in darkness.

We Knew…

We knew not who we were with…Shakespeare’s version of the Godfather…No. Somehow that just doesn’t sound right. As this topic obviously pertains to knowledge, I will write about that. I had a run in (rather unfortunately) with a drunken man (who will remain nameless), in a pub where my family dined just last week. Being in his drunken state, he saw no need for an ice breaker to start a conversation with me, and jumped right into the topic of teenage knowledge…or the lack thereof. He stereotyped me as a ‘typical’ teenager (which I couldn’t be too offended by, because I had already branded him as a typical drunk in my mind). Prattling on (somewhat slurred) about the probability of my high ego, naivete and ignorance, he actually got me reflecting on human knowledge. People can be so sure of something they know (whether they have reason or not.) They will even defend their knowledge to the point of violence. Look at the people who were positive that the world was flat…until Christopher Columbus broke the bad news. It’s really amazing what human conviction can do…often equated with righteousness.

She kicked off the covers and sat up…

It was another day. But when did it start? Whatever time it was dictated what her day would be like. Would there be joy? Would there be fighting again? Every day was different, yet the same. Early mornings were the worst, it seemed. Yet each day, she sat up, kicked off the covers and started out with courage in her heart. Courage and a bit of hope and dread, mixed equal parts. Sometimes, life could be incredible. Amazing moments made her feel on top of the world, and incredibly lucky to be there. Other times, she could feel the dark jaws of the black dog closing on her, pulling her into the gaping maw. She expected to look down and see dirt under her fingernails from clawing her way above ground. Never a moment’s rest. She could never count on anything anymore. Always being in demand was just too much to take sometimes. And there was the anger. More anger than she had felt before in her life. No, that’s not true. Maybe just less self control this time. Would she be able to escape? Would she be able to find her way back to her old self, introduce that self to her new self and make this life work out great, the way she dreamed it could be? It was up to her. No matter what happened, in the end, it was always her in control of her destiny. It was in times like these that she got reaquainted with the true mettle of her spirit.

The floor is shiny

It’s really weird. I never clean it. It reflects the walls and doorways as if I polished it daily. As if the wax had just dried. Maybe it’s worn. Maybe there’s a stage of wear and tear, where you stop looking haggard and start looking polished. I wish that applied to everything. Sometimes I find myself staring into the mirror at a complete stranger. My mind doesn’t even register it’s me. I brush my hair only because it hangs in my face if I don’t. I want to get it cut but there never seems to be time to breathe. My lips are always chapped. They hurt. The lip balm is right there. So close on the counter…but it seems too far to reach. I’m so tired. If I could only just reach for it and put it on, I would feel bett…damn, I have to go. So many things to do. So many teeny, tiny things that would take seconds. Pick those clothes up off the floor, make the bed, clip my nails, brush the dog, clear those plates, blow my nose, sweep the floor, clip my nails, go to the bathroom, make the bed, clear those plates…someday my head will explode. That little man inside with the sledgehammer will finally overtake my defenses, and there will be nothing left of me but a horrible mess on the floor. I wonder who will clean it.