There is one thing I will never learn right. To learn how to say goodbye. In this week, we lost Aunt Veronica who was a dear woman. In later years she had Alzheimers so we slowed down visiting her because we would scare her. We attended her funeral this morning and internment this afternoon. Usually I'm a font of strength for other people at funerals but this one I just couldn't take. I skipped the mass because I'm so ticked at the boss running the universe.
Aunt Veronica died and I have no doubt in my mind that the woman is up in Heaven where she knows she deserves to be. I went to support Mountain Man's mum because Aunt Veronica raised her after their own mum died and she's one of those strong, silent old school type but no matter how much you expect it, no matter that you know that Aunt Veronica is out of pain and happy in her faith, you still hurt because in the end, funerals are for the living. I thought I could be brave and keep my mouth shut about Mandy because this funeral is for Doug's family but seeing the flowers, the open graves and most of all there were teddy bears and firetrucks under one of the trees just broke my heart. I even took an anti-anxiety hoping it would make me too tired to lose it.
Whoever did Aunt Veronica's make-up was a pro. She looked beautiful. She looked at peace. I was not angry at any deity for taking her because she was 92. The woman I remember, (being the only other smoker on the Lorente side) would ride back with us to Ottawa and sing, "bringing up a baby bumblebee" with the kids and tell us how much she loved listening to the kids sing rather than the radio.
She also would tell all who would listen that the reason the ozone layer was in trouble was "because those silly scientist keep shooting up rockets and poking holes in it for goodness sake." Hers was a life of simple joy.
The anger and turmoil comes at the news I received last night. Mandy Anderson, a beautiful woman expecting her first baby, only 27 died. Her son was born stillborn on Saturday, they did an emergency C-section and then sent her home. Only to have a brain clot take her in the night. This is so wrong. She was too young and to take her baby and her at the same time is too tragic. It kills me that her last hours on earth were spent mourning for her son. As most of you know, I lost a child to SIDS. I know what she was feeling. Why couldn't it have been both at the same time? Why couldn't she have died with the hope of a bright future with her and her baby together? I'm so angry and frustrated.
I know that this woman was so filled with love and energy and beauty that she can't possibly be totally gone. Being a geek, I believe the rule that energy doesn't die, it just transforms. I believe she's at peace. What is killing me is Michael, her husband and her parents and family. I don't know them well. But I know the feeling that there is a whole inside you that will never fill up. I know the feeling that you will break into a million pieces and never get back together again. I hurt that anyone would have to go through that and I'm pissed off to no end that it is because of Mandy. It would break her heart to see it.
She had a shower on Saturday for her and her baby. I couldn't make it and I sent her an email apologizing. Her reply was in my email last night, "No worries Dude! Sorry for what your family is going through lately. We will find a day to destress soon." On my facebook, I had posted, "I am at the age of weddings and funerals, had enough of funerals people, somebody get married. I don't care if you sign the papers to make it legal, just get married already." She "liked" it.
She had a costumed wedding. This girl was so unique that it's inefficient for any deity to take her. Mind you, I'm sure she will give them a piece of her mind once she starts flying around up there in Heaven. And for her there is a Heaven no doubt. A plane of existence where she will watch over her family and friends forever. She will be the positive energy you need to draw on when the world looks just like it looks right now, bleak and cold an colourless.
When I see a Hello Kitty or the red-headed girl who's explaining once again that there are rules and you need to follow them but you can do it with flair and style. I will think of her and her son.
I don't think any of her family will read this but I wish I could teach you how to say goodbye, because I don't know how to. I don't want to. I will eventually because she would smack me up the back of the head and say, "Dude, Sort yourself out! Wear purple for me and remember that what made me wonderful was that I always fought for the positive." This is what I will hold onto.
I won't say Goodbye Mandy, I can't. I'm just going to say, Thank you for being part of my life. Fare well. Blessed Be.
Monday, October 03, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Catie-ism's
Well I can't write much. My ribs are still keeping me in check. Was thinking how much I love Catie's expressions. Over the years she has come out with some unconscious witticism that have now become part of family vocabulary.
Top favourites.
On describing the food at prom; It tasted like, "2am seemed like a good idea at the time", food.
Frustrated with her brother for not making a decision: "Pick up your mind!"
Responding to her Dad's complaint on her tardiness, "You Smith women. You're always late. You will probably be late for your own funeral."
Catie: You wanted us early?
Another time, "I thought that was the point of living healthy Dad?"
"So Dad, how dark is that cave you've lived in all your life?"
In response to her brother teasing her about being chubby which is a total stretch. "Um Breyan, Look at Dad and Look at Mum. Now see how much you look like Dad? See how much I look like Mum. If I was you, I'd start a strict regime of exercise now."
"Mum, back away from the girl guide cookies. I know you're upset but we can talk about this. Making your heart explode from the slabs o' fat will not help anyone."
When she didn't want to throw out her outgrown clothes at seven, "Well if I keep them til I'm a little old lady like you, I'll shrink back to that size and they'll probably be in style again."
(On my tendency to give fashion advice.) "Don't stand still around my mom. She'll redecorate you."
Top favourites.
On describing the food at prom; It tasted like, "2am seemed like a good idea at the time", food.
Frustrated with her brother for not making a decision: "Pick up your mind!"
Responding to her Dad's complaint on her tardiness, "You Smith women. You're always late. You will probably be late for your own funeral."
Catie: You wanted us early?
Another time, "I thought that was the point of living healthy Dad?"
"So Dad, how dark is that cave you've lived in all your life?"
In response to her brother teasing her about being chubby which is a total stretch. "Um Breyan, Look at Dad and Look at Mum. Now see how much you look like Dad? See how much I look like Mum. If I was you, I'd start a strict regime of exercise now."
"Mum, back away from the girl guide cookies. I know you're upset but we can talk about this. Making your heart explode from the slabs o' fat will not help anyone."
When she didn't want to throw out her outgrown clothes at seven, "Well if I keep them til I'm a little old lady like you, I'll shrink back to that size and they'll probably be in style again."
(On my tendency to give fashion advice.) "Don't stand still around my mom. She'll redecorate you."
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Friday, August 05, 2011
The Women I Admire that May Not Make the History Books but are Well Worth Knowing.
Sorry I haven't written for a while. It's been a hell of a two weeks since I cracked my ribs. I couldn't sit up for long periods of time and I couldn't write for long periods.
In fact I've become a couch potato and for the life of me I do not see how people can do this without becoming insane. The dishes call to me, "Clean Me," so pitifully, the dust bunnies are getting names, the bottom of my walls look like modern art with the mud smears from Mischief's tail.
MM and Catie get very frustrated that I get up and try to do these things but I'm in a catch-22. If I don't try to get up and move, then the Fibromyalgia will freeze me up and make me bedridden and if I get up too much the ribs are yelling at me that they plan on going on strike or mad dwarfs start playing xylophone symphonies on them with hammers. It doesn't help that Catie has Strep.
She was supposed to be moving out August 1 to a house with a group of friends but poor her, the people in the house need more time to move so she has to stay home an extra month. (Yahoo! but don't tell her that. I really wasn't looking forward to a Catie free house.)
One occasion I had to get up for was the Family BBQ to welcome MM's Aunt Joan to Ottawa from BC. I've always loved her visits and I love seeing MM's family because they are amazing people and it's a weird difference from when we first met. (Nothing to do with all those big gorgeous men to hug, honest!) MM hates going to these things alone and he prefers I come as he says he likes showing me off. (I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the one that remembers all the family names of nieces, nephews, hobbies, taste preferences, jobs etc...)
I understand that because I love bringing Catie, Breyan and the girls out because I'm so proud of them. Yeah I know, other people show off their new cars and careers and I show off my kids but they take just as much work without the promotions and none of the health benefits. I get paid in hugs, kisses, and "Love you Nona," but to me that means more than any new truck or nameplate on the door.
Anyway, we got to see Aunt Joan who I think is an amazingly strong woman, and she brought two lovely friends with her. They were adorable. The woman, Ann, has an essential tremor too and it was neat to meet someone who has grown up with it the way I have and has a sense of humour about it. Very much women to admire.
Then I talked to my Aunt Liz about what's going on with Gramma and about Catie moving out and I had an epiphany.
I don't know how many times I've been asked how I keep sane with all the trauma I've had in my life. How could I not with the amazing examples of admirable women in my life?
To name a few;
Gramma; A woman who defined family so much that my friends call her "Gramma" and go to visit her. She taught me to count my blessings, not my bothers. She taught me that love is unconditional.
Mum: Yeah we have our issues but my mother taught me that the business world is not a man's domain. She taught me women can do whatever they convince themselves they can do and look fabulous doing it.
Aunt Liz: A woman who has so much love that she is the rock of our family and has always been there for any of her nieces and nephews. A woman who never passed the physical for "Mother" but has been one for all of us for years. She taught me that the word "Mother" is flexible.
Aunt Lynette: A woman who dealt with her husband's issues with love, patience and downright stubbornness. She taught me that love can conquer all.
My sis-in-law: A woman who faced physical disability with structure and discipline. She taught me that no matter what people say about you, It's what you say about yourself that counts in the end.
My big sis: She taught me that as long as children grow up knowing they are unconditionally loved by at least one person, they can survive any childhood trauma.
Lynne and Deb: They taught me the meaning of true friends. Also that it doesn't matter what happens in the past, you are in charge of your future.
Lisa and Val: Rock chicks never die. They have taught me to hold on to the joy of being young, no matter how old you get.
Katie: Taught me that Life is what you make it and you have to take responsibility for that. Also that women can have an IQ higher than your rent and still be sexy and street smart.
Darla: Taught me that being vulnerable is not a weakness and it's okay to lean on others when you have to. It takes a strong person to know when they need help.
Ivy, Lillian, Natasha, Ingrid, Debra, Tina, (Jean, honorary) Samantha, and the whole crew from the Vergs, taught me that women can do anything when they band together. We are strength in numbers.
Sarah (Derek's): Taught me that women need other women in their lives, you face challenges everyday in your life and with good friends, each and everyone of them can be met.
Lois: There is nothing a woman cannot do if she makes up her mind to do it. A woman who turned her whole life upside down and made it one worth living. She taught me that you don't have to accept limits.
Janie: Taught me that physical limits can't make you have psychological limits. Cancer is a word, an illness, not a frame of mind.
Aunt Elta and Debbie: Taught me social responsibility, and how to be a strength to my family when they are hurting, a support when they are striving.
Yvonne: I'm still learning from. She has taught me that with love, a sense of humour and duty there is nothing I can't survive.
Mary-Ann: Taught me that if you don't live your life honestly then you cannot complain about not being happy. It may not be easy but it's worth it.
MM's mom: There is nothing wrong with discipline in your life and raising your children. You are not setting limits for them, just boundaries to make them feel secure until they learn to stretch them.
Jenny, Catie, Sarah, Samantha, Ashley, Cassie, Christine; These are my daughters friends and the next generation of amazing women. Each of these girls have met some major challenges in the young lives and each have not only overcome but thrived. They are an example of what women can be, should be and will be. I'm so proud to know them all and consider them part of my family.
There are just so many more I can name in my life. Each one of these women and the many more in my life have made me like and accept the chick in the mirror. With heroines like this in my life, not to mention the many men who make my world wonderful, how can I ever say Life is too Hard?
In fact I've become a couch potato and for the life of me I do not see how people can do this without becoming insane. The dishes call to me, "Clean Me," so pitifully, the dust bunnies are getting names, the bottom of my walls look like modern art with the mud smears from Mischief's tail.
MM and Catie get very frustrated that I get up and try to do these things but I'm in a catch-22. If I don't try to get up and move, then the Fibromyalgia will freeze me up and make me bedridden and if I get up too much the ribs are yelling at me that they plan on going on strike or mad dwarfs start playing xylophone symphonies on them with hammers. It doesn't help that Catie has Strep.
She was supposed to be moving out August 1 to a house with a group of friends but poor her, the people in the house need more time to move so she has to stay home an extra month. (Yahoo! but don't tell her that. I really wasn't looking forward to a Catie free house.)
One occasion I had to get up for was the Family BBQ to welcome MM's Aunt Joan to Ottawa from BC. I've always loved her visits and I love seeing MM's family because they are amazing people and it's a weird difference from when we first met. (Nothing to do with all those big gorgeous men to hug, honest!) MM hates going to these things alone and he prefers I come as he says he likes showing me off. (I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the one that remembers all the family names of nieces, nephews, hobbies, taste preferences, jobs etc...)
I understand that because I love bringing Catie, Breyan and the girls out because I'm so proud of them. Yeah I know, other people show off their new cars and careers and I show off my kids but they take just as much work without the promotions and none of the health benefits. I get paid in hugs, kisses, and "Love you Nona," but to me that means more than any new truck or nameplate on the door.
Anyway, we got to see Aunt Joan who I think is an amazingly strong woman, and she brought two lovely friends with her. They were adorable. The woman, Ann, has an essential tremor too and it was neat to meet someone who has grown up with it the way I have and has a sense of humour about it. Very much women to admire.
Then I talked to my Aunt Liz about what's going on with Gramma and about Catie moving out and I had an epiphany.
I don't know how many times I've been asked how I keep sane with all the trauma I've had in my life. How could I not with the amazing examples of admirable women in my life?
To name a few;
Gramma; A woman who defined family so much that my friends call her "Gramma" and go to visit her. She taught me to count my blessings, not my bothers. She taught me that love is unconditional.
Mum: Yeah we have our issues but my mother taught me that the business world is not a man's domain. She taught me women can do whatever they convince themselves they can do and look fabulous doing it.
Aunt Liz: A woman who has so much love that she is the rock of our family and has always been there for any of her nieces and nephews. A woman who never passed the physical for "Mother" but has been one for all of us for years. She taught me that the word "Mother" is flexible.
Aunt Lynette: A woman who dealt with her husband's issues with love, patience and downright stubbornness. She taught me that love can conquer all.
My sis-in-law: A woman who faced physical disability with structure and discipline. She taught me that no matter what people say about you, It's what you say about yourself that counts in the end.
My big sis: She taught me that as long as children grow up knowing they are unconditionally loved by at least one person, they can survive any childhood trauma.
Lynne and Deb: They taught me the meaning of true friends. Also that it doesn't matter what happens in the past, you are in charge of your future.
Lisa and Val: Rock chicks never die. They have taught me to hold on to the joy of being young, no matter how old you get.
Katie: Taught me that Life is what you make it and you have to take responsibility for that. Also that women can have an IQ higher than your rent and still be sexy and street smart.
Darla: Taught me that being vulnerable is not a weakness and it's okay to lean on others when you have to. It takes a strong person to know when they need help.
Ivy, Lillian, Natasha, Ingrid, Debra, Tina, (Jean, honorary) Samantha, and the whole crew from the Vergs, taught me that women can do anything when they band together. We are strength in numbers.
Sarah (Derek's): Taught me that women need other women in their lives, you face challenges everyday in your life and with good friends, each and everyone of them can be met.
Lois: There is nothing a woman cannot do if she makes up her mind to do it. A woman who turned her whole life upside down and made it one worth living. She taught me that you don't have to accept limits.
Janie: Taught me that physical limits can't make you have psychological limits. Cancer is a word, an illness, not a frame of mind.
Aunt Elta and Debbie: Taught me social responsibility, and how to be a strength to my family when they are hurting, a support when they are striving.
Yvonne: I'm still learning from. She has taught me that with love, a sense of humour and duty there is nothing I can't survive.
Mary-Ann: Taught me that if you don't live your life honestly then you cannot complain about not being happy. It may not be easy but it's worth it.
MM's mom: There is nothing wrong with discipline in your life and raising your children. You are not setting limits for them, just boundaries to make them feel secure until they learn to stretch them.
Jenny, Catie, Sarah, Samantha, Ashley, Cassie, Christine; These are my daughters friends and the next generation of amazing women. Each of these girls have met some major challenges in the young lives and each have not only overcome but thrived. They are an example of what women can be, should be and will be. I'm so proud to know them all and consider them part of my family.
There are just so many more I can name in my life. Each one of these women and the many more in my life have made me like and accept the chick in the mirror. With heroines like this in my life, not to mention the many men who make my world wonderful, how can I ever say Life is too Hard?
Thursday, July 28, 2011
If You Have to Go to Hospital, Take Catie With You
On Wednesday, the new kitty decided to play ',attack Mum on the
stairs.' I fell and tried to roll into it and landed on the edge of the
stair with my ribs. I tried to call for Catie but I couldn't get
enough air in my lungs so I crawled up the stairs to her room and woke
her up. I tried to get Mischief to get her but she just laid beside me
and licked my face.
Catie woke up and called 911. First she told them I was 42 which is inaccurate but nice. They told her not to let me move and don't touch me. To hell with that, I didn't have any pants on. She helped me get shorts on and a bag of frozen peas. She then got me some scope because for some reason I was upset that I had morning breath. She then locked all the doors and put the cat in the bathroom and Mischief outside.
I couldn't cry, not only because it hurts like hell but she would cry so we both bucked up and didn't cry.
The ambulance came and I couldn't argue about going because I was in hell. The two ambulance attendants were, according to Catie, very cute. One was a Sheldon with a sense of humour and one had rock god hair in a ponytail. They drove at 40 km/hr because every time we hit a bump I screamed. So Catie decided to distract me by one; asking the attendant could we stop and pick up a tattoo artist because she wants us to get matching tattoos but I'm afraid of the pain. She figured I wouldn't notice the pain with the condition I was in.
Two' she decided to list all the furniture and dishes she is taking when she moves out with friends on August 1st. (Cause that wouldn't add to my distress!)
People started cutting off the ambulance so she spent the trip giving drivers the finger, to delight of the ambulance attendant.
She told the ambulance attendants my allergies, had been smart enough to bring my daily medications. She was furious when she was asked to repeat the information to the nurse and then the doctor and they still tried to give me Ansaids, which make my stomach bleed. I was shaking so bad in pain that she offered to get me a carton of milk, to see if I could make butter.
She asked for a blanket for me twice and when they didn't get it, walked right past the nurse and took one. She then went back and stood at the nurse's elbow until they got an icepack.
They stuck an oxygen tube in my nose as I could not breathe deep and she named it the Chinese nose torture.
She tried to cheer me up by promising me Tim Horton's if I was a good girl during the exam and x-rays. She then decided we didn't want to be "cockroaches, who can survive anything," anymore. We are now those lizards that drop their tails when caught by a predator but we couldn't remember the name so she got the whole ER in on it and we came up with geckos.
Being my daughter, she was very pleased that the slippers she brought, perfectly matched the hospital gown. She was in her jammies with her rock chick boots not even done up.
She is an excellent wheelchair driver and the nurse asked if they could keep her because she politely explained to the man who was blocking the door with his wheelchair that she was going to park him off to the side.
She took me to x-ray and told a woman off for wearing too much perfume, sending me into an asthma attack.
When the doctor told her I'd cracked my ribs, the first thing she asked if I could drive. He said no and she was pleased that she would have to take my truck to drive me to appointments. She then got all the instructions for ice, heat, medication and food. She then took me to the Timmy's in the hospital and got me English toffee,
When Dad picked us up, the first thing she said was, "Dad you're going to have to get me a key to the trucks because I have to drive Mom around. I'll probably have to take the grasshopper when I move out so I can be on call for her."
When we got home, she got me to bed with pillows, books and my netbook and went to work. Her first two customers were the ambulance attendants.
I can't write much more as it took two days to get this written. Moving my arm hurts. I am bored out of my skull. The grandgirlz came to see me and they were delightful. I was upset I couldn't hold the baby but Rory offered to stay at our house and play Go Fish all day and Ivy patted me very gently and said, Poor Nona, Kisses to fix you?
Catie woke up and called 911. First she told them I was 42 which is inaccurate but nice. They told her not to let me move and don't touch me. To hell with that, I didn't have any pants on. She helped me get shorts on and a bag of frozen peas. She then got me some scope because for some reason I was upset that I had morning breath. She then locked all the doors and put the cat in the bathroom and Mischief outside.
I couldn't cry, not only because it hurts like hell but she would cry so we both bucked up and didn't cry.
The ambulance came and I couldn't argue about going because I was in hell. The two ambulance attendants were, according to Catie, very cute. One was a Sheldon with a sense of humour and one had rock god hair in a ponytail. They drove at 40 km/hr because every time we hit a bump I screamed. So Catie decided to distract me by one; asking the attendant could we stop and pick up a tattoo artist because she wants us to get matching tattoos but I'm afraid of the pain. She figured I wouldn't notice the pain with the condition I was in.
Two' she decided to list all the furniture and dishes she is taking when she moves out with friends on August 1st. (Cause that wouldn't add to my distress!)
People started cutting off the ambulance so she spent the trip giving drivers the finger, to delight of the ambulance attendant.
She told the ambulance attendants my allergies, had been smart enough to bring my daily medications. She was furious when she was asked to repeat the information to the nurse and then the doctor and they still tried to give me Ansaids, which make my stomach bleed. I was shaking so bad in pain that she offered to get me a carton of milk, to see if I could make butter.
She asked for a blanket for me twice and when they didn't get it, walked right past the nurse and took one. She then went back and stood at the nurse's elbow until they got an icepack.
They stuck an oxygen tube in my nose as I could not breathe deep and she named it the Chinese nose torture.
She tried to cheer me up by promising me Tim Horton's if I was a good girl during the exam and x-rays. She then decided we didn't want to be "cockroaches, who can survive anything," anymore. We are now those lizards that drop their tails when caught by a predator but we couldn't remember the name so she got the whole ER in on it and we came up with geckos.
Being my daughter, she was very pleased that the slippers she brought, perfectly matched the hospital gown. She was in her jammies with her rock chick boots not even done up.
She is an excellent wheelchair driver and the nurse asked if they could keep her because she politely explained to the man who was blocking the door with his wheelchair that she was going to park him off to the side.
She took me to x-ray and told a woman off for wearing too much perfume, sending me into an asthma attack.
When the doctor told her I'd cracked my ribs, the first thing she asked if I could drive. He said no and she was pleased that she would have to take my truck to drive me to appointments. She then got all the instructions for ice, heat, medication and food. She then took me to the Timmy's in the hospital and got me English toffee,
When Dad picked us up, the first thing she said was, "Dad you're going to have to get me a key to the trucks because I have to drive Mom around. I'll probably have to take the grasshopper when I move out so I can be on call for her."
When we got home, she got me to bed with pillows, books and my netbook and went to work. Her first two customers were the ambulance attendants.
I can't write much more as it took two days to get this written. Moving my arm hurts. I am bored out of my skull. The grandgirlz came to see me and they were delightful. I was upset I couldn't hold the baby but Rory offered to stay at our house and play Go Fish all day and Ivy patted me very gently and said, Poor Nona, Kisses to fix you?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Anime North and how I can embarass myself without even leavingt the house.
Dated May 30 to family and friends
Hi all;
I hope everyone is doing well? Now that Anime North Season is over I might have time to breathe. Still have three orders to go but not bad. There are construction guys outside my back window. They are tearing down our back steps and replacing them finally. It's hard not to be polite and I don't know whether to smile or pull the blind as they are working right in front of the picture window looking into my living room. Being me I just give them a good morning wave and go about my day, making sure I'm covered.
It turns out I don't have to leave my house to embarrass the crap out of myself. Last week I was making a turtle shell backpack for Catie's costume. She had taken my IKEA tray and used papermache on it to create the shell. But she didn't let it dry properly and for three days she and I had blinding migraines. We discovered that the mache had molded on the inside. So Gross! You should have seen the "yuck" dance she did when she stuck her hand in it to turn it over--beats my "earwiggy" dance any day.
So I decided to redo the whole thing and I made a quilted cover. My only pain was the tube of white that went around the edge. I basically made a 36" tube and had to stuff it. I couldn't find a long enough handle to push the stuffing up with so I decided to use the broom.
The easiest way is to brace it against the floor, hold it with my feet and just keep pushing it up and down to get the stuffing to the end. I didn't realise how "improper" it looked until I heard a crash outside and found out the guy fixing the window had laughed himself off the ladder.
On Thursday night I was making armoured gloves, Catie was running around in her "Squirtle" costume with a blue wig, turtle shell and tail, Keagan, her boyfriend was wearing his pink gi, a street fighter costume and their friend Curtis was dressed as a D & D wizard. Then the pizza guy came. None of us thought it odd for them to answer the door. I love these moments of my life.
My health seems to be getting stronger. I organised a Community Spring Cleaning and BBQ for our neighbourhood. We picked up garbage and leaves etc... It was funny because I went out of my way to make sure I got halal meat for the Muslims in the neighbourhood and none showed up. Really good burgers though. It was great to see all the kids out and making an effort. I was really impressed with them. I was supposed to just organize the teams and food but as the one of the co ordinators I had to try to help by sweeping and picking up the glass. That's why I'm so sore today. My big old Mountain Man did twice the work picking up branches and old furniture and heavy stuff but won't admit he's worn out. Thank goodness he's on holidays. We also got our approval for a grant for the squirrel proof garbage cans I wanted. Poor Mr. Squirrel's children will have to count on the kindness of strangers from now on.
We have all of our plants in. Lavender, tomato, basil, oregano, moon flowers, parsley and chives. Once they finish the back steps Hubby says he will make me a small garden but I worry that the kids will take any fruit, flowers or vegys grown. I am thinking I might put in some chocolate mint if it's not too late. The problem is that it has to be isolated or it will take over all your garden but it makes an amazing sauce.
We seem to have started a trend in our neighbourhood since we put up the greenhouse on the balcony five neighbours on each side have made little gardens of their own. It's nice but I wish they'd stop asking me questions about their plants. I get all my answers from Gene Lake (He's a friend from Convergys who used to farm and is brilliant for gardening questions.) or the internet.
Catie won tickets to the premiere of Pirates of the Carrabien movie and couldn't go but Sarah had been desperate to go and Breyan couldn't find tickets. They sold out in fifteen minutes. Since Catie had to work she let Sarah have the tickets. The next issue was babysitting. Hubby and I know how hard it is to get out together when you have small children. They couldn't find a sitter so my guy and I volunteered. It was physically hard but rewarding. Except I forgot how much babies puke on everything, Aurora decided to inform me, "she can do whatever she wants." I proved her wrong. Ivy is adorable but very clumsy. I've decided I really don't want more babies, I'll let my kids have them.
But I do miss telling bedtime stories, having Rory inform me, "Nona, I have new make-up. I'm going to give you a do-over." She's so my granddaughter. Unfortunately, or not, she couldn't find it. She says she will do it next time. She very proudly showed me how she cleaned the bathroom for me. Am I that bad at complaining about people's bathroom?
There is a funny picture on Breyan's Facebook that has him and Rory sitting back on the couch with their arms behind their heads watching TV. I turned around at one point and there was Oompah and Rory doing the same thing. Wish I had my camera.
We had a funny moment with Aurora. We were talking about family history and I guess Breyan had explained her Great- Grampa Lorente does genealogy for the Home Children. She told me, "My Great Big Grandpa finds little boys and girls that got lost when the government put them in ships and pushed off." I roared.
Well this is all for now. It's been a very hard week so I think I will have a nap today.
Missing you all.
Kimberley
Hi all;
I hope everyone is doing well? Now that Anime North Season is over I might have time to breathe. Still have three orders to go but not bad. There are construction guys outside my back window. They are tearing down our back steps and replacing them finally. It's hard not to be polite and I don't know whether to smile or pull the blind as they are working right in front of the picture window looking into my living room. Being me I just give them a good morning wave and go about my day, making sure I'm covered.
It turns out I don't have to leave my house to embarrass the crap out of myself. Last week I was making a turtle shell backpack for Catie's costume. She had taken my IKEA tray and used papermache on it to create the shell. But she didn't let it dry properly and for three days she and I had blinding migraines. We discovered that the mache had molded on the inside. So Gross! You should have seen the "yuck" dance she did when she stuck her hand in it to turn it over--beats my "earwiggy" dance any day.
So I decided to redo the whole thing and I made a quilted cover. My only pain was the tube of white that went around the edge. I basically made a 36" tube and had to stuff it. I couldn't find a long enough handle to push the stuffing up with so I decided to use the broom.
The easiest way is to brace it against the floor, hold it with my feet and just keep pushing it up and down to get the stuffing to the end. I didn't realise how "improper" it looked until I heard a crash outside and found out the guy fixing the window had laughed himself off the ladder.
On Thursday night I was making armoured gloves, Catie was running around in her "Squirtle" costume with a blue wig, turtle shell and tail, Keagan, her boyfriend was wearing his pink gi, a street fighter costume and their friend Curtis was dressed as a D & D wizard. Then the pizza guy came. None of us thought it odd for them to answer the door. I love these moments of my life.
My health seems to be getting stronger. I organised a Community Spring Cleaning and BBQ for our neighbourhood. We picked up garbage and leaves etc... It was funny because I went out of my way to make sure I got halal meat for the Muslims in the neighbourhood and none showed up. Really good burgers though. It was great to see all the kids out and making an effort. I was really impressed with them. I was supposed to just organize the teams and food but as the one of the co ordinators I had to try to help by sweeping and picking up the glass. That's why I'm so sore today. My big old Mountain Man did twice the work picking up branches and old furniture and heavy stuff but won't admit he's worn out. Thank goodness he's on holidays. We also got our approval for a grant for the squirrel proof garbage cans I wanted. Poor Mr. Squirrel's children will have to count on the kindness of strangers from now on.
We have all of our plants in. Lavender, tomato, basil, oregano, moon flowers, parsley and chives. Once they finish the back steps Hubby says he will make me a small garden but I worry that the kids will take any fruit, flowers or vegys grown. I am thinking I might put in some chocolate mint if it's not too late. The problem is that it has to be isolated or it will take over all your garden but it makes an amazing sauce.
We seem to have started a trend in our neighbourhood since we put up the greenhouse on the balcony five neighbours on each side have made little gardens of their own. It's nice but I wish they'd stop asking me questions about their plants. I get all my answers from Gene Lake (He's a friend from Convergys who used to farm and is brilliant for gardening questions.) or the internet.
Catie won tickets to the premiere of Pirates of the Carrabien movie and couldn't go but Sarah had been desperate to go and Breyan couldn't find tickets. They sold out in fifteen minutes. Since Catie had to work she let Sarah have the tickets. The next issue was babysitting. Hubby and I know how hard it is to get out together when you have small children. They couldn't find a sitter so my guy and I volunteered. It was physically hard but rewarding. Except I forgot how much babies puke on everything, Aurora decided to inform me, "she can do whatever she wants." I proved her wrong. Ivy is adorable but very clumsy. I've decided I really don't want more babies, I'll let my kids have them.
But I do miss telling bedtime stories, having Rory inform me, "Nona, I have new make-up. I'm going to give you a do-over." She's so my granddaughter. Unfortunately, or not, she couldn't find it. She says she will do it next time. She very proudly showed me how she cleaned the bathroom for me. Am I that bad at complaining about people's bathroom?
There is a funny picture on Breyan's Facebook that has him and Rory sitting back on the couch with their arms behind their heads watching TV. I turned around at one point and there was Oompah and Rory doing the same thing. Wish I had my camera.
We had a funny moment with Aurora. We were talking about family history and I guess Breyan had explained her Great- Grampa Lorente does genealogy for the Home Children. She told me, "My Great Big Grandpa finds little boys and girls that got lost when the government put them in ships and pushed off." I roared.
Well this is all for now. It's been a very hard week so I think I will have a nap today.
Missing you all.
Kimberley
Monday, May 02, 2011
Dodging the Breast Cancer Bullet
I have just received the news that the lump in my breast is a group of cysts. I really don't know why I am not jumping around the house doing the Snoopy Dance. While I was in limbo, I was really convinced my turn had finally come. I mean, Mum, Katrina, family history, the fact I smoke like a chimney and wear underwire bras even when I don't have any "under." I should have punched the BC ticket a long time ago.
So why aren't I dancing? Is it just because I'm grieving for Uncle Norm? Is it the anti-depressants they have me on to fight the fibromyalgia? I do feel relieved and grateful. I'm happy my kids and the Mountain Man will not have to take the cancer journey with me again. That was cervical but a few years ago I had another lump and I didn't tell my husband until after the biopsy because he gets so stressed and won't do anything about it.
When I first found this lump, 34 days ago, I was almost terrified to bring it to my doctor. I felt frozen. Then I sat in denial for awhile, which didn't last long since my inner Gramma told me I was being stupid. When I finally did go to the doctor I took Mountain Man with me because he said he needed to be involved. He took it like the man he is. He stopped talking about it but joked, "Guess that's the only girl on girl action I'll ever see." when my female doctor examined it for herself.
My friend Sarah offered to take me since I haven't been able to drive for months with my back and fibromyalgia acting up. We both found the paperwork highly amusing. At one point it says, "I agree that the results of this treatment can be reported to [various medical agencies and research foundations] and The Nuclear Safety Commission!!! " Why a Nuclear Safety commission would be interested in pictures of my boobs boggles the mind.
So with my customary humour I decided that it must mean I was going to have radioactive boobs and that would make me a superhero! Therefore I needed a superhero name. I liked my granddaughters idea the best, Supernova Nona! Of course my redneck honey came up with 'Radioactive Boob Woman.' Subtle is definitely not his style.
The mammogram was it's usual annoying time but I noticed they have a screen on the machine that shows how many pounds per inch is on your boob. Mine was 20-odd pounds. I don't get it. It's not like the technician will see the screen so why on earth would they put that there just so the patient can see it? I really did not need to know how many psi was pushing down on my breast. I could feel it. The guy, (it has to be a guy, no woman would do that,) who designed the machine is just sadistic.
And really? with all the money put into Breast Cancer Research, why can't someone come up with a screening test that doesn't hurt? I mean guys get a blood test for prostate cancer. It's a man's world Baby~
I saw the mass on the ultrasound screen. It was black. I've never seen a lump be black so it further convinced me it was my time. They should not let patients see the screen if they aren't going to explain the results. Especially if it Thursday and their doctor is not in until Monday.
I noted the irony that I spent the earlier part of the year sewing gowns for the Arnprior Mammogram screening clinic for Aunt Elta and I was freezing in paper gown here in Ottawa. I talked to the technician and found that they have the same problem finding super-large gowns for patients who are hefty. They end up wrapping them in paper sheets so I think, in my thankfulness, that as soon as Anime North Costume season is over I'm going to make the Ottawa clinic some and donate them. It's bad enough going through all this without having to deal with no gown fitting you as well. "Yeah! More Pink," she said sarcastically.
Oddly, being sure it was cancer was oddly freeing. I mean, I really stopped worrying about the future. I was totally living in the now. I laughed harder. I made sure my children and my husband know how much I love them. I took the time to tell people stuff I wanted to be sure they knew just in case. Even if it was just that I love them.
I am not even going to talk about needle biopsy. There really is only one word to say, "OWWWWW"
So here I am 34 days later and I've just updated friends and family and you think I'd be dancing.
Maybe I'm just bummed I won't be "Supernova Nona." Mind you, I would have looked horrible in spandex.
So why aren't I dancing? Is it just because I'm grieving for Uncle Norm? Is it the anti-depressants they have me on to fight the fibromyalgia? I do feel relieved and grateful. I'm happy my kids and the Mountain Man will not have to take the cancer journey with me again. That was cervical but a few years ago I had another lump and I didn't tell my husband until after the biopsy because he gets so stressed and won't do anything about it.
When I first found this lump, 34 days ago, I was almost terrified to bring it to my doctor. I felt frozen. Then I sat in denial for awhile, which didn't last long since my inner Gramma told me I was being stupid. When I finally did go to the doctor I took Mountain Man with me because he said he needed to be involved. He took it like the man he is. He stopped talking about it but joked, "Guess that's the only girl on girl action I'll ever see." when my female doctor examined it for herself.
After that I told him I didn't need him to take me to the mammogram because I saw he really couldn't take it and I couldn't take seeing him try to be supportive while falling apart inside.
My friend Sarah offered to take me since I haven't been able to drive for months with my back and fibromyalgia acting up. We both found the paperwork highly amusing. At one point it says, "I agree that the results of this treatment can be reported to [various medical agencies and research foundations] and The Nuclear Safety Commission!!! " Why a Nuclear Safety commission would be interested in pictures of my boobs boggles the mind.
So with my customary humour I decided that it must mean I was going to have radioactive boobs and that would make me a superhero! Therefore I needed a superhero name. I liked my granddaughters idea the best, Supernova Nona! Of course my redneck honey came up with 'Radioactive Boob Woman.' Subtle is definitely not his style.
The mammogram was it's usual annoying time but I noticed they have a screen on the machine that shows how many pounds per inch is on your boob. Mine was 20-odd pounds. I don't get it. It's not like the technician will see the screen so why on earth would they put that there just so the patient can see it? I really did not need to know how many psi was pushing down on my breast. I could feel it. The guy, (it has to be a guy, no woman would do that,) who designed the machine is just sadistic.
And really? with all the money put into Breast Cancer Research, why can't someone come up with a screening test that doesn't hurt? I mean guys get a blood test for prostate cancer. It's a man's world Baby~
I saw the mass on the ultrasound screen. It was black. I've never seen a lump be black so it further convinced me it was my time. They should not let patients see the screen if they aren't going to explain the results. Especially if it Thursday and their doctor is not in until Monday.
I noted the irony that I spent the earlier part of the year sewing gowns for the Arnprior Mammogram screening clinic for Aunt Elta and I was freezing in paper gown here in Ottawa. I talked to the technician and found that they have the same problem finding super-large gowns for patients who are hefty. They end up wrapping them in paper sheets so I think, in my thankfulness, that as soon as Anime North Costume season is over I'm going to make the Ottawa clinic some and donate them. It's bad enough going through all this without having to deal with no gown fitting you as well. "Yeah! More Pink," she said sarcastically.
Oddly, being sure it was cancer was oddly freeing. I mean, I really stopped worrying about the future. I was totally living in the now. I laughed harder. I made sure my children and my husband know how much I love them. I took the time to tell people stuff I wanted to be sure they knew just in case. Even if it was just that I love them.
Sarah took me to the Women's Show to distract me. She is such a good friend. I had a great time. I went up to the Canadian Forces table and said, "Thank you for being our military, we appreciate you."
I went up to the Breast Cancer Awareness table and said, "Thank you for the time and energy you put into volunteering and fundraising."
I made Sarah, not a girly girl, try some foundation that made her look like a Twilight Vampire and sparkled in the sun.
I loaded up on prescription allergy meds and sure enough I was trapped in a crowd with a woman who feels it necessary to bathe in cheap perfume. I really wanted a portable fire extinguisher to spray on her or to threaten to follow her home and fart in her living room. I settled for getting some more Benedryl into me. However as Sarah and I got into the elevator to go to the drugstore for some migraine meds, I freaked the security guard who happened to be in there with us out. I was babbling mad that I could still taste the perfume even after drinking liquid Benadryl and she thought I was panicking. Sarah just smiled and I told the poor guard, "No, I'm just babbling, this is my normal." Sarah just nodded and smiled.
I am not even going to talk about needle biopsy. There really is only one word to say, "OWWWWW"
So here I am 34 days later and I've just updated friends and family and you think I'd be dancing.
Maybe I'm just bummed I won't be "Supernova Nona." Mind you, I would have looked horrible in spandex.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
ANTM let me down
Okay so fashion is important to me but I can't call myself a fashionista. One of the few reality shows I will watch is America's Next Top Model. I am so upset that they chose Alexandria to represent Breast Cancer. The fact that she is manipulative, a control freak and downright nasty just further made it unacceptable that she is associated with one of my favourite causes.
I a firm supporter of Fashion Cares and feel they do so much good work. This girl though doesn't have the empathy or compassion that a representative of any Breast Cancer Aware Group should have. Choosing her underlined the wrong message, that it's all about the looks. Fashion is supposed to make us feel good about ourselves.
I actually was so upset by this decision that I can tell you that I will not recommend a Ford Focus to anyone. With an issue as important to this, the criteria should have been based on personality, knowledge and pictures but these issues were left by the side of the road. I wouldn't give a toss if it was for representing handbags, dresses or jewelry but Breast Cancer Awareness is too important to be represented by this girl.
Do the judges not view the footage of the photo shoot? While I think she was a bit over emotional I have to say that I was really pleased to see Brittani speak up even if it did give her a panic attack.
My only comfort is the bitch usually never wins on this show. They keep her around to make good tv, conflict is always good for ratings.
I a firm supporter of Fashion Cares and feel they do so much good work. This girl though doesn't have the empathy or compassion that a representative of any Breast Cancer Aware Group should have. Choosing her underlined the wrong message, that it's all about the looks. Fashion is supposed to make us feel good about ourselves.
I actually was so upset by this decision that I can tell you that I will not recommend a Ford Focus to anyone. With an issue as important to this, the criteria should have been based on personality, knowledge and pictures but these issues were left by the side of the road. I wouldn't give a toss if it was for representing handbags, dresses or jewelry but Breast Cancer Awareness is too important to be represented by this girl.
Do the judges not view the footage of the photo shoot? While I think she was a bit over emotional I have to say that I was really pleased to see Brittani speak up even if it did give her a panic attack.
My only comfort is the bitch usually never wins on this show. They keep her around to make good tv, conflict is always good for ratings.
Homeopathic Medicine.
(letter to friend, 2007)
I keep forgetting that not everyone grew up in my family and takes such an interest in homeopathic medicine. I'm not a hippy freak, eschewing modern medicine, I am more than happy to take an antibiotic.
It occurred to me the other day though that some people forget that homeopathic medicine is Medicine. You should never use a tea in replacement of doctors orders but there are a lot of basic kitchen cupboard items that can help with minor illnesses.
I always keep some basic staples in my cupboard.
Chamomile is known for helping you sleep and calming nerves.
Rose hip and Hibiscus is best for energy.
Ginger and Mint tea are great for calming down upset stomachs.
Coffee will boost any pain killer with codeine and can help with a migraine. (You should follow it with a glass of water as it can also be the cause of a migraine.)
Chocolate is a natural anti-depressant.
Baking soda is a tooth whitener, acidic stomach remedy, can help sooth rashes when used in a bath. (Use sparingly as a tooth whitener as it can erode the enamel.)
Lavender in sachets or pot pourri can promote relaxation.
Chewing parsley will clean your breath.
Salt and baking soda will remove stains from coffee cups and counters.
Someone mentioned the other day they use salt water when their throat is sore but this is not actually a good idea. Salt can dehydrate the tissue in your throat. Baking soda and water or a teaspoon of honey works better.
Small doses of alcohol can help fight off a cold, calm nerves but it will not help you sleep as some people think. It can actually disturb your sleep.
Coffee and caffeinated tea are natural diuretics.
I can't think of more at this point but will add later. Going to get my coffee so I can wake up.
I keep forgetting that not everyone grew up in my family and takes such an interest in homeopathic medicine. I'm not a hippy freak, eschewing modern medicine, I am more than happy to take an antibiotic.
It occurred to me the other day though that some people forget that homeopathic medicine is Medicine. You should never use a tea in replacement of doctors orders but there are a lot of basic kitchen cupboard items that can help with minor illnesses.
I always keep some basic staples in my cupboard.
Chamomile is known for helping you sleep and calming nerves.
Rose hip and Hibiscus is best for energy.
Ginger and Mint tea are great for calming down upset stomachs.
Coffee will boost any pain killer with codeine and can help with a migraine. (You should follow it with a glass of water as it can also be the cause of a migraine.)
Chocolate is a natural anti-depressant.
Baking soda is a tooth whitener, acidic stomach remedy, can help sooth rashes when used in a bath. (Use sparingly as a tooth whitener as it can erode the enamel.)
Lavender in sachets or pot pourri can promote relaxation.
Chewing parsley will clean your breath.
Salt and baking soda will remove stains from coffee cups and counters.
Someone mentioned the other day they use salt water when their throat is sore but this is not actually a good idea. Salt can dehydrate the tissue in your throat. Baking soda and water or a teaspoon of honey works better.
Small doses of alcohol can help fight off a cold, calm nerves but it will not help you sleep as some people think. It can actually disturb your sleep.
Coffee and caffeinated tea are natural diuretics.
I can't think of more at this point but will add later. Going to get my coffee so I can wake up.
Living in My Magic World
I think if there is one thing that the Mountain Man would change about me, (besides the temper but really, I think he enjoys that.) it would be my magic world.
Sometimes when the world stops making sense and people stop saying the lines the way I want them written; I retreat into my magic world. It's in my head and to go there, I go lie down and build it up. It's not a place, It's my world the way I want to see it. It is my safety zone. It's my place to hide when the light of day burns too hard on reality.
I've always had it as long back as I can remember.
It was there to protect me growing up and comfort me when I got older. It was there when I lost Deanna and if I really, really faced the reality of that I was sure that I was going to break into a million pieces and never get back together.
Some people call it denial, some people call it coping mechanisms, some even say it's meditation. All I know is it's safe.
In this world;
1. A teddy bear can be my best friend.
2. People will love you back just because you love them so much.
3. My children are vibrant, charismatic amazingly gifted individuals who respect and adore their mother.
4. I am thin.
5. You can win if you just try hard enough.
6. Nobody says goodbye or dies. They just go away for a little while.
7. Everyone plays fair.
8. People actually get what they deserve.
9. There are no earwigs.
10 Catie will get married in a dress I designed and made for her when she's 30 and she will adopt children. (So I don't have to deal with the Mountain Man trying to convince himself Catie has immaculate conceptions.)
11. Cancer, Diabetes, Pain and Addiction do not exist.
12 My children know that I am the fount of all wisdom of parenting and let me raise their children by proxy.
13 Everyone Dresses Well. (It's MY world after all.)
14 My Gramma will live forever.
15 Dishes, laundry and dusting do themselves.
16 I live just down the street from my family and can visit them anytime I want.
17 Dogs don't shed.
18 Teenagers have a legal limit on cologne and perfume.
Can you see where this would be a great world to live in?
PS. And Spiders do not exist in this world.
Sometimes when the world stops making sense and people stop saying the lines the way I want them written; I retreat into my magic world. It's in my head and to go there, I go lie down and build it up. It's not a place, It's my world the way I want to see it. It is my safety zone. It's my place to hide when the light of day burns too hard on reality.
I've always had it as long back as I can remember.
It was there to protect me growing up and comfort me when I got older. It was there when I lost Deanna and if I really, really faced the reality of that I was sure that I was going to break into a million pieces and never get back together.
Some people call it denial, some people call it coping mechanisms, some even say it's meditation. All I know is it's safe.
In this world;
1. A teddy bear can be my best friend.
2. People will love you back just because you love them so much.
3. My children are vibrant, charismatic amazingly gifted individuals who respect and adore their mother.
4. I am thin.
5. You can win if you just try hard enough.
6. Nobody says goodbye or dies. They just go away for a little while.
7. Everyone plays fair.
8. People actually get what they deserve.
9. There are no earwigs.
10 Catie will get married in a dress I designed and made for her when she's 30 and she will adopt children. (So I don't have to deal with the Mountain Man trying to convince himself Catie has immaculate conceptions.)
11. Cancer, Diabetes, Pain and Addiction do not exist.
12 My children know that I am the fount of all wisdom of parenting and let me raise their children by proxy.
13 Everyone Dresses Well. (It's MY world after all.)
14 My Gramma will live forever.
15 Dishes, laundry and dusting do themselves.
16 I live just down the street from my family and can visit them anytime I want.
17 Dogs don't shed.
18 Teenagers have a legal limit on cologne and perfume.
Can you see where this would be a great world to live in?
PS. And Spiders do not exist in this world.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Our Canadian Military-Are you an Idiot?
I have just had another complaint about my, "We Support Our Troops!" sign on my balcony. Some snot nosed punk teen has told me that, "Armies Propogate War."
As my son is going to the Canadian Military this week to apply for MP I have mixed reactions.
My first reaction when he told me he was thinking of joining the military is the same one I had when I drove Yvonne to the Airport and she left for Bosnia? Afghanastan?
It's the Mother's All Out Panic. I want to drug him and hide him in the basement. No, I will not let my son go to War. I wanted to lock Yvonne in the basement. People die in war. Soldier try.
I can still remember standing in the airport lobby while the troops said their goodbye's that day and lined up to go. I wanted to go along every person in line and shake their hand or hug them. I wanted them all to come back. I wanted them all not to go. I wanted to ask them if they were idiots for signing up to go to a place where people are actively trying to kill you?
I wouldn't have stopped them if I could.
The image I can't get out of my mind is of a young man, (a boy really) who was holding his crying girlfriend in his arms. He wasn't crying. She was. She clung to him like she was trying to crawl into his skin. He had a look of peace on his face and he was smelling her hair. That's what killed me.
He looked like he was making sure he would never forget the feel of her in his arms, the touch of her skin and the smell of her hair. I realized with a cold shiver down my back that he was making sure he would have something to hold onto when the world went crazy.
I knew that some time in the near future this boy would be under fire, crouched in the dirt, fighting for his life and if he never made it home, his last thought would have been the smell of her hair. It broke my heart.
I knew at that moment I had to let Yvonne go. I had to write her lots of letters while she was over there. I had to support her in any way I could. This boy is willing to give his life. His life!!!! He knew he was getting on a plane and there was a good chance he wasn't going to come home.
He might never mow the lawn on Sunday. He might never read his kids a story goodnight. He might never have the life that I live everyday. This boy was willing to give up the taste of chocolate, his mother's hug, his father's smile.
This boy was willing to give it all for the smell of her hair.
He knew what we all should know.
A sense of duty.
Doesn't sound like much does it. Duty? It's a little word but it encompasses so much.
Our Military does this everyday. Thousands of men and women get on planes, boats, trucks and they go where people are going to kill them so that we have these things. Even if it means they have to give them up for us.
What do we give them back?
So I really believe the bumper sticker I quoted to the snot nosed kid, "If you are not behind our Canadian Military...Get in front."
As my son is going to the Canadian Military this week to apply for MP I have mixed reactions.
My first reaction when he told me he was thinking of joining the military is the same one I had when I drove Yvonne to the Airport and she left for Bosnia? Afghanastan?
It's the Mother's All Out Panic. I want to drug him and hide him in the basement. No, I will not let my son go to War. I wanted to lock Yvonne in the basement. People die in war. Soldier try.
I can still remember standing in the airport lobby while the troops said their goodbye's that day and lined up to go. I wanted to go along every person in line and shake their hand or hug them. I wanted them all to come back. I wanted them all not to go. I wanted to ask them if they were idiots for signing up to go to a place where people are actively trying to kill you?
I wouldn't have stopped them if I could.
The image I can't get out of my mind is of a young man, (a boy really) who was holding his crying girlfriend in his arms. He wasn't crying. She was. She clung to him like she was trying to crawl into his skin. He had a look of peace on his face and he was smelling her hair. That's what killed me.
He looked like he was making sure he would never forget the feel of her in his arms, the touch of her skin and the smell of her hair. I realized with a cold shiver down my back that he was making sure he would have something to hold onto when the world went crazy.
I knew that some time in the near future this boy would be under fire, crouched in the dirt, fighting for his life and if he never made it home, his last thought would have been the smell of her hair. It broke my heart.
I knew at that moment I had to let Yvonne go. I had to write her lots of letters while she was over there. I had to support her in any way I could. This boy is willing to give his life. His life!!!! He knew he was getting on a plane and there was a good chance he wasn't going to come home.
He might never mow the lawn on Sunday. He might never read his kids a story goodnight. He might never have the life that I live everyday. This boy was willing to give up the taste of chocolate, his mother's hug, his father's smile.
This boy was willing to give it all for the smell of her hair.
He knew what we all should know.
A sense of duty.
Doesn't sound like much does it. Duty? It's a little word but it encompasses so much.
Our Military does this everyday. Thousands of men and women get on planes, boats, trucks and they go where people are going to kill them so that we have these things. Even if it means they have to give them up for us.
What do we give them back?
So I really believe the bumper sticker I quoted to the snot nosed kid, "If you are not behind our Canadian Military...Get in front."
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Defence of the Heart
The Mountain Man has been watching Dr. Phil again. I wish I could parent block that stupid show. It gives him ideas.
You see the problem with shows like Dr. Phil and Oprah is it feminizes men. I'm serious! Everytime he watches those shows I'm in for a grilling.
Have you ever had a guy friend who complained that his girlfriend wouldn't let something in his past go? You know, she's wants to know if his ex was prettier than her, cooked better, better in bed.......she's got to know every detail? They think their wives or girlfriends are just being insecure or fishing for compliments but there is a much more fundemental reason and it's very valid.
Men just don't get it. There is a reason women need to know about every past relationship their man has ever had. It's really very simple. How are boys in our society taught to defend themselves from danger? They muscle up, get a baseball bat or raise their fists.
How are women taught to defend ourselves? Know your environment.
Yes I know this sounds chauvanistic and well yes, I am a chauvanist. Not all men raise fists or hit someone but 90% of the men I know, if some guy comes charging at them will stand their ground and kick some ass.
Women, though most of the women I know can kick ass, will only do it if they are cornered. Women are still taught by today's society to avoid danger. Even my Catie who makes me pity anyone physically threatening her--she's a scrapper-- will avoid trouble rather than go in head on. And this is the smart thing to do. It's just that if a woman does it, she's smart and if men do it, they are labelled cowards or sissies.
Sorry but that's our society. So here are these guys complaining their current girlfriend wants every detail about their ex's and it's driving them nuts. There is a reason she's doing it buddy. It's not just insecurity fella's. She's defending her heart.
She feels that if she knows why your previous relationship fails, then she can avoid that pitfall. If she knows where your limit is on patience, what you like, don't like, she can avoid hurting and upsetting you. Think of it like this. When a man and a women go to the jungle, the guy will weapon up and find out about any lions, tiger or bears that are going to get them. Women will find the place the lion, tigers and bears live and not go there.
So we defend ourselves physically by analyzing, asking questions, getting to know where the danger is. We have to know where the danger is beforehand. It's our survival strategy.
It's written into our society's code as well as our genetic one. Of course there are exceptions because society is equalizing out but sorry, we still warn the women and children when a predator is around. Look at our news? We rarely see the headline, "men should be wary of walking alone on the streets after dark."
This tends to make women think more, ask more questions and be more analytical. I've always thought it hilarious that the "other" woman convinces herself that the married man she is seeing is going to leave his wife and marry her. If he's had an affair with you, why on earth would you think he wouldn't have one on you?
The most common complaint I've heard women make about men is, "When I ask him what he's thinking...he says 'Nothing." How the hell do you think about nothing?"
This is where men don't get it either. Very few women, short of zen artists, CAN think about nothing. We make lists in our head, we relive a happy memory, we schedule our week, it's just female natural defence strategy.
So why does Dr. Phil and Oprah tick me off when Doug watches them? Because there is only one time in a relationship most men will grill their wives and girlfriends about previous relationships...Was he better in bed than me? Is he better equipped to the job?
When was the last time your partner asked you, "So did he make you laugh more than me? Did he make you feel more loved?"
This is what Dr. Phil does to Doug. After 23 years of marriage I can handle the usual questions about the ex's with every woman's stock answer, "you are the best lover I ever had and I've never had a better sex life, oh baby you rock my world."
It's the questions Hubby gets into his head when he watches those shows that makes me want to cancel the cable.
"Why did you chose me? What is it that you feel could take our relationship to a higher level?"
It's annoying. It really makes me realize how much easier men have it.
If I was a guy I could get away with answering, "alcohol and a feather."
You see the problem with shows like Dr. Phil and Oprah is it feminizes men. I'm serious! Everytime he watches those shows I'm in for a grilling.
Have you ever had a guy friend who complained that his girlfriend wouldn't let something in his past go? You know, she's wants to know if his ex was prettier than her, cooked better, better in bed.......she's got to know every detail? They think their wives or girlfriends are just being insecure or fishing for compliments but there is a much more fundemental reason and it's very valid.
Men just don't get it. There is a reason women need to know about every past relationship their man has ever had. It's really very simple. How are boys in our society taught to defend themselves from danger? They muscle up, get a baseball bat or raise their fists.
How are women taught to defend ourselves? Know your environment.
Yes I know this sounds chauvanistic and well yes, I am a chauvanist. Not all men raise fists or hit someone but 90% of the men I know, if some guy comes charging at them will stand their ground and kick some ass.
Women, though most of the women I know can kick ass, will only do it if they are cornered. Women are still taught by today's society to avoid danger. Even my Catie who makes me pity anyone physically threatening her--she's a scrapper-- will avoid trouble rather than go in head on. And this is the smart thing to do. It's just that if a woman does it, she's smart and if men do it, they are labelled cowards or sissies.
Sorry but that's our society. So here are these guys complaining their current girlfriend wants every detail about their ex's and it's driving them nuts. There is a reason she's doing it buddy. It's not just insecurity fella's. She's defending her heart.
She feels that if she knows why your previous relationship fails, then she can avoid that pitfall. If she knows where your limit is on patience, what you like, don't like, she can avoid hurting and upsetting you. Think of it like this. When a man and a women go to the jungle, the guy will weapon up and find out about any lions, tiger or bears that are going to get them. Women will find the place the lion, tigers and bears live and not go there.
So we defend ourselves physically by analyzing, asking questions, getting to know where the danger is. We have to know where the danger is beforehand. It's our survival strategy.
It's written into our society's code as well as our genetic one. Of course there are exceptions because society is equalizing out but sorry, we still warn the women and children when a predator is around. Look at our news? We rarely see the headline, "men should be wary of walking alone on the streets after dark."
This tends to make women think more, ask more questions and be more analytical. I've always thought it hilarious that the "other" woman convinces herself that the married man she is seeing is going to leave his wife and marry her. If he's had an affair with you, why on earth would you think he wouldn't have one on you?
The most common complaint I've heard women make about men is, "When I ask him what he's thinking...he says 'Nothing." How the hell do you think about nothing?"
This is where men don't get it either. Very few women, short of zen artists, CAN think about nothing. We make lists in our head, we relive a happy memory, we schedule our week, it's just female natural defence strategy.
So why does Dr. Phil and Oprah tick me off when Doug watches them? Because there is only one time in a relationship most men will grill their wives and girlfriends about previous relationships...Was he better in bed than me? Is he better equipped to the job?
When was the last time your partner asked you, "So did he make you laugh more than me? Did he make you feel more loved?"
This is what Dr. Phil does to Doug. After 23 years of marriage I can handle the usual questions about the ex's with every woman's stock answer, "you are the best lover I ever had and I've never had a better sex life, oh baby you rock my world."
It's the questions Hubby gets into his head when he watches those shows that makes me want to cancel the cable.
"Why did you chose me? What is it that you feel could take our relationship to a higher level?"
It's annoying. It really makes me realize how much easier men have it.
If I was a guy I could get away with answering, "alcohol and a feather."
Monday, March 07, 2011
So you are not allowed to wear make-up
*letter from 2004 to a friends daughter
Recently I was doing costuming for a group that included young teens. As I was doing make up I was surprised at the times I was asked by young girls to teach them how to do make up so natural their parents couldn’t tell they had it on.
While I am most sympathetic to those young girls dying to join the adult conspiracy of face painters. I also remember my father ordering me "Back up those stairs and scrub that muck off your face young lady."
Of course it was not long before I was able to wear make up and now as an adult I spend thousands of dollars trying to look like I don’t.
There is help if your parents have laid down the make-up law. There is a way you can be happier with the face that you find in the mirror.
1.
Study after study has shown that people react more positively to a clean and even smile. I still remember a guy from my favourite football team coming across the cafeteria to ask me who my dentist was because he thought I had an amazing smile. Funny thing. My teeth are crooked. It was a bluing tooth powder I had been using. It had bleached my teeth. It also removed the top layer of enamel.
My dentist tells me that there are myriads of safe cleaning and bleaching alternatives today. Check with yours before buying any product off the shelf.
A healthy smile is still one of the main attractions to boys. Ever see a toothless super model?
2. Make a hair appointment.Nothing takes the place of a good cut. Your hair is the one accessory you wear with everything! It frames the face and can even lead the eye to your best features.
Not all hair salons are created equal. Discount places often have apprentices or have quotas on their chairs. Hair stylists have to do a certain amount of cuts a day to keep their chair. These people are too hurried to listen to what you have to say.
Go to an established hair salon. Watch the styles coming out. If you hate what the people look like coming out then that is not the place for you. Don’t be afraid to ask people who exactly cut their hair.
I once spent thirty minutes in front of a salon because I was really impressed with the fact that the men were all coming out with hair perfectly suited to their faces. I brought my son there and the next day people at school were stopping him in the hall to compliment and talk about his hair. A good stylist is one who doesn’t tell you what you want but helps you decide what you want is what you are looking for. Don’t be intimidated either. Ask questions. Listen to what the hair stylist is saying and always remember that the model in the book is not you. Every cut and length look different on different people.
Ask your stylist how to take care of it and spend a little extra money on the styling products. They don’t have to be top of the line but most times you really do get what you pay for.
3. Moisturize, Moisturize and ProtectJust because you are young does not mean you shouldn’t protect your skin. I still think Petroleum Jelly is the product of the millennium. Carry a little around with you. They even make roller tubes. Apply it or lip balm to your lips every chance you get. It will protect your lips from chapping and help moisturize them as well as giving you the same shine you find in leading lip glosses. Make sure you have sun screen on first though. Your lips are one of the most delicate places on your body and need to be protected from harmful rays and potential skin diseases.
Sun screen every day and make sure you reapply. There are a lot of moisturizing sun screens on the market now. They not only protect you now from the sun but give your skin a touchable softness. Don’t use harsh cleansers that can leave your skin dry and red. You can’t scrub out dirt. You can wipe it away. Skin regimes can be as simple as soap and water with a little sun screen and moisturizer to follow. Some harsh cleansers can actually increase break outs.
For extreme acne you can talk to your family doctor. A lot of people think they have acne and find that their break outs are sensitive skin reactions to the perfume and dyes in products.
4. Get an eyelash curler.Though it looks like a torture device it really is the best tool you can have. It crimps the eyelashes and makes them stand up. It takes getting used to but once you learn how to use it you will never want to be without one. Male actors have asked me to teach them how to use it after I’ve shown them how it increased the look of their lashes. Imagine what it can do for yours.
I like to warm the metal ones in a glass of lukewarm water. Make sure the sponge in it is clean, soft and in place. Place eyelashes in it, about one or two millimetres away from the lid. I find it is easier to keep my eyes partially open and focus on the mirror with the uncovered eye. Squeeze the clamp shut and hold it for a slow count to ten. Let go. It makes your lashes easier to be noticed. That’s why they are always advertising eye mascara that curls the lashes.
5. Get some tweezers
the best you can do is just clean up your natural lines.
To find your natural line, take a pencil and place it straight up from the side of your nose. This is where your eyebrow should start between the brows. Then place it diagonally from the side of your nose to the corner of your eye. Follow the line up to your brow and this is where your brow should end.
Never pluck above your brows, but do clean up the dark hairs between and underneath them. Never, ever get impatient and shave between your brows. It will look awful when stubble begins to grow back in.
Never pull chin or lip hair. It will grow back and it will be a full time job trying to keep up with it. If you have a thick moustache, talk to your parents about professional bleaching or even electrolysis.
Most of these tips will require you to talk to your parents about how you feel and what you would like to do. You might be surprised to find they are not against make up but just the overuse of it. Ask if they will let you try these simple solutions. They just might not want you rushing into adulthood full force. They also just might think you are absolutely perfectly beautiful just the way you are! After trying these things you just might feel the same way!Until you are old enough to get your parents permission to have your eyebrows waxed Make yourself a dentist appointment.
Recently I was doing costuming for a group that included young teens. As I was doing make up I was surprised at the times I was asked by young girls to teach them how to do make up so natural their parents couldn’t tell they had it on.
While I am most sympathetic to those young girls dying to join the adult conspiracy of face painters. I also remember my father ordering me "Back up those stairs and scrub that muck off your face young lady."
Of course it was not long before I was able to wear make up and now as an adult I spend thousands of dollars trying to look like I don’t.
There is help if your parents have laid down the make-up law. There is a way you can be happier with the face that you find in the mirror.
1.
Study after study has shown that people react more positively to a clean and even smile. I still remember a guy from my favourite football team coming across the cafeteria to ask me who my dentist was because he thought I had an amazing smile. Funny thing. My teeth are crooked. It was a bluing tooth powder I had been using. It had bleached my teeth. It also removed the top layer of enamel.
My dentist tells me that there are myriads of safe cleaning and bleaching alternatives today. Check with yours before buying any product off the shelf.
A healthy smile is still one of the main attractions to boys. Ever see a toothless super model?
2. Make a hair appointment.Nothing takes the place of a good cut. Your hair is the one accessory you wear with everything! It frames the face and can even lead the eye to your best features.
Not all hair salons are created equal. Discount places often have apprentices or have quotas on their chairs. Hair stylists have to do a certain amount of cuts a day to keep their chair. These people are too hurried to listen to what you have to say.
Go to an established hair salon. Watch the styles coming out. If you hate what the people look like coming out then that is not the place for you. Don’t be afraid to ask people who exactly cut their hair.
I once spent thirty minutes in front of a salon because I was really impressed with the fact that the men were all coming out with hair perfectly suited to their faces. I brought my son there and the next day people at school were stopping him in the hall to compliment and talk about his hair. A good stylist is one who doesn’t tell you what you want but helps you decide what you want is what you are looking for. Don’t be intimidated either. Ask questions. Listen to what the hair stylist is saying and always remember that the model in the book is not you. Every cut and length look different on different people.
Ask your stylist how to take care of it and spend a little extra money on the styling products. They don’t have to be top of the line but most times you really do get what you pay for.
3. Moisturize, Moisturize and ProtectJust because you are young does not mean you shouldn’t protect your skin. I still think Petroleum Jelly is the product of the millennium. Carry a little around with you. They even make roller tubes. Apply it or lip balm to your lips every chance you get. It will protect your lips from chapping and help moisturize them as well as giving you the same shine you find in leading lip glosses. Make sure you have sun screen on first though. Your lips are one of the most delicate places on your body and need to be protected from harmful rays and potential skin diseases.
Sun screen every day and make sure you reapply. There are a lot of moisturizing sun screens on the market now. They not only protect you now from the sun but give your skin a touchable softness. Don’t use harsh cleansers that can leave your skin dry and red. You can’t scrub out dirt. You can wipe it away. Skin regimes can be as simple as soap and water with a little sun screen and moisturizer to follow. Some harsh cleansers can actually increase break outs.
For extreme acne you can talk to your family doctor. A lot of people think they have acne and find that their break outs are sensitive skin reactions to the perfume and dyes in products.
4. Get an eyelash curler.Though it looks like a torture device it really is the best tool you can have. It crimps the eyelashes and makes them stand up. It takes getting used to but once you learn how to use it you will never want to be without one. Male actors have asked me to teach them how to use it after I’ve shown them how it increased the look of their lashes. Imagine what it can do for yours.
I like to warm the metal ones in a glass of lukewarm water. Make sure the sponge in it is clean, soft and in place. Place eyelashes in it, about one or two millimetres away from the lid. I find it is easier to keep my eyes partially open and focus on the mirror with the uncovered eye. Squeeze the clamp shut and hold it for a slow count to ten. Let go. It makes your lashes easier to be noticed. That’s why they are always advertising eye mascara that curls the lashes.
5. Get some tweezers
the best you can do is just clean up your natural lines.
To find your natural line, take a pencil and place it straight up from the side of your nose. This is where your eyebrow should start between the brows. Then place it diagonally from the side of your nose to the corner of your eye. Follow the line up to your brow and this is where your brow should end.
Never pluck above your brows, but do clean up the dark hairs between and underneath them. Never, ever get impatient and shave between your brows. It will look awful when stubble begins to grow back in.
Never pull chin or lip hair. It will grow back and it will be a full time job trying to keep up with it. If you have a thick moustache, talk to your parents about professional bleaching or even electrolysis.
Most of these tips will require you to talk to your parents about how you feel and what you would like to do. You might be surprised to find they are not against make up but just the overuse of it. Ask if they will let you try these simple solutions. They just might not want you rushing into adulthood full force. They also just might think you are absolutely perfectly beautiful just the way you are! After trying these things you just might feel the same way!Until you are old enough to get your parents permission to have your eyebrows waxed Make yourself a dentist appointment.
Adult High School
During my last bout of cancer I decided to go back to high school to get some grammar training. (Didn't work) This is part of a letter to Gramma about that experience.
Making the decision to go back to high school was pretty easy. I have the time, the incentive and the support to do so. The hard part was implementing it. The choices out there are varied and comprehensive but they each holds it's pro's and pitfalls.
I first looked at attending Algonquin College as a mature student. I could write my general equivalency and take a diploma course. Sounds simple until you realise that the cost is equal to your twelve year olds daughters braces, and the orthodontist has a better payment plan. For just writing the general equivalency exam, you are looking above a $300 fee. Once you write it, you discover that the amount budgeted according to the course magazine must be doubled to include course costs. These costs cover the $250/mnth parking fee to the 35 dollar student ID and the books! I swear, when administration at a college sits down to decide the fee for a course, they just total the cost of buying the books and half it.
Now my husband makes a decent living for todays economy but you are still talking about a family that gathers it's change the day before payday for milk. This is my motivation for going back to school, money. I need more for the lifestyle I want my family to have.
If the cost isn't prohibitive then the process will be to anyone over the age of 25.
Once you've taken your Prozac, you are now ready to try to find out more information and register for your course. You are required by college law to stand in a line for three hours to find out you are in the wrong line or you have forgotten one of the documents you have to hand in. In my case, my health card. Why do they need to know that this minute? Other than the chance that I need stitches from butting my head against the hallowed halls proverbial stone wall, there is no reason that you cannot process my college application without my health card. But it seems that no health card means the computer will blow up and detonate without this one miniscule piece of data. Yet in my optimistic way I persevere.
My family's financial health is on the line.
So after two days of standing in lines I have come to the conclusion that kids do this in groups for a very good reason. Going to the bathroom. Having someone who can hold your place in line while you pee as fast as you can is priceless. Mastercard should make a commercial for this. Finally I have reached the brass ring. I am at the window for registration. I have all the necessary documentation. I have done it.
Only to be told that the course I want has been canceled due to lack of interest. Let's get this straight right now. It's not due to lack of interest---it's the fact that all the prospective students have just lost their patience and went home. Probably figured that they could go to the adult high school and do their year faster. Considering I have more time than money, this was my decision.
One of the first things you do when hoping to attend an adult high school is call for an appointment. Make sure you call Friday morning as that is when they make appointments for the next week. Now after my college experience I have to give them bonus points for this. I can play solitaire while I'm on the phone! Eighteen games of solitaire in and you will have reached someone who will make your appointment for you. She tells you that you need the following; your acedemic record, your health card (as if I haven't stapled it to the inside of my pocket), a piece of picture ID and $5 student fee. I could have kissed her over the phone. How simple this list is. Four documents, a piece of cake! Now for the reality.
Try getting your high school acedemic record in a week. Especially if any of the following apply; A) They closed down your high school and B) You now live 800 kilometers away from there or C) High school was apx. twenty years ago.
After crawling into my spider and dust filled crawlspace looking for a piece of paper in a box I had last seen when hanky headbands were fashionable, I find that the cat has made a lovely litter box for her kittens in it. So I think, "Oh well I will just call and they can fax me a new one."
Oh poor naive me. The person who answers the phone will very likely be the daughter of someone you went to high school with. Your conversation will run accordingly. "Lakeway?, I'm sorry ma'am but we don't have a Lakeway School in Sault Ste Marie. No ma'am I've been working here for two years and I swear that school does not exist. Ma'am are you sure you have the right Sault Ste Marie? What? They closed it down. Ooohhh." (Please note: This same child will persist in calling you ma'am. Making you feel like you not only learned Canada's Constitution but were there when they wrote the damned thing) She will then give you a list of 26 phone numbers, all long-distance, of places you might get a lead to this elusive document. No one knows where the records of Lakeway High School are being stored. When you finally find someone who might have an idea of where this document lies, you must submit a letter in writing of your request, along with a fee and detailed information such as your mothers maiden name. These are for security measures. Really? Who would want to steal my high school transcript? What burning issues will they have to know that I received an 80% in English but failed art?
In desperation I call almost every Greco in the Sault Ste Marie phone book looking for the only guidance counsellor who's name I remember. Within three minutes she gives me the location and description, down to the colour of the
box, where I would find it. So I have now located the document. It is now two days before my interview. Thank goodness for modern technology and Mastercard. I charge the fee and have them fax it right to the school I am applying at. Touchdown!!!! (Note: I really should list this in my job skills on my resume.)
Just the experience of walking into an adult high school will be the most culture shock I can handle. I was prepared for the fact that times have changed. I even gave myself a lecture on the way there. I think I'm a pretty up-to-date mom. I have a fifteen year old, so the fashions and the language weren't going to be that much of a shock, right? I have been living in Suburbia -w-a-y- too long.
I made it into the parking lot after threatening to run down two boys who are wearing hanky headbands. Apparently they somehow diminish sight and sound because I had to come within inches of them before they would move.
I get out of my car and a fifteen year old tells me to make sure I lock it and put my antenna down in case someone steals them. "Yeah" mutters a man as he walks by "they stole my Dodge insignia the other day." They stole his Dodge insignia? Dodge? Not his Harley Davidson, not his Rolls Royce but his Dodge insignia? How lame is that?
I then realize that there is a crowd of children outside the doors. They must be waiting for parents I thought. No, the term "adult" applies to these children. I could believe the boys were children but the girls? They all look like they just stepped out of a job interview for "Exotic Dancer." I have to fight down the urge to tell one young girl to put a sweater on for goodness sake. Man I'm old.
Next I literally, push, my way through the crowd of smokers to gain the door. Realizing of course that at least two of these children are not smoking cigarettes and I haven't actually smelled that smell in at least ten years. I'm not worried about violence though, there is a police officer parked outside the fence. They probably have increased police visibility in this area, as we are very close to downtown. Though even at it's rowdiest Ottawa has nothing on Toronto. I lived in Kensington Market in my youth, which has now pointedly been put in perspective for me. I am no longer even remotely allowed to call myself young. I was never as young as the children I see here even when I was a child.
I finally get to the registration office. Only to discover that the fifteen year old who told me to lock the car is the secretary. She has me fill out a few forms ("if you please ma'am".) You have to wonder what you're getting into when the form asks the following questions;
a) Are you now or have you any unresolved criminal charges pending from your previous school?
b) How will you support yourself while attending school (please check one)
__Family Benifets __Job __Employment Canada __Social Services __Parole __Parents
(Note there is not one place here for "living off my husband like a pre-feminist leech." There is not even an "other". )
c) Is a daily report for your substance abuse counselor required?
I notice alot of things in the couple of hours wait for my appointment
i) the fashions haven't changed since I went to school. Bell-bottoms, little shirts, patches and all.
ii) there is a boy next to me that a steel bracelet around his ankle. They still have those things for when you
ride your bike. You know, the one that stops your pantleg from catching in the chain.
I turn to talk to another woman my age. "This is the adult high school? They are taking the same classes we are?" I quiz her, hoping for a sense of comradeship or at least a sense that I'm not the only adult that has suddenly discovered her real age in this sea of Calvin Klein cologne and hormones. "Sure" she answers "but I'm the custodian, I only see them when I work overtime."
Much later, I learn from my fifteen year old, that the bracelet around the boy's ankle is a homing device. Breezily my son informs me the guy was probably under house arrest and he has to wear this thing that lets the police track him in case he runs. Much like the beeper the vet puts in your poodle so he doesn't get lost.
And the officer outside the school? Well she's on guard for the offenders that are being held in the local jail. Can't deprive them of an education! So a full time police officer is paid her daily wage to escort to and from school these proven criminals and she sits and drinks coffee all day waiting for one of them to break the law again!? Wonderful what our tax dollars are supporting.
(Forgive me for sounding so right wing but even I cannot see the sense in educating someone the justice system tags like a deer in a public school).
Finally I see the counsellor. Only to discover that they don't have a fax machine at this location, therefore they don't have my transcript. "Don't worry" she reassures me. "We don't really need it. If you've been out of school for more than for years, we do a general equivilency test."
Making the decision to go back to high school was pretty easy. I have the time, the incentive and the support to do so. The hard part was implementing it. The choices out there are varied and comprehensive but they each holds it's pro's and pitfalls.
I first looked at attending Algonquin College as a mature student. I could write my general equivalency and take a diploma course. Sounds simple until you realise that the cost is equal to your twelve year olds daughters braces, and the orthodontist has a better payment plan. For just writing the general equivalency exam, you are looking above a $300 fee. Once you write it, you discover that the amount budgeted according to the course magazine must be doubled to include course costs. These costs cover the $250/mnth parking fee to the 35 dollar student ID and the books! I swear, when administration at a college sits down to decide the fee for a course, they just total the cost of buying the books and half it.
Now my husband makes a decent living for todays economy but you are still talking about a family that gathers it's change the day before payday for milk. This is my motivation for going back to school, money. I need more for the lifestyle I want my family to have.
If the cost isn't prohibitive then the process will be to anyone over the age of 25.
Once you've taken your Prozac, you are now ready to try to find out more information and register for your course. You are required by college law to stand in a line for three hours to find out you are in the wrong line or you have forgotten one of the documents you have to hand in. In my case, my health card. Why do they need to know that this minute? Other than the chance that I need stitches from butting my head against the hallowed halls proverbial stone wall, there is no reason that you cannot process my college application without my health card. But it seems that no health card means the computer will blow up and detonate without this one miniscule piece of data. Yet in my optimistic way I persevere.
My family's financial health is on the line.
So after two days of standing in lines I have come to the conclusion that kids do this in groups for a very good reason. Going to the bathroom. Having someone who can hold your place in line while you pee as fast as you can is priceless. Mastercard should make a commercial for this. Finally I have reached the brass ring. I am at the window for registration. I have all the necessary documentation. I have done it.
Only to be told that the course I want has been canceled due to lack of interest. Let's get this straight right now. It's not due to lack of interest---it's the fact that all the prospective students have just lost their patience and went home. Probably figured that they could go to the adult high school and do their year faster. Considering I have more time than money, this was my decision.
One of the first things you do when hoping to attend an adult high school is call for an appointment. Make sure you call Friday morning as that is when they make appointments for the next week. Now after my college experience I have to give them bonus points for this. I can play solitaire while I'm on the phone! Eighteen games of solitaire in and you will have reached someone who will make your appointment for you. She tells you that you need the following; your acedemic record, your health card (as if I haven't stapled it to the inside of my pocket), a piece of picture ID and $5 student fee. I could have kissed her over the phone. How simple this list is. Four documents, a piece of cake! Now for the reality.
Try getting your high school acedemic record in a week. Especially if any of the following apply; A) They closed down your high school and B) You now live 800 kilometers away from there or C) High school was apx. twenty years ago.
After crawling into my spider and dust filled crawlspace looking for a piece of paper in a box I had last seen when hanky headbands were fashionable, I find that the cat has made a lovely litter box for her kittens in it. So I think, "Oh well I will just call and they can fax me a new one."
Oh poor naive me. The person who answers the phone will very likely be the daughter of someone you went to high school with. Your conversation will run accordingly. "Lakeway?, I'm sorry ma'am but we don't have a Lakeway School in Sault Ste Marie. No ma'am I've been working here for two years and I swear that school does not exist. Ma'am are you sure you have the right Sault Ste Marie? What? They closed it down. Ooohhh." (Please note: This same child will persist in calling you ma'am. Making you feel like you not only learned Canada's Constitution but were there when they wrote the damned thing) She will then give you a list of 26 phone numbers, all long-distance, of places you might get a lead to this elusive document. No one knows where the records of Lakeway High School are being stored. When you finally find someone who might have an idea of where this document lies, you must submit a letter in writing of your request, along with a fee and detailed information such as your mothers maiden name. These are for security measures. Really? Who would want to steal my high school transcript? What burning issues will they have to know that I received an 80% in English but failed art?
In desperation I call almost every Greco in the Sault Ste Marie phone book looking for the only guidance counsellor who's name I remember. Within three minutes she gives me the location and description, down to the colour of the
box, where I would find it. So I have now located the document. It is now two days before my interview. Thank goodness for modern technology and Mastercard. I charge the fee and have them fax it right to the school I am applying at. Touchdown!!!! (Note: I really should list this in my job skills on my resume.)
Just the experience of walking into an adult high school will be the most culture shock I can handle. I was prepared for the fact that times have changed. I even gave myself a lecture on the way there. I think I'm a pretty up-to-date mom. I have a fifteen year old, so the fashions and the language weren't going to be that much of a shock, right? I have been living in Suburbia -w-a-y- too long.
I made it into the parking lot after threatening to run down two boys who are wearing hanky headbands. Apparently they somehow diminish sight and sound because I had to come within inches of them before they would move.
I get out of my car and a fifteen year old tells me to make sure I lock it and put my antenna down in case someone steals them. "Yeah" mutters a man as he walks by "they stole my Dodge insignia the other day." They stole his Dodge insignia? Dodge? Not his Harley Davidson, not his Rolls Royce but his Dodge insignia? How lame is that?
I then realize that there is a crowd of children outside the doors. They must be waiting for parents I thought. No, the term "adult" applies to these children. I could believe the boys were children but the girls? They all look like they just stepped out of a job interview for "Exotic Dancer." I have to fight down the urge to tell one young girl to put a sweater on for goodness sake. Man I'm old.
Next I literally, push, my way through the crowd of smokers to gain the door. Realizing of course that at least two of these children are not smoking cigarettes and I haven't actually smelled that smell in at least ten years. I'm not worried about violence though, there is a police officer parked outside the fence. They probably have increased police visibility in this area, as we are very close to downtown. Though even at it's rowdiest Ottawa has nothing on Toronto. I lived in Kensington Market in my youth, which has now pointedly been put in perspective for me. I am no longer even remotely allowed to call myself young. I was never as young as the children I see here even when I was a child.
I finally get to the registration office. Only to discover that the fifteen year old who told me to lock the car is the secretary. She has me fill out a few forms ("if you please ma'am".) You have to wonder what you're getting into when the form asks the following questions;
a) Are you now or have you any unresolved criminal charges pending from your previous school?
b) How will you support yourself while attending school (please check one)
__Family Benifets __Job __Employment Canada __Social Services __Parole __Parents
(Note there is not one place here for "living off my husband like a pre-feminist leech." There is not even an "other". )
c) Is a daily report for your substance abuse counselor required?
I notice alot of things in the couple of hours wait for my appointment
i) the fashions haven't changed since I went to school. Bell-bottoms, little shirts, patches and all.
ii) there is a boy next to me that a steel bracelet around his ankle. They still have those things for when you
ride your bike. You know, the one that stops your pantleg from catching in the chain.
I turn to talk to another woman my age. "This is the adult high school? They are taking the same classes we are?" I quiz her, hoping for a sense of comradeship or at least a sense that I'm not the only adult that has suddenly discovered her real age in this sea of Calvin Klein cologne and hormones. "Sure" she answers "but I'm the custodian, I only see them when I work overtime."
Much later, I learn from my fifteen year old, that the bracelet around the boy's ankle is a homing device. Breezily my son informs me the guy was probably under house arrest and he has to wear this thing that lets the police track him in case he runs. Much like the beeper the vet puts in your poodle so he doesn't get lost.
And the officer outside the school? Well she's on guard for the offenders that are being held in the local jail. Can't deprive them of an education! So a full time police officer is paid her daily wage to escort to and from school these proven criminals and she sits and drinks coffee all day waiting for one of them to break the law again!? Wonderful what our tax dollars are supporting.
(Forgive me for sounding so right wing but even I cannot see the sense in educating someone the justice system tags like a deer in a public school).
Finally I see the counsellor. Only to discover that they don't have a fax machine at this location, therefore they don't have my transcript. "Don't worry" she reassures me. "We don't really need it. If you've been out of school for more than for years, we do a general equivilency test."
Thursday, January 27, 2011
What I really want for Mother's Day
May 2010
Hi guys;
I know I haven't written but I've managed to break myself again! This is so bloody embarrassing because I did it in such a mundane boring way--getting in the tub; soap was involved; you get the picture.
The Mountain Man has bought me a laptop so that I will stay in bed and prop my foot up instead of sitting at the computer trying to do gymnastics to get it on the desk. I don’t dare try to put my foot on a stool since my leg then becomes an instant dog, cat, or kid and hubby magnet.
I’ve just watched, "the Proposal" with Sandra Bullock because Breyan told me that two of the characters reminded him of me and Aunt Yvonne, (which I'm really hoping is the mom and the Gamma because if he’s saying I remind him of the anal Sandra Bullock character, I'm gonna hit him with my crutch!)
Anyway, it gave me an insight into how my son views me as a Mom; most likely to take over someone’s life, fake a heart attack to get someone to talk to his son like a grown up and remake a wedding dress in one night. All right, well he’s not far off the mark on that one.
This got me to thinking about how lucky I am to have two, pretty great kids who managed to turn into normal, healthy, happy, kind of adjusted people.
That got me to thinking about Mothers Days and I had an epiphany!I don't really like Mother's Day.
No, I don’t hate Mothers Day, what I should have said was, I don’t enjoy the traditional Mother’s Day.
Yes, I love the sappy homemade 'I luv Mummy," cards. The morning cuddle and the hugs. It's the rest of the day I usually just don't have the energy for.
I kind of wish I had the courage at some point to tell my kids and hubby what I really wanted my Mother’s Day to be like.
Traditionally, my mother's day will start with me being woken up far too early for it to be considered, "day," convinced that the house is on fire due to the alarming smell of burnt toast. Then I will hear a crash, the Mountain Man's rumbling at the kids, and the kids frantic promises, "to clean it up right away."
Next, they will all troop into the bedroom with a homemade, cholesterol/fat/sugar laden breakfast on a tray while I sit there thinking, “Crap, I just cleaned the kitchen."
I will paste on my, "surprised Mum," smile as they troop in as I am frantically trying to signal the dog to come into the room so I can accidently drop most of it on the floor.
When I’ve finished every bit of food on the tray and my family is convinced I enjoyed every bite, they will announce they are letting me take a bath all on my own. They solemnly promise they are not going to interrupt. "I can take all the time I need."
Yeah right!
This sounds like heaven to every Mom, except Dad has been in there twenty minutes before doing his "man" routine involving a newspaper and Caitlin has been in doing her part to create holes in the ozone layer with her hair products and Breyan has been lathering on the aftershave. If only I could bottle that smell I would RULE the germ warfare market!
After my bath, in which there have only been three knocks on the door, one emergency and one, "Are you going to be much longer, I have to go pee!" I will come downstairs to open my lovely gifts.
They are very thoughtful gifts but how many bathsalts, housecoats and skin creams can one mom use? I mean really. I don't have enough room in my drawers and if I dare try re-gifting one of the baskets for a wedding or baby shower, sure enough, one of my kids will pop up with, "But Mom I thought you loved that perfume? That‘s why we bought it for you," right in the middle of me passing the canapés.
Next, Hubby and kids will have planned a family outing. Where do we go? Somewhere that promises 'Good, Clean, Family Fun!" In the car I will have to settle at least two, “He’s touching me,” arguments. I will dream of the days when the kids were little and we used to sing songs in the car. Nowadays my kids will spend the entire trip answering their text messages and have their earphones jammed in their ears so tight I have to know gorilla sign language just to ask if they need to go to the bathroom.
Throughout the day, the kids will consume large amounts of fat, carbohydrate laden, creamy, heart-buster food that they will promptly puke up on one of those clean family fun rides.
Need I go on?
Mother’s Day is just too much work for mothers. So then I thought, "What would be my perfect Mother's Day?"
The day before, everybody would get together and spring clean the house without arguing, nagging or negotiating, so that when Mom wakes up on Mother Day, there is no laundry, dishes, vacuuming etc...
Dad will run out to the bakery and get bagels, (preferably Kettlemens because they rock even without toasting,) cream cheese and fresh fruit already chopped and ready to serve. He will buy the expensive fresh squeezed orange juice, (not the kind in a can that you buy by the dozen since the kids go through the stuff like dope heads in a crack house.)
The next morning Mom will wake up when she wants, to a Martha Stewart designed tray with fresh flowers, a continental breakfast and possibly chocolate. Six cups of coffee will be lined and waiting to be refilled. All presents and cards will wait until Mom has taken her hour long, uninterrupted bath.
Dad will have used the bathroom at the bakery.
Dad will then tell Mom that he has called three of her closest friends (fly them in if you have to,) and made a deal with their partners to chauffeur the women downtown for lunch at which he has paid ahead of time for many, many Marguerita’s. There will be no children, no husbands, and no curfews.
The kids will present the homemade macaroni card and a gift thoughtfully chosen from the three page list Mom gave Dad weeks ago. Dad will then let her know that his own gift, a gift card, comes from the place that only sells women's lingerie--not the kind that hookers wear.
There will be no possibility that mom will go to the store and come home with new jeans and socks for the kids. You see this is the problem with gift cards. If you buy a mom a gift card for a department store, she will buy something for her kids. She will feel guilty if she buys herself new sexy underwear when she knows her kids will outgrow their winter boots and she hasn’t gotten around to buying them a new pair. Usually a mom will save a gift card for "when we really need something."
Moms don't often get a chance to buy underwear that she really hopes she'll never get in an accident wearing, (because, "what would people think?") Moms also do not want Dads picking out their underwear because most mens taste run along the lines of "two pieces of floss held up by a rubber band." Moms want matching, comfortable, 'put it back where it was 20 years ago' underwear. I don't care if Mom is now 250 lbs and you have to find a naughty store for six foot cross dressers, that store is where you buy the gift card!
That afternoon, the Dad's will take turns chauffeuring the women; but not all at once. Each Dad will take turns so only one wife at a time will worry; that hubby will get jealous of the mom's giggling at the waiters tight pants, or worry that Dad will say something stupid to the other women or give her the "HOW MUCH DID THAT COST? " look.
Once the Mom's are truly giddy and girly they will retire to the house with the biggest TV, preferably HD and the men will have vacated to one of the other mom's house with the kids, leaving mom to a night of wine, giggling, chocolate and a "Colin Firth in a wet shirt" movie.
No one may call mom to ask; where they left their backpack, is it okay to feed the dog the leftover fruit because they ran out of dog food, how to bake anything.
You may call her ONCE to tell her you love her and make sure she's having a ball. Make sure her friends hear you say you love her.
At the end of the night the Dad's will collect their respective Mom's-- having fed the kids and given them their baths. The children may stay up long enough to say goodnight and let mom read them a bedtime story. Mom will collect one more "I love you, Mommy, kisses and hugs."
This is the Mothers Day I dream of and am too guilty and afraid of hurting our kid’s feelings to ask for. I'm sure I'm not the only Mom that would love a day like this. Is it really too much to ask?
Ah well. I should be thankful I have a loving, caring family willing to burn toast for me. As for the rest, I guess I can live without it. However, don't you dare forget the homemade, handcrafted 'I LUV MUMMY.' card or I will cry and you will be in for a life of hell for at least a year or until Mom's birthday when you may have a chance to get it right.
Kimberley
PS, The Gamma in the movie is my grandmother in disguise--not me. I am a Nona!
Hi guys;
I know I haven't written but I've managed to break myself again! This is so bloody embarrassing because I did it in such a mundane boring way--getting in the tub; soap was involved; you get the picture.
The Mountain Man has bought me a laptop so that I will stay in bed and prop my foot up instead of sitting at the computer trying to do gymnastics to get it on the desk. I don’t dare try to put my foot on a stool since my leg then becomes an instant dog, cat, or kid and hubby magnet.
I’ve just watched, "the Proposal" with Sandra Bullock because Breyan told me that two of the characters reminded him of me and Aunt Yvonne, (which I'm really hoping is the mom and the Gamma because if he’s saying I remind him of the anal Sandra Bullock character, I'm gonna hit him with my crutch!)
Anyway, it gave me an insight into how my son views me as a Mom; most likely to take over someone’s life, fake a heart attack to get someone to talk to his son like a grown up and remake a wedding dress in one night. All right, well he’s not far off the mark on that one.
This got me to thinking about how lucky I am to have two, pretty great kids who managed to turn into normal, healthy, happy, kind of adjusted people.
That got me to thinking about Mothers Days and I had an epiphany!I don't really like Mother's Day.
No, I don’t hate Mothers Day, what I should have said was, I don’t enjoy the traditional Mother’s Day.
Yes, I love the sappy homemade 'I luv Mummy," cards. The morning cuddle and the hugs. It's the rest of the day I usually just don't have the energy for.
I kind of wish I had the courage at some point to tell my kids and hubby what I really wanted my Mother’s Day to be like.
Traditionally, my mother's day will start with me being woken up far too early for it to be considered, "day," convinced that the house is on fire due to the alarming smell of burnt toast. Then I will hear a crash, the Mountain Man's rumbling at the kids, and the kids frantic promises, "to clean it up right away."
Next, they will all troop into the bedroom with a homemade, cholesterol/fat/sugar laden breakfast on a tray while I sit there thinking, “Crap, I just cleaned the kitchen."
I will paste on my, "surprised Mum," smile as they troop in as I am frantically trying to signal the dog to come into the room so I can accidently drop most of it on the floor.
When I’ve finished every bit of food on the tray and my family is convinced I enjoyed every bite, they will announce they are letting me take a bath all on my own. They solemnly promise they are not going to interrupt. "I can take all the time I need."
Yeah right!
This sounds like heaven to every Mom, except Dad has been in there twenty minutes before doing his "man" routine involving a newspaper and Caitlin has been in doing her part to create holes in the ozone layer with her hair products and Breyan has been lathering on the aftershave. If only I could bottle that smell I would RULE the germ warfare market!
After my bath, in which there have only been three knocks on the door, one emergency and one, "Are you going to be much longer, I have to go pee!" I will come downstairs to open my lovely gifts.
They are very thoughtful gifts but how many bathsalts, housecoats and skin creams can one mom use? I mean really. I don't have enough room in my drawers and if I dare try re-gifting one of the baskets for a wedding or baby shower, sure enough, one of my kids will pop up with, "But Mom I thought you loved that perfume? That‘s why we bought it for you," right in the middle of me passing the canapés.
Next, Hubby and kids will have planned a family outing. Where do we go? Somewhere that promises 'Good, Clean, Family Fun!" In the car I will have to settle at least two, “He’s touching me,” arguments. I will dream of the days when the kids were little and we used to sing songs in the car. Nowadays my kids will spend the entire trip answering their text messages and have their earphones jammed in their ears so tight I have to know gorilla sign language just to ask if they need to go to the bathroom.
Throughout the day, the kids will consume large amounts of fat, carbohydrate laden, creamy, heart-buster food that they will promptly puke up on one of those clean family fun rides.
Need I go on?
Mother’s Day is just too much work for mothers. So then I thought, "What would be my perfect Mother's Day?"
The day before, everybody would get together and spring clean the house without arguing, nagging or negotiating, so that when Mom wakes up on Mother Day, there is no laundry, dishes, vacuuming etc...
Dad will run out to the bakery and get bagels, (preferably Kettlemens because they rock even without toasting,) cream cheese and fresh fruit already chopped and ready to serve. He will buy the expensive fresh squeezed orange juice, (not the kind in a can that you buy by the dozen since the kids go through the stuff like dope heads in a crack house.)
The next morning Mom will wake up when she wants, to a Martha Stewart designed tray with fresh flowers, a continental breakfast and possibly chocolate. Six cups of coffee will be lined and waiting to be refilled. All presents and cards will wait until Mom has taken her hour long, uninterrupted bath.
Dad will have used the bathroom at the bakery.
Dad will then tell Mom that he has called three of her closest friends (fly them in if you have to,) and made a deal with their partners to chauffeur the women downtown for lunch at which he has paid ahead of time for many, many Marguerita’s. There will be no children, no husbands, and no curfews.
The kids will present the homemade macaroni card and a gift thoughtfully chosen from the three page list Mom gave Dad weeks ago. Dad will then let her know that his own gift, a gift card, comes from the place that only sells women's lingerie--not the kind that hookers wear.
There will be no possibility that mom will go to the store and come home with new jeans and socks for the kids. You see this is the problem with gift cards. If you buy a mom a gift card for a department store, she will buy something for her kids. She will feel guilty if she buys herself new sexy underwear when she knows her kids will outgrow their winter boots and she hasn’t gotten around to buying them a new pair. Usually a mom will save a gift card for "when we really need something."
Moms don't often get a chance to buy underwear that she really hopes she'll never get in an accident wearing, (because, "what would people think?") Moms also do not want Dads picking out their underwear because most mens taste run along the lines of "two pieces of floss held up by a rubber band." Moms want matching, comfortable, 'put it back where it was 20 years ago' underwear. I don't care if Mom is now 250 lbs and you have to find a naughty store for six foot cross dressers, that store is where you buy the gift card!
That afternoon, the Dad's will take turns chauffeuring the women; but not all at once. Each Dad will take turns so only one wife at a time will worry; that hubby will get jealous of the mom's giggling at the waiters tight pants, or worry that Dad will say something stupid to the other women or give her the "HOW MUCH DID THAT COST? " look.
Once the Mom's are truly giddy and girly they will retire to the house with the biggest TV, preferably HD and the men will have vacated to one of the other mom's house with the kids, leaving mom to a night of wine, giggling, chocolate and a "Colin Firth in a wet shirt" movie.
No one may call mom to ask; where they left their backpack, is it okay to feed the dog the leftover fruit because they ran out of dog food, how to bake anything.
You may call her ONCE to tell her you love her and make sure she's having a ball. Make sure her friends hear you say you love her.
At the end of the night the Dad's will collect their respective Mom's-- having fed the kids and given them their baths. The children may stay up long enough to say goodnight and let mom read them a bedtime story. Mom will collect one more "I love you, Mommy, kisses and hugs."
This is the Mothers Day I dream of and am too guilty and afraid of hurting our kid’s feelings to ask for. I'm sure I'm not the only Mom that would love a day like this. Is it really too much to ask?
Ah well. I should be thankful I have a loving, caring family willing to burn toast for me. As for the rest, I guess I can live without it. However, don't you dare forget the homemade, handcrafted 'I LUV MUMMY.' card or I will cry and you will be in for a life of hell for at least a year or until Mom's birthday when you may have a chance to get it right.
Kimberley
PS, The Gamma in the movie is my grandmother in disguise--not me. I am a Nona!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
What is a Slut?: He Says vs She Says
So every once in a while Hubby will get bored and just throw a question out into the air to see my reaction. The other day he came up and asked me, "How do you define a 'slut?"
Of course, my first reaction was, "Uh? What have you been smoking?"
It evolved eventually into each of us describing what defined a "slut?" Now historically the word is based on 'slattern; a woman who is a messy housekeeper.' We were arguing on it's modern usage. Since Hubby is a man, his answer was very simple: "a woman who has had 'x' number of men, usually dresses really cheap." (He couldn't settle on a definitive number, probably in an attempt to spare me from having to kill him.)
Of course, my first reaction was, "Uh? What have you been smoking?"
It evolved eventually into each of us describing what defined a "slut?" Now historically the word is based on 'slattern; a woman who is a messy housekeeper.' We were arguing on it's modern usage. Since Hubby is a man, his answer was very simple: "a woman who has had 'x' number of men, usually dresses really cheap." (He couldn't settle on a definitive number, probably in an attempt to spare me from having to kill him.)
Monday, January 24, 2011
Herding Jellyfish and Pressure Cookers
*letter dated November 2010
Hi family; How is everyone getting set up for the holidays? Got your Xmas cards out? I know I had at least fifty left over from last year but for the life of me I can't find them.
Aunt E asked us for family pictures for Gramma's birthday and I am really trying to get one for her. Since the last family picture we have was done was when Caitlin was 12 and she's now 20, I decided it was time, especially since we have new family members. Yep, that was a bad idea.
Hi family; How is everyone getting set up for the holidays? Got your Xmas cards out? I know I had at least fifty left over from last year but for the life of me I can't find them.
Aunt E asked us for family pictures for Gramma's birthday and I am really trying to get one for her. Since the last family picture we have was done was when Caitlin was 12 and she's now 20, I decided it was time, especially since we have new family members. Yep, that was a bad idea.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Letter to Ottawa General patient relations dated August 31 2008
This is part of a letter I sent to the Minister of Health but it has some key issues your hospital might like to address.
Recently my daughter appeared on CTV news as a survivor of swine flu, the H1N1 virus. Thanks to the cutbacks and issue with doctors, she almost was not a "survivor." She was almost a fatality. If it wasn't for the fact that I have a very loud voice and a very big husband and son I'm sure we would have lost her.
Let me explain.
On May 26 my daughter woke up with headache, fever and a bad cough. She went to see her doctor who was unavailable so waited three hours at a walk in clinic to see a doctor. She saw the doctor on call, who told her she had a bit of a bug and she should rest, take some cough medicine and get some sleep.
Later that night around 7:30 she told me she felt like she couldn't breathe and her chest hurt. I took her to the emergency at the Ottawa General Hospital as the walk in was closed and I was worried about asthma. I brought her to the Emergency room around 8pm and asked a triage nurse to listen to her lungs.
Their reply was "Give us her health card and take a seat." They didn't even look at her. They didn't triage her and they certainly didn't look at her lungs.
My daughter and I waited patiently for someone to call her but after watching SIX patients come in after we got there and be triage'd, I lost my patience and demanded someone look at her.
"Someone already has." I was told.
"No they haven't." I replied,
Their answer........? "But we have her health card here on file. Ooops"
They then said they would get someone to look at her in a minute.
Another hour went by and my daughter began losing consciousness, vomiting and starting to faint. I am not kidding you....a nurse still didn't have time to look at her but the PATIENTS in the waiting room grabbed her blankets and kidney basins to throw up in. Many even offered to let her take their place. (Believe me this gives me a great love of my community and reaffirms my faith in human nature. People with broken arms are getting up and getting buckets? There is good in all.)
I almost took her home because she was so uncomfortable and in so much pain that she was having a hard time managing. I was going to call a personal friend to come listen to her lungs but then I decided that making a fuss might just be worth it so I went and raised my voice at the nurse who was very annoyed with me but decided to come take a look. She wasn't annoyed long, she was worried-- Caitlin's heart rate was extremely high Caitlin was in Xray .
They then put her in a side room and waited for a doctor. It was midnight before we saw someone who said, "Let's put in an IV see how it goes..."
Shortly after this, my daughter began panting and losing consciousness, until my husband and my son called the nurse who said she would "get there to take a look when she had time." I had had enough.
My husband and son waited another twenty minutes and began to roam the halls. They got a doctor. I still believe the doctor only came with them to avoid a scene. (They are quiet but BIG men.) The doctor took one look at her and she was in Critical care.
Six hours to have someone recognize that my daughter had double pneumonia that developed from mild to critical under three hours? Later we found out it was H1N1 and when we went to visit her on the respiratory floor we had to wait two hours before anyone could go in the room because they had such a shortage of face masks; they had to wait for some to be brought from the Civic Hospital across the city.
I went on in my letter to the Minister to beg for more tax breaks or benefits for doctors and funding for hospitals for basic supplies and personnel but the issues I would like you to address which I did not feel the Minister could address are;
When Caitlin finally was able to come out of Intensive Care, we thought , "She's joking, she's eating, she is on the Fifth floor, she is getting better, we can go home and take a nap. Two hours later, we were called from home by the nurse to come back to the hospital because, the nurse explained, my daughter was getting "unmanageable," and wanted us to come back {their words when they called, not mine.}
We came in to find there was again, not enough masks so no one could enter the room to find that my daughter was in extreme pain, they had put a diaper on her and she was coughing up blood, her buzzes to the nurses were not being answered. Her condition had deteriorated so badly we again felt we could not leave the hospital until she came home. So why was she calling the nurse and bothering them? Not rocket science. Yet I felt this was their attitude-- "Nothing we can do for her until we find more masks." You have to understand I was scared and furious. This set Caitlin's health back so much that she had to be transferred to the Respiratory Care floor.
This is my daughters experience in your hospital.
It gets better. While she was on the fifth floor, and we had been advised that Caitlin did actually have the H1N1 virus, we had contacted the friends she had gone on a trip with that Saturday, Sunday and advised if they had any symptoms they should get to medical care.
Her friend Cassie has developed symptoms. She comes to the Ottawa General Hospital Emergency and tells them she is Caitlin's friend and she is showing H1N1 symptoms. Where do they tell her to sit? In the Waiting Room! [This was before you implemented the mask/antibacterial policy I am thrilled to see you had brought in by the time we left hospital.]
It was not until my husband had the Public Health Nurse speak to one of your nursing staff on the phone that they thought it might be a good idea to isolate her.
Cassie is seen, kept overnight and it is decided that she can go home. Now her mother, who is a single mom on Welfare, who used her rent money to get her daughter to hospital asks if she can see a Social Worker to find out if Welfare will give her a taxi chit to get her still ill and likely contagious daughter home. What is she told by the nurse? "We don't have time, [the social services people] are really busy, you can take the bus."
Her mother came to us in the Critical Care waiting room in tears. The nurse finally calls the Social Services when I go downstairs and tag a nurse and beg her to call Welfare. They finally called and it was decided that just maybe it would be better to send them home in a taxi.
What I would like to ask you as the Hospital is why was Caitlin parked on the fifth floor with not enough medical equipment for someone to enter the room? Why would a nurse say my daughter was becoming, "unmanageable" when she was asking for help because she was coughing up blood? Why did I have to raise my voice to the nurse on the fifth floor to demand she get a doctor immediately so Catie could get pain management? Why do they respond to Diva voices and not to simple, polite requests as this is how I requested help first? How does an emergency room get so busy that they take her health card and don't look at the patient?
As you can see in my letter to the Minister I recognize that there are some serious shortages in funding but these mistakes are at the Care level.
The people in the Critical Care ward and on the seventh floor were amazing, supportive, dedicated at not only taking care of the health of the patient but the emotional level as well. Can they have a chat with the fifth floor? Because I have to tell you the staff of these units is above and beyond at their work and I have no doubt they give are the reason that Canada is considered the top medical system of North America. I firmly believe that they did Everything in their power to make Caitlin's stay and recovery as painless as possible. I honestly credit the nursing staff of these floors to her survival. Yes the doctors did their part but the nursing staff did the work.
Please understand, I am not trying to criticize your hospital. I am sincerely worried that this will happen with much far more serious consequences to other patients. I say prayers everyday for the care Caitlin received at the Critical Care and 7th floor. Twenty years ago I lost a child to SIDS so I know what it's like to lose a child and I would never want another parent to experience this.
I will be eternally grateful for the dedication of your staff but these mistakes could have led to us losing our daughter and I am deeply disturbed that they happened.
Note: The hospital implemented an entire new system of Emergency Care and now screen coughs and flu like systems, as well as isolating potential cases.
Recently my daughter appeared on CTV news as a survivor of swine flu, the H1N1 virus. Thanks to the cutbacks and issue with doctors, she almost was not a "survivor." She was almost a fatality. If it wasn't for the fact that I have a very loud voice and a very big husband and son I'm sure we would have lost her.
Let me explain.
On May 26 my daughter woke up with headache, fever and a bad cough. She went to see her doctor who was unavailable so waited three hours at a walk in clinic to see a doctor. She saw the doctor on call, who told her she had a bit of a bug and she should rest, take some cough medicine and get some sleep.
Later that night around 7:30 she told me she felt like she couldn't breathe and her chest hurt. I took her to the emergency at the Ottawa General Hospital as the walk in was closed and I was worried about asthma. I brought her to the Emergency room around 8pm and asked a triage nurse to listen to her lungs.
Their reply was "Give us her health card and take a seat." They didn't even look at her. They didn't triage her and they certainly didn't look at her lungs.
My daughter and I waited patiently for someone to call her but after watching SIX patients come in after we got there and be triage'd, I lost my patience and demanded someone look at her.
"Someone already has." I was told.
"No they haven't." I replied,
Their answer........? "But we have her health card here on file. Ooops"
They then said they would get someone to look at her in a minute.
Another hour went by and my daughter began losing consciousness, vomiting and starting to faint. I am not kidding you....a nurse still didn't have time to look at her but the PATIENTS in the waiting room grabbed her blankets and kidney basins to throw up in. Many even offered to let her take their place. (Believe me this gives me a great love of my community and reaffirms my faith in human nature. People with broken arms are getting up and getting buckets? There is good in all.)
I almost took her home because she was so uncomfortable and in so much pain that she was having a hard time managing. I was going to call a personal friend to come listen to her lungs but then I decided that making a fuss might just be worth it so I went and raised my voice at the nurse who was very annoyed with me but decided to come take a look. She wasn't annoyed long, she was worried-- Caitlin's heart rate was extremely high Caitlin was in Xray .
They then put her in a side room and waited for a doctor. It was midnight before we saw someone who said, "Let's put in an IV see how it goes..."
Shortly after this, my daughter began panting and losing consciousness, until my husband and my son called the nurse who said she would "get there to take a look when she had time." I had had enough.
My husband and son waited another twenty minutes and began to roam the halls. They got a doctor. I still believe the doctor only came with them to avoid a scene. (They are quiet but BIG men.) The doctor took one look at her and she was in Critical care.
Six hours to have someone recognize that my daughter had double pneumonia that developed from mild to critical under three hours? Later we found out it was H1N1 and when we went to visit her on the respiratory floor we had to wait two hours before anyone could go in the room because they had such a shortage of face masks; they had to wait for some to be brought from the Civic Hospital across the city.
I went on in my letter to the Minister to beg for more tax breaks or benefits for doctors and funding for hospitals for basic supplies and personnel but the issues I would like you to address which I did not feel the Minister could address are;
When Caitlin finally was able to come out of Intensive Care, we thought , "She's joking, she's eating, she is on the Fifth floor, she is getting better, we can go home and take a nap. Two hours later, we were called from home by the nurse to come back to the hospital because, the nurse explained, my daughter was getting "unmanageable," and wanted us to come back {their words when they called, not mine.}
We came in to find there was again, not enough masks so no one could enter the room to find that my daughter was in extreme pain, they had put a diaper on her and she was coughing up blood, her buzzes to the nurses were not being answered. Her condition had deteriorated so badly we again felt we could not leave the hospital until she came home. So why was she calling the nurse and bothering them? Not rocket science. Yet I felt this was their attitude-- "Nothing we can do for her until we find more masks." You have to understand I was scared and furious. This set Caitlin's health back so much that she had to be transferred to the Respiratory Care floor.
This is my daughters experience in your hospital.
It gets better. While she was on the fifth floor, and we had been advised that Caitlin did actually have the H1N1 virus, we had contacted the friends she had gone on a trip with that Saturday, Sunday and advised if they had any symptoms they should get to medical care.
Her friend Cassie has developed symptoms. She comes to the Ottawa General Hospital Emergency and tells them she is Caitlin's friend and she is showing H1N1 symptoms. Where do they tell her to sit? In the Waiting Room! [This was before you implemented the mask/antibacterial policy I am thrilled to see you had brought in by the time we left hospital.]
It was not until my husband had the Public Health Nurse speak to one of your nursing staff on the phone that they thought it might be a good idea to isolate her.
Cassie is seen, kept overnight and it is decided that she can go home. Now her mother, who is a single mom on Welfare, who used her rent money to get her daughter to hospital asks if she can see a Social Worker to find out if Welfare will give her a taxi chit to get her still ill and likely contagious daughter home. What is she told by the nurse? "We don't have time, [the social services people] are really busy, you can take the bus."
Her mother came to us in the Critical Care waiting room in tears. The nurse finally calls the Social Services when I go downstairs and tag a nurse and beg her to call Welfare. They finally called and it was decided that just maybe it would be better to send them home in a taxi.
What I would like to ask you as the Hospital is why was Caitlin parked on the fifth floor with not enough medical equipment for someone to enter the room? Why would a nurse say my daughter was becoming, "unmanageable" when she was asking for help because she was coughing up blood? Why did I have to raise my voice to the nurse on the fifth floor to demand she get a doctor immediately so Catie could get pain management? Why do they respond to Diva voices and not to simple, polite requests as this is how I requested help first? How does an emergency room get so busy that they take her health card and don't look at the patient?
As you can see in my letter to the Minister I recognize that there are some serious shortages in funding but these mistakes are at the Care level.
The people in the Critical Care ward and on the seventh floor were amazing, supportive, dedicated at not only taking care of the health of the patient but the emotional level as well. Can they have a chat with the fifth floor? Because I have to tell you the staff of these units is above and beyond at their work and I have no doubt they give are the reason that Canada is considered the top medical system of North America. I firmly believe that they did Everything in their power to make Caitlin's stay and recovery as painless as possible. I honestly credit the nursing staff of these floors to her survival. Yes the doctors did their part but the nursing staff did the work.
Please understand, I am not trying to criticize your hospital. I am sincerely worried that this will happen with much far more serious consequences to other patients. I say prayers everyday for the care Caitlin received at the Critical Care and 7th floor. Twenty years ago I lost a child to SIDS so I know what it's like to lose a child and I would never want another parent to experience this.
I will be eternally grateful for the dedication of your staff but these mistakes could have led to us losing our daughter and I am deeply disturbed that they happened.
Note: The hospital implemented an entire new system of Emergency Care and now screen coughs and flu like systems, as well as isolating potential cases.
misogreen: Laundry Service.
misogreen: Laundry Service.: "I read, on another blog, recently about the hidden toxicities of fabric softener. I came away feeling a little proud of myself, because I do..."
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Creative Swearing
*From a variety of letters home to Gramma 2005-10
There is a rule in this house against swearing. I don't care if TV, games and even six year old's shows use curse words nowadays. I don't like them and I won't accept them. Yes there are times when I swear. It usually means, "Run for the Hills!!!!," because I can't take it anymore and I am so angry or frustrated I can't think coherently.
Hubby thinks it's hilarious that I am a grownup who blushes when talking about certain body parts or acts but is more than willing to do it.
"Swearwords are for people who have no vocabulary!" was the rule my kids were brought up by. I just don't find swearing a respectful way of speaking. I really dislike that the "F" word is in common usage and I have to say I lose respect for people who use it in their everyday language. I really disrespect people that use what my Gramma would call, "Sailor talk" in front of their kids.
To me, nothing marks the difference between "low income" and "trailer trash" than language and cursing.
I hate swearing, (If you ever hear me swear you know I'm past anger and into livid. I won't allow my kids to swear or say mean things to each other; in answer, the family has come up with some creative ways to insult each other;
There is a rule in this house against swearing. I don't care if TV, games and even six year old's shows use curse words nowadays. I don't like them and I won't accept them. Yes there are times when I swear. It usually means, "Run for the Hills!!!!," because I can't take it anymore and I am so angry or frustrated I can't think coherently.
Hubby thinks it's hilarious that I am a grownup who blushes when talking about certain body parts or acts but is more than willing to do it.
"Swearwords are for people who have no vocabulary!" was the rule my kids were brought up by. I just don't find swearing a respectful way of speaking. I really dislike that the "F" word is in common usage and I have to say I lose respect for people who use it in their everyday language. I really disrespect people that use what my Gramma would call, "Sailor talk" in front of their kids.
To me, nothing marks the difference between "low income" and "trailer trash" than language and cursing.
I hate swearing, (If you ever hear me swear you know I'm past anger and into livid. I won't allow my kids to swear or say mean things to each other; in answer, the family has come up with some creative ways to insult each other;
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