What a mother knows

It was story time at my house just a few short moments ago. Don just finished negotiating his way through the bedtime ritual where Wilson tries to finagle "Just one more book", and then "A drink of water please daddy?", and "Where is my Gaugi?" When all his demands were met it was my turn- it is my job to tuck him in and close the light. I also ask for the last goodnight kiss. Tonight the response was a nonchalant "Sure". Then he thrust his arms up in the air and raised his chubby little cheek to my lips.

In that moment, with his tiny little hands around my neck, I am reminded of him as a baby. It was a sweet moment, but it gave way to sadness, and a little fear. This is all going too fast. My baby is gone- he has grown into this soft spoken funny little boy who is trying to master the alphabet and Velcro shoes.

I just seems like months ago that I was desperately trying master being a mom to an infant. My first challenge was to breastfeed him. I had it drilled into to me by the Breastfeeding Nazis that this was best for baby and that everyone can breast feed- it is a matter if you care enough too. Besides, they stressed, breastfeeding is natural!

Yes, it might be, but some mothers in the wild eat their young. That is natural too.


To any of you ladies out there in cyberspace who are gestating right now, or perhaps your bun is just fresh out of the oven, listen to me: Breastfeeding is a learned behavior; it takes time and it can be painful. Do what is best for you and baby, sometimes the bottle is best for you both. I was foolish, I hung in there for nine months of breastfeeding- but man I suffered. He was feeding every 45 minutes, he had a horrible latch, and he would not take a bottle of expressed milk. I remember one afternoon, after a particularly long night, holding Wil in my arms and dreading feeding him. I was just too sore: cracked and bleeding sore. I looked down at this cute little bundle crying and thinking to myself: I don't know how much longer I can do this kid.

My sweet little babe just looked up at me and smacked his lips.

I lost part of my right nipple at one point. Not pretty.

As difficult and painful those late night feedings were I do miss that part of his life. I loved the feel of his little body tucked in close to mine. While he fed, whether it was the breast or later the bottle, he would rub my arm softly and would stare up at me until he passed out in a milk coma. For a little while longer I would hold him, rocking him slightly and trying to coax out any burps that might be bubbling within. I remember the soft whisper of his breath on my neck, the scent of his bath oil, and his tiny little hands on my chest.

More than once- as I stared into the blue of his eyes, I wondered to myself if he knew: if he could ever know, just how much he was loved?

And here I am, with Mother's Day approaching, as I tuck my young son into bed, suddenly wondering if there was a time when I was a baby, that my Mother held me in her arms and asked herself: "Does she know, could she ever know just how much she is loved?"

Yes mom. I do.

Thank you.

Mary Walsh for Rideau Hall!

A lot of names have been bandied about for the PM's choice as the next governor general, including Captain Kirk (this is where inter-species diplomacy pays its dividends) Leonard Cohen (Hallelujah!), Mike Myers (the Goldmember of Parliament) and the man in motion himself: Rick Hansen. Today, I read about a new nominee, Newfoundlander Mary Walsh.

Yes, Marg Delahunty: warrior princess for governor general.

I could get behind that.

But somehow I don't think Stevie will go for it- he is afraid of strong women. Especially women who carry a bigger sword than he does.




photo take from http://bgalrstate.blogspot.com/2009/11/sarah-palin-wants-to-dismantle-canadian.html

Doing what you can

Gosh I miss home. When I get homesick, I tend to read more news from home, a technique that doesn’t really ease the homesick feeling, but it does make me feel temporarily connected to the Rock.

One of the online links that keeps me in touch is the Grandfalls-Windsor Advertiser even though their online presence a little sparse. This week they had a great article on the front page about a really wonderful initiative by Barb Fifield. She is making dresses out of pillowcases to send to an orphanage in Haiti.

She started out alone- making dresses in various sizes using pillowcases she bought from the dollar store- and was soon joined by her sister Eileen Rumbolt in Port aux Choix. Ms. Rumbold enlisted the help of her quilting group who have been added to the running total of the little dresses. Each dress has a pair of underwear and a buckle loving tucked in the pocket.

What I love about this story is how it clearly demonstrates the power of the individual to affect change. What started out as one woman’s desire to help the children of Haiti inspired a much wider range of people to pitch in.

Gilbert and Yvette Saunders have a daughter working in a Haitian orphanage and they will be bringing the newly sewn dresses to Haiti when they visit. Friends, family, churches and local businesses are all chipping in by making dresses or donating supplies.

All because one woman wanted to do what she could to help.

There are a couple of different patterns online if you are a crafty person and think this is something you could do to help. I have provided a few links below:

A dress from Dad's shirt

Craftzine pattern

Pillow case dress

Things don't have to change

This video is making the rounds on Facebook . I haven't been able to get this song out of my head since I heard this version (which might be a function of my current state of mind) but I have always liked this John Legend tune- and this young woman does a great job of it.

Waiting

Ever wonder how much of y0ur life is spent waiting? I have been giving that question a lot of thought these past few weeks. Waiting on the phone, waiting in line, waiting in traffic, waiting for a late friend, waiting in the Doctor's office, waiting for test results...the waits never seem to end.

I waited quite awhile yesterday for my Doctor appointment, mentally prepared to hear the best outcome, and the worst, but not expecting what I did get- which was essentially more tests ordered and more waiting.

It turns out the MRI revealed more lesions on my liver, 5 to be exact. While the Doctor could not rule out cancer absolutely, he does not believe it is cancer at this time. My age, lifestyle, and blood work does not point him in the direction of the Big C. Which is good.

It would have been better if he could have said he knew for sure it wasn't cancer...would have been awesome had he been able to tell me what is going on for sure. Alas, I have to go and have yet another test. Something called a Sulfur Colloid test- which will make me radioactive for 24 hours. I wonder if I will glow in the dark after this?

The downside of this test is two fold: it means another injection and I cannot be around children for 24 hours, including my son because I will be radioactive for that long. Yes, I will have a half life.

And, as an added bonus, I have to have a follow up MRI in 3 months to have a look see at what those pesky lesions on my liver are up to.

So that is the update- not exactly bad news, but certainly not great news.

MRI

I want to thank everyone for their kind comments and emails. It has been really something to get such wonderful messages of encouragement from people- friends I know and talk to in real life, and friends who I have gotten to know online. I truly appreciated it.

I had the MRI last Wednesday and I learned a couple of things.

The first: when your doctor asks you if you would like something to help you relax for the test the answer is YES. I was quite nervous about the test, the results, and the fact I would be injected with dye so I was pretty keyed up by the time I was in my hospital gown. However, when they brought me into the MRI room and I had a look at the machine I was about to inhabit for the next 60 minutes my knees were knocking.

The MRI looks like a giant dryer on steroids and it is long enough to hold a body. And the damned thing is loud. Put a few pairs of sneakers in the dryer and an alarm clock and there you have the sound it makes. Not on a consistent bases mind you, at intervals, odd ones too.

I lay back onto the bed and the technician put headphones on my head. He gave me a little ball to squeeze should I need to call for help, and then eased me into the machine. I had a moment of panic- one I did not expect.


I would never have described myself as claustrophobic, but I can tell you that the second thing that I learned last Wednesday is that I apparently have a touch of it- because from the moment he slid me in to the tube every molecule in my body was screaming to get out. The test did not hurt at all, the dye did make me a little sick, but it was a struggle for me to stay in the tube for 60 minutes, unable to really see anything but the tube, and flashing light, unable to move and unaware of how much longer I was going to be in there, and mentally trying to prepare for the next set of bangs and clicks. I had to talk myself down from full-on panic just before the end of the test. I was warm and stomach sick and scared.

When they finally slid me out of the MRI I was so relieved I was giddy. I almost hugged the technician. It took me about twenty minutes to get myself together and leave, my steps getting a little lighter the further away from the hospital I got.

Anyway it is done now. I will get the results from the Liver specialist tomorrow.

I am lucky. No really. I am.

People have all kinds of different belief systems that help them explain how life works. Many believe in a higher power, God, Jehovah, Allah- the Easter Bunny. Others believe that there is nothing at all- no great puppeteer holding all the strings. I cannot pretend that I have it all figured out myself, but there is one thing I know for sure, I do not believe in coincidence.

Remember a little while back when I told you about my little kidney issue? One of the tests they ordered to have a look at my inner works was an ultrasound. At the time they noticed one kidney was distended. So they ordered a follow up ultrasound a month later.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the Walk-in clinic with my son- who had another ear infection. While there, I asked if the results were in about my last ultrasound. The Walk-in Doctor filed through the papers on my chart, paused, and without looking at me said: “There is a spot on your liver.”

Nothing can clear the mind of all thoughts, sense of time, sense of place, even existence like: There is a spot on your: (insert your favorite organ here)

The ultrasound revealed that both kidneys were distended, and seemingly discovered by accident- a nodule on my liver. I am on a waitlist to get an MRI for this, and yes, I am pretty worried. My Poppy, the man my son is named after, died of liver cancer.

It has been a rough few months and it seems like the hits just keep on coming. A few nights ago Don was in a car accident. He made it out with a few bruises and a couple of nasty eggs nesting on his head, but he made it. The car- yes the Corolla we bought last September, (you guessed it- the one with all the recalls!) didn't fare so well.

When I look back over the past nine months or so, I can point to a lot of really crappy bad luck moments. Don getting laid off, Wil getting bitten by a dog, our cat dying, our daycare folding up shop with 2 hours notice, various bad news items from home, a broken foot, my kidneys exploding, etcetera, etcetera.

And I am tempted to wallow a little bit- except I know I shouldn’t.

The doctors I have seen so far have said they doubt it is cancer- I am too young and I am not an alcoholic nor do I have Hepatitis. At least I found out about the spot before I got sick- I don’t feel sick right now. That is a good sign right? They could have told me I have six months to live, but they seem hopeful. Also, Don might not have walked away from that accident the other night. But he did. So really, I have been lucky.

Now I just have to believe that luck will hold.

Happy Anniversary Newfoundland

Newfoundland joined Canada as its tenth province at midnight on Mar. 31, 1949.
I am very proud to be both a Newfoundlander, and a Canadian.
Happy Anniversary!

Found this photo here.

Learning Skills

One of the things we are working on with our little guy is getting dressed in the morning. He can do it on his own, but it takes forever, and early weekday mornings we just don't have the time. Our morning routine involves getting the boy up, putting new undies and socks on after the morning pee, and then putting his PJs back on. If you saw how he eats his cereal you would understand why we don't dress him right away. By the time Wil is done breakfast he looks like he stepped on a Special K landmine.

Well yesterday morning was a very busy one, and after the morning cereal bomb I wiped Wil down and told him to put his pants on while I slapped lunch together.

"Ok Momma" He said. And I attacked the sandwiches.

When I turned around his pants were on and he was struggling to get the shirt over his head. I helped him out with that, then with the boots, hat, mittens and jacket and we were off to the races.

Later that day when I went to pick him up at Daycare, his teacher Michelle hauled me aside and in a hushed voice asked:

"Do you realize Wilson has no underwear on today?"

Yes, that is right, my three year old son went to daycare Commando.

In corduroys.

I am the worst mother in the world.

It seems that when the poor shagger took his pajama pants off to put his pants on, his underwear came off with them, and he did not think to put them back on. I know this because when we came home said PJs and underwear were in a rolled doughnut formation in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I don't think either of us will make that mistake again.

This Olympic Closing Ceremonies are brought to you by, Mel Brooks?

Was it just me, or were the Closing Ceremonies just a tad....oh man...so many ways I can go here....Let's just say over the top, with a hint of stale.

I don't really want to be too mean here. I understand that much of what we saw last night was meant to show the world that we have a unique sense of humor, a wide variety of talent, and an endearing ability to laugh at ourselves. All things I applaud. So I did expect the Mounties to be on display, the Hockey glorification, I could even smile at the dancing canoes, and red-clad lumberjacks but when the giant inflatable beavers lumbered their way onto center stage followed closely by giant boobs with maple leaves on their backs my smile cracked a little.

The Facebook feeds were funny to read...at first people were very pleased with what they saw. There almost universal consensus that Neil Young's "Long May You Run," was a beautiful way to extinguish the Olympic flame. Bill Shatner got a lot of good-natured laughs, and Micheal J Fox just heightened the level of pride people expressed. But as the night progressed I started to see updates like:

"Are there any stereotypes left? All they need is an igloo and a totem pole?"

"I have never done acid, but I am pretty sure this is what an acid trip in Canada looks like"

"Is it me or is this a little too much with the canned jokes"

At one point I mused what the over/under would be on Celine coming out of her crypt to perform. She didn't.

All that aside, it was a good night. We should celebrate all the athetic achievements, and all the hard work that went into this year's games. I saw some of the best hockey I have ever seen, and it is kind of depressing to me now that I have to go back to the Leaf's version of our sacred game.

Sigh, I guess you can't win them all.

Have you ever seen my home?

Check out this Quidi Vidi Brewery Commercial - Music Video. It promotes the beer, the Island, the people and the band, At Ships End, all at once. Love the shots. Great song. Good fun.

Makes me long for George Street!




Song by: "At Ships End" Written by: Dave Whitty Directed, Filmed and Edited by: Phil St. Aubin

Something Positive

Canada has been taking a lot of crap in the press these last few weeks. The Olympic games is the focus of much of the ire, with headlines from the UK like: 'Vancouver Games continue downhill slide from disaster to calamity"; Canadian organizers are responding to complaints about everything from the weather, protesters, ice surfacing and to the fence around the Olympic Flame, and the horrific death of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili on the opening day. Add to that the scandal Premier's Danny William's decision to get surgery outside his own province, and worse, outside Canada. He ignited the debate about the quality of health care in Canada versus the United States on both sides of the border. And today, we have the hullabaloo over the gold winning Canadian Women's Hockey team daring to celebrate their win in such a "rowdy" way- drinking and carousing! How dare they? Had this been the gold medal win for the men's team such celebrations would not likely have made the papers; even if it did the finger wagging the girls received would be pats on the back for the men.

Yeah, our collective Canadian image is taking a bit of a pounding.

So it made me feel good to see this video circulating on Facebook. It is Canada, as seen through the eyes of American news anchor Tom Brokaw which was aired just as the games were about to begin. It is a very positive piece about Canada and our relationship with the U.S. I found myself sitting up a little straighter as I watched it- and I was very pleased to see so many shots of Newfoundland.

Thanks Mr. Brokaw, we needed this:

One language at a time

As many of you know, my 3 year old son has a bit of a speech delay. He couldn't hear for much of his second year of life so he has to catch up a little. He is doing better, I see improvements every day. I have discovered that he can be pretty creative in trying to get his point across.

Take last night for example: bath time was over, and the bathroom floor was appropriately covered in soapy water and bubbles and Wilson was sitting on the counter top wrapped in a towel, swinging his legs back and forth. He was waiting happily for me to brush his teeth- I usually let him have a go at it and then I do the real cleaning. But last night I was in a bit of a rush- so I just put the toothpaste on his brush and started in.

I noticed almost immediately Wil was pulling away from me a little as I brushed, which is odd for him. Finally he put his little hand on mine and push it away gently- a confused look furrowed his brow.

"What's wrong buddy?"
"Momma, it's smokey in my mouth"

It took a second for this to register. He quite often will say something that seems out of left field but when I think about it a bit I can usually glean some meaning out of it. The problem was that in my haste to get the bedtime ritual underway I used my extra strength whitening toothpaste instead of Wil's toddler toothpaste and the poor shagger was feeling the burn. I felt so bad.

But he had another little verbal surprise for me just minutes later. He has been kicking a cold the past few days, so I have been rubbing Vicks Vapor Rub on his chest just before lights out. He usually looks up at me when I have finished applying the smelly goo and says: "That feels better Mama"- last night though he had something else to say.

"Gracias Mama"

Aw geeze kid, let's master the English language first 'eh?

The Stones

About two weeks ago I had a little health adventure, and I have been getting caught up on life and worked missed since then- hence the dry spell for Missing the Rock.

It was Thursday, Feb 5th, my little guy was not feeling so well and I wasn’t up to my usual superhero status either. So after work we marched ourselves to the Walkin Clinic and had a little check up. Wil had an ear infection, and I was told I had a UTI. A trip to the drugstore later we were home and into the evening ritual of food prep, mealtime, bath and bedtime.

Around 4:07 am Friday I awoke with a lurch and a small cry. And then I promptly vomited on myself. I tried to get to the bathroom so I could vomit in the toilet but the searing pain in my left lower abdominal was preventing that.

I slid to the floor, landing with a thump and dry heave and crawled my way to the toilet. Wondering the whole damn way: “Was it something I ate, is it a reaction to the medication? and “What in the name of holy hell is causing the pain in my side?” Once I got to the toilet I held myself there in a bizarre combination of the praying and fetal positions. The pain was still bad, but squat like this, holding my head up on the toilet bowl I felt a little better. That is to say I no longer felt like cutting a hole in my side with toenail clippers on the sink and pulling out the small rodent that was gnawing its way through my inner plumbing.

I am not sure how long I sat there, I believe I may have passed out. At some point I tried calling out to Don. He was sleeping in the guest room- banished there for snoring offenses. When he got to the bathroom I was standing in the door frame, holding myself upright by clinging to the door. He told me after that I looked yellow- all I needed was a blue dress and blue hair and I was a dead ringer for Marge. My eyes were bugged out like hers too.

So off to the emergency room we headed. We were very lucky Wil’s daycare opens early so we had one less worry to think about. Don dropped him off- literally. He opened the door, handed Wilson off to the first worker he saw, told them we were on our way to the hospital and left. Daycare drop off is usually a 10 minute ritual- this was about 7 seconds.

As we were driving to the hospital in Ajax my stomach started to really ramp up the pain. I turned to Don at one point, crying inconsolably and whimpered: “I think I just ruptured something.”

That was when the first accident nearly happened. Don just pulled out into oncoming traffic cutting off several early morning commuters in the process. I reached out with a shaking hand and put on the four way flashers and mentally decided not to update Don with any further developments until we reached the hospital.

Well I tried not to anyway. The second accident almost happened while we were on the one lane stretch of road that spans the little divide between Whitby and Ajax when I yelped like a cat whose tail was run over by an 18 wheeler. And that was when Don tried to pass first by darting out into the oncoming lane, and veering back, and then by edging over to the soft shoulder. But my frantic screaming at him to stop put that in check.

When we finally got to the hospital we got lost trying to find the right way in. They are renovating right now, and the signage is lacking. By the time I was finally seen by a Dr, I was pretty much incoherent. I have heard the phrase “the pain was blinding” used before but never really understood it. Now the definition is very clear.

The nurse tried to get me settled and helped me into one of those useless hospital gowns. The Dr came in poked and prodded me, asked a few questions, scribbled on my chart, and started ordering the battery of tests I was to undergo. Then he said the magic words: “The nurse will give you something for the pain”. Now, I don’t know how many of you know this about me, but I am afraid of needles. Pass out afraid. But when the nurse returned to my room with three needles on a tray and a look that said “Bend over lady”, I just rolled over on my side and lifted the gown up. Had she told me that the injections had to go in my eyeballs I would have consented to that too.

Blood work, an ultrasound, a cat scan, one shot of Toridal, Demerol, and Gravol later it was determined I was passing a kidney stone. The pain was a result of it leaving my kidney and going for a little jaunt. The cat scan reveled another little surprise, I had an additional kidney stone still in my kidney. Waiting there. No time line. Just a little something to look forward to- like root canals and colonoscopies. Also, my kidney is distended, which may be a result of the stones or it could be something else.

They released me later in the evening, with the chilling phrase: “We think this is small enough to pass on its own” and a directive to see my family doctor. So I am in the midst of more testing, and I am feeling a lot better. However, I am still waiting for stone 1 to pass, my Dr feels it may be sitting in my bladder, and of course there is stone 2 who has yet to make its presence known.

I did learn two things from this ordeal:

1. The next time we have that kind of emergency we are calling an ambulance.
2. If you want to be seen by the ER staff right away you have to include chest pain in your list of symptoms.

But I still have several questions. I am hoping someone who has been through this before will offer some advice. Is it possible I passed the stone without knowing it? And cripes, if the stone that caused all that initial pain was “small enough to pass” what in the hell is going to happen to me if the other rock drops and it is bigger?

Reduce? Reuse? Recycle? Repair? Repay.

You know, I do my best for the environment. I recycle, I reuse what I can, I even compost household waste. My husband and I try to reduce what we consume as well. We buy what we need and we make it last as long as possible. In the past few months I have come to wonder why I bother at all.

Before Christmas my watch died. At first I thought it might be the battery, so I had it replaced. The new battery did not bring the watch back to life so I brought it in to be repaired. As I handed the watch over they quickly surmised they could not fix it at that location; it had to be sent away. It is a pretty watch, one my husband gave to me a few Christmases ago so I agreed. “We will call you with a price before we fix it” they promised. Somehow I was not comforted.

A month later I get a call- it can be repaired for the bargain price of $85.00! It needed to be retooled. Ok. Don might have paid 150 for the watch when he bought it. I just blew 30 bucks on a new battery, and now it will cost me even more bones to fix it? At this point is it not cheaper to buy a new watch? I gave them the go ahead to repair it because it is better on my wrist than in a landfill.

Around that same time our TV died. We could still get a picture and sound, but with the added bonus of a high pitched whine- like a cat being skinned alive a few houses down the road. We bought this TV, a Slim Fit Samsung CRT, in 2006, it should still be working as far as I am concerned. But it wasn’t, and it was our only boob tube, so off to a repair man it went. That was last November.

Last night he called to tell us it had been repaired- for a cool $285.00 plus tax. Mmmmm. A CRT TV- the kind not even being made anymore, will cost over three hundred bones to be repaired. Meanwhile I can go to Crappy Tire and pick up a new 42 inch LCD TV for less than $500!

A friend of mine bought a new computer a few years ago, and with it came a fairly decent printer- one with great photo printing. When the ink ran out he went online to buy more; he found out that the ink was so expensive it was cheaper to buy a new printer. So that is what he did. The old printer was given away.

Indeed, Dell printers won’t even allow you refill their cartridges- at least not the model we have. We got away with it once, but on the second refill the computer no longer sees the cartridges as full- and the only way around it is to buy new Dell cartridges. Such a waste.

It drives me nuts. You can’t walk down a store aisle anymore without being smacked in the face by some green version of your favorite products- with a higher price tag. The garbage men on my streets won’t even pick up your recycling or garbage if you haven’t packed it just so. And anyone caught in a grocery store having forgotten their reusable bags is looked upon with scorn and derision when they have to ask for plastic. I must have about 20 “Green Bags” because I just cannot bear that look from the cashiers. I cave and buy yet another reusable bag.

Yet, no one is raising any kind of a stink when it comes everyday items we have in our homes. Business don’t seem to have a problem with the fact it is more cost effective to buy new than to repair the old, and their customers seem to accept this as fact. It is just the way things are.

In so many ways our lives have been improved by the things we own- the technology we have acquired in these past few years is really astounding. The calculator you have at work has more computing power in it than the computers that were used to send humankind to the moon in 1969. And yet, somewhere along the way we forgot how to make anything that will last. Anything that can be easily upgraded. Collectively society seems to have lost a sense of pride in what we create, manufacture or service. These are concepts that seem to have died out with a wind up watch and manners.

All the while, despite all that desperate recycling, the vilification of plastic bags and the many green, recycled and organic products that have invaded the modern marketplace, the landfills continue to grow.