Women are Angels
And when someone breaks our wings....
We simply continue to fly.........on a broomstick...
We are flexible like that.

- recently received from an email forward.

Alex: Look Mom, look! There are no boogers in my nose!
Me (peering into her nose): Why yes! I do believe you're right! There are no boogers here! Where do you think they went?
Alex: In my mouth.

"On the outside, looking in"

I was pretty sheltered as a child. I remember never being able to do the things that other kids were allowed to do - like go on sleepovers, go camping with friends, you know, the fun stuff. Oh, I eventually got to do it, but it always seemed like I got to do things much later than everyone else.

There is one morning that I rather specifically remember. I was up early - I couldn't sleep, probably because I was sick. I was always sick back then. Always sick, and perpetually unhappy. I heard the kids playing outside, running races in the streets. Now as I look back on that situation, I'm guessing that those "kids" were probably teenagers, and they'd probably been out all night partying and were just getting back home. But I was feeling sorry for myself, and I figured they were kids I could play with, if I were allowed to go outside that early. That sense of wistfulness was something I never forgot, and that's what inspired the poem that I wrote in high school.

Looking out, one spring morning,
of my window high,
Crystal clear thoughts were dawning.
Children were running by.
"How young and full of life they are;
How happy they seem to be."
I wished for one small moment that that girl down there was me.

I wrote a lot of poetry in high school - most of it was pretty bad. It's no masterpiece, but what I really love about this poem, is that when I read it, I am transported back in time, to that little, lonely, sick girl, wistfully looking outside her window one late spring morning, and wishing she could be running races in the street. I don't know why that makes me love it, because I was pretty miserable back then, but I do.

I finally write a post that's not snarky, not negative, but somewhat humorous AND it includes a picture... and ONLY TWO PEOPLE COMMENT!

Wake up LJ! I posted! Pay attention!

/comment whoring

I received a brand new office chair. It's pretty impressive actually... it's a BalanceBall Chair.  

This one, except my ball will be purple, or "plum" as they call it.



It's got its pros and its cons... on the pro side, my posture is better, my leg circulation is not getting cut off due to the chair's edge cutting into my leg, I can actually do some exercises at work... I'm really loving it.

But it's got a down side.
First of all, the casters are a bit on the cheap side.  Since the entire chair only cost $90, I'm not surprised, but still... if you do a lot of "rolling" in your chair, this isn't the chair for you.  I do a small amount of rolling.  I suppose I can live with the annoyance of not rolling as smoothly as I'd like.

Secondly, I have to pay very close attention when I sit down.  There are no chair arms, and there's not a lot of room for error.  I didn't appreciate how much I just sort of "approximate" where my chair is when I sit, until I got this chair.  There's no "approximating" with this chair.  If you don't sit directly on the bullseye, you'll be bouncing onto the ground.  This could be a serious problem, but I figure I need to give myself enough time to get used to the idea of actually paying attention to where I'm sitting.  If I can get into the habit of doing that, it won't seem like a big deal anymore.

Finally, and most embarrassingly, there's this other issue.  A tiny problem of flatulence.

Now I don't know how other people handle flatulence.  In my family home, Dad would always just "let 'er rip", Mom would be completely grossed out, and we kids would laugh.  In elementary school, if someone farted, either a loud ripper, or  silent but deadly bomb, it was always an issue of "ewwww!" coupled with giggles.  And then we got older, and it just didn't seem to happen anymore.  At least not in public.  

Which brings me to my embarrassing secret: I cannot and have never been able, to hold it in.  

I might have about 20 seconds warning.  If I'm lucky.  I don't know how other people do it; how they can get to the bathroom on time.  Not me.  Unless the bathroom is within a few feet, there's no hope, and I'm doomed to a public pressure release.  Even though I have my own office (mostly due to chance), the office coffee, microwave, mini-fridge, and reference books are stored in my room.  Which means that my office sees a pretty high volume of people that just "pass through" on a regular basis.  It's not quite a "public" space, but it's close.

Now, that's not to say that I don't make serious attempts to mitigate the damage...

I will try to position myself as far away from others as possible, I will try to get to open air, I will try to "aim" so-to-speak, into the chair where the upholstery both muffles the sound and absorbs some or all of the odour. I'm never sure if my attempts are successful, but no one has turned green in my presence, nor have they commented, so I'm assuming that my attempts at discretion have been at least partially successful.

But now you can see my new problem.

The new office chair, is rubber.  There is no upholstery.  Not only is there no upholstery to absorb any potential odour, but an unfortunate, and relatively minor "release" while sitting on that chair, makes a sound much like the sound of a C-7 rifle on automatic fire.  It's about that loud too.

I really like the ergonomics of the new chair.  I like that I'm using my core all day.  I like that I'm not slouching anymore.

I'm not sure that I can live with the embarrassment.

As Alex woke up this morning with me lying next to her, she asked me to rub her belly. When I touched her skin she said, "Oh mommy, you're hot... like a summer day. You're like a summer day mommy."

I thought that was a really interesting and unique simile.

I'm furious with my mother.

It's my grandma's 93 birthday on March 10. None of the rest of her family will be around (she lives in another city), so I was trying to figure out how I could get her to our city, so she could celebrate her birthday, and the kids' birthdays with us (March 12).

In trying to work out potential details with my mother, I received the following feedback, repeatedly, in a snarly, complaining, and condescending manner:
1) You have no idea how difficult this is.
2) You really don't want her to come - you can't possibly understand what it's like to deal with her.
3) You can't handle her or this situation (she's slightly incontinent and forgetful of her medication).
4) You don't know what you're asking for.
5) She'll never agree to travel with you.
6) You're causing all kinds of problems.
7) You haven't thought things through at all.
8) You're not prepared to deal with her.

I asked her what her problem was, and suggested that if she didn't want grandma to come, then she should say so, but to stop making decisions about what I can, or can't do, and about what I want, or don't want. Rather than address the question, her solution was to hang up on me.

Hopefully, she won't try to talk to me for a few days. I have no desire to have anything to do with my mother, but you can bet that I'll be inviting my grandmother to visit. My mother can also shovel her own damn sidewalk and hire an accountant to do her own bookkeeping.

This past week, we went to spend some time with my husband's family. Overall, it was an excellent vacation. We got in a lot of visiting, with many different people. I remembered to take decent pictures that were fairly representative of the occasion, the kids had great fun, and Alex even managed to poop in the potty. This makes me a happy mommy.

She still has the tendency to try to poop in her diaper/panties, but I think it's more out of habit. She freaks out about not wanting to poop in the potty, but then when we pick her up and drag her over to it, she's had a tiny bit of success, which has encouraged her to try again. Sometimes. So ya know... it's progress. I think we're finally getting somewhere. Maybe she'll actually be pooping in the potty before she goes to school!

In other news, I'm a little bit sad that joeymichaels, in a game-changing moment, has used the power of "sacrifice" to take himself out of the game (therealljidol), and bring back another player. While I'm thrilled that gratefuladdict will be returning to the game, having had to drop out a few weeks ago due to Real Life commitments, I've been having a hell of a good time getting to preview entries, strategizing, plotting, and in general, living vicariously. Clearly what this means is that I'll have to write a few more of my own entries for the prompts, and play the Home Game. :P

I am also secretly hoping that the power of "sacrifice" will come up again later in the game, and he will be brought back in. In addition, I want Kitty Michaels (kittymichaels to also be brought into the game, and my ultimate dream would be to watch Kitty and Joey battle it out for the win. This would be all kinds of awesome.

Incidentally, if I happen to write a fictional entry (joeymichaels has inspired me to try fiction at least at some point), I will make sure to note that it is fiction, and not that I'm having some kind of major meltdowny crisis involving death, suicide, jail, hospitalization, etc. Not that I necessarily plan on writing about those kinds of things, but just that if I did, and suddenly the police/ambulance showed up on my door because a handful of you who actually know who I am, well that would suck :P

The Nightmares of a Child

It is the summer of 1980, and I had just woken up from a nightmare - my third one so far that week. It was always the same dream. Just after supper, Dad would take me across the street to the big hill at the park - it was perfect for sledding. Indeed I had my new, red crazy carpet, and I was all set to attack the hill. In my dream, as we got to the top of the hill, Dad stopped me from going down. He wanted to talk.

He told me that he loved me, but that he had to go, and that I couldn't go with him. That I had to stay back and take care of Mom. He told me that I should slide down the East side of the hill, that he was going to drive the car down the West side, and that I wouldn't see him again. I was sobbing and crying, and begging him to take me with him. He just said no, and that it was time for him to go. He was crying too. He got in the silver Chevy Citation that the family had recently purchased - the one with the new-car smell, the soft wine-coloured seats, and the hatchback. He told me again to go. I didn't want to go, but I always did what I was told.

As I started sledding down the hill, there was an enormous explosion on the other side. I ran back and looked down to see the car in a ball of orange flames, back-lit against the brilliant pink sunset. I saw, but didn't feel the soft snowflakes hit my cheeks as my hot tears melted them. What I did feel was this gut-wrenching anguish, an unbearable sense of loss, confusion and anger over why this had happened, and this blaming sense that if I'd just refused to slide down the hill, he'd still be alive. It was to this sight and with these feelings that I awoke every time.

The dreams continued for several years, and then they eventually stopped. I didn't think of them again for a long time.

Sometime in 2002, after we found out my dad had cancer, but before he'd had any surgery or treatment, I asked him, out of the blue, if he'd ever tried to kill himself. Something had reminded me of those dreams.

He told me that he had tried to kill himself - once. I must have been about 4-5 years old at the time, he'd said. It was just before he'd quit drinking, and things had gotten to the point where the pain of being drunk was just as great as the pain of being sober. He had gotten into the car, and had driven down by the bridge - the one my great-uncle (or was it my great-great-uncle?) had helped build. As he had neared the curve just before the bridge, he had decided to take his hands off the wheel, and to just let go.

A million things were flashing through my mind as I asked him what had happened. He told me, that amazingly, the curve had been banked such that the car rode the bank. It had carried him around the corner, and had lined him up perfectly to send him over the bridge without a bump or a scratch. He had then put his hands back on the wheel because he had become very afraid. It was after that point that he really started trying to live. When I asked him, he mentioned he thought he had been driving the silver Citation.

Dad fought to live until November of 2007. That was the point where he seemed to give up. The cancer seemed to be taking from him everything that he had enjoyed, and this final thing seemed to be the last straw - his enjoyment of food. Eating was also the only thing that he could still control. It became the only way in which he could exert his power, and he did so as much as he could. He began to refuse to eat. He would insist that he should only be given four spoonfuls of yogurt, and would refuse to eat if he thought there was more. I always told him there was only four, but I would give him eight. I was not going to do what I’d been told.

From November of 2007 until he died in September of 2008, I watched my father starve to death. In those months, the dreams returned, only to stop the day he died.

The feelings that I had, when I got the call that he had passed away, were less intense than the feelings I had waking up from those dreams. Maybe this was because my dreams were the intense feelings of a five-year old who lacked coping skills. Or maybe this was because by that time, I had finally accepted his inevitable death. It took 28 years.

---

I have written this entry for the Home Game of therealljidol for topic #14 - Season 6. The prompt: Precognition. This week was an intersection week, and I was honoured to pair up with alycewilson. Her accompanying entry can be found here. Home Game entries are here and current contestant entries are here for those who wish to read more. A big thank you to joeymichaels.

It's Alexandra's fourth birthday today! We're having a birthday party for her tonight, and she's currently taking a nap. She doesn't usually take naps anymore, but all the excitement from playing with her cousin has completely worn her out, and she had a major meltdown just before lunch.

She hasn't actually eaten lunch yet, and it's now almost 4pm. I'm hoping the meltdown won't continue when she wakes up, as a result of not having eaten. Hopefully we can get some food into her asap, and it will all be good; she should be raring to go for tonight.

Sleep well my little Alex. I will love you forever.

The first time I heard "Major Tom (Coming Home)" by Peter Schilling, must have been the year the song came out - circa 1983-1984. It was originally recorded in German, and although it became an international hit in English, I think it must have been the German version that I first heard, oddly enough. I don't think I've heard that song since that time, until recently, when Shiny Toy Guns did a re-make in 2009 and it was used on the 2010 Lincoln MKZ commercial.

When I heard the commercial, I instantly remembered the song. I couldn't remember the name or the artist, but was able to eventually find it and add it to my playlist. I found the music in the song to be so beautiful - it was so uplifting and inspiring, that I found myself wanting to dance. That doesn't happen very often these days.

I had to figure out the lyrics so I could sing it. Thank goodness for Google. When I found the lyrics, I was so distressed. I'd just lost my father, and the lyrics were overwhelming. I was Really Pissed that there was such a contradiction between the music and the lyrics (there wasn't really, but that was my mindset at that time).

It really bothered me that I had remembered the song as being so beautiful, happy and uplifting, when the subject matter was of his death. I thought I'd see if I could find something on YouTube. Maybe there was a video that had been inspiring to me?

That's when I found it - a YouTube recording of the original German version of the song. When I watched that video, I was transported back in time. I was 8 years old, in my parents' living room, sitting on that blue shag rug, watching our newly acquired TV. Dad had the new remote control with its five shiny buttons. It was already pretty dark out, but my mother hadn't yet drawn the blue and turquoise curtains. Her pink scratchy chair with the orange thread, is empty and I can hear her in the kitchen; the water is running as she fills the sink to do the dishes. I can smell the remnants of the casserole she had made for dinner - in fact I can still taste it. Dad was sitting in his favourite turquoise chair, with the soft, cozy, afghan Mom had made - the one with the turquoise zigzag pattern that I loved so much.

He was watching some special on TV and I can't remember exactly what I was doing when he called me over to come and see. I remember seeing something that was an awful lot like that YouTube video. I remember loving the music, and feeling so happy when I heard it. I remember Dad being really impressed with it too; I think he really liked the originality and musicality. I was dancing and twirling around the living room, and I was just so happy to be alive. That is the place where I am taken, every time I hear that song.

It hurts so much to hear it now, because when I come back from That Place, I know that it will never be the same again, and that I can't really ever go back. That Place is gone, and I will never be that little girl again, with my Dad right beside me, listening to music that we love.

I keep hearing this song. I am haunted by this song.

The other night, the Lincoln commercial came on, and I told my husband about what I see/hear/feel/smell/taste when I hear that song, and he was amazed. Sometimes music and other things will bring back a few memories for him, but apparently I am the lucky one, or unlucky one, as is sometimes the case, who actually seems to get transported back in time for a few seconds, to relive things just as vividly as the day they happened. Does this happen to anyone else? I can't be unique in this.

Sometimes I wish I could just enjoy the song, without the flood of memories. I wish I hadn't worked so hard to remember. Be careful what you wish for.

I miss you so much Dad.

Earth below us,
drifting, falling, floating weightless
calling, calling home

---

I have linked this entry to the Home Game of therealljidol for topic #13 - Season 6. The prompt: Moments of Devastating Beauty. Home Game entries are here and current contestant entries are here for those who wish to read more.

We brought Kitty in to the vet around 9:30am, and she was euthanized at about 10:30. I think she knew... she wasn't upset at the vet's at all... she was very calm and did not put up any fuss. She cuddled with us right until the end, and it was over very quickly - she just laid her head down in my arms and went to sleep. I really think she knew.

When buzzy_mcbuzzer died, we went one whole month without a cat, and then three fell upon our house at once. Two of them were a mother-daughter pair - the mama named Tigger, and the baby named Ziggy. The third cat was a bit of an emergency case.

My friend Julie had had a premature baby, and her baby had had some pretty major breathing problems - as in the baby occasionally stopped breathing. She was told to get rid of all of the things in her house that could potentially be causing problems, and one of them was her cat, Kitty.

We had already agreed to take Tigger and Ziggy, when we found out about Kitty. Kitty was a silver tabby who'd had a pretty rough life. She'd grown up in Chilliwack, BC as a stray, amid some pretty serious enemy kitties. Then Julie relocated and had chosen to adopt and bring Kitty with her. Now Julie was faced with a situation where she had approximately 24 hours to try to find the cat a home, or take her to the SPCA. Since the SPCA was brimming full of cats, and they were putting them down pretty much as soon as they got them, we figured what the hell... we'd give it a shot. The worst that could happen would be that Kitty wouldn't get along with Tigger and Ziggy, and we'd have to take her into the SPCA ourselves.

This is exactly what happened, except we couldn't bring ourselves to take her in - we'd fallen in love with her.

She was perfect for Alex - did not react badly under any situation. Had claws but did not scratch. Great temperament. The only unfortunate thing was that she did NOT get along with the other cats. Oh we followed every book we could find, on how to integrate the two families, but it just did not work. In the end, she became the upstairs cat and claimed the entire top floor of our house, while the other two were the main floor/basement cats. The baby gate actually proved to be an effective barrier, despite it could be jumped by all the cats if they had really wanted. Yet they accepted this physical boundary as their territory line. When they felt feisty they would swipe at each other through the gate, but really there weren't many problems after we put up the baby gate.

Having Kitty upstairs full-time meant sacrificing a bedroom, which was an easy decision at the time, since one of the bedrooms was being used as an office. Since Alex was a very active child, and since the rest of the top floor of our house was fairly compact, Kitty's food, water, and litter box had to be kept out of site. The office wasn't perfect since it was carpeted, but it was the best option we had, so that's where it went. This was a pretty happy situation for everyone, especially the cats. It meant more vacuuming for us, but all in all, it was very workable. Probably being required to vacuum more often was a good thing, since it meant the rest of the house got cleaned more regularly than we probably would have otherwise been inclined.

Sometime over the last few years, we found out Kitty had some pretty serious health problems. She had a hyperthyroid, which made her lose tons of weight. She was put on this medication for the rest of her life, which is this salve that is absorbed through her skin - we put it on the back of her ear. She was skinny skinny skinny, but once she got on the meds, she started to plump back up. Then she started to lose weight again. When we had her checked out, it seems the meds were within therapeutic ranges, so it meant the problem was something else. They determined she also had high blood pressure, but that was actually helping to keep her kidneys perfused... ironically her high blood pressure was helping her...part of her anyway. We gave her some medication for that, but since we couldn't really tell if it was actually helping or not, we elected to discontinue that particular med. Around that time we started to run low on cash for vet bills/cat meds.

We made a decision, at that time, that we would not do things the same way as we did them with buzzy_mcbuzzer. Buzzer had been our baby girl, and we had sunk a fortune into trying to find a way to help bring her back to health. Ultimately, there was nothing we could do. Also, in trying to prolong her life, I'm afraid we went a little bit too far, and only prolonged her suffering.

It's difficult to know that line... it's one of those things where you don't know it's there until you've crossed it. For Kitty, we decided that we weren't going to make any heroic efforts, since she was already a senior cat and had a mysterious undiagnosed illness, in addition to a serious illness that was already diagnosed. We would keep her happy and comfortable, and as soon as she started showing any signs of actual distress, we would have her put her down. It would be easier on her, easier on us, and we would probably all be happier knowing where our limits are. Kitty has been steadily declining over the past couple of years.

When I got pregnant with Stephen, we weren't sure what we would do exactly, in terms of living space. What we decided, was that Stephen would stay with us in our room, and we wouldn't even bother thinking about finishing the room that would eventually become his, until Kitty was gone. At the time that we made that plan, we did not anticipate Kitty lasting much longer - she was so thin. It has been almost a year since we could no longer comfortably sleep with three to a bed. Since both Stephen and I are very light sleepers, and Alex and Jason could sleep through an air raid, it made sense for me to start sleeping with Alex in her room, and Jason to continue sleeping with Stephen in our room. We all get more sleep this way. This has been our sleeping arrangement for over a year. I have to admit that I look forward to the day when I can again sleep with my husband.

Sometime in the last year or two, Kitty started this annoying habit of yowling. She did this especially right outside the bedroom doors just after the kids got to bed. It took us a while to figure out that she was partially deaf.

If you would have asked us in the second half of 2009, we both would have told you that we didn't expect Kitty to make it to Christmas - there was just nothing left. Then, in the month before Christmas, there was a big turn around. Kitty seemed to start improving. She was in a better mood, she was more loving, she was eating, her coat seemed better. She was still thin, but she didn't seem to be getting thinner or weaker. We figured maybe it was a remission. She cuddled with Alex every night - they even developed this little bond. She and Stephen were particularly close, although recently she's been quite attached to Alex. Up until tonight, Kitty seemed to be stable and happy.

Tonight, she is not. Tonight, she is trying to urinate everywhere she can, and only a few dribbles are coming out. This is the Sign that she is in distress. There is some kind of problem. We don't know what it is, and it could be minor, but ultimately, we can't afford to explore the option. We made this decision years ago, that when it came to this point, this would be it. We are spending our last night with Kitty, feeding her her favourite food, giving her lots of pets, and giving her the downstairs kitties' treats (it always made her feel better).

I never really thought this day would come. I am so sad for the kids, so sad for Kitty, and so sad for me.

I am heartbroken.

"I woke up this morning and my pecker was orange. Then I remembered I had a REALLY good dream after I ate cheezies.... :)"

That has to be one of the funniest facebook status msgs I've ever read.

Tonight, while we were sleeping, there was a power failure. This meant that our fire alarm, which is wired into the house's electrical system, issued a few loud, angry beeps, and I awoke with my adrenaline racing. I checked the digital clocks that were plugged into the wall, and sure enough, they were flashing, indicating a power failure. It occurred to me that I would have to call "Time" to reset them all the next day.

Then I remembered my father telling me this story:

He and my uncle, were living in Saskatoon and presumably going to University, although maybe my uncle had finished at that point. My uncle was working at the telephone company, which had recently acquired this new "Time" telephone number and feature. One day, while my uncle was at work and my father was at home, Dad decided to check it out. He thought it was really cool, and proceeded to listen to it for the next eight hours - while he was watching TV, listening to the radio, doing other stuff. He was just amazed.

Meanwhile, back at the phone company, there was a problem. I'm not quite sure on the details, but I seem to recall my father telling me that apparently, because of the way the phone number was set up, or maybe it was the whole system, my father's call was blocking things, or preventing other calls from going through, through-out the entire city. The company started to look into the problem, and it was to my uncle's embarrassment that the problem was located at his house. He raced home and exploded into the place asking my father what in hell he was doing to the phone. My father, blissfully unaware of the problems he had caused, responded something like, "Oh hey! Did you know there was a number you could call to listen to the Time? This thing is great! I've been listening all day!"

"Give me that!"

I'm sure there were more words than that spoken, but that's all I can remember about the story.

Now my uncle is gone, and my dad is gone. No one will ever remember the details of that story.

Every once in a while, something rather ordinary happens, and a memory of my father will come to me, along with one of his stories. It occurred to me lately, that if I don't write them down, they will be lost forever.

We had the most lovely NYE.

We decided that we would really enjoy a child-friendly NYE party at our house - eliminating the need to drive anywhere or deal with our own sleepy children away from home.

We invited several families, but only two attended.

This meant there was one little boy who was two years older than Alex, a boy and a girl a few months older than Alex, and a little girl who was only a few months older than Stephen. Six kids in total. It seemed to be a good mix.

The kids had so much fun. Stephen stayed up until 10pm, then he crashed in his bed. Alex turned into a little terror. I'm still not sure what possessed her to pour water on the television, but when that happened, she went straight to bed. It was just before midnight. The other kids fell asleep shortly after midnight. We adults played Settlers of Catan until 2am. A good time was had by all (I think!), but it's definitely not something I could do very often.

The one family stayed over, and we had a lovely breakfast New Year's day. The children all played so hard again, that Stephen fell asleep almost instantly for his nap, and Alex also ended up taking a nap. In the evening we went to my mother's house for her traditional New Year's dinner, although with a bit of a twist. Normally she orders Chinese food for the dinner, but this year, because my Grandmother, Aunt and Uncle were present, she went all out and made homemade meatballs.

Tonight we had my mother and my grandmother over for dinner. I had worked hard to finish an album for my grandmother, and it turned out to be the perfect present. Apparently she had been complaining the last few days, that she didn't have any pictures. Gotta love it when you give the Perfect Gift!

We had a lovely time, and so far, 2010 has started out great! The only crappy thing about 2010 so far, is it feels like I might have the beginnings of a cold. Nothing like going back to work after a vacation, sick.

Here's to hoping that I fight it off!

This week, Jason and I are not working - the University shuts down over the holidays. Yay! While we could take advantage of this situation to spend more time with the kids, the fact is that our house is in DIRE need of cleaning/straightening, and frankly, we are in dire need of some alone time.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday - the kidlets are in daycare, and we, the parents, are not at work. YAHOO!

Ok, so Tuesday - highly productive with Jason's help. All of Stephen's too-small clothes have been boxed up. The change table has been removed. His new-to-him dresser is now in his soon-to-be-his* room. The pile of crap that was 1.5 feet high that was located on my sewing machine has now been removed and relocated to garbage/filing/storage as appropriate. The 1 foot pile of crap on my desk has been completely cleared. I have purged. I have sorted. I have cleaned. I am having a major allergy reaction from all the dust, but I don't care, because IT FEELS SO GOOD TO RECLAIM MY HOUSE! MUAHAHAHAHA!

Still to be done: Creative Memories stuff, closets, box Alex's clothes, filing, basement, garage.

*Currently, the cat's food, litter, and the computer room are occupying Stephen's room. This is because the upstairs cat won't integrate with the downstairs cats. Until she dies, Stephen's room is not fit for him to sleep in, and thus will remain a computer room.

First of all, it was a great Christmas. It was just that it was a bit of a gong show.

The kids had a fantastic time opening their presents, and they got some pretty good loot. As did I :)

I think the thing that happened that snapped me out of my grinch-like state (previously posted), was when we woke up and looked into our stockings. The kids were thrilled with everything they got. Jason was pleased to see stuff in his stocking, and happy with what he got. My stocking was empty. Santa had apparently forgotten my stocking. I was feeling sorry for myself when my daughter noticed that my stocking was empty.

My three-year-old daughter, Alex, asked, "Oh no, Santa forgot about mommy?" And then she shocked us all. She went behind the toy chest, took the orange out of her stocking, and put it in mine. Then she brought it over to me and said in this excited and dramatic voice, "Look mom! Look what Santa brought you!" I have never been so proud of that little girl. In one minute, she really reminded me what the spirit of Christmas was all about. I think I started crying right then and there.

The rest of the day was spent playing with toys, and trying to keep rested so we could go to my mom's house for dinner. Stephen single-handedly undecorated the tree, periodically finding one of us and handing us a Christmas ball, saying, "Here you go." I spent the afternoon showing Alex how to play with Lite-Bright, and generally spending a lot of one on one time with her. As we were getting ready to go to my mom's, I left the kids alone playing for maybe 10 minutes. That was long enough. "It's awfully quiet down there," Jason muttered, and he went to check on them.

Alex had taken her toddler chair, put it up against the fridge, balanced on the back of the chair, opened the freezer door, and used that as leverage to pull herself up to standing on top of the fridge. This allowed her access to the candy cupboard - the one it takes me a step-ladder to reach. There she had pulled down all kinds of goodies.

Now she's done this before, and she's had many warnings that she was not to do it again. If she did do it again, then we would take whatever candy she had found away from her, and we would throw it in the garbage. So it wasn't a complete surprise that she'd done this. What was a surprise, was that this time, in addition to her usual package of candy, she also took out our container of chocolate covered coffee beans. There had been about 15-20 left. They were gone.

We went to my mom's because we were already late, but when I got there, I called poison control, just in case. I usually start feeling the effects after about 6 beans - she had 15-20. I didn't think she was in a huge amount of danger, but better to be safe than sorry.

After monitoring her behaviour for several hours (after some advice and a call-back from poison control), we determined that in fact, she probably hadn't eaten ANY of the coffee beans - but that she'd probably just hidden them somewhere to be eaten for a snack at a later date.

Which means we had to find them. We couldn't. We can only assume she ate them and they did not affect her (or maybe that was one of the nights when she was acting all crazy and wouldn't fall asleep? Unfortunately that's just normal for us, so there's no easy way to tell).

So yeah, it was quite the Christmas. Good times were had by all!

How was yours?

I'm having a bit of a grinchy day.

Let's hope it passes before Christmas morning. I'd post about it, but I'd rather not relive it at this point.

I think I will feel better once I get my house cleaned up for the festivities tomorrow. Go go gadget cleaning crew!

Merry Christmas to all you out there!

So what are you doing this holiday season?

I understand Hanukkah began this weekend, so I hope those of my friends who celebrate, are having a good one!

Baba's funeral was Saturday, with prayers Friday night. She was my adopted grandma - that was what we called it. She lived next door to us, and she was my nanny and my babysitter for as long as I needed one. She practically raised me. My father's parents died when I was very young, and almost as soon as my parents had moved next door, Baba adopted my family as her own. Her sons called my father their other brother. I know all of her grandchildren - we were all family, and very close in age.

Baba was Ukrainian Orthodox, and it was wonderful to be exposed to her culture through-out my life. Every year she'd have a big, traditional, Ukrainian Christmas feast. We were always invited. The food was always amazing.

I was asked to be a Cross Bearer, and Jason a pallbearer at the funeral. We were so honoured. They also mentioned my sister and I in the obituary as "special neighbours" which was also very touching. What was unfortunate, was my lack of knowledge about Ukrainian Orthodox ceremonies.

The issue really was the prayer service. First of all, I have been to many prayer services/funerals. The prayer services I have attended, have always been an informal event, with a little bit of praying, and a lot of visiting and comforting. So when it looked like Jason and I were going to be a bit late for the Prayers, I wasn't too concerned. Well, with a Ukrainian Orthodox service, the Prayer Service is sort of Part I of the funeral. It's a pretty formal event. Jason and I wished we'd known that, before we had gotten dressed that day. He was in a T-shirt and khaki pants. I was wearing dark jeans and a sweater. Everyone else was wearing a black suit. We also wished we'd managed to show up on time - we were about 5 minutes late. Aside from being mortified, it went well, and was great to see the family.

What was interesting about the service (both prayer and funeral), was that it was conducted almost entirely in chant. Very different from what I'm used to. What was helpful though, were these little booklets they had on the chairs, which allowed you to follow the entire service. One side of the page was Ukrainian and the other side English. Very helpful indeed, considering I don't speak Ukrainian. There were a lot of similar things said, compared to a Catholic ceremony - it was just presented differently. I was a little bit surprised to see notations in the little booklet, about which tone of chant to use. Tone #6 for this prayer, and Tone #8 for that one. I could see how if you had some really good chanters (would they be chanters or choir members?), it would sound very lovely and hypnotic. I have to admit though, I did find myself craving some actual melody.

The funeral went well on Saturday morning. We visited with family most of the rest of the day, and then went out for supper that night. Sunday morning, my mother opened her house to the family, and everyone gathered there to visit. It was so nice to have everyone there together - I hadn't seen that since I was about 10. Baba would have loved it that her whole family was there. I was a little bit sad that we hadn't managed to all get together prior to her death, but she certainly would appreciate knowing that we all were together on her funeral weekend.

I miss her so much.

It feels like my family keeps shrinking.