you know I gotta

And a good time was had by all.

pumpkins

She has no idea what Halloween is, but she's so excited about the hat!

kissing Scott

The strangest things can send you down memory lane, can't they?

Cass was watching a Halloween special, 'Alvin and the Chipmunks meet Frankenstein' (or something of that sort) and one squeaky voiced rendition of a doo-wop song later, my cheeks were flushed and I was remembering the summer I was fourteen. I was so in love with the boy next door. He was tall and handsome and was teaching me how to ride horses - how could any barely-teen resist?

He was the longest crush I had, culminating in a drunken revelation at a senior year party that we both wished we'd dated and not stayed friends, and then....the kiss.

Oh! The magic of the moment! The way his head blotted out the light overhead and the gentle brushings of his fingertips over my cheek before he pressed his lips to mine!

And no fireworks. Not a one.

Sorry, Scott.

blogging in the neighborhood

Let me say this...I never expected this to happen.

Six years ago, I was talking on the internet with a guy from Michigan (where I was living at the time) and ended up in a long conversation with a man from Nova Scotia. Things progressed, and I ended up marrying the boy from Canada.....and that's how I view the internet, as a vast universe where I can reach out and talk to people from far away. People are reading this page from different countries- Switzerland, Germany, South Africa, California, places I've never heard of. (Where is Slovakia, after all?) The internet is a echoingly huge and incredible place.

That being said, not many people around me know I have this blog. A few family members and friends from the States, that's all. It's not a secret, you see, but something I just haven't brought up in conversation. I'm beginning to test the waters of blogging - I like it very much so far, and thought I would use it to talk to people miles and countries away.

One of the first people to comment on my blog has turned out to be my neighbor. Neighbor as in around-the-corner, down the street neighbor. I'm thrilled and astonished that this could happen - that out of all the blogs in the world, she just happened to walk into mine (okay, bad quote. But who could resist?) and looking forward to chatting with her and getting our daughters together for a playdate.

So, howdy, neighbor!



The internet is a vast and huge space - with a wicked sense of humor.

The view out my front door yesterday:

Isn't the bridge pretty? And I love the river.

I didn't get a picture tonight, but I guarantee it's going to be much different in the morning. Wilma is brushing by, and roaring on her heels is another storm.

Not going to be much autumnal colour left.

conversation with my four year old, who doesn't get to see any spooky cartoons

Cass-man: There's a belly ghost outside.
Me: A billy goat?
C: No, Mommy. A belly ghost.
M: A baby ghost?
C: No, Mommy! He's big. He has wings and he laughs ha ha ha (not a spooky laugh) and he plays with me!
M: Is he still here?
C: No. He'll be back. He's my Daddy. No, Daddy is my Daddy! I think he will be my daddy. Someday.
M: Ummm...does he play with you often?
C: All the time!

With Halloween approaching, does anyone else find this umm....odd??

Katie! Ssssh!

Augh, Kate is meweling again - she caterwauls, and it's hard to ignore. This is the same cat who likes to hunt and kill stuffed animals, and then brings them to you, so she will be petted and praised. Thank God we don't actually have mice.

Ah, there's the answering full-throttle howl from the nursery.

Damnit, cat, you woke the baby up.

No Picasso

Never, NEVER leave a one-year old alone in the crib in only a diaper.

We had an unfortunate finger-painting incident today.

'Nuff said. I have to go buy footie pyjamas tomorrow.

babycrack

Wails. Heart-wrenching sobs. Quivering lower lip, then howls that set the glass in the windows swaying a bit and make the cats dash for upstairs. Red, streaky, melty face and protesting body when I pick her up. The arching of the spine. She wants to be down, but wants to be near...

I finish the bottle and pop it into her trembling hands. And there's peace in the world again.

It's a little like having a junkie in the house.

Maybe I can have second best tattooed on my forehead...

I try not to do this frequently, but I'm having one of those days where everything seems determined to kick me in the crotch and leave me gasping.
Last night I threw in a load of laundry - the washer broke.
Dh is convinced it's something huge and expensive to fix, and is muttering things about 'being better to buy a new one' which is man-code for 'I don't want to mess with this'. I, on the other hand, am thinking 'And what money where?'
Things are tight right now, and I had another fruitless job interview today. I don't want to think of how many resumes I've sent out in the last three months.
Top it all off, both kidlets are sick as dogs. The boy-child has turned into a whining grasping bundle of tiredness, temper, and tears (he's a lousy sick person, just like me) and the girlie stumbles around, blowing bubbles of snot out of her poor clotted nose.

Now I know it will get better. I know that. I do. Sometimes, though, it's hard to convince myself that it will happen soon.

the tumultuous birth of the baby girl

For a second time mom, you'd think I would have figured out what was happening.
In my defense I can only say that with my son, I never went into labor, and so was bewildered by the odd twinges and strange backaches I started getting three weeks before my due date. By the time Bear had talked me into going in to get it checked out and we drove to the local hospital, I was starting to contract. Not so much fun, and why, again, was I still thinking I had missed something when Cass was born? Ow. Off I went in the ambulance to the IWK in Halifax, a decision based on no back-up staff being available in Bridgewater, and my incision from the last c-section being T shaped. Eight hours of labor. Fuuuck. Finally, (finally!!) the OR was clear, and I was ready for my epidural. They numbed me, (oh my God was I glad to see the anesthesiologist!) strapped me down on the tilt table, and were ready to begin. I threw up twice (you know your husband loves you when he doesn't flinch when you upchuck on his hand holding the emesis basin) they tested for numbness, and all of a sudden everything hurt. My shoulders were aching, and there was a roaring in my ears I could barely hear over. I screamed up at the doctor "Are you just about done?" and promptly went into shock. The babys heartbeat abruptly dove, (as did my blood pressure) and things all went to hell.

I woke up two hours later. Bear (who had watched all of this without the benefit of the excellent drugs I had coursing through my system) was very pale and kept a tight hold on my hand as he struggled to explain what had happened. When I had lost conciousness, my placenta had fully abrupted, and the baby was breathing in blood. The pain I had been feeling was the extra blood finding its way through my system to the big vessels in my collarbones.
Our baby girl was in the NICU, on a breathing tube, a tube down her nose to suction out all the blood and gunk from her stomach, and an IV taped to her poor head. Her apgars had been 0, 1, and 8. We had very nearly lost her.

She was to spend four days there in the NICU- the longest, most hellish four days of my life, and several more rooming in with me in the hospital.

That was a year ago. Since then, she has proved over and over again what an absolute miracle she is, and how lost we'd be without her.

Happy first birthday, Rosey Posey. Mama loves you, forever and ever.

As the pearls of sweat roll down my brow

It's cold outside, and it just might frost by morning. In preparation for tonight, I've taken the heavy cover off the bed and found an old t-shirt to sleep in. I put the kids down in jammie tops and socks, and put a bottle of water next to the bed.
Why these (apparently) backwards steps?

Because I married a Canadian, and he loves wood heat.

A week after we officially moved in together, he began lobbying for a woodstove, to be placed in the livingroom. We have an house so old it sighs in the wind, so I thought it was a great idea to have a back up heating plan, in case of power outages and such.

Rude awakening.

'Back up' became 'main source of heat'. Huge piles of wood began appearing in my side yard, dropped off by men who would wordlessly touch their caps and drive away when I ran out to see what was going on. Mr. Daysgoby would disappear for hours, emerging from the (newly-built) woodshed filthy, sore, and bark-covered, muttering strange things about splitting, stacking, and cords. (And I'm not a bondage girl.)
In a household where guns were forbidden we suddenly had four chain saws and an axe.
My cats were thrilled by the extra protein the spiders barreling across the floor gave them - and I was horrified by the dirt and dust being tracked in.


Fast-forward five years. The woodstove is still there, and the first few weeks of fall sliding into winter are still a sweatbath. Bear likes hot fires, y'see, and he likes to make them last. It is not uncommon to find me panting in front of an opened window in November, while he adds logs to the fire and tells me I'm letting all the heat out. After a month or so I can usually wrest control of the intake of wood, and the house cools down so the childrens hair isn't matted to their heads.

This winter, he wants to build a log-splitter. God help me.

quiet night

It's raining outside, heavy plonks! that are dripping off the leaves and disguising the sound of the river. Both kids are asleep. I have three cats (one in the window, one in the hall on a discarded t-shirt, and one on my bed) monitoring the situation, making sure we're all okay. Soon the little tiger striped one will do her rounds of the downstairs.

I have tea and some low piano music playing.



It's very peaceful here.

Sleep tight.

Ol' Blue Eyes

My big boy kitty is not feeling well.
He's hairball city, anyway, (he social grooms the others) and now we've gone and switched his food on him, practically asking for floods of upset-tumminess. And he did not disappoint! I spent most of late last night following his heaving, chokey cat self around with paper towels and cleanser.

Once he'd finished, I went to bed. Chumba wanted comfort, so up he jumped and curled right into my arms, purring madly and every-so-often giving a little cough-bark to make sure I realized how very sick he was.
(Oooh, poor me. Purr. Pet the kitty. [shoving limp, exhausted hand with big cat head] PET THE KITTY!) I 'poor-boy'ed him and hummed a bit.

After about an hour of this, my husband woke up, sat up in bed, and said "How come you never sing me Sinatra when I'm sick?"
I burst out laughing. What kind of lyrics would you sing to a cat?

He denies it this morning.

Oh, but you're lovely....
With that fur so soft
Keep that reckless charm
There is nothing for me
But to pet you..
And the way you purr tonight.....

It was a cool day, with clouds scudding across the sky

On October 4th, 2001, I received the most wonderful present. Happy, happy birthday, precious boy.