A life less ordinary

I saw a bit of the Hurricane Katrina on tv tonight. It's pretty crazy. And very sad. There was a special about tiny premature babies, some only days old, and the doctors and nurses who stayed in the hospital to save their lives. Their incubators, etc. are running on generators, and if the generators runs out someone will have to sit and manually turn a crank to keep the machine going (at least the one type of machine I saw). Those are the people I never really stop and think about when I see evacuations and natural disasters in the news.

Then there are the people looting and stealing plasma televisions...

I saw three cars piled up on top of each other, all completely wrecked. And it made me think about the power that natural forces have over the earth. I thought of that car on top of the pile (it looked like a BMW). How many hours did the people who owned that car work and work and work to pay that car off? Think for a second. That car would be at least $50,000. That's WELL over Marc's and my combined annual income (when I'm working), and that $50,000 of course would not include the considerable amount of interest paid with monthly payments. A car like that would cost Marc and I a year, year and a half of work. Every hour of every day spent to pay off that car. And as Kevin Spacey says at the end of Usual Suspects, "and like that... he's gone." One extremely heavy wind and within a few seconds that year and a half of work is a pile of rubble in the street -- completely worthless. And that's just one car.

Now I tend to be an overly (well, excessively, really) reflective person. So I'm constantly thinking of what I am doing, should be doing, wish I was doing, etc. Sometimes, though rarely, these things all correlate. Most of the time, however, I end up doing things I am doing, while wishing I was doing the things I should be doing. Things that have meaning. Things that are lasting. Things that are outside of myself.

It seems to me like we spend our time making our own little life for ourselves. Like me spending my days with my kids (albeit playing with them and teaching them) and cleaning the house. Finding a place for all of our things. Moving this to there and that to here. Trying to get rid of as much as possible -- because we really don't need so many things!!-- but still ending up in a house with too much. Giving things away. Buying a few things to make the pared down rooms just a bit cozy and cohesive. Organizing the kids clothes. Giving their clothes away. And then there's just the everyday maintenance of the necessities: washing the dishes, doing the laundry, making the food, etc.

Now some of these things really need to be done. (We do need to eat, after all.) But some of it seems like such a waste of time. What does having a very nice serene bathroom really do for me anyway? Or a nicely organized closet? Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm so shallow for spending my days doing this. How much of what we spend our time and money actually has any sort of value whatsoever?

Marc and I are constantly trying to create for ourselves the daily life that we really want -- where we're disciplined and balanced and are able to do a good portion of the things that we feel are important. We spend a lot of time with our kids: reading to them, singing and dancing with them, playing games, being goofy and childish (oh ya, and some yelling and mild threats of corporal punishment too). We've also started spending a lot more time reading and reflecting, listening to good music, calming ourselves so we can get a better idea of what we should be doing. But then here again I have the problem of what does sitting at home in my cozy red living room, listening to Chopin and reading Brian McLaren really do for anybody?

Over the past several years I've come to realize that we need balance in life. We need time to work and rest. Time to nurture our physical bodies and time to pursue intellectual endeavours (this from the girl who convinced my high school principal that I did not need to take the required Phys. Ed. class in high school because "I'm here to learn, not waste my time running around for an hour" -- and now I have the thighs and hips to prove it!!). We need time to look after ourselves so that we can look after others. So, ya, I know that there is value in the reading and the relaxing, but I think we tend to spend too much of our time doing that.

Then I start thinking about how we have only so many hours in the day, days in the week, etc. Where can I make time for the things that help others? It comes down to logistics. I just need to pick an evening, get a sitter, and get out there. Or pick a time, open my home, and get people in here. I know that I have to just do it, and stop "should"ing all over the place. Then I will know that I have not spent the hours of my life in vain. That they will be worth more than some BMW in a heap on the side of the road. Somehow they will have the worth of that little 3 pound baby hooked up to monitors in the NICU. Because I will have touched people. And not just people. But people outside of my sphere. People that make me see beyond myself, and who, in turn, help me understand who "myself" really is.

"And these carrots?" -- "Have been murdered, yes."

It's amazing the deep things you can learn in the mundane chores of daily living. For example, I was weeding the garden one morning several weeks back and had loosened the soil around a bunch of the thistles and weeds. When I came back a few hours later to pull everything up I noticed that it didn't hurt to touch the thistles anymore. I was quite excited about this new way of "pain-free" weeding. But then I thought, "that's what thistles are supposed to be -- thistley and painful -- and it only took a few hours for them to cease being thistley".

It brought to life the Parable of the Sower from Matthew 13 where the farmer is sowing his seed and... "Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root" (verses 5 & 6). I had always understood what was going on in that parable, but to see the example made it hit home a lot more. I guess I had never realized how quickly plants wilt when they are no longer in soil. It took those thistles just two or three hours to completely lose their "thistleness" -- their entire purpose and reason for being. It made me think, "how quickly do I lose my focus, my sense of purpose, my "grasp" of God, when I am not working on deepening my roots in Christ? And what could my "potential" be if I took more time to focus on the things that I know are the whole purpose of life -- loving God and others, being a person of justice and mercy in this unjust and merciless society we've created for ourselves."

She's a good kid.

It's amazing the way two year olds play on your emotions. One minute there's screaming, the next smiles from ear to ear... and that's just the parents.

I've been sick most of this week. As a result I've needed to have a nap of my own after lunch while the kids sleep. Because of the sickness and the tiredness I've been a little (read: a lot) short tempered with the kids. It's like they know the exact moment that you don't want to be bothered, and then they bother you then. (Like when Marc wants to read me a portion of a book, that is Luke's cue, even if he's been quiet for a half an hour, to start making strange, screechy, raptor-like noises. Or this morning I sat for half an hour eating my breakfast and waiting for Marc to finish on the computer, and as soon as I got the computer, Luke needed to start crying, Madeline had to sit on my lap, and when she got off, she had to start bringing me five face cloths to hold for her.) So, I was ready for bed because of sickness and irritation every day after lunch this week.

Then, here comes the motherly guilt. I'm frustrated with Madeline for most of the morning, and what does she do, but say "Mommy, I'm going to tuck you in." So she grabs my leg (her version of "carrying me" to my bed) and takes me to my bedroom. She tells me to lay down and then pulls up the blankets so I'm nice and cozy (actually, only she could touch the blankets, which was kind of irritating, but anyway...). Then she proceeds to tell me a "story elk". (She's been obsessed with elk every since she saw one in the mountains when she was 16 months old. Since that time, we've had to tell her a "story elk"-- about "Princess Madeline" and her friend the elk -- every night before bed.) This is how the story went (I kid you not):

"One day Madeline and the elk were walking through the forest. When all of a sudden... a tree fell over! Then they picked it up and danced all around it. Then they all played a game... and it started to rain. There was a BIG storm! The thunder crashed. Dash! (eyes go big and hands flash out) Then all of a sudden there was a big fire!!! ... AND IT BURNS!!! AND IT BURNS!!! AND... IT...BUUURRRNNNSSSSSS....!!!!!! (Spoken calmly and happily) Then they walked back to the castle and Madeline told her mommy and daddy all about it. And she crawled into her bed and said 'Dear Jesus, Thank you for this day. Bless this to our bodies. In Jesus' name. Amen.' "

Then she said "good night, mommy" and walked to her bedroom and had her nap.

She's a good kid.

The World's Most Frustrating Dream Family

This is what brought me to consiousness this morning. (And no, I'm not pregnant, I just have VERY vivid dreams.)

Steve Martin was my abusive boyfriend and he and his dog were in the process of attacking me at my parents' house. This went on for quite some time and it was rather scary. At some point I grabbed a knife and stabbed Steve enough times that I thought he was injured enough to not outrun me if I made a getaway. It worked. I left Steve injured and ran down the street and around the corner looking for a house where I could hide.

I knocked on the door of the first house and after much debate they let me in. It was a woman and her three daughters (all around 10 years old). I explained the situation to them some more and then asked if I could call 911. The lady said "hello?". I thought I'd somehow got the wrong number and asked "Is this 911?" And the lady laughed and said "ya" -- like saying "hello" instead "911" is some sort of great joke for people in life-threatening situations. After talking to her I felt better that the police would soon be on their way.

But by this time Steve Martin had made his to this street and was going to every house looking for me. He knocks on the door and asks if they've seen me. Now, this part is sort of fuzzy. But all I remember from my vantage point of the closet I was hiding in was that the family got really uncomfortable, said "no", but with enough unease, that I'm sure they made Steve suspicious -- that coupled with the fact that when he finally left, they had their faces smooshed up against the door and watched him go from house to house down the street.

Much time passes and I'm getting increasingly nervous. I decided to call 911 back and remind them. The 911 lady said "and where are you?" So, just to be sure I put the homeowner on. She says "Ya, we live on Dent Crescent." I got my bearings for a second and then realized that this house was not on Dent Crescent. So, I whispered to her, "no we aren't!". And the homeowner goes on, with sort of a glazed-over look on her face that yes, she does live on Dent. So I grab the phone from her and tell the 911 lady "I'm pretty sure that we're the house on the south corner of where Amos meets Sherman."

More time passes, but I'm confident that the police are going to be here soon. But, just in case, I look for a better hiding spot. (Keep in mind, that throughout this entire dream I'm extremely nervous that Steve Martin is going to show up and kill me.) And what do you know, the lady and her kids thought that the door probably doesn't need to be locked or closed. So who comes to and through the door again, but my boyfriend Steve Martin... and his dog. (At this point in the dream I somehow realize that Steve has also called 911 -- due to certain knife wounds he has incurred, and the 911 people, not putting two and two together, have answered his call first, leaving him all stitched up and ready to continue his attack on me.) However, I'm quite secure in my hiding place on the top, top floor. Eventually, though, I hear voices and steps coming closer.

Pause (for dramatic effect).

(I -- conscious of my dream state-- was getting quite scared by this time, and was hoping to either wake up or not be found by Steve.)

Still pausing...

Steve's dog comes through the door and seeing that he's going to start barking and go crazy because he's found me, I stab the dog. The dog dies. I cover up the mess on the nice white carpet with a blanket from the couch. And I pick up the dog and go and hide behind the couch (which is angled between two walls -- so that I'm basically hiding behind it in the corner of the room). I hear Steve come up the steps looking for his dog. He doesn't notice the well-hidden blood on the floor. And he comes over by the couch, and I see his silhouette as he leans over to look behind the couch where I'm curled up and hiding the dog next to me. And I know he's looking exactly where I'm hiding, and I know my grey bunnyhug is exposed and that I didn't have a blanket over top of me...








... and then I woke up.

I have a confession to make...

I may as well come clean. Because there's really nothing wrong with it. In the immortal words of Michael Jackson: "before you judge me, try hard to love me"...

Okay here it is. I read the Celebrity Baby Blog. Well, not just read it, I check it multiple times a day hoping to get a glimpse of some pregnant celebrity. This week it's been Jennifer Garner at Wendy's and at the gym, Brittney Spears leaving a restaurant called Koo Koo Roo, and the news that Jerry & Jessica Seinfeld had their third child -- a boy named Shepherd Kellen. Okay, it sounds really shallow, but you've got to know that I'm the kind of girl who spends hours at pregnancy.about.com looking at pictures that women have posted of their bellies at different weeks of their pregnancy. (Some of them are pretty nasty!) So I mostly I read it to see the pictures of the pregnant celebs because I'm obsessed with being pregnant and pregnancy in general (just ask anyone who knows me).

And in a related story... I have almost met Brad Pitt two times now. Well, not really, but he and Angelina Jolie were at the Royal Tyrell Museum in Drumheller this past Saturday at about 7pm. Now, about two months ago, Marc and I and the kids left that very museum at about that time. And then when I was in high school my parents were going up the gondola at Banff and the girl in the gift shop said that the Barenaked Ladies had just been up it and that Brad Pitt was staying at the Banff Springs Hotel right then. So you see, I've missed Brad Pitt by two months and two miles. Good thing I'm more of George Clooney kind of girl...

Pukey Luke

I must have done something really bad in a past life... My kids spit up when they're babies. Now, most kids spit up, but my kids spit up: every time they nurse, I get a little present given back to me.

There is something in my breastmilk that makes them spit up. And that is not good. Of course, there is something in my breastmilk that makes them sleep through the night at 4 weeks of age or earlier. And this is great: I'd rather have some spit up and a kid who sleeps through the night than the opposite... but why you Fates, oh why, must the spit up ALWAYS land every time on me?

I can have a blanket on my lap and a burp cloth completely under the chin of my child (Luke these days) and somehow he will find that one spot that does not have protection for a split second and decide that that is the place to throw up. And mommy is now covered in warm, wet, curdled regurgitant. (Did I mentioned this happened to me three times already today?!) Marc, on the other hand, can have maybe a kleenex under half of Luke's chin and Luke will spit up onto the kleenex. I've even seen Marc holding Luke facing him on his lap with nothing covering him, up comes the spit up, and Marc somehow comes out unscathed.

I don't know how he does it (Luke or Marc, for that matter), but it's extremely annoying, fascinating, and cute all at the same time. (There Becky, that ought to take the baby bug out of you for a bit!)

Marc and I are in BIG trouble...

Marc and I are in BIG trouble when life starts getting harder for our kids. When we went to the exhibition a few weeks ago there was a place to get your face painted. Madeline was very excited, gave her loonie to the lady, and told her she wanted to be a clown. I think Marc mentioned this on his blog that week, but anyway, she ended up looking like Zena Warrior Clown. It made us so sad. She didn't even see herself, but we could tell she just wasn't excited because the week before she had come home from a kids day at the park where she got her face painted like a tiger and she "Grrrrrr!!!!!"ed at us that whole night. So Marc and I were both on the verge of tears because of that.

Today Marc and Madeline are going on a little adventure down to the library. We had mentioned to her that she and daddy were going to take the bus down (two adventures in one). But the morning was getting late and Marc has other things to do today, so we thought maybe they should take the bus another day. Of course 15 seconds later Madeline comes in all excited in her "library clothes" with her little Dora lunch box saying "Daddy, I'm ready to go on the bus". Well, how can you say no... So we quickly checked the PA bus system on the internet. We couldn't quite figure it out at first and then Marc realized that the bus was coming in 2 minutes. Marc rushed to get his stuff together and his shoes on and they were out the door.

Now, apparently there is no longer a bus stop right across the street from us anymore, so Marc didn't know where to go. I told him to hurry and get down to the other stop about a block down. They made it, and as they were walking I noticed the wheelchair bus that I always see in the day drive by. I thought, "Oh good, the big bus will be by in a minute", as that's what usually happens. So I'm holding Luke and standing at the end of the driveway in my pyjamas watching them down there, waiting to see Madeline jump up and down and get excited as soon as she sees the bus.

5 minutes pass... no bus. 10 minutes pass... I've since grabbed the videocamera to capture this "memory moment", and am holding Luke in one hand and the camera in the other (not an easy feat in itself). 15 minutes pass... Luke starts getting fussy so I run and put him in the exersaucer. When I get outside again he starts crying, but not too bad. 5 minutes pass... Luke is now very noisy and I remember that it is about time for him to eat. So I go back into the house, sit on the ottoman by the window, Luke nursing on one side and me still poised with the video camera in the other hand. 5 minutes pass... the camera keeps turning off every few minutes because I'm not doing anything with it, so I try to hold Luke with my elbow and turn the camera on again several times over. 3 minutes pass... Luke finishes one side and now needs to eat from the other side, which is of course the hand that I need to hold the video camera with. Now, so far it's been bad enough that he is being extremely fidgety while eating and will come off at the slightest movement (ie. me lifting up the camera every 10 seconds when I hear that a car is coming), but now I have that and a baby and a video camera to hold in the same hand, a baby that is latching off so often that I figure the whole neighbourhood has probably gotten a nice view of the "Vanderboob", and a plant that I cannot reach to move that is obscuring my camera shot if the blasted bus every actually comes.

5 minutes pass... Luke is now finished eating. I decide to run the digital cameara out to Marc and Madeline so he can get some cool pictures of them on the bus. I quickly put on a sweater, grab the stroller, put Luke in, have the video camera underneath and the digital camera over my shoulder and proceed to the street. When I get to the end of the drive way I see Marc's foot, as he gets onto the bus... the bus that drove past them as they were looking for the bus stop 35 minutes earlier!!! Ya that's right. Madeline's first "bus" adventure was on a glorified Dodge Grand Caravan. Well, not really. But it does look like a handicap bus. Not like the big buses that they had when I was a kid.

So I was choked. Mad that they had missed the bus, and sad that it wasn't really a bus at all. I took Luke for a walk to get out some of that frustration and clear my head. And as I walked I thought: my kids are in for a lot of disappointments in their lives. And if something like this is going to make me upset I need to buck up, in a real hurry. I know that every adventure isn't going to be perfect, every day isn't going to be a magical new experience, but to look into Luke and Madeline's big blue eyes and see their excitement over things, it makes me sad when things like this don't go the right way... Let alone, when we have to burst their little bubble about the world and they find out that there are rapists and kidnappers and murderers out there.

What an emotional thing it is to be a parent. The love you have for your kids makes you hurt so much for them. And there's a bittersweetness to it all -- because you share in all the highs, you know that the lows will hurt all the more. But because you feel the hurt so bad for them, you know how inexplicably deep your love and care is for them.

The Death Quiz Challenge

So today I found the Death Quiz, by doing the Director's Quiz (I got Sofia Coppola) via Rilla's blog. If you read Marc's blog you know that I will outlive him by 12 years, dying by myself of old age in 2065 at the age of 86. The scary thing is that Madeline will by my dad's age when I "die". Interesting to think about all these things (and only slightly morbid).

Anyway, here's the challenge: I thought it would be fun to do the quiz with ALL of the wrong/bad/unhealthy answers. I did quite well. My made up guy will die 36.5 days from now (September 2005) of a heart attack. See if you can out-die that! Tell me if you can beat 36.5 days!! Happy dying.

My daughter is my accountability partner.

Picture it Prince Albert, 2005. A young couple is watching a show called "Canadian Idol". The theme: classic rock. The young husband is...

Anyways... I've always wished that I could have theme music playing in my daily life. I would chose the music from The Golden Girls. Come on you know it. Laa LAAA laa-laa-laa-laa-laa du-de-du. Then when Dorothy goes out onto the linea it's du-de-du dee due, (up a tone) du-de-du dee due, laa-laa-laa-laa laaa laaaa laaaa... laaaaaaa......(fade to scene). When Marc and I are fighting it would be the music from "the windy night in Florida" scene. And that's the music that would have played in our house tonight.

I was nursing Luke and watching TV on the bed and Marc was cleaning out his bedside table. Luke was becoming increasingly troublesome and irritating as he was insisting on nursing still, but there was nothing left to nurse (if you get me). I asked Marc a few times to get Luke's soother, so he could go to bed. Marc did not realize that I was nursing him and figured I could do it myself. I was getting increasingly frustrated with fidgety Luke (who was doing his best to ensure that his mother has completely saggy boobs by the time he's done nursing), and Marc (who I thought could just get up, get the soother and continue what he was doing). I figured Marc was going to wait until he was done cleaning to get the soother. Finally, I had had it and I yelled (well, not really yelled, but raised my voice a bit -- but still pretty angry). "Would you just get off your butt and get it and then finish?!" Ya. Marc didn't like that.

Then I heard we heard a little voice coming from the room of our daughter who had been in bed for a good 45 minutes. "Mommy! Don't get mad at my daddy!!" Ya. I knew I shouldn't have said it while I was saying it, and my little accountability partner reminded me of the same.

Five Years Ago Today: A Wedding Retrospective

On August 12, 2000, Marc and I said "I do". And we've been saying "I don't" ever since. Ba-dum chuu. Aah, that old chestnut... But really, five years ago today I married an awfully handsome 22 year-old, who wiped his nose throughout our entire wedding ceremony, and who was, undoubtedly, my best friend and the perfect fit for my lifelong companion.

So today I thought I would share with you some of the great memories from that day that made it, unquestionably, Marc and Dixie's wedding. (Apologies for the poor quality pictures. But after all, this was five years ago, and picture technology wasn't quite what it is today.)

Five years ago today... we looked something like this:




















Five years ago today... the uncle who married us said "Marc, you may salute your bride"... and he did:










Five years ago today... we thought it would be a good idea to pose like this:
















Five years ago today... the rear-facing third seat of my parent's '84 Caprice Classic wood-panelled station wagon was our wedding car:












Five years ago today... we got our pictures taken at PA's Court House where there are beautiful big trees, stairs and pillars, but the photographer thought that this brick wall was, perhaps, the nicest spot for family pictures:













Five years ago today... we deliberately danced like idiots to a Queen song into our reception:




















Five years ago today... we asked people to pay to get us to kiss, and then gave them way more than their $10 should have got:
















Five years ago today... I got a tear in my veil because of a very emotional moment in Marc's dad's speech (but it was worth it!!):


















Five years ago today... we sang and played "When I'm 64" and proceeded to do an impromptu lounge singer bit, at the end of which Marc said "Thank you. We'll be here all week.":















Five years ago today... I cried so much during our "thank-yous" that all you can hear on the videotape is a series of high pitched noises and squeaks between phrases like "Mom and... squeek, squeak, squeak... dad" and "And to my sob, sob, sob bridesmaids...":
















Five years ago today... we made a mockery of the cake-feeding tradition:

















Five years ago today... we took off to Saskatoon, where Marc read the "how-to you know what" chapter of our Christian marriage book while I was getting ready in the bathroom in our hotel room(!!):




















(But now I'll stop because that's already too much information!)

It was a wonderful day. And even though today, 5 years later, we collectively weigh at least 50 pounds more than we did then, we have 2 kids (that together weigh 50+ pounds) to love and raise together. And even though today we've had many arguments about countless things -- both reasonable and unreasonable, we know each other better and have forgiven enough to know that nothing will ever break our love. And even though today we're still as uncertain about "what we're going to do when we grow up", now we know that even when we've been married 50 years we won't be done growing up. And even though today we won't be wearing $400 outfits and saying "I do" in front of all of our family and friends, I can say right now to all of cyberspace that I love you, Marc, so much more today than I did on that day, you've made my life unmeasurably blessed, and you mean the world to me.

Pyjamas and Poked Out Eyes (and one more thing)

This morning while I was trying to go back to sleep after Marc got up, Madeline came running into our bedroom yelling joyfully, as she does every morning, "Mommy! Get up! The sun is up!" (I keep telling her that it doesn't matter when the sun goes up or down -- we sleep when it is up in the summer and are awake when it goes down in the winter. She keeps saying that she doesn't want me to "put her to bed right after supper" in the winter, but she still doesn't quite get it.)

So I was half asleep when she said she wanted to take her pyjamas off and, as she was struggling to get her arm out, I asked if she wanted my help. She did. So with my eyes half closed I reached out for her arm, but instead poked her in the eye. This is what followed:

"Mommy!! You poked out my eye! (and very dramatically added) I can't SEE anymore!!!! (with a few boo hoos for good measure)

After I was sure she could indeed see, I helped her get her shirt off. Then she asked if I would help her with her pants but first added:

"Don't grab my eye, okay?!"

Oh, and one more thing:

Madeline just asked to watch a show. First it was going to be Penguins (a reward for her just acting out 5 minutes of the dialogue for me), then when I couldn't find it I asked if she wanted to watch my $2.99 special of Dr. Seuss' "The Lorax", which is from the 1960s (there's something sweet but strange about my daughter singing "Grickle grass, grickle grass, somebody lifted the Lorax away..." from this very environmentally conscious story).

Anyway, the reason why I really let her watch her show was this: I told her she couldn't watch a show. She whined and said she needed to watch a show. I said no. More whining. I told her, "you'll live". She said "I don't want to live". Now this was shocking to me, made me sad... but then I remembered, she is just 2.5 and probably doesn't know what "live" means. Until she said:

"I want to live with my show."

Why I hate Future Shop.

Well, not really. But right now a little bit.

Tomorrow is Marc's and my 5th wedding anniversary. The running joke for me and anniversaries is saying "Aaah... 7 years of wedded bliss..." to my brother and sister-in-law who celebrated their 9th anniversary this year -- so for Marc and I it's about 3 years (only slightly literally -- maybe 3.5).

I told Marc I had some errands to do today. He asked if I was going shopping in quite a disgusted tone. And I said "No?!" with enough intonation that he knew I meant yes. "For what?" then followed. "Nothing." He asked again. I told him I was getting him his present. For a moment he thought I was talking about his Father's Day present that I keep mentioning to him, but have yet to give to him (it's more of a fall present -- so I'm making him wait. In the meantime I'm having great fun telling him that every ridiculously expensive thing that he sees and takes any interest in is his Father's Day present -- computers, houses, cars, anything. It's really quite fun.). Then he clued in and said "we're not getting each other presents are we?" I said nothing.

We usually just do one big purchase in the year and have that be our birthday/Christmas/anniversary present for each other. But we haven't done that for a year or two. And we never actually do a gift exchange. I usually come running into the house with his present, and even if it's a month or two before the occasion I tell him he can have his present and insist that he open it. And he usually just lets me go shopping, as my present. Well, this year I wanted it to be different. I was going to go to Future Shop, get his present, wrap it up all nice, get him a card (maybe even for the proper occasion -- will post on this later), and give it to him at Amy's as we have our nice romantic dinner out.

I wasn't quite sure what I was going to get him from Future Shop, but I had some ideas. One of which was a really good digital camera -- an almost professional one, that you could add lenses, etc. to. I hadn't thought I would buy it, but thought I'd give him something else and some money so that we could start saving for one. Well, of course they had a nice display model which has been surpassed by this year's model, so it was really cheap. I asked them if that's their best price. The guy said that he could maybe get $20 off. He does the usual call, leave the desk, talk to the manager, wait for the manager to call back, look for the manager who's taking a long time, and then finally talk to the manager at the desk. Well, it turns out they'd give me $100 off. I essentially said I would take it without actually saying those words, and he started looking for all of the stuff that goes with it.

And that's how I spent 40 minutes of my day standing at the Future Shop camera counter. Although I must say it was a great study on "women in environments completely foreign to them". About 3 women came looking at cameras or memory cards and they were all exactly the same: serious, intent look on their face, scanning from model to model, touching one, looking at another, picking one up that looks interesting, pretending they have a hot lick what any of them do, looking up desperate for someone to come and help them, but keeping that serious look on their face and keeping busy touching memory cards in plastic packaging until someone does.

So I was all ready to surprise Marc with a kick-ass anniversary present that he'd be totally surprised about, and then the guy tells me that he can't find the lens cap. He spends 20 minutes going through bins of misc. cords, discs, etc from under the counter looking for it, going into the back room, coming back, going back, etc., etc., etc. No luck. Then at some point he realizes that there's no battery pack/charger or battery. And there went the other 20 minutes. A few other employees have joined the hunt, and finally two employees and the manager come to me and tell me that they can't find the battery, though the charger has been found, "but we do sell them individually, and there is one in the attachment kit that you're also buying". So I said, "well, can I get one of those... thrown in?!"

And here we go with the standard line employees are told to tell customers at exactly 35 minutes into the haggling process. "Well, we're already giving it to you at cost", with that really icy, awkard look in their eye that says "we're not going lower!" and "it would make me fe-eal we-ally we-ally bad wif you asked me that again ". So I knew not to push it, at least with the manager. Usually I use my ease and humour to cut the bartering tension, but I could tell that wasn't going to work.

Now does this make sense to anyone? 5 minutes before I had a camera with everything I would need. Now all of a sudden I'm paying the same price for a camera that doesn't come with a battery?!

In the end, the guy who first helped me was going to give me a brand-new lense (with a cap). And I told him, I'd rather contact Canon and pay for a lens cap and have Future Shop throw in the battery for free. He of course didn't think the manager would do that. (Ya, I figured that.) I also wanted to say that "maybe if you didn't give away lenses from other cameras, you wouldn't lose so many of the pieces for your other cameras". So I told him I'd talk to my husband (there goes the surprise!) and be back. I asked if I could write down the model of the camera. And now he doesn't even have a pen for me to use! So I left. Disappointed for a number of reasons.

And when I showed Marc the camera on the internet he looked at it awe-struck and said "so you're getting me that, and I'm getting you..." "A plush toy, I know", I retorted. "$50 to spend whereever you want" was what it actually was. I told him to go to Future Shop and take a look at it, but now I don't even care. Now all the romantic notions of surprising him with the gift and having a nice meal have vanished. (Well, I guess we can still have a nice meal.) But, now the other things I had thought I'd get him seem so lame compared to the "silver tuna" of all anniversary presents. Oh well... he'll probably walk in the door in a few minutes with the camera under his arm after going to look at it at Future Shop. We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

THIS JUST IN: No camera under his arm. And apparently he feels as sad and depressed as I do. Read his version of it.

Aaah... the new image

Tonight I was kicking around on the net and decided to see what (one of) my favourite blonde 60 year old woman has been up to. Ya, that's right. I went to www.marthastewart.com. I didn't go around too much on the site -- just looking for the latest dirt on her. I didn't find much, but I did find out about her new TV show which will begin on September 12th. I clicked on the link about getting tickets for the show, etc. and ran across FAQs of audience members, one of which was the following, answered in true MS fashion:

What should I wear?
Dress your best. Audience members may appear on camera, and/or may be asked to participate in the show. No tank tops, T-shirts, sunglasses, or hats. Hint: Bright colors look best on television.

Heaven forbid someone wear a lowly t-shirt in the back row of a television audience! (Now you know why Oprah's audience members always look like they've had professional hair and make-up done -- because they're told to.)

I also found a promo video for her new show. She has a new image, ladies and gentlemen. Watch these. Especially "This Fall on TV: Martha's Live" -- I think there's two of them, but the one with the cow (or is it a bull, my computer's too slow for me to be able to tell) always make me laugh. I guess she did need to soften up her image a bit, be a little more human. But this is almost too comical. You know I'm going to have to watch it once... just to see what she's really going to be like.

I will post about Martha Stewart's link to Luke's birth in a later post. For now I'll just keep you all guessing...

(Ya, and now I'll go to bed, mom. I'm just waiting for Marc to finish up book two of Harry Potter.)

Life and Times

I've been thinking lately about how fast time goes. Luke will be 5 months old tomorrow, and it feels like he was just born. Half the time I think it is still March... the other day I said it was "July 5th"... and yesterday I asked my friend on the phone if her husband was going to be doing field work again this summer... um, hello, summer is almost over! I nursed Madeline until her first birthday, which means I'm almost half done nursing Luke. Plus, in the next few months he'll be starting on more solid food, so that means the nursing/feeding schedule won't be quite so demanding. Good in a way, but sad too; he won't be a baby much longer. It's made me realize how important it is to treasure the time you have with your kids.

I was visiting with my grandparents this afternoon. They always have such interesting stories from their past -- all of the jobs that they had, different towns they pastored in, all of the people they met and helped. They still get tears in their eyes about some people/stories. And even though they're both in their 80s now, I bet it seems like just yesterday that they were chasing after their own babies. On their mantle each month they put up pictures of the kids, grandkids (12 + spouses), and great-grandkids (13 & soon to be 14!) that have birthdays or anniversaries in that month. I saw a picture of my cousin and her husband and realized that in just 2 years it was going to be their 20th wedding anniversary! I couldn't believe it. I remember my parents' 25th anniversary, and even though I was in grade 9 at the time, it still feels like it just happened. So to think that my cousin has almost been married 20 years is scary. How fast do the years really go by?

My granny wrote in a memory book for me, after that cousin's wedding, that she prayed that she would see me get married some day. And I always hoped that she would. And she did. In fact, both her and my grandpa have 18 years under their belt since she wrote those words that I was scared wouldn't happen. And next year is their 65th wedding anniversary! 65 years of marriage, and yet they still talk about grandpa riding his bike all through the Okanagan to visit granny when they were dating; they still remember the "little bead of perspiration" that dripped down granny's face in the alcove at the altar at their wedding ceremony. And as long ago as it was, and as many things as have happened since that day in July in 1941, I bet it seems like yesterday.

So what can I do today to make the most of the time I have and the people I have to spend it with -- so that the days which slip into months which slip into years will be filled with a goodness and a richess that will make my memories full despite the brevity of time?

Whoops!

We had Marc's best friend and his wife over last night. They're expecting their first baby in only 9 weeks! They're starting to get a bit nervous (!!) over the whole thing -- being parents, not being just the two of them anymore, the major life change, the birth, etc. You know, the usual. Marc and I were telling them that they didn't need to worry, that they'd be great parents. We also told them how inept we were when we had Madeline. I asked the nurse as I was putting Madeline in her "going home from the hospital" outfit if I was putting on her onesie right. And the nurse looked at me like I was crazy and unfit because I wasn't sure even how to get her dressed. When Madeline had her first sponge bath, I was holding her and washing her, etc. all the while flipping through a book that showed how to wash your baby and how to dry your baby. "Luckily" both of these events have been captured on video. Yes, you even hear me tell Marc that "there's a drying off baby page" in the book, and maybe he should turn to it. Our kids will know how clueless we were when we first had them, yet we made it through the baby stage quite well, if I do say so myself. We have yet to see if we're successful through the toddler years.

So, I was doing my best to tell our friends that they would be great, because Marc and I didn't have a clue when we had Madeline. And then the topic of childbirth came up. I LOVE childbirth. I LOVE being in the hospital (even with a bum full of stitches). I LOVE the first few moments and days of getting to know the newest member of the family. Even with all of the pain and tiredness and nervousness that goes along with it, being in the hospital having our kids are hands down the best times of my life. Everytime one of my friends is about 38-39 weeks pregnant, I get insanely jealous and wish I could be in their place, because they're going to get to give birth in a few weeks. I drove by the hospital in PA about a month or two after Luke was born for the first time since I had given birth and I just stared at it, got tears in my eyes, wanting to be in there, and jealous of all of the women who were giving birth at that very moment in that very hospital. People find me extremely strange for my love of childbirth. Now, I still get scared and nervous a week or two before the event, and it still hurts to get it out (obviously!), but I love it -- although I have not and probably will never say that as one of my children is crowning. But give me a day and I won't be averse to doing it again, give me a week (seriously, that's all it took after having Luke) and I'm jealous of the women in labour on A Baby Story.

So, I was regaling Marc's friends with stories of Madeline's birth. 24 hours of labour. 2.5 hours of pushing. A head with a circumference 5 inches shorter than the length of her body (ya, 15.5 inch circumference -- get a tape measure, then you'll realize why it took 2.5 hours to get it out). The hour long session in the OR getting "repaired" after pushing that Vanderhead out. And numerous other details that I love sharing, but which would be a bit too graphic for your average VanderMeander reader. I don't know what I was thinking! These people were already nervous about the whole baby thing. They will in a hospital giving birth in 9 weeks. And I felt the need to tell them about all of the unpleasantness of birth and the early days of breastfeeding! And then Marc said, "Why are you telling them this?" And I thought, "I don't know". Because I love to talk about it. Because, I was trying to say, as hard as it was and as uncomfortable as it was to hardly be able to walk for 2 weeks, it was still one of the happiest memories of my life. But... ya, I don't think it really "helped".

Bourne to be wild

Yesterday Marc and I found The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy together, new on dvd for $22.99. Not bad. Good movies. And the third one will come out some time -- I can never remember what it's going to be called. So... every once and a while, I'll be driving around the city and will think of a good name for another one of the sequels to the movie. I figured I should share some of them. (It's a fun game. Add your own -- just any 4 syllable word that ends in -cy or -ty will do.)

Some of these aren't that good, but I'll work you up to the good ones. And I won't patronize you with explanations of what the movies would be about. We can all figure that out.

• The Bourne Democracy
• The Bourne Diplomacy
• The Bourne Redundancy
• The Bourne Discrepancy
• The Bourne Veracity
• The Bourne Audacity
  
• The Bourne Elasticity
• The Bourne Polygamy
• The Bourne Viscosity (this one is probably my favourite)
• The Bourne Onomatopoeia (sorry, I just like that word)

And, of course, the final Bourne movie will be:

• The Bourne Lobotomy
  

Thoughts on Prince Albert's Annual Dief Chief's Parade

On Monday Marc and I and some friends attended PA's annual parade. Pretty long and boring quite frankly. I think Madeline even got a little bored. I read in the paper the night before the parade that everyone was supposed to dress like one hundred years ago to celebrate Saskatchewan's Centennial (is anyone else ready for the year 2005 to be over in Saskatchewan?!). So, to be a good citizen (and to hopefully get my kids on the front page of the local paper), I dressed them up in gingham. That's as close to 19th century garb as I could find on a day's notice. Madeline wore an outfit my mom made?/bought? for me when I was a kid. Although my legs must have been skinnier than Madeline's. We told her to tell us if she could no longer feel her legs at any point during the parade, they were that tight. Here's how they ended up, though, sadly they did not make the front page of the Herald:





































Madeline is waving a CTV flag that was being given out. And that's how it all began. The makings of a three-part blog entry on the Dief Chief's Parade.

1) Inappropriate things I got my 2.5 year old to yell out at the parade floats:
- upon being handed the CTV flag, she immediately began to chant "CBC... CBC...CBC"
- when the army reserve floats passed by, she yelled "make love, not war!" (but I made her stop before the veteran's float came by, because they're just too cute to be disrespectful to)
- at our local MP driving past in his car "float", "stop sending your propaganda!"

2) Inappropriate things I wish I would have seen at the parade:
- Our mayor on a S.A.D.D. float (just find the article about him on the link!)
- a few more people stepping in the horse poop
- a "piper down"

3) Inappropriate things to be thrown from parade floats at any municipal parade:
- condoms
- I had visions of the Booster Juice float having a hose and spraying the open mouths of the parade-goers with nutritious slush
-the street sweeper violently blowing horse excrement onto unsuspecting parade-goers as they pack up their lawnchairs to go home

Wedding Showers and Gameshow Ethics 101

A few weekends ago we went to a wedding shower hosted by Becky, at which we had some real Southern iced tea (soo good!), had some good laughs, met some great people, and played a game which I have recently decided caused me to sin.

The game was "Two Truths and A Lie". You tell two truths and a lie about yourself and then everyone has to guess which is the lie. I had two goes of it. I went first, so by the time everyone else had their turns, I had thought of better ones for me.

Here, you guess, which is the lie in each of the lists (if you know me -- like you're related to me, or were at the party, maybe don't answer). Now, in the game you can ask 5 questions or something to help you guess, but you guys are smart. You can figure them out:

First list:
1. I had a boy tie my shoes for me everyday in kindergarten.
2. I've seen every episode of Seinfeld.
3. I have a slight obsession for blonde 60 year old women.

Second list:
1. When I was 3, I slapped my babysitter.
2. When I was 6, I punched my best friend in the throat.
3. When I was 14, I slapped a carnie.

Anyway, this game was really fun. But then I started to think... lying is a sin. You shouldn't lie. We're told that from the moment we first begin to bend the truth as children. So why was it okay to lie in this game? Well... that's just a part of the game, right? It's what makes it a game. You wouldn't have much of a game if it were called 3 Truths, now would you?

Then it made me think about Survivor where everyone always gets mad if they find out that somebody lied to them. Isn't that just "part of the game"? I guess, there is a difference because lying is not a condition in the game, it's not necessary, the game can still be played (though not always successfully) without lying. I guess in the Two Truths game you know everyone is telling a lie, but you could say the same thing about survivor, basically. What do you think? If lying is okay in the wedding shower game, is it okay in Survivor? Or is lying wrong even in the wedding shower game? If lying is wrong is it wrong in all circumstances?

You didn't know I was this neurotic.

It occurred tonight as I was eating our family's current favourite dessert (vanilla ice cream with chocolate chips), that I have certain neurotic tendencies. Okay Marc's sister-in-law calls me obsessive-compulsive... you be the judge. Am I OC (obsessive compulsive) or MD (mildly disturbed)? Leave your two-lettered comments.

1. I noticed tonight because I have to have one chocolate chip with each bite, and try my best to have the same amount of ice cream with each bite.

2. I eat pizza by taking a bite at the end (where normal people eat from) and then a small bite, half-way into the crust. I eat enough of the crust so that when I get to the last "row" of bites before the crust, I turn the piece sideways and have the cheesy part and half of the crust with each remaining bite.

3. Same as #2, except for sandwiches and toast. Except here I eat the sandwiches at exact angles before turning it sideways.

4. Eating cake I take bits of icing from the edge with each inside bite so that (what else?!) I have the same amount of icing and cake with each bite.

5. As a child, I knew exactly how many meatballs and how many raviolis were in Chef Boyardee's Mini Bites. I would have a meatball with each ravioli, except for two bites when I would have 1.5 raviolis each per meatball.

6. I have to have the sheets on our bed exactly parallel and square to the bed. I don't know how I manage to sleep every night with Marc who doesn't care, one turn of his body and the sheets are completely off the bed, and he leaves his bathrobe and clothes from the day at the end of his side of the bed.

That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure Marc will be able to add 7 through 35. So, more may be added later. But, do 1 through 6 make me crazy?

Peace and Quiet

I don't think I've spent more than 20 minutes straight in this house since last Friday, besides after 10:00 at night -- and who wants to clean their house at that time of night? So, right now both kids are settled down and I can finally begin to clean this insane mess that our house has become over the last week. Lots of outings, shopping, and trips to the pool do not make for a clean house, when you don't have anytime after each trip to clean up because you're on your way to the next outing. I'm not completely procrastinating the cleaning, but I feel entitled to sit down and catch my breath for a minute before I try to find spots in this little house for everything that "needs" to fit in it.

Strike that. The kids are not settled down. Madeline called me into her bedroom because her "head hurt" and it needed to be dried... by water from the bathroom sink. (Who can know the mind of a 2 year old?) I didn't let her leave her bed and was asked to sing "Go to sleep you little babe" from Oh Brother Where Art Thou? for about 5 minutes and then I told her to go to sleep. She is currently making an extremely annoying half whining, half crying, half coughing, half "mommmaaay!" (I guess that would be a quarter of each of those, but I don't care right now). Oh, and now she's sing "Your mama's gone away, but your daddy's gonna stay..." to herself. Oh well, she will settle down. And I will do my best not to lose it on her.

I'm finding myself very edgy lately. I think a lot of people are. I think it's the heat. I don't know how people in hotter climates survive such long increments of heat. It just makes me crabby. The messy house also does not help. I was worried I was having some post-partum hormonal issues and asked my mom about it. I told her I was mostly crabby when the kids were cranky, the house was messy and Marc was irritating me, and that the rest of the time I was fine. She suggested that it was probably the messy house and husband and the cranky kids, not the hormones.

Pondering the messy house the past few days and thinking up the title to this post, I've thought about what makes "peace". For me, it seems like I can't have peace without having calm surroundings -- a clean house. I just can't relax or settle down until things are in order. But is this a reflection of how I respond to life in general? I haven't had too much bad or traumatic happen in my life, and sometimes I wonder if it's because I just couldn't handle it. Normally I'm good at getting perspective over a lot of the situations and experiences of life -- dealing with church, people, etc. But Marc constantly tells me that I should just relax despite the mess in the house because it doesn't matter; and I know I should, but I just can't. So, I'm kind of wondering if I'd be able to have peace about something major happening in our lives in the midst of all of the "mess" of it, or if the peace wouldn't come until it was all "cleaned up". I guess it's something to work on -- to be able to have peace in the mess, while you're working to clean it up.

Well, better go sweep...

you silly goof

Madeline is going through an I'm scared of everything phase at the moment. She'll be outside for 10 minutes and then will say she needs to come in "because the mosquitos are too bad". The other day she wouldn't go into her friend's paddling pool, and don't get me started about her not taking a bath without her diaper on!!

Her oma and her grandma have both told her that she doesn't need to be afraid because "Jesus is always with her." So, now that's what she says to herself when she's afraid. She's also been talking lately about how someday she's going to Jesus' house (which we've never talked about before). I'll ask her "what are you going to do at Jesus' house?" and she usually says something about eating or painting or talking to Jesus. The other morning when we were all having breakfast I asked her what she was going to do at Jesus' house someday (Marc had never heard her talk about it before). She replied, "Love Him and serve Him." We burst out laughing. Marc said she had just become a Christian and I started getting worried that my 2.5 year old had just reached the age of accountability. I joked that I was going to email Becky and tell her that Madeline had just asked "to accept Jesus into her heart as her personal Lord and Saviour."

Anyway, we were quite proud of her lingo and her little girl love of Jesus. And then a day or two later she came into our room in the morning and told us she had a scary dream about a monster. But she told us that Jesus was in her dream and made her feel better. I said, "what did Jesus say to you?" She replied, "He said, 'God loves you, you silly goof!'."