Change... but not too quickly

Our kitchen has an island, which in many homes equates extra counter space.  It's an area which some families might use for meal preparation, baking - for whatever normal people use an extra expanse of counter.  In our home, the island is where our junk congregates.  Mail and newspapers, wrappers, receipts and various bits of paper gather to bask in the glory of our many, hydro-sucking pot lights.  Last week, I decided to tackle the piles of debris in a long overdue attempt at creating order-without (y'know, because they say that's the first step to order-within).

The standard tidy-up routine consists of sorting each piece of crap into new piles according to owner.  Wolf's, Kitten's, Mom's, the landlord's and garbage.  I took my crap and Wolf's crap to our room and put Kitten's crap outside her bedroom door (where it would stay for several more days) and had in my hand a bunch of crap for the garbage.  As I made my way back across the living room, I became hyper aware of one item in my hand.  It was a piece of Pale green paper, folded many times so it resembled a flattened tube.  I'm a chronic checker (let me just make sure I have my keys... for the third time) which means I cannot throw anything out without first reading it.  What if it's important?  I unfolded the paper - a 4" square sheet of origami paper, coloured only on one side - and held in my hands one of the sweetest and slightly-less-innocent-than-I-would-have-liked love note.  It was signed, in cursive, by the young man who enlivened our home for two and a half days, three weeks ago.

I took a few days to panic and obsess about it before I told Kitten we had to chat.  I told her that I'd used variations of a particular parental quip on many occasions but that I had to amend it.  In the past, I've said, "You know you can talk to me about anything?" and "I want you to talk to me about whatever!"  This time, I said, "Communication is imperative.  I need you to talk to me and you need me to talk to you.  Because the only other option is for me to assume."  I don't like being blindsided.  It tends to tweak my anxiety and I get a bit crazy.  The chat ended up being more of a mom-ologue (which I tend to be completely blind to, in the moment).  

When Wolf arrived home, I brought the whole thing to him.  Typical man, he said, "So, what did she tell you?"  Allow me to take this moment to look sheepish.

He called Kitten.  She arrived with her typical, "Yes, Daddy?"  and the conversation truly began.

Wolf:  Mom showed me the note.

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-I'm-trying-to-look-innocent look)

Wolf:  Is [he] your boyfriend?

Kitten: Yes.

Me:  What does that mean?

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-what-the-hell-are-you-asking-me look)

Wolf:  Since when?

Kitten:  Since I was eight.

Wolf:  Have you kissed him?

Kitten:  No.

Wolf:  Have you kissed any boys?

Kitten:  Only you, Dad. 

Me:  So what does boyfriend/girlfriend mean to you?

Kitten:  We hold hands.

Me:  (relief)

Wolf:  Good.

It was a decent conversation.  She's at the tail end of twelve and while there's a huge, screaming part of me that insists she's too young to be using the word boyfriend, I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.  She was born into a family which boasts stubborn strength of conviction, for good or for ill.  She will do what she will do out from under our watchful eyes*.

I spent a few more days lamenting the death of my 'baby girl' ("If drama was money, I'd be a millionaire" - Kitten) and then it snowed.

Due to recent extremely dire financial straits and a kid who doesn't complain, Kitten needed footwear.  She's worn her runners folded at the heel almost since the day she got them. As a result, pinchy-toes have never been an issue.  Snow is and there was no way I was letting her play in the snow with her heels hanging out of the backs of her shoes.  So, Kitten got her first pair of grown up winter boots.  She loved them so much she put them on at the till. 

We had one more stop before heading home and I parked in a snow drift.  Kitten leaped out of the truck as soon as Wolf had cleared the door.  Off she tromped through the parking lot bent on trying out her new boots.

I watched her, independent and self assured, with my heart heavy.  And then... I smiled.  There was my daughter, a breath away from thirteen, climbing the biggest pile of snow in the lot.  She thew her hands into the air and crowed her success at the mountain's summit.  And she's still my Kitten.

  *which means she must stay under our watchful eyes until we're confident in her strength of character!

Day Nine - Kitten.

Wolf was so proud... He's Metis. '08

Kitty torture 101  '08

Fire and water. '08

Sweet as cinnamon.  '08

Kitty torture 102   '08

Sometime a Klingon invasion is just what we need.

Her secret weapon?  Smiles...  '08

or pouts.  '08

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes both!  '10

She's begun to morph... which happens to be the first word she ever read

 - Metamorphosis.  '10

And she's slowly dancing away from me, into her own life...  '10

Day Five - Carry-on Luggage

Braided.

Baggage.  I think it's safe to say that we all have it, in one way or another.  I like trying to 'checking' it, banishing it to the cavernous depths of my metaphorical plane, hoping that the airline will lose it.  Sometimes I shove it into the overhead compartment, out of sight but still looming over me.  And no matter how hard I work on 'dealing' with it, the Universe is always more than willing to remind me that it's still here, tethered and weighing me down. Anchoring me in garbage.

The interesting thing is, all of my bags match.  They don't all hold the same thing - that would be silly - but each holds something undeniably related and tied in to the others.  It doesn't matter what the issue-of-the-day may be, somehow it will trigger 98.669% of all the other crap in my head.

Since 2002.

I have letting go issues and a self-worth disability, anxiety disorder and a sprinkle of debilitating depression.  And they're all tied together feeding on and being fed off of each other.  I was under the impression that the passage of time would lead to maturity, which would bring wisdom and, eventually, peace.  You know what the passage  of time leads to?  More birthdays,  which leads to older-than-ever-ness and, inevitability, wrinkles.  Not overly comforting.

I used to have a hair fixation when I was younger.  I bleached and dyed and refused to trim because I needed every battered inch that I could get.  And I couldn't leave the house without styling it.  You know how some women can fix a bad hair day with an elastic and a ball cap?  I wasn't one of those.  If my hair was shite, I was shite.

When Kitten was born, my hair was three or four inches past  my shoulders.  Life with a new baby doesn't leave a whole lot of time to play with one's hair, so for the first year of Kitten's life, my hair lived in a pony tail and grew.  Close to her first birthday, I was sitting in the kitchen of the house I shared with my mom.  My sister was visiting and she was playing with my long, straw-like - in both colour and texture - pony tail.  I love having my hair played with so I removed the elastic and revelled in the attention.  Eventually, though, her intention cut through my pleasure.  She was cringing.  I couldn't see her, but it was strong enough to be felt, none the less.  This set me to thinking about how gross my hair looked, truly.  With the remnants of a bad blond job* taking up about half the length of my hair, I knew cutting it was the only remedy.  I had tried dying darker - twice at home and once in a salon - only to have the colour wash out.  Apparently my hair was too porous.  Something to do with the size of the dye molecules....   "Hurry up, before I change my mind."  I was that unspecific and my sister was running for scissors.

She cut my hair to my shoulders which is my least favourite style in the world.*   A few weeks later, while visiting family in Calgary, I had it cut Sarah McLachlan c.1998.  Having curly hair made this a very disappointing style and a few weeks after returning from our visit, I enlisted a friend and we took the clippers to my head.  I loved it and kept it that was for several months.  Right up until I noticed the side effects.  I didn't mind the flirty smiles from the ladies, but the threatening smiles from some of the men made me a little nervous.  And I hated when senior citizens thought I was something to fear.

The great thing about those months was that my fixation was broken.  My hair became something that I could play with.  I bleached, properly this time, and spent a while 'looking like sunshine,' according to Kitten.  I was reinventing myself and I loved it.

 ...to be continued...

*(note the natural colour of my hair... I used a box of blond dye, twice, two weeks apart, in order to get a lovely orange colour)

*as it was the style my mother had throughout my childhood.  Show me a kid who grew up in a dysfunctional family who want to look like her mother and I'll.... I don't know.

On news, theme songs and living two lives…

Well hello there.

I never wanted this to become another defunct blog. Just thought I’d put that out there. I keep telling myself that I’ll write regularly when things settle down. The problem with that thought process is that things never really settle down. It’s all just various levels of busy.

Our latest busy-ness is in the form of another long term house guest. He arrived a week ago, yesterday, and so far it’s been relatively good. We have the consistent challenges - you know, the ones which present regardless of the visitor. Things like privacy, changes in routine, toilet seat tension and extra expenses. With this particular guest there are a few more things to think about.

This guest is a long standing friend of Wolf’s. This guest, who always had turbulent mood swings, has very recently been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. This guest has spent a couple of weeks, twice, (from February to March of this year) in the hospital for suicide attempts. This guest flew out to the island about two weeks after his latest attempt.

….

….

I find myself stuck. There is no more to say about it besides my own stress about the whole thing. He is medicated. He is not yet level. Oh, and in August, his girlfriend will arrive, too. They met in the hospital.

On a lighter and more intriguing note, the members of my little family each have their own theme songs. Since she was about three years old, Kitten’s been singing The Imperial March while she plays. Wolf, who has recently rented all of the movies, fills our ears with the theme to Superman. Mine? Like, since I was a kid? Embarrassingly enough, my background music is the Mexican Hat Dance. Ole!

There. Now you know.


My work week. My weekend. I’ve often felt like I was two people. Nothing to be concerned about, mind you, just the me-that’s-at-my-best and the me-that's-falling-apart. Now, I have Work me. The cool thing is that work me tends to supersede falling apart me, more or less. I mean, I have I’m-really-sick-of-this-shit-but-will-keep-gritting-my-teeth-and-smiling Work me, but the point is the smile remains. Mostly.

Weekdays are for work. That’s all I have room for. Work and a little bit of family because my hours are so crappy. Weekends are for art, but art takes so much time. It takes time for me to settle into the zone, to see what my next step should be. I can still work when I’m low. I struggle with art, even the idea of art, when I’m low. I hate that I have to allot so much time to my work life when I find it almost completely unsatisfying and my paycheque sucks. I hate that I exchange eighty hours for $630. I hate that, without Wolf’s income (which is up in August), we would have about $136 left over after paying rent. Per month.

And I’m not overly keen on having become ‘just like everyone else.’


I’ve had a tough week. I’m ready for my big break. Hey Universe, are you listening?

The situation...

This evening, at around 7:45, Wolf started seizing.
"Should I call an ambulance?"
I called 911 about ten minutes later. (There was a ten minute delay because if he doesn't respond with something other than 'No,' he'll fight anyone who tries to help him. He's a big boy. By 8:00, the ambulance had arrived. The arrival of three fire and rescue trucks, two squad cars and a half hour later, they finally earned his co-operation in getting onto the cot. They even managed to get him strapped in before he got antsy again.

Then, I lost it a little. Then I got it together and went into the spare room where Kitten was watching TV.


Now, I've managed to get some food into me and I've called his friend.

I can't seem to bring myself to call any of my supports, though. I'm feeling like I'm in limbo. I feel the fear begin to rise... then it just stops. It totally dissipates.

Is this what shock is? If not, what is it? It's very clear and calm. Which is odd. I don't know.

I'm so stoned...

I was sent home from work, yesterday. It would seem that my usefulness was deemed non-existent when compared directly to my obvious discomfort. This story begins this past Friday...

*cue flashback sequence*

I was closing the paint department on my own. The last few hours of the day had been so slow with nary a customer in sight. Deciding to make myself useful, I began down-stocking some stain. Most of this down-stocking was largely unnecessary as our staining season is over but we have no overstock of the paint that people actually want right now and I was bored. I began with a gusto, moving gallons of the stuff from the enclosed storage bay above the sparsely stocked shelves. You might think gallons of paint would be more challenging to move than quarts. You might, but in this case you'd be very, very wrong.

I learned that
(a) the perfect, compact quarts of stain were kept neatly organized in boxes of six
(b) I'm short, even when on a kick-ass ladder;
(c) standing tip-toe, I still sometimes have to work above my head and
(d) these boxes are bloody heavy!

And then my back said, "um, stop. kthxbye." By the end of my quest to cure boredom, I was sore and tired and had only managed to down-stock about 8 quarts.

Oh, I also learned
(e) sleep has the magical ability to make a tweaked back hurt like hell!!!

Saturday, shortly after beginning my shift I was talking to a couple of the women in or near my department about my back tenderness. They talked me into filing with first-aid which I did before returning to the floor. I went home at lunch to dope myself up on Tylenol and Advil so I could finish out my shift in an upright position. That night I loaded up on Robaxacet and slept like a rock.

Sunday was great. I felt no pain but I was aware of the centre of my back. It was distinctly there, you know? Everything was fine until I bent to pick up a receipt. I don't know if I moved too fast or what but by the end of my day I was getting waves of pain that were making it hard to breathe. To make matters worse, I'd taken my last two Robaxacet the night before.

Monday morning I had to use my both hands to get out of bed. I spent the morning gimping around like Gollum and waiting for the next round of pain pills to kick in. They still hadn't by the time I got to work. Hence the sending home.

I went to a clinic early this afternoon and was given a prescription for Flexeril which I can't afford to get filled, and instruction to stick with light duty at work for ten days. No ladders, no lifting. But standing all freaking day is o-tay, which is good because that is my job description.

"Oh, and what do you do for a living?"

I stand...


Good news? Wolf's on meds which have stopped his seizures and passing out. They leave him dead-dog tired but on his feet which is good because he can now take care of me for a couple of days.

:D

The finish line...

We made it! I can hardly believe that it's been a month already and at the same time, I'm looking forward to not having to set my alarm a half hour early, just so I have time to blog.

Over all, NaBloPoMo has taught me a few things.

• I can create a new habit. I can do something every day, without fail, even when it isn't strictly necessary.
• My moods have distinct cycles. Blogging has created a picturesque map of how my moods are directly related to incidents and quality sleep.
• I love writing so much that I'm looking at book writing as a fun thing to do!
• There are people out there who like to read what I write! Me! I never would have thought it possible.
• There are also a lot of people who write stuff that I want to read!
• I'm not so strange. I'm not alone.

I'm pretty sure I could go on... for hours, but I slept through my half-hour-early and have to get ready for work.

Thank you so much for stopping by during this month to read and to comment. Your presence has bee invaluable and I want you to know that I appreciate it so very much. (Gee, I don't usually make a speech like that without a drink in one hand and a rose from the wandering, bar flower-guy in the other! Are you familiar with the ones to which I refer?)

So, rest good internets. Enjoy the peace, the passing of NaBloPoMo '08. Congrats to all of you who made it and also to all who tried.

Have a good morning, and in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night!
(Jim Carey - The Truman Show)

What I want and why I (tell myself) I can't have it, followed by the reason my reason is stupid...

1. I want a more muscular physique.
a) I don't have time.
b) I wake every morning a couple of hours before my family so I can do my computer stuff without neglecting anyone.

2. I want to get a handle on my depression.
a) It is a mental disorder that I have no control over.
b) Spending hours online when I could be living makes me blue.

3. I want to be a better mom and wife.
a) I'm so tired when I get home, all I want to do is sit for a while.
b) Sitting 'for a while' doesn't constitute hours on facebook, getting annoyed when I'm interrupted. There's no reason I can't sit for a while on the couch with my daughter and husband while we talk about our discoveries of the day.

4. I want to go back to school, take a few courses.
a) I don't want to graduate from the institution with a huge debt hanging over my head.
b) Yeah, and living from paycheque to paycheque is a barrel of monkeys. Going into debt over the electric bill, with no hope of improvement is so much better than a student loan (and the potential job that will help pay it off).



Okay, I'm kind of stuck there. My shoulder hurts and I want to get ready for my day.
(can you believe it's been almost a month?!!)

Wishing you, yes you, a fantabulous day!

Pee-ess: I don't think I made a note yesterday or the day before so I will now. Wolf passed out twice on Thursday and once yesterday. it would seem to me that things are continuing to escalate. What else are you "almost positive" about, Doctor God?!

Technological advancement, my icy cold ass...

Is it just me or does this happen to everyone who has tremendous disorganizational skills and a habit of misplaced confidence, self or otherwise?

Here’s the situation. I decided, toward the end of my last weekend, that I would use this weekend to find all my drawings, scan them to my laptop, fix up whatever might need it and upload the lot of it to deviantArt. Well, this weekend is here and, of course, I waited until almost one o’clock to get started. Piece o’cake, I’m thinking.

Now, I’ve known me all my life which should be plenty of time to learn that any time I’m sure something will work, it won’t. Not easily, anyway.

Into the longroom* I go. That's where our desk top PC and printer/scanner resides. First and foremost, it’s absolutely freezing in there. We have electric heat and no money so unnecessary** rooms go without both. Second, the mouse is neither hooked up to the computer, nor is it in the same room for that matter. It’s a good thing I’m a whizz with keyboard shortcuts. Then it occurs to me that I really don’t want to sit in an icy room, keyboarding my way through various programs and why don’t I just hook up the all-in-one to my laptop? After all, I downloaded the printer drivers last month! Off goes the PC, which takes 10 minutes as it’s a dinosaur, and in comes my laptop for scanner hook up.

Back to drivers. Yes, printer drivers. My laptop recognizes the Lexmark printer (and fax, for some odd reason) but not the scanner. Not in my program menu, not anywhere. After spending 20 minutes looking for the correct download, online, my toes are numb and my hands hurt.

I go get the mouse.

It is now 3:05 pm and I’m praying. I‘m praying that the CD-RW in our PC will work for me just one more time. I have to be able to get the pictures off the ancient beast and onto my laptop. I’m praying that the disk with the pictures will be readable by my laptop.

* * * * * * * * *

Flash forward. After scanning all of my drawings, I attempted to burn the jpegs to disk. The disk went in and was read by the by the writer. The file folder containing the images dragged-and-dropped beautifully, but do you think the writer would write? No, it wouldn't. Well, it just so happens I have two MSN messenger (ooh, I must be old if I'm still calling it by that name) profiles. I signed in on each computer using the two aliases and sent all the pictures to myself. All 40 of them. One at a time.

The whole thing took just under an hour, by which time my hands were stiff, my toes were numb and my nose had a nasty case of winter-drip. I shut down the dinosaur with the same satisfaction one might feel when ridding the house of a destructive rat .

Then it happened. I realized that I had missed one drawing(my best piece, in my opinion) and became somewhat demonstrative in my frustration. Hearing my uproar, Wolf entered the room with concern and caution his in every movement. After I explained the situation, he smiled with relief and said, "Here, leave it with me. I'll hook up my lapto... Oh baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"What...?" It came out of my mouth, less as a question than a threat.

"Open your search - here..." at which point he showed me - on my laptop which was perched on one arm while I held in my other hand the file folder filled with my drawings. It would appear that typing 'scanners' into the search field (Vista) while connected to the scanner would have opened the magic and invisible door that divides the two pieces of hardware.

Hmm.

Imagine that.

Thankfully I was way too cold to be really miffed. I said 'thank you' and 'I know it for next time' and 'no, it's perfectly okay.'

So, I still don't have that last piece scanned but I did manage to get a few things uploaded, categorized and tagged, over at deviantArt. Nothing is 'sale-worthy' in my opinion, until I can correct the 'black=blue' language of my sensorily challenged scanner. Feel free to have a look anyway. That is what it's there for (as my stomach flips nervously).

Have I mentioned that I rarely show my art to my family, let alone the good people of the limitless interweb? Be gentle but please, please be honest. If I'm to make a go of this, I need honest reviews.

*Longroom: the 15X25’ room on the end of our house. It was supposed to be the studio/craft/sewing room but has become cold storage.

**The room had been made somewhat obsolete with the arrival of our laptops, last year.

Percolation...

My new department shuffle has brought with it professionally inept scheduling. This has given me a fair measure of concern as, today, I am supposed to be in two places at once. Last night I was trying to work it all out. Kitten had said she'd read in bed until I arrived to tuck her in. After a half hour or so, while I was still absorbed in trying to decide my course of action, I heard a knock at my door. It was Kitten, coming to say goodnight. She was falling asleep and was tired of waiting. We did out night-nights right there beside my bed and she headed back to her room, a touch hang-dog.

When I left my room a few moments later, she met me in the bathroom, trying to hide her face. I asked her what was wrong, to which she replied, "nothing," like a good little member of my family. Now, I'm trying to break the cycle of poor communication so I said, "Okay," and began to walk away. She cut in, then, and poured her heart out.

She needs the connection of being tucked in at night. She is so sad that I no longer have early days. She says that it doesn't feel like home now that I'm not here. I added that I hardly feel like I belong as my role has changed so much and I can't be that which I desperately want.

We talked and talked. We cried and hugged.

I have a plan...

EARTHQUAKE! .... ... No - wait... it's just the spin cycle.

Not one to point out the issues in my surroundings (HA!) but if our washer isn't perfectly balanced, the whole house shakes. Now I'm not talking a little vibration, here. I mean that everything, from one end of the house to the other, rattles. Mirrors, bookcases, dishes - you name it, it's-a-shakin'!

In other news, I have just had the single least productive (for me) weekend since I decided to use my days off, rather than lose myself in facebook for two days. I had my mind set on completing a few tasks. Of course, as I grump about wasting my time, I've come up with several other things that I would love to have accomplished. Maybe it's time to make a list. I've proven to myself that I am a remarkable forgetter so it makes sense that a list is the best, next-step.

So, here's my list.

Things to do on Tuesday and Wednesday:

1. Clean the truck, interior.

2. Gather and sort art work.

• decided what is being posted, where.
• complete incomplete pieces
• upload drawings to deviantArt and/or Zazzle

3. Practice increases and decreases, knitting.

4. Check out Etsy

5. Snuggle and read with my girl... I miss her.

6. Continue with the de-fleaing process (friggin' cat)(friggin' me, for not wanting to go all chemical on her ass)

I'm sure I'll think of more things before next week but for now this'll do nicely.


Tomorrow, I'm finally getting the bit of training that I've been requesting for the past month. They have scheduled me (and another cashier) for a two hour walkabout in the lumber yard. Now, I've already figured out most of the stuff that comes out of the yard, but it will be nice to be able to direct inquiring customers to what they want, rather than to someone who can answer better than I. That's getting a bit tired in my opinion. Yes, if it bugged me that much, I could have gone in (on my days off) to walk around, find stuff and ask the yard guys about the things I was unsure of. I could have... I understand and live by a certain level of proactive behaviour. I mean, within my first month of this job I had management letting me know that I was already 'right up there' with the senior cashiers. I've heard nothing but kudos on my job performance. It's called work-ethic, and I have it. However, I am not paid nearly enough nor treated well enough to want to be there without seeing the results on my paycheque (ha, that word looks so funny. I love Canadian English).

And on all of these notes, I am off to vacuum Kitten's room and wash her bedding and bathe the cat (hehehe). I think I'll clip the wee demon's claws before I toss her into the tub.

Finally growing up…

I grew up with the label “Wise beyond her Years.” I was a very observant child and because of that a lot of my knowledge seemed instinctive and rather like common sense. Whether it was relationships or life in general, it all just made sense to me.

I should qualify all this by saying that I was a font of sage advice but I was really lousy about using that knowledge in my own life. In fact, I made all the wrong decisions when it came to my own path. I dropped out of school. I had every intention of getting pregnant at sixteen and succeeded, brilliantly. I dated abusive losers and ‘dealt’ with it using alcohol. I grew into a career welfare-mom - which, for the record, I have no prejudice or bias against, but it was a cop- out for me. I didn’t choose stay-at-home mom-hood because that’s what I really wanted to be. I chose it because I was too afraid to try anything else.

Any time I have stepped outside of my comfort zone, I’ve let my anxiety eat at me until my only option was ‘disability.’ If wallowing were an Olympic sport, I’d have a trophy room full of gold medals. Never have I pushed through the intense ‘I don’t want to…’ until this past September. I think the difference this time was that I didn’t have a choice. There was no bail-out, no crutch, no magical way back to quasi-safety. My family was vulnerable and I was their salvation.

Transition is never easy. At first, I thought I was dying and then, when I didn’t die, I wished I would. I spent a few weeks there, in that hellish place. During that time, even when I had good weeks my days off were stressed by thoughts of having to go ‘back to that place.’ And then, without really noticing, I was okay. Not only that but my life was changing in ways I hadn’t even imagined.

Flip to today. I spent my morning getting Kitten to her swim lesson (it’s a 13-26 minute drive, depending on highway traffic) by 11, and subsequently chatting it up with home-schooling Moms until noon. Wolf was up sick most of the night so it was just me, today. At the lesson’s end, Kitten took her requisite 15 minutes to change out of her swim gear Then we drove 20 minutes back home to eat lunch and pick up Wolf so we could head back into town to do a “whack of running around” that he needed to get done.

During this time I had my first of two epiphanies. We had been walking for about two and a half hours when Wolf asked me if I was okay with being out all day. I replied that I was no longer thinking of my Tuesday/Wednesday weekend as ‘days off.’ After all, life doesn’t stop so it makes more sense to think of it as ‘days not at work.’ Wolf commended me on the overall mental health in that statement and I’ve been repeating it to myself ever since, hoping that I will feel better about it the more it reverberates through my head.

A couple of hours later we were eating dinner. Wolf had shovelled a forkful of piping hot food into his mouth. When he exhaled trying to cool his mouth, he shot steam worthy of a dragon from his lips. We all laughed and I tried to do the same thing but my food had cooled too much. I said, “If that had worked for me, this place would be way too cold.” That is the moment the second revelation hit. I realized that it wasn’t too cold in our house. That was the first time I had ever had that thought during winter months.

We do keep our house cool, about 15C - that’s 59F if you’re Imperial. This year, due to unforeseen growth, I have taken to wearing weather appropriate clothing. This means no more shorts and tank tops, even in the house. I wear slippers, with or without socks. It’s the wildest thing.

So, throughout this growth phase of mine, I somehow moved beyond a sense of entitlement I didn’t even know I had. Will the wonders ever cease?!

Thank God It's... Monday?!

What a magnificent day. Of course, my 'Fridays' usually are. Everything seems lighter and I bounce through the day, knowing I have but one shift left before my weekend begins. This Friday in particular was extra special, though. Not only did many children come through the store but I also got to help a lovely senior lady who left me with a smile that lasted the full hour I had remaining in my work day.

Now, I do have a slight damper on my perfect day. When Wolf arrived to collect me after work, he was wearing sunglasses and he seemed irritated. When I commented on his mood, he told me he wasn't edgy, he was sore. He passed out again this morning. He was feeling dizzy and had tried to make it to the kitchen where he could sit down at the table. "I didn't make it," he said. I guess he got halfway there but woke up in front of the closed spare room door with a very sore face. He couldn't help but crack a sheepish grin as he explained. Makes me wish I'd never fixed the latch on that door.

We made it home with no incidents and upon checking my email, lo and behold, I have readers. Two of them! That, in my opinion, is pretty darned cool. Thanks to you both, BeeDancer and Tracy!

And on that note, something occurred to me regarding the topic of my last post. Maybe, just maybe I could bring a bit of myself to this blog!?! It wouldn't be all that hard a task and it might just be a good thing. It's something to think about, if nothing else, although i can already feel me creeping in.

And like everything else, all I can really do is wait and see. Want to wait with me?

I wish...

I want to be rich. I know, everyone wants this... well, except the rich, themselves who just want to be more rich. But I want it more, you see. I almost neeeed it!

This idea hit me this morning when I launched myself out of bed at 6:48 on this, the last day of my weekend. Why would I abandon my nest of cozy warmth, my haven of relaxation and peace, in such a manner if it wasn't absolutely necessary? Because it was. Absolutely necessary.

Last night, when Wolf and I snuggled in to sleep, we took up our usual sleeping positions. I rolled away from him while he curled up around me. It's a very comfortable set up until about four hours later when he's sleeping on his belly in the middle of the bed and I can't roll over because there'll be no room to bend my knees unless I hung my ass off the side of the bed. I find it much easier to doze with my knees over-hanging than my backside.I know, I'm so high maintenance, hey?

Then, a couple of hours later I notice the same thing, only now, I'm actually falling off the bed. Good wife that I am, I communicate my need for his repositioning by ramming my back firmly into him and grunting in semi-coherent quasi-English. He responds, accordingly, by giving me just enough bed to keep me on the edge but not actually falling.

By quarter to seven the tension in my neck from remaining immobile, perched on the very edge of our bed was so extreme that my head was throbbing.

Good Morning!

Now, you may be asking what this all has to do with untold riches. Let me tell you. A good bed is quite expensive. We largely rely on a freebie website for our new/recycled. In fact, that site is how we got rid of garbage bags full of out-grown clothes, an unused Wizard organ (which sounds kind of heinous, depending on how you read it), and our queen-sized bed. Yes, our sizable, comfortable (imho) well fitting bed. We currently sleep on a high quality double mattress.

I shouldn't complain. It is a very good bed. The issue is that Wolf and I are somewhat unbalanced in the size and weight dept. He's about two of me. Without the optional buffer zone between us, I just can't compete. He's bigger, stronger (even and especially while sleeping) and dead-weightier.

So, here I sit, thinking about how wonderful it would be to run out to the nearest furniture store for a big slab of post sunset bliss without going into debt. Debt makes me lose sleep which I would definitely find counter-productive.

Feel sorry for me, yet?

Another day in another week of a home learner's life.

Last year, at the age of eight, Kitten began the school year in her first 'real,' away from home school. It was a phenomenal, tiny little independent school with its curriculum based in bioregional sustainability. They believed in child-led learning and we loved it there - we fit. It wasn't perfect, nothing is, but it was the best of all worlds to our little family. A month after school began, our delightful landlord gave us six months notice. He was selling our house. Gee, thank god we'd redone the 30 year old flooring throughout and completely rebuilt the rotting bathroom! He might not have been able to get the $400K he was hoping for.

I digress. With housing being what it was in the city (read: nonexistent) we quickly discovered that we didn't have the option of sticking it out for the remainder of the school year. With that decision made for us, we discovered another positive point about the school. It had a great distance learning program. Brilliant. Me? Not so much. I really prefer to do my own thing. I don't like feeling like I've got someone looking over my shoulder. Not only that but I'm really lazy and easily overwhelmed. Not the best two characteristics when trying to... well, anything! So our poor DL teacher had to pull it out of her ass at the end of the year because my reporting sucks.

We're with a new program this year. My sister has been with this program for a couple/few years and offered to be my paper-worker as they require weekly reporting of a very detailed nature. She said, "You do the home learning and give me a general outline of what you've done, I'll put it in the form they want to see." Well, guess what? They seem to be less than pleased about the fact that Kitten is registered under my sister's name (as opposed to a parent) and they want me to register with the program. Yay. I'm f*ing thrilled. From 3x yearly reporting (which I sucked at) to weekly reporting... did I already say 'yay?'

Needless to say, my life has not exactly been what I'm used to. Kitten has swimming lessons 2ce/week, plus 'Library afternoon,' 'Park day,' and woodworking. Monday is the only day we're not scheduled out the ass. Whee. Yeah, I've been busy, not that it really makes a difference to blogging. Busy... lazy... it all ends up the same. No updates.

I'm updating!

Now, for the news. Wolf had a laparoscopic appendectomy on September 9th (Happy birthday to YOUUuuu!) He's doing well and only had to go back in once (due to refusing post-operative hospitalization for longer than 12 hours.) He's still tender which means kitten head butts him in the belly at least once a day. Yesterday, finally, we were painfully graphic about the procedure. Hopefully the abdominal abuse eases for a bit.

Kitten is doing well. She's in her element- busy, busy, busy! I'm ... me. I have good days and not so good days. I'm okay. I'm rolling with it. Sometimes I'm rolling under it, protecting my arms and legs from the wheels, but I'm still here.

Creation: you are all gods.

I, like most I'm sure, have favourite bloggers. Some earn this rank by the quality of their writing, some by their humour. If a person can shift my perspective - I appreciate that, as well. There are countless specific reasons that a blog might catch my eye but they all have one thing in common. They change me. For whatever reason and in whatever way, after catching up with my blog-list bloggers, I walk away from the computer seeing life (seeing myself) a different way.

This is a prime example. Jenny (from Mamadrama) writes about originality but she covers so much more.

So thank you Bloggers for taking part in my creation.