| The Ungrateful |
It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining, and air was warm and occasionally, a breeze swept by to help keep everyone cool.
Even though there were two little baby boys playing in the little kiddy pool and splashing water on everyone, I was able to keep my emotions in check. In fact, my heart warmed when my friends son tried to keep me cool by watering down my feet with his moms giant watering can that was probably two times as big as him.
I met the hostess of the party from work a few years ago. Although we had been known to share the occasional coffee after hours every now and then, since I lost Ava, our friendship has blossomed. She too, lost her son four years ago. He was born at 30 weeks and passed shortly after. He second son, who is alive and thriving today, almost didn’t make it. He was born at 31 weeks and weighed less than two pounds. When I start to think that there couldn’t be anyone in the world who could possibly relate to or understand how I’m feeling, I think of my dear friend, and know that she just “gets it”.
My husband and I were the outsiders at the party. We were warmly invited to join their close knit circle of friends and everyone made us feel welcome. Although I wouldn’t call myself shy, I always find that sort of situation a bit intimidating. I knew one person, my husband knew no one, and you just never know how you’ll fit in. Everyone was extremely friendly, personable, warm and talkative. Everything was going great. That is, until the woman with the baby girl showed up.
Everything went downhill from there.
First off, seeing the little boys probably wasn’t overly hard because I didn’t loose a son. Seeing a baby girl really hit home and I had to choke back my tears. Luckily I had my sunglasses and was able to stabilize myself while my misted eyes remained hidden behind the darkened, protective lenses of my shades.
Secondly, the mother of this baby girl, who I also know from joining her and my friend for coffee on occasion, is completely aware of Ava’s passing, still felt compelled to express constantly how “burdened” she feels by her child. I’m sure she was trying to be funny or sarcastic, but I WISH with every fiber of my body that I was burdened by a child right now. Mine is dead. REMEMEBER?
The comment that sent me right over the edge was when she told me that sometimes she wished she could have her old life back before her daughter was born.
U.N.G.R.A.T.E.F.U.L
I cry every day and wish for the complete opposite. I would give anything to have my daughter back. We left shortly after that. I came home and cried for six hours straight. My week was just an emotional wreck, and her words just added salt to the wound.
I cried because there are so many ungrateful moms out there who just don't realize how fortunate they are.
I cried because those who do realize how fortunate they are go to sleep at night and thank their lucky stars they arent me.
I cried because I want my baby back.
I cried until I was hyperventilating and my eyes were too puffy to open and I just finally passed out from the sheer exhaustion of crying.
Today, I remain angry and spent and I just can't stop crying.Labels: Grief and Loss, Soapbox |
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| Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad |
On this day, 27 years ago, my parents pledged their “I Do’s” and bound the love they so strongly shared for each other in a marriage that truly does inspire.
They are two very special and wonderful people. They provided a supportive and caring home for their two children to grow up in, and most importantly, a loving environment where their marriage and family thrived.
I would like to highlight some of their more memorable moments.
They were real tricksters…those taped on cotton balls had me fooled for years. I must have been 16 before I caught on that mom wasn't "really" kissing Santa Claus.
Even through the shaky identity crisis period, they were always looking for ways to have fun and enjoy life.
My parents are the epitomy of graceful and gentle love, enjoying life to the fullest, and give depth and meaning to what "happily ever after" is all about.
Although today is their anniversary, I would raise a glass to salute and honour the wonderful example they have set about what love, life and laughter is all about anyday! 
Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad.
Labels: All in the Family, Marriage |
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| Proof That Mermaids Exist |
When I was a wee tyke, I carried around a little red photo album my mom put together for me with various family pics inside. One item she added to my photo album (that I'm sure I begged her to give me), was a post card from the Banff Trading Post in Alberta, Canada depicting an image of a real live merman.
Why I felt compelled to add this to my family photo album I still don't quite understand. There are no family relations that I am aware of. 
She told me all about how he was preserved in a museum in the province where I was born and some wild fish tale about how he was captured. As much as the thing freaked me out, I was fascinated with it and, wholeheartedly believed it was real!
In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I was dating a friend of my husbands back in high school when I boldly brought out the post card one night in an attempt to prove mermaids really did exist. Scott (my boyfriend at the time) and Mark (my hubby) busted a gut laughing and poking fun at me. They never let me live down my naivety, and razzed and teased me about my mystical belief in mermaids for years. Being the stubborn person that I am, I refused to back down and took a stand for what I believed in and maintained that the creature in the postcard was for real, and one day I would prove it!
Prove it I did. It only took me 11 years, but I finally brought my friend turned husband all the way across Canada to show him that the merman legend is in fact true!
Now if that isn’t some hardcore proof, then I don’t know what is!Labels: It's All About Me, Mark |
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| No More Push Up Bras at Home Depot Allowed |
After rising to the tender touch of my man pushing back the hair covering my face and kissing my eyelids in a gentle attempt to wake me for a delicious breakfast in bed he prepared for yours truly, we decided and plotted to spend our entire Sunday lounging in bed.
That lasted all of two seconds once I was fully awake and wired on caffeine. I became fidgety and antsy and wanted to go out and do something.
I convinced my husband we should get started on our bathroom project. Although we still want to move out of this house full of empty Ava memories, we’ve decided to stick around this area for a couple of years while we find our bearings again, and try and reestablish and reinvent our lives. Once the decision to stick around was made, we started planning on giving our upstairs bathroom a simple, but much needed face lift, and replace the cracked sink and counter top.
Feeling excited about our next little household project, we headed to Home Depot to check out some new counter tops and sinks. Of course, our 22 year old home does not seem to have any “standard” size fixtures anymore, so what started out as a simple project to replace the countertop, quickly turned into a “tearing out and replacing the old non standard sized sink/counter top combo that we can’t fit a standard sink/counter top on with a new standard sized unit and fixtures, a new floor to cover where the old non standard cabinets sat with the floor cut out around it, new lighting and mirror (as our old mirror and lighting will no longer fit and work with the new spacing challenges) and hell, why not throw in a new whirlpool deep soaker tub while were at it” project.
Once at home depot, my husband became extremely bored looking at cabinetry finishes and detail, and went to look at more “manly stuff”. While I was perusing the gorgeous counter top, faucet and sink options, a Home Depot clerk came up to me and asked if they could help. I decided to explain our dilemma about our current non standard size unit and small space to work in and that what I really wanted would require moving the sink over a few inches and didn’t quite understand how involved (or costly) that would be.
I wish my husband would have been with me at that point, because the guy “helping” me either he thought I was stupid, or just was stupid himself and he began explaining the intricacies of plumbing to my breasts!
I tried to make eye contact and ask questions so he would look up at my face, but his gaze kept shifting southward. I even tried to feign interest in his words by resting my fingers inquisitively on my chin hoping he would notice the rock on my finger blatantly displaying my married state, and break his rude and obvious suggestive glances.
When my attempt at helping him redeem himself failed, I finally cut him off and before storming off, I made sure to tell him that “I’m sure my breasts found what he had to say extremely fascinating, but as for myself, I was too busy noticing his thinning hair line to pay attention”.
I think I’ll just go ahead and call a plumber to get their thoughts and advice on the matter. Hopefully when they talk to me about piping and sinks they won’t be thinking about sinking their pipe where it doesn’t belong!”
I’ve certainly learned my lesson. No more push up bras allowed at home depot!Labels: Home Improvement, Soapbox |
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| Retro 80s night revisited |
I went out and had FUN! Imagine that.
It’s amazing what getting out of the house and painting the town red (or hot pink if was up to me) can do for a person. I think the last time I saw 3:00 am was when I was waking up 30 times a night a night to pee when I was pregnant.
Much to my dissapointment, I quickly learned from our night out that I am so not hip or cool. My first clue was when we showed up at the club, like the eager beavers that we were, at 9:30 pm. It was completely empty! The only other person nerdy enough to show up so early was some guy that bared a striking resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite and Jon Bon Jovi.
Feeling like big fat losers, we ordered some liquid courage, and tried our best to make it look like we totally meant to show up so early. The bouncers even looked bored. There was a DJ spinning some wicked tunes, but it just added to our awkwardness seeing the dance floor (or the entire room for that matter) completely barren.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, people started to trickle in. The crowd was sparse, but at least there was a crowd and we weren’t sticking out and left looking like the blaring pylons we certainly felt like.
I noticed Napoleon Dynamite/Bon Jovi was up to something. He started to pace around the dance floor, beer in hand, scoping out the territory. His hair covered his eyes, which stayed facing the floor as he paced. I thought he might have had some self confidence issues or perhaps he was just extremely shy. His pacing reminded me of an animal caged at the zoo and it was clear that he was about to break loose into something. As I considered what this character was up to, he suddenly leaped (yes, he did some sort of freaky frog leap) onto the dance floor, stood there, arms outstretched, waiting for all eyes to be on him, and then broke out into a full blown break dance. We’re talking on the floor, back spinning, one hand on the ground supporting your body weight, dancing. !?!?!
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be in hysterics, or impressed. I mean the guy could dance, I’ll give him that, but he was flying solo that night, and he looked too much like the Napoleon Dynamite character to be for real.
(If you haven’t the movie Napoleon Dynamite, it’s about an indolent and alienated teenager who decides to help his only friend Pedro to win the class presidency. He was also determined to learn how to dance.) Finally, after a drink or two (or seven), we were ready to hit the dance floors as well. Once we started, I was like a kid with candy, and you couldn’t pull me away. It seriously felt so liberating to leave my anger and sadness at home, and just get out and let loose. Despite how entertaining Napoleon Dynamite/Bon Jovi was to watch as he busted out the moves, dancing the night away with the love of my life was fun fun fun! It did amazing things for my spirit.
I think the big hair went over well with the teeny boppers out there in dance land, and my sweat band was pretty stylish too, I just wish someone would have reminded me how passé leg warmers and shoulder pads were. I really need help in the clothing department these days.
All style issues aside, it felt good to act young and carefree like that again. We really needed to unload our issues, and just let loose (if only for one night).
Labels: It's All About Me |
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| Letting My Hair Down |
Last weekend while the ‘rents were visiting, my dad looked over at me and asked, “When was the last time you let your hair down?”. I sort of gave him funny look, before I realized that since Ava died, I haven’t worn my hair down.
I’ve never been a hair up, pony tail type of gal, but something must have registered in my teeny tiny brain that letting my hair down would symbolize some form of fun or pleasure that I didn’t want myself to have.
Tonight I am letting that go. I am letting my hair down and Mark is taking me dancing.
(Retro ‘80’s anyone?)
If anyone has any blue eye shadow, shoulder pads or hairspray that I can borrow to help complete my ensemble, that would be great!
Thanks, and don’t wait up!Labels: It's All About Me, Marriage |
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| Bedroom Project Status: COMPLETE |
Back in May I mentioned that Mark and I were in the middle of redecorating our bedroom. (How can we forget having the inlaws over to help paint when a song with "nasty sex lyrics" started blasting out of our computer speakers).
Actually I first made mention of our decorating bug back in March when we decided to blow our tax return money on upgrading our double bed to a king size and buying all new bedroom furniture rather than start an education fund for our unborn child, but the whole project was quickly put on hold for a variety of reasons. To keep life simple, I’ll claim laziness.
We had many great debates about which room we were going to decorate first in our new home. I had hopes of decorating the living room and dining room area first, but Mark insisted with a persistence and determination I have never seen before that the bedroom was where the real excitement was and we needed to focus on “making it swanky”.
Although his idea of swanky was a sex swing and leopard print sheets (which I quickly vetoed because as the woman I have that power), I was looking for something more along the lines of classy and elegant.
Neither of us had ever attempted decorating before. I mean, I bought one off things, like artwork, vases and beer mugs, but never a whole room at once. It was slightly daunting, because I had no idea what I was doing. I had an idea in my head what I wanted, but trying to find the pieces to match what was in my head was a whole other story.
Please be gentle. My tastes are probably a little “out there”, but here it is, my new bedroom.
Yes, I have a pillow fetish
The more pillows the better...
I like fake plants too. They don't die when I neglect them...
I once thought this was MY dresser...
...That is until Stinky Magoo claimed it as his (and left the claw marks to prove it from his rapid take offs when invisible beings appear out of nowhere beckon him to suddenly run like a maniac.)
My Eiffle Tower look alike lamps. Note the finger prints a plenty in the glass! The crystal was a gift from my aunt when Ava died.
It's really a place mat, but I think they looked pretty darn snazzy on our night stands.
A trash can
A piece of art that I have had my eyes on for the better part of 4 years. I love love LOVE this.
No this isnt artwork, but he's definetely a piece of work! He just learned how to open the slidding patio doors to let himself outside. Look! He even matches my carpet!
Ava's memory box and little porcelein music box are all that sit atop my dresser (besides an occasional lounging cat). I pay tribute to her in her little music box every day. It plays "You are so beautiful".
Mark is happy because the artwork and velvet quilt satisfied his aspirations for “swanky” (even the cats love it, their fur sticks to the velvet like Bill Clinton to a Big Mac) and I’m happy because the whole room came together exactly as I had imaged.
Labels: Home Improvement, It's All About Me, Mark |
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| A journal entry: Friday June 17th, 2005 |
I thought I would take a moment and share my journal entry of our first night of holidays back when we visited the Rocky Mountains in June.
Here is the entry from my journal:
Friday June 17th, 2005
We awoke this first morning of our vacation at the ungodly hour of 2:00am. Out the door by 3:00 am we felt like stowaways as we drove into the darkness of the night. There is something very relaxing about night driving. There are few cars or people to distract you, just the barren streets, and glow of the street lights. The yellow lines of the highway began to hypnotize me with daydreams of mountains, lakes, lovemaking and lovemaking near a lake in the shadow of a mountain.
Our destination was the airport, and of course, we arrived far too early for our 7:15 am flight. The shuttle bus from the parking lot dropped us off at the wrong terminal, and when we finally arrived at the correct terminal at 4:00 am, we discovered, much to our dismay, there were no coffee shops open. We had to wait until 5:30 to get our caffeine fix, and did we ever need it at that time of day!
To pass the time we snuggled up on the uncomfortable airport benches, Mark’s head resting in my lap, while I propped my feet up on my luggage. It wasn’t long before both of us became extremely uncomfortable, and decided to play a game of air hockey to pass the time. Mark showed no shame, and kicked my butt with a score of 7 – 2. We played a game of pinball and tried to save planet earth from an alien invasion, and in the sleep deprived state of mind I was in, I found that extremely amusing and entertaining. Before coffee, my mind works in very basic and simple ways, and it doesn’t take much to keep me engaged.
Suddenly my nostrils perked up at the delicious scent of coffee brewing nearby and we quickly abandoned our pinball quest to save the planet and made a beeline to find the largest size coffee available. I was ready to receive it intravenously by that point. It wasn’t Tim Horton's, but it was still a little piece of heaven.
At around 6:00am we decided to check our bags and go through security to wait by gate 227 for our flight. I always find the serious scowls that the security people have quite amusing. I had my laptop with me and although they didn’t ask me to turn it on, the woman did ask me if she could take some samples. Interested what that meant, I started to ask questions about what she was doing. Realizing I wasn’t harboring bombs in my laptop, she explained that she can check for trace chemicals. It was neat to watch her drag a piece of material across the computer and then have the fabric analyzed instantly by a machine. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me trying to imagine what trace elements the machine picked up. Visions of peanut butter stains, leg sweat from the computer resting on my lap and cat poo from my cats poopy paws walking over the keyboard didn’t paint a pretty picture in my mind.
The whole flying experience was quite nice. On no other occasion has the airport security, boarding, landing, and finding where we are going been so easy and painless. Welcome to Canada eh. We’re just a friendly bunch!
We found our way easily enough once we landed in Alberta from the airport to Canmore. It was about an hour drive or 105km (65 miles) from Calgary to our destination. As we drove into Canmore, Mark made sure to wave hello to his dinner. Alberta beef cows were plentiful. They waved and mooed their hellos back!
The drive into the mountains was somewhat uneventful and rather ordinary. The weather wasn’t overly cooperative and it was quite foggy. We couldn’t see the mountains until we were right in them, but WOW. Suddenly having a mountain looming over me left me breathless. I had a lump in my throat and it took a minute to catch my breath before I could speak. I even had to choke back a tear. AMAZING.
We arrived in Canmore at noon, Alberta time. We couldn’t check into the lodge until 4:00 pm so we explored the town, bought some groceries and a cheap foam cooler at the local home hardware (gotta keep the beers cold somehow). They laughed at me when I inquired about a Canadian Tire. Apparently Canadian Tire is too big for this little town with BIG mountains.
When we were finally able to check into the lodge we had booked for two nights, it was pouring rain so hard outside that you could barely see two feet in front of your face. Luck (or lack thereof) would have it that we were on the second floor, and the only access to our room was by stairs situated on the outside of the building.
Here is where the real fun begins.
Soaking wet from the rain, I was starting to plan a nice warm shower with Mark to warm ourselves up and then crack open a bottle of wine and just relax together. While he had the honours of unloading the car, I began to unpack and settle us into our room.
Packing wasn’t easy for this trip. My clothes aren’t exactly plentiful as I adjust to my new post pregnancy shape, and the few pieces that did fit were carefully packed into my suitcase. So was the massage oil. I opened my suitcase to find it had a particularly fragrant berry smell, before realizing the entire bottle of oil had drained and soaked into every article of clothing I had brought that actually fit over my recently pregnant hips. I wanted to throw myself on the floor and cry right then and there.
I immediately filled the tub with hot water in hopes of getting some of the oil out. Poor Mark arrived in our room, and seeing clothes strewn everywhere, and the hearing the bath water running thought I decided to get down and dirty right away. Excited, he tossed his hat (on the heater), and started to undress to join me in my “relaxing” bath. Imagine the poor boys immediate disappointment when I shoved him out of my way in my panic to get all the oil stained clothes into water and screeched that ALL MY F*ING CLOTHES ARE RUINED! He tried to make light of the situation and suggested that we could spend the entire vacation between the sheets so we didn’t need any clothes, but I was having none of his humour. I was upset.
Being the level headed man that he is; he braved the pouring rain and went back to the lobby to inquire about laundry facilities. While I was frantically scrubbing my clothes with the ridiculously tiny bottle of cheap hotel shampoo I suddenly smelled something burning. Looking up, I saw a faint haze of smoke. I dashed out of the bathroom and discovered the ball cap that Mark had carelessly tossed onto the heater when he thought he was about to “get some” was BURNING!
I dove to retrieve the cap like a professional football player and made my touchdown by throwing the smoldering chapeau (as Mark calls all his hats) right into the tub, along with all my greasy clothes.
Although not the way I had anticipated beginning my vacation, I started to see the humour in everything and began giggling. I knew this was going to be one of those moments I could look back on and laugh about.
But wait! It gets better.
Mark returned to discover his hat was no longer. It looked like an Anti-Canada hat too, as the little red flag on the back was burned to shreds. He absolutely couldn’t wear it out in that condition (especially in Canada). After getting a kick out of his burnt had, he advised me that there was a laundry room available (at a highway robbery cost of $5.00 per load). But really, we had no choice. Each of us took a pile of wet clothes in our hands and headed outside into the pouring rain in search of a washing machine.
Deciding to head back to the room and just crack open a beer and make the best of the rest of our night, we made our mad dash back in the rain, back up the stairs, into our room, and slammed the door behind us. Mark went to apply the deadbolt lock and suddenly started screeching that he was just electrocuted! I thought he was pulling my leg and being a smart ass, so what do I do? Before my electrofied husband could stop me, I tried to lock the deadbolt too, and then I got electrocuted! My entire hand, halfway up my arm went numb and tingly and I had no feeling in it for a good ten minutes.
Despite their disbelief and basically suggesting we were high on something when we called to report our “shocking” news to the reception staff, the lodge manager finally arrived to take a look.
He didn’t believe us. I think he thought we were looking for an upgrade or just being jackasses, but when Mark suggested he touch the deadbolt and try and engage it to see for himself, he wouldn’t! There must have been some faulty wiring that was acting up with all the dampness and rain. The light switch to the room was right beside the deadbolt, and I’m sure when the metal connected with the plate inside, the faulty wiring and dampness caused the shock. But what do I know…I’m certainly not an electrician.
The manager actually suggested that we just not use the deadbolt. I gave him the most “are you retarded” look I could muster without speaking. Sensing I was skeptical, he said, “But this is CANMORE. Nothing happens in Canmore.” I thought to myself, yeah, nothing happens in Ajax either, but that doesn’t mean I am stupid enough to invite danger into my home. We insisted that they move us to another room despite his insistence we had nothing to worry about.
We were electrocuted for crying out loud. Would HE feel safe in that room?
OYE! What a start to our vacation. Once we were finally settled into our new room and finished the laundry (which didn’t remove the oil stains from my clothes) we quickly threw on our bathing suites and ran into the rainy night like a bunch of kids, excited to sit in the hot tub and gawk at a mountain.
Reflecting back, although not what one would deem a “pleasant” night, it is one of our most memorable nights. Although most of my clothes were ruined, Mark’s hat was charred, and we both got electrocuted, there was a still a defining moment that keeps replaying in my mind.
It was the moment we finally broke our gaze from the mountain, and my husband leaned in for a kiss while snuggling in the hot tub with the rain pouring down on us. All the aggravations of the evening were washed away and it was just the two of us, kissing in the rain beside a mountain, like it was most natural thing in the most magical place on earth to be. Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Vacation |
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| Déjà vu or Intuition |
Déjà vu or Intuition
Do you believe in any of these? Is a déjà vu a real experience, or is it just your mind trying to help you cope with a situation that can be too overwhelming to comprehend.
Does intuition and “gut feelings” really hold any truth or validity?
In my opinion, Déjà vu and Intuition are all very real and powerful experiences.
I suppose some background about my beliefs on this matter is in order.
I took a great interest in the phenomenon of ESP, Telekinesis, and mind over matter topics around the time I started high school. I had met someone who seemed to actually possess the ability to read into the future, and as much as that freaked me out how much they “knew” about me, we instantly clicked and I became fascinated with ESP.
Always a skeptic, I researched the topic of ESP trying to understand how one could possess such qualities and even wrote an essay on this very topic. Essentially, the argument of the essay was that as humans, we all possess this remarkable 6th sense, whether we know it or not. The simple factors of time and evolution has pushed and dimmed our ability to recognize these senses into the background as more efficient language skills evolved.
We have many modern forms of communication now, but how did humans communicate before language and spoken words? I think that once we learned to speak and communicate with gesture and words, our ability to use our minds for communication was thrust somewhere deep within us, lying somewhat dormant, as we learned different forms of communication. Occasionally however, this sense that is laying dormant resurfaces, and our intuitive nature shines through, or just plain and simple, we get that “gut feeling”.
(I suppose this theory disregards any theology about the bible and creationism, but that is probably a topic better suited for another day). Déjà vu, much like intuition I think, is another unexplained phenomenon that is closely related to ESP (or for most of us, the numbed down sense of intuition), that reiterates how much we really do know about something. Déjà vu is French for “already seen”, and if you have ever experienced it, it is an overpowering sense of familiarity with something that shouldn’t be familiar at all.
(I know déjà vu has been linked to episodes before an epileptic seizure, but it has also been validated in the medical community to occur in individuals with and without a medical condition. Some psychoanalysts even attribute it to a strange mismatching in the brain that causes it to mistake the present for the past, and some parapsychologists even have suggested that it is related to past life experiences. Whatever you believe, I think most of us can say we’ve experienced some form or another of déjà vu). I suppose I should cut to the chase here and get on with my point.
When I was pregnant with Ava, and I heard the song “See the Sun” by Dido, I bawled and bawled for absolutely no reason whatsoever because I had the most overpowering awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that I would be listening to that song over and over and over again to help deal with a tragedy beyond my comprehension. Truthfully, I feared I would miscarry her, and that song would help me heal. Having that feeling freaked the shit out of me and I wouldn’t listen to that song again.
When my husband and I walked into the funeral home and he saw her tiny little lambskin coffin, he immediately collapsed on the floor beside it with the most intense Déjà vu. He had a feeling that he had already experienced the moment he had to face his daughters tiny little coffin. He was paralyzed with emotion by the intensity of a memory he shouldn’t have.
Here I sit today listening to Dido’s song, See the Sun, over and over and over, and I can’t help but wonder if my “gut feelings” were a warning of the despair that was in store for me. In any case, when I feel so overwhelmed by something as simple as the lyrics to a song, I can’t help but give credence and take notice of the little “signs” that are out there for us.
I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason and there is no such thing as a coincidence (which has been the ultimate test of my faith considering the recent tragedy of Ava's death). But that begs the question, if I did know on an unconscious level, would I have really wanted to know consciously? In any case, the one thing I will never be able to believe in is Self Fulfilling Prophecy. That would just shake my core to a point of no return.
Here are the lyrics that sit close to my heart today, but instilled a fear in me that I couldn't quite explain throughout my pregnancy.
I'm comin' 'round to open the blinds
You can't hide here any longer
My God you need to rinse those puffy eyes
You can't last here any longer
And yes they'll ask you where you've been
And you'll have to tell them again and again
And you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day
Well I promise you you'll see the sun again
And you're asking me why pain's the only way to happiness
And I promise you you'll see the sun again
Come on take my hand
We're going for a walk, I know you can
You can wear anything as long as it's not black
Please don't mourn forever
She's not coming back
And yes they'll ask you where you've been
And you'll have to tell them again and again
And you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day
Well I promise you you'll see the sun again
And you're asking me why pain's the only way to happiness
And I promise you you'll see the sun again
And I promise you you'll seethe sun again
Do you remember telling me you found the sweetest thing of all
You said one day this was worth dying for
So be thankful you knew her at all But it's no more
And you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day
Well I promise you you'll see the sun again
And you're asking me why pain's the only way to happiness
And I promise you
you'll see the sun again
And I promise you you'll see the sun again
And I promise you you'll see the sun again
And I promise you you'll see the sun again
I promise you you'll see the sun again
See the sun again
See the sun again
See the sun again
See the sun again
Labels: Grief and Loss, In Memory of Ava |
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| Stephen McClatchey 10th Anniversary Memorial Run |
My husband and I have registered to participate in the Stephen McClatchey 10th Anniversary Memorial Run being held this September.
This run is being organized by the mommy of Stephen, who was born still ten years ago. His brave mommy wants to keep his memory alive and help friends and family understand that his memory is still strong and he will always hold a special place in her heart.
I couldn’t feel stronger or adamant about keeping Ava’s memory alive as well, and my husband and I are doing this 10 km (6 mile) run in her honour to help keep her memory alive.
Any funds raised go to the Perinatal Bereavement Services of Ontario. PBSO proves a variety of support services that are tailored to meet the special needs of perinatally bereaved families, including support groups, literature and publications on perinatal loss. They also develop and implement educational training seminars for health care professionals, caregivers, clergy and funeral directors on how to best support families suffering from the loss of a miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death.
Although I have regular paper based pledge forms, I know there are a few extremely generous souls out here in blog land that have expressed an interest in sponsoring for me or my husband for this run. After looking into my options for accepting online donations, it looks like opening an account with paypal to accept online secure donations for a non profit organization was the best fit. Charity.ca changed and is no longer an option. (That’s ok however, as they take a 9% cut from any donations made. Paypal, as a middleman and secure online transaction method only takes 3%).
I have added a link to my side bar to accept donations on behalf of PSBO.
I continue to run every day as I train for my first 10 km run. I have never run in my life before this event, and am determined to finish the 10 km (6 miles). I think I said I had hopes to complete it in an hour, but that may have been overly ambitious. I run about 4 – 8 km a day now to train, and have decided that the amount of time I take to finish the run in September isn’t as important as the cause. Making it to the finish line with my husband knowing we’re helping to keep our daughters memory alive, while helping other bereaved families is what matters most.
On behalf of PBSO, thanks in advance for your support. Thank you also for helping to keep Ava's memory alive. Godbless!
Please note, if you live in Canada, any donations over $20 will qualify for a tax receipt. Please email me your full mailing address to karlacadeau@gmail.com Labels: In Memory of Ava |
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| Hoo Doo You Do? |
This is a HOO DOO! 
If I told you that it was weathering and erosion that caused this geological wonder to look like this, you might raise an eyebrow and think I was kidding.
I kid you not! This is not an eccentric carving of a penis fanatic, this is a HOO DOO and it is a protected resource in Canada!
(Go figure, it took us how long to protect the rights of same sex couples to unite in marriage, but we have been protecting rocks that look like a giant penis since 1979).
Labels: Comic Relief |
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| Unbalanced Media Drivel |
I read an article in the paper yesterday that really rubbed me the wrong way. It’s an article from our local “liberal” commuter paper (partially owned by the Toronto Star) titled “Babies come later” (see article on front page).
The article discussed how men and woman are marrying much later and therefore, women are having children at a much later age according to Statistics Canada. I couldn’t agree more. When I look at my 3D friends, very few of them have children, and a lot of them didn’t marry until their 30’s. In fact, many of my acquaintances are well into their 30’s and are just now thinking about starting a family. According to a national study of births in 2003, Stats Canada found that 47.9 percent of women giving birth were over 30, a huge difference from women in the 80’s at a time when only 24 percent of women over 30 had children. In the province Ontario alone, over half of all mothers are over 30.
These are interesting statistics, and although I don’t fit into the national averages, they are interesting statistics none the less, and warrant some thought and consideration about what the dramatic shift in waiting to start a family is all about.
The article provided some interesting food for thought and seemed to offer some valid and interesting theories on this topic. The closing "expert" opinion however jangled my nerves. The “expert” opinion was as follows, and I quote, "the opportunities out of the home are much more lucrative and personally rewarding. Women want to defer that decision (to have children), which they know is going to trap them at home”
Feeling trapped by your family? Career more personally rewarding than family? Career more lucrative than family? Am I really understanding this correctly?
Where is the life/work balance in that statement? Do women in Canada really think a career and burning the midnight oil at the office is more lucrative than coming home to their family? Does being a corporate minion really entice them that much? I mean really, no matter how hard you work, no matter how important you are at your company, we are all disposable and replaceable pawns. Corporations don’t have loyalty to us, so why are so many of us so loyal to them? If you want loyalty, get a dog I say.
What ever happened to good old fashion family values?
Labels: Soapbox, Thinking Out Loud |
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| Sweet as a Rotten Piece of Pie |
I had mentioned to Mark a while ago that I would like a bike so we could go bike riding together. He looked at me coyly and asked if I was “really” interested in a new mode of transportation. Totally not sensing the mischief he was about to get himself into, I innocently responded my resounding YES!
He suddenly had some urgent “errands” to run. I thought he might be going to buy me flowers or something sweet and cute as he does these sort of "diligent husband" things regularly. He returned home a short while later with the biggest smirk on his face I have ever seen.
When I asked why he was smirking so, he pulled me outside and said he had a surprise for me. The crazy man told me he searched high and low for the perfect mode of transporation for me, and he finally located it. I was so excited, but not sure where he was going with this as there certainly wasn't a bicycle in the car. Finally, the anticipation of his surprise ended when he pulled a goddamn broom out of the car.
He said went to Home Depot in search of a new mode of transportation for me. He feigned innocence and ignorance about the nature of the situation and said that is what the sales clerk at Home Depot suggested when he played up the confused husband role and asked if "they could help".
What a swell man he is. I would have preferred a Mercedes Kompressor BICYCLE, but I suppose my new broom will have to do.
Thanks darlin’
As always, you're as sweet as a rotten piece of pie!Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Marriage |
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| Quarter Life Crisis...Childhood or Adulthood? |
Shortly after I hit my 20’s, I began to question when I will cross the line from “being a kid” to “being an adult”. I think your 20’s are sort of that grey area in between, where you are “technically” an adult, but really, some days, you just aren’t so sure.
I’m now 25. Halfway past twenty, and halfway to 30. I used to think when you hit 30, that was the “official” adult age, but then I realized my parents still party until the wee hours of the morning and my mom dances on the odd table or two at the bars, so all of a sudden the term “adult” took on a whole new meaning.
I have put together a top ten list that may help me determine where on the line between adulthood and childhood I sit.
Top 10 reasons I “might” be adult
10. I complain about the price of gas (but follow world markets to understand fluctuating gas prices)
9. I’m married
8. I have a mortgage
7. I have a life insurance policy
6. I like politics
5. I reluctantly buy “sensible” shoes
4. I’ll walk 3 km to the bar so that I get some exercise before ingesting “beer calories”
3. Retirement savings, investments and the stock market are more interesting than gossip
2. I had a baby
1. I had absolutely no idea how to work the keg at B$’s wedding last weekend
Top 10 reasons I “might not” be an adult and require some serious maturity counseling.
10. I still like to drink and party like a college kid
9. I like the club scene
8. I like to run in the sprinkler when it’s hot out
7. I make video’s of my ass
6. I pout when I don’t get my way with things
5. I will buy crazy high heel shoes that hurt like a son of a bitch, but wear them anyways because they are sexy
4. Sometimes I get my political news through John Stewart and Rick Mercer
3. I make Mark carry me home piggy back style when I decide home is “too far” on our way home from the bar… (that, and sometimes I'm just a lazy diva and prefer not to walk if I have a man handy to carry me)
2. I might not have known how to work the keg at B$’s wedding, but I figured it out quickly enough when I decided I wanted a beer (It’s amazing how quickly you learn when desperate enough)
1. I encouraged my husband to pick the nose of this bison head at the Banff Heritage Museum.
Labels: It's All About Me |
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| Blame it on the weeds. |
I’m usually quite a rational and level headed gal. In fact, besides my impatience, it used to take a lot to ruffle my feathers, and even when they did get ruffled, I’m generally far more rational than irrational. That is, until recently.
I get moody and irritable quite easily these days. Last weekend I was feeling particularly restless and cranky. While sitting outside gazing out at our back yard I noticed how sad my garden was looking. A rational person might do something productive like pick some weeds, plant a new flower or perhaps even water it. Not me. I dug the whole mother fuc*ing thing up. It was quite a sight. Dirt was flying everywhere, my face was covered in sweat and dirt, plants and weeds flying in every direction.
Perhaps I need to find a better outlet to take out my anger on. Although temporarily satisfying, ripping up gardens is hardly a constructive pastime.
Oye…
At least I got to work on my tan a little while terrorizing my poor flower beds. Labels: Comic Relief, It's All About Me |
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| Rocky Mountains |
My creative writing juices just haven’t been flowing since we returned from our holiday. It’s hard as hell to get back into the swing of things after such a long vacation. Since writing isn’t my bag these days, I decided to give movie making a shot.
Although, I quickly realized while watching all of our video clips that my husband, the handy camcorder man that he is (I was the regular camera girl), took plenty of wonderful footage of my ass as I climbed stairs and or while walking in behind me!
Thank you darling!
We traveled all that way for you to take footage of my ass!
LOVELY! Here is my video collage of our vacation. It isn’t easy trying to cram in two hours of video and 500 awesome photos into a four minute window to one of my favorite Enya songs, but I tried my best.
Enjoy!
Labels: Vacation, Video |
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