| Red Eye |
This week has been the first week in a very long time that I’ve had some down time. And I don’t want that to sound like an excuse or a complaint or whatever, it just is what it is, you know? It’s just like that old adage, when it rains it pours. I mean, I was a Stay-at-Home Mom for several years and I occasionally did some Freelance Writing and started an ever-so-slowly growing photography business and then BAM, I was contacted for a photography contract that had me rolling out of bed in the middle of the night and working full days during the week while still booking Photography sessions with my own clients EVERY WEEKEND OMG the FATIGUE of working seven days a week, day and night, night and day for months on end…ZZZZZZZZ.
Anyway, I’m not here to complain about being busy because YAWN! BORING! No, I’m here to complain about my motherfucking red eyes. If you saw someone driving down the highway with a pillowcase on their head that was probably me hiding my bruised ego.
It started over a month ago when I woke up one morning, saw myself in the mirror thought I might have pink eye, except not the kind of pink eye that is the hot shade of Schiaparelli pink that I would totally fill my closet with. No, when I say pink eye I really mean the eye of Satan. Except Satan would probably be totally hot and be all MEH if he looked liked me heading out the door to work. The only, tiny itty bitty difference being that I am not Satan and when I show up at work wearing black mule heels, wide leg pants adorned with a low-waisted skinny belt and murderous red eyes, I scare the kids, you know?
Which, to add insult to injury, my eyes are puffier than a motherfucking marshmallow!
Long story short, I went to a walk in clinic, got some antibiotics, eyes cleared up. Life is normal.
Fast-forward a month, red-eyes returned accompanied with painful swelling, both on the upper lids and lower eyes. More eye drugs. Swelling persists, blurred vision ensues and um, letters are all blurring into one another, does this post even make sense?
To date, my eyes barely focus, they are swollen, I sleep more than normal and the “special” appointment I had with an Ophthalmologist was useless. I see another eye specialist on Friday who can hopefully tell me that I can wear MAC mascara once again. Until then, I’m sacrificing my dignity and totally going to hang with Jay Kemp again for a fun afternoon of shooting photos. I have an entire post about Jay in the works because hello? He is the Director of Photography for the Discovery Channel and for reasons that I totally don’t understand, he like actually takes time out of his busy life to hang and take pics with me. We meet again on Friday and he’s promised to tell me about his recent trip to Malibu where he got to hang with Tommy Lee.
I am, like, absolutely stoked, you know, as long as he accepts that I look like a red-eyed balloon face.Labels: Friends, It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (8)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| My Purse |
I bought a cute new outfit yesterday and because I spent over $50, the store was giving away these cute little wallets. I thought, perfect! My wallet is more ancient than the dinosaurs and I could really use a new one.
Anyway, I got home and was about to make the whole switch from old to new and then after closer examination of this new wallet I just wanted to laugh because clearly, the wallet is not designed for a woman who freely admits to being a packrat and insists carrying everything with her at all times. This “free” wallet only holds six cards and has no zipper for change. Um? Hello! I live in Canada; a country where it is not unheard of to end up with $37 and 10lbs worth of coins.
And then I thought it might be a good exercise to critically analyze why the hell my wallet and purse are on the brink of exploding and then take a picture of the chaos and blog about it because that is what bloggers do, right? We divulge really weird things about ourselves and then publish it so someone can later find your website after googling why they woke up in unexplained wet clothes in a Canadian hotel and where to find freaky pictures of nipples.
I actually recently downgraded to a slightly smaller purse that does not fit a 17 inch laptop and a stock pile of diapers, and although I think tiny little purses are stylish and cute, Dude, I just can’t manage my life in six inches or less of zippered space. Especially not if I’m carting around a bottle of hand cream half the size of the Titanic and a keychain that could choke a horse.
So, yeah, my purse. Observe the chaos that is my entire identity, random Mr. Potato head nose and all.
Pictured above is:
A keychain with keys that I have no clue what they're even used for. Also attached to my keychain is a compass. I don’t even know why I have a compass considering my phone has GPS and my van has OnStar in-vehicle security response and turn by turn navigation, but the keychain thing was free and you never know when you’ll get lost in one of those massive Wal-Mart parking lots right?.
Sunglasses.
Hair clip.
Revlon Compact Foundation.
Clinique Pore Minimizer Instant Perfector.
Loreal Morning Light eye shadow.
Eye lash curler.
Oil blotting tissues (I am almost 30 and holy hell my skin is still oilier than a pubescent teenager.)
MAC Dazzle Lash mascara.
Clinique full potential plump and shine lip gloss.
Viva La Juicy hand cream.
Viva La Juicy To Go
Clinique Happy travel-size perfume.
Blistex.
Earrings I took off at my friend’s house one night and dumped in my purse.
Faux snake skin 4x6 photo album to hold treasured family photos.
Yes, yes that is a massive pile of Costco and Wal-Mart receipts.
A five dollar bill and $12.08 in change.
A Toronto subway token.
Bellagio, Mandalay Bay and two BIC pens.
Mr. Potato Head nose.
Unpaid Water and Gas Bills, Nate’s daily report card of activities from daycare.
A Lottery ticket I never checked. I’m probably millionaire and I don’t even know it.
Nathan and my library cards.
Three pre-paid photo development cards, two for three hundred 4x6 prints and one for ten 8x10’s. I lost my pre-paid 5x7 card.
MasterCard.
Bank card.
HBC Rewards card (which is totally useless because it takes half a century to get a bagel cutter and bagels come pre-cut now anyway.)
Boston Pizza gift card, which Mark and I conveniently used to imbibe in some thirst quenching beer on a sun-filled patio. I think there is like, $6.00 left.
Bulk Barn gift card. Hello yummy hard whole wheat flour and weekly wheat germ-infused homemade pizza crust tradition.
Social Insurance Number.
Health Card. I’m pretty sure I’m the last Canadian to update to the new photo identity health cards, but meh, I can’t be bothered to go and get my photo taken every five years. Kind of like I couldn’t be bothered to legally change my name when I got married and just “assumed” the name Cadeau. My health card is still under Karla McDonald and it confuses the hell out everyone when I get a prescription for Karla McDonald and then fill it for Karla Cadeau.
Sun Life health insurance benefits.
Costco. Oh how I loathe the insanity that is chaos of mile long check out line ups.
Nathan’s health card.
Nathans Social Insurance Number card.
Nathan’s Pediatrician’s business card.
Sippy cup.
Spill-proof snack cup.
Nathan’s asthma puffer.
Nathan’s Aero Chamber.
A Go Diego Go! Pull Up.
Baby wipes.
Two boxes of raisins.
A bundle of Kleenex to wipe a perpetually runny toddler nose.
Medication.
Free sample of hand cream.
Business cards for my Investment Advisor, Therapist (who, incidentally, thinks I am an extremely “private” person which totally made me smirk because I have a very non-private blog where talk about my boobs and post pictures of me in clothes from when I was ten years old.
A business card for Professional Doggie Duty Services! I was thisclose to calling them pick up my dog’s shit thank you very much.
Once Upon a Child frequent shopper card. I buy all of my kid’s clothes second hand. Also, my marketing with this company has driven clients to my photography business.
14 million trillion business cards from people I don’t know.
$50.00 in East Side Mario’s gift cards – one of my favourite restaurants. Yeah, I'm a pretty simple girl and can never get enough endless bowls of spicy pasta, salad and buttery bread.
United States calling card. Hi Angie!
Suzy Shier Prestige Card, which sounds all pretentious but it’s really just a measly 10% off all your purchases.
HTC Touch Pro phone. I know the iPhone is totally all the rage, but I’m a windows kind of chick and prefer this phone.
Karla Cadeau Photography business cards and card holder case. The case also holds the business card of my brother who I never get to see anymore because a) he never calls and b) he is going through a horribly difficult divorce.
The pink rosary that a stranger placed in my hands when I was miscarrying my second pregnancy and never leave the house without.
Ontario driver’s license, horrible mug shot and all.
Wal-Mart stickers. Enough said.
A card from the SickKids Foundation, one of the worlds most research-intensive and respected paediatric hospital and academic health sciences centres acknowledging a very generous donation in memory of Ava Marie Cadeau from my wonderful friends Beth and her husband. Every year since Ava passed away, Beth donates in her honour.
And that is pretty much my entire identity right there, eight pounds worth of leaky sippy cups, endless receipts piles and Go Diego Go! Pull Ups. I would say all that's really missing is the kitchen sink but I'm too lazy to actually wash dishes so I think a dishwasher would be more appropriate.Labels: It's All About Me, Thinking Out Loud |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (13)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| FAQ |
I’ve been wanting to add an FAQ section to this website for a very long time, but every time I sit down and try and sort through my email to come up with, oh, let’s say the top ten list of questions I've received, I get all down because do you know how hard it is to get emails almost every single day asking how Ava died. It’s not the reminder of her that’s hard, per se, but it’s not something I can bring myself to talk about day in and day out and day in and day out and to infinity and beyond.
Since starting this website, I have received over 1000 personal emails. I wholeheartedly have read, absorbed and kept every single letter I've received; even the negative ones because someone actually cared enough about something I’ve said to take the time and reach out, and that's gotta be worth something, right? Ok, that, and I am an email packrat and never delete anything.
Sometimes it’s just a letter to say Hi! I like you! And sometimes it’s a letter saying Hi! I’m glad your baby is dead! And that hurts, it really does, but I totally get that making my life an open book over here in this small corner of the Internet opens up a whole slew of opportunities for people to scrutinize and criticize tiny details of my life. At first it was hard to read that someone thinks I'm an irresponsible parent or that only drug users lose babies, but overtime I've grown a thicker skin and it's amazing how easy it is now to shrug and say, meh, whatev.
And then there are the incredibly heart-warming letters from those who have nothing but nice things to say and kindly share tiny morsels of their life with me, or those who’ve shared in similar experiences with infant death and miscarriage, or those who have taken something away from this website, even if it was just to stop what they were doing and give their children a great big hug. Somehow, someway, knowing that my life experiences have made someone appreciate more deeply what they have, even if for a fleeting moment, makes it all just that much more bearable, you know?
So, I guess this was a very long way to get to my point. And I do have one. Pinky Swear. If I was to put up an FAQ section, what kind of questions would you like to see me to answer? Is there anything about Karla and the ever-evolving Universe that you would like to know? I only took Introduction to Philosophy in college though, so please don’t ask me how to know if a Smurf is suffocating or if vegetarians can eat animals crackers, because people, that shit is way too deep for me.
Feel free to leave a comment or email me at karla [@] untanglingknots [dot] com.Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (18)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 25 Things |
1. I change my pillow case Every. Single. Night. The thought of my face sleeping on yesterday’s hair products kind of wigs me out.
2. Same goes for dish rags. I use a new one every day.
3. It’s coming up on 18 years now that I’ve been a vegetarian.
4. And it’s been even longer since I’ve eaten eggs.
5. I have several of my very own dishes that meat is not allowed to be cooked in.
6. I spent 12 years of my life as a smoker. I haven’t smoked in almost six years and sometimes the cravings are still overwhelming.
7. I spent 13 years of my life with an eating disorder.
8. I once made a very horrible and hormonally irrational mistake as a teenager and tried to commit suicide.
9. While being rushed to the hospital, I saw “the light” and a several gray silhouette-like shadows waving me towards it. That image has forever been burned into the depth of my mind.
10. I am turning 30 this year and have been with Mark for over half of my life.
11. I was never good at math but for some reason I can calculate sales tax in my head.
12. Growing up I always wanted to be a writer but somewhere along the way the vibrations of the Universe shifted me off course and I fell in love with rocks and minerals and the earth’s magnetic field. And computers.
13. I was put on life support for the birth of my first child and she is the one that did not live.
14. I have a daughter. Her name is Ava. And her memory is reminder every time I see my reflection in the mirror.
15. While miscarrying my second pregnancy, a woman came up to me, opened my hands and delicately draped a pink rosary between my fingers. Holding my hands in hers, she looked me right in the eye and told me that one day I would have beautiful children, and then folded my hands around her prayer beads and left. I have carried that rosary with me everywhere I go and I panic if it is not with me.
16. I have a son. His name is Nathan and he looks just like me and acts just like his father.
17. I suffer from anxiety and panic attacks, like, often.
18. I like soup, like, a lot.
19. I’ve been wearing the same perfume for over ten years. Clinique, Happy.
20. I own a giant yellow dog with a flatulence problem and two cats. Together, my cats have three eyes and one of them is stupidly fat and ornery and the other one is freakishly thin and cuddly and dying from kidney failure.
21. I have weird toes. They are long and skinny and crocked from years of being shoved into pointy heeled shoes. Ironically, I have never had braces and my teeth are straight.
22. I only had bottom wisdom teeth. My dentist told me that is a sign of the evolutionary advancement of humans. I just liked the drugs.
23. I am a perfectionist, to a fault.
24. My wedding ring was custom made with seven diamonds to reflect the seven years that Mark and I dated before we got married. The diamonds are not perfectly aligned and I prefer it that way because one of my favourite Leonard Cohen songs has a verse that says, “There is crack in everything and that is how the light gets in.” I think that is quite profound and holds a lot of truth.
25. I asked Mark to help me with the final number and all he had to offer was that I have the best husband in the whole entire world. I must admit, I concur.Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (11)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Sickness and the Pseudo-Single Parent |
It is the calm part of the day. First thing in the morning, Jr's top priority is to sit and talk to his toys. He's good for at least half an hour. Picking up pieces of fluff off the carpet and holding them up to show me. Sitting with his ankles crossed happily talking to his sunglasses.
Yesterday was a hard day. Hubby has been away all week and I came down with some kind of illness. I spent most of the afternoon and evening curled up on the floor beside Jr trying to stay awake. Slipping off briefly to wake up in a minor panic to find him chewing on a wrench he found god-knows-where. Moving hurt, all noise shook through me like icy daggers. I was wearing two sets of sweat pants and sweat shirts and still blew hot air into my hands. Thankfully Jr went to bed at 7:30 and I was able to sleep soon after.
Being a pseudo-single parent is not easy. I have a husband, I see him on weekends, he makes money so I don't have to work. It is the arrangement that works best for us. Though all situations come with sacrifice. Like last night, when having another parent home would have made my life easier. Most weeks he is gone Monday to Friday. I get through the week waiting for the glorious weekends when he takes the morning shift and allows me to sleep in (once I even saw 8:30!!!). Hats off to real single parents, the ones who don't get a break on weekends, or ever. The ones who have to work and look after kids, be it sick or well.
Unfortunately this weekend he works, his job makes me like I never win. His schedule is random, and changes often. I've gotten used to it, but being sick makes it shitty. He is hundreds of miles away, unable to do much more than listen.
I feel a bit better now, the handfuls of Tylenol are making a difference, one layer of sweat pants was able to come off.
Has it been a half hour already? I should get back to being a Mom. Thanks for stopping by while Karla has been away, you have all been so nice.
Bye for now - BLabels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (18)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 'Tis the season |
I’ve been feeling a bit at a loss these days when it comes to writing, because, well, everything I write here is a personal truth and for the most part, I’m so totally fine with my life being an open book. But when it comes to my family, it’s always so hard to know how to put certain things into words when there are firm boundaries to respect, you know?
And here we are, officially reigning in on the season to deck the halls and be merry, but between having a brother that has basically disappeared off of the phone and family radar and having to make difficult and ill-received decisions around Nate’s asthma, I’m stuck in a big ass sombre-hued cloud of frustration.
And because I’m too frustrated to write, and even if I could, I can’t (see above re: boundaries), I’ve been burying my disappointment in shopping malls decked in a riot of red and green-hued decorations and budget-busting size 25 waist wide leg jeans paired with colourful scarves with a hint of Parisian flair.
There may also have been a purchase of a new fancy pants smartphone and more additions to my already abundant collection of hoodies and yoga pants because lets face it, the good old days of tweed-suited adult boardroom conversations won’t be happening anytime soon. God, I can barely remember what a perfectly hemmed pair of pin-stripped pants looks like and I may as well be comfortable when I’m up to my eyeballs in neon-haired PlayDoh creatures, you know?
Fuck. Trying to do what you believe is the right thing isn’t always easy. I kind of want to run away somewhere warm and sip fruity cocktails with cute little umbrella’s pool-side. That may have been an option, except I just totally blew the budget on my own pity party shopping spree.
The new jeans were so worth it, though.Labels: It's All About Me, The Learning Curve, Thinking Out Loud |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (7)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| An affair with Autumn |
I went for a solo hike through the conservation area up the road this morning. And while the tip of my nose turned salmon pink and nature painted a sun-kissed glow over my cheeks with a brush dipped in the vibrant freshness of crisp Autumn air, I think, for the first time in a very long time, I felt myself breathing deeply and breathing with purpose.
Autumn has officially arrived this year on the seasonal fashion runway and initial reports seem to indicate she's wearing her most vibrant copper-hued harvest dress yet.
And while girlfriend struts her stuff, she’s so kicking the warmth of Summer’s sunny yellow ass to the curb and leaving him to hibernate in the dust of her befrosted fallen leaves.
As much as I want to cling to Summer, Autumn sure does smell nice. So nice, in fact, that I spent the morning inhaling her sweet scent and frolicking in her leaves.
When Mark gets home from work, I’m so going to have to explain all of the remnant red and orange bits on my collar.
 Labels: It's All About Me, Photography |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (12)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Resolve |
It was a sweltering afternoon in Las Vegas and Mark and I were lazily soaking up the warmth of a sun-filled desert while sipping ice cold beer when I suddenly turned to him and blurted out that we should run a half marathon. And since we were both intoxicated with alcohol inflicted vacation vertigo, Mark paused for a brief moment while pondering my words and then suggested we begin training immediately and ordered us two more drinks filled with barley and hops and carbohydrate-packed fuel for our thirsty bodies.
And that was the last of that conversation until we got home and Mark asked if I was actually serious about running a half marathon. It occurred to me to renege on my promise, but friends, I am a woman of my word and not fulfilling a promise is just not an option. Except, apparently, when it comes to blowjobs. Because according to Mark, I’m years behind on fulfilling those obligations.
Growing up, I was never much of the athletic type and spent much of my awkward childhood trying not end up the last person picked for the team while simultaneously trying to shrink and shyly fade into the background. It wasn’t until I had a deeper purpose that I discovered the vitality of an untapped inner strength; Ava. Her memory, softly illuminating this path I walk in life, lives on in all that I do. Shortly after she passed away I desperately wanted to make her proud of me and set out on a training mission like nothing I had ever done before. Running quickly became my escape. My means to cope. And with your support, we raised $1100 for charity in her honour. Seriously, the sheer power of this united online collective never fails to amaze me, and I’m still in awe over the astonishing outpouring of generosity from that run.
It’s so empowering and inspiring to know that the boundaries of human resolve are endless and I will never forget the day that I ran 10 kilometers in Ava's memory. I felt authentically vibrant. Alive. Strong.
As I continue this journey of life down a path softly aglow by the memory of my first born and guided by ever-evolving spirit of my son, my never-ending search for the things that fulfill my expanding soul continues. And so, here I stand, nervous to fail but ambitious to succeed, or at the very least, complete an entire half marathon without falling flat on my face.Labels: Half Marathon, It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (10)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Old stomping grounds |
My parent’s live footsteps away from a heavily tree-lined portion of the Trans Canada Trail and directly across from a soul-quenching waterfront pathway that winds around the peacefully calm southerly tip of Georgian Bay.
I spent my childhood exploring meandering rivers, rickety old bridges, abandoned train tracks and a haunted British naval base and if there is one thing that I miss about living in Penetang, it’s the historic charisma of this town. Well that and all the juicy small town gossip, like knowing who ate what for lunch yesterday and whether or not they had a pickle on the side.
~ : ~
 The self proclaimed World Famous Dock Lunch. In the distance is Saint Ann's Roman Catholic Church, also known as the The Cathedral of the North. The bells on this romanesque style church are rung daily at 8:00 am., noon and 6:00 pm., and if I was religious, this is where I would go to confess my sins, like shopping on Sundays and the time I coveted my neighbour’s manservant.Labels: All in the Family, It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (6)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Uphill both ways |
My parents came to visit last weekend, and as much as I love the actual visiting part, I really love that my mom takes over diaper duty when she’s here. Also pretty awesome is the free babysitting. Last weekend, Mark and I took full advantage of having my parents around and went out for some adult fun and consumption of draught beer under the yellow haze of an afternoon sun.
We decided to ride our bikes the two miles to sit on a sun-drenched patio and after putting on a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans, clear lip gloss and coating my lashes in a luxe finish mascara, I declared myself ready. But Mark was all, “Where is your helmet?” And I was all, “But I don’t want helmet head.” And then Mark got all Mr. Safety on me and insisted we wear helmets, which I suppose is justifiable on account of it being the law, and also on account of the fact that my belly would be filled with beer which could quite possibly shift my center of gravity off balance. Not that I'm speaking from past experience or anything.
To help offload some weight, I decided not to bring my giant diaper-stuffed mom purse and enlisted the help of Mark’s pockets to carry a few things for me. So there we were, all decked out in our bicycle helmets, Mark’s pockets bulging with my lady things and barely out of the driveway when a flared pant leg got caught in my bicycle chain. And do you know what I did? I became the epitome of hip and cool and tucked my jeans into my argyle-patterned socks and rode the entire uphill bike ride along the main road in town to the pub like that.
Once we got there, we passed the time holding hands on top of a faux granite-topped table and laughing heartily under the tilted cover of an oversized umbrella until the sun changed its path in the sky and it was time to tuck my pants into my socks again and leave. And I am not even kidding; the entire ride home was all uphill, too.
Seriously, when Nate gets older and starts complaining about how tough life is, I’ll have no problem telling him about how many fashion laws I had to break back in the day while riding my bike uphill both ways just to spend an entire afternoon consuming alcohol.Labels: It's All About Me, Mark |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (14)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| The great escape, now on wheels |
I can sense the heaviness weighing down on me as the anniversary of Ava’s death approaches. Damn it would it be nice if the Universe would just apologize for its heartless crimes of humanity, but the Universe does not acknowledge what has happened, and it does not relent. And so, I must digress and seek other means in which to cope, to remember.
Writing, of course, helps. It’s like an open tunnel in which thoughts are filtered and the drudge is siphoned off, moving it away from a saddened heart, but sometimes what works best for me is a deeply rooted need for quiet introspection and solitude.
I’m sure that’s why I relied so heavily on running during those early months after Ava died. Stillness was when the crumbling dampness crept its way into my thoughts, but running - oh running was like the dawning of a new self awareness, a place to think, a place where the steady rhythm of deep breathing and the pounding of a resilient heart helped me escape from how uncomfortable it felt to be living in the shadow of my daughter’s death.
After losing my second pregnancy, running was put on the backburner and it’s been a long and sporadically slow process finding my way back into it again after Nate was born.
Suddenly though, as I’ve been sensing this inner turmoil boiling inside of me, running is all that I can think about. And just like that, my running shoes and I are best buddies once again and I have not missed a day in weeks.
I feel good about reconnecting with a long lost passion - to have consistent 'me' time, and the only thing that would make it even better is if I had a jogging stroller.
So do tell, in your experience, does one really need a larger fixed wheel to push their kid down the streets of suburbia? Because those dual-purpose jogging strollers look pretty darn handy with their smaller swivel wheel that can unlock and plough through those tight-cornered sales racks at the mall.
What says the Internet?Labels: Grief and Loss, In Memory of Ava, It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (21)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| A Change in Plans |
There has been a drastic change in plans for the upcoming wedding. And by drastic, I mean saying goodbye to idea that I was going to wear high heels to this event.
The shoes that I had planned to wear with the dress I bought were a strappy black number with three inch spikes for heels. I must have been a talented beam balancing gymnast is a previous life, because those shoes saw me through several alcohol-fuelled weddings and late night jaunts to the bar in the past, and as far as I can remember, I never once tripped and broke my neck. But a completely sober kid-on-hip test quickly alerted me to the fact that me, in heels and a thong (and friends, there are only very specific circumstances in life that would prompt me to wear an uncomfortable thong, and trying to look sexy for married sex is not even one of them), combined with a dangerously plunging neckline and a toddler on my hip is a recipe for disaster.
I’m not sure why pointing out that there is a thong involved in this equation matters, but it does. Probably because if I tipped over on those heels and fell, the exposing of my stark-white ass cheeks would be just as alarming as flashing my barely there post-nursing boobs.
I just can’t do it, wear heels that is, especially now that I will be carrying Nate down the aisle.
And so enters a pair of pleated ballerina flats.
I don’t love them. I prefer heels because they have this certain je ne sais quoi about them that these flat shoes lack. Maybe it’s a high heel's ability to tone and cast shapely shadows on calf muscles. Or the boost of confidence that comes with their instant leg-lengthening and derrière-lifting improvements. Or better still, maybe it’s the unspoken touch of elegance they add to my stride. In any case, I feel unfinished without them, but entirely relieved that I can now stand upright and support the weight of another human precariously perched on my hip.
Unimportant things that are really not all that interesting to note about this picture:
- Samson looks like he is about to take a giant dump, right there in the middle of my living room floor.
- Sadly, the finger prints all over the mirror are too high up to blame on Nate. This hall closet mirror has become the spot where I hastily splash on concealer and mascara in the morning while simultaneously keeping a watchful eye on Nate and a giant shovy shover of a dog.
- Our ottoman now doubles as a barricade to stop Nate from climbing stairs and from fishing for treasures in the toilet.
-I am wearing my stick-on boobs, er, I mean bra. Can you tell? Yeah, me neither.
Next item to contend with: Wearing a dress with a deeply plunging neckline to an event that will require the hauling around of a shirt-grappling toddler at my side.Labels: It's All About Me, Thinking Out Loud |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (12)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| It's Nothing Personal |
My Friday without Nate last week, my day to pursue personal interests, my day to think, bathe and breathe air, toddler free, was totally wonderful, thank you very much.
That is, until the bomb dropped.
I spent the morning working on an article, and then since it was too cold and windy in the afternoon to go running outside, and because I am not a fan of the treadmill, I did some much needed cleaning instead, followed by a little bit of shopping, which included a trip to the beer store - where I got ID’d.
That totally made my day because I am almost ten years over the legal drinking age here in Ontario. It’s always the small things in life, eh? I was trying to be all nonchalant about it too, but I haven’t been to a beer store in ages and my ID was lost in the vast andromeda that is my bottleless mom purse, which is actually a woman’s business case with no less than 18 secret compartments that have slowly, over time, become the holder of goldfish crackers, wipes, diapers and a mountainous pile of Wal-Mart receipts to prove the perpetual need of said items. And do you think I could find my driver's license in all of that?
“I’m sorry, I know it’s in here somewhere”, I said as I began unloading the contents of my purse to speed up the search.
I'm thinking that unloading a stack of diapers at the beer store probably doesn't count as a shinning moment in motherhood greatness.
But then again, neither does finding out that after only one day, Nate was kicked out of daycare.
I am so not even kidding.Labels: It's All About Me, Nate |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (24)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Barely Legal |
There was a change in plans, and this morning I dropped Nate off at daycare.
It’s only been three hours, but this is the longest we have been apart, ever.
This feeling of total freedom feels barely legal. And a bit lonely.
Nate says, “Woman, go seek ye some peace in the form of a non-fat vanilla flavoured beverage.”
And who am I to argue with a pint-sized preacher of the caffeine gospel?
Labels: It's All About Me, Nate |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (16)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Finding balance in the chaos of motherhood |
Ok, apparently I failed common dentistry knowledge 101, because grinding your teeth is normal? For serious? And also, I thought a root canal meant the violent yanking of teeth from your mouth, because that’s what we’re having done to my kitty, but you know, after knocking him unconscious first with some anesthesia, despite how tempting breaking out the pliers seemed after we realized how much this is going to cost.
Another thing I have failed at, and this is something that I struggle with sometimes when it comes to blogging, is effectively communicating where I am coming from, and where I am going in a post, because the post about grinding my teeth? I think I failed to mention that I have been struggling with a myriad of anxiety issues for a while now, which, I have basically been in denial about, or ignoring.
The feelings of anxiety have been plaguing me for years. But I mean, I lost a child, so these feelings, I figured, must be totally normal. Right? But then, when I became pregnant with Nate, I started experiencing full blown panic attacks. Like, freak out in the grocery store, drop everything and leave because omigod, I can’t breath, panic attacks.
That’s when I finally agreed to talk therapy.
I was sent to see a psychologist who specializes in issues of maternal health. Her office overlooked a busy downtown Toronto street filled with bustling traffic and a sea of pedestrians. This quickly became a welcoming diversion, and natural place to shift my gaze when asked difficult questions. I didn’t like being there, and I also didn't like that her espresso-brown eyes seemed void of empathy and understanding. I think our eyes reveal so much more about us than we can ever communicate verbally, and her gaze gave me a heavy feeling of unease as she studied me, and then my body language; shifting her focus from my hands, to my face, back to my hands, and then to her notepad to scribble down secret notes about me.
I never felt like she really heard me. I would open up about something personal, or something that troubled me deeply, and then, like a broken record, just in case I didn’t hear her the first eleven times, she would tell me that I need to get out of bed, shower and get dressed every day. This was her answer to everything. Which, makes sense, except then she had to go and say that spending the day in the same yoga pants that I slept in the night before didn’t count. Ok, seriously folks, if you gave up your career to stay home and gestate a child, and had nowhere special to be, or nothing special to do, except maybe to spend an intimate afternoon on the couch with a some Rice Krispies, would you bother busting out the blow dryer and mascara everyday? I mean seriously, the Rice Krispies loved me no matter what, and true, unconditional love like that is hard to find. So why ruin it with a fancy blowout?
That’s when I knew we weren’t connecting because how can you expect me to build a rapport with someone who does not share my core philosophies about maternal comfort and the art of tying your unwashed, unbrushed hair into a knot on your head?
Welcome to the perpetual state of non-upkeep that has become my Stay-at-Home Mom reality.
Also, she referred to Ava as ‘the fetus’, which was bothersome. It’s one thing to sit through a medical discussion reducing your child to nothing more than a brain tissue specimen in a Petri dish, but it’s another thing when a psychologist, the person who is supposed to be helping you, won’t use her name. God, she wasn’t just a fetus, she was a full term baby, and she was born, to a person with feelings, and teetering hopes and crushed dreams. She was, she IS, my child.
Needless to say, after Nate was born, I cancelled all my appointments with her and told her that I was leaving the country.
Oh my god, I can’t believe I just admitted that.
Seriously though, I just figured my panic attacks and anxiety throughout my pregnancy was normal, considering I had lost two pregnancies prior. I convinced myself that I was fine. But then the anxiety never really went away after Nate was born, and it’s been growing steadily. If I had to describe it, I would say that my days are spent with a heightened state of anxiety-fuelled anxiousness. Almost like feeling overwhelmed, but that’s not quite right, because god, I am a Stay-at Home Mom to a very easy going child and a wife to a very loving husband. It’s definitely more of a feeling of nervous unease. Restlessness maybe?
Over the years, doctors have called it: Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. The solution to all of these is medication. Which is fine if you really have any of those conditions, but I don’t believe I do. I just think that I have had some pretty shitty things happen to me in life, and sometimes it's hard to cope with it all, especially now that I have a child and essentially no time to myself.
I know medication is a life saver for many people, and I would never, ever, discount its usefulness and purpose in the medical community. There was a dark time in my life when I truly needed medication and was on various antidepressants as a teenager after trying to take my own life. They literally gave me a new lease on life. They work. But I am better now. And I know I am better now, because I have been on the other side of not better.
Truthfully, I think all that’s wrong with me is that I need some me time. Some time to unplug. Some time to figure out how to feel like my old self again.
That being said, I want to start running more. Running used to be my escape. And I know saying that I should exercise more sounds like such a cliché, but it’s totally a mood-boosting feeling of exhilaration for me. It makes me feel healthier, stronger. And while I totally recognize it’s not a fix-all, it’s a start, and at least that’s something. Samson and I went for a three mile run Friday night and I instantly felt better, you know, after I got home and my fingers unthawed and I was able to pick myself up off the kitchen floor.
Next – daycare. This one has been hard to come to terms with, because being a Stay-at-Home Mom was a choice that I made, that Mark and I both made. It was something we talked about all the way back in high school actually, and while I have absolutely no regrets, I don’t think I ever could have anticipated how hard the whole being ‘on’ seven days a week, 24 hours a day can be. And by the time the weekend arrives; between alternating weeks for the Grandparents to visit, squeezing in some time for Mark and I to reconnect, and the intense demands of Mark’s bustling career, which often requires him to be at work on the weekends too, which means no diaper duty breaks for me, I feel drained.
Starting next week, Nate will be in daycare one day a week. And I am done feeling like, because I am a Stay-at-Home Mom, I should be ashamed about that.
Deep down, I think all I really need is to find a tiny piece of the me I used to be before I became the me I am today, with a past shadowed by the death of a child and a miscarriage and a present littered with never ending diapers and the perpetual filling of sippy cups.
The highs are really high, but lows can be really low, and finding a way to balance it all, this thing called life, this thing called motherhood, for now, is a work in progress.
I know that I am not alone when it comes to having those days where it's a struggle to keep your head above water, so thank you for listening. And thank you also, for your open and accepting arms, and for making my little home in this small corner of the Internet feel oh so cozy and warm.Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (32)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Tis the season of haircuts |
Let’s pretend for a second, that you are me, and after having a couple of babies, the once thick and lustrous hair full of spiraly curls and oomph that used to live on your head has turned into a post-pregnancy mess of limp and scraggly bristles.
Let’s also pretend that you have coped with the hair loss and hormone-induced colouring disasters by tying your hair in a knot on your head, where it has lived for too many months to mention, growing longer and more bedraggled with each passing day.
Feeling frustrated and a bit sad that your once girly girly hair now looks strikingly similar to the sinewy rope used to dock an ocean liner, would you not agree that drastic times call for drastic measures? And a haircut?
And if so, what sort of haircut would best flatter a face that is round, and a lifestyle (read: kid) that leaves you with zero energy for primping and preening?
 Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (12)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| A Chance Encounter |
We travelled north again this weekend to celebrate my Father-in-Law’s 60th Birthday party, and no drive to Penetanguishene is complete without veering off of the bustling northbound highway and stopping to savour the comforting aroma of a Tim Horton’s coffee.
This is also where I stop and pee because my bladder is the size of a walnut.
I don’t know if it has something to do with sitting still for a length of time, or if it has something to do with the whole wanting what you can’t have mentality, which, um, EWW! But I cannot stress enough how bad my need for a toilet is whenever I am not near one.
Anyway, the place that we stop along the highway is ideal, because after I pee, I can pick up a coffee to help perpetuate the whole drinking and peeing cycle.
While making my way over to the lineup to order a cup of java, I happened to recognize someone I knew from college. He was standing just off to the side of the line with a friend, gaze shifted up at the printed menu items above his head.
As I approached the line, I tried to shrink away into the crowd of people, unnoticed, but I saw him glance in my direction, and before I could shift my gaze away, our eyes met and I saw a familiar spark of recognition sweep across his face.
We were both one of the 15 Mineral Engineering Technology students from the graduating class of 2000, and although we share a deep and common interest in Geology, and whether or not the bedrock beneath our feet contains orthoclase or plagioclase feldspar, I felt no desire to go over and say hello.
The easy excuse would be to say that I was in a hurry to get to a birthday party and that my husband and my baby were in the car waiting for me, but that would only have been half of the truth. The other half is that so much has changed since the good old college days. And part of me feels so entirely disconnected from the world after losing Ava, that I never quite know what to say when talking about my life.
I mean, first of all, how do you not sound like an asshole when you explain that you ditched your career in Geology once you realized that you could make more money as a secretary in a towering sky scraper wearing heels and a fitted skirt? And then once you discovered the glitzy allure of a good paying corporate job, you went back to school and studied technology and made really good money in web development and became the type of person who doesn’t even bat their mascara coated lashes at the price of a $14 glass of wine and who sighs heavily in long lineups to express their self-righteous impatience. And then how do you explain that tragedy struck, and you lost a baby and the entire Universe as you knew it suddenly tilted on its axis and nothing has ever been the same since?
Then again, it’s been over seven years since we've seen each other. Maybe he has also discovered there are more important things in life than being that impatient, sighing jackass in the lineup, too?
A simple, “Hi, how are you?” would have worked, I guess. But when the reciprocal, “So, what are you up these days?” question was asked, rather than telling some sort of polite fabrication about my life to keep things light and airy, I thought it would be easier to just say nothing at all.
So before he noticed the glimmer of recognition in my eyes too, I turned my shoulder to him, abrupt and cold in my hesitation, ordered a coffee and left.
I had a baby and a husband waiting in the car, after all.Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (10)
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Andromeda |
I’m feeling a bit lost these days. And just like when I was feeling unsettled, I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what this feeling is.
I can’t focus, and I can’t sit still, and why is it that I can’t seem to find a floor lamp or silverware that I like?
All I know is that pomegranate seeds taste heavenly and that my words are temporarily lost in the vast Andromeda of space, which apparently, is where all the nice lamps and spoons must be, too.
 Labels: It's All About Me |
Permanent link to this entry
Comments (10)
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
|
|
|
Recently
Monday, May 15, 2017
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, May 03, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
|
|
|
|
