Half Of What I Say Is Meaningless

Story Of My Life

Undoubtedly, my favourite season is autumn and this year I welcomed its arrival with a sigh of relief. More than anything, I was completely ready to bid adieu to this particular summer. While it could have been worse, it's a period I certainly won't look back at fondly. I had looked forward to this summer with great anticipation. We had finally recovered from that initial haze which encompasses those first few months with a new baby. We survived way more than our fair share of ailments. I honestly didn't think it was possible to have the stomach flu four times in the span of less than a year (alas, I was wrong). I laid great plans for this summer you see, activities, a vacation, time to relax and engage in those quintessential holiday events. But there was the question of this nagging back injury.

 

The back, my back that somehow managed to evolve from sore to excruciating over the course of a few months. I will spare many of the details as admittedly I've droned on about them for far too long. But a brief recap…"how I spent my summer vacation". I slogged through those last few weeks of the school year, thinking to myself things can only get better when I have time to rest, to recover. Famous last words. Cue the first week of summer vacation. Boys home, husband home for a rare week off, adventures planned for every day. All plans summarily cancelled, there I was completely laid out on the couch, barely able to move. We played Guitar Hero, which I'm surprisingly adept at in the prone position. Only thing that could distract me from the nearly unbearable pain. Too much Guitar Hero as I will recount later in the saga.

 

I possess a fairly high pain tolerance (I've had a baby without drugs), and that was likely part of the problem. That and the fact that I generally don't complain, I like to wallow in my misery, internally. The next week, my left leg went numb, and a muscle in my calf stopped functioning. The pain had transferred from my back to my leg, severe nerve pain, ugh. Not a great sign. Saw the neurosurgeon, the CT scan showed a herniated S1 L5. Now they will not operate on 95% of herniated discs, only those 5% deemed severe enough to warrant it. Guess which camp I fall into. I languished in the hospital for five days prior to the surgery, on more medication than I believed humanly possible. Late Sunday night I'm whisked down to the operating room. Kind of freaking out (had never been under a general anaesthetic), but relieved to get in there before being bumped by another trauma. Wake up with a sore mouth and zero pain…amazing. It's microsurgery, the incision only about 2 cm long. Try not to think about the fact that they drilled into my spine, and dispensed of some disc. I consider myself lucky on all counts.

 

One day later, I'm home feeling surprisingly well. My leg still numb, the muscle still not functioning. Likely these areas will improve after some months of rehab. But the major problem, I cannot lift more than five pounds for at least six weeks. The neurosurgeon reiterated this point several times, in no uncertain terms. Something about disc shooting through the hole drilled in the spine. Problem two, the baby who weighed at that point nearly twenty pounds. I'm the independent type, I hate to ask for help. We muddled through somehow with the help of an amazing babysitter in July, several helpful family members in August. I did not lift that baby, my sweet Elizabeth for two months. Oh how I missed her sweet smell, that cuddly baby feeling in my arms. That was the most trying thing.

 

Finally, I can lift her again, and each time I do so with great appreciation. Life for the most part is nearly back to normal. I can’t run yet, will probably be at least several more months. I cannot push off from my toes, the ball of my foot, the muscle still refusing to innervate. Eventually though. I'm working out with my trainer three days per week and just started back to yoga. On my way back to healthy, with a renewed appreciation for all my body can do, without pain.

 

My boys (husband included) weathered the storm remarkably well. Patient, despite the changes in plans, frustration and disruption. William and Thomas are both remarkably resilient creatures. A few weeks ago we are in the middle of dinner, the five of us, plus my brother-in-law. Thomas the master of inappropriate comments in his uncannily deep voice enlightens us with this charming tidbit of information . I will recount the words of my five year old "I know the number of the beast, it's six – six – six!" I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. My brother-in-law nearly fell out of his chair, I'm guessing an Iron Maiden fan from back in the day. Yes, proud parenting moment. Perhaps a little too much Guitar Hero.

The First Cut Is The Deepest

I now do realize the blame does not lay squarely on the shoulders of poor Thomas. I occasionally endured the refrain of "I can't see, it's in my eyes!" His hair was extremely long, in desperate need of a haircut.  In my own defense both boys were scheduled for a hair appointment for the next Wednesday, I had consented to the necessity of a shorter hairstyle. Thomas however had other plans, no longer enamoured by his flowing locks.

One evening two weeks ago, he appears upstairs somewhat sheepishly after a good thirty minutes sight unseen. Initially, I couldn't quite figure out exactly how his appearance had been altered, until he turned around. And there it was, as if the eighties had appeared in their worst incarnation. A self inflicted mullet, actually something reminiscent to Sonya on "So You Think You Can Dance". Only worse, much, much worse. He had hacked it off with a pair of William's's new school scissors (yes they do indeed cut hair), and the evidence was strewn all over the basement bathroom, in the toilet, the sink, the garbage and the floor. Some areas he virtually decimated at the root, in sharp contrast to the pieces his left a good six inches. In didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. He has done this before, though never to such a dramatic degree.

And that was the end of that, my child who has always sported the long hair (with the glaring exception of his first year, given his particularly bald head), played his hand and ensured that he would begin Kindergarten with a new short style. I phoned and pleaded with the hairdresser for an emergency appointment. Two days later, Maggie graciously repaired the damage with a fair amount of wizardry in addition to the lopping off of many inches. She showed me how to blow dry it to best disguise the questionable regions. As if this rather rambunctious child will ever sit still long enough to let a blow dryer anywhere near the vicinity of his head, by his mother anyways. The result is above, albeit self styled, kind of adorable. Suits him, with his quirky antics and all.

…beautiful as the moon or any star could be.

A diminutive voice would occasionally slip into my stream of consciousness, "You should be documenting this, you are never going to remember...". Two and a half long years have passed since I have written about our this and our that, our moments, our memories. I've missed it, that process of reflection, and appreciation that comes with examining some of the minutiae. As well as the practice of the figurative pen to paper, crafting with words. September is a wonderful time to begin anew, akin to cracking open a fresh notebook.

And most importantly, SHE. In two years marked by significant changes, she is certainly the most significant. For the past nine months she has stated her presence with conviction (and occasionally a high pitched scream). Yet unlike her brothers before her, she does not have chronicles documenting her every twist and turn, odes to each newfound discovery. Perhaps it is a minor effort to stave off that omnipresent maternal guilt, or simply because I want to remember, because she is my last. I want her to know without question, exactly the depth and breadth of our love for her.

Finally. Introducing...Elizabeth (b. 11/18/2007).

Don't Forget To Brush

Back...hopefully reinvigorated to blog once again. Keep wanting to share tidbits here and there, of things going on, the stuff of life, cool new finds.

For today though, I found the coolest ever Photoshop Brushes, completely inspiring me to create a new banner. Graffiti, foliage, a variety of worn geometric stuff, completely divine. Can download them from: Design Fruit.

Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right

Here I am...

Just some randomness for today.

We are still recovering from the supreme irritation otherwise known to us all as "spring forward". Talk about throwing everyone for a loop particularly this morning. Dragged ourselves out of bed late and barely got William to school on time at exactly 8:15. Even Thomas who generally springs up at an ungodly time in the morning had to be roused this a.m. This change coupled with the fact that we didn't get to bed until super late, not your best combo. We had to discuss that latest developments. We bought a house. :) Finally. Thirty-three years old, my first house. I waited a long time, we waited a long time. Bouncing from one city to the next following this crazy educational pursuit. Finally permanence (well in three months). Anyway, will tell you more about it when things are finalized (don't want to jinx anything). If you want to see some photos, send me an email.

Other stuff, loved all your recommendations for the tea. You guys are awesome. Now if I may request one more flash of brilliance from you all. I want some new "running shoes" (but not for running, I have some Avias for that), casual ones, stylish you know. I have searched and haven't found anything I like. Just to wear around. Any suggestions?

I finished the sweater I posted about a little while ago. Turned out surprisingly well. Still need some practise setting in sleeves, sewing together being my great nemesis. Will take some photos of it soon. Started in on a kind of ballet wrap sweater now, but I'm not sure I'm loving the blue-ish colour yarn (Medium Blue) I chose. It's a cotton cashmere blend, feels super in any case. Now I'm contemplating my next sweater which I'm going to order from Kim Hargreaves . Ack, if you don't knit, you might be inclined to give it a go after you see her sweaters. She used to design for Rowan, my favourite. Anyway, her site is in the UK, but they ship to North America, and I've heard the service is super. Everything is included, and it's all Rowan yarns. Sigh. I think I'm going to order Ruby in Scarlet (just like the photo).

Happy week!

We want our tea in the Sahara with you

As I mentioned previously, my Auntie Ging and cousin Emily were here last week. Hopefully they have now recovered from the not very temperate climate we have here in comparison to Victoria. Talk about a shock to the system whenever anyone in our family visits from BC. But we miss them already, the boys especially. Emily bought each of them Care Bears, which seems to have prompted an apparent Care Bear obsession with Thomas. He cajoled me into renting a CBs DVD, and if I dare to give into his demands it would be running non stop on the player. Geared strategically to the two year old psyche, but fairly grating after the fifth time to the parental faction. He is certifiably in love, and I myself may soon be certifiable. ;)

Something else I'm inclined to mention. Everyone in my family drinks tea, with one notable exception. That would be me. I'm obviously quite the rarity, given the whole British mother thing. I apparently did not acquire the palate, in fact, I think overall it tastes fairly unpleasant. But there is such a social and celebratory aspect to the process that I feel I'm missing out on slightly. Was again reminded of that watching my aunt prepare the evening tea, R partaking, myself not so much. Choosing a little snack, savouring. That's it, the savouring, I don't do that often enough. I gulp done my coffee in the morning, but I can't drink coffee at night. Yes I know that I could have decaf, but coffee doesn't taste right in the evening.

So I want to incorporate this ritual into my day. I enjoy a herbal tea, even green tea, but the whole Orange Pekoe, Earl Grey, ugh. I picked up a couple boxes from Tazo, one assorted and the Wild Orange Ginger which is technically a herbal infusion. But I need some more recommendations, for amazing teas, to convert me completely. If you have a fav, let me know or send me a link.

If Wishes Were Trees

Eeeeek, haven't posted in forever! Had a super visit with my aunt and cousin last week, more on that in the next couple days. More busyness ensues this week. We are buying a new house hopefully,a lthough there's nothing I love, so I'm haivng some major stress about that. But we are moving in exactly three months, house or no house so cross your fingers for us. More on that whole saga later too when I have more info.

But in the meantime, some people have requested some shares and I've been super delinquent in that department. And for my parents who like to see pics of the grandbabies from time to time. These four pages were just in the BHG Design Secrets Book. If you want to read the journaling on the tooth one, it should be big enough if you click on it. Note, on that last one, the title in the magazine is actually different "You're A Lifesaver", which was my final version. Much more clever, so disregard lame title-age below. :)

As soon as I get my head around you

I haven't knit anything in eons, must be at least three years-ish. In the interim though, seems to have become a fairly hip hobby, who knew? The whole meditative quality to it I've heard, and completely concur.  Was kind of craving a crafty diversion, that didn't require volumes of thought (as opposed to SBing which has me slightly perplexed, in my hopefully momentary uncreative state). Or perhaps it was just that I wanted to indulge my yarn fetish, which I've always had in a pretty bad way. So I busted out the patterns and the needles and I'm knitting myself a cardi. You can peek at the pattern here: Rowan Magazine #27, it's Grace, the second one down in a kind of light purple. Mine of course will not be purple (yes my well documented disdain for that shade persists, although I kind of like it in that pic). It's a green, leaf green to be specific. I'm still debating as it how much I lovey this colour, hoping it suits. Here's the yarn, #22,  a cotton-angora blend by Debbie Bliss, love the feel.

For a minute I had forgotton how to cast on, which is fairly lame considering. But then I got it all straight, and have been quite snappy. That back is fini, and I'm onto to the left front, super easy pattern though. The only part I dread is the whole sewing together thing, which when I finally get there seems entirely underwhelming. Will post of pic of the finished project eventually.

My British granny taught me to knit when I was little, maybe five or six. I can't even imagine that inevitable frustration and tangling that would ensue if I ever attempted to teach my boys. Crafts have never particularly been their forte. Over the years, my Mom fixed many  knitting mistakes for me. And then Rita fixed many more. Nobody here to help me out now, but maybe I'm finally old enough to fix my own mistakes. :)

And every year, has its share of tears...

And every now and then its gotta rain.

We have officially surpassed the one week threshold of sickness at our house. Yes the rotavirus (we suspect) has run (being the operative word) rampant through my two children over the course of the week. Ugh. Started last Tuesday morning at 1:00 a.m., and by my watch that makes seven days. I will spare you the gory details, because let's just say it's not something I want to relive any time soon. Culprit I'm going to assume was an innocent visit to the Ikea ballroom. Thousands of balls touched by thousands of grimy little hands, how lovely. Note to self, put some of that Purell hand sanitizer into my purse. 

Thankfully I staved off the virus myself (thank you immunity). Although I must attribute my diligent eight million episodes of hand washing, at least in part. And I won't even venture to guess just how many loads of laundry we've done. I'm still terrified of catching anything since the most debilitating bout with the Norwalk virus that was inflicted upon us three plus years ago. If you've ever had the Norwalk, you know exactly the ills I speak of. I digress. Anyway, everyone is mostly recovered (knock on wood), Thomas has just a few lingering effects. I almost thought he was going to be spared, until he was hit most violently on Friday night. His poor chicken stuffed animal really took the brunt of it. The child does everything with such vigour, this being no exception.

In any case, this week can only be an improvement on the last. We are looking very forward to a visit from my Auntie Ging and cousin Amalia (all the way from Victoria) in a couple days. Cross your fingers that everyone is in some semblance of good health by then.

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee

Bear with me this morning for a slightly nostalgic and sentimental post. Yesterday evening the moment was lost in the midst of fanfare and then some inevitable resistance. The moment being the disassembly and retirement of the crib. Although the crib had long since been converted to toddler bed, the event strikes me this morning as significant.

For practical purposes, I had been hoping to hold out until after we had moved. Thomas though dictated that the situation had to be remedied sooner rather than later. Although the crib had been converted into a bed, he was done. He complained that the mattress was too soft, that he didn't have enough room. And he expressed his displeasure by joining us in our bedroom almost every night for the past week at about 2:00 am. The child is not a pleasure to sleep with in the midst of his kicking, and pushing and stretching (never mind the snoring). So after a week of sheer exhaustion we broke down and decided to resolve the source of contention.

There ensued much celebration and discussion about the big boy bed. Although in typical Thomas fashion there was significant resistance to the actual sleeping in the new bed. He kept racing to our bedroom and hopping into our bed until he conceded defeat at about 11:00 pm. In one last show of defiance, this morning when we awoke he jumped out of his new sleeping quarters and gave the mattress a slap and proclaimed it "bad". Must have been significantly more comfortable, as we had no guests last night, and the best night of sleep in ages.

But back to the crib for a moment. The dismantling and removal was a bit of an afterthought last night (probably because we were pushing ten o'clock, well past the boys' bedtime). In the last few weeks, it appeared that Thomas had managed to decimate the mattress, and the springs were on the verge of poking through (no wonder he was uncomfortable). The mattress is headed directly to the trash bin. But the crib itself is still completely serviceable. But broken down into its components firmly reiterated the fact that no babies live here. Little twinge of sadness that they have grown up so quickly. How does five years evaporate in what seems just a moment. The crib was a permanent fixture here, transferred directly from one child to the next. I can still recall our collective effort building it the first time. I must have been eight months pregnant, and to be honest, my effort was fairly minimal, mostly in a supervisory capacity. I was so excited with anticipation, even in the midst of the excessive cursing that always accompanies any furniture assembly in our home.

Through babies and toddlers, sleepless nights, afternoon naps, it served us well. Almost two thousand sleeps in fact. Isn't it funny that when you have young children, days, time itself is measured in "sleeps". Of course it is never the inanimate object but the memories, the crib itself is symbolic. In any case, we're holding onto it for now. Hopefully it will be home to one more baby (not imminently mind you, we're still recovering). With a new mattress of course.