Hair versus life

I am a person that moves very fast through the day.  Why exactly, it is hard to explain.  I think that I do it so that at the end of the day I can have a moment to sit down and not move at all.  It hardly ever happens though:  I find stuff to do for the NEXT day as well.

In light of the fact that my time is so tightly managed, that I try to squeeze so much out of every given second, I have recently discovered that curling my hair takes me six minutes.  The other day, I was walking with two friends, both of which have naturally curly hair, and I asked them whether it is worth the six minutes to get glamorous curls in my hair, or whether simply tying my otherwise flat and limp hair in a bun (which is a ten second procedure) would look just as good.  They said that it is an odd question for them to answer, since it takes them a second to run four fingers through their hair in the mornings to be ready to go.  Curly hair apparently does not even need brushing. Who knew :)

I wish I had naturally curly hair, but since I got older, I don't waste too much time wishing for things that are impossible.  Again, it has to do with time management.  If it gives results in keeping with the time and effort spent, then it stays.  Wishing for impossible things does not, so therefore I am not giving it any time slots in the busy schedule.

What I had forgotten to say about my hair is that it also needs washing daily.  If I dry it by blow drying, that adds another eight minutes.  Total time spent on hair daily: 16 minutes.  Lately, I simply tie it in a bun while wet and away I go.  What that leads to is hair that is even more limp than the walking dead. However, during the gained 16 minutes, I get to swim 750 meters, and although I have shitty hair, my front crawl became faster in the past two weeks.

What can I say, it is hair versus life.

TTCB (trying to come back)

I have not forgotten about this blog.  In fact, I think about it several times a week.  I miss my blogging days dearly, probably because I love to write, and I especially love to write when I know that someone else is reading my ramblings.  The question is, why did I stop?  Is it really lack of time?  

It is never lack of time.  I make time to teach Emma her reading, and to run.  I make time for the important things in life, and for the things I love to do.  What I think happened is that, gradually, the focus of the blog changed from conception and babies to life after infertility, which perhaps is not as interesting, given that we all have a life to live and there is not much extraordinary going on in mine as compared to the neighbour's.  I sometimes feel like the focus of the blog has changed so much, that I almost need to start another blog.  I am confused about what I am doing here, so I keep waiting for clarity.  It is starting to come in bits and pieces. 

I know now that I don't feel like starting another blog.  This blog is a diary of sorts, a place for me to vent ideas and feelings, so there is no need to separate it into several diaries, since it is all part of one unified life.  

Yes, in the end, the truth is that I am not really a blogger.  I am a diary writer.  Someone once commented that my writing is self absorbed, and indeed, it is supposed to be.  Diaries are unidimensional lenses that scrutinize life from a single perspective:  that of the writer.   Recognizing this limitation, I should not have felt offended, but I did.  It inhibited me from writing.  Being told that I should be more thankful for my life implied that the thankfulness is not coming out in my writing.  It might not be.  A diary is not always a reflection of my entire being, of all my feelings.  It is simply a snapshot of what ails me the most that day, or of what caught my mind's eye at that moment.  

Anyway, this writing is precious to me, and so I would like to continue.  I need to give it a regular time in my life, and that time is likely to be on the weekends.  One day, I am hoping that my kids will read it, and learn to know their mother and their beginnings from a different perspective.  That might be valuable to them.  I certainly like to see how my life evolves and changes, and reading back posts gives me that perspective.  And there is always the chance that someone is battling with similar situations in life as I have in the past (or present) and that my writing is giving them companionship, which is probably the biggest bonus of them all.   

So many reasons to write, so little time...

January 2, remembering Adrian

Today is the day when I remember Adrian, my first born child.  He would have been seven if he had lived.  I am no longer spending the day feeling miserable, but I allow myself to feel some of the sadness.  If I really dig deep into it, it becomes as overwhelming as it was seven years ago.  It is a big, black hole of despair that could engulf me.  Except that I now have my two living kids, and dwelling in such feelings is short lived, if it happens at all.  Emma and Daniel would not allow me to spend too much time in the past, because they live in the present and need me to provide for them in the present.

I had a good day, a day in which I connected with my husband and with my children.  With all of my children.  Adrian, my love, you have given me the first feeling of being a mom, the first feeling of overwhelming love and protection so big that I myself disappear and become the feeling itself.  Your sister and brother know about you, and think about you often.  You and I are separated by the physical laws, but you are only a thought away.  In the blink of an eye, I can be back with you.  Do you remember how I said I would live my life fully, for both of us?  I am doing that, my son, and I hope to be able to do it until the day I die and meet you.

Your loving mother remembering you on this special day.

travelling with kids today was hard

Here is how my Canadian airport security experience went today:  we have to stop halfway to Vancouver (which is a three hour flight) and go through the airport security in Prince George.  The waiting in line through security sucks enough, given that the two kids want to go in separate directions all the time, and the concept of a line up is not something that Daniel gets just yet.  We took off our bag packs, our lunch bags, our computers, our camera, my belt, our coats, and cellphones.  We went through the screening gate, and waited for the stuff to arrive.  The kids hands were swabbed and screened for explosives (yep).  Then my camera was swabbed and screened.  Then my computer was swabbed and screened.  Then, at the very end, the kids bag packs came through, and I forgot that they had two water bottles with some water on the bottom.  The airport security guy told me that I had two choices now, "surrender" the bottles (yes, he really said that) or go back outside, empty them and go through security again.  I thought about how hard it is to get kids water bottles in my home town, and how I really wanted to keep those two, that I had to order off amazon.  I said I would go back out to empty them.  I then noticed that the lineup to security looked about half an hour long, and asked whether I needed to wait in the lineup again.  I was told that of course yes.  I pointed out that my kids were inside the airport already, and was not comfortable leaving them there for so long without me, and they told me that I should take the kids with me in the lineup again.

I got so angry that I lost it.  I told the guy that he is lacking civility and basic courtesy.  I am a travelling mother, with small kids, one of which is 2 and in all reality needs his water bottle as he is still not good at drinking from a cup without spilling.  I was ok with going back out and emptying it, as I knew I could fill it again once inside, but being told that I had to line up for a second time, without much consideration of the fact that the kids are small and would not do well lining up or waiting without me was upsetting.

If anybody wants to feel better about their day, think about me raising my voice in frustration at the airport security guy and asking him directly "do you have any idea what it is like to travel with kids aged 2 and 5?"  Clearly, the answer is no, and knowing that should have given me a hint that the question was going to fall on clueless ears anyway, so the simple fact that I asked it shows my extreme frustration.

They gave me a 1800 number to call and complain, and I left a message on that number with the full story.  Will they ever call me back? who knows.  Gone are the days of "I would like to speak to your supervisor" when something seemed amiss.  Nowadays you get a card with a number to call, where a machine answers and you can leave a message.  NICE JOB, Canadian Airport Security!  Good work making mothers with children feel welcome and supported.  And good job listening to my concerns.  Talking to the machine was very therapeutic.  Thank you!
Ps. I called the 1800 number and was told that that is indeed the correct way, making me line up a second time. Also the CATSA agent confirmed that no concessions are to be made for women travelling with children as far as shortening the lining up time for the little ones. This seems a basic lack of civility to me, but I guess if that is the way it is, there is nothing anyone can do about it.

homebody

I am going to start by writing short and easy posts about little things that go through my head during the day.  This is a bit like the short, easy runs that someone would start when they first take up running.  It takes a long time for my brain to concoct longer posts, so I am warming up.  If I never get there, that's ok too, but this is a nice place to start, with one or two paragraphs every couple of days.

Winter holiday has started for Emma, who is now in Kindergarten.  Since my daycare lady is off on Tuesday, I ended up taking four whole days off, and it feels like a mini holiday.  Today we had a fully indoors day, since Emma is ill and I do not want to take her outside in the cold.

I realize that I have not had a full day indoors in a VERY long time.  A day in which I do nothing, the kids do nothing, and we watch a whole lot of TV, clean and cook.  It was GREAT.  We did absolutely nothing purposeful the whole day.  Any cleaning that happened was a happy byproduct of my boredom and inability to sit still.  And it was the more exotic variety of cleaning, like pressure steaming the T-fal indoor grill, and vacuuming the inside of the cutlery drawer.

At the end of the day, the house was pretty, it smelled good, it looked lived in and it had a different energy level than it usually does when we all roll in at 6 pm after work and after school activities.  There is something to be said about staying at home versus working:  for me, staying at home has always lead to a cleaner house that smells better, feels warmer and more inviting, and just plain feels lived in by the kids.  I notice that they also feel more "at home", more relaxed, that they explore corners where they do not normally go in the few hours between dinner and bedtime.

I am a working mother, so no, this is in no way a debate for me between staying at home mom versus working mom.  I work because it is the-way-I-do-things.  However, I find it useful to note these little nuances, and maybe indulge in these simple pleasures once in a while: vacuuming at 10 am, watering the plants at noon, looking at little details that make my space more pleasing to the eye, diffusing peppermint essential oil in every corner.  It does not happen often that I can, so when I do, of course I wonder how my life and my kids lives would be different if I did that every day.

What I remember right afterwards, of course, is that I love my work as much as I have loved any hobby, and that I would do it for free most likely.  That it gives a meaning to my existence beyond being a mom and a wife, that I would miss it.

I think I should be able to do both, but until we can create clones of ourselves, we will always have to make choices.  I feel like my choice is clear, but were my job less rewarding, less of a "calling", I would probably have a hard time not being a home body.

Trying to write

I am trying to restart writing.  This has been an ongoing dance for me most of my life: writing and pausing, then writing again, then taking another break.  I don't know why I occasionally let writing fall to the side, in favour of more physical activities, but I think it has to do with the elusive balance that I am striving for in life.

In any case, it is winter now, I am indoors a lot, given that outdoors it is frequently -30 C (that's -22F), so the parks are a bit chilly.  Indoors activities are not as exciting as they sound: knitting, writing, playing piano and preventing my kids from hurting each other with sharp objects.  Therefore, here I am. 

I was debating whether it might be time for me to start another blog.  One day, on a cold outdoors run, I was thinking of calling my new blog "lotsakids".  Not because I have lots of kids, I only have the two, but they sure feel like lots more, most of the time.  However, every time I hit the stats button on this blog, I realize that despite me completely disappearing off the map for several months, people still come here (or maybe it is just automated search engines? I have no idea...but if it is real people, could you just comment something like "hi I am not a machine"for my peace of mind..), so I have a hard time leaving this space. 

So here I start again...

Another bone hits the dust

Just as my life was becoming slightly more routine, with me getting around and doing housework on my iwalk 2.0 and chasing after the kids on my knee scooter, life threw me another curveball.

Emma had soccer camp this morning, so we had a rushed day, trying to get there on time. My knee scooter and the grass are not good friends, but I hopped around reasonably well and got lots of help from the other moms. One of them even took Daniel potty, all of four times that he has to go during the morning session. We came home, and I realized that Emma only had one shoe. I looked everywhere for its pair, and I mean Everywhere, as it is her last pair of runners and she has soccer all week. The previous pair dwindled down to one shoe a few days ago.

Given that I am still non weight bearing on the right foot, my balance is not great. I was carrying two bags and thinking about the shoe, and somehow rested my hand on the garage door hinge. It closed automatically and crushed my middle finger. I tried to turn around to reach the knob, but it took me a while, during which time I felt it. The unmistakeable crack of another broken bone. My middle finger of the right hand.

The nail popped off partially, so I called my husband for help as I was once again in a lot of pain. I went to ER, saw the broken bone and decided that F@ck it, I have nine other fingers and I am not going to let this injury cramp my style. Sure, I cannot have my hand in water anymore for 2 weeks, so there goes kayaking and arms only swimming (at which, I might add, I was becoming pretty good).  Sure, we might get some take out 'cause I suck at doing dishes with one hand. And yeah, it hurts like a miniature bomb exploded in my distal phalanx.

However, my good leg and nine good fingers are going to organize a great birthday party for Emma tomorrow. And, despite everyone else thinking I am crazy, on Thursday I am going to the gym to hit the weights, even if I have to use my elbows.

My friend who watched the kids while I went to ER wondered whether this is God's way of slowing me down.  I know that this is a common belief, that God somehow tries to communicate with us through misfortunes and injuries. I can see the appeal of the thought behind it, that the broken bones are for my own good, to teach me something.  I cannot however believe that God who loves me would choose this method to communicate. Hey, beloved child, I will break your foot to slow you down. Didn't catch my drift? Ok then, let me break your finger next. Still not?  I will break every bone in your body until you get it.

See, it just does not add up to the image of God that I carry in my heart. Can good things come out of my injury? Sure, good things come out of every misfortune. Is my husband emptying the dishwasher regularly? Yes, courtesy of broken bones. Are my kids putting their clothes in the laundry basket? Ditto. However, this is what I think:  bad luck caused me to jump and land at an angle, snapping my foot bone and the ankle ligament.  Thereafter, being injured lead to me needing to hold onto the door frame for balance, which caused my finger to be crushed.

I am a bit worried, yes, and at times wonder what is next in store for me. But as a bonus perk that will come out of this injury, I am going to sharpen my "F@ck it" mindset and concentrate on the remaining limbs in working order that I have left to make the most out of the next month.