Oh Emma.. LOL

*background info* my mom is gay. she is happily married to her partner, Bev. They had a union in 2002 and were married in 2003. they have a little apartment, 2 cats, a car and a bitchin trailer. they live and work not far from here and i am really close to my mom. so we see them often. so Emma has 2 grandmothers - mamere (my mom) and Bev (who she refers to sometimes as Grandpa Bev, crazy inside joke since she was just little cause Bev is the butch out of the 2.)

so today my step sister, Bobbie Jo, Bev's daughter, and i were sitting here. she had taken Emma to the Wave pool today. Emma had a blast and mommy got to sit around and do nothing for a couple of hours.

they got back and Bobbie and i were just sitting around, screwing around on the net when Emma came flying in the computer room.

'I need some paper mom. i want to draw a picture for Mamere and Bev'

No problem. she grabs the paper and takes off just as fast as she came in. i heard her plunk her self down. then there was silence, then there was this cute little giggle coming back into the room.

'look! its mamere and Bev! Mamere is the tall one and Bev is the little one'

of course, that makes sense because my mom is 5'10 and Bev is about 5'7 so great job!

then she showed me the picture and Bobbie Jo and i just cracked up and pulled out our cameras to take a pic. its that cute/funny.

LOL how funny is she. so cute. i love her to death

Mother Nature vs. Amanda

I had to comment on Shauna's most recent post, as the entire thing made me giggle. Well, there was the giggling mixed with the "I told you so" feeling (I love that feeling!)

The year was 1996 - when dinosaurs roamed the earth and many people still had tape decks -
and I gave birth to a beautiful little boy named Aerik. He was over 10 pounds, took a round of preeclampsia, a long and itchy round of obstetric cholestasis, and 48 hours of labour to get here. I hemorrhaged, he had an initial APGAR of 6 (read: not good), I had to be stitched up, and I used a sitz bath for days and days. He was tongue-tied, nursing was excruciating, he was gassy and we both cried. A lot. Oreos became my friend, I gained a lot of post-partum weight and I ended up on antidepressants.

And, most importantly, I swore I would never, EVER have another baby. Never would I do that to myself again. He was all I needed and wanted. The hole in my heart that longed for motherhood was successfully filled, thank you very much.

That feeling lasted until shortly after Aerik's first birthday, when I found myself with a baby - nay, toddler - who could speak, run circles around me and sleep (mostly) through the night. He was funny and rambunctious and so gosh darn perfect that it would seem a shame to waste all those eggs in me. Why not have one more?

Wait a minute! I told myself. There was something I didn't like about the whole pregnancy and birth and newborn thing. What was it again? The preeclampsia? Well, research suggests that won't happen again. Problem solved. Obstetric Cholewhatsis? I can't even say it, so I doubt that'll happen again. It can't be that common. We know how to fix a tongue-tie now, right? And I know more about breastfeeding latches. Those nights weren't that long, were they? He didn't cry that much, did he? And they're so cute. So, so cute...

Reality check: The nights were that long, and he did cry that much. The problem here is that Mother Nature was dulling my memory; Twisting it and making it seem easier and more pleasant. And you know what? It worked. It worked so well that we spent the next four years trying to have a second child.

This is where I made a terrible mistake. I wanted that baby so badly that I did, indeed, lose myself in infertility. I was blindsided; I didn't see it coming. How had we managed to conceive a child without even trying, only to find ourselves battling the cruelty of PCOS' worst symptom? I couldn't get pregnant. When I finally did, I miscarried. It was a dark, lonely, frustrating time. I went from someone who took childbearing as her God-given womanly right, to feeling betrayed by my body.

One day after our miscarriage in the spring of 2001, I came to the sudden and painful realization that I had lost sight of what was right in front of me: a beautiful, precious boy named Aerik. A gift to a now infertile couple. I had forgotten to fully appreciate what I already had because I was so busy trying to get more. We were a family - an unplanned, sometimes dysfunctional but always loving family. That is when I made the decision to be grateful for what I already had. We still worked towards our goal of a larger family, but not obsessively.

In the spring 2002 I found myself pregnant again. This one stuck around, and Declan was born in the fall. Just as perfect as I had imagined, and a better sleeper to boot! No tongue-tie, champion breastfeeder, and worth all those years of trying.

That put an end to my obsession over having babies. Jackson was a "not really trying, not really preventing" baby. In fact, we just had decided we were finished making babies right around the time sperm met egg. Oops. A happy oops, mind you.

But I'm done, now. Really done. He's sixteen months old and I still feel complete.

...Except that all my friends are having babies lately. Scrunchy, sweet-smelling, cuddly newborns. And girls, too. A lot of them are having girls...Maybe if we just had one more...

Damn you, Mother Nature.

Look, up in the sky!

Finally, a few minutes to blog!

Just so everyone's clear, stay-at-home-parent does not actually mean that one is home all the time. Far from it. In fact, my schedule is probably fuller than it would be if I wasn't "at home". Between Declan's preschool (I volunteer there), Aerik's primary school (I volunteer there), Jackson's playgroup (you guessed it: I volunteer there, too), Aerik's blues band and piano lesson (every Monday night for two hours), appointments for everyone (including speech therapy, fittings and repairs of hearing aids with the audioprostheticist, my own therapy to deal with how insane my life is), cleaning, cooking, making lunches, grocery shopping... you get the idea. Then, when I attempt to sit down for a few minutes I get bombarded with demands from... Oh, right! Those kids! I'm so busy I nearly forgot I had kids.

That's the problem with life these days, isn't it? We're all terribly impressed with ourselves and our Super Mom complexes that sometimes forget what all of this is about: the children. And before anyone vehemently denies this claim, let me just say that I'm on to you. I know you feel it, too. That pressure to perform perfectly in nearly every task. That desire to be the mentally sound Desperate Housewife, or Desperate Working Woman, or whatever you are. To have it all: The looks, the balanced chequebook, the well-behaved children, the loving relationship, the sparkling house... And if you're one of the few who doesn't wish they could have all those things, then you're either in the thick of denial or incredibly healthy in the head. Either way, congratulations!

Every now and then I wonder if I, Amanda Knox, could be a Super Mom. I imagine preparing home-cooked meals every night with an apron fastened tightly against my flat stomach (the one I'd have by going to the gym three days per week), happily running the Home & School committee and coming home to rose petals sprinkled all over the bed by my doting husband.

Then, of course, I wake up and smell the Kraft Dinner. I can't have it all, you see. It's simply impossible. If I go to the gym three times per week then I have to either find childcare (which would cost enough that I couldn't afford the gym) or go out in the evenings (my husband would be too tired to have anything laid out on the bed but himself, snoring). If make home-cooked meals every night I won't be able to play on the floor with the kids while the pizza is busy being delivered. If having a spotless house was that important to me I'd have to check into a mental facility to deal with the stress of toys on the floor in the *gasp* playroom!

At any rate, I'm fairly pleased with my mediocrity.

(Must go. My cape is stuck in the washer...)

Anything but Traditional

Today marked the tail end of Winterlude's opening weekend here in the National Capital Region. So we woke up early, packed a snack, herded all three boys into the van and.... avoided downtown like the plague (well, we drove through it, but didn't stop)...

I know that saying this could be construed as near treason to other locals, but I really don't like Winterlude. I like the idea of it, but I don't enjoy the actual event at all. On the surface it has elements I could really sink my teeth into, such as ice sculptures, children's activities and food. But dig a little deeper and you'll uncover some unpleasantries: crowds, cold weather, and expense. I love Beavertails as much as the next person, but not when the price is so overinflated you would think they were sprinkled with gold and not cinnamon. I enjoy outdoor activities in reasonable weather, and in places where my five-year-old doesn't have to wait in line for 20 minutes to use a port-a-potty.

After several stressful, expensive trips to large events like this, we've decided we're a family that enjoys a lower-key lifestyle. Generally speaking, we prefer movie rentals instead of theatres, local parks instead of amusement parks, hikes in the forest instead of organized sports, and, as was the case today, a nice brunch out followed by a trip to the Canada Science and Technology Museum (which was fairly quiet, I can assume, because everyone was at Winterlude). What catches a boy's fancy more than trains or rockets? They have a brand new exhibit called Beyond the Trees, which is about how Canada is attempting to protect and manage its forests. I highly recommend it.

We love our local museums and go at least once or twice per month. It's a great way to spend an afternoon, and everyone walks away having been enlightened to some degree. In a world of game consoles and reality television, museums offer much needed brain exercise and family time.

I sometimes wonder if the boys will feel they missed out on something by not joining a hockey club or going to the Super Ex every year. Maybe, but I'm willing to take that gamble. Because, while they're denied a regular influx of cotton candy or goalie gear, they're also missing out on all the stress meeting those expectations would cause.

Besides, our outings are great because... well, we're on them! I hope when our kids look back on their years growing up they'll overlook not riding that big roller coaster but remember that we were together and happy. Very happy.

Speeding Makes Mommy Upset

Is it just me, or are drivers in this city getting more and more impatient and reckless?

A few minutes ago I was coming home from a playdate with Declan and Jackson in the van (Well, actually I had driven past our house to hit the Tim Hortons up the road for an after-playdate coffee, but anyway...) and there was a man in a black pickup truck following me up the road.

There are four elementary schools on the street, including the one our eleven-year-old goes to.

In the Gatineau area, one must go no faster than 30KM/hr in school zones between the hours of 7AM and 5PM, Monday-Friday, September through June. All of these rules are posted on every school zone sign so that it is easily read in both official languages. It's not rocket science. You see a school zone, you slow down. You leave the school zone, you speed up again. What's hard about that?

These laws work when people are patient. Unfortunately, the guy in the pickup truck was anything but. He tailgated me through the first cluster of schools as I did 35-40KM (which is technically speeding, but keeping a 6 cylinder van at 30KM is tricky at best when someone is tailgating it). When it came to the fourth and final school on the road (my eldest son's) we were heading uphill, so I let go of the gas to slow down again.

Once I got to 40KM, Pickup Guy decided he had had enough. He passed me on a solid line, going uphill, during the day, on a school day, in a school zone just so that he could get to the red light at the top of the hill, where ironically there sits a police station.

I can't even begin to describe how much red I was seeing by this point. Road rage doesn't overcome me easily, but throw in a stressful couple of days, a teething toddler, a tired preschooler and a man who doesn't care who he endangers as long as he gets to his destination at light speed, and you have a recipe for one angry mother. In a single act of selfishness he put himself and a family at risk, not to mention broke a law set up to protect young children (who were thankfully all safely inside the school).

I admit to being a bit of a jerk myself at this point. I swore (hopefully not loud enough for my kids to hear over the Backyardigans movie playing in the back), flashed my brights and laid on my horn. Obviously this did a lot of nothing, unless you count making me look foolish and out of control. He, in turn, ignored me.

I was secretly hoping he'd also be turning into the Tim Hortons so I could give him a piece of my mind, but in hindsight I'm glad he didn't. I can't be a stay-at-home-vigilante. I can do my part to make the world a safer place, but interventions like that are best left up to the police.

I know some readers may be snickering under their breath, thinking 'Quebec drivers', but I'd have to disagree with that stereotype. I'm in Ottawa regularly and I see just as many careless traffic violations across the bridge as I do here. It's not a Quebec thing, it's a societal problem and we need to start treating the cause and not just the symptom.

People are stressed, families are overworked and overtired. Everybody's in a rush and nobody really knows where they're going. As Ottawa-Gatineau is still growing by leaps and bounds we're going to see a lot more of this. Traffic is getting worse. Some people are so frazzled that their minds don't even process how their actions can have dire consequences. But being late for an appointment is far less devastating than causing someone's death trying to get there on time.

I admit to feeling a little jolt of glee inside every time someone gets ticketed in a school zone, or for doing 150KM on the 417. That feeling is only temporary, however, as I know they'll do it again and again and again. A slap on the wrist doesn't seem to stop them.

Still, I wonder: How do we curb this problem? Is graduated licensing the answer? Stricter penalties? More police surveillance? Better public transit?

I wish I knew. I'm just glad that we're safe at home for another day and I didn't throw a coffee at someone's windshield out of spite. Shame on me for even thinking that!