I've really been struggling with ny blog and with so many things in my life. This morning it came to me - I find it impossible to be honest, I mean completely, soul baringly, painfully truthful. The kind of truth that haunts you when you read it or see it. It's beauty is terrifying to me. I'm not sure what I am scared of...well, I think I am. I am so fucking scared of anyone judging me as a mother. I want to be the very best - an impossible dream. I am not the best, no where near it. But, holy crap I love my kids and I am so fearful of ever losing them in any way.

So, I've been struggling. I read so many great blogs like this one and this one. I want to be able to do that, I want to write really great things. I think the difference is that, in general, my life is good; it's just all those fucking little day-to-day things that are wearing me down. Bills, money, my daughters allergies, chronic hospital visits for my two youngest and their asthma, Toby's Apraxia - paying for the damn speech therapy that he so desperately needs yet eats up any hope we EVER have for a holiday, all the prescriptions, my fat tummy that ain't going anywhere, the chronic diarrea (mine), the fact that I will never be as young and beautiful as I used to be before I started having children and I will never again be the focus of all the songs I love listening to, my husband still lusts over me but mine ebbs and flows, my love for him is still so strong it's painful - mostly because how the hell could I ever do all this without my best friend? Mostly, I want to write like I used to.
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I've been depressed recently and well, several times in my life. It makes no sense really, it's beautiful outside the flowers are blooming, my children are beautiful.

Actually I do know why. I love writing and wanted to write everday, but life gets in the way, really. Eliza is sick again and her asthma is acting up and I keep worrying that she is going to end up in the hospital again. I want to start jogging again, but I have no time. Parker is, at this moment, screaming at me to stop typing! Not really, as he can't talk he's actually just screaming "BOOOBEEE" and pulling at my top. Why I armed him with that word is a mystery to me.

More later
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My son, Toby, is so cute. He's in kindergarten and five years old. He never really went to preschool or anything; so he never really had any friends until this year. He's a tender-hearted little guy and really had trouble with that whole seperation anxiety thing. Having said that, he's totally embraced the whole buddies thing. He's actually turned out to be quite popular. My kids attend an Independant school that has very small classes and multi-age groupings. His class is 12 kids, five kindies and seven grade one's.

Anyways, at dinner Grandpa was here and was teasing Toby about all the girls liking him. It was really one of those melt your heart moments. Toby was so cute - embarassed and blushing. It was really sweet.
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I promised myself i would write every day in my new blog, rain or shine, pneumonia or lice. And so here I am soon to be midnight and breaking the only other rule, rule #2 no drinking and blogging.

Shane, my beautiful one (husband) is off on a business trip tomorrow to (holy crap) West Edmonton Mall!! I personally have never been, but I hear there's 2 or 3 gap's there, a zoo, an amusement park. Lord knows what else, but it is so far removed from everything I believe in. What do I believe in? I am a staunch 'not a hippy' don't look like one that's for sure. But I do believe in supporting the local economy - think globally, act locally - that has always worked for me even if the first time I heard it was from the multi-national Body Shop. Anyway's I am more likely to purchase a $25 Playmobil gift at my local toy store, The Red Balloon Toy Shoppe, than any $10 piece of crap at Walmart, I'll even shell out $5 more for a card and wrap at Red Balloon just to avoid a visit to the dreaded W.

So, rule #2 - gone to crap. I enjoyed a nice bottle of red wine with Shane and a couple of sweet treats and now I am tryiing pretty desperately to get some real thoughts down before I too join the snore's I hear through the baby monitor.

I think it won't work. I was asked to be president of my children's school next year! That's the highlight of today. I thought a lot about my brother, Chase, today. I should talk about that - oh yeah, not to mention my two other totally perfect kids Tristan and Toby. They are just more complicated and thus need a little more thought before I attempt to put them in words.

Anyhow, this is my really pathetic attempt at drinking and blogging.
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Why is it so hard to communicate? I've had a tough time recently getting my point across, I'm a communication wimp. Today, for example, I let another parent at the school steal $44 from me. How did that happen? Well, I was put in charge of the evil task of selling chocolates for fundraising. Each family had to sell one box of chocolates. Sounds simple, no. People hate selling chocolate and in turn hate the person that is making them sell chocolates. I asked nicely and not so nicely for the money to be returned two weeks ago, if you had a real problem you could return chocolates too - two weeks ago. The time allowed to return any unsold choclates to the distributor has come and gone. So, as of today there is still $1000 owing to me. One parent came to me today and said "I have some chocolates and some money for you, can I give that to you now?" My inner voice is saying "no, you moron, I asked for that money two weeks ago. You owe me cash - no chocolate." Outer voice "oh, okay". Wimp, blithering nonsense talking loser. That's me. So now, I have more chocolates and nothing to do with them but eat them - hello ass. And someone, me, has to make up that $44. I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.

Last night, my adoring beautiful husband was feeling the need for a little hanky panky. I was wishy washy on that subject, wanting instead to watch Amber and Rob screw everybody else in The Amazing Race. So, he gives me alittle back scratch and proceeds to flip my enormous lactating breast out of my bra. A feeling that drives me crazy, not with wanton lust, but with uncomfortable anger. Until my baby decides he doesn't need that particular part of my anatomy umpteen times a day, they belong to him. They are off limits to my husband. I thought he knew that. So, instead of nicely redirecting his attentions I spazzed. Flipped out. Sent us both to bed mad, rejected, depressed. Oh yeah, I'm a loser baby.

I have no tact and will seemingly never learn the fine art of communication.
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I'm so incredibly tired. I have that feeling, you know the one, that I drank a whole bottle of red wine, ate a couple cheesecakes and then had a crappy sleep. I wish that was why I feel so poopy, it's not. I feel poopy in a I think I'm getting it kind of way. Getting my kids icky sicky. Blech.

Maybe if I ate a proper breakfast instead of a chocolate digestive cookie and a cup of coffee. I had all good intentions of having a healthy morning, but then she called. Margaret.

Margaret is the president of my children's school. Sounds snooty, it's not. I love my kids school. So much so that I am the grand poohbah of overachieving parent. I am on the Board of Directors, Chair of the Finance Committee, Secretary of the Facilities Management Committee, Parent Helper for Cooking days, and the Convenor of Advertising for the Children and Apple Pie Fair. I am totally insane. I have four children and try to over-compensate for everything.

Recently, I purchased a portable classroom for the school. I am proud to say I purchased said portable for $72.00. That is a great cost per square foot. The portable will now "only" cost $8,000.00 to move and I have entered into a nightmare of portable moving logistics. I had a vision of being cheered as the best momma in the world for finding such a sweet deal, but no, now I have to move the gaybo portable. and prepare the property for the move. I am a mother dammit not an expert in creating earthquake proof foundations. So, I recieve the call this morning from aformentioned president alarmed that all this is not going to happen before that portable arrives on May 20.

All this gives me a sore back like a job.
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My oldest daughter is home sick. It is the first day back after Spring Break. I love Spring Break; no schedules, hanging out, gardening, working on science experiments etc. This year, however, was my test. It rained. Not just a little rain, but monsoon rain for fifteen straight days. Fifteen days of being stuck inside with four grumpy kids.

Today it's beautiful and I am still stuck inside with grumpy kids. Last night when sickness was impending I felt like retreating into my own little cocoon of mommy break. I need a mommy break. Time to putz around in the garden, read some really great books, indulge in a little personal fantasy time. It eludes me. So, last night with sickness impending I broke out the arsenal - a little tylenol here, some advil, some cough medicine a couple puffs of steroids for my cold-induced asthma babies and I prayed for sleep. I CAN do this if I just get a little sleep. But, sleep eludes me too.

I have been blessed with the bad mommy gene of not being capable of teaching my children to sleep. I let them nuzzle up to me for far too long. Each of my children have slept with me and nursed on demand for their first two years of life. They have all woken up at least every two hours for their first two years of life becasue they love me so, they need a little booby - actually a lot. So, I have not actually slept more than an hour or two at a time for almost 8 years.

As I suspected none of them slept last night - seems they still need a little booby. At the very least a little nuzzle in my soft embrace.
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There are a billion little black ants marching through our playroom. They are either making a home or have found a juicy nugget inside my childrens play kitchen. I have been trying to get rid of these ants for two weeks. Every trap fails me, not to mention that they seem to be filled with peanut butter which my three year old daughter has a life threatening allergy to. Great. Now I have a billion ants marching through the playroom with bits of seamingly non-poisonous peanut butter on their backs.

Fuck.

How the hell am I going to rid my house of this daughter trap? What doesn't actually kill the ants will kill my daughter. Soap, vinegar and bleach has been sprayed and wiped and offending trap removed and the ants keep marching. Except when my son plays his little drum set which seems to paralize them momentarily - unitl the music stops then they continue.

I tried caulking around the window with my eighteen month old son's "help". Resulting in white caulk all over the playroom wall, carpet and sons hands, pants, shirt and face.

Fucking ants.
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Eliza is my beautiful strawberry blonde, almost 4 year old. She was born May 30, 2001. Her birth was a magical, mysterious and traumatic experience.

My third pregnancy went unremarkably. I gained the usual 40ish pounds and feeling fat and uncomfortable. On the morning of the day she was born I was 35 weeks pregnant. I remember sitting in the hallway playing with the kids, not really having contractions, just feeling really "weird". I kind of hummed and hawed with my husband for an hour, then we decided to go into Labour and Delivery - just to check. When my second child was born we went in thinking I wasn't really in labour and I was 7 cm. dilated.

We packed along our other two kids and while they parked the car I went up. By the time my family joined me I was strapped to the fetal heart monitor. Everything looked okay, small contractions, nothing that looked like labour ad the heartrate was fine. My Dr. came in and decided she'd do an internal after the strip just to see. While she was out, the kids went down to the cafeteria to get a snack. During those twenty minutes the heartrate went up to 220-225 beats, didn't change. When the Dr. came back in I casually asked "isn't that a little high?"

Total panic set in. Within 2 minutes I had an IV in, was shaved and cleaned for surgery and a frantic call had gone out to "any OB in the hospital" to come and help us. Through this I remained calm and almost serene in a weird way. I knew that I had listened to my body and that, although it seemed weird to go into L&D for feeling"weird" - I was right. Everything was out of my hands and I had faith it would be okay. I was so calm in fact, that they were able to put a spinal in in less than a minute instead of using a general. 8 minutes after I asked my Dr. about Eliza's heartrate she was ripped from my womb. I had no idea my baby was going to be born that day. After she was out there was a huge amount of blood - turns out I had had a placental abruption that was undetected because her head was engaged blocking any blood from coming out. She would have died in a matter of hours or less if I had not gone in to the hospital. She was good, great considering. She spent a week in the Special Care Nursery requiring oxygen. Then we went home and I have cherished every day since with her.

I have always held her close. Sleeping beside me always so that I can keep my eye on her. She is now the sweetest, dimple cheeked, mischievous little girl around. I love her.

Parker is the love of my life. He is my simply beautiful 18 month old boy. He is right now sitting on my lap pulling my iPod earphone out of my ear and bopping along to the Pixies with me. I love all my kids this way - when they are babies (under 2) I am consumed with an all encompassing love, a love so strong I literally want to eat them up. This sounds so odd - I even like the way his farts smell. I have great pleasure in knowing that I'm the only one in the world who knows intimately exactly who passed gas and whether or not his inner-workings are healthy. He's so pure and innocent. His mostly breastfed body has nothing old or smelly in it. It's all just pure and perfect. Like him.

I read Ayelet Waldman's article in the NYT about loving her husband more than her children. At first I was jealous, really jealous that she was having lots of sex and I am NOT. But, I could.

I love my children more than anything in the whole world. My life completely revolves around them, my sun, moon and stars. They are perfect. I have nightmares about losing them, having them all fall in an icy lake at the same time. Overcome with terror at trying to save them all. When I wake, heart pounding, I have to go and kiss each one in their sleep. Hug little Parker, who sleeps with me, a little tighter. I cherish my kids, my life. I feel sad that Ayelet doesn't feel that.

Parker

Lucy is our 7 month old miniature schnauzer, we also have a three year old schnoodle, Doodle. We loved Doodle so much and thought the schnoodle such a perfect mix that we bought a purebred mini schnauzer in the hopes of breeding her with a poodle and well you can figure out the rest - schnoodles!

Well, yesterday Lucy went into heat. Big yuck, totally freakin gross. So, she's all set to be spayed on Friday, but until then we need to keep her out of the house as this whole heat thing is messy! Yuck. Not feeling the Lucy love.
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Now, don't take this the wrong way, but i just got my period and it is really depressing. Why?

I have four children, lovely, healthy, beautiful children. Three of whom were born by c-section. The last in september 2003. At that time i had my tubes tied. Four kids is/was enough. My body couldn't handle anymore surgeries. Yet, every single day since then i have regretted the decision. I ache for another chance to pro-create, to feel my belly grow and twitch and wriggle. To experience the pure bliss of the baby moon. I lie in bed at night hoping and wishing for those tubes to come back together, to let one teeny, tiny egg through.

And this month, for awhile, i thought it had actually happened.
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