Could this picture really have been taken 2 1/2 years ago? Did i get my camera that long ago? I still see parker this way. Carrying him everywhere we go. What happened to my life? Everything began to change moments/days/months after this picture was taken. I remember buying my camera, the same day this picture was taken. My life felt full of promise. I was so excited to be embracing this side of me, Again.

Parker. My baby. My partner in crime.

Parker was invited to a birthday party today. The first time he had an invite just for him. The look of quiet pride. The happiness. I melted. Watching my last baby grow up.

My ex-husband (i changed my mind on that - a bit of respect) is, i think, having a vasectomy. Some indirect comments about doctor appointments, a little bit of knowledge about girlfriends, i put one and two together.

I felt so very mixed. Happy that the kids will never have to deal with that whole dad having other kids thing. Jealousy. Happiness. Happy to see some mending of the heart i broke. It's very hard to let go of that life. We have agreed to be friends. And it is working. It is much easier. Because? Because i like that person. You can't spend sixteen years together and not, after all the shit has washed a little, an not, like each other still. At least i don't want to. I don't want to be one of those people who are all up in the "my ex" is such an asshole, such a bitch, such a....

It's not who i am. There are so few people i connect with in this world. People who i feel are true. I am thankful to be able to hold onto this one. Just a little bit.

In march 2005 i wrote my first post for drowninginkids. I had dabbled in small, anonymous pages on live journal for a few years and then took the leap into blogger.

And here i am now.

I read through my archives today.

I am thinking i only need four categories to sum this whole thing up:

kids
animals
husband
depression and anxiety

As i read back over the 600+ posts i realized how little things change, yet, how a few small words here and there gave me hope. The hope that i can continue to see the pretty little things. That my children will continue to grow. That i will let them experience all the highs and lows of life without always being fearful that they are going to fail, or even worse be unhappy.

There is no success without failure. Such a difficult lesson to learn, one i haven't mustered the courage to accept. Sometimes a little unhappiness brings great introspection. And sometimes it is just gut-wretchingly self-absorbed. Sometimes sadness opens the door to pure joy.

Sometimes while the kids are playing or when we are having a really good moment, or a particularly fierce one i sit back and realize that my kids are all creating memories.

The thing about their memories is i can't control what they remember, what little hurtful thing i may say, without thinking, that they will remember forever.

What will their memories of me be?

What are my memories?

Everytime you compare a child's memory of an event to a parents - the two stories are different. The feelings around them. Both are often surprised by how the other remembers an event.

I have talked with my parents about things that i remember that make me smile and things that haunt me.

One in particular is my summers away from my family. My mom often sent me on adventures with other families. Adventures of a lifetime. But, i was (and still am) an introverted child. I always wanted to be at home. I didn't even like birthday parties. So, my mom remembers sending me off to places, some of which she had never even seen, excited for the memories that were being created for me.

When i think about and remember my summer holidays i think of feeling desperately alone and homesick. Longing for my family. Longing for the routine of home.

I remember being sad.

So, many of you noticed in the photo below my amazing gymnastic prowess and the (not so little) tattoo on my belly.

I got that tattoo in 1994. The summer of my nervous breakdown. The summer that changed my life forever. The summer that i was diagnosed as "the crazy one." Really, that's what my doctor said. Or something confusing from the DSM.

Anyway, shane and i had been dating for a couple of years and had moved to victoria together. I was graduating from university and facing a crisis of personality. I didn't know how the hell i was going to live without school. I loved university. I loved being able to blend in. Hide in the corners. Be a little weird. Have my own radio show. Go to see bands play every night. Write poetry. Live off of student loans and housecleaning gigs. Life was not abundant, but it was comfortable.

Then it all fell apart. I started to feel like i had done log rolls down hills; all dizzy and prickly with a sharp sting of despair. I started having anxiety attacks and was overcome by a debilitating depression.

I tried desperately to feel better and would ride my bicycle around downtown victoria, buying a couple bottles of beer and hiding out with a guy who owned an art gallery with little rooms in the back that were rented out by all kinds of creepy artist types. It had at some point been a meat locker and processing plant. One night in a manic fit i walked out on shane and moved into the meat locker art gallery.

I got that tattoo on my belly. It's a phoenix/tribal thing. The guy who did it said "you better not ever have kids." I couldn't imagine living long enough to have kids. I so desperately wanted to be free of the hurt in my head and my heart. I remember very vividly getting that tattoo. I couldn't feel a thing. I was so numb that the normal pain associated with getting a tattoo was non-existent.

That summer went on forever. Shane and i got back together. I came back to him a broken woman. He helped me to find the strength to get better. To take care of myself. He even proposed to me one morning in the shower. I was a shadow of my former self then, physically and mentally. I lost forty pounds that summer.

When we got married ten months later i promised him that i would always love him for the way he helped me and forgave me for the things i had done and the way he loved me so gently and perfectly. He hates my tattoo. It reminds him of that time. A time when he lost me for awhile.

Yesterday we (the four kids and i) spent the day in victoria visiting the pediatric allergist for eliza. I don't talk much about her peanut/treenut allergy because i know that it's one of those tough things for people. I know that it's hard when you get a note home from school asking for a nut-free classroom and you have a fussy child who only likes to eat PB&J. Believe me i know. It was tough for us. Obviously for me shelling out $8 for a teeny tiny jar of pea-butter peanut butter is worth every penny. I get that for those without an allergy in their family this IS a big deal in these days of tight wallets and huge grocery bills. We have learned to switch it up a little with cheese sandwiches, turkey pepperoni - all sorts of things that are not those terribly awful lunch in a box convenience food things.

Except, of course, if my child dies after your kindergartner eats PB&J for snack and then gums some toy and my child touches it with her hands and then picks her nose. Except for then. Then, maybe, the nut free classroom makes sense. She has a right to go to school, doesn't she?

So, you see, i can't keep my mouth shut once i start. So, i just don't start. It's a good thing i'm president of that damn school she's going to next year.

Anyway, we were in victoria for the day. It was nice. We drove around our old neighbourhood and all the houses we lived in, one child born in each. I would stop and tell them about the house they were born in and why we loved it. Then we went to our park, normal park we called it.

Every single day, rain, snow, sun, i would bundle one, two and eventually three kids up to go to that park. For six years, from 2:00 until dinnertime, everybody knew where i would be. And yesterday? I missed it so much. I sat playing with parker in the sandbox and was flooded with memories of pushing tristan in the baby swing, building endless sand castles, watching her ride around and around the play area first on a tricycle, then a two-wheeler with training wheels, then just a two wheeler with toby chasing behind on his motorized truck while i pushed eliza in the baby swing, and eventually, right before we moved away, hobbling in to show off parker while my other three roared around with their friends collecting flowers and cleverly hidden treasures.

Once in my life i had a circle of friends who shared in all the ups and downs of raising children and being married and finding jobs, losing loves, moving on - all the adult things.

When i met them i had just one child. I was righteous in the way new mothers can be, certain that i was the only one practicing this thing called attachment parenting. Certain that i was still cooler than everyone else, but so lonely. I happened upon them at the park that i walked through on my way to the mall to get a starbucks. Instantly, they pulled me into their circle. What a wonderful thing. I remember their children turning two and i also remember them turning six. The births of siblings. The extension of the park family.

And then we moved away. And i had every intention of keeping in touch. But distance really does become a barrier. And i change. And they change.

But i still miss them and the missed opportunity of watching their children grow.

It's no secret that i have had a pretty crappy winter. One of the hardest things about being a socially anxious mom is how being home with kids makes you crawl deeper into your shell. I think most mothers of 0-4 year olds who stay home with the kids know that a huge portion of your time is spent *at home*. Even if you manage to get out to playgroups or classes (for us it's kindermusic and tumbling) the majority of time is spent with your children without contact with the grown-up world. I think, for me, it's magnified by living in the country, a lack of friends and a fear of making friends.

I spent most of my winter stuck in the middle of feeling totally miserable and overwhelmed while at the same time completely, blissfully in love with my children. Those two feelings don't really go together and at the end of most everyday i would lay awake and wonder what the hell i was doing.

Then as spring began to arrive i was completely blown away by the arrival of anxiety. I haven't had full scale panic attacks for ten years. Out of nowhere they came back a few weeks ago and left me begging at the door of some bloggy friends for help, support, advice and even medication. I have been trying to take better care of myself, which in retrospect is total bullshit as i stay up way too late, eat crap and call dancing with the kids exercise. In my mind i am trying to feel better.

And through all those things i still cherish every day and every moment with my kids. Part of my anxiety is not doing all of this right. Somehow fucking things up so badly that something bad really does happen. Or even worse, that they are unhappy. Or grow up to be unhappy. I want to take the joy i see in their faces every day, as young children, and bottle it up and give it back to them when they are suffering through that horrible thing called being a teenager.

I guess i want everything to be okay. And despite all my best efforts i really have no control over this whole crazy mothering thing.

And then, all of the sudden, in the past week i felt better. Way better. Spring is coming. My sex drive is back, i think partly because of the ending of the booby which caused my hormones to settle back into some semblance of where they may have been back in 1996 when i was a randy newlywed getting knocked up (whew!). But today it dawned on me that maybe that change in mood, with the anxiety in the middle, was a little too rapid. Maybe i'm back to my old cycle of depression and hypo-mania. Maybe i'm still all screwed up. Maybe it's time for the doctor.

Remember when your mother used to try and use kid-speak to endear you to her. "Hey jess! You look CHOICE today!"

I feel that way now, not with my kids, but among the bloggin peers. One could say bloggin peeps! But i can't say that. I am so uncomfortable using any new slang since the 90's.

Dude, bitch, bitches, sweet, wicked, huzzah (i don't even know what that means) - on and on.

I can't say those words. So, i stick with awesome. I have said Awesome! in so many comments on blogs and Flickr, it's frankly a little humiliating. But, awesome! it will stay.

I remember when i worked at the campus radio station at UVic as the advertising director the secretary / receptionist (when i looked it up she is recorded as a sales rep) at SubPop records did an interview with the new york times about grunge music and the grunge scene in seattle. She made up a bunch of grunge slang on the spot and the ny times printed them. It was awesome! You should really read the link above because it was, in all honesty, one of the funniest things to come out of the whole grunge thing.

So, back to my mom. She for shizzle read my blog. Or at least, somehow, found her way into my archives and read only the nasty bits. Now dude, i totally love my mom. She gave birth to me and saw fit to get me through the tough years, and there were many, and loved me when i came out the other side. A grown up with kids - huzzah!

As a result, henceforth, if you are reading this blog and you know me. You may read things that you don't like or wish you never knew. In that case you should walk away right now. Go! Stop reading. If you decide to stick around and stumble upon something you don't like, well, you may speak with me nicely. Or, better yet - never speak of it.

Now, the rest of you. You may stay. And comment bitches!

So whatever else poetry is freedom.Let

Far off the impatient cadences reveal

A padding for my breathless stilts.Swivel,

O hero, in the fleshy groves, skin and glycerine,

And sing of lust, the sun's accompanying shadow

Like a vampire's wing, the stillness in dead feet --

Your stave brings resurrection, O aggrieved king.

Irving Layton

Irving Layton died on January 4, 2006 in Montreal.

Me circa 1988.

MB had a great post today about small towns and the de-population of them. The fact that young people move away from the village and all the values that were once held there to make a life in cities and suburbs. This move away from small town living has eroded the cultural landscape. In most cities, by way of necessity, people live on their own. Without the familial joys and bonds of the village we live a do or die mentality.

This is nothing new. Living in the city can be alienating and lonely. Especially for mothers. All the baby and mom clubs can't bring about that sense of belonging like a small town can. Sure, there are always exceptions: the great neighbourhoods, the perfect group of friends. But, by and large, if you read blogs by mothers there's a lot of isolation and loneliness.

I am, of course, speaking from experience. And my experience is very skewed by my total phobia of social situations. My desire to have friends; yet, totally unable to make them.

But, i can say that since we moved to the country we have met more like-minded people, made more friends and have a more active social life - both as a family and as grown-ups - than we ever did in the city.

There is something about the total lack of consumer activities (i'm talking about no shopping malls, no pay-to-play activities for kids) that makes you have to go out and find something to do. Go out and meet people. Get involved. Be a part of the community. There is something so secure about knowing almost everyone and them knowing you.

Last thursday there was a large fire on my street. A garage/workshop down the road caught on fire at 11:00 at night. Before the fire trucks arrived every neighbour on the street was out helping. Not watching, helping. Even the volunteer firefighters, long after the trucks had arrived other firefighters kept arriving in their trucks to give a hand. In my experience in the city people don't help. When Eliza was 14 months old she had an anaphylactic allergic reaction. Two ambulances and a firetruck came to our house, sirens and lights on, nobody did anything except peek through their curtains. I know it's not spite, it's fear. I think in a city your actions are guided by fear, whereas in the country - without fear - you can act with your heart.

I know that if one of my kids are sick and i can't make it to the school on time all i have to do is call and someone will take my kids for me. Without hesitation. And, because i know everybody i don't worry about who they are with. I trust that everyone watches out for my children as i do theirs. There are 62 kids in the school and i know every single one of them; most of them have been to my house at some point.

Of course, the biggest problem is employment. Most of the people we know have either filled a small niche: the doctor, veterinarian, dairy farmer, upscale restaurant, carpenter, lawyer, accountant, community newspaper, all the things that are still needed, or they commute to the city. Others, like shane, have a job that they can work from a small office here and travel as necessary.

It's a commitment. Small town living. It takes a while to get used to, not unlike being a responsible consumer - spending a bit more to shop locally. It pays off in the small town landscape that you are perpetuating. I know it's not for everybody. As of November 28th we've been here two years. The first six months were hell. Now, we rarely look back.

M.A.S.H.

Cause Supa did.

*They all have to be places you've actually been to. Canadian spelling optional.

5 Favourite Cities

1) Vancouver circa 1990's - it was a great place to be and learn, not as trendy as it is now
2) Toronto - shopping, food, culture. so much to love
3) Seattle - like vancouver only better (Target!)
4) Kihei, Maui - what's not to love
5) Lisbon - i was only 12 but the memory lives on, the freckles too.

5 Cities I would live in

1) Toronto - but for the cost of living
2) Vancouver - ditto above. oh, and family way too close
3) Montreal - some of my favourite people
4) Right where i am
5) Summerland, BC - hello, it's called summerland.

5 Least Favorite Cities

1) LA - freak scene
2) Edmonton - but for jenandtonic
3) Surrey BC - you have to live here to know
4) that's it....
5) i've never really been anywhere.

Go ahead, do it! I double dare you. Linky back.

Wow. An interesting day. I remember reading once about anonymous versus public blogs. If you don't want people from your past to find you, don't do it. Well, i thought that didn't apply to me and i was wondering if anybody even cared about me. Today, i found out as my one and only ex-boyfriend found me.

It was kind of nice to know that someone actually gave a rat's ass what had happened to me. I just don't want my family here because that would be weird.

***

Tonight we went to a halloween party. It was nice and fun and total hell for me. I suppose for one because Parker was totally freaked out by the costumes and scary decorations and as such he wouldn't leave my lap. More specifically my ass seated on a chair in front of a big bowl of Doritos. On the way home i decided that i am totally suffering from social anxiety. Have been my whole life. I completely clam up and to be honest i jumped at the chance to go home. I'm okay with a few people at our house and i'm totally okay with board meetings. Anything else and i very nearly poop my pants or at the very least come home and spend a while on the pot.

Gross. Way too much information. I'll try again tomorrow.