Okay – blogs are a little like time capsule. If I had all of my archives online, mine would be one as well. The fact that a good chunk of my life that I care to share with the world-wide-web crowd is here means that I am able to go back and see where I was a certain times in my life.

Actually, even though there is A LOT that I don’t publish (even more since I’ve come back), the entries are still memory triggers. I can clearly remember writing certain things and what was happening in the background - what I wasn’t writing about.

It is for this reason that I need to record something today. This doesn’t happen all that often and the very fact that I’ve had a day like today needs to be remembered.

This morning, Franklin and I played until 9am – meaning, Eliza slept in until 9-freaking-am. If she were an only child, this would mean that I would have had an amazing amount of sleep but she’s not and instead, this means I got to spend some wonderful time with my son (who woke up at 7am).

We ate breakfast together.
Eliza woke up.
We got ready for swimming lessons and while walking to the pool we decided on the mantra (we are learning about Hinduism right now) “I can swim”. I think it is doing a good job (and by that I mean the mantra, I'm not sure he's absorbing everything about Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva but it's a start).

I find it interesting just how much of my time ski racing has come into play while I’m parenting. I’m not sure if this is a good thing but I tend to do a lot of the same things with Franklin that my coaches did with me – especially after a session with a sports psychologist.
(Please, let you not be screwed up, Franklin. I’m just going with what I know.)

After swimming lessons we went home, ate lunch and laid Eliza down for a nap. (She also napped at the pool in the wrap, which made sitting by an outdoor pool really quite relaxing).

Franklin and I then settled down and read a story.
Then we napped.
Then I woke up and for 15 minutes, I had two kids asleep. (!!!)

So, I stared out the window at our pumpkin plants and, in the process, found our first ovary!

After both children woke up we went to a swim shop and bought a new pair of shorts for Franklin – ON SALE (oooh, thrifty!). We wandered through the rest of the store and finally came home.

Eliza napped again.
Franklin played and watched me make dinner.
Dickson came home.
We ate at 6pm sharp. (!!!!)
Franklin had a bath.
I left Dix and Franklin at home while Eliza and I walked to the garden.
Eliza played on the grass and in my arms while I weeded and took photos of aphids (more on that sad story later).

I know what you're thinking; "Big Hairy Deal, Ada". Probably every single one of you reading this does this every day.

Every. Single. Day.
However, this doesn’t happen to me. I don’t work like this. We always seem to fly by the seat of our pants and I always think that jumbling to bed at night only to start the tumble the next morning is normal.

Can I do this every day?
To tell you the truth, I hope not. It seems.... what... too predictable? Nevertheless, I’m still impressed. I managed to eke out a pretty ordinary day. It’s a strange feeling, this.

Sailing isn’t going to happen. We actually didn’t make it off the wait list. I thought it was going to happen and then, crash – no sailing. I’m a little sad about this if only because I grew up in Northern BC. We didn’t sail. Our summer camps consisted of making sure we didn’t have leeches on our legs after coming from the lake and swatting the mosquitoes the size of eyeballs once they had collected enough blood to make them really SPLAT on our friend’s arms.

Sailing just seemed like so much fun. Anything that has to do with the ocean seems like such a treat for Dickson and I. Even going down for a walk on Dallas Road brings on sigh after sigh about how lucky we are to live in a place so beautiful. People come from all over the world to see our little corner and of all the places I’ve travelled to this is truly the most beautiful.

So, it’s with this appreciation that we look on Franklin’s protests.

“The O-C-E-A-N… Why do we have to go there?”

It is hard to see how good you have it when you don’t know anything different. The ocean is practically in his backyard and he thinks this is a normal everyday thing. Just recently, however, he’s been easier to get to the beach. We have moved to by a particular beach that he likes and so we only have to ask him once (okay, maybe twice) and he’s game.

Phew.

However…. What to do in place of Sailing Camp? I’m clearly going to have to find something because you know what we did today after swimming? He opened his own bank account.

Yes. The Camp of Mom is just riveting.

What is this I see before me?
An empty screen and it is not 11:45pm and I’m not trying desperately to keep my eyes open? Free moment?

Wow!

Yes, the kitchen table looks like I’m a university student studying for exams in finger painting and sand art and I have to start grilling soon or we’ll be eating at 7pm again but hell! It’s quiet! I’m gonna write something!

edit: notice that I have had to save it and finish it off later this evening because I’m wasting all this time babbling about stupid free time

So? Franklin is still sad. He refuses to let us delete any of the movies of him and his friend off of the flip so that he can watch them by himself. We have saved them to the computer but he wants the flip as he can curl up and watch it himself.
Dramatic and yet, so sad.

I also miss his friend and all the fun they had together.
I have cried “uncle” on the Entertaining a 5-year-old for Two Months fiasco. He’s bored. I blamed myself until I realized that I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD MOTHER and then promptly signed him up for weeklong summer camps.

This week is swimming lessons.
After that? Sailing.
And then? Pottery.

Yup, that’ll give us one week before school starts and we will love each other until we are hiding in our separate corners again.

Relax – the camps are only a couple of hours long each weekday.
He needs to run like the dickens and I can’t chase him with a wee one strapped to me – not for too long anyway (and not that I haven’t tried and Eliza doesn’t think it’s hilarious).

I also blame the Kindergarten and his care for the last 4 years. They constantly kept him stimulated. Here he is now, at home with me everyday, and he’s wondering where the other children, the variety of games, puzzles, art supplies and jungle gym is…

Where’s the yoga instructor?
Where is the group to teach me how to build a cob house?
Are we going to make sushi today? – with an expert?
Art Gallery adventure?
A measly flipp’n water park?

Come On, Mom!

Two weeks ago, I was thinking, my Mom did this! With 5 kids! But then I thought… 5 kids entertain themselves. One 5-year-old and one 5 month old don’t exactly jive – yet. I’m thinking that they might at some point, right?

And really? I must stop thinking along those lines – “but my Mom did this” and “my Mom did that” because from what I remember? My Mom, as amazing as she is, wasn’t Mary Poppins. My selective comparison to my mother with a carpetbag and a spoon full of sugar are unrealistic no matter whose Mom I’m talking about.

We’ve recently met another family with 4 children - 4 glorious, beautiful children. I’ve had a few conversations now with the mother of this family and while I would freely admit to being okay with more children previously, I am even more okay with it now.

Except for a few details like… money, I’m 35 on the 8th, money, Dickson is 7 years older than I am, money, we feel still so far from family and…. Money.

Never mind that I don’t have a carpetbag.

I’m starting this post tonight because if I don’t, I won’t write again for a few weeks. I’m not writing much. I know. There may be about a dozen reasons for this, I’m not sure, but I do know that I am not the person who started this blog so long time ago. That doesn’t matter though, what the hell. Of course I’m not the same person.

Reading old archives is horrible though.
Boooorrrring.

Speaking of archives, I’m missing a huge chunk – have you noticed? Yeah. They are missing out there in cyberspace and my host has a copy of them but won’t post them up unless I give her money because she’ll have to do it manually. So I think, jeez, finally a do-it-yourself project I can… Do. My. Self. Give me the posts. I’ll post them.

However, have I emailed her to tell her this? No.
Have I paid my tuition to the university for the last three courses I’ve taken? No.
Have I got back to the federal government about our 2007 tax return? No.

Things are crappy here in our home. My life seems to be upside down and I am not the one who is actually going through any real trauma. I’m such a pussy of a mother. Seriously.

Franklin’s best friend is moving to Japan on Friday. That is in two days. Just writing this has my stomach in knots like that time the Love of My Life At Twenty-Two told me he wanted to break-up. My heart physically hurt and for once in my life, I wasn’t fascinated with the fact that I was feeling emotion. I was just sad. Really, really sad.

Tonight, I am sad.
Really, really sad.

Franklin screamed at an adult today - his friend's mother. He was hurt. He wanted his friend to stay and she had come to pick him up earlier than he expected. He’s confused and doesn’t know what to do with how he feels right now, I know. Still, this wasn't okay. It was utter chaos and I had to keep my shit together to talk him off of hysterical mountain while getting Eliza to bed for her nap and helping his friend and his three year old sister out the door.

I want to help Franklin so much but sometimes I feel that we are so fucking connected that I am more harm to him than anything else. What I damn fine dork of a mother I make. I just want to hang out and be sad with him. I can’t think of anything else to say other than, "this sucks, man".

Yeah. I know.
I should teach parenting classes, write a book, film late night infomercials of myself talking on a stage with a face mic and a big power point projector.

Dickson is confused, I think. Strange thing is, he went through this. He moved away from his best friend at the same age that Franklin is right now. He knows what a big deal this is - five years old and watching a piece of you leave your world. Maybe he knows and therefore is aware that life can go on. He said tonight that things will get better. I know this. I do. But right now? Right now, things are horrible and I can't fix any of it. Life will go on but for me, Franklin has had one too many things change in his life and... and...

I'm the Mom! I'm supposed to keep everything together, right?
Wow. I sound like I'm six-bloody-teen years old.

I don’t remember having a best friend that I really connected with at Franklin’s age. To tell you the truth, until I met my friend, Joelle, I didn't connect with really anyone. I watch Franklin and this other boy and wonder how two children can any more similar. They are both so sensitive and creative and scared and amazed at the world. They worry about the same things. They are proud of the same things…

Earlier this month, Franklin wet his bed. It happens. Whatever. Franklin wasn’t concerned. His friend came over to play and about an hour in I hear,

“Hey! I wet my bed last night!”

“Yeah? Me too!”

And then returned to playing like they had just talked about the weather.

See?
Really, really sad.

So I was thinking about how we were going to further de-chemical our home as I was wiping my daughter’s butt for the third time this morning (she is a champion pooper and if I were wise, I would figure out when she is finished her entire load but alas, I am not) and I realized that although I use cloth diapers, they are cotton – regular cotton, not organic cotton.

Cotton is everywhere but the farming for the material is so hard on the environment. It’s popularity and the competition among producers has increased the use of pesticides so much that cotton is the most pesticide-dependent crop in the world – it accounts for 25% of all pesticide use. The impact this makes on our environment and our health is horrible. One adult T-shirt made with conventional cotton requires ¼ lbs of harmful chemicals.

Add to this are the dyes used in fabric. Coloured dyes, even with organically grown cotton, are still a problem. These are also toxic chemicals and their use and disposal are also harming our health and the environment. When I think of how much Eliza sucks on fabric I cringe to think of what she could be picking up. We received one of these dolls as a baby gift and I bought an organically dyed wrap that she sucks on while I walk with her but her bibs? Her blankets? Naturally coloured cotton is harder to come by but much more important in terms of babies, in my opinion, than adults due to the amount of time they spend sucking and getting their mouths, chins and necks washed.

Now, I’m not about to run out and buy a whole new set of cloth diapers, sheets, and clothing. I am not insane. However, it got me thinking. Organic cotton is all fine and good but for the majority of the population, cloth diapers are enough of an investment. Add organic to the bill and we are talking serious cash. The same goes for organic bed sheets, organic mattresses and organic clothing. As adults, wearing organic is a lot more economical. We don’t tend to grow. For children – jebus! I already need to resort to hand-me downs and thrift stores!

So, I have found an alternative – recycled cotton. I can’t always buy organic cotton but I won’t support pesticide production by purchasing new cotton. Of course, I was basically boycotting new cotton by necessity beforehand. However, the bottom line for many processes to change is demand. Manufacturers will do what consumers dictate, right? I’m hoping those who can buy organically will and those who can’t will as least buy reconstructed, recycled or just plain used cotton until things are more affordable. In the meantime, I will also be changing Eliza’s bibs – her favourite chew toy at the moment - as it is readily available and easily grasped. Anyone have a source to recommend?


(All my statistics and facts came from the Organic Trade Association website)

To the right is a photo of me after a week or so of shampooing my hair with baking soda. I have to say, there is very little difference between using a cleansing shampoo and using baking soda. Perhaps there will be a honeymoon period? I guess there is only one way to find out. Some people I know who do this tend to mix up just using water and brushing their hair (100 strokes each side). They use the soda mixture only sporatically. This prevents the build-up, apparently. We’ll see.

There are about 6 or 7 I-told-you-so’s coming to me after this post goes out. I know too many people who no longer use shampoo. I had always thought I would break out. I always break out when things get too oily. I had just assumed that this would also take an oily period and while I am working and seeing students on a regular basis, I’m not all that interested in looking… oily.

This isn’t oily (and I'm not seeing students while on maternity leave).
In fact, the entire family is now using baking soda. Well, the two of us that were actually using shampoo. I was the one who used it on a regular basis, Franklin was only once a week, Dickson has hair too curly for shampoo and Eliza is only 4 months old and not using anything, really.

So that’s the shampoo issue. We are officially off shampoo.

In another area of my life, I feel like we may have come across a major discovery. Baking soda shampoo is great, don’t get me wrong, but pain management without drugs?

Amazing.

Eliza’s second round of immunizations were this week. I was dreading them. For all the chubbiness of her thighs, she was in so much pain the first time that I was sobbing along with her. Babies cry when four needles are stuck into their legs, I get that and this isn’t the problem. It was her ability to get over the initial pain that was so extremely difficult. Franklin’s skinny little legs didn’t cause him as much harm as her first dose of shots (and let me tell you, Franklin’s not one to hold back in the discomfort arena).

So yes.
I’m a firm believer in immunizations. I can have the debates with any of you if you wish. Many people I know don’t immunize. When the subject comes up and people want to try to convert me I am always game. We immunize our children. Deal with it.

However, the pain? So hard!
But! Get this! My father, the man whose heart is made of soft gooshy gold jello pudding sent me this article on pain management a few weeks ago. It’s hard to get through. I had to read it several times and then ask him a few questions later. I was still sceptical when the dreaded day came around but Dickson was gung-ho so I figured, what’s the harm in trying? I certainly wasn’t looking forward to either other scenario – watch her scream for 10 minutes or numb her down with Tylenol. The research was sound and if it worked for neo-natal infants… well, enough with the justifications, on with the show...

My father, Dickson, Franklin, Eliza and I crammed into the public health nurse office armed with a solution of sugar water and a spoon (we like to do things in groups). We brought along the article to show the nurse but hell, this is Victoria. She was all, “whatev, man, sounds cool”.

Before the shots, my father spoon-fed the sugar solution to Eliza (who, by the way thought she had won the sugar lottery) and the a few minutes later… the needles. She cried. Yes. It didn’t stop all the pain. However, neither does the Tylenol. She didn’t shake in fear though. She stopped crying by the time we got to the waiting room as well. She handled it so much better.

Now! I know what you’re thinking!
Who knows really why she was better this time, right? It could have been the extra chubbiness she has added to her body (she now weighs 14 lbs!), it could have been the fact that her brother was there or it could have been that she feels more secure in the world than she did two months ago. We thought that her quick recovery could also have been due to the fact that the sugar was given to her a bit too late. Perhaps the effects kicked in only after the immunizations?

Whatever the case, I will try it again next time as well. What I’m most impressed with is that there are people out there washing their hair with baking soda because they want an alternative to what we are expected to buy. As well, there are medical researchers (and my parents) out there giving sugar water to babies because they also want an alternative to what we are expected to use.

Edit: Seems that you will need to create a (free) account in order to see the article. Sorry, I forgot about that. Here's the holy terror of an abstract for those not interested in a subscription to a medical journal:

OBJECTIVE: The purpose of this work was to evaluate the analgesic properties of oral sucrose during routine immunizations in infants at 2 and 4 months of age. PATIENTS AND METHODS: A prospective, randomized, placebo-controlled clinical trial was conducted at a pediatric ambulatory care clinic. One-hundred healthy term infants scheduled to receive routine immunizations were recruited, randomly stratified into 2- or 4-month study groups, and further randomly assigned to receive 24% oral sucrose and pacifier or the sterile water control solution. The study preparations were administered 2 minutes before the combined diphtheria-tetanus-acellular pertussis, inactivated polio vaccine, and hepatitis B vaccine. Haemophilus influenzae type b vaccine was administered 3 minutes after the combined injection, followed by the pneumococcal conjugate vaccine, 2 minutes after the H. influenzae type b injection. The University of Wisconsin Children's Hospital Pain Scale measured serial acute pain responses for the treatment and control groups at baseline and 2, 5, 7, and 9 minutes after solution administration. Repeated-measures analysis of variance examined between-group differences and within-subject variability of treatment effect on overall pain scores. RESULTS: Two- and 4-month-old infants receiving oral sucrose (n = 38) displayed reductions in pain scores 2 minutes after solution administration compared with 2- and 4-month-old infants in the placebo group (n = 45). Between-group comparisons for the oral sucrose and placebo groups showed lower pain responses at 5, 7, and 9 minutes after solution administration. The oral sucrose and placebo groups demonstrated their highest mean pain score at 7 minutes, with a mean pain score of 3.8 and 4.8, respectively. At 9 minutes, the placebo group had a mean pain score of 2.91 whereas the mean pain score for the oral sucrose group returned to near baseline, reflecting a 78.5% difference in mean pain score (oral sucrose - placebo) relative to the placebo mean. CONCLUSIONS: Oral sucrose is an effective, easy-to-administer, short-acting analgesic for use during routine immunizations.


I know. Crazy vocab.

I wonder if I’m just out of the blogger mode but it seems that the nights that I have the time and the space to write a post has me often sitting here wondering what to write about. I used to have no trouble with finding things to write.

Now I'm realizing that I rarely ever sat down with a specific post in mind. In fact, more often than not, I would just start writing. Topics would pop out of my fingers and there it would be, a post. Probably not the most coherent and eloquent post, but I had some semblance of an idea there and a few digression deletions later, I would be heading off to do whatever I used to do with myself when I had one child and… lordy, what did I do with myself?

I think I asked myself that exact question after Franklin was born. What kind of valuable time did I waste before I had a child? I could have been saving the world. I could have had a PhD. Two, even.

Anyway – coulda woulda shoulda.

I’ve been thinking a lot about genetics these days. Franklin seems to have developed an allergic reaction to latex. My father thinks I may be off the mark about this but it has been twice now that my son has opened a new toy and had an allergic reaction much like that described for those allergic to latex.

When plastic is made it usually involves chemicals or other agents to allow the plastic to release from the production molds more easily. Sometimes these are not rinsed properly. Someone I know has mentioned to me that we may want to keep an eye out for potential latex allergies, as sometimes a latex based dust is used in these molds.

My father is allergic to latex and this type of allergy can be genetic. It can also be a sensitivity that can get worse the more exposed you are to latex.

However, genetics aside, I wonder if this kind of allergy and many others that children seem to have been developing more readily is a product of our chemical world. The build-up on their little bodies must be horrendous. At this point, I really wonder how much genetics really play into allergies anymore. I wonder if we are totally redefining what we would traditional see as genetics through our dependence on chemicals in everything we do – from the diapers we put on our babies to the formaldehyde we use to preserve our dead.

Charity has mentioned to me that she is thinking of going shampoo free. We already use environmentally sensitive cleaning agents in our home, eat organic and cloth diaper(ed) both children but I think we can do better. I think I’m going to try and drastically cut back on the chemicals we are exposed to. This isn’t a case of ridding our home of germs and then unwittingly make our children more susceptible to colds and flu when they are out of the house. This is a prevention of chemical build-up that could potentially prevent more allergic responses and perhaps more serious diseases further on in their lives.

Hell, if anything, it will provide entertaining blog fodder for awhile.

I hang out with Eliza a lot.
Really.
In fact, the two of us are pretty much attached to each other. If she's not slurping down a breast milk sandwich or burping said sandwich all over ourselves then she's wrapped to my body and we are walking somewhere.

Notice just then?
When I mentioned burping all over ourselves? Yes, I apparently no longer have my own pronoun. It's not "myself" it is "ourself". Such has been my life for the past few months and I am confident that this will continue for a short while longer.

I don't mind.
I know the above few sentences would lead you to believe that this has been a burden but have you SEEN her ? She's gorgeous. She's fun. She's Eliza. She wraps her chubby little arms around mine and holds on tight. She slurps her hands into her mouth and looks up at me with as much of a smile as she can handle - considering the mouthful she has given herself - and then, because she's opened her mouth to smile and widened her entrance a bit further, she shoves those fists further down her throat and gags.

Too cute.
(I'm sure you are gagging right about now as well except I have a feeling that it is not due to how far your hands can reach into your mouth).

So my point is?
Gardening is slow when I have a three month old baby wrapped to the front of my body. This can be frustrating. The other day, Dickson took her in the wrap while I furiously weeded and sorted out the community plot. It was so satisfying. I kept thanking him as I pulled more and more weeds and straightened rows and made room for more plants. At one point, I was in such glee to finally get to a job I had previously only frowned at while watering upright that I actually farted.

Yes.
This was something I used to only do in bookstores when I knew I had about 6 hours to kill.

Now that the garden is in much better shape, I feel better about its progress. I can see a plan and I look a little more forward to watering it in the mornings. This year I'm planning to try forcing Belgian Endives. We have a crawl space in our new house that could be the perfect environment. I'll keep you posted.

Here's more sappy crap to take with you when you leave this blessed website.

I can't remember who sang this to me when I was a kid - my mother or my Kindergarten teacher with the hair that grew past her ass - but it fills me with such sentimental hippie calmness that I want to move to Lasqueti Island and start an organic farm. I still remember all the words and after a few years of being strapped to me in the garden, so will Eliza.

I can see the four(!) of us - my mother, Thuraya(!), Eliza and myself - stamping out our cob house while tending to our goats and chickpea fields. Sister power. Come into our garden.

Peace.

Recently we moved to a new home closer to my work (when I’m not on maternity leave, mind you), closer to Franklin’s school (living near the friends he sees at school is so so so much better – even if the closest bestest one is moving to Japan in August), closer to the community garden (a billion hoorays for this!). Basically, we walk everywhere now.

Who would have thought that moving to suburbia would free us from the car? Well, I guess our situation has made it so, anyway. Shopping is much closer, the beach is much closer and like I have already mentioned, school and the people we often set up play dates with are much closer. We didn’t really live “downtown” before anyway. We lived “in-between” or "on the bus route" - in the hard to define area where nothing really gets built except for apartment buildings and subsidized housing, really.

One thing Dickson and I have noticed is that when we watch a movie, the volume on the television is 3 notches lower. Everything is quieter here. There are no more sirens screaming down the road and the friendly neighbourhood dumpster divers don’t come all the way up here to gather their goods.

I used to get annoyed when people mentioned things like “idyllic, quiet countryside versus the busy, noisy city” because I love living in a city. Victoria isn’t all that much of a city, I know, and I would move to a bigger centre in a heartbeat – given the right circumstances. I love the action. In the past, I would defend the screaming fire trucks, the excavators and the car alarms. However, there is such a remarkable change now.

I can hear a lawn mower. I can’t remember when the last time I heard a privately owned, hand powered lawn-mower from my own kitchen. These things do make a difference.

I took an environmental aesthetics class once and during one class I remember questioning the unappreciated aspects of city noise – both visual and audio. I defended both graffiti and ambulances. I demanded a world where we become accustomed to the hustle and the bustle. I wanted there to be a world where living so close to each other was okay (even desired) and that people weren’t constantly trying to “arrive” and “feel successful” once they move to the suburbs or the countryside. We can't all afford to live with a green yard and picket fence buffer between us and our neighbours. Thus, we shouldn't set up artificial standards and thrive for this kind of life

However, I get it now. It’s not the hustle and bustle that we need to change. The environmental pollution that is caused by the noise of traffic isn’t what defines a city and it shouldn't need defending. In fact, this is something we need to change – through better traffic planning, bike promotion and communal commuting. Car alarms, fire engines and dump trucks are not a proud badge of city life but a kind of toxin that can slowly wear you out. This is something we need to find a solution for as I’m not so sure that children should be growing up with that kind of beat constantly playing throughout their soundtrack of life.

The Act of Opening
Yourself Up
So that Another Being Can
Pass Down the Channel
And out of You
Takes a Woman All the Way
Down
To the Very Deep of Living

- Judy Grahn

The fourth trimester is finished. Eliza is becoming a responsive, smiling, gurgling baby with a personality and a definite presence in our home. Franklin told me the other day that he loves her more than he loves me or Dickson. There are many ways to take that but aside from the curious need to place people in a hierarchy, I’m overwhelmed by his love for her.

My sadness over of the the end of an important stage of her life is shocking. These emotions coming from a person who wanted to adopt children (read: not babies), if have any at all? I suppose I can conclude that the birth of Eliza has made a deep impression on me. Perhaps I have less anxiety and more confidence? I’m not sure. From the moment she was born, I have felt a strong connection – something I didn’t feel with Franklin until he was at least 6 months old.

There could be so many reasons for this – breastfeeding, second child experience, help from relatives, a partner who isn’t freaked out either, a beautiful son to remind us that we can be confident parents. It could be all of these combined. All I know is that the first three months, while hard, are now done and they cannot be re-done. I can’t press rewind. I know there will be more and more wonderful things to come but the newborn experience is over.

I’m sad. I do truly wish we could have more children. I wish it were a responsible thing for us to do but it is not. I’m sad about this. I find it hard to believe that this is how I feel but there it is.

I saw this on typealice and thought it would be fun. I chose to pick from with the most relevant, recent or interesting searches, as it wasn’t specific.

The rules:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The questions that inspired the photos:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.

If you guess what my answers to the questions were, I’ll send you a prize.
It won’t be gross, I promise.

Rustling plastic bags s-l-o-w-l-y doesn’t make you quiet. It makes you annoying and it makes you WAKE UP THE BABY!

How many times do you need to walk into our room before you realize that the centre passage way creaks? For Pete’s sake, walk along the side of the room, like this, see? Otherwise you’ll WAKE UP THE BABY!

Of course you can brush your teeth. What do you think I am, a sleep tyrant?
Umm, don’t leave the water running it’s ummm, bad for the environment and, um, don’t flush the toilet it’s yellow, let it mellow… all for the environment, right? Besides, all that commotion on the other side of the hall will WAKE UP THE BABY!

Have you ever noticed that your “whisper” isn’t as much a “whisper” as just low talking? Do you want to practise how to whisper? I know you wouldn’t want your current pathetic excuse of a whisper to WAKE UP THE BABY!

Why are you clearing your throat like that?
Stop it.

Forgot the grid meeting this month. I set it up, made sure the meeting place was open, near the month’s grid and wasn’t to be overcrowded at the designated time. Then, life happened and I didn’t make it.

Actually, I may have made it in a somewhat late fashion had I not been strapped to a baby under a pile of boxes and plants. Yes, it’s an excuse. I am calling uncle. I have too much on my plate.


List of things I have tried to keep on top of this month:

· Newborn (gotta be on the top of the list, right?)
· Moving abodes (within the same city but still a sweet sort of hell)
· Grid Project (with that comes a website and gallery showing)
· Childcare Subsidy argument (I lost)
· Taxes (what? I can’t hear you)
· Baptism for Eliza (had to find a church that wouldn't make Franklin break out in hives, don't ask)
· Bills (Telus and BC Hydro can suck my balls)
· House Guests (most of it a help, some of it not – no, I’m not telling you which was which)
· Selling of furniture (anyone want a vanity?)
· Buying of furniture (we are officially adults)
· Handling utility and address notice
· This blog (had to sneak it in here somewhere, don’t feel bad)
· Making of meals (Lordy, I made a Martha recipe the other night)
· Garden (we will supply the island with brussel sprouts this year)
· School (AEG grades rock my world)
· Keeping up on emails (everyone seems to afraid of bloody flickr)
· Thank-you notes (I can’t find them!)
· Baby announcements (still trying to correct those mofos)

Jesus and Mary Chain! Looking at that list makes me feel super human. Okay, I can officially cut myself a little slack. Last time I pushed out a human just making it through the night was an accomplishment.

And it’s not that Dickson is a low down dirty lay about either. He was finishing school and now he’s in MUST FIND JOB mode. Yes, he must because my maternity top-up ends in July and then, my dears, we are poor.

Not living on the street trying to find a cardboard box poor or trying to fight our way to get a cup of rice poor but we will be scrapping. On the bright side, there will be no more private school to pay for – except for the money we already owe them…

Fuck.

The thing about a second child, I find anyway, is that I expect myself to be competent. However, when I really think about it, I wasn’t all that competent with the first one. Why would I expect myself to be competent with the second?

Don’t get me wrong; this doesn’t cause me much anxiety – my lack of competence. I am just a little surprised at my naivety this time around.

“What? This worked for Franklin! Why doesn’t it work for Eliza?”
Riiight, a totally different baby.
(hand slaps forehead)

As we round out the fourth trimester I can definitely say things are good. There are things that have gone definitely better this time around (breast-feeding), things that have been the same (haemorrhoids suck) and things that have been worse (the crying, oh the crying).

Ever heard of hyperlactation syndrome? It’s not something I ever thought I would have to worry about with my wonderful bouts of mastitis with Franklin. I avoided the mastitis problem this time and low and behold, too much milk?!? So much milk that Eliza gets too much for her little body too fast. So much foremilk that she fills up on it and doesn’t get to the hind milk. Too much foremilk means too much low-fat protein and gas build-up. This causes, hands down, the best projectile vomit I’ve ever seen in my life.

The vomiting is hilarious because she’s gassy and bothered and cranky and then she spews watery milk across the room (she seems to always to reach the teak wood on the heirloom rocking chair or my side of the bed) and then she looks at my shocked face and seems to say, “What? Haven’t you seen the Exorcist?”

We are getting there. I can convince my breasts to produce a little less but I can’t do a thing about my let down - my massively powerful swoosh that, I swear to God, feels like I’m about to have an orgasm in my breasts. For Eliza, I think it may be a little like trying that plastic flamingo drinking game where someone pours a beer down the neck of the lawn ornament and you have to try to chug it down without wasting any of the precious Bud Light or whatever horrible beer that die hard asshole from the bush party who should have graduated years ago but still likes to be the cool guy and tries to feel you up as you wait for your boyfriend to get back from peeing in the bushes….

Sorry, where was I?

Anyway. Either Eliza will get the hang of the let-down at some point and by high school be able to master the flamingo chug or we will have a few more weeks/months of the milk version of Linda Blair.

And really, I’ve always loved that movie so whatever.

This is the baby announcement I designed this morning. This morning I deleted all other designs I had been working on. Now, people will be getting a postcard in the mail with our faces on the front along with a plethora of flower photoshop brushes that I know I overdid. I didn't know when to stop and once I looked up....well, crappola.

I’ve never watched as much television as I have while breastfeeding (I find it hard to juggle a book and feed because I'm uncoordinated in terms of breast sports). In fact, I was talking to a few friends the other day about this and how it can affect your state of mind. A good friend of mine had a son 9 days after September 11th, 2001. Her entire first few months with her baby were spent watching coverage of the twin towers over and over and over again. She will always remember how much she analyzed that tragedy and how she followed all the coverage – the conspiracy theories, the falling man, and the hunt for Bin Laden.

When Franklin was born I’m sure there was a lot going on in the world. I watched CBC News as it reeled its news loop over and over and over again. There isn’t much that I remember as there wasn’t anything as all encompassing as 911 but I do remember one specific news item – Michael Jackson dangling his son, Blanket, over the balcony.

I was horrified. What was even more perplexing than a sheltered superstar with no sense of reality showing off his latest acquirement was that no one in the media seemed to think it was a dangerous thing to do until the following day. It was like all the childless reporters were all, “Hey! Look at Wacko Jacko” and then those with children saw the clip and saw the reality of what was happening – a terrified child was dangled out of a balcony because his father had no sense of consequence.

This time around I’m still in front of the television while breastfeeding. I’m also in the company of a five year old boy with a dinosaur / shark / Ben 10 obsession so I watch a lot of this as well. However, there is one thing that sticks in my mind and it isn’t terrorism or child abuse. It is botox.

We were watching reality tv the other night – Hell’s Kitchen. (Wow. There is crap on telelvision, by the way, and this is one of them.) The masochistic junior chefs were cooking for a sweet sixteen party and the mother of the birthday girl was a stereotypical debutant mother – with the typical face of a person who lives in an alternate universe than mine. I suppose it was more noticeable because of the “reality” contestants and their “relaxed” faces. Her face was smooth and tight and cartoonish. I started noticing it in other television women. It was like when I started to see breast-implants as sore, engorged breasts on the verge of mastitis.

I suppose when you see this on a regular basis in your routine life, you don’t think you look all that different. Perhaps when you are used to watching women on television look this way one may think that this is just the way television looks. However, I can’t get over this now. Everywhere I look in the media… botoxed, poisoned women. I’m scared for them – and frankly, disgusted.

So, with Franklin I witnessed Wacko Jacko in a delirious fit of immaturity and with Eliza I see women walking around perpetually frozen and trying to stop time from appearing in their faces by paying people to inject botulism toxins into their bodies.

Ugh.

We have had a load of company since before Eliza was born. It has been so wonderful having so many people come out to see us and I’ve been out and about more in the last few days with some beautiful old friends (and by old, I don’t mean “old” – inside joke) than I have in months.

Buchart Gardens!
I went to Buchart Gardens, Beacon Hill park AND wondered all around downtown with two fabulous women for the last three days and I forgot my camera every time. It’s like I have only enough memory for a baby and a diaper bag. The camera has been shut out.

However, now my sister is here and I’ve been pulling out the camera more often. She captivates Eliza. The photo with this post is of my sister lulling Eliza to sleep with her beauty and a few hums of Hush Little Baby. Thuraya has a touch with these little humans.

I get glimpses of my sister when I look at Eliza. I can only hope Eliza takes on some of her qualities – but not the screaming part.

Puleese.
I love you, Thuraya, but you were a loud kid.

When Franklin was born, we lived in a very large house by the ocean. We had tons of space, but very little storage. We had one amazing roommate and very large windows. It was a wonderful place to live. Steps to the ocean, 15 minute walk to downtown. The neighbours were owners of one of the best bookstores in the city and the lady who lived downstairs came up to visit me and take care of Franklin if I needed to sleep off the bazillion bouts of mastitis that I contracted.

We are living what seems to be the opposite. The home we have now is small (North American standard of small anyway), we are several kilometres from the ocean, we have very little space (tons of storage), no roommate and windows that are pretty big but that don't open upstairs and which has caused me a few sleepless nights going over fire drill scenarios.

The lack of space means we don't have a change table set up for Eliza. Big deal, right? Sure, but now that I have another child, I constantly compare experiences. I think it will be something I do until Eliza becomes more than a milk drinking blob and I quit thinking she's actually baby Franklin all over again. Those wee hours of the morning can do wonders for your mind, but that's an entirely different post.

Franklin's change table had everything an over-achieving mother is supposed to display for her child - the black and white stimulation mobile as well as a variety of fish and a stash of rattles at the ready. It's not that he was incredibly fussy and needed all of this, we just wanted him to be a genius in order to placate our own insecurities regarding our own precarious intelligence...

Eliza, however is getting a raw deal in comparison - at least until we move to the new place next month. She gets changed on the floor, the bed or the couch. Her stimulation? Well... Franklin's silhouette? The frame of my glasses? My soothing rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?

When they say you are more relaxed about the second child, I hope I don't actually fall into placing her in front of a window and letting my five year old babysit while he simultaneously cooks dinner so that I can have my beauty sleep (wow, that sounds nice...).

Actually, there is one pattern she is attracted to and it is right above the rocking chair where I feed her. A big Marimekko fabric stretched on a canvas that Dickson bought at a garage sale and is our favourite possession. I love these patterns. The one on our wall is a classic and I hope to be able to afford a few more designs in the future.

Recently, I found this clip on you tube (a slight addiction of mine, that you tube).

When I left this blog, I was feeling a little exposed. I was also conscious of the amount of emotion I was sharing with the Internet and I wasn’t quite sure why. I didn’t really like the fact that my friends would start a conversation with me based on something I had revealed only on my blog. I wanted conversations and revelations to be with them, not a result of something I had written days earlier.

As a result, I decided to stop the blog. I wanted to concentrate on other things and most importantly; I wanted to share my thoughts and feelings with my friends through face-to-face conversation. So, did this happen over the course of the year I was away? Absolutely. I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of close friendships I have developed. There are people who used to read my blog that I only knew as acquaintances that I now call a close friend. There are others who used to be what I considered a friend but take away the blog and with that, all intimacy we really ever had.

Sometimes I hesitate to write this or mention this to others with blogs because I most certainly don’t think this applies to all who blog but for me, a blog stood in the way of real friendships and falsely propped up others. I had always thought I would return to blogging to would try to save the more intimate portions of my life for my friends and partner instead of just letting them read in online. These friends are not necessarily those in my same city, but they are the ones who return my emails, who come to visit and whom I feel comfortable talking to over the phone (normally, I loath the phone). They are the ones I call when I find out I’m pregnant but can’t tell anyone yet, who are genuinely excited about projects I’m working on and who know how to listen without judgment and always have wise advice.

However, I’m on maternity leave! I’m not reading anything mind-blowing or profound and I’m not taking any courses. Franklin had his booster shots last week and the book about Louis Pasteur was probably the most challenging read I’ve done in a month.

In fact, I’m overdosing on HGTV programs and the news channel until our cable gets cut before the move and providing 24 hour nipple for Eliza. The most perplexing thoughts I seem to have these days are whether her eyes are going to be blue or brown. What to write about? If I’m saving my more personal thoughts for more intimate forums, what do I fill in here? I suppose I will have to just wait and see – and perhaps set myself more of a challenge to read more interesting things than cute television realtors with British accents and whether Brenda Martin is innocent or guilty.

Weekends are definitely more difficult than the weekdays.

I have to constantly remind myself how wonderful Franklin is. When we ask him to prepare for swimming lessons and he says “No” I have to remind myself that if this is the extent of his “rebellion” then we are extremely fortunate.

And it is - the extent of his rebellion. For a child who has been the centre of my life for 5 years, his entire life, he is doing remarkable well with this whole "new sibling" thing.

I have to remind myself that after I put Eliza down and Franklin yells across the room about some random shark fact (did you know that Shark Water is out on video finally? FINALLY?) and she wakes up again that it wasn’t intentional. The fact that he forgets she’s here isn’t his fault and really, it’s nice that he isn’t worried about her all the time.

I have to remind myself that my reminder of hugging her gently was actually followed through and that his leap onto the bed before that and narrowly missing her head is only enthusiasm and not malice. We are lucky he is so enamoured with her.

I have to remind myself that we have a wonderful boy who is trying so hard. Having a sibling this late in the game will take getting used to. My brother (18 months older) didn’t really know any different. I probably always seemed like I was there. Franklin, on the other hand, can remember before Eliza was born. He remembers what it was like.

I had a friend come over for a visit today. Her children are spread 4 years apart. Her son reminds her of what things were like before his little brother came along – “Mommy and Me Time”. It breaks her heart. I wonder if Franklin thinks about this. He seems good about it all. He tells Eliza he loves her (even when he thinks we aren’t listening) but I hope he’s also happy. He’s such a pleaser (inherited from his mother) that I wonder if he believes this is how he’s supposed to act.

I’ve tried to talk to him about it but we weren’t alone and I think he needs some time to think about what we talked about. His responses were very “No big deal, Mum”.

Of course, I may also be over thinking this entire thing. He may truly feel that things are “No big deal”. Perhaps he has inherited the ability to take things in stride from… not me.

Dickson? Perhaps….
or maybe when you are born on the west coast it seeps into your genes.