An Explanation

Dear Readers,

I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long, but lately I've been lucky if I have five minutes to myself in the course of the day.  Getting ready for Christmas is a big part of that, of course, what with the shopping, and baking, and crafting, and planning, but mostly my silence is due to Isabella.  She has decided that sleeping is not necessary.  She sometimes takes a nap during the day, but she's at her day home then, so that part doesn't effect me.  No, somehow that girl is surviving on only a few hours of sleep at night.  She stays up crazy late (way past my bedtime, even) and then is ready and raring to go after only a couple hours in bed.  !!!  

Please don't be offended when I yawn while talking to you, I'm just glad when my brain is functioning well enough for me to say anything coherent at all.

One Month

This week marks Isabella's first complete month at Tammy's day home.  And to celebrate, she didn't cry when I dropped her off.  This is a big deal.  Rob is normally the one to drop her off, and she hasn't cried for him for weeks, but when I try to leave she always wails and clings to me and says "no Mommy" over and over.  Of course, she settles down again within minutes of me being out of sight, but at least I know she likes me best.  Well, knew, anyway.  Today she gave me a hug and said "bye bye Mommy" very calmly.

Rob is thrilled.  His reasoning is that she has to be there all day anyway, so she may as well like it.  I'm not a monster, I want the same thing.  But I also want her to love me so much that she wants to be with me all the time.  Or at least is sad to see me go.

I know I'm being ridiculous.  I'm way too attached to my daughter.  I love her so much it hurts when I'm apart from her (I keep a picture of her at work so I can look at her all day; that helps a little).  Is that unhealthy?  Don't normal mothers enjoy a little time away from the needs of their children?  Maybe that's just because they didn't get Isabella; she's so completely adorable I'm sure if she was someone else's daughter, that mother wouldn't be able to resist her either.

Thanksgiving

I think most people will agree with me when I say Thanksgiving is about lots and lots of good food, and family.  So my Thanksgiving this year was especially nice because it wasn't just me and Rob.  My oldest sister Jennie with her husband and four children came to visit.  It was an amazing weekend.  Saturday morning Isabella and I drove about an hour from the city to get to a farm where Jennie was staying (even using kitchen floor space, there still wouldn't be room enough in my house for all of them).  It was a glorious morning with the sun shining and only a slight nip in the air to remind us winter is coming, so we had a bonfire and roasted hotdogs, bannock, and marshmellows.  Isabella has always been an outdoors girl, so this place was like heaven for her.  She ran to and fro, throwing leaves into the air, played with the other kids, but I think her favourite part was the horses.  She rode (with someone older of course) every chance she could.  As soon as we took her off the horse, she would point at it and say "bee-DAH" (that means 'up'- don't ask me how she came up with that one) over and over again until someone relented and let her ride with them.

In the afternoon we went to a super-pool.  Jennie's kids are all water-children and immediately scattered, shrieking in delight, but Isabella protested at the first sight of the water.  For some reason she hates swimming but loves baths.  Of course, the fact that Isabella hadn't had a nap was a big factor.  Anyway, it took me about an hour and a half to get her to stop clinging to me like her life was in danger.  Jennie was a huge help, distracting her and showing how much fun the water can be.  The turning point came in the hot tub.  Once we were both thoroughly warm, I sat on the edge with both of our feet dangling in the water.  Isabella relaxed, her face scrunched up against my arm.  I think she may have even dozed off for a moment.  After that, while she still had to be near me, she had fun, splashing and laughing at the other kids.  (By the by, I know now why they invented swim diapers.  By the time we got out of the water, Isabella's diaper must have weighed as much as she does, and when I took off her totally cute swimming suit, it disintigrated into a mess of crystals which she then tried to eat.  Yuck!)

Rob and I spent Sunday afternoon in the kitchen, making all sorts of delicious foods in copious quantities.  Even with nine of us eating it, we only finished the left-overs two days ago.  That one of the best things about thanksgiving; it just keeps giving and giving.  So we ate and ate and talked and talked, went for a walk, then came back and ate and talked some more.  It was wonderful.

On Monday we all went to Galaxyland.  The kids all had a blast on the various rides.  Isabella went on the carousel and didn't want to get off (did I mention she likes riding horses?).  Nobody got sick, which is always a good thing, although I did get rather close on one very spinny ride.

Jennie and her family left Monday afternoon; it was hard to see them go.  I have a dream that one day all of my family will live in the same city, so we can see each other as often as we like.  We could go for walks together, have dinner, borrow each others' clothes, trade off on babysitting...oh it would be so wonderful!

In my family there is a Thanksgiving day tradition, and I'm sure we're not alone on this, to go around the table and everyone say what they're thankful for.  I may be the only one in the room right now, and I'm not even sitting at a table, but I'm going to go ahead anyway.  More than anything else, I am grateful for my family.  I am thankful that we all love each other and love to be together.  I am thankful for a wonderful husband and my deliciously adorable daughter.  I am thankful for this beautiful land we live in; the lakes, trees, flowers, the sky, everything combined in such wonderful ways.  I am thankful for a loving God, who cares about me and shows me the way to be happy.  I have so much to be thankful for, and almost nothing to complain about.  I am a truly blessed woman.

Isabella begging for a ride on the horse.

Jenevieve is a good cousin.

Jennie and Justus

Making friends with the dog.

Weee!  Throwing leaves is fun!

It took about six tries, but we finally took a picture where Rob wasn't scowling and Jarom wasn't a complete goofball.  Jenevieve was, of course, totally cooperative the whole time with her gorgeous smile.

Riding the carousel

Conclusion

Do you see that title?  I don't know if a single word has ever made me so happy before.  

As you know, Tammy originally said that she couldn't watch Isabella next week because she's doing backup care for someone else.  In my search for a new day home a week ago, I ran across a lady (strangly enough, her name is Tammy, also, so let's call her Tammy II) who said she could watch Isabella up until October.  After settling things with Tammy I, Tammy II and I agreed on her watching Isabella just for the one week while Tammy I was unavailable.

I had my concerns about Tammy II.  She's a nice lady, but she has this dog, technically still a puppy, although it's much bigger than Isabella.  Tammy II is totally in love with her puppy, cuddling it like a baby, which is fine, I'm not going to judge, but the puppy is still being trained.  So while I was there it (he? she?) jumped on Isabella with typical puppy enthusiasm.  That kind of freaked her out, and she started to cry.  The puppy then licked her face, which didn't help, and very kindly raked it's sharp paws across her face, giving her a scratch from forehead to chin.  Needless to say, I wasn't pleased.  Tammy II agreed to keep the dog outside unless Isabella was sleeping or otherwise out of harm's way.

I rationalised that this less-than-ideal situation was only for one week, and anyway it was the best of my options (Isabella hated the other places the way she hated Monika's).  So Friday morning before work I called Tammy II just to make sure everything was set for next week.  She wasn't home; I left a message.

Friday night around 7pm Rob called me at work: he had left Isabella's lion at Tammy I's, could I please pick it up after work?  Oh, and Tammy II called and said she thought I wasn't coming and so had made other plans.

Sound familiar?  Monika said almost word-for-word the same thing a few weeks ago.  I was quite clear with both Monika and Tammy II...how does this keep happening to me?

So there I am on a Friday night, suddenly without a day home for all of next week.  The agency is closed until Monday, so I can't even call them for a backup place.  But it all worked out.  This is the conclusion, remember, not part IV.  Rob had mentioned to Tammy I that we didn't have a backup, and later that evening she sent an email to me asking for my schedule for next week.  It will be a little bumpy, and Rob will probably have to miss a class or two, but Tammy has rearranged her schedule so she can care for Isabella next week.  I told you she was a gem.

Now I don't have to worry about Isabella hating her care-giver next week and getting totally messed up over it.  I don't have to worry about her while she's with Tammy, either, because their relationship is progressing nicely and Isabella adores Tammy.

Nope, no worries.

Except: what if Isabella loves Tammy more than me?

My Moment... Maybe (aka Day Home Saga part III)

I may have had my Brigham Young Moment.  

Two days ago I dropped Isabella off for a trial morning at a new day home: Tammy's.  I met Tammy last Friday, and while her day home plans are not the most stellar I've seen, her home has a nice comfortable atmosphere: fun and relaxed.  Isabella took to her younger daughter right away (Tammy also has a daughter in school and a baby boy) and followed her all over the house while Tammy and I talked.  So despite Isabella's most recent reactions to being left with a stranger (ie Monika) I didn't feel much anxiety about her spending a few hours with Tammy.

Tammy is such a sweet girl.  We talked a little bit about which methods would be best to win over Isabella, but she seemed to know right away anyway.  I took the advice of my oldest sister and stayed for a little while, to kind of show Isabella that being friends with Tammy is fun.  Tammy played it cool, mostly staying in the background in a friendly way, smiling and talking to Isabella but not trying to hold her or make her do anything.

When I left, Isabella, of course, cried, but it wasn't the "you're tearing my arms off" crying that I was prepared for.  More like "hey my mommy's leaving and I don't like that, but I'll get distracted and forget about her soon".  

And, as it turns out, she did exactly that.  Well, mostly anyway.  She cried once in a while,but that may be because she's cutting three molars at once rather than a reaction to who she was with.  She even ate a little, as long as Tammy's daughter (I can't remember her name right now) was the one who fed her.  Promising, eh?

You may be asking "If Tammy is so great, why aren't you sure this is your Moment?  Why is this part III instead of the conclusion?"  Well, part of me is not sure this saga will ever be over, but mostly it's this: Tammy isn't available next week.  So I'm afraid that Isabella will just be getting comfortable with Tammy, then we'll rip her away and put her with someone else.  I don't know who that someone else is yet, so Isabella may hate her just like she hated Monika.  Perhaps after a week of this torture she will have forgotten Tammy or will just be resentful and so won't get along with Tammy any more.

I know my fears are silly.  Maybe I'm one of those moms who worries too much, or maybe it's stress carried over from the Monika days.  Whichever, or neither, I'm just glad I have such a great family.  They've been praying for me, offering support and advice, and letting me know that they love me and are thinking of me (and Isabella too, of course).  Some people may say it's just words, but it's not, not really.  They actually care, and knowing that they care helps me to make it through tough times.  Plus, they always give really great advice.  Truly, I was born into the best family ever.  

Part II of the Day Home Saga

A little forwarning here: I am suffering from a severe lack of sleep (Isabella is sick), so parts of this post or maybe all of it may not make sense to the average reader.

Weeks and months ago, I imagined the worse thing about putting Isabella in a day home would be that she would like someone else better than me.  And maybe it still is, but that would be a very different kind of pain than what I'm going through now.  While she was still at Monika's, it was causing me all kinds of anguish knowing that she was with someone she hated, but at the same time I felt a little...gratified, maybe? secretly happy?.. that she loved me best and I had the power to make her happy again.

It obviously wasn't working out with Monika.  Last Monday Monika called me at work.  She was at her wits' end; she couldn't handle Isabella anymore.  I could hear Isabella crying in the background.  Luckily, I have a boss who empathises with my situation, and she let me leave work early.  When I got to Monika's, I found out that Isabella had been waiting by the door all day, hoping that it would open and her mom would be there to take her away from that horrible place (Isabella's words, not mine).  When she saw me she held her arms out wide and ran towards me saying "hi mommy" in a tone that said "I was in the pits of despair but now I am saved!"; she gave me a tight hug.  

Monika, in a very roundabout way that was hard to follow, let me know that she wasn't happy with the situation.  And who can blame her for that?  I wouldn't like to be saddled with a kid who cried all day either.  Plus, her husband works nights, and since he couldn't sleep through Isabella's crying during the day, Monika had a cranky husband, too.  We decided we would keep Isabella there for the rest of the week, and if the situation still hadn't improved, I would look for another day home.

That was Monday.  

Tuesday morning Rob called Monika to let her know what time he was going to drop off Isabella, and Monika said she wouldn't take her.  Just like that, in a matter of minutes, we were out of a day home.  I was working full time, Rob was in school full time, we have no family in the area.  I was already at work when this happened, so Rob had no choice but to stay home from school.  He stayed home with her all week while I frantically looked for a day home that had availability right away.

Now, while I'm incredibly stressed out, I don't feel as bad as I did before.  I know that Isabella is with someone she loves and is not being traumatised.  It also feels good to be able to do something.  My search has been fruitless so far, but at least I'm not sitting at work agonising over something I can do nothing about, like I was when she was at Monika's.  I'm out searching, meeting with people, asking for advice, following leads.  All I need now is to find the right place.

I need a Brigham Young moment, where I can say with confidence, "This is the place."

You Asked For It...

...so here it is:  Isabella's first day at her day home.

This was last Wednesday.  To facilitate dropping off and picking up Isabella, Rob and I bought a beater a couple weeks ago.  That way if I have to work late or too early or whatever, Isabella can still be picked up.  We only have one car seat, though, so at first whoever dropped her off would then drop off the car seat at the house, so whoever was picking her up could use it (we have a better system now).

So on the Wednesday in question, Rob dropped Isabella off at Monika's house before going to school since I had to work early.  I was a wreck at work.  Isabella is very... I don't know the right word.  She loves her parents, and has a hard time getting used to anyone else.  The few times we've left her with 'strangers' (to her), though, she's cried for a few minutes, then gotten down to the business of playing and/or making a mess.  So while I was nervous about how her first day would go, I was mostly confident that it would work out.

It didn't.

I had to come home from work before picking up Isabella so I could grab the car seat.  Rob was home already, and told me that she was playing happily when he snuck out.  Good, I thought.  However, when I pulled up in front of Monika's house, even from across the street I could hear Isabella crying.  When she saw me, she ran across the room with her arms held out so I could hold her.  It took a long time for her to calm down enough to stop sobbing.  Her face was red and blotchy, her breath came in ragged gasps.  While I cradled my little girl, glad to have her with me again, Monika told me about her day.  It turns out that as soon as Rob left and Isabella discovered that neither of her parents were there with her, she freaked out.  She neither slept nor ate the whole day.  Just cried.  And cried.  And cried.  She tried to push Monika away whenever she came near enough.  I find Monika to be a very nice lady, and good with children, but for some unfathomable reason Isabella has taken an intense dislike to her.

Isabella clung to me for the rest of the evening (indeed, she hasn't stopped clinging yet, I nearly always need to be holding her now).  And while she clung, she ate.  And ate.  And ate.  It turns out that not eating for nine hours leaves her ravenously hungry.  She has a hard time sleeping now, too.

The next two days were more of the same.  I had had hopes that she would get used to it, maybe even enjoy playing with the other kids.  Now?  I don't know.  Friday morning as we walked up the steps to Monika's house, Isabella pulled back and clung to my leg.  I picked her up and continued on, and when the door opened, the waterworks started.  She held tight to me, her head buried in my shoulder, saying "no no no" over and over again.  When I put her down, ruthlessly pulling her little arms away from my neck, she howled like I had ripped her heart out.  I know I had mine.  I drove around the corner so she couldn't see me, but then had to pull over so I wouldn't be a hazard to the other cars on the road.  It was awful.  I've decided Rob will have to drop her off from now on; I can't go through that again.

So now I'm in a difficult place.  Ideally, Isabella will get over her aversion to Monika and I can continue working full time without the guilt of emotionally traumatising my child.  It was suggested to continue with Monika for another two weeks, but I don't think I could make it more than one.  So if the situation does not significantly improve in the next week, we'll look at other day homes.  Someone, maybe, will be similar enough to me that Isabella will be a little more comfortable there.  If not, I may have to only work in the evenings when Rob is at home, or not work at all. 

Whatever happens, I trust that we will find a way to make it work.  God will provide a way for us to eat and our child to be happy, if we are willing.

The Misunderstanding

Six days from now is Isabella's first day at a day home.  As I said before, I'm trying not to think about it.  However, when I got home from work yesterday Rob said "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"  Like an idiot, I opted for the bad news.  It turns out that Monika, our day home lady, had called and said "she hadn't heard from us" and had therefore filled Isabella's spot at her home.  That was it.  I was confused, outraged, and slightly panicked.  I have been in regular contact with Monika's dayhome agent, have signed the contract even, so how in the world could Monika think I wasn't coming?  So there we were, six days from needing a day home, five of which we would be out of province.  That left us a single day to find a new dayhome and get the papers signed.  Maybe it's possible, maybe it's not, I don't know.  But it would have been incredibly stressful.

My day at work had been insanely busy.  So to hear this on arriving home... I needed to yell at somebody.  I called the dayhome agency, struggling to keep my voice even as I asked what the heck was happening.  Marlene, with whom I had signed the papers, was just as confused as I was.  Apparently she had talked to Monika only the day before and everything was all set to go.

To shorten a story that is starting to get a little long-winded, Marlene called Monika to find out what was going on.  It turns out it was all a misunderstanding.  Monika had gotten a call from someone needing temporary care, and she thought she had to take this other child in place of Isabella.

So I still have a day home.  No need to rush frantically around today trying to get something else arranged. But while everything may be straightened out now, I'm still left feeling rather put out.  Maybe I was secretly hoping for the day home to fall through so I'd have no choice but to stay home.  Or maybe I've just been so stressed out lately (which I have) that I need the release of yelling at someone.

I am really looking forward to this long weekend away.  A few days with family sounds perfect.

Full Circle

It's happening again.  A situation I had hoped never to face again is staring me down.  Let me explain.  Back in March, when my maternity leave ended, I had to decide whether to go back to work full time or part time or not at all.  Financially, the smart thing to do was work full time, since Rob is still in school and money isn't exactly growing on the bush in our backyard.  But I couldn't face the prospect of letting someone else, some random stranger, raise my little girl.  So in the end Rob and I worked out a schedule where we both work part time, switching off so one of us is always at home with Isabella.  It means Rob and I didn't see each other very often, but it's worth it; Isabella is being raised by her parents, the way it should be.

Now, however, that's all over.  In a couple weeks Rob's classes resume after the summer break, and he'll no longer be able to watch Isabella during the day while I'm at work.  He'll also be cutting down on the number of hours he works so he can concentrate on school, which is good, except he won't be bringing in much money.  That left me with three options: One, continue to work part time and put Isabella in a day home when necessary.  Two, only work the evenings when Rob is not working.  Three, work full time and put Isabella in a day home full time.  None of them are appealing.  The first two don't leave us with enough money to fill our stomachs (did you know that partime daycare costs the same as full time?), while the third means ripping my heart our and freezing it for later.

Anyway, after much indecision I finally decided that I needed to just not think about it, and do what I have to do.  I called around and made a few visits to find a day home, all the while trying not to think what it would mean.  How long will this other place be where she spends most of her waking hours?  One year?  Two?  Five?  Will the day home lady give her the attention she needs?  Teach her?  Love her?  Worse, will "mommy" become an empty word to her, the name of that woman who puts her in bed at night but she otherwise never sees?  How many firsts will I miss?

But I can't think about all of that, or my heart will burst, I'll break down crying and I won't be able to enjoy these last few days that I have with her.  I have to take advanatage of every minute, drink in every every smile, because very soon I won't be there to see them.

I'll do what I have to do, but this is torture.

For my Grandma

A little over a week ago, July 30 to be precise, my last surviving grandparent passed away. Grandma Genevieve (my mother's mother) was an incredibly sweet woman who always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. While I wasn't able to attend, I heard from those who did that her funeral was packed with people from far and wide to say goodbye to their friend. What I remember best about her is her garden. As long as her health allowed her, and often even when it didn't, Grandma was out in that garden, planting, weeding, watering, gathering. I loved eating what came out of that garden; everything was so full of flavour, so the way all fruits and vegetables should taste. I often made a lunch of tomatoes and cucumbers, lightly salted. Ymm!

My Grandma was kind of like her garden. There was nothing artificial about her, she was a genuinely lovely person, and everyone that knew her was better for it.

I don't have a lot of experience with death, and my feelings on the subject are all a jumble.  That's why it's taken me so long to write about this; I had to sort it all out.  This is what I've come up with:  First, I'm sad, because I'm essentially a selfish person and I'll miss her.  Second, I'm somewhat relieved.  The last few weeks, and maybe years, of her life were not pleasant for her, and it's good to know that she's not in pain anymore.  Third, I'm happy.  Happy that my grandma's dead?  Not exactly.  I'm full of joy and gratitude beacuse I know the Plan; I know our loving Heavenly Father has a place for her.  Death is not the end.  I'll see my grandma again.

Genevieve as a young woman

Grandma is at the back left, my mother in the middle

Left to right:  My dad, me, Isabella, my mother, and Grandma, only weeks before she died

Eight Years

Have Rob and I been married too long? No, of course not. So what, then, does it mean when we woke up yesterday morning and said Oh it's our anniverary today. We should do something. It's not that either of us forgot this important day, we didn't. But after eight years it just isn't the same anymore. Sure we'll do something special for our ten year anniversary, but eight?

As it turned out, it was a really great evening. When Rob got home from work and said "Are you ready to go?" I assumed we would just grab a bite somewhere. We had Isabella with us, so it's not like we could go to a fancy restaurant or anything. Then he made sure we put sunscreen on. Okay, so maybe a picnic? It was a gorgeous day, sunny and really hot. Perfect for a picnic. But we drove right past our regular place. You may be wondering why I didn't ask Rob where we were going, but perhaps you don't know Rob. He loves tormenting me with mystery, giving very vague hints which are always misleading anyway. At first it worked; I was tormented. But after several years of this, I kind of gave up. I let him have his secret, and instead torment him with my seeming indifference. It's awesome.

Anyway, a few kilometres and several hints later (none of which I gave credence to) we parked downtown. I could hear loud music, so there was obviously some event going on. It made me wonder about my favourite summer event here, Taste of Edmonton. Had we missed it already? I voiced this thought, and saw a nearly concealed smirk on Rob's face.

Ah.

Taste of Edmonton is a brilliant idea. There's a large square in downtown Edmonton, and now it's completely filled with the booths of dozens of local restaurants. Each restaurant offers two selections, usually one main course and one dessert. So hundreds of people jam into the square, trying new foods and enjoying old favourites, listening to the current band, looking at the street vendors wares and perhaps having a caricature drawn.

So Rob and I stuffed ourselves with good food and enjoyed the sun. We tried to get Isabella to go wading in the fountain (don't worry, that's what it's there for) but either the cold water or the sheer overwhelming-ness of the situation did her in, and she refused to go anywhere near the water after the first step in. It was hilarious seeing her cling so tightly to Rob that he couldn't put her down in the water.

We also had an artist do a caricature of Isabella. He made her look about 40, but it's still pretty cute and a fun thing to have done (first time for me).

After a few hours we were very hot and tired. So on the way home we rented a movie and just relaxed. Isabella even went to bed early.

And to my honey bunches I'd like to say: thank you for coming up with such a fun evening for us! Happy anniversary darling, I love you!

Two Weeks in Pictures

Somehow, in the entire two weeks I was on vacation, I only took four pictures. Normally I'm on the lookout for any opportunity to take a picture of my little girl, while Rob hides the camera on me or glares and gets huffy at me if I aim it anywhere near him. This trip, however, Rob actually reminded me about the camera. He'd say "Do you want a picture of this Sarah?" or "Where's the camera? I want a picture of this." A complete role reversal.

Anyway, here are the pictures I took:



I think this one was taken somewhere in Arizona. But it could have been Utah. Or Nevada. They all look the same.





This is in front of The Venetian in Las Vegas. It's magnificent. Luxurious. Expensive. Still, I was almost tempted to spend the $200-ish it would take to stay one night in their cheapest room.




My little happy traveller. Sometimes she got annoyed with being strapped into her carseat for hours on end, but really, who wouldn't? Overall, she's great in the car. Give her some food and something interesting to look at/play with, and she's set.




Isabella modelling her new dress courtesy of Grandma Smith. Isn't she darling?

The Vacation that Wasn't

Have you ever gone on a road trip with a toddler? I hadn't. Not until a few weeks ago. I thought I was prepared. I brought lots of books, snacks, toys. I brought a fan for white noise at night. I brought her favourite stuffed lion (that thing is a life saver!), her blanket, interesting grown-up toys that she normally is not allowed to play with and are therefore inherently fascinating. That should have been enough, right?

Well it was, to a point. While we were driving I sat in the backseat next to her, and we entertained each other for hours on end. She really is the cutest thing. We read books and made faces and sang songs and tickled each other. Every hour or two we pulled in at a rest stop so she could run around and enjoy some fresh air. It went well; she hardly ever cried, and we even had a lot of fun.

What part I hadn't expected to be difficult was staying in hotels at night. All three of us (and often four - Rob's sister Nicki stayed in our room with us when we were with his family) in one room. We obviously weren't going to leave Isabella in a hotel room by herself, so even though the room was dark and she was in her crib with her lion, she could still see us, hear us move around. Which meant that getting her to sleep was very difficult. By midnight she ended up in bed with us, either lying on top of us or horizontally across the bed so Rob and I ended up struggling to stay on the bed.

With all three of us suffering from lack of sleep, tempers were short. Vacations are supposed to be relaxing, but this was definitely not. Please don't misunderstand me, our vacation was awesome and we had a lot of fun, but in no way was it relaxing. Completely exhausting and a little stressful, but worth it. I got to meet a lot of Rob's family for the first time (and they're all very nice people), go horseback riding bareback, see The Lion King, show off Isabella (one of my favourite things to do, and she cooperates so well!), see my Grandma for the first time in ten years, along with my parents, and drive through some very pretty country.




Still, it's nice to be back home. Home, where Isabella has her own room (and therefore often sleeps through the night). "There's no place like home...there's no place like home..."

Only in Vegas...

Hotels in Las Vegas can afford to charge very little. By very little, I mean half the price of the average hotel. This is because they know most people are going to give them major bucks downstairs in the casino.

About a week ago my little family was there, staying in the cheapest hotel we could find. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the price that was cheap. The room was okay, I guess, a little worn, quite a bit outdated, but clean at least (to the naked eye, anyway). Another little fact about Vegas: it's easy to find great deals on food, but only it you're willing to get up in the middle of the night to eat it. We were trying to save money, so we ate at the buffet of this unnamed cheap hotel. Bad idea. The food was awful. I thought that was the worst of it, but I was wrong.

In the middle of the night I woke up with my stomach in knots. By morning, I was so sick I couldn't stand up without the world going black and passing out. Even sitting up was exhausting. The only way I felt even marginally like a human being was by kneeling down with my forehead on the floor. Rob was a dear and took Isabella down to breakfast with him so I could shower and get packed up (we were moving to a different hotel). Needless to say, it took me a very long time to get ready.

The car ride to the next hotel was... unpleasant. I kept my head between my knees, but still my nausea continued to rise from the rocking motion of the car. It didn't help that Rob had no idea where he was going, so a trip that should have taken five minutes ended up being more than an hour. The roads were busy, so Rob had to concentrate on his driving and couldn't keep an eye out for the hotel. Eventually I decided to help him out, and raised my head. Another bad idea. Only in Vegas can someone vomit out a car window without even drawing a second glance from passersby.

It was horrible. Horribly embarrassing. I tried to stick my head as far out the window as I could, but still I got vomit all over the side of the car. Too much information? Try this: even though it had been about 19 hours since I ate, every food was still clearly identifiable in a puddle on the road.

(On a side note, I'm trying to understand why I chose this humiliating story to share. Most people like to keep their embarrassing moments to themselves, but instead I blab it where everyone and their dogs can read it. What's wrong with me? Where's my survival instinct?)

Luckily by the next day I was feeling well enough that I could attend The Lion King. I would have hated to miss that. It was so amazing! We all know the story and can sing along to the songs, but the costumes were incredible, and the dancers so lithe and animal-like. Definitely worth seeing, even if plays aren't your thing. Look at this and this.

The moral of the story is: don't eat at cheap buffets, but if you have to, do it someplace where no one will care when you lose it all in public.

Slumlord

We've all met interesting people online. There are too many to not meet them. But have you actually met? In person? Rob got a healthy dose of strange yesterday.

My little family is leaving for a road trip to Utah and New Mexico in a week. When you're stuck in a car for hours on end, a cooler is a great thing to have on hand. Not having one, Rob looked online to see if he could get one cheap. You know, the kind that you can plug in so your food isn't drowning in melted ice. Rob found one he liked, and contacted the seller. Mike. Mike says, yes the cooler is still available, here's my phone number, call me and I'll give you my address so you can pick it up. But give me an hour's notice before you come. Rob calls, gets the address, and they set up a time for that evening.

Here's where it gets interesting. Rob forgot about their appointment, so a few minutes after they were supposed to meet he calls Mike to make sure it's still okay for him to go get the cooler. Mike says what address did I give you? Rob confirms, and they're back on- they're going to meet right away. When Rob gets there, though, Mike isn't home, only his roommate. Rob calls Mike - can the roommate show him the cooler? No, Mike will be there in 15 minutes. It turns out he left right after he talked to Rob the last time.

Rob gets back in the car to wait, but he isn't happy. Why in the world would Mike leave when he knew Rob would be there any minute? And the place kind of creeps him out. The yard is full of junk: sinks, toilets, you name it. Rob locks the doors. When Mike finally shows up 25 minutes later, they go in the house together. Mike seems nice enough. He gives Rob a tour of the house. Here's the kitchen, living room, bathroom. And this is your room, Mike says, you can grab your stuff and move in right away.

What?!

Um thanks, Rob says, but I'm just here for the cooler.

It turns out Mike is some kind of slumlord for poverty sticken students. They would have to be mighty hard up for money to live in a place like that.

Anyway, we got the cooler, but Rob wishes we had just bought new. It was that weird.

Big News

I have exciting news to share! Now, before you get ahead of yourself and assume I'm pregnant, let me tell you, it's not that exciting. No, yesterday I went clothes shopping (that's not my news, either, but it's related).

I hate clothes shopping. Especially when I need something really specific. In this case, black dress pants for work. I was also keeping my eye out for pretty much anything else that was nice and in my price range, as my wardrobe is very small and very very old (did I mention I hate shopping?). Anyway, I went from store to store to store, scouring the racks for black dress pants, with pockets. Not an easy thing to find in the summer. Even worse, I have a weird body shape, so when I did find black dress pants, they didn't fit. I have a disproportionately large waist, so if pants fit me in the leg, the waist is too small (muffin top alert!) and if the waist fits, the legs balloon out and look awful.

Rest assured, I did eventually find a pair. Nothing special, but they'll do. In the midst of that horrible experience, though, was one bright spot- my News. I bought a dress. I've never bought a dress before, haven't even worn one since I was 10 (with the exception of my wedding dress).

When I brought home my purchases and showed them to Rob, he was all "you bought at dress? You bought a dress?" Yes, yes, shocking. But I like it. Strangely enough, it actually fits me. It doesn't accentuate the areas I'm sensitive about, but it's not a shapeless bag, either. Even more strange, I could actually afford it. With the cosmos on my side, I figured I had no choice but to buy it.

So I did.

Turkish Delight

I know I write about Isabella a lot, but I can't help myself. If you were me, you would understand.


But before I get into that, let me tell you a story. A true story, even. I have four sisters, and we all want to see the world (to varying degrees). About a year ago two of my sisters decided to take a trip together, and then thought it would be nice if we could all go. They wanted to go somewhere non-English, somewhere exotic, like Spain, or Peru. Or Turkey, which is where they ended up going. I say they, because while the rest of my sisters went to Turkey, I didn't. Stupid money. Anyway, my sisters felt bad that I couldn't go, so we came up with the idea of an annual Sister's Trip (which I'm very excited about, by the way). We'll do something that all of us can afford, even if it's just camping for a weekend. As long as we're all together.


So my sisters all went to Turkey for a couple weeks, and they just recently got back. I've been poring over their photos, drinking in all the details, trying to feel like I was there, and perhaps feeling a little sorry for myself. I missed out on what looks like an amazing experience. I don't just mean seeing the Blue Mosque, or swimming in the Med, but being able to do it with my sisters, who I love so much but don't get to see very often.


As I was sitting on my couch, wishing I could have gone, Isabella toddled up to me, excited about a bottle of hand sanitizer she had found. Her face was lit up with a huge smile, and she couldn't wait to share her treasure with me. I looked at her sweet little face- her huge blue eyes, her chubby little cheeks, her melting smile- and I realised (yet again, I've come to this realisation many times, but each time is like the first all over again) just how much I love this adorable, pudgy, giggly girl. Yes, I still wish I could have gone to Turkey with my sisters, and and I'm super excited about our Sister's Trip next summer, but how can I break my heart over not going when Isabella looks at me with those eyes?


It's kind of like in "Anne of Green Gables": Archduke Ferdinand had just been assasinated and World War I was about to start, but Anne's baby had just said her first word, and somehow such faraway events didn't carry the same import they once had.


What can I say? I'm hopelessly in love.

My Neighbour's House in on Fire!

I was making myself some breakfast this morning when I heard a commotion outside. I looked out the kitchen window. The first thing I noticed was a group of people from the neighbourhood huddled together in a group on the sidewalk. Next, huge clouds of dark smoke. I followed them to their source: my neighbour's house. It made me gasp. Bright red flames leapt high into the sky. A couple minutes later a firetruck arrived, and then another. The firemen worked hard and bravely, but the wind was strong, whipping the flames into a frenzy. But for all that, it was over in a short period of time. Perhaps half an hour, or maybe 45 minutes. The firemen won, kind of. One third of my neighbour's house is now a skeleton of burnt wood and piles of ashes.

I'm glad this happened on a weekday, while the kids were at school. I'm glad that no one was hurt. Did they lose and irreplaceable treasures? Old photo albums, family videos, mementos? I hope not.

What would I do if it had been my house on fire? Would I panic, run around like a chicken with its head cut off? Would I be calm, purposeful, gathering what I could, and leaving the rest to burn? Would I be detached, just stand on the sidewalk and watch?

I hope I never have to find out.

*Shift part III -- Teacher

(Before you read this you may want to go back and read parts I & II, posted Aug and Sept of 2009)

Tiernahk wanted to kill them all. The Doyenne were monsters, every single one of them. He was beaten for no reason, forced to live in a crowded shack by the stables, and given humiliating tasks. When he was fourteen he had watched in horror as his mother was killed by the overseer when she tried to protect a young child from an undeserved beating. Ever since that day he had seethed with rage inside. He wanted to avenge his mother, punish the Doyenne for their cruelty. Tiernahk had never been submissive, but now he was openly rebellious. He ate in the house, was late or didn’t complete his chores, he even dared to look Overseer in the face, and each time he was severely punished. No longer were his beatings unwarranted. Tiernahk had so much hate in him he could barely function.

His father tried to intercede, showing him the pointlessness of his fury, but Tiernahk was too angry to listen. His father had always been meek and obedient; his views meant nothing to Tiernahk. The other Vahrlet were shocked at his behaviour; they also were model slaves. Was Tiernahk the only one who cared? How could they be so calm and docile after such maltreatment? Where were their feelings? While the rest of the Vahrlet were not pleased with their situation in life, they never thought of resisting; the very idea, when brought up by Tiernahk, made them clumsy and confused. It made no sense. Why was he different?

When Tiernahk was eighteen he received a surreptitious message. It was the first time he had ever seen his fellow slaves do anything against the rules. He didn’t know who it was from - was it a trap?- but Tiernahk never doubted that he would go.

The building was obviously very old. The stone was discoloured, the sides covered in ivy. It looked small and unimportant, yet somehow it radiated a sense of consequence. Tiernahk ran his hand along the stone. The building may have been old and neglected on the outside, but something very important was inside.

“I am Halvhar, keeper of the records,” the old man said. Records? Of what? The only records Tiernahk knew of were kept by the royal scribe, and were stored somewhere in the palace. Halvhar smiled at Tiernahk’s obvious confusion. “Long ago, many centuries ago, the Vahrlet ruled this world. This is our history, our heritage. When the Doyenne revolted, it was only with great difficulty that this building was saved, that this priceless treasure was not burnt.”
Tiernahk could only gape. His mind rebelled- had not the Vahrlet always been slaves? – but somewhere deep inside him it resonated. “Why me? Why doesn’t everyone know?”

“This information could do great damage in the wrong hands. When deemed ready, the current ruler of the Vahrlet is told, no one else. Except the Keepers, of course.”

“So then why are you telling me?”

“I’ve never known you to be slow-witted before, Tiernahk.” Halvhar smiled slightly.

“I’m the king? Do the Doyenne know?” Tiernahk’s mind raced. “Is that why I’m still alive?”

“They know you’re the king, yes. Otherwise your foolish behaviour would have guaranteed your death years ago. We decided not to tell you of your birth until you were a little older, ready to handle this information without it going to your head.”

Suddenly the fire within Tiernahk made sense, had a purpose. He would unite the Vahrlet and take over Aequo! They would get rid of the barbarian Doyenne; kill them, enslave them, it didn’t matter. Armed with this knowledge, the Vahrlet would surely win.

“Before you try to start a riot, young man, I think you should read these records. They contain much wisdom, explain many things. Don’t condemn thousands to death before you have all the facts.”


It was hard going at first. The records were very old. Some were written in a shaky hand, others had strangely formed letters that were hard to decipher. Tiernahk spent every moment he could in the ancient building, struggling through stacks of paper. Most of the information he found was very boring; this nobleman married that princess, this year the crops were bad, or good, or maybe there was a drought, or a flood. But then Tiernahk found the final entries of the last Vahrlet king. In the days leading up to the Doyenne rebellion, he had felt weak, like a little bit of his strength left him every day. The others around him, too, seemed to be losing focus, getting confused over the simplest of tasks. The king had been annoyed, then increasingly alarmed. What was happening to his people? The Doyenne, on the other hand, were getting stronger. No longer were they the docile, well-behaved slaves they had been for centuries. And one day, the Doyenne banded together and took over Aequo. The king could only watch in shock and dismay as his own people were put into slavery, and many hundreds, perhaps thousands of them were killed. The records continued into their slavery, documenting the lineage of the Vahrlet and Doyenne kings and also covering major events in the Doyenne world. Tiernahk traced his own name lightly with his finger, written below that of his mother. He was a king, descended from a long line of kings. This changed everything.

But why? Why was there such a sudden shift in power? He didn’t believe in magic, but this certainly seemed like it; a sudden and complete change of fortune for each race. Perhaps it had even happened before. Tiernahk dug deeper, looking at older and older records in his search for answers. It would take time, he knew, years even. The records were ancient, discoloured, crumbling, written in strange characters he didn’t understand.

As Tiernahk investigated the past, he noticed a change in himself. It was gradual, but his rage lessened. Were not the Doyenne as much victims of circumstance as he was? They had been slaves, too, and somehow all their hate had transferred down through each generation, to be taken out on their age-old enemies. He couldn’t blame them for being angry, not when he had felt the same way.

Felt? Tiernahk realised he had used the past-tense. But he was right, he wasn’t angry anymore. He had always considered Allatea different than the rest of the Doyenne, almost like she wasn’t one of them. Now he began to see the same things he admired about her in others of her race. They were a spirited people, lovers of art, music, and philosophy. It was a perfect contrast with the Vahrlet, who treasured math and science, nature and architecture. What a wonderful combination, the two races together! Tiernahk could almost see Aequo grow in knowledge and culture.

It could never be. The Doyenne were too steeped in their tradition of hatred, the Vahrlet too dimmed by their slavery. He would keep searching. The records covered many hundreds of years, there must be answers therein. Tiernahk was determined. He would find out why the shift had occurred, and how it could be fixed. Someday, somehow, he would free the Vahrlet from slavery.

I've Made up My Mind

I had been in agony for weeks. How could I go back to work full time and leave my little girl? But how could I stay home and be the cause of mountains of debt? It was a horrible decision; it kept me up at night, distracted me during the day. I talked to everyone- family, friends, complete strangers- looking for advice. Everyone was very nice, but in the end it came down to this: I was the only one who could make the final decision. Not my family, not my friends, and certainly not random strangers.

I got my answer while listening to General Conference Sunday afternoon. None of the speakers said "Sarah, stay home with your child" or "Sarah, it's your duty to support your husband- get back to work". But every single speaker that session spoke about the importance of the family, of teaching and loving one's children. My answer came to me then. It is my responsibility (and Rob's) to raise my children. To teach them, love them, raise them to be good people. It's not my family's job, nor my friend's, and certainly not random stranger's. I kept in mind, though, that we are counselled to stay out of debt. Impossible in this situation, but I will help out as much as I can.

So, I'm working part time now. So is Rob. Where our schedules overlap, Isabella will be at the dayhome, but hopefully that won't be too frequently. The dayhome ladies I've met are nice, and I think being with them a little will help Isabella. Will help her to get over her stranger anxiety, teach her how to play with other kids, have her experience new things. Yes, in small doses, I'm okay with her being in a dayhome.

A pleasant side-effect of Rob watching Isabella while I'm at work is that he seems to like her so much more. He has always loved her, of course, but he didn't really know her that well. Now they're friends, buddies, playing and laughing together as she follows him around the house. Also, and bestly, Isabella is completely overjoyed to see me when I get home. Her face breaks out in a huge smile, and she crawls over to me as fast as she can. She's a lot more cuddly with me, content to sit on my lap and play quietly just so we can be together. It's wonderful.

I was meant to be a mother. It's the best thing in the world.

Is it Worth it?

Almost exactly one year ago I started my maternity leave. My baby was due in two weeks, and working full time was exhausting. I needed the time to rest, to prepare. And, I thought, was was two weeks? I wouldn't even feel the difference at the end of my mat leave year. However, Isabella did not cooperate. She didn't want to come out into the world. My due date neared, came, passed. Day after day I waited, spending an hour of each at the hospital being tested to ensure my placenta wasn't degrading and the baby was still healthy. Finally, thirteen days late, Isabella was born. What can compare to becoming a mother? I've spent nearly every moment of the eleven months since then with her. Playing, teaching, laughing, adoring. The longest I've been away from her was for an hour, when I had a dentist appointment.

It has been the best time of my life, and now it's over. In two days I go back to work. I love my job, but it's nothing compared to how I feel about my daughter. The last few weeks have been very stressful for me. I lie awake at night, worrying about how Isabella will handle being with a stranger all day (her stranger anxiety has not lessened at all), worrying about how I will handle being away from her all day. Worrying about mundane details like how she'll get to her dayhome when I start work before it opens and we only have one car - will Rob take her by bus? What about naps? One dayhome lady said, very firmly, that naps are from 1-3. But Isabella doesn't sleep then. She takes her nap in the morning. Will she be able to sleep the ruckus of other children playing? And most heart-wrenchingly: will she like the dayhome lady better than me after a while? Will she think they dayhome is her realy family? That I am merely the woman who puts her to bed at night?

I don't know if I can do this.

I wish that money weren't an issue, that Rob was done school and had a great job so I could stay home and do what I really love. Knowing how I feel, Rob says I should only work part time, but if I did that we wouldn't be able to make ends meet. And when I go on mat leave next time I'll be bringing in even less. At that rate, by the time Rob is done school we'll we swallowed up in an impossibly large amount of debt.

What is more important? Being with my daughter now, but struggling financially for years and years to come? Or going back to work, letting her be raised by a stranger, breaking my heart, but probably no other ill side effects.

Help, please!

Me and my darling Isabella July 2009

Rage against the Machine

Warning: this post may contain an impolite amount of caps. Not at you, but at the EVIL DIRECT ENERGY!


My Rant


We've all heard of hidden fees. I saw a commercial the other day about them. A hotdog stand is advertising $1 hotdogs, so a man gets one. His total is something like $5. It turns out all the toppings are extra, and there might even be some admisistration fee or something (I didn't make it the whole way through the commercial). For some reason, I have always thought that hidden fees only applied to cell phones. I WAS WRONG. Even electricity and natural gas suppliers have hidden fees. So hidden, in fact, that they don't show up on the bill.


Last summer, a nice man from Direct Energy showed up at our door. He knew a way for us to save money. If we switched to a non-regulated plan, we would save $6.50 a month in admin fees, and possibly more from the cost of electricity and natural gas. While $6.50 doesn't sound like a lot, Rob and I are trying to save money wherever we can. Every little bit we save on utilities and such can go toward things useful and necessary like, oh, FOOD. So, we switched.


From then on, our Direct Energy bills have gone up. A lot. 40% up. At first we thought maybe the price of natural gas had just gone up, or maybe the government had set its regulated cap higher this year. So we payed outrageous bills ALL. WINTER. LONG. I put thick plastic up over the windows and we keep the temperature in our house pretty low, all to save us money. $5 here, $10 there. Oh I just want to scream!


Tired of paying so much to heat our little house, Rob finally did some research online. Yes, the plan we are on does save us the $6.50 admin charge, but then THEY charge us an admin fee PER GJ USED, just for the privilege of having the first fee waived. They don't put that on the bill, just the higher rate, the final amount we have to pay. We were paying an EXTRA $110 a month! I lay awake for hours last night, just fuming.


The nice salesman had never said a word about the fee per GJ, our bills likewise never explained why the rate was so high. Were we supposed to just know? Did they assume we had ESP? A chatty help icon that would tell us the answer to a question we didn't even know we had to ask?


Needless to say, we're switching back to the old plan.

Lab Rat

Today feels almost like spring. The sky is cloudless, the sun bright and warm. I just can't look down; the piles of snow destroy the illusion. Isabella is going through what I believe is called "stranger anxiety." If anyone other than myself of Rob looks at her, especially if that someone is a man, she freaks out. Sometimes this is cute, and I do like the way the clings tightly to me, but I feel bad when we spend time with our respective families and Isabella refuses to go anywhere near them. Anyway, today, because of nice day, Rob put on his dark sunglasses before heading outside. He came over to give us a kiss goodbye. As he got closer, Isabella's lower lip stuck out, her face crumpled, her hold on me tightened. He reached for her. She let out a wail, her face contorted with fright. Rob thought it was hilarious and insisted on torturing her in this manner several times throughout the day.

I wonder, does this mean that Isabella doesn't recognise Rob with his shades on? Or does she know it's him but the sunglasses are too scary? I don't think it's the glasses, since she's okay with holding them, or wearing them. I've read that babies can smell their mothers, but I guess not their fathers. It must not be the rest of his body that she knows, but his eyes. Hmmm, what if I put on the sunglasses? Will Isabella be scared of me with them on? She's asleep right now (the only time I can write- that girl loves keyboards) but perhaps tomorrow I'll try it.

Any bets on how she'll react?

Back to the Future

For the last week I've been reading a series of books written about an ancestor of mine that lived in mid 1800's. I've always enjoyed a well-written historical fiction, and these books are doubly interesting because 1. the events aren't just plausible, they're actual; and 2. I'm related. For every chapter the authors have written a little blurb about where they got their information and what parts they had to improvise.

While the historical setting and larger events come from sources like newspapers and state databases, the most part of the story is taken from journals and letters. It's fantastic that this family (all of them, it seems) kept meticulous journals, and even wrote poetry about their lives.

My journal writing has always been somewhat spotty. Sure, there was that year when I wrote every single day, but usually it's more along the lines of every month. So if, a couple hundred years from now, someone actually reads my journal and somehow decides my life is interesting enough to write about, how close would that story be to my actual life? The larger picture would be accurate: getting married, having a baby, etc. But would the readers know who I am? Would they see who I love, what I'm passionate about, what I believe?

Judging by entry frequency, I would come across first as the teenager who was infatuated with a certain boy, Ben* (I may have written about him once or twice, and even printed out and glued in a few of our IM conversations); and then suddenly the mother who can't get enough of her baby.

I wonder how much one can tell about a person just from the way one writes. Can you tell that I'm a sucker for classic novels like Pride & Prejudice, The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia? Can you feel the deep love I have for my family? Sense the commitment I have to my religion and to my God?

I wonder...

*Name may have been changed to preserve a certain amount of dignity