Stop Reading This Blog

I mean it. You can lie to my husband and tell him that other people tell you what I write but I keep track of IP addresses and unless other people are reading my blog from your house, you are a liar. Which we already knew.

So just stop. You don't like what I write, fine, comment. Or better yet, start your own blog. Feel free. But it would be easier if you just LEFT US ALONE.

Back in March

In case my last loud complaining post seemed like I was feeling very sorry for myself. And I was. I just wanted to add to the perspective a little, so here's what happened to me in March:




In case any of you were wondering, that is what happened to my van parked on my driveway between 2 and 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon. Which meant my children did not make it to their piano lesson because it was just too darn cold to put kids in a van with a broken window. And in case any of you were wondering further, that is not an inexpensive repair, that window has heating wires and a wiper in it. Very expensive. And in case any of you were wondering any further, no, whoever did it was not interested in stealing anything from my van, as usual it was unlocked. It was just a random act of vandalism. Senseless. To be fair, the vandal did some of my neighbours' cars too. So I was not alone in my misery. Somehow, that does not make it better?

All better now. Just needed to get it off my mind. In the last couple of days, since I am no longer swallowing razor blades, I have regained perspective. The important parts of my life remain intact. My children are all alive and well. My husband is by my side, working with me to create our happy home. My parents are still mostly healthy. And I have good friends. Smart interesting people that I love being with. So aside from my short-lived bacterial infection, all of the other things....just material. Which makes them really immaterial in the scheme of things.

My children had breakfast cereal and fruit for dinner last night and while this makes me feel only marginally better than the burgers, pizza and chinese food they ate last week, I forgive myself. I am after all, only human. Thanks for reminding me, Kate.

Ruby

Ruby's personality is emerging daily and we are blanketed with the joy of knowing her. Her vocabulary is improving by the minute and she is able to express her needs and wants with little frustration. She is determined. She has her own strong opinion about the direction her life is taking. Most specifically she has discovered chocolate and knows she wants it. She is her mother's daughter. But she is also her own person.

Here is a clear and specific example. Not long ago she decided that I am not keeping the house up to her standard of cleanliness. And so she decided to wash the living room floor. Blueberry shampoo being the nearest of cleaning agents became her soap of choice. Baby wipes being easily accessible became her cloth of choice. Our living room smelled like fake blueberries. A smell, I have decided, that I am not fond of.


A few days later she moved onto the kitchen floor, this time with broom in hand.



Finally, she has started cleaning the walls. Also with baby wipes. Which I won't complain too loudly about because at least she has stopped drawing on the walls.

April showers

When it rains, it pours. Clearly a cliche and clearly apt. One week ago today I discovered that my stethoscope had gone missing. I had left it in our locked Respiratory Therapy Department so only a few people other than the amazing therapists that I work with have access to it. It grew legs and walked away. I am trying hard not to be angry about it. Trying to assume the best, maybe someone borrowed it in an emergency and from there it landed in a locker. Maybe someone gathered it up with linens and threw it in the laundry chute. In any case, person at fault or not, it's gone. Did I mention I am a Respiratory Therapist? This piece of equipment is critical to my ability to work.

Then on Tuesday, some (fill with expletives) stole my iPhone. Out of my van, left unlocked on my back driveway. But it wasn't easily visible, the (more expletives) had to go looking for it. And I was only there for a few minutes while I dropped my children off and changed my clothes for work. We reported it stolen to Apple and to Fido the cell phone provider. So now the thief can't even use it. I thought it would be no big deal to replace. Go to the Apple Store, buy another phone. But the store doesn't sell phones because they have a contract with Rogers/Fido. And Rogers/Fido only sells the phone with a three year contract. Mine started in December. I still have 32 months left on that contract and I can't buy an iPhone for it. So I can either sign a new contract and pay for both contracts for the next 32 months. OUCH. Or I can buy a cheap phone to replace my iPhone in my current contract. That's right, I can't purchase an iPhone. Even though I am willing to pay for it. It is not available for sale. Fido's advice: buy one off of eBay. Sure, I'll get right on that, maybe I'll even get my own stolen phone back. Because that won't perpetuate the problem AT ALL.

And then I woke up on Wednesday morning unable to swallow. Oh, I can swallow if I really concentrate on it but it feels like a million tiny knives are making their way down my throat. As usual I braced myself to ride it out. By Thursday, I came to the conclusion that riding it out was not possible because every time I swallowed in the night I woke up and by then my ears were bothering me too. So I went to a walk in clinic, after I finished at the Police Station to report the loss of my phone, and at Avery's Kindermusik class which she refused to miss just because Mommy was sick and an appointment at United Cycle to pick out my bike (finally), with a preschooler and toddler in tow. After an hour long wait at the clinic, which is completely reasonable and I was prepared for I learned that there is nothing wrong with my ears. Just that my throat and swollen glands are so full of pus that they are putting extra pressure on my ears causing the sensation of pain. Great. Prescription for antibiotics which will surely leave me with a yeast infection in hand, we headed off to the pharmacy. To be told it would take 30 minutes to count out 30 pills. Sure. What the heck. I'll just walk around with my overtired toddler and hungry preschooler in tow, I thought quietly to myself as I smiled and nodded.

By Thursday night, I wanted to die. Seriously. Fever uncontrolled by the 1000mg of Tylenol I was taking every three or so hours, blazing red cheeks, golf ball sized glands. Steve brought the kids burgers for dinner. Which made me feel like a stellar parent. Thursday night I worked diligently on a school project for a film that Aidan's class is making. Even though all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die.

Friday morning, I called in sick to work for Saturday and Sunday. Only to be told by my boss, "well, that's three of you sick for the weekend," in an attempt to make me feel more guilty than I already do. Really. I'm sorry. I am. Doesn't he think I would rather be at work than home sick like this? Plus, I'm most likely contagious and I work with people who are already sick. Surely that wouldn't be fair to them. And then I proceeded to paint the projects I had finished sketching the night before. After I picked up Avery from preschool and served the girls their lunch, I spent some quality time with the toilet. Puking my guts out. Only I hadn't eaten in three days. So there was nothing to puke except antibiotics, tylenol and this red gunk Steve had me rinsing with to numb the area. The kids had pizza for supper last night. Yep, stellar parent.

Hoping now for May Flowers. Because I'm going to need them.