Does your kid name-call?

Ugh - it finally happened.

I was playing cars with my son one evening last week and discussing how his day at preschool was. He is pretty open to different friends but I have really noticed his personality growing by leaps and bounds since he started at 'big boy school'.

For the most part the changes are all very positive. He's displaying way more imaginative play, his motor skills are improving as a result of having a larger outdoor area to run around in each day and he is getting much more independent. He has made some more friends which, to be fair, was easier due to following around one of his besties who has already attended this school for about a year.

But I'm a Quiet Ninja!

The other night as R and I were relaxing on the couch after putting E to bed we heard the pitter patter, or in E's case, the stomp stomp, of little feet sneaking down the hallway from his bedroom to ours.

Next we heard the squeak of our bed frame and a shuffling of blankets. 

E really wants to sleep in our bed these days. Sometimes I want to let him because I know that soon he won't want to snuggle with me in bed anymore and, like it or not, that will make me sad.

So R got up and went into the bedroom and sure enough, there was E trying to disguise himself as a duvet or pillow. As R picked him up to return E to his own bed he told him, "You have to be quieter than that if you want to sneak into our bed, buddy."

The next night, shortly after putting E down to bed, we again heard a truly quiet little flutter of feet in the hallway which we probably wouldn't even have noticed had the TV been on.

As R plucks E out of our bed again, E says, "But I was a quiet ninja!"

That statement was so cool I damned near let him stay in our bed.

A Haiku

smiley face on test 
now sexy times with husband 
baby making fun 

Oh wow - I am so talented. I bet you guys want to nominate that for some sort of poetry contest or something.

Needless to say, but I will anyways because that just might be the stupidest phrase in the world, the ovulation predictor came back positive. Hard work ahead!

Hope you are enjoying your Sunday!

Image via Wikipedia

A Tale from the Dark Side - Miscarriage Part 3

Continuing on from Parts 1 & 2 wherein I experienced several miscarriages, one healthy pregnancy resulting in the birth of our beautiful boy Ender and finally passing the 3 month mark on a second baby boy. If you missed them, please read Part 1 and Part 2. Thank you.

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Almost 10 months ago, at over 4 months pregnant with our little boy (who we had already decided to name Ash) we went in for a big ultrasound and were lucky enough to spend quite a bit of time watching our little guy try to suck his thumb, kick his legs and generally jump around like a little bean. My husband and I went home giddy and immediately shared our scan of his precious little feet with our friends and parents.

A week later I started to bleed and cramp. I don't feel it is necessary to get into the technical medical details here but within 3 days we knew we would lose our unborn son. Unable to naturally complete the process on my own I was quickly scheduled for surgery. I remember calling my parents, sobbing. My poor father just sat on the end of the phone, trying to understand what was wrong with me, worried that something had happened to Ender or Rich. I couldn't even speak, feeling completely torn from the inside out. Finally I managed to suck in enough breath to tell him that my baby was gone. That little Ash would never be with us. To his credit, my father managed to get me calm enough to speak and then passed the phone to my mother who helped to talk me down until my husband, who was rushing home from work, made it through the door.

There is no pain, none, like losing a baby, even unborn. The medical staff and counselors at Kaiser handled us with kid gloves and offered us no end of help both physically and mentally. But to have the necessary question put to you, before the surgery, of 'Will you be having a funeral and do you need our help with arrangements?' is like having a boulder dropped on you. This was no early miscarriage, this was the death of our son.

We chose to grieve Ash's passing privately, in our own way. Even though we never got to hold him, we will never ever forget him. When I try to imagine what parents of children who pass away either by disease or accident or worse must go through, my mind breaks. I simply cannot even force myself to imagine it. After our own experience it just isn't something that I have the will to envision.

On the day of surgery my husband, who had been desperately trying to take on the role of caretaker, holding us together, laid his hand on my belly and said goodbye a few minutes before I was wheeled into the OR. When I came out we huddled together, got in the car and drove home where I would get a days rest before joining my parents and my brother and his family in Anaheim.

My parents were taking our whole family on a trip to Disneyland, you see. It had been planned for months. My surgery was on the day we were to have left San Fran for Anaheim. We very much considered cancelling but in the end we decided, having been granted my doctor's permission to travel, to fly down and be with my family during the difficult time. While I was not up to snuff physically, it was a godsend to be with them over the next week.

Time has gone on, we've patched up the wounds and have carried on with our lives. But there are still reminders. Like when his due date passed. Or when we see other beautiful, vibrant babies who were born around the same time. To this day I cry in the night. Not all the time, just every now and then. I think of the trees, the sunlight and the breeze and I know that Ash is somewhere out there in the universe and that he knows he is loved.

Our children are our blessings. I know several other women who have not even had the good fortune to get pregnant at all and my heart breaks for them. Some of us miscarry, some of us are infertile or go through the long painful process of invitro. Some of us will adopt and others will use a surrogate. Some of us will be faced with impossible decisions. Some of us will decide to keep trying and others will move on. None of us are perfect and we do what we can.

As for my husband and I - we are trying one more time. We have the strength to give it another shot. I don't know what is going to happen but I know that I will not be alone. If another baby is not meant to be, we are content and secure in our knowledge that our friends, our family and most importantly our son Ender are enough, they are all that we need.

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Thus ends my tale from the dark side. Thanks to Project 365 I was able to resolve to get this story published and carry on with the rest of my personal goal which is to post a snippet each day relating to our journey of trying to have a second baby this year. While this three part series has been painful and raw for me to write, further posts will be aimed at the lighter side of trying to conceive and, with enough luck, build a baby. Wish us luck :)


I would like to extend a special thank you to my husband for supporting me through this process and allowing me to share what was obviously a very personal experience for both of us. It has affected him as well as me to relive our loss - he is truly my hero.

I have the flu and I hate everything.

Yesterday I had a perfectly wonderful morning at the playground with E, Esme and her son. The kids had a great time, we walked up to the beach, wrote our names in the sand and the kids chased seagulls. I got semi-eaten by a purple dragon.

Then we went for lunch followed by chiro adjustments for myself and E.

We felt GREAT!

Until about 8pm last night. Out of nowhere (well, it was from 'somewhere' but you don't need to hear about it) my body decided that nothing - NOTHING - should be left inside of it.

I swear I felt like I'd been poisoned, but apparently it is a flu based on the evidence that Esme ate the same thing I did yesterday and did not get poisoned.

So the upside is that no one is trying to kill me.

The downside is that I ended up getting zero sleep last night, my dog was uninterested in huggling me on the bedroom or bathroom floors and I was too sick to get the 10 feet from my bed to the thermostat 900 times to adjust it based on my current state of either fever or chills.

I hate flus. I hate them so much.

OK - this was a bummer post. Hopefully tomorrow I'll still be alive and can maybe write something witty or happy.

Poop.

Image by bullcitydogs via Flickr
This dog's name is Esme.
It is not my friend Esme.

Santa Isn't Real?

I feel lucky to have always had a good Christmas. I don't mean in a material way, because our family certainly had our lean years when I was a kid. I mean in a family way. My parents always made sure that my brother and I were surrounded in Christmas spirit right from the First Advent until after New Years. 

Image via Wikipedia

They made the time to take us out into the snowy forest to find the perfect tree. We sang carols for every Advent. We baked cookies and made chocolates. 

My older brother told me Santa isn't real. 

Dick move, but he was only about 7 so y'know..

I still remember it like it was yesterday. We were in the Woodwards store (remember those?) shopping for some gifts for each other and I was browsing down an aisle with my mom. My brother popped around the end, came up to me and said 'It doesn't matter what you put on your list, you know, Santa isn't real'.  

My mother was all, 'WHAAA? Noooo! That's not true, Martin!' I just remember being shocked and stunned! Was this true? Why would he say that? I just saw Santa yesterday! AT THIS STORE!

As best as my parents tried to convince me otherwise, the seed of doubt had been planted. Perhaps Santa really was a hoax. I remember struggling with it for the next few days until Christmas. I also remember my brother getting in a buttload of trouble for saying what he did (probably especially for the way he said it - I think he was pissed at me and decided to hit me where it hurt).

On Christmas morning - lo and behold - Santa had been to our house and there were a bunch of presents from him under the tree. At the end of the unwrapping we retrieved our stockings from the fireplace and inside mine I found a little play make-up kit that I wanted. It had a note on it that said 

'To Tracy, Merry Christmas. I AM real. Love Santa'. 

It was then that I knew that Santa was make-believe. It was also when I realized my brother wasn't quite such a jerk - the handwriting was his.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday whether you believe in Santa or not.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Great Holiday Blog Links

Aside from Blogger and Intense Debate getting into a slapping fight on my blog over comment display yesterday and preventing me from having any of them show, I received (hopefully) all of your comments privately.

I did a lot of reading and chose these as my  favorite five Holiday Links submitted by you guys! 

Without any further ado and in no particular order:

I need some GD Christmas Spirit!

Calling for Christmas Blog Post links!!

Ok, that's it. Christmas is next weekend and and I'm not even freakin' close to being in the spirit.

I haven't listened to any holiday music that has not come from Ender singing. Like Jingle Bells on a loop last night for about 25 minutes and a few rousing renditions of Rudolph, "They never let poor Rudolph *Rudolph* join in any reindeer games *like Monopoly!*".

Stay at Home What-Now?

Hello - my name is Tracy and I'm a stay at home mom. 

I've been a SAHM for three years, four months and 2 days. Phew! It's good to get that off my chest.

My whole adult life and throughout my pregnancy I was 100% certain that I would return to work after my one year maternity leave in Canada. We even toyed with the idea of me returning after 9 months off. My workplace was amazing and filled with wonderful people.

So how did I become a stay at home mom anyways?

Image via Wikipedia

You ate the LAST Oreo? Choose your weapon, Sir!

My husband (R) has been working a ton lately including a lot of late nights or heading out of town on business. My son, E, has been very sensitive to the Daddy-absences over the past few weeks.

The little guy is normally not much of a stickler for protocol, so a five minute warning is enough to ease his transitions (moving from one activity to another) but when he gets into a funk over Daddy being away or hits a developmental milestone he does a complete about face and routine becomes all important.

During these crunch times when I'm already at the end of my single-parenting, work-widowed rope, if you screw with our plans and upset our boat you will likely be staring at the business end of a 3 year old's hissy fit and then I have to kill you. I'm not kidding, I will cut you.

Image via Wikipedia

Part of said routine is that E and I have a little cookie and milk snack every day when he comes home from preschool. So when one day this week we came home to find that someone (not me!) had eaten the last Oreo, the proverbial shit hit the fan.

Too tired to deal with a spazzing kid, I ended up baking gingerbread cookies which was really fun aside from the little beads of sweat popping out of my forehead at the possibility of E remembering he wanted Oreos. Please Flying Spaghetti Monster, let the gingerbread be enough!

Before you raise an eyebrow at my fear of a three year old child, you Judgey Judgersons, let me say that I don't usually feel that vulnerable to his demands. However, this day I was super tired, worn out and looking to avoid any hassle altogether, from anyone.

Once I had him settled in with some cars to play with, you know what happened next! Using the most powerful means available to a nagging wife - text and email - I took all my frustration out on R, who was probably sitting in a meeting blissfully ignorant of just how shit things had turned at home because he ate the last freaking Oreo!!! Blarg! Eventually (in an attempt to stop the barrage) he wisely suggested that he would, late at night and on his way home, stop at the store to pick up more Oreos.

Since he was stopping anyways I asked him to pick up some dark chocolate for making 'Healthy Fudge' this weekend. (Look for a post on Sunday with the recipe, it's really good.) He usually picks up anything else we need while he's at it.

The next morning I woke up and stumbled into the kitchen to put on some coffee before my boys got up. On the counter was placed a single bag from the grocery store. As I peered inside I saw two packs of Oreos - double-stuffed - and four bars of dark chocolate. That's it. Nothing else.

So naturally, when my husband sauntered out of the bedroom and flopped onto the couch, I pointed at the bag of cookies and chocolate and asked, "Did the cashier ask if you were on your period? Seriously, this looks like a PMS supply kit. Is there something about you I should know?"

He laughed, snorting a little. Which I LOVE. I really do, I'm not even being sarcastic. R has the best over-tired laugh of anyone I've ever met, bar none.

And then in reply he said, "I just figured you'd need it soon...."

Well played, sir.


Do you have little rituals that you do with your child? Or with your husband? Do you use routine to save yourself if your husband travels or works long hours? What happens when your routine gets shot to hell?

Listen up husbands! It matters when you are late.

"Honey - I'm gonna be a bit late"

SKREEEE!

How often have you told your stay at home husband/wife/partner, "I'll be home at 6pm" and then at around 6:20pm called or texted or skyped to let them know that you are 'just now stepping out of the office to head home'? Once a week? Once a month? More? Or worse yet, do you wait until your significant other calls YOU 30 minutes after you should have arrived only so that you can tell them you didn't have 30 seconds to step out of a meeting to inform them you'd be an hour late?

You may think that the partner stuck at home (with the kids who want to go to the park, dinner not ready, the pet that needs to pee and a delivery man at the door) having a complete mental breakdown because you are 'only 20 minutes late' is over-reacting. And in some cases that may be true.