Ugh.

So.

Heh. Long time no see?

Sigh.

I'd love to tell you that I've got a realy good excuse, or I've been sick - been super busy? How about just in over my head.

Some days, it just feels like I'm busy rolling the boulder up the hill, and every morning, I'm back at the bottom.

Other days are great. Don't get me wrong - I'm ok. It's just that there's no extra for writing.

So what's happened over the past four months?

Oh lor'. I found out that I needed to pay my taxes in the US. Or rather, I needed to file for them. (because even if you don't owe, you need to file.) And also tell the US government about all of my bank accounts (joint or otherwise) that I and my husband have here in Canada. In great detail, over the past seven years. And there might be some penalties for that. I guess I'll find out when they get around to it. Or not. So that took some time, and continues to take angst.

MasterP started kindergarten. MlleL started first grade, and started giving up her naps (yeah, I know. I know.) We're struggling with that. It's pretty exhausting, managing the mood swings of a really tired 6 year old. It feels like I'm constantly on a high wire balancing what's happening between the time I get home and the time she gets to bed. Am I making dinner quick enough? How is her blood sugar? Will we make it through without that awful whining, convulsing stagger she does, dragging around the house to display her displeasure? (Never mind that that's a huge button - I have no idea what makes me so crazy when she does that....)

I turned 40. It was pretty great. I've worked on a list, but haven't got far, of the things to do before I'm 50. I'm not sure I'm ready to committ to writing them down. One of them means running a hell of a lot more than I am right now. so....

I ran the Rattle Me Bones the fastest I've ever run 10k on October 23. Which was great, but 2 minutes over where I really wanted (sub 1 hour) so I'm working on feeling better about that.

MasterP turned 4. I made cake pops, and a cake covered in squinkies. heeee.

We went to Target on November 11. We got stuck at the border for almost 2 hours, so ended up having about 1 hour and 45 minutes to shop before tearing north again. LOTS of fun.

November was November. I continue to be super funky (in a hateful way) around American Thanksgiving - mad at everyone for nothing. Man November sucks.

And here we are! We did our first Christmas Activity tonight - making snowflakes. But both pairs of scissors didn't work well, so MasterP was easily frustrated... And then we hung them, and then while working on French reading, MlleL had a full blown meltdown.

I guess tomorrow I'll hope for better.

And meanwhile, I'm trying to type my way down from a chocolate craving.

Conversations with kids

Before the rewedding, I took them both in for haircuts.

"What'll it be?" asked the hairdresser, looking at MlleL. "Short" she says, pointedly ignoring me in the mirror. "No" I say. no. Except that then the stylist suggested donation.

She gave me her reasons, involving her ability to do her own hair, to wear her hair down, and the like. And I get it. I'll make the appointment to get her hair cut (which is very, very long) and she can donate it. We've discussed length, and options for donation, and she's given me a deadline. As I brush it at bedtime, I try to take my time now, knowing that these moments are limited.

The other night, she watched me in the mirror as we talked and I brushed and she finally got it.

"Will you miss it?" She asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but this is your hair. It's your body. It's ok."
Suddenly, she looked closer. She took the makeup mirror and moved it closer to me, flipping it to the magnification side.
"What do the cracks do?" She asked, pointing at the corner of my eye.


This morning as I was making my coffee:

MasterP "Mama, where does Santa live?"
"In the North Pole, buddy. Remember? With the elves?"
"Yep. Where dat?"
"Where it's winter all the time. Remember?"
"oh, yep. It not winter time now. It's rainy day."
"Nope - no snow. Which is good, right? Summer time is Mama's favourite time."
"Summer time is not my faborite time."
"No? Well, when is your favourite time, sweetie?"
"Well, not bed time."

Conversations with MlleL

She is supposed to be asleep, but she hears me laugh downstairs, and asks her Papa "Is Jennifer downstairs?"

"No, MlleL," he says, "Jennifer is not downstairs."

"No," she says, "Jennifer my dog."



While I am in the bathroom, she starts to open the door without knocking.

"This had better be an emergency," I tell her. "Before you open the door, I want you to be sure that this is an emergency. Is this an emergency?"

She opens the door anyway, mutely hands me a spool of green ribbon, and leaning on it from the other side, closes the door.

"Your caught your hair," I tell her.

Dreams used and wasted

In update to MlleL and the zombies:

The concerns came again the next morning, as the Orkin man was visiting for his two week follow up. You know, I said, even though they're not real, I bet the Orkin Man can mix some zombie spray in with the ant spray....

I'd be happy to, he said, just for you. But, he said, looking right into her eyes, it's just for you. You can't tell everyone because we don't put zombies in our ads. [I kinda wish they did...]

Hmm, she said, as we drove to care provider's house, He looks like a prince. He has a very nice smile. I'm going to marry him when I grow up, if he's not already married....

In my own case, I was running the last few steps of the escalator at work on Tuesday and felt a pull, and have been regretting that step ever since. It doesn't seem to be remitting.

I had some ART done on Friday (oh, my hell.), and then some sort of laser to help it heal. We talked about the possibility of running this weekend (maybe) and my deadline of next Sunday for the half. I've done all the training. Ok, well, most of it. Pretty much all of it. I considered myself to be ready.

This morning, at a kid's birthday party at the park, I was the first to see a guest put his baby brother in a wagon and start to pull him down a long, steep hill. I shouted, and ran to try to catch him and felt something like Velcro in my leg.

Thankfully, there were other adults who were able to catch them (husband among them). Because I was trapped helplessly at the top of the hill, watching them and, I suspect, my hopes of next weekend roll away from me.

Bedtime.

It is far, far past bedtime. Especially for one we are trying to wean from afternoon naps before she starts afternoon kindergarten in two weeks.

"Mama," she says in a small voice, "I can't sleep because I keep thinking about zombies."

"What?" I say, "Zombies? Where did you see them?"

"On tv," she says, "they eat brains and make other people zombies too."

"Oh," I say, trying to think of a solution, "first of all, that was not great tv for you to be watching. It sounds way too scary. Also, zombies aren't real. They're scary make believe."

"But I can't stop thinking about them."

Remembering past success with logic - monsters? Not in Ottawa - Monsters have big feet, too big to buy shoes and boots, and you sure can't live in Ottawa without shoes and boots - maybe somewhere warmer - polar bears and Elephants? Well, when they knock on the door, we just don't let them in. Also, they can't really fit through the door anyhow. Witches? We don't let them in either, but because you don't want to offend a witch, I offer them tea and cookies on the deck - I start to think about how I can make her safe.

"Well, honey, number one, zombies aren't real. But if they were, did you see them walking around? I mean, number two, zombies are stupid."

"And number three," I say, counting them out on my hand, "their fingers don't work all that well. All of our doors are locked, so the zombies, if they were real, wouldn't be able to open the doors."

"oh!" she says, inspired, "and they're really old and break really easily!"

"Right!" I say. "Number four, they break really easily."

"But what about them coming in the windows?" She asks. (Stupid tv show. What the hell was the care provider doing while this was on?)

"Well, honey," I say, "remember they're stupid. And break easily, and their fingers don't work. So they really can't climb up anything, and if they tried to get in the windows down here, they'd just break up into zombie bits. If they were real, which they aren't."

"AAAAND," I say, moving the party back upstairs, "They're really slow. So if they were real, which they're not, they can't get you inside the house because they're stupid, and slow, and break up really easy and their fingers don't work."

"But what's the most important reason," I ask?

"They're not real." She agrees and climbs back into bed.

"Exactly."

Unless, of course, zombies are real, and you took a day off this week to drive one home from dental surgery.

And although she wasn't stupid, she was kinda slow, and her fingers didn't work all that well, and if I had dropped her while I walked her crazy zombie laughing self to the car, I bet you she would have broken into pieces.

Ch ch ch changes

So you know that picture of Snoopy?

The one where he's wailing, with his head back and mouth wide open, and tears showering all around him?

That's what I look like, only without the floppy ears and generally more blotchy. Ok, and maybe better hair, because I got it cut yesterday to make myself feel better.

What has brought this on?

A space becoming available at MlleL's care provider. Care Provider B, to be exact, a space that fits, exactly, the dimensions of one very busy two-year old boy. A two-year old who wants very badly, very badly indeed to be with his big sister. Who despite the fact that he's not terribly verbal, has enough words to make that abundantly clear.

So we won't have to negotiate the two drop off points and two pick up points much longer. We won't have to worry about coordinating coverage for two different care providers' scheduled (or unscheduled) holidays and doctor's appointments, but we are leaving our beloved behind.

And it's like breaking up with someone you still love because you know in the long run, it's better for everyone. It's just like that. Someone you've been with for almost four years. And it sucks.

All of it. Every last bit of it. Right down to my toes, it sucks.

Mankin love

He'll be two in roughly three weeks. He's in the range of 30 pounds, MasterP. He loves to get dressed up in my sunglasses, road id, and his rubber boots and wave goodbye to everyone. 'Bye! He yells trying to unlock any door, 'Bye!!

And yet?

And yet. A favourite game is the baby game, played right out of the bath, when he stands naked and wet, with his arms pressed tight to his body waiting to be swaddled in his hooded towel. Ooooh, I croon to him, as I lift him, ohhh, my baaaaaby. Shhh, my baaaaaby. His head in the crook of one elbow and my other hand under his bum I hold him tight and he lays draped across my torso, his legs dangling behind us - a delighted and massive newborn.

Last night, as we pretended, his eyes started to roll. Oops, I said, look at this - he's done! C'mon manny, let's have your medicine (he was running a mild fever and could stand with a better night's sleep - thanks, Advil!) and get you ready....

My 'newborn' could only be consoled by the promise of a blanket swaddling after jammie application. And so, for the first night in years, I rolled him up and offered him round' for kisses, his chubby hand shooting out to hold his night bottle.

It's weird and delicious - two. A mix of independence and babyhood that I'm really in no hurry to end.

updates...

So Wednesday night we met with the only other care provider we were offered. It was a this or nothing situation, so we really, really, really hoped it would work.

We walked in, and it was good. She was relaxed, and relaxing. MlleL was equally at ease, which is a good sign too - her being sorta a canary of stress.

We talked for a bit, and went to see the playroom in the basement (also very cool - not at all basementy and awful like they can be) and sat the three of us adults on the couch as we discussed the details of the care and watched the kids play.

Something about the way she said 'association' confirmed my suspicions without a doubt, and I lean in and asked her if she spoke Tagalog to the kids.

She leaned around me to look at Husband and said "I thought that's who you were - you look so much like your mother!! Is your dad feeling better?"

heh.

She really is all powerful, that Lola. And now?

If the new care provider crosses us, she will be forced to face the substantial wrath of my mother-in-law.

Drop offs at two separate care providers is going to be tricky, but we're back in business, and protected by the avenging angel.

Now if I only passed that interview today.... Third time's the charm, right?

ceeerap.

Worst day in a long time.

Drop off at the brand new day care provider went badly, as when the coordinator confirmed the details of the bus stop for MlleL's first day of school next Tuesday, the care provider announced that it was 'too far' for her to walk. Not about to leave my kid somewhere she doesn't know temporarily, I took MlleL back to the care provider we just said goodbye to on Friday.

And the bus route is 'frozen until the end of the month.' ie - no changes. And the centre that is supposed to bus to MlleL's school doesn't have 'any kindergarten kids that don't go to Prince of Peace, so we'd really have to consider making changes for one student if a space became available.'

So what the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I actually tell my kid that she can't go to school this year because we can't find child-care to support her? I'm not sure we can afford to keep paying for two full-time spots for a whole additional year.

So what do I do? Go pick up MasterP, I guess, who's tummy has chosen today for a revolt. Of a revolting nature, apparently.

So there. Great start to the week.

The reality of the sandwich generation

See that? she said two summers ago, pointing to pre-writing scribbles in pink chalk on the side of the carport, that says cancer.

Hi Lolo, she said on a phonecall to chat, We can't come see you today, because MasterP has a runny nose and you have chemo. Are you still having chemo? Can I talk to Lola now?

I talk to God, she said, standing in the bed of Mrs. Maiden's pick-up truck last night, before I go to sleep, after you leave the room. I get down like this, and I say please God, make Lolo better. I love him, thank you.

And accross the back of the truck, our eyes meet, and I share strength and comfort as I can.

I know all the words to De Colores and I'm proud to be an American...

Stuck.

Thanks, Janey.

It's been a gruelling week, my dears. Brought about, for the most part, by a kid cold gone bad in my sinuses. After a week of discomfort, (earning me the nickname snorky at the office - sad, but true) I have self medicated, using up half of the anti-biotic prescription I promised only to use under duress.

Dude. It wasn't as bad as the time I went to work because I was acting director and had to go to a horribly long and detailed presentation on how IT needs were going to be identified by the department and then addressed by the IT branch (not necessarily as easy a process as you might think) and the pain was so bad I couldn't actually see the screen where the horribly long and detailed presentation was displayed.

But still, I gots stuffs to do, right? Like bend over and put my kids shoes on. Or hold one on my lap without reeling from an accidental head-butt to the cheekbone. Or train for a half-marathon.

This week, I totally felt like the girl in the Advil commercial - if you think sinus pain and pressure is going to stop me.... Ask me two weeks ago, and I would have said 'pfft. That's absurd. If you're sick, seriously. How bad do you need to get out there?' This week? Well, if I let it go a week, I'm a week behind in distance maintenance. And you know, as long as I don't bend over (which I don't usually do while running) and breathe through my mouth, I'm generally ok.

But then on Monday, as I was blow-drying my hair after a tough night of, you know, snorking, I totally poked myself in the eyeball with a bristle of my round brush. Owwwww.

And also?

Later that same morning, as I was cooking her eggs and cottage cheese scramble in a one-eyed pirate mama fashion, MlleL was riffing on a role-play where her husband had just died and her baby was in her tummy (yeah, I know. TRAGIC. We're very dramatic chez Valentine. ALSO, I'd like to note that we really only watch Treehouse and the occasional episode on the Family channel, so there's not a whole lotta tragedy played out at our house influence-wise.) As I was commiserating her loss, she went on to describe how it was soooooo sad that he had died, and was now with God, and so we had to, and I quote, "dirt him up."

haaaaaaaaaaaa.

It's so, so wrong, but I don't really want to correct that, cause' it's so damn hilarious.

How I got to work late yesterday morning:

MlleL came into bed on Tuesday night, and chased me all over in her need to have directly-next-to-me-all-the-time sleep. (This is in direct conflict with my need for no-touching-me-while-I-sleep sleep.)

Husband carried her back to her own bed somewhere around 2.

MasterP woke up somewhere around 3 with teething pain, and required Husband's particular snuggle on the couch for the rest of the morning. It was a long, cold night for everyone.

MlleL came into the bedroom at 5:30 to ask for my help with her zipper, as she was already changing to start the day. I couldn't convince her that it was still sleeping time. Thankfully, as Husband was already downstairs, I was able to buy myself another half an hour of sleep.

As I wrestled with MasterP to change his morning diaper, it fell poo down on the rug. Twice. (no, I won't tell you where). Oh, hell, that's icky. Copious use of disinfectant followed.

I made them granola from scratch for breakfast. (In the microwave - I'm no saint.)

After Husband left to catch his bus, MasterP climbed on the window ledge in the bay window and pulled the curtains down. I fell off the stool trying to put them back up. (I'm fine.)

As I was brushing MlleL's hair, MasterP walked up and blew his nose on my skirt. As I looked at him in shock, he laughed and tried to do it again. He was very offended when I refused him.

I spent a little while looking for my eye shadow brush. I think someone stole it. I had to apply with my fingers, but in the meantime, if you find a little silver brush, the length of a pencil, you'll know whose it is.

MasterP threw all the balls he could find into the crack between the stove and the dishwasher.

I washed the cherries and sorted out the icky ones so that they won't continue to collect flies and we won't waste them. (Also in a pre-emptive move so that the new babysitter coming last night wouldn't wonder at my slovenliness.)

The crock pot turned itself off (or someone turned it off when I wasn't looking - which I also suspect, as both of them can reach the counter and love to push buttons). I turned it back on, and when I left, it was still on, so fingers crossed.

I caught MasterP and managed to get his shoes and his sweater on.

I finally dropped them off at 8:25.

I bought me a large latte at 10:20.

Mama, can you turn it up? I promise I'll dance....

It's the deal we have, you see. In order for the car's radio to play louder than I can hear her, she has to promise to do some car seat dancing. Cause' it cracks me up. And so I dance too, the two, now three of us grooving along while running errands.

We talk of other things too, some stemming from Remembrance Day: "Tell me again about the soldiers," she'll say, "What else do they help people with?"

I've explained that soldiers help people who are frightened (like, maybe from monsters? Umm, I don't think monsters, Honey). People who need help when the rains come and their houses are not made of bricks so they don't have places to sleep. Places where there might not be enough food to eat or clean water to drink and people are worried and hungry. Places where bad men might want to be the boss, and so they hurt people until the people who live there say "ok, you can be the boss, just stop hurting us" but then they don't.

It's hard, you know, to explain these things.

What's even harder is to think of a response to this when your eyes are tearing up:

"WHAT?!?" She said on Saturday as we backed out of the driveway, "two soldiers were killed???"

Conversation with a three-year-old

"So." She said, climbing up on the breakfast bar stools, "how were you at work today?"

The grateful file...

So Monday, Husband finished assembling the anniversary/Christmas treadmill. And I was very grateful, and promptly ran 4 miles. Awesome. No commute. Sweet. Janey, please note that I am slowly building the distance. Preparing for next year....

Also, I was able to watch the Saturday night live prime time special and catch up on all the Tina Fey I'd missed at the same time. Brilliant.

Sadly, to be able to hear the tv over my pounding feet, I had to turn it up so far that I could no longer hear the baby monitor, but as it happened, I was fine. He didn't need me until 2 AM, when the puking began.

And so Tuesday, I spent the day being grateful for last year's anniversary present, which some of you may recall was the large capacity front loading washer and dryer. With sanitization cycle.

Ah, romance.

I'm baaaaack....

Sigh.

Yep - I am. Back in the office.

Asking myself: What on earth is my password???? Where does this come out of a printer? No. Seriously. Where does this print?? Why don't the printers have the same numbers as the choices offered to me in my menu?

How do you work a Blackberry again? Thumbs? Do you remember? (Turns out yes. THANKS, thumbs!)

Dude.

MasterP is good. He's doing great, in fact. No tears. Never any tears at drop off (from him). Now, if only the transition went as smoothly for all of the family members Valentine.

How marketing works

Said to me last night as we were hanging out on the couch between bedtimes:

"I wish that man could come and help you clean the house."

"What man? Mr. Clean?"

"uh huh. I wish he could come and clean the house."

"Me toooooooooo!"

Heartbreak at the Casa Valentine

So sad.

Husband's friend J has been a regular visitor at the Casa Valentine for a while now. J has been a single guy, and a giant fan of motorcycles, so the guys have been spending the occasional evening fixing stuff up after a communal dinner.

Now. J's a really good guy. He's funny, kind, loyal, helpful, and smells great. He's not quite my style, but for MlleL, he's hung the moon. He was, in fact, her special guy. She loved his visits, and lavished him with three-year-old affection each time he came, sitting next to him at dinner, sitting on him while he checked out the computer (J is also Husband's LAN guy from work), teasing him and bugging him all evening. He came to her birthday party, and calls her sweetheart.

Until last night.

Last night, J brought his special lady over, and everything was changed for MlleL.

As I tucked her into bed last night, we had this conversation:

"I'm sad."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry."

"Do you think she plays games?"

"Well, yeah, honey, I think she plays grown-up games."

"Does she have lots of toys?"

"Well, sweetheart, I guess she does."

"Grown-up ones?"

"Probably. She's a mama too. Her little girls aren't little anymore."

"They're big kids too?"

"Yeah, but you know, J still loves you."

"......"

I mean, how do you explain what she has that I don't to a three-year-old?

What to say, what to say?

Disjointed is the word of the week, my friends...

I've been thinking of working some occurrences into a story, but I can't think of how to do it. Thus, the gap. And the fragmented entry.

The Casa Valentine has had our three bad pieces of news over the past few days, so we're dealing with the outcomes of that. Direct members of the family Valentine are fine. It's my estranged cousin, found after a number of days in his apartment in Denver, my sister-in-law's ex-husband's new wife and their twin babies (not yet born) (got that? P and P have one of the best ex relationships I've ever seen/heard of - mostly due to their shared custody of son A), and the most difficult for us - Husband's beloved 'uncle'.

Instead of sad details of the above, I thought I might detail for you some weird things people say to me about my kids. And what I struggle to say in response:

1. At Toys-r-us, said by a friend of Grandmother Valentine: "He's all Filipino, and she's white!" (really? You say something like that? And really????)

2. At my beloved chiropractor's office: "I love their ears. Are you going to get those fixed?" (Well, they come by them quite honestly. MlleL's bobo ear is the family Valentine. What? I'm not pointing fingers, and MasterP's are quite clearly thanks to Mr. Maiden. But we don't talk about them, a) because they're not an issue for us, and b) because I don't really want them to be aware before they need to be.)

and finally, in explanation of what yesterday's meeting with Boss Lady was like:

3. An uncomfortable try at humour, said to the beautiful east-African S: "S! I think he has your eyes!"
(uh...... !!!!!!)

Breakfast Conversations, or, what it's like to be more brown than me.

"You're not supposed to touch other people's blood, right?"

"Gah! No. That's important. You don't touch other people's blood"

"No. It's important. Like the airport is important! [what?] You don't touch other people's blood. You wipe it off. And maybe then you get a band-aid to put on it. And then, when it's all healed, it's gone! And you take off the band-aid, and then you have a tan line."