"My Moon"

Amarys has some real cutisms these days.  She makes us fall over from cuteness.  About a month ago she was driving somewhere with Brent and she looked out the window, gasped, and shouted, My moon!  She's two so as a matter of course, she owns everything.  Including the moon.  There was lots of chatter about my moon that day.  The next day we were standing in the yard and she flung her arms out in exasperation and nearly sobbed, My moon reddy, reddy, reddy, far 'way! No reache my moon!  She adds syllables on the end of a good percentage of her words.  No reache!  She's heartbroken.

She thinks about the moon a lot.  She comes up with solutions for reaching the moon. Daddy ladder hepe me reache my moon.  You want holde my moon?  You'll be walking along thinking about cheese or dust bunnies and suddenly she will point at a bird, Mommy!  Bird ply! Bird ply up my moon!  Amiss no reache my moon. Sad face.

She also loves helicopters. Last week we went to the RCMP open house and they landed a helicopter in the parking lot and gave tours and photo ops and Amarys wouldn't leave. For two hours. We had to split up, me with the boys and Brent with her, just so we could see other attractions without a shrieking toddler in tow.

Today I was pulling weeds in the garden and trying to keep Amarys verbally engaged, since she is sick and cranky and only wanted to stay with her face stuck to my boob and I needed some space. Two whole inches of space.  Talking can sometimes buy me some time, so we were chatting.

What dat, Mommy?
That's an airplane. You hear the airplane?
No. It hedebicopter.
Is it a helicopter? It looks like an airplane to me.
NO. HEDEBICOPTER, MOMMY.  Stern look.
Okay.
Silence...
Mommy! Hedebicopter take me my moon! I touch my moon! Looke my moon!  Pointing at the sky, eyes sparkling, wiggling with excitement. Come wiss me my hedebicopter, touche my moon, Mommy? 
Of course! You want me to come with you?
Yeah. You want touche my moon? Come wiss me my hedebicopter, touche my moon?

I sure do, kiddo. Take me to the moon, show me the world, fly as high as Earhart, carve a new path, make me proud.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure , the process is its own reward.
~Amelia Earhart

Thanksgiving In April

Our first year of dating, Brent took me down to Skagit County for the tulip festival.  He knew tulips are my favourite.  For twelve years, we've gone to the tulip festival, and only missed once, the year Ayden was born and I was too pregnant to cross the border, just in case.

One year we missed the tulips because we went too late and they had been beheaded, but we found a field of irises and took some pics in there.  Another year we went just the two of us because Matthew didn't have citizenship yet, nor a visa to enter the U.S.  This year, we had four kids and muddy boots and the knowledge that this year is likely the last one for awhile.

What struck me this year was life's abundance.  Tulips are a favourite of mine because they remind me of discovering joy after dark depression, and re-entering a world of multiple dimensions and vibrant colours.  Relearning an appreciation for the gift of being alive.

God has given me so much, it feels endless.  And rich.

Muddy boots galore.

Grace

Amarys, at dinner:

Dee Deezus:

Ti-too today.
Ti-too my bamily.
Ti-too dis food.
Ti-too a hedebicopter.

Amen.

That Impossibly Awful Story.

Hey. I have lots of posts running around in my head, and this one is currently the loudest.  It's about parenting.  But really it's about ethics and how we treat each other as human beings.

Recently one of my paramedic friends was relating to me a story of a call she had heard of.  It was pretty horrific.  A twelve year old was left in charge of her eight and four year old brothers.  The eight year old got his hands on their father's hunting rifle and accidentally shot the four year old in the face.  This kind of thing rarely happens in Canada.  We have few guns and strict regulations about registration, storage, and handling--but in this case a rural family with a hunting rifle somehow got itself into a perfect storm of loaded weapon, open access, and children, which resulted in a horrible accident.

The four year old lived.  He had extensive surgery on his face but his brain was completely undamaged and all major facial organs were intact, including his sight, but the paramedics attending this call needed some serious debriefing, and one of them took stress leave.

I changed quite a few details about this story so that no one can be identified, which generally goes without saying with my paramedic stories but I just wanted to be perfectly clear about that.  If you think you know this family or this case, you probably don't.  But the general theme is consistent.

My friend's assessment of this call?

WHERE WERE THE PARENTS? PEOPLE LIKE THAT SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO HAVE CHILDREN.

And I was like, pardon? That's a pretty harsh judgment.

I didn't say anything but it has bothered me ever since. Since when do we turn a terrible accident into an active excuse for forced childlessness? The paramedic who said this to me has a two year old daughter and I thought to myself, you have no idea.  You have no idea that twelve is a totally acceptable age to leave in charge of two siblings for a short time as a babysitter, you just haven't thought about it yet.  You have no idea what happened with that gun.  You have no idea if the parents were negligent or if they were very responsible, involved, caring people who were on the receiving end of a tragedy.  You have no idea what it is like to be those parents.  You have no idea how responsible or trustworthy that twelve year old is, you have no idea whose gun it was or how the children got ahold of it, you have NO IDEA how strongly you are perpetuating the myth that we live in an overwhelmingly dangerous country, that all tragic circumstances are the fault of the parents, and that helicopter parenting is the only answer.

I wanted to ask her if she's ever made an error in judgment. Or a mistake. Like forgetting she put a bowl of grapes on the coffee table and her creeping-along-furniture baby/toddler got ahold of them and either broke the bowl or stuffed round, whole grapes in her mouth?  Has she ever lifted her eyes from her two year old for one second and then glanced back to see her climbing the bookshelves, running out the front door, or plunk, face first into the hot tub at her parents' place? I'm just speaking from personal experience here, but I think these kinds of accidents are pretty universal.

Accidents with guns are NOT universal, that's for sure. But just because the parents were not home at the exact second an eight year old discovered a loaded gun does not mean they are unfit.  It means they are on the worst possible end of a really awful tragedy and need some serious love.  I hate snap judgment and parents are their own worst enemies sometimes, because they snap judge each other all the time.  Try walking a mile in another man's shoes, man. Even in extreme circumstances. I chose this example on purpose, because it's easy to judge.  But should we?

I think it would be bad enough to have to walk through such an experience, and a hundred thousand times worse to walk through it and be judged. I'm just saying.

How Am I Doing?

I'm sorry I haven't posted in weeks!  This is ridiculous.  But since I started working, there is literally NO TIME and even less creative energy.  I've missed blogging.  And I have to update you on Life After Working.  First, I aced the written exam for my course.  And second, I bombed the practical exam.  It took two weeks before it really became evident that my skills and abilities are not the best  match for call taking/disptach, especially the multi tasking portion.  I can multi task, and I can do it within a chaotic or stressful environment, but I cannot do it at the level required for THIS particular job.  After the practical exam my trainer took me in to talk to the manager and I could tell they were willing to give me more time to dig in and push through if I wanted, but that they knew instinctively that I would be frustrated and the job would be hard for me to learn.  I want a job that doesn't frustrate me.  I also want a job that doesn't bore me.  But mostly, I just need any job.  So, although I hate to quit anything I set my mind to, I asked for a position elsewhere and was graciously given a position on switchboard instead.  It is fewer hours at first, and (I think) less pay, but it's something.  And I'm still in the room with all the crazy energy and hilarious weird people calling in to report nothingness and I still hear when shit hits the fan, so I'm happy.  I feel so relieved.  Mainly because although I LOVED it, I hated it, because it was so frustrating to try and learn.  I'm focused, and methodical, and empathetic, and analytical, which are fabulous traits but a call taker/dispatcher needs to be a strong multi tasker, less focused, more instinctual and less analytical.  They need to not want to know WHY all the time, which I do.  So, you can see that I just have different skills.  And they don't match with the job I was lined up with.  So, we changed course.

Plus, if/when we move, I won't have to feel so guilty about it.

My kids did amazing adjusting to me working away from home again: for two weeks I was gone 7-4, Monday to Friday, and they were fine.  Happy to see me when I was home, happy when I wasn't, not clingy or anxious or having nightmares or finding it hard to say goodbye in the morning.  Even Amarys.  This morning I left for work and she said, "Bye mommy!" and that was it!  Awesome.  They were with their dad mostly, but also with a friend, their grandma, and finally (after University exams were finished), our babysitter, Best Nanny in the Northern Hemisphere.  Heretofore known as BNNH.  She's someone we know from church who needs part time flexible work from May to August and who LOVES KIDS and is amazing with them.  Heaven sent, people.  Heaven sent.  BNNH is the best gift ever.

Also, Riley guessed my age yesterday as 59.  Today I got an early mother's day card from him that put me at 49.  At least I'm getting rapidly younger with time.

I missed Matthew's first science fair project at school, and I missed the preschool Mother's Day Tea, but grandparents and daddies stepped in where I couldn't, and all was okay in the end.

I love leaving the house to go to a job.  I'm sorry.  I feel for those of you who know what I'm talking about and don't have that yet because of kids underfoot.  I know your pain.  There are many benefits and joys to being at home all or most of the time, but there's something awesome about leaving the house to go to work, too. And something even awesomer about getting paid.  Oh my gosh.  I got $800 my first week and I about died.  I paid my nanny $360 of it, but still.  Groceries.  Gas.  Unbounced payments.  Oh. My. Gosh.

I've learned so much interesting shit that I just can't blog... Which is wildly too bad, but also totally logical.  Instead, you will have to live with stories from the rest of my life, outside of work.  =)


Otherwise?  The sun came out.  It is warm and summery and sunny and I'm so grateful.  Ayden started baseball this spring and has found his sport.  He has tried, over the years, swimming, soccer, hip hop, gymnastics, etc, and never found anything that he liked.  He LOVES BASEBALL.  It's the perfect fit for him.  I actually love to watch baseball, which is fortunate, because it is a sport that has 2.5 hour games twice a week, 2 hour practices once or twice a week, and hour long batting cage sessions on top of that, once or twice a week.  It's an enormous commitment.  But as long as it is not raining, I really enjoy it.  I love the joy on Ayden's face when he plays, I love his focus and commitment to learning the game and enhancing his skills, I love his determination, and I love his enthusiasm.  But even outside of watching my kid enjoy the game, I love to watch baseball.  I've loved watching endless meandering games with hidden strategy and suspense interspersed with lulls since I was in high school.  I'd wager we might become a baseball family; all the kids want to play it, and we like everything about it, so I think we're in.  (So far, we've not put Matthew in because Ayden needed a niche.  Matthew has soccer but Ayden didn't have his "thing" yet.  But next year maybe Matthew could play, as well, and we know Riley wants to do T-ball and Amarys loves following in their footsteps so we could very well be a baseball family.  Cool).

My cat puked and BNNH cleaned it up.  And then texted me about it.

I read "Lets Pretend This Never Happened" by the Bloggess, and I loved every word of it.  That girl is freaky.  And awesome.  And her "mostly true memoir" is hysterical.  And in parts sad.  I cried a few times.  I would bet my life there are significant parts of her childhood experience that she's leaving out: not the experiences so much as her assessment and judgment of them from an adult perspective.  Likely to protect her parents from being hurt.  But it makes the story disjointed in some parts.  You're like, "You had anxiety attacks and hid in the toy box when you were seven and nobody helped you and that's all you have to say on that topic?  I don't buy that, entirely."  But I get it.

I'm learning how to be what my counselor calls a "good enough parent."  This means I allow myself to be less than 97% perfect and don't freak out about it.  This lowers my anxiety levels considerably.  I let go of so many things these past three weeks that would normally tailspin me: missing that science fair, for one thing, and also a myriad of small tasks I normally take on since I'm home all the time: planning/booking a birthday party, taking kids to the doctor, booking dentist appointments, and communicating with the school, etc.  Brent did it all.  He's a really great spouse.  A great man, all around, but a fabulous parent and amazing partner.  He steps up.  He doesn't always get it right, but mostly he does.  And it's awesome.  And I can relax my attitude of IF I DON'T DO IT SHIT DOESN'T GET DONE attitude because actually Brent steps up, so much of the time.  I can also be cranky, without tailspinning that I'm ruining my children's lives, EVEN IF I've been out of the house and away from them all day (before I started this process of working on myself and seeing a counselor, I had a really hard time with this.  I couldn't be authentically tired or out of sorts without feeling intense guilt.  Now I realize realistic parenting allows me more room for cranky days, delegating tasks, asking for help, and just doing LIFE WITH CHILDREN which isn't always easy or fun.  Or even remotely rewarding.  Except when it is).

I've got more updates, but they will have to wait.  Hopefully not so many weeks this time.

xo.

Snippet II

I got an email: my painting was accepted! =) Yesssss....

Also, I added an "About Me" page on this blog. If you look up, you will see different menu headings for pages.  Just in case you wanted to know more. Ha.

I'm addicted to "Combat Hospital" on tv.  So hard.  It's pretty much MASH in a modern context, with Canadians tossed in the mix.  In Kandahar instead of 'Nam. Some part of my paramedic soul will never really and truly retire.

I start my new job on Monday. Three weeks of training, M-F, 9-5. Then I go on shifts. Days, nights, weekends, what have you. I went and sat in on four hours of dispatching this week and I am definitely going to love this job. I'm so looking forward to it! I'm glad Amarys had me at home two years because she's so sensitive and high needs, but I have to confess to feeling so good when I walk away from the house towards the car, going to work. Is that a horrific confession to make? I LOVE my kids and I'm so committed to their lives and well being that I've re-invented myself every day for them. I don't just consider myself willing to die for them, I'm willing to live for them. Live fully. Live better. Strive to be healthier, more mature, more patient, loving, and kind. Yet I just can't shake wanting, even needing, to do more. Like, more than mothering. We all do, but I mean specifically in a paid way that takes me out of the house, away from my litter, and brings in money. I can't fully divorce my sense of identity from the job that I do. I can put it aside and walk away from it for awhile, but when I go back to it I feel waves of relief. A return of something critically valuable from my old self. I am who I am because of my family but also because I choose work that is high energy, high responsibility, with narrow margins of error, and imperative functions, because it repeats back to me a core sense of who I am.

I love to work. I love to work with emergencies. I'm going to die leaving this job behind when we move. I also love to work part time. It shoots me in the arm with my work heroin yet leaves me with enough time to marinate in my little family on a very daily basis. Plus, working full time is just bloody boring. I'd rather have two part time jobs than one full time one because at least they are stimulating in different ways. Otherwise, I get very bored and irritated very soon.

I've been working from home on an intermittent basis for over a year, and I have to say it's the most frustrating thing in the universe. There are no clear boundaries between work and not work. There are no face to face adults I can interact with. There is no reason to put on pants. There is no true way to keep the kids out of my hair so I can focus on work alone. There is no guilt free working. There is no TIME OFF. I'm either working and feeling guilty for neglecting my kids and my house, or caring for my kids and house and feeling guilty for neglecting my work. I forget work projects. I panic when I realize I've forgotten them.

Now, I've learned to manage my time WAY better in the past year, and I give myself days off. But inevitably I find myself trying to work while Amarys is screeching and pummeling my knees and it is a swift initiation to insanity. (Though I was already crazy, huh).

My counselor is helping me sort through my emotions and tendency to take on a hyperactive level of responsibility, and that is nothing short of a miracle. To place at other people's feet responsibility for their own emotional welfare is like being born again. I convert to the religion of healthy boundaries, though man oh man intimacy makes me scream with fear. So does interdependence. I just simply cannot believe if I let people help me, they will continue to love me. I do not feel worthy of love just for me, but solely for what I offer, and how balanced it is. Like, I can receive help, gifts, acts of service, food, door openings, or random acts of kindness but I feel compelled (on an OCD level) to attempt to make it even. Not from pride. From fear of loss.

I think I have pretty good self esteem! But then I realize I don't believe I'm worthy of love without action, for just being me, and I begin to wonder.

I also am discovering that I'm angry a lot. Not on the outside. I get lots of feedback from friends, doctors, teachers, etc, that I'm so calm. Nothing ruffles my feathers or freaks me out. I remember my doctor when Amarys was around 8 months old, saying she was such a calm, easy baby and that "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Hello, my name is CRAZY LADY. But whatever. I HOLD IT ALL INSIDE. It looks pretty and calm but inside is this:

photo credit: sillydog via photopin cc

Just so not calm.
I want peace. I feel angry. I'm overwhelmed with fear. I can't leave my front door without choking on fear. Yet I feel stifled inside my door. I want peace. I'm getting there.