Monday, December 31, 2007


Wow, another year already gone. I had not gotten used to writing '07 on everything, and here I have to learn to write '08 instead. Remember Y2K? Remember all that hype? All the fear of computer crashes and terrorist blasts and the second coming (remember the weirdos with their basement bunkers full of four years' supply of food?). It seems funny now.
Anyways, I just wanted to sit down and reflect on what a blessing this past year has been for me, and how overwhelmingly grateful I am that it is so.
This time last year I had two main thoughts:
#1, Dear God, Jesus, Blessed Mary, Joseph, and Holy Spirit, erase 2006 and send me back to the last half of 2005 when I was happy.
#2, Dear God, please let this next year be better than the last.

Well, as you have probably guessed, the holy family did NOT send me back to the latter half of 2005, but 2007 DID turn out to be a vast, gloriously vast, improvement on the year before. 2006 began with our adoption of Matthew (well, that happened shortly before Christmas, but in January we were getting over our jetlag and starting to survey our surroundings as a family of four). Adopting our second child was a dream filled with high hopes, unrealistic expectations, and deep emotion. We had high hopes of more joy added to the brimming pot of having children, and of creating a safe space for a child in need. We were unprepared for our ambiguous feelings and our difficult adjustment period, which baisically crushed my previously cherished belief in myself as a good mother (because it's really all about me, right?!).
I didn't handle the adjustment well. I deteriorated rapidly. I was tired all the time. I screamed. I smacked. I cried. I yelled. I was unpredictable, unavailable, and depressed. I was incapacitated by guilt over my shortcomings as a mother, which further incapacitated me. In very short order, what I knew and believed of myself was gone, and I really didn't like who I was left with.
Many, many times I believed my kids would be better off if I threw in the towel, packed my bags, and moved to Florida to be a beach bum who drinks Pina Colatas and sunbathes on the beach all day. Complete with sunglasses, flowered mumu, and straw hat.
One of the reasons why I have this quote on my sidebar:
'Courage is not defined by those who fought and did not fall, but by those who fought, fell, and rose again' is because it describes what I experienced in those moments when I just wanted to give up and pack my bags as a mother. It's tough being terrible at something so important, and so central to one's identity! But I didn't stay terrible. I got better, bit by bit, step by step, and the terrible weeks shrunk to terrible days, which shrunk to terrible minutes, which became terrible moments. Everyone has bad moments, so once I got down to 'moments' I felt okay again. I learned how to multi task; which doesn't do justice to how a mother shares her moments between two needy children, housework, a husband, and her (legitimate, not selfish) self, I went to a counsellor for 6 or 7 weeks to get a handle on my emotions, I prayed a lot, and I read some books. The situation improved as the year went on, but I still felt the weight of that aweful time when I reflected on 2006, heavily enough to have main thoughts #1 and #2.

2007 began. Every week I would think to myself, "This time last year I was ______________" and picture how I felt, what I was doing, how we were functioning a year previously. This helped me to process what I went through (or should I say what WE went through, since no mom gets depressed without slogging it onto her family), and also to measure how much better we were doing THIS year as a family of four. Late January 2007 I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia by my doctor, and suddenly some of my angry outbursts had a reason, and when one knows WHAT one is dealing with, one has a LOT more power over it! A tremendous amount of tension released out of me when I discovered this. Life makes more sense. I have low blood sugar and that's why I yell at them while I'm making them lunch....if I eat a snack midmorning, I don't get like this! You have no idea how much freedom this knowledge gave me! It was wonderful. We also were peaceful. Joyful. Laughing.
The highlights of 2007 include:
-swimming lessons for both Matthew and Ayden. Matthew in particular is a fish in the water. He was born to swim.
-Matthew learns how to toilet train in just a few days, with no fuss
-Matthew learns new words at a rapid rate, and moves from an unintelligible jargon only his immediate family understands, to full sentences, sweet Matthewisms, and an ability to communicate with just about anyone. Precocious, too.
-I graduated in May from paramedic school
-many spring, summer, and fall days at the park, water park, walking in the sunshine, or going for popsicles at the corner store
-welcoming Ella to the world in July
-Brent's venture to Regina and the beginning of my greatest test as a parent: can I survive alone?
-successfully surviving alone as a parent
-Ayden started preschool and joyfully settles in to the joy of learning
-Matthew and I strengthen our bond since daddy's not around to rescue either of us from each other
-I surprise myself by being calm, available, connected, understanding, loving, attentive, joyful, and gracious while working 40 to 70 hours a week, doing all the housework, all the cooking, all the bedtimes, all the organizing of who goes where when with whom and for how long, and keeping up to date on my blog to boot....where was this wonderwoman in January of 2006? Seriously? I'm not perfect, but I'm darn near good. I'm so happy with good because it's nowhere near terrible and I feared the terrible might return when Brent left
-Matthew grows more in 2007 than in the year previous (but he's still a lightweight; only 24 lbs at 3 years old)
-Matthew faints less and laughs more
-Brent excels at his many tasks in Regina, making me proud and so pleased he has found a vocation he loves and is good at
-We cuddle, we laugh, we make farting noises, we tell bum bum jokes, we go camping, we wrestle, we play tickle monster, we dress up as dracula and caterpillars and pumpkins, and since halloween, like spiderman. We pick pumpkins, we visit apple farms, we play trains, we play cars, we watch movies (family pizza and movie nights are very popular around here). We pray. I pray as I drive around, when the boys are sleeping, while they fight, when I'm exhausted, when I'm hungry, when we've not enough money to pay the bills. It centres me, and fills me with strength, to pray like that. We pray before supper, and at bedtime. Matthew's prayer list is invariably this:
"daddy, me, ayden, me, daddy, mommy, ayden, daddy, paige, flaffy (his fish), mommy, nana, gigi (great grandma), bum bum, and bodhi (friend)."
Ayden's is more like this:
"whatever you want to pray for, mommy."
-I get pregnant. This time, we resolve, we need more realistic expectations. It will be hard. Some days we won't like it. But it will be well worth it in the end.
-We swim, we build snowmen, and snow angels, and snow balls, we visit Go Bananas. We snuggle in bed at night. There are slimy kisses and bear hugs and earnest "Wuv. Too. Mommy" declarations.

Wuv. Too. Matthew. You are my most sought after, fought for, wept over, dreamed about, anguished over, cherished, fiercely loved child. You tore down my selfish, self serving, arrogant, overconfident constructs and led me to a deeper place, where I parent for YOUR sake, and your brother's sake, and not my own ego. A deeper place that relies on God for everything.

Ayden is my port in the storm. Sure, he rustles up the wind sometimes, but when I think of him, I feel peace. And joy. Ayden, you and your dark brown, wise looking eyes, you love me. All the time, in all ways, in all moods, on all days. I love you too, and am grateful.

It just occurred to me that perhaps the holy family answered my prayer after all: what I wanted was to go back to a time when I had been happy. While I was not transported back to 2005 and my blissful, naive, egocentric state, I was led to a place filled with joy, one energetic, bouncing preschool boy holding each hand, and myself, intact, still present. And joyful.
Thank you, Universe, for this blessed gift.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Grapes of Wrath

Hey, I finished the Grapes of Wrath this past week. I thoroughly enjoyed it, although it was definitely sad, and made me ponder. It's funny that someone can get through high school (taking English Lit and English) and university (studying English) without reading The Grapes of Wrath. I even took an American Lit course, and it wasn't on the list. Anyways, it is a classic and I'm glad I read it now. In true Steinbeck style the main characters are poor and 'noble'--as in, honest, good, hardworking, beset by the winds and tides of the social structure surrounding them. This kind of character in a book tugs my heartstrings, but also irks me because it seems a slight oversimplification of a group of people, in this place the dispossessed, migrant farmers from the midwest during the depression, for the purpose of highlighting the message or theme of the story. Which makes me feel like Steinbeck was using these poor people for his advantage. I prefer my characters more fleshed out, and less holy.
The ending was also a bit abrupt.
It sure was fascinating though to read about this period of history when SO MANY people were dispossessed and impoverished, and the leadership of the time (from church leadership to school leadership to government leadership on all levels) was so thoroughly ill equipped to deal with them.
It did seem like the 'grapes of wrath' were just festering under the surface of the migrant workers by the end of the book, but no actual manifestations of wrath seemed to rise up on a community level (individuals rose up, and were killed, but not the group as a whole), though it appeared this wrath was about to blow up with all the foreshadowing going on near the end.
On the whole a very good book; interesting, educational, thought provoking, and historically based. A good read.

Friday, December 28, 2007

Work pet peeve

This is my #1 pet peeve: dorks who park in ambulance parking areas at hospitals.
If you are driving someone to the hospital, park in the stalls and just suck it up and pay.
If you are picking someone up, either pay or circle the block.
If you are a vending machine filler or a pamphlet supplier, do NOT think you are more important than the sick people we transport, and thus park in the ambulance parking.
If you are a bloody TAXI, screw off.

One of my coworkers recently parked directly behind not one, but TWO taxis parked in the clearly marked "Ambulance Parking Only" spot at Surrey Memorial Hospital. Forty five minutes later, when he and his partner returned to their ambulance, they met two irate taxi drivers who were coworker just drove away without looking at or talking to them.
Perfect! No one can truly complain when you say nothing rude and simply park behind someone who parks in your spot.
I did it yesterday at Fraser Valley Cancer Centre; pamphlet supplier parked in one of the ambulance spots, and another ambulance parked beside him. So, I just parked with my nose a foot from his bumper.
He was sheepish. I watched him through the window as the other ambulance departed, leaving him space to do a 12 point turn to squeeze out beside me.
Ha ha.
Those spots are there so our patients don't get too cold/wet/etc getting from the back of the ambulance to the door of the building. NOT for your convenience.

On another note, I really hate going to the Cancer Centre. It's too sad. They try really hard to staff it with friendly, smiling, caring, genuine people, and to fill the walls with quilts and paintings and cheerful objects, and to be prompt and stuff, but every time I go in there I feel like I'm drowning in chemotherapy, wigs, and sad, sick people. I just don't want to be there in my future, and being there now reminds me of the possibility. And the people are just so sad, despite cheerful surroundings. Naturally. Cancer sucks.

Sad stuff happens everywhere, I guess. Christmas day in the Chilliwack ER looked like this:
Sick lady in her 70s calls an ambulance for knee pain and goes unconscious shortly after ambulance arrival. Diagnosed with congestive heart failure, pneumonia, and possible heart attack and intubated in the ER. Waited there for an ICU bed.
Shortly thereafter sick lady's daughter, who is a regular of ours, calls an ambulance because her abdominal pain is out of control. She is waiting for a liver transplant. We pick her up 2 or 3 times a week. SICK lady. Quite sick on christmas day. They put her in the ER bed beside her mom. I think it took them an hour or two to realize they were related.
Then, gentleman in his 40s calls an ambulance for massive, crushing chest pain. Heart stops beating. Ambulance crew starts CPR and shocks him, but he is still dead when they arrive (*technical point: when one's heart has stopped this is considered 'dead'...though one is not actually dead until pronounced dead by a physician...regardless of whether CPR is being performed...people often don't understand that when we're trying to get someone 'back' it is because they are already dead*), still doing CPR. The man's father, in his 60s, meets the ambulance at the door, sees his son is in cardiac arrest and getting CPR, and collapses with a heart attack of his own. I'm not kidding! So these gentlemen were in the ER side by side, too. This is christmas day, which may surprise you. ERs are always busy on Christmas. People often have heart attacks or strokes, or attempt suicide, around Christmas.

I have more info on the situation with our charity parolee case.
Apparantly his parole officer told him to stop accepting gifts from us, since his basic needs are supplied by the federal government. Apparantly someone on lifetime parole has usually done a violent crime that involved someone's death, and this death was usually premeditated.
One of my coworkers had a strong argument when he pointed out that the family of this man's victim(s) would probably not appreciate charity drives in honour of their loved ones' killer.
Also, PR for the ambulance service would be at an all time low if the public got wind that we were fundraising for a killer.
He's also getting sicker. In and out of hospital. He doesn't have much time left.
I know this story touched a nerve with us and with you, so I thought I'd share what I knew.
My statement today that all people are capable of murder given a certain set of circumstances or experiences and a certain lack of coping mechanisms was met with blank stares and some incredulity. Those "Good box" "Bad box" classifications are so, so strong. Funny how people don't really believe themselves capable of being in the bad box. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. If only we could see that there are no boxes. Just people with good and bad all mixed up together like porridge, and potential for grand acts of good and vicious acts of evil. We have such vast potential; limitless potential, almost, in either direction.
Atom bombs. Murder. Rape. Destructive words for our loved ones. Selfishness. Greed. Unchecked wealth. Environmental squalor. Rudeness.
Mother Teresa's home for the dying. Love. Loyalty. Doctors without borders. Recycling. Space travel. Art. Adoption. Kindness.

On another note, I've now befriended my nemisis, Ernie's wife. Remember how she made me so mad I was shaking, within ten minutes of meeting her? Now she's nice. She's going to make me a quilt for my baby (that's not why I like her: she's nice now. I guess I proved myself).

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Back online

Okay folks! My computer was broken again for a while, plus Brent was here, so I didn't post much. I'm back! Brent left this afternoon at 3:30. I was dreading this visit because of my anticipation of the horrible emotions surrounding saying goodbye, but it wasn't that bad. I was definately looking forward to Brent's visit--I just didn't want to have to say goodbye again! I don't know if it is because his graduation is closer (one month!!), or because this is the last time I have to say goodbye, or because this baby takes all my energy and I didn't have much left to devote to feeling sad; whatever the reason, I wasn't that sad. Ayden was. I cried because he cried. It was so aweful to watch his crumpled up, red face, and his little paw waving goodbye to his awesome daddy...
But I didn't feel too sad for myself. Which is good. I've a job to do, and it's nice to be able to just do it without farting around with heavy emotion.
Matthew was cheerful.

I'd like to do a small comparison for you, of my Tuesday last week (the 19th) and my Tuesday this week (the 25th).
Tuesday the 19th:
Wake up at 7:00 as Ayden is peeing his pants on the soon-to-be-discarded rug (accident #13...I have since put him back in pullups for the sake of sanity )
Cut my toe on the exposed carpet nails on the stairs as I run down to find clean underwear for Ayden.
Leave at 9:00 for Dr.'s office to get Ayden's wart treated again. Hit construction. Am late for appointment.
Leave at 11:00 for my physio appointment in Chilliwack, get there and realize I've forgotten my wallet (costs $60 for physio). Thankfully they let me pay with a cheque, but how embarrassing.
During my physio appointment, Matthew pees in his underwear just enough to require removal of said underwear, but not enough to need new pants. Did not bring extra underwear OR pants.
Five minutes later, Ayden pees his pants enough to wet my physiotherapist's rug quite nicely.
I brought the portable DVD player and a movie to entertain the boys as I had no childcare option that day, and they did not watch it, nor sit still.
On the drive home my friend who was supposed to help me pull out the remaining carpet in my bedroom and move my bedroom furniture for me (large, strong man friend with other man friend supposedly in tow) calls and says he can't make it. So I'm stranded, pregnant, sick, tired, with no help to move heavy furniture and old soggy carpet. Carpet layers are coming with new carpet in less than 48 hours.
We finally get home and I go upstairs to use my ensuite toilet, and promptly plug it. The plunger is in the boys' bathroom, behind a wall of furniture and boxes, entirely inaccessable until after the new carpet is in. Awesome. The toilet will have to wait.
Ayden yells from downstairs, "I NEED TO GO POO! I NEED YOUR HELP TO PULL DOWN MY PANTS!!" So I rush down to help him.
Matthew decides he, also, has to poo, so I'm trying to rush Ayden off the toilet so Matthew can use it, when I hear Matthew in my bathroom upstairs. I panic, rush upstairs, and arrive in time to see his fresh poop floating on top of the full, clogged toilet. Well, that will be nice and ripe in a few days when I finally have access to the plunger.
Suddenly I clue in: Matthew is about to FLUSH THE TOILET! I YELL: "DON'T FLUSH!" but it's too late. He's already flushed. And now we have a poo flood.
I'm sorry to say that I did not use nice words.

I'm yelling,
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" (wash my mouth out with soap...but come on, it was an aweful thing) and poor Matthew thinks I'm yelling at him, but I'm not, and Ayden's yelling from the downstairs toilet,
"What's wrong, mommy?"
And poor Matthew is backing away, his feet covered in poo flood,
I immediately sweep him out of the water, take off his socks, and try to reassure him,
"IT'S OKAY!! IT'S OKAY!!! MOMMY'S NOT MAD AT YOU! MOMMY'S MAD AT THE TOILET! YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!!!!" and then I realize that I'm still yelling! I'm still yelling. So Matthew's not really registering WHAT I'm saying; instead he is still crying because I'm still yelling.
Funny how "Fuck" and "I love you" don't really matter in a moment like this one; it matters far more HOW I speak than what I least to a panicked three year old...
So I calm my voice down and clean up the poo flood (leaving the towels in the shower for my husband to deal with when he got home three days later...ha ha ha...). I shake my head that this is actually happening to me, and THEN I start to laugh. I was thinking about how I'd share this day with you, blogreaders, and how funny it would sound, and how I would laugh and laugh as I wrote it. Don't worry, Matthew calmed down pretty quickly as soon as I moderated my voice and told him it wasn't his fault. Really, you train and train a child to flush the toilet when they're done, and then the ONE MOMENT when it's inappropriate to flush of course he can't know it. Oh, what a day.

It got better from there: my brother in law, sister in law, and father in law rescued me that afternoon by moving my furniture and helping me rip out the remaining old carpet. Hooray! And the boys were so great the rest of the day. We had some good laughs.

Now, I'd like to tell you about this Tuesday, the 25th.
Woken at 6:20 by excited three and four year olds, with news that Santa had visited.
Open stockings, gifts, eat leasurely breakfast cooked by dear husband, and enjoy christmas tree.
At 10:00, drive to in-laws place for more gifts, family time, and huge turkey dinner.
Sleep most of afternoon. Totally get away with this because I am pregnant. And legitimately tired/nauseaus.
Eat awesome dinner.
Go home at 8:00, crawl in bed and read while dear husband puts children to bed.
Blissfully drift off to sleep by 9:30.
I like this Tuesday better, don't you?


Merry Christmas.
I'm working tomorrow, next day, Sunday, and Monday. Will post when I can.
p.s. will upload pix when I find the camera cable I so winsomely dipped in paint a few weeks ago...

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Oh my gosh...THAT tiny thing is making me THIS sick?

Week Seven
Elbows form - Again, taking a peek inside you could see your baby's fascination with bending and flexing. Later you will swear you can enlist your child as the star of the next "Karate Kid" movie!
Fingers start to develop - These digits often become your baby's first toy!
Feet start to appear with tiny notches for the toes - It is fascinating that at less than a half inch, your little guy (or gal) already is leaving "footprints" on your heart!
Ears eyes and nose start to appear - Although they may resemble an alien life form, these all "shift" soon enough into a more normal appearance.
Intestines start to form in the umbilical cord - Did you know that initially the intestines are not formed inside your baby's body?
Teeth begin to develop under the gums - Thankfully, right now you won't be dealing with teething pain!

Stolen from my friend Tamie's blog

What we heard on Christmas Day
(with a line from Longfellow)
by Julie L. Moore

Silence like early morning, like indigo
Deepening at the bottom of the sea.
For hundreds of years.

No voice to say this is the way.
Or tomorrow, he comes. They raised
Their questions, rose each morning, found

No answers. Unless you count
Wait. But after the hush
Of prophecy, the long line of law,

Exile centuries ago just a bitter aftertaste
In their empty mouths, sting
Of dust on their ribs dulled, almost imperceptible,

A baby wailed. And if you listened close,
You knew your ears did not deceive you.
He had entered the ebony tomb

Of Earth, loosening at last his long-held tongue,
The star a halo of song blaring overhead,
God is not dead, nor does he sleep.

Saturday, December 22, 2007


Yes, now I have to live in my BOring house!! Likely we'll sell anyways sometime this spring, and move to a different house in the Langley area. We'd like a nicer neighbourhood, a playroom, and a bigger garage or a storage shed. Proximity to parks and a nice school would be fantastic, too.
Baby is making me sick, sick, sick. Thursday was the first day I felt sick all day, as opposed to just a few hours in the afternoon, and the nausea has gotten progressively worse for the past three days. At least I don't have to worry about miscarriage when I'm sick as a dog! It seems that driving in a moving vehicle makes my nausea great that I work in a moving vehicle. This is going to be a long trimester. Though I'm now halfway through! That was quick! :) I don't remember being THIS SICK with Ayden but it has been five years so maybe I don't remember all that clearly.
Today we PICKED UP BRENT at the airport, wahoo! And then drove to Vancouver for my university friends' surprise 30th birthday party, where we go to catch up with many old, wonderful friends. And I ate the most fantastic brie and bacon sandwich EVER! My favourite breakfast of ALL time is Eggs Benedict and I like all versions, including smoked salmon, spinach and garlic, and your classic ham. However, when I'm pregnant I cannot eat eggs, so the Benny was out. Brie and bacon was a good substitute.
Once, when pregnant with Ayden, I decided to try and trick my body into eating Eggs Benny by smothering it in extra hollondaise and eating it really quickly...that was a really gross mistake. I seriously considered trying that again today (who ever said humans were intelligent creatures?).
We then went to Home Depot and bought a really nice tree for only $15, because it is so close to Christmas. Hooray!
Our house is still in shambles: if one wants to take a shower, one has to CLIMB over furniture, rubbermaid containers of toys/books/odds and ends, and piles of quilts/towels/pillows, a pile approximately four and a half feet high, to reach the tub. Then pull the shower curtain, undress, throw the clothes over the top of the curtain rod, and have a shower. If one forgets their soap/washcloth/towel, tough luck. One must also dry off in the shower stall before attempting to climb back over the pile, so one doesn't get the pile wet. Musty. Slippery.
The other upstairs bathroom is completely full of furniture, and the downstairs bathroom has no shower in it.
The carpet looks nice, though!
And the tree is up!
If only I could find all those gifts I purchased...

Friday, December 21, 2007


Yesterday Brent called with the news that he has been posted to Surrey. Yay! We don't have to move!

Happy Christmas news

Well, friends. It appears that 39 hours is really all one needs in 6 months, if one is planning on having a baby. If one is Melissa Vose, married to Brent Vose. Baby Vose #3 due to make an appearance August 16th. Wahoo!! *note: wahoo is how matthew pronounces yahoo, and I've recently adopted it as my own*
So now I'm six weeks pregnant. I've been wanting to hyperanalyze how I feel and compare it to last time, on my blog, but have not really had much chance to do so as of yet. Which is my main observation: this time I have not much time to mull and pout and hang around in bed with a book and a piece of toast and feel sorry for myself. Instead, I kind of notice I'm sick while I run around doing the business of life.
My main feeling is JOY! I have been wanting to get pregnant and have another baby for almost three years, but Matthew came along, and then we were getting used to being the Vose four, and then I was still in school, and then Brent was going away, so it never seemed to be the right time. Now is the time, folks!
Advent this year really is full of waiting, and mystery, and infants, for me.

Heart started beating last week sometime. That lump in the middle is the heart. Heart! Wow, cool.

Monday, December 17, 2007


Sorry, I have been neglecting you. While on blog furlough I: worked several day shifts, tore out the carpet in my house, moved tons of furniture around, and played with two wiggly, smelly, noisy boys. The carpet goes in on Thursday. Then my life can return to normal(ish). We STILL have no christmas tree. How smelly is that? Part of my hesitation is logistical; how to get a christmas tree from the lot to our townhouse with a small red sedan and just me? Part of it is temporal; WHEN to get a christmas tree from the lot to our townhouse? Brent comes in 5 days. I think we'll just wait.
'Tis the season for waiting, anyways; it is advent.
I love advent: all that anticipation, and worship, and mulling over advent lent, only happier. Some church traditions fast for advent as well as for lent. I usually 'fast' something that tends to monopolize my time or attention every lent season, like television, or chocolate. Anyways, I love advent. I love christmas, too.

Do you remember my aneurism patient? The 30 year old woman who puked and puked and puked, and who had a three and four year old child, and whose case hit close to home for me? Today I found out that she lived! All of us who cared for her had little hope for her survival, but we discovered today that she had neurosurgery, stayed in ICU for awhile, and is now back at our hospital in the medical ward, re-learning how to walk and feed herself and use her right will be a long road for her, but there will be a road. Oh, I am overjoyed. I think I may go visit her the next time I get a chance.

I also have this interesting case to present to you, and to ask your opinion about. One of our regular patients is someone we take to New West for dialysis three times a week. He is an elderly man, with metastasized cancer, kidney failure, several infections, etc. His health is not good. He lives in a 30 foot camper at a trailer park, with his granddaughter who is in her early twenties. Several weeks ago he was driving his scooter home from the grocery store and was hit by a vehicle, which broke 3 vertebrae in his back, and broke one of his hips. He was hospitalized for two weeks, during which time his camper burned to the ground and all his belongings with it (his granddaughter escaped, I don't know if she was not at home or if she just managed to get out). Talk about life kicking the shit out of you when you are down. He now owns one pair of track pants, one track jacket (mismatched), one t-shirt, one pair of underwear, and a small blue bag with his wallet, a Louis L'mour book, and a few other personal belongings that he always carts with him to and from dialysis.
We were all shocked when we heard about his misfortune. He is sick, he is cranky, he is demanding, but we all like him on his good days, and we all care about his wellbeing. One of my coworkers took it upon herself to start up a clothing donation bin in our station for this guy, and opened up an account for donations at our local bank, hoping to replace some of his clothing, meagre furniture, and even possibly find him a trailer to live in. She contacted the local papers and got the word out there. Awesome! When she went to the hospital and told him we were doing this for him, he cried like a baby.
She decided to take things a step further (cynicism rant: this woman LOVES attention) and contacted CTV and Global news in hopes they would broadcast his story and garner more funds (and attention...ooooh, I am aweful....), and THEN....
The RCMP called. Our patient is a convicted felon, out on permanent, life parole. CTV won't touch the story now (haha attention seeker! HA HA!), Global won't touch it, and that is that.
I'm enormously curious to find out what our old guy DID that landed him (presumably) in Kent for life. Generally that involves someone dying, but you CAN be a convicted felon for something as 'little' as tax evasion. Somehow I don't think it was tax evasion. It is kind of shivery to discover that one has been in fairly regular, close personal contact with a felon. Funny how normal felons are (I say this with a certain amount of truth, and a certain amount of sarcasm, since I believe so strongly that all people are capable of all horrible crimes, given a certain set of circumstances and/or lack of life skills or coping mechanisms).
I'm enormously astounded at the attitude of my coworkers after they found out the news. Without exception, in the minds of the people I work with, he was taken out of the category of "good" and placed in the category of "bad." Bad doesn't deserve handouts, nor trailers, nor trust funds. Bad, apparantly, can live in the halfway house until he dies, with only one pair of underwear to his name. None of us knows what he 'did.' (Quite a few were thinking child which case i can see the attitude sitting better with me...but none of us has ANY idea). Not only that, but he presumably spent a good stint in maximum security prison, incarcerated for his deed(s), and is now out on parole and dying a painful and loooong and crappy death. Has he not been punished already? Must he be destitute to pay (again) for his crimes? It was astonishing to me to watch how rapidly people's eyes changed when they heard the news. They went cold and hard, and 'knowing.' We 'know' humanity is weak, and raw, and dirty, and selfish, and capable of all manner of deceit and crime. We patch up the dirty, raw, and selfish all the time, and believing in the better half of humanity gets tenuous.
But does he really deserve to be homeless? Unclothed? Devoid of dignity?
Who am I? How am I so different that I can place myself in the "good" box, and him in the "bad," and therefore absolve myself of all personal responsibility for his welfare and dignity? Am I not weak, raw, dirty, selfish, and capable of all manner of deceit?
I must say, most days I am proud to walk among the people I work with, but today I was ashamed.

Saturday, December 15, 2007


I was wondering where all my faithful commenters went...I didn't really know what I was doing when I turned on comment moderation, and hence I wasn't moderating or publishing them.
I'm a dumbass.
And now I don't feel so lonely! I was wondering if anyone read me anymore. I turned comment moderation off, friends. My apologies.
And Rob, you are onnnnnn for the nipple/clitoris debate. Stay tuned (see comments to "Talking in Heaven" if you would like more info on the birth of this debate).
Someday, emerging at last from the violent insight,
let me sing out jubilation and praise to assenting angels.
Let not even one of the clearly-struck hammers of my heart
fail to sound because of a slack, a doubtful,
or a broken string. . . .
How dear you will be to me then, you nights
of anguish. Why didn't I kneel more deeply to accept you."


Friday, December 14, 2007

My apologies if I seem more negative than usual these past few posts:

My day:
8:00 a.m. wake up one hour late and throw on clothes, toss boys in car, and head for preschool
8:10, hit Tim Horton's (for the second morning in a row: one is okay, two is bad motherhood)
8:37 approach Ayden's school
8:37 am informed by honking, concerned, man in Jeep, that I have a flat tire
8:37 drop Ayden off at school and see flat tire for myself
8:49 call BCAA
9:10 BCAA arrives and pumps up my tire for me to get me to a repair shop
9:30 arrive at Costco to get tire repaired, only to discover (again) that Costco opens at 10
9:35 arrive at mall to buy Ayden (and sneakily buy Matthew's) christmas present
10:00 re-arrive at Costco to fix tire; am informed this is not possible
10:15 get gas, re-fill rapidly deflating tire, worry about where to go to get tire fixed...
10:30 phone father in law who recommends Canadian Tire AND recommends replacing both rear tires
It is too close to pickup time for Ayden after preschool for me to get the tire repaired NOW, so I go home and have a shower
11:30 pick Ayden up at preschool, check tire, hear air whistling out of tire
11:45 arrive Canadian Tire with totally flat rear passenger side tire
12:00 walk with 2 boys and crappy stroller to Ricky's, 1/2 block away, in the rain. So much for blow drying my hair.
restaurant experience a gong show as usual: crayon on table top, chair toppled over once, table top is noisy drum surface for my boys, orange juice is spilled, and both boys are hungry, I am about to faint, and everyone is crabby. Also: total, 5 trips to bathroom in under 1 hour. Having more than one child is highly overrated.
1:00 leave restaurant with angry Ayden screaming and crying
**note: I noticed that no one offered to or actually held the door open for me as I struggled and sweated with two kids in and out of Canadian Tire, and in and out of the 2 sets of doors in the restaurant. What is WITH people? Can't they SEE I have no hands? Is it amusing for them to stand there with their hands hanging at their sides and WATCH me open the door with my bum and try to pull the stroller thru the door with my free hand, other hand holding the jacket of a very wiggly child, door attempting to close as I attempt to shuffle my feet out of the way? I teach my boys to HOLD THE DOOR for people, and they do it.***
1:01 am almost hit by speeding truck. I actually have to yank the stroller with Matthew in it, back a foot and a half so he doesn't get run over by the rear wheels of the truck. We were on the sidewalk, and this guy wanted in the parking lot...I guess he wanted in so badly it was worth running over a mom with two kids?? It was still raining, by the way.
That was when I started to cry.
1:05 Ayden notices that I'm crying and stops screaming at me
1:20 car is fixed. Costs $222.
1:20 clerk at desk in Canadian Tire ignores me for 2 minutes, then is rude when she finally serves me.
Did I mention that I'm sick to boot?

Only one other time in this six month endurance test have I thought what I thought next:
"I WANT MY MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!"

Here is a list of good things about today:
BCAA was very quick
Nobody peed their pants
(Correction: nobody peed their pants while we were out. Ayden had accident #8 in the past 2 weeks this evening after going to bed, but at least we were at home)
We made it to preschool on time
Matthew was very cooperative as we drove around trying to fix the tire and shop
I didn't get angry at anyone except the speeding truck that almost hit us on the sidewalk. I yelled at him (am sure he didn't even notice).
Toys R Us trip 100% successful
Car was not broken into at mall (it IS christmas time)
Canadian Tire fit me into a busy schedule and was done my car in just over an hour
Father in Law was lifesaving advice dispenser with regards to tire fixing
Lunch actually tasted good, for all three of us. A minor miracle.
It was not snowing

Ah, Matthew

This afternoon we were driving in the car on our way to visit a friend, when I glanced at the boys in my handy look at the backseat mirror, and noticed that Matthew had the drawstring of his coat wrapped twice around his neck, and he was absent mindedly looking out the window and pulling on the end of the cord.
Thank you, Matthew, for once again pointing out that black death crouching in the corner.
Good grief. Someone needs to award me for being this boy's mother.
Don't worry, I removed the drawstring and threw it away.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Talking in Heaven

Ayden and I were talking on the way home from work/daycare tonight:
"Mommy, how does God make your spirit be away from your body when you die?"
"Ummmm, hmmm, I don't know. Maybe we can ask God that when we get to heaven?"
"Hahahaha! You are so funny! People can't talk in HEAVEN, mommy!"
"I THINK they can. The Bible talks about people singing in heaven, and if we can sing, why wouldn't we be able to talk?"
"Well, how does God make your spirit talk without your body?"
Geez, this kid doesn't let me off the hook, EVER.
"Ummmm, hmmmm, I don't know. Maybe we can ask God that when we get to heaven, too. I have LOTS of questions for God for when I get to heaven. We can ask him anything we like."
"Mommy, do you remember a long time ago when I asked you why do boys have nipples? Maybe I can ask God that question when I get to heaven."

Why DO boys have nipples, anyways?

For Louise (and others who wonder)

Louise is right, the procedure for removing objects from completely obstructed airways IS the heimlich for children over 12 months. In my experience, for as long as your child is small enough to 'flip' quickly and easily, thumping is the most effective. By this I do not mean thumping or patting on the back while your child is upright: gravity will only work the object further down their airway. I mean, as in infant choking, you flip your child over with his face in your hand, hold his head lower than his body, face down, and thump between the shoulder blades. Matthew still weighs only 24 pounds and is only 2 and a half feet high, (plus I am quite strong for a shorty) so he is still easy to flip. With Ayden I would need to do the heimlich. This is when you kneel behind them with one knee on the floor between their feet, circle their waist with your arms, make a fist with one hand and cover it with the other hand, and pull towards you in a J shape motion.
This is quite effective as well, but also serves to make many children puke.
It is not effective if your child is choking on something thin and flexible, like plastic, or a rubber balloon. In that case, you better phone an ambulance and pray they are within 2 minutes of your house, because you need magill forceps.
Disclaimer: the official recommendation is the heimlich for children older than 12 months. They're the experts. This is simply my experience.

Near Miss (close to home)

Sometimes I see near misses at work, and I post about them, and about how I think God reaches out and protects us all, all the time, without us even realizing how often this occurs.
Last week this hit a little closer to home. Matthew and I picked Ayden up from preschool last Friday and he excitedly showed us these small, round, white candies he had earned at preschool from his French teacher. He volunteered to share one with Matthew, which was wonderful. We hopped in the car and drove home. On the way, I happened to glance in the mirror I have for watching the backseat, which is right next to the mirror we all have for watching the road behind us (and which no one ever, ever seems to be using when a speeding ambulance is approaching from behind). I noticed that Matthew had his hand all the way inserted in his mouth, past the knuckles. Then I noticed that his face was blue! I pulled over, whipped him out of his carseat, flipped him over and whacked him once on the back and out popped the little, round, white candy.
He started screaming and coughing, and pointing to his throat and thrashing around because it hurt so much and because he had been SO SCARED! I stood by the side of the road and cried and cried, and he sat on the hood of the trunk and cried, too. Poor Ayden was stuck in his carseat and he told me later, solemnly, "I thought my brover was going to die," not knowing what was going on except that when I pulled over, Matthew was choking.
The thing is, it was totally silent. The candy was large enough to totally block his airway, so he couldn't tell us that something was wrong, not even a squeak. I just happened to glance in the backseat at SEE him in distress. What if I had not glanced back? What if I looked back two minutes later, after he had passed out from lack of air, and thought he was sleeping? I likely would have seen the colour of his skin and figured it out, but what if I didn't look that closely? What if I didn't look at all? Brutal.
That was a near miss.
I guess if you can't scare your parents into thinking you are dead or brushing close to it a few times while you are growing up, you haven't had a complete childhood. But see, Matthew already did the 'almost drowned in the pool' thing, and the 'I'll hold my breath until I faint anywhere from once every 3 weeks to nine times a day' thing (panic inducing, but really not nearly fatal), and the 'I'll disappear in a parking lot' thing, and the 'I'll faint in the bathtub' thing, and the 'I'll get hives in a ring around my neck when I eat fries' thing; do we really need to do the 'I'll choke on a candy' thing? Really?
Ayden once ate a good portion of a bottle of extra strength, adult Advil and had to go to the hospital for charcoal treatment.
And he got kicked in the head by a mule last thanksgiving and spent 4 hours in the ER on concussion watch.
It's times like these that make you wonder, "What IS God thinking, entrusting me with these children?"
But really, all of life is this vulnerable. It's just that when our kids are choking right in front of us, we run face to face with our own soft, fallible, mortal nature, and it frightens us.

Monday, December 10, 2007

I jinxed myself

With my last post, I jinxed myself. Our next call was shitty pants.
LOL!! POO! Down on POO! God sure thought to humble us when he made poo. How can we fool ourselves into thinking we are so great and so wonderful and so intelligent, when we also, without fail, make poo every day? And, when we get sick, every 15 minutes, in the ambulance, in a bedpan (and etcetera), during a two and a half hour transfer. Ohhhh, I earned my money this morning, I tell you.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Good call

Heya. I'm still virtually homeless. The house is painted, but still stinks like paint, and the carpet needs to be ripped out sometime this week/next weekend. My house before had this colour sceme:
Dark, reddish, warm, chocolatey brown in the living room and front entranceway.
Dark blue bathroom.
Light blue kitchen.
Yellow stairwell/upstairs hallway/upstairs bathroom.
Dark green bedroom.
Light blue bedroom.
Light green bedroom.
BRIGHT orange master ensuite bathroom.

Colourful, as you can see.

My house is now:
Offish white with some neutral brown in entranceway, bathroom, and family room.
Offish white with a bit more neutral brown of the same pigment but a shade darker for the livingroom, kitchen, and lower stairwell.
Offish white with some neutral brown in upper stairwell, hallway, and upstairs bathrooms.
Offish white with a bit more neutral brown in one bedroom.
Light blue in another bedroom
Same light green as before in third bedroom.

So boring I want to suffocate.
So boring I'm hoping we get posted somewhere else so we CAN move away from this suffocatingly boring, neutral house. BUT neutral is what everyone ELSE likes when they are in the market for a house, so that's what we got. And the paint job is VERY well done and I recommend the Pink Painters for those in the Langley area. Pricey, though. Be prepared to fork out some coin. It does look nice: just boring.

Thanks so much to our lovely friends, Sam and Torie (who don't read this blog) for the yellow paint on the ceiling in the 14 foot ceiling in the stairwell which was too far from the edge for the painters to 'spot' cover. Your illustrious yellow spatters will be on the ceiling for all time. The yellow spots you also dropped on our carpet are about to go, as the carpet is being replaced next week.
Note to blogosphere: don't get your friends together for a work party to paint your house unless you know they are not retarded with a paint brush.

Gotta love them.
(Gotta hate the paint all over the ceiling and carpet for four years, though).

Okay, so I'm homeless. And christmas treeless, because all my livingroom furniture is in a pile in the middle of the room, waiting for the baseboards to get a coat of paint and the outlet covers to return to the outlets before it gets put back in place, and THEN I can get a tree.
At this point maybe I should just wait until the 22nd when Brent comes home and get a tree then. I know it's last minute but today, a christmas tree seems like enough stress for a panic attack or shitty pants or something.
Speaking of shitty pants:
Matthew has forgotten all of his previous toilet training experience.
Ayden has had 6 accidents since Brent left two weeks ago (including that one in Red Robin that I posted about).
I had a patient tonight who peed all over herself, her bed, and my knee.
Pee, pee, pee.
It's not shitty pants, it's pissy pants!
This call was a good one. In fact, when I set out to write this post I intended it to be about this call, but then I had other things to say, about christmas trees and neutral paint.
So we went code 3 for a diabetic seizure. When we arrived she was not actively seizing but totally unconscious, did not respond to my painful finger dig in the soft spot between the jaw and the ear (dig your finger in your own soft spot behind your jaw: you know you want to. See, it hurts, doesn't it? If it didn't hurt you didn't put enough muscle into it. I put the full weight of my upper body into it. It usually even rouses the really drunk, but not the really sick), and she was snoring. Loudly.
For an average person, a snore is a laughable, slightly endearing thing. In the unconscious person, it means trouble, because snoring means a compromised airway.
Ever heard of the A, B, Cs of first aid? Airway, breathing, circulation? I'm sure I've blabbed on and on about them before. If air can't go in and out, your brain starts conserving energy (loss of consciousness), eventually shuts down its breathing centre, and then your heart stops. A, B, C. If you don't have A, you can't have B and C. So I spent a good minute taking care of A with a tube in her mouth and some hefty suction. Then some oxygen. Then a good, rapid body assessment which revealed the pee, plus copious amounts of sweat. And a flushed face, and hot skin.
Vital signs were normal, but her blood sugar was so low it didn't even register on our monitor.
What I didn't realize until I went to paramedic school is that when a person's blood sugar is low, they start losing brain cells similar to when the brain is not getting enough oxygen (not as rapidly, but still quite an emergency).
So I popped some sugar gel into her lower cheek, tried twice to start an IV, called for ALS, and handed the damn IV over to my partner who got it on the first try (cool for her; grrr for me), started some sugar and gave her a shot of B12. It took 250 mLs of sugar to get her to wake up.
Let us reiterate her signs and symptoms:
deeply unconscious. feeling no pain whatsoever.
compromised airway. snoring.
no gag reflex.
choking on own saliva.
seizure activity prior to our arrival.
flushed face.
sluggish pupils.
weak, rapid pulse.
incontinent of urine.
diaphoretic (copious amounts of sweat; indicates a sympathetic nervous system response to a pretty drastic medical emergency. A body's last resort to compensate, sorta).
Rigid muscles from fingertips to toes, to jaw, to back.

I gave her sugar, and she woke up.


She adamantly refused to go to the hospital (the diabetics always do), though I tried heftily to convince her otherwise, as she had had 2 other diabetic seizures in the previous 36 hours, once in the grocery store where an ambulance was called and she refused to go to the hospital on that occasion as well. I detected some fear of hospitals in general, so, after 15 minutes of haggling and another blood sugar check (normal), I advised calling her doctor in the morning and relaying the events of the weekend, and gettin in to see her TOMORROW, and not later. She agreed. She also agreed that if we came back again tonight because she was in another hypoglycemic, unconscious state, that she would go to the hospital then. If it happens again we will put her in the ambulance before she gets any sugar, and that way she'll be at the hospital, or nearly, by the time she's awake enough to refuse. We are not supposed to transport before giving sugar to diabetics who are low; every minute means more brain cells lost, and what the hospital has to offer is what we have to offer; dextrose in an IV. After the sugar, then we transport. Problem is, most diabetics wake up very quickly to IV dextrose and refuse to go to the hospital. We are also not allowed to take people to the hospital against their will, or do any medical treatment or assessment against someone's will, unless they are arrested under the MHA act (Mental Health). Psychs who are determined to be a danger to themselves or to others are 'arrested' under the MHA act.
So this lady wakes up in a pool of her own sweat, pee, and saliva, with gooey pink sugar gel all over her face, hair, and mouth (we give oral sugar as well as IV sugar), her 10 year old daughter scared out of her wits, her husband scared out of his wits, and four paramedics around her, and she thinks she's fine.
Go figure!
Sometimes the problem with people who wake up after being unconscious is that they don't really realize how bad it was while they were down. All they knew was that they were fine, they fell asleep, and then they woke up and were fine again. So I usually describe in detail what I saw when I came in. I got down on eye level with her and got her to relax with a joke and a reassurance that we would not take her to the hospital if she did not want to go. I then described for her exactly what I described for you in the list above. I told her that when her sugar gets that low, her brain cells start to die. I told her that three hypoglycemic events in two days is not normal, not okay, and not a minor event. I told her that if this had happened when no one was home to discover her, she could have died.
She still refused to go. At least I tried my hardest! And it WAS cool to bring her from so deeply unconscious to alert and oriented.
We also trucked out of there 2 big bags of garbage from all the crap we used to help her: airway tube, oxygen mask and tubing, empty sugar gel tube, suction catheter and tubing and bag, IV bag and tubing and catheter (catheter x 3 because remember? I blew the first two attempts), ampoule and needle for the vitamin B12, gauze, tape, etc, etc. Well, big for us. Small, 3 litre bags that we use for calls. And a sharps container for the pointy sharp things. One doesn't want HIV or Hepatitis. Especially from doing one's job.
Whew! Busy night.
If there be anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again, we are always kept in that same precious love

-Julian of Norwich

Good Quote

'factuality is a really narrow way to define truth'

-tamie marie harkins

Friday, December 7, 2007

Painting mishap

Sorry for the blog silence! I'm staying with Brent's parents this week as our house is being painted and is unlivable in the process. The Pink Painters finished this evening; we may be able to sleep there again Monday night, although we are planning on starting to rip up the carpet so maybe not...
Anyways, Brent's parents' computer was not allowing me to post on my blog, but I managed to trick it into giving me a chance tonight.
So this morning I stopped by my house with Matthew, to pick up a few things and check my phone messages. The painters were everywhere, as was their equipment and their paint trays full of paint. I sat Matthew on the stairs and asked him not to move, with which he complied. There was enough activity to watch to keep him sitting on the stairs all day, I think. So I grabbed the camera and checked my messages, and on my way out my camera cable dragged through a paint tray, coating the digital camera cable, dragging on the laminate hardwood floor, and slapping onto the leg of my favourite jeans. FAVorite JEANS, people. The SKINNY jeans that make my ass look good, and that have cute pockets, and that are always in the wash because I'm always wearing them. New by a month. I about had a panic attack! Between Matthew and I, I would not have chosen ME to be the one to have a painting mishap in the five minutes we were home this morning, but that's how it was.
The paint came out of the laminate, except for a pale fog I'm hoping no one will notice but me. The camera cable LOOKS okay, post soap and water, but has not been tested yet. My jeans came clean.
I'm content with the outcome because my jeans are okay. Am I silly?
$400 floor,
$50 camera cable
$30 jeans.
I cared the most about the jeans.
Besides, it is embarrassing to drag things through trays of paint in front of professional painters.

Ayden's attitude has been horrible since Brent left; today I took them to a kids' holiday concert put on by the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra and designed for preschoolers. It cost me $45 for all three of us and took me two hours total driving time as it was in downtown Vancouver, plus the cost of parking. Ayden spent the drive down screaming about how horrible his lunch was, the concert sulking about how he wanted to leave, and the drive home screaming about how he hated the concert.
I wanted to RING his NECK. He decided before the concert began that he was not going to like it, he refused to participate or get into it, and therefore he did not like it. It was a classic case of attitude setting the tone for an experience. I should learn a lesson from watching this in him!! Lol!
The thing is, he LOVES music; the concert was mainly for HIS benefit! Good grief.
On an opposite note, Matthew is precious. His attitude and demeanour are the exact mirror opposite of Ayden's these days, and I appreciate his bubbly personality more every day. Tonight we were sitting in the recliner chair and playing around, and we pretended we were sleeping. He climbed right up on my chest and snuggled in really tight, arms around me. I said, "I love you, Matthew," and he replied, "Yeah. Wu. Too. Mommy." I started to cry. Inside I was so so glad to give him the gifts of: a mommy to hug, a christmas to celebrate, food to eat, and oceans upon oceans of love.

Sunday, December 2, 2007


Oh yeah, there was another miracle last night...truck going 80 kph slid off a back road into a drainage ditch, upside down. 19 year old driver submerged in icy water for several minutes before squeezing out the only tiny bit of broken window that wasn't hemmed in by ditch, and walking to the nearest farmhouse for assistance.

Two stitches. That's all he needed. He wasn't even hypothermic.

If that's not a miracle, I don't know what you'd call a miracle.
I'm sorry to say my computer and my camera are having a bit of a dispute, so I'll have to post more snow pictures later. It kept on snowing yesterday, all day, and we had a wonderful time playing in the backyard with snowballs and snow angels and a sad attempt at a snowman. Last night I went to work (SUPER busy) so I slept until 12:30 today, and when I woke up it was STILL snowing. So I read a book, wrote for awhile, considered going for a walk in the snow (I did do a fair amount of walking in the snow last night on the freeway...people always call ambulances for cars in the ditch in snowstorms...and people are either not hurt at all, or dead ones last night...but this was not the enjoyable type of walking in the snow), but decided to go after dinner as I was hungry. I went to a restaurant with my book (boys are snowed in at grandma's), got such terrible service that I left no tip and a note that said "Good food, bad service!" and when I came out from the restaurant, it was raining. Yuck! Well, I got to see the snow all day from my bedroom window where I had snuggled up for a reading/writing afternoon. That's better than being cold anyways. I don't really have snowboots, just rain boots, so my feet get awefully cold if I walk in the snow for any length of time, and there was over a foot of snow so I couldn't just go in my shoes.
Anyways, happy december! Christmas time is here!! :-)

Saturday, December 1, 2007

This morning we woke up to:

...and it is still coming down...we're going to go play in it now! More pix to come!