First of Many Firsts

(a.k.a Bring It On!!)

wow. I look old...

Do you remember your first day of school? The smell, the sights, the sounds? I don't. Really, I truly don't. I mean, I have a shoddy memory at the best of times, but Kindergarten? Seriously, that was like 26 years ago **GASP** There's this picture of me on the first day of grade one. I'm wearing a maroon plaid jumpsuit with matching maroon tights and a cute pair of mary janes. It's so very early 80's. But except for the picture, I can't remember that first day either. I do remember the first day of high school, but that's only because I was scared shitless - going from a school of 100 kids to one with over 800 - and well, it was only a mere 15 years ago, and my memory isn't that bad.

Back to school was always my favourite time of year. I cannot even describe the smell of school supplies - to me just sweet glory. And, it was one of two times during the year that we would get new clothes (the other was Easter.) Mom would take me and my brother to the mall and rack up her Sears card on all things 'cool.' (As 'cool' as Sears could be, but mind you, she probably spent the rest of the year paying the card off too...) I loved back to school so much I got a job in a stationary store in grade 12. I tell ya, many an hour was spent sorting and tidying erasers and pens and paper for $6.25/hr. Truth be told, if it didn't go out of business, I'd still bet there getting high on white out and markers...

Today was Q's first day of Kindergarten. So while I don't remember mine, I will always remember his. The day my baby looked like a big boy. The day he gave me a smile and a wave, then happily followed his teacher into his new classroom. Where, I ask you, were the tears? Where?!?! Where was the fanfare? We made it through to the next chapter of our lives. I wonder if /what he'll remember his first day of his first year of the next 15 or so...

Parenting is crazy unfair, because just when you start to feel comfortable in your role as mothering an infant, they're suddenly a toddler Once you've got the hang of running after a toddler, they become a preschooler. Bring it on, bring me a newborn, I'll feed and burp him like nobody's business. But this boy in front of me...where's the manual for him? The one who talked back to me yesterday, the one who said he didn't like me anymore, then cuddled with me an hour later. Talk about mood swings!

Again, I'm left with mixed emotions. Proud of my beautiful boy and the person he's becoming. He was so brave today. Yet, I'm mourning the loss of my baby. And I wonder, does it get any easier?

Worry, Worry, Worry

I have a worry wart. Granted, I am a worry wart, so the fact that I have produced one is not entirely shocking, but bothersome nonetheless. My Q worries about absolutely everything. He worries about the normal 5 year old things like monsters and bad guys. But lately, he's been worrying about getting sick. Like pukey sick. I know, it doesn't seem like such a big deal except that every day (seriously, EVERY day) he has 'symptoms'. A sore tummy, a lump in this throat, a combination that ends up in tears. Ugh, my kid is having panic attacks.

This is not new to me. I get panic attacks, well I got them until my doctor prescribed this fabulous little pink pill (shout out to Paxil!!) And looking back, as a child, I most definitely had them too. I would worry about everything and nothing. The end of the world, being buried alive, my parents dying and me being left alone. You know, the standard angst of an adolescent. Okay, okay, maybe most kids worry about things like whether kids will like them, the big game on the weekend, the math test on Monday. My worries were irrational.

I don't know what to do, I am at my wits end. He's having meltdowns every single day. I'm trying cognitive therapy - I've tried to rationalize the fear...'Has it EVER happened?' I've tried giving him something else to think about 'I'm a healthy kid' and 'My mommy loves me!' I've told him to pray about it, 'Jesus, please take away my nervous tummy.' NOTHING is working. Maybe by acknowledging it, I'm making it worse. His father thinks I should take him to the doctor...which I've already done...it's a nervous tummy, it's normal for kids his age. I'm going to cut out all sugar and crappy food for the next week and see if that makes a difference. But, should I think about therapy for my 5 year old? Is it hereditary? Do all kids experience this?

Here comes my guilt. I know, way to make this all about me, right? Maybe if I was still with his dad and he came from a two parent family, Q wouldn't be having panic attacks. He wouldn't worry about things like bad guys and monsters. Every day, he's wake up in the same bed in the same house and wouldn't have to worry about being bounced from house to house to house. Every day starts out with, 'who's house am I going to today?' When he's with his dad, he misses me. He's become clingy to the point where I cannot leave him with someone else without tearful scene.

Any ideas? Helpful Hints? What to do, what to do??????

Sleeping with the Enemy

Panic attack, anyone? Seriously, WHY?

I have a highly irrational fear of bees or wasps or hornets. Like ,when I say irrational, I mean super irrational. I have been known to scream like a little girl and freak the hell out if one even thinks of buzzing my way. I joke *haha* that it's the only time that I would put my child in front of myself in order to protect me. Just a joke, except that sometimes the panic is so ridiculous, I can't control it and I hide behind my Q in the hopes they will detect the sweet scent of his youth and leave me alone. I guess one reason why this fear is so completely stupid is, well, see...I've never actually been stung....so for all I know, I'm fearing a tickle, or a love tap, or a kind of a high five from the bee world. Or maybe it hurts like a son of a B and my fear is not only totally rational, but warranted, as well.

You can imagine my absolute horror, then, when I tell you that I have had a bee IN THE HOUSE for the past 3 days. I cannot get it to leave. It buzzes by the window and the fish bowl and I think it's moved in. I have even left the door open (thus risking more of the little devils entering my home) so it will fly out. But it does not. I think it senses my fear, and is enjoying the fact that I cannot sleep, and I'm constantly watching my back in my own home. I have never feared death (mine) while simultaneously wishing for it (B's) as I do right now. Die Bee Die.

Sadly, this is not my only ridiculous fear. I also fear heights. Like for me, 5 feet off the ground is way too high. I tell Q that mommy's aren't allowed on rides or in the McD's play place because we Mommy's just can't handle that much fun. But the truth is...my fear of heights paralyzes me even at the top of the slide at Mickey D's...please don't ask me how I know or how long it took for me to get down. I can't visit my brother for this very reason. His stairs are on the outside of the building. And they're wood. Not steel, not concrete, but wood. How safe is that? Not very, I think. And I can see through the boards. What if I fell through the boards? What if? I'm sure stranger impossible things have happened...

I have plenty more fears, but I won't bore you with the details. At least not tonight. The bee is watching me and I think he's getting ready to make his move. There goes the neighbourhood, folks.

I DO

Every little girl dreams of her wedding day. The beautiful white dress, the flowers, the shoes. Oh, and the guy, of course. No wedding is to be had without the prince charming. I was absolutely no different. I was no different. I had every little detail planned to perfection. All I had to do was wait for my prince.

We all know how my story goes. My prince was a frog (and that's being polite.) When we got engaged I was living in Calgary, he in Vancouver. So he mailed my ring and I opened it in a parking lot. This should have been my first clue that the relationship was going to be less than stellar, but I was in love...and love, as they say, is blind not to mention a little stupid at times too. After I was sufficiently pregnant, he decided we didn't need to get married and all talk of weddings was well, non-existent. Until a job opportunity came up in Dubai (where the Uber strict laws dictated you could not live common law,) and then the question was not, "Will you marry me? I love you!" but "If it benefits us financially, why not?" For a long time after that, I didn't want to get married. Ever. Marriage was a horrible institution that trapped you into being who you most definitely were not. And worse than that, it didn't work. Men cheated and women just let it happen or worse than that, they made it happen. Well...this was my reality.

Lately, it's a little different. I'm in a good place. Correction - I'm in a fabulous place. And I've been thinking that maybe marriage isn't so bad. Maybe not all men cheat. Maybe it's not all horrible. And maybe, just maybe it would be really awesome to stand in front of God and everyone you love, and pledge your love to one person forever. I choose you, out of all the rest, I choose you. And what little girl doesn't want to be a princess for a day. I know I do.

I started thinking about my wedding again. Just like that little girl sooooo long ago, I've poured over pictures of wedding dresses and flowers and um...money. As one who does not have a small fortune (inherited or otherwise), my wedding is going to be what I call 'Classy-cheap chic.' Here's what I've got so far:

Flowers:

Tulips. Inexpensive. Beautiful. Classy.

The "cake"

Cupcakes...super cute, and they've got to be cheaper than a cake because they're smaller...

The dress:

Simple. Sexy. Cheap (this one is less than $500.00)

The centerpieces:

Uh...tulips (it's a theme, ok...) and the favours would be tulip bulbs...how great would that be!

Now I just got to get me a husband. Seeing as how the top two in the running were Mr. (un) Fab and Mocha man, I had better get my arse in gear. We all know I'm not getting any younger...

There's the door, Mr. (un) Fab

Mr. (un) fab texted me last night. I know, right...after a month of silence. And get this, he was wondering why I hadn't responded to any of his texts or messages. Seriously, this guy is delusional. Needless to say, I've not received one message from him over the past 5 weeks. I sent him this: "this is an amusing little game you're playing. however, I do not wish to play any more" Oh, it felt so good. It was sooooo liberating. That's what this whole thing was, a game. Pull me really, really close and then disappear. Then see how many times he could do it before I said, "Enough!" I don't believe a word that comes out of this guy's mouth. Not one. I think that's reason enough to moooooooove on! There's the door, Mr. (un) Fab, don't let it hit you on the way out. I've not seen my mocha man on the train in 2 weeks. I should have been a little more bold. A little less shy. I should have seized the moment and slipped him my number. Shudda, cudda, wudda... I think I'm just not ready yet. I think I'm being prepared for the love of my life, and I'm just not there yet. I wish I'd hurry up and get ready. Cuz geez, it sure would be nice to be in love.

The Burning Truth

I can recall many reasons why I should not cook...the food poisoning at a dinner party, the stove fires just to name a couple. But friday takes the cake (pardon the cooking reference...) While making mac n' cheese for Q and his lil buddy, I inadvertently poured boiling hot water down the front of me. Normally, I'm pretty good with multitasking, at work and at home. Note to self: Hot water and multtasking do not go hand in hand.

I'm so dedicated to work that the first thing I did was call my boss to let her know I might not be in to work. (Side note: I also did this once when I was in a car accident on my way into work. While waiting for the ambulance to take me to the hospital, I called my job to let them know I might be late...I know, considerate, right? Dedicated, absolutely!!) To which she replied, "Why are you calling me? Go to the hospital!!" Truthfully, this option never even crossed my mind. First of all, as a hypocondriac, I would run to the hospital every other day if I didn't have self restraint. So, as a result, I tend to NOT go when I should. Second, sitting in emerg for 6 hours is definitely not my idea of fun, even if it does get me out of going to work...

I decided to call healthlink. Healthlink is my best friend. I have a registered nurse at my fingertips, and she tells me whether or not I'm being ridiculous (most of the time I am...) Turns out, this time I was being ridiculous....as in, she wanted to call 911 for me. Evidently, 2nd degree burns over 2-5 % of your body are kind of a big deal. I quickly assured her I would get to the hospital asap and she did not have to bother paramedics to get me there. After all, they are on strike...

**Please note - I'm still making the mac n' cheese while making aforementioned phone calls **

So, I knock on my girlfriend's door and ask her to drive me to the hospital. We drop the kids at a neighbours on the way. Get this...2nd degree burns get you on the super fast track at the hospital. Not just the fast track, the super fast track. I was seen by a doctor in less than an hour. LESS THAN A HOUR!! And the waiting room was packed. There was a guy in handcuffs to my right (with 2 police escorts) and a guy in a cowboy hat to my left.

A tetanus shot and a few wrappings later, I was on my way. I was a little disappointed though, no one said "STAT" even once. And my doctor wasn't tall, dark and handsome. She was short, chubby, and well...female. The one lesson I learned was 'always be prepared' and not in the way you would think. If someone's gonna see me naked (even a short, chubby ER doc) I really wish I was well groomed. Dammit if my legs weren't hairy and a bikini wax was definitely in order. I am staying away from the stove for at least the weekend, much to the surprise and gratefulness of Q!

Wednesday Weigh in (week 6)

I just finished reading Julie and Julia and it was fabulous. You know, the book I wasn't going to read. Then strolling one day before work I found a used hard cover copy for $5.00. How could I possibly resist? Hard cover!! I was quickly drawn into the world of french cooking, aka cooking with butter. Lots and lots of butter. Cooking and I go together like oil and water. My mother loves to tell how every time she would try to teach me how to cook, I would smile and say, "Oh silly Mummy, I'm going to marry rich and we're going to have a chef. I don't need to know how to cook!" and then plant a big kiss on her cheek before wandering out of the kitchen in my own little (imaginary) world. As luck would have it, I have avoided a) getting married b) being rich and c) having a chef at my beck and call. Oh, and let's not forget d) still not a fan of cooking... So, needless to say, this book is the antithesis of me. Julie says that food is sexy. Cooking is sexy. Specifically, she thinks calf liver sauteed in butter is sexy. I'm not sure I agree. If some guy I was dating pulled out a calf liver, I'm pretty sure I'd mutter some excuse as I ran for the door, pushing anything that got in my way. I did have a boyfriend once who made me rack of lamb for Valentine's Day. It was delicious. He also took two trips to the ER that day to sew his finger back on when he cut it off not once, but twice as he was preparing the roasted baby potatoes. It was a labour of love that I didn't truly appreciate. He was too needy. If I had married him, I surely would have been knocked up for the greater portion of my child bearing years. And if I had to guess, I would have spent most of my time in the kitchen. On a farm. In the country. But my point is that marrying him for his rack (of lamb) never once crossed my mind. I loved the book because it surpasses food. In the end, it's not simply a journey through a cook book. It's a journey of self discovery. And that, my friends, is universal. Who hasn't found themselves near tears on a subway in the rain (you haven't? Oh...) thinking "What now?" There's got to be more to life than this. Julie's passion became her savior. It became her answer to the life she dreamed of, the life she was destined to live. I can relate to that. I can aspire to that. I might suck shit at cooking. I might cause stove fires more often than your average 31 year old (okay...3, but who's counting...) The thought of cooking my way through Julia Childs "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" actually causes cold sweats and panic attacks, but the thought of finding me is exciting. Seriously, MtAoFC...looks like a string of cuss words to me... And the absolute best thing. Googling Julie/Julia last night I found that Julie Powell still blogs. She blogs! It's devastating to me that when a book ends, so do the characters. I mourn the loss of them, but not my Julie. I can visit her. Daily. Oh how I wanted to write on her blog like a crazy-stalker fan. But I'm not just a fan. I'm a kindred spirit. We're the same. We both blog. We're both Bloggers. We're colleagues. Ya, so that's a little freaky, right? Anyways, it was a great reminder that if you're asking yourself, "Is this all there is?" that it most certainly isn't. Have the courage to do something fabulous. Have the faith to believe you will succeed. And "bollocks" to the naysayers. I believe in you. Oh, and along the lines of food...weight loss: 7lbs (WOOOOHOOOO) current weight: 156 What's that? You didn't see a weigh in for week 5? Hmmmm, that's odd. Alright, fine. Week 5 was birthday week for Q...cake and ice cream and hot dogs, oh my. Self perseverance told me not to even think of getting on the scale.