Wordless Wednesday: 'Cause I think I'm getting laryngitis anyway

I've got no time for words today

Santa Baby

Wishing you all the best for a happy holiday season!


(This photo of N was taken by Draya's Mom over at Draya's Diary. She takes mighty good pictures, huh?)

You've got a friend in me

J and N had a doctor's appointment this week. Waiting in the doctor's office, J suddenly hugged N and said:

J: You're the best baby in the whole wide world. You're my best friend, and I'll never let anything happen to you.


I hope my boys are always this close. Aren't they cute?

Sorry for the brevity, and for my recent absence around my favourite blogs. Still sick. Back soon.

Ooh baby, it's freakishly cold outside

So, I came up with this awesome flowchart to remember eleven of the different variance analysis formulas I may need for my exam. It's complex and detailed, but it works like a charm. Easy to remember, it can be reproduced with pen and paper in under a minute. I posted it in the course forum for all of my classmates. The course director reviewed it and wrote me to say "This is amazing!", and so I feel all smart. I am flattered. But not so flattered as to do something stupid like reproduce a management accounting variance analysis flowchart here. Because it's ridiculously dull, and no one wants to see that.

Instead, I present random cuteness from our "winter attire" catalogue.


Baby N is wearing a fleecy that will soon not be warm enough, given our cold northern climes. But for now, he is all warm and fuzzy. And quite adorable, if you'll take J's word for it. J says "Awww. He's soooo cute. Is he a sheepy?" And then he taunts N by making "baa baa" noises at him. For about an hour. Then the novelty wore off. (Thank God!)


J sports the coolest winter coat I have ever seen. We found it a couple of years ago; a brand new item buried in a clearance rack, sporting a sweet $3 price tag. Obviously, we nabbed it knowing he'd grow into it eventually. The eyes on the hood double as reflectors for nighttime safety. And it has a detachable black cape on the back, for extra Batman authenticity. (But why a person would detach it, I can't imagine. 'Cause I think it's awesome!) J's hands are a bit blurred in the picture. He was excited about being a bat here, and he was flapping his "wings" excitedly.

So, how about you? Is your family all outfitted for winter? Is your weather already freakishly cold? Do you enjoy snow and winter sports in general? Or do you wish we could just skip those eight months in their entirety? (Yes. I said "eight months". It's terribly cold up here.)

Puff the magic dragon

I shouldn't write when I am in a negative headspace. The dark and broody stuff just comes out then. And really, this blog is supposed to be fun. I try to post the fun and comedic and leave the dark and broody posts alone as much as I can. But there are times ...

Hmm ... Perhaps I need a separate dark and broody blog space for that stuff. I'll give that some thought.

In the meantime, we are now back to normal over here. And to celebrate, I present the following:


Happy Halloween!!

How much is that doggie costume in the window?

I've got a couple of photographer friends. They have a great eye, and sometimes they get some really beautiful shots. Oriana Bella, for example, has several pictures that I would just love to have framed and hung on my wall. My favourite to date is this amazing shot she took of three pigeons perched on an electrical wire. The lighting is perfect; birds and wire in glorious silhouette against an overcast sky. I've never seen anything quite like it. (I don't really want to link to it here because of, you know, copyrights and stuff. So you'll just have to trust me that it is gorgeous.)

Oriana also really loves taking abstract shots, which can be quite breathtaking. And sometimes, she photographs amazing oddities.

She recently managed to nab this picture (reproduced here with her permission). Apparently, she got in trouble for taking a picture of an item for sale in a store. But seriously. How could she possibly have resisted this?


This crazy Halloween costume, designed to be worn by a dog, is clearly geared toward proponents of overkill. For many people dress their dogs up as hotdogs. And pumpkins are, of course, a traditional Halloween costume. So someone evidently thought ... why not combine two great ideas into one, and dress your dog up as both?

Now, I know that Cute Overload and Martha Stewart have teamed up to run a Pet Halloween Costume Contest. But seriously? Would you put this crazy outfit on your dog? Even for Cute Overload and Martha?

"This Halloween, Bowser is going as a pumpkin wearing a hotdog costume."

The pumpkin wasn't Halloweenish enough all by itself? The pumpkin needed its own costume, did it? Does this seem like a realistic costume choice? Does anyone ever make a point of getting a special Halloween costume made, just for their pumpkin to wear? And if so, how did such a person end up with a great abundance of cash to spend on outfitting a pumpkin, when said person clearly has absolutely no common sense whatsoever? And since this person has such a great abundance of cash and lack of common sense, do you think he or she might lend me five bucks? How 'bout fifty?

Your thoughts?

Smashing pumpkins - part deux

Yesterday, I carved a Jack-o-lantern. It was my very first attempt at carving a Jack-o-lantern, and I think it turned out rather well. I posted about the experience here.

We took no photos of the carving being undertaken, because ... well, read about it and you'll see why. But some people will accept no such excuses. Some people demand that photos be posted. *

Yes, I am speaking of you, Georgie.

Georgie is a total sweetheart. She writes Decisionally Challenged. She is presently organizing a bloggers Secret Santa exchange (I can't participate, being a foreigner and all, but still). And she specifically requested pictures of my masterpiece.

So here you go, Georgie. I hope you enjoy the pictures. :)

Here is the Jack-o-lantern.


He was so darned cute, we had to see what he would look like all lit up. So here he is.


J loves the Jack-o-lantern, and treats him like a new friend. He insists on giving the Jack-o-lantern hugs and kisses. And he wants the Jack-o-lantern to sit on the living room floor and play with him. J is eager to share all of his toys and stuffed animals with his new friend.

Sure, it's cute now. But J will be heartbroken when his friend gets all mushy, as veggies are wont to do in time. And we'll hear about it for months.

J: Where's my Jack-o-lantern?
H/T: We had to throw him away, J. He's at the dump.
J: Oh noooooo! (sob) What will I dooooooo?

We are getting used to these kinds of discussions. Sadly, they occur all too frequently. J seems to get quite attached to inanimate objects, and he has trouble letting go when it is time to part.


* Okay. In all fairness, Georgie didn't so much "demand" as "politely request". And I did say I'd probably post photos. And I totally would have done it anyway, because the pictures are cool. But I wanted to link to Georgie, and this approach worked well.

And I cannot handle pressure

I should probably have just dropped the class when my world began to implode. But I didn't.

I had a drop deadline. Can't remember what it was just now. Didn't want to use it. Dropping the class costs a bit of cash. And I'm somewhat miserly. And stubborn. There was a possibility that I could still cope. I can't admit defeat when there is still a possibility of success, however slight.

I had until October 23 to decide to take an elect to re-enroll. But an ETR costs a sizeable amount of cash, and I wasn't willing to part with it. So I didn't take that option either. Instead, I opted to plough forward in a course that I am not understanding, for which I have no time, and in which I am woefully behind.

In short, I decided that my sanity was worth less than the course drop fee. So now I'm stuck with it.

What do they say again? There are none so blind as those who will not see?



J keeps stealing my post-it notes. How am I supposed to study effectively with no post-it notes, I ask you?

Time in a bottle

N is 5 months old today. I did a 5-month retrospective with pictures of J at this time three years ago. (It's here, if you want to see.) Thought the same type of thing would be appropriate for N. So here we go:

N at birth:


N at one month old:


N at two months old:


N at three months old:


N at four months old:


N at five months old:


They get so big so fast. I love you, baby N. No matter how big you get, you will always be my baby. Happy five month birthday, my sweet little man. Big sloppy kisses!

Ooooo-ooh, FIRE!

Edited to include a few more photos.

Note: The following photos (with the exception of the last one) were taken from various media sources in our area. We did not take these pictures ourselves. In the interests of protecting our privacy as best we can, we have not linked back to the media sources in question. We have made a note of who took the original photos. If you are one of the photographers and would like for us to take down a photo, please contact us to request the photo's removal.

**********
They say it started with an explosion.


Apparently, it was initially in a garage. A beautiful garage of a beautiful house. The new owners had just recently moved in. H and I love that house. We have walked past many times. When we saw the for sale sign over summer, we called right away. But it was already pending.


Investigations are ongoing. Arson is suspected.


The winds were gusting at great speeds overnight, and the fire spread rapidly to neighbouring properties. Including the home of one of my childhood friends.


Her car was out back, in the detached garage.


I awoke in the wee small hours of the morning to the sounds of sirens. And then more sirens. And then even more sirens. Initially disoriented, it took some time before I realized the emergency vehicles were right out front. But then I rushed to the window to see what might be happening on our street.


Orange smoke was billowing. Flames leaped into the sky, as the sparks flew. This looked bad. Really bad. And it looked close. Really close. The hydrant on our stretch of road was being used to combat the flames. I awoke H, who left to see just how close the fire was to our home.


When he returned, it was with bad news. Three houses were already engulfed. Several garages were aflame. H had watched as the flames leaped from the third house to the fourth, and then saw another garage catch fire. No one was working on garages. Saving houses was the only priority. Just as it should have been. The fire was close. Too close. And the winds were pushing it toward us.


As firefighters worked to contain the blaze, neighbours fought to keep the flames from claiming their own homes. Garden hoses were employed, and houses and garages were hosed down. Neighbours woke one another, and assistance was offered as needed. No one wished to lose so much.


The winds continued to gust. The fires continued to blaze. And as the sparks flew and the flames spread, we began to worry for our safety. The fire continued to move toward our house. It was moving rapidly.


Even though firefighters were at work trying to contain the blaze, we did not feel secure in our home. At 5:30, we decided to evacuate. I think that was the safest choice.


The fire was contained in our absence. Our house is unaffected. Several of the neighbouring houses, cars, and garages are lost. Others have suffered significant damage. But no lives were lost. No residents were injured. And any emergency worker injuries are classed as minor non-life-threatening injuries.


Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, and I have a great deal to be thankful for.


Today, I am thankful that all lives were preserved. I am thankful that everyone got out in time. I am thankful for the emergency workers, for their skill and their quick response time, which prevented the blaze from spreading any further. I am thankful that we had a place to go when we needed to evacuate. I am thankful for my home, which is still standing strong. I am thankful that the beautiful house that we had liked so much was already pending when we called about it. I am thankful that my friend, whose home was lost to the blaze, has family who will help her. I am thankful for the outpouring of concern and caring by my wonderful family and friends, and for all of the phone calls and emails from people who wanted to know that our family was okay. And I am thankful that we have something worth protecting and preserving, and that we can recognize exactly what that something is.


It's a good day to be thankful for stuff.

A little knight music

J likes to pretend that I'm a princess. He calls me "Princess Mommy". And then I get him to perform all the household chores, 'cause I'm royalty and he is my willing servant. Don't judge me. You're just jealous that you didn't think of it first. Shut up.

Actually, at these times, I call him "Sir J". And he usually builds things for me. Like tall towers of blocks. "This is your tower, Princess Mommy", he'll say. And then I'm supposed to live in the tower. Just like Princess Fiona from Shrek. Only without the dragon. (We do have a scary-assed dragon, and I asked him about it, but he said the dragon does not guard Princess Mommy's tower.)



Today, J decided that he would use his Fisher Price violin to make beautiful music for Princess Mommy. He played several songs, and I liked them all. I expressed appropriately demure Princess-like appreciation at the end of every number. But when I asked if I could hire him as the Royal Music Man, he declined. I assume this kind of employ would interfere with Sir J's artistic integrity.

He could paint with all the colours of the wind

J loves crafts. He makes many pictures, and he always presents them to me and says "I made this picture special just for you, Mommy". I love this. H thinks it's cute, but also wishes some of the pictures were for Daddy. They are not. And if H touches the pictures, J generally snatches them back and tells H that the pictures are for Mommy. H tries not to be offended.

These days, J is especially fond of finger painting. He uses washable paints. But we don't like to create additional laundry when we can just prevent paint accidents. So J has a choice of smocks that he can wear for painting. He can wear black or white. Both smocks are old "Hard Rock Cafe" t-shirts. J doesn't care. He runs over, grabs a "smock", puts it on, and merrily paints. He uses lots of paint, and makes beautiful 3-year old designs. Always special. Always just for Mommy. And they always go into the art bin when they are dry, presumably so that Mommy can pull them out later and admire their beauty.


J: I need my ... my ... mosque ... wait ...
T: Smock?
J: Yes! I need my smock!

J's likes also include "grabbing" things. He got this tendency from a Backyardigans DVD ... The Tale of the Mighty Knights. Austin plays the Grabbing Goblin. J loves the Goblin, and emulates this character. So J will reach out and "grab" things that appeal to him. Mostly things that are green. Or shiny. Like the orange light on top of the camera that starts to blink just before the picture snaps.


This is how J "grabs". He just holds his open hand up, then closes it in a grabbing motion and says "I got the light!" We find it endearing. Unless it's time for hand washing. Then, not so much. At that moment, J will refuse to open his right hand. It is his grabbing hand, and he can't open it because "Everything is in there." H or I have to hold "everything" for J, and give it back when he is done.

Anyway, J loves to paint. And usually, this is fine. But lately, J has wanted to take his finger paints with him every time he leaves the house. And we just can't have that. Finger paints are for craft time. And they remain on the craft table. Tantrums abound as J tries desperately to pester us into changing our minds on this subject. Already a gifted negotiator, J tries in vain to reach a compromise. "I promise I'll only take the green one". But beyond that point, he is unmoved. Our proposed compromises are insufficient for his purposes.

"How about if you take a green car instead?"
"NOOOOO!!!"

He feels our stance that absolutely no finger paints can leave the house is quite unreasonable, and he simply does not understand why other people may not have a craft table and a lovely assortment of smocks at his ready disposal.

And so, I write to respectfully ask that you explain yourselves. Why do you not have a craft table and a variety of smocks for our 3-year old to use when he visits you? Your poor planning in this regard is making my life difficult, and I request that you kindly remedy the situation at your first available opportunity.

Or, you know, don't.

Wordless Wednesday

I love you because

I love H.

I love H because he can make me laugh, even during the hard times. Like today, when we passed a sign that read "Rhino Housing", and he started making light of it.

H: Look. Rhino Housing.
T: Yes, I see it.
H: Rhinoplasty.
T: Uh huh.
H: Rhino Party.
T: Yeah.
H: Rhinoplasty Party?
T: Rhinoplasticine.
H: Rhinoplasticine housing party! Plasticine rhino's house party!

And thus it progressed. Before long, I was laughing, despite myself. Life goes on.

I love H because he doesn't hesitate to tell me when I am being ridiculous. Like today, when I started searching the animal shelters' adoption banks and pulled up this picture.



A female cat. Medium haired. Three months old. And she looks almost exactly like our dearly departed. So much so, in fact, that H saw the picture displayed on my computer screen and thought someone had emailed me a picture of her.

I immediately wanted to go to the shelter to get her. H stared at me in shock. And then he took my hand, and kindly explained how crazy I sounded. Our household, with a preschooler, an infant, a wife and mother who works outside of the home and is in school and who has a broken knee, a husband and father who works outside of the home and has plans for further schooling, and a healthy 9-year old cat. Our family, grieving the loss of a cherished pet who passed only one day ago. Now is not really the best time to adopt a new pet, is it? And if it were, it is probably not the healthiest choice to adopt a cat that looks exactly like the one who just died, is it? She may look the same, but she is not the same. She will not act the same. Wouldn't I just end up resenting her for not being exactly the same, in every way?

Probably.

I love H because, even though he knew I was being unreasonable, and even though I knew I was being unreasonable, he still let me phone the shelter to ask about the kitten. Who had already been adopted. (Well, of course she had! What cat lover could resist her, really?) He let me phone. Even though he later told me that he really didn't think we would have gotten her, even had she still been there. Because to do would just be crazy. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he was right.

I love H because he was right, even though I didn't really want him to be right. He is logical when I am emotional. And I think that's good.

I love H because he is H. He comforts me when I am sad. He cares for me when I am unwell. He is my best friend. He is my rock.

I love H.

Introducing Baby N

Well ... after months and months of bed rest and ongoing complications, our new little baby is here. It's a boy.

I was being seen in hospital every other day by the end of things. More kidney stones, more bleeding, etc., etc., etc. When we reached 38 weeks, the doctor decided the baby was in good stead and that the pregnancy was adversely affecting my health. With virtually nothing to be gained by continuing the pregnancy to 40 weeks, the doctor decided that I could be induced around 39 weeks to save my own health.

We were scheduled for an induction last weekend. We made arrangements for J to spend time with our friends, L&P and K&K, and their respective children. J had a great time, and we are forever grateful to our friends for taking such good care of our little man. He had his first sleepover ... and with a girl, no less! Us? Well ... all's well that ends well, so we really can't complain. But we will always want to remember how it went. So ... here's how it went.

The hospital was really busy on Sunday. Ordinarily, they call people around 6:00 a.m. and try to get them admitted by 7:30 or 8:00 a.m. But there were so many people admitted in labour through the night that they had no room for us in the morning. We had a wait. Eventually, we were told to head in for 3:00 p.m. They did a non-stress test on the baby, where they hooked me up to monitors to look for contractions and check baby's heart rate. Everything looked fine with baby. No distress. Baby's position was good. I had no contractions, and the cervix wasn't ready. All of this, we already knew. So we were good to go as soon as a bed became available.

Around 5:45 p.m., they got started. They used Cervidil. It's the first step of a two-part process, and is used for "cervical ripening". Once the Cervidil takes effect, they start a drip (usually Pitocin) to bring on stronger contractions. We were told that the Cervidil can take up to 24 hours to work, and may not even work at that point. It may need to be re-applied. Induction is a long and drawn out process when the cervix isn't ready.

Are they sure it's going to take a really long time?
Yes, they're sure.
Ok ... because I want an epidural as soon as things are well under way, and I don't want to miss the opportunity.
It's fine; induction takes a long time, but if the opportunity is missed for whatever reason, they have lots of experience talking women through labour without drugs.
Ok ... yes ... but I want the epidural.
Just wait. It's going to be a long time.

I told H that he should just go home, and we'd call him back in if anything happened during the night. H declined, feeling quite uncomfortable with this suggestion. He decided to use the fold-out bed available in my room. We'd brought a lot of the comforts of home, having anticipated that induced labour can take some time. So H curled up with our portable DVD player and watched some movies until he drifted off. And I slept as much as I could while I waited for any indication that something was happening.

The nurses checked in periodically. Checked with monitors. Baby's heart rate is still good. There are no contractions at all. Nothing is happening.

And then, I started having pain. It didn't feel like the contractions I had with J. The location of the pain was hard to describe. Some in the back, by the kidneys. Some in the front, but only low down in the pelvis. The pain comes in waves, but without a break between. Are these contractions? Or is it something else? I don't know. But it really hurts. So I called the nurse, and she came.

I'm lying on my side, hooked up to monitors. No contractions are visible on the monitor. The nurse can't feel any contractions manually either. A check of the cervix shows it is unchanged. These are not contractions. We don't know what they are.

Could it be the kidney stones again?
Could be. Does it feel the same?
Well, it feels like that in the back. But the pelvic pain is different.
Do you think it's the kidney stones?
If it's not contractions, it's got to be the stones.
We'll give a shot of morphine and gravol to handle the pain.

Kidney stones are always handled with pain control. Same shot of morphine and gravol. It works well. Takes effect quickly, too when the problem is stones. I know a shot of morphine doesn't touch labour pains. But these aren't contractions. Got to be more kidney stones. So I get the morphine.

And then I roll onto my back, and wait for the shot to take effect. It doesn't take effect.

The nurse feels my abdomen as I lie in my new position. And she says "Wait. I think maybe these are contractions". And I shriek as I search for a more comfortable position. I settle on sitting up on the edge of the bed and pushing forward with my hands. At this point, H finally wakes up and wants to know what's going on.

The nurse tells me to get ahold of myself and breathe through the contractions. It's going to be a long time, and it's going to get much worse. This is just early labour. I have a long way to go. Focus. Breathe. The cervix isn't being affected by these contractions. The contractions may not even progress, since the cervix isn't ready. But it's going to take a long time.

T: Just give me a c-section!
H: Honey, you don't want a c-section. You said that.
T: I lied!

A different nurse comes in to join the first nurse. And that's when I hear a pop and feel a gush. "I think my water broke". They check. There may be meconium in the fluid. They're not quite sure. Nurse #2 wants to check the cervix. Nurse #1 tells her the cervix is still not ready, and certainly not dilated at all. Nurse #2 checks anyway. I'm suddenly 6 cm dilated.

Nurse #2 runs to call the anesthetist to get the epidural going. She returns moments later. The anesthetist is on his way in. He only lives 5 minutes away, so it will be soon. Just hang on. She checks the cervix again. And now, I'm 9 cm dilated.

Nurse #2 calls the anesthetist again. Don't come in. You'll never make it.

Nurse #2 tells me there's no time for an epidural. (She later told me that she thought I was going to leap off the bed and strangle her.) Nothing can be done.

No time for an epidural. The morphine shot hasn't kicked in yet. And I keep forgetting to breathe through the contractions. Laughing gas solves this problem. I can hear my breathing through the mask, and it reminds me to keep breathing through. But the baby is now in distress, and the heart rate has dropped to 50. The intern orchestrating delivery tells me that I have to get mad and push the baby out right away. There is no time to wait.

And so there is no crowning, then the head, then the shoulders ... which are the normal steps in delivery. Oh no. One solid push for all I'm worth, and the baby comes out. No one is ready. No one catches the baby. The baby falls on the bed. Staff recovery is quick, and the baby is scooped up quickly. We pretend that didn't happen.

According to the nursing staff, 40 minutes to dilate from 0 to 10 cm and 7 minutes of pushing. All told, a 47 minute labour, ending at 5:41 a.m.

They clean up the baby, put the drops in the eyes. Weigh him: 6 lbs 14 oz. Measure him: 18 3/4 inches. Baby is healthy and happy. Scores 8 and 9 on the Apgars. Came out crying right away. Nice pink colour. Baby looks very good indeed. My OB (who missed the entire birth) arrives and stitches me up. The nurses give baby to his daddy. And once I am ready, H gives me the baby to hold. The staff leave the room. I get ready to nurse our new son. H starts to make phone calls to give the good news to our families.

I look at my son with pride and joy. And realize that he has turned blue. We call the staff back. They run for all they're worth. The morphine, which did nothing to help me, was absorbed by the baby. He has forgotten to breathe. Baby needs a shot of Narcan and some oxygen. They work to anger the baby to make him breathe. They speak of bagging him. But in the end, they do not have to take this step. Baby begins to breathe on his own again, and he returns to my arms. We are told to pay special attention at certain times over the next day and to hit the yellow emergency button if it happens again.

We are happy and relieved. We phone our families to give the good news. We do not realize until later that the speed of the delivery has resulted in a further complication. The uterus is not contracting as it should, and I am bleeding too much. Blood loss is becoming a concern. Several doses of medication are required to control the bleeding and force the uterus to contract. Thankfully, the medication eventually works. The bleeding is controlled. And we are discharged the following afternoon.

Welcome to the world, baby N. You are a sweet, wonderful little package. And as much as you have put us through, you are totally worth it!

I love you so much, my sweet son.

Jungle Cats

Ordinarily fierce, the lion can be tamed with considerable ease. With very little coaxing, it even permitted this leopard to ride on its back.


Of course, it subsequently attacked. Poor little leopard never saw it coming.

Da Face!

J makes a particular face quite often. It's a shy, mischievous little look that we think is extremely precious. We want to remember it, but we've not been able to get a photo of it yet. Finally, our friend Morgan managed to snap a shot of J making "the face".



A little closer now:



She also got a shot of him feeding his Panda Cheerios at a dim sum brunch. Shame little J wouldn't eat anything other than Cheerios, though. (Of course he wouldn't; why would he?)



On the growth front, J has reached 23 lbs now! He is still below the weight chart for his age, but his height is improving, and he is now just above the 10th percentile. So if we can just get his weight to follow suit, he may be okay yet.

Coolest baby ever!

Get me New York! Stat!

J loves to talk on the phone. And he also loves pens and calculators. So I suppose this picture was only a matter of time.