Say hello to our new baby!


She is SOOOOO beautiful!

And when the salesman operated the moon roof - all of us were awed into silence. Until Jakob broke the spell by yelling "Holy crap! How did you do that?!"

Unfortunately she is not in our driveway. We opted to leave her at the Subaru dealership to get the rust protection that has a life time warranty. Little do they know we will be taking advantage of that because we do not replace our cars on a whim. Which they would have known if they had seen our Escort wagon taking a nap in the parking lot.

This little number will probably be passed down to Jakob for his 18 birthday.

Now to think of a good name - one that reflects her absolute magnificence...and heated seats.

This was my life yesterday afternoon.

Me: Jakob, I have a little present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.

Jakob: It's a book isn't it. I HATE books. Books SUCK. I don't want it, I want to give it away. Give it to Satchel. NOW YOU HAVE TO BUY ME ANOTHER PRESENT! THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER! I DIDN'T GET ANYTHING! WHY DID YOU GET ME A BOOK? BOOKS SUCK!

Me: Do they suck ASS? (I'm sorry, sometimes I just can't help myself.)

Jakob: YES THEY SUCK ASS! WHY DID YOU GET ME THIS?

Me: I thought you would like the book. And books don't suck, we can read this one before bed.

Jakob: NO, I HATE IT! I NEVER WANT TO READ IT.

Then I saw a friend of mine in my neighbour's backyard and decided to go out and say hello before allowing myself to be pushed over the edge by my little challenge. While outside Jakob continued to yell and slam and stomp, making sure the door was open so that I would always be fully aware of his discontent.

Kim and Lori asked what was wrong.

I had to admit to them that I did the unthinkable - I bought him a present. I bought him a book.

Thankfully the other book that I bought was The Difficult Child by Stanley Turecki and already I feel better because the first child he described was Jakob to a T! And attributes of the second, third and fourth child as well.

I am completely depending on this man for my sanity survival...well on him and the LCBO.

Why does parenting have to be so hard?

8 boxes of Cheesits: check

Positive comment about bedroom painting: check

Okay, he can stay.


Satchel and Jakob had their annual physical yesterday afternoon and I think Jakob needs glasses. Our family doctor also recommended us a book that she found very helpful with her son: The Difficult Child by Stanley Turecki.

It's like she knows Jakob intimately.

I feel like I deserve some sort of medal or at least a t-shirt which proclaims in a bold, in-your-face font "I SURVIVED THE MAY 24 WEEKEND!"

Paul left early Friday morning on a road trip to Virginia with his sister and brother. Because I'm my own worst enemy I decided that while he was away, even though I had 2 swim classes, 1 guitar lesson and an MRI that would take up most of Saturday afternoon...and work and taking care of the kids...I would paint my bedroom. And I did and actually finished it with no paint to spare and it looks fabulous!

I painted Saturday night after the MRI and Sunday afternoon after the swim class, grocery shopping and guitar lesson. I even managed to take the kids to Toys-R-US for a quick afternoon shopping experience to reward them for having been so fabulous this weekend.

I painted the wall behind my bed Benjamin Moore's Brown Sugar (a dark brown) to make up for the lack of headboard and the rest of the walls BM Cloud White - our room now looks so much bigger, brighter and less like a university dorm room. If I'd had more time I was going to hunt down curtains and hardware, replace the old table on Paul's side of the bed and figure out art work to hang above the bed. That will have to be left for another road trip. I tried the new Aura paint which Benjamin Moore introduced this year and I must say the really quick dry time (one hour) is worth the extra money. The proclamation that most colours will cover in just one coat is far from the truth. The brown did cover in 2 coats but if I hadn't completely run out of the Cloud White I would have like to have added a 3rd coat.


The other addition to our little house is the proper bathroom mirror and light fixtures in the main bathroom. It is such a treat to be able to stand anywhere and put on make-up, brush hair, tweeze eyebrow hairs, etc. - instead of all of us getting kinks in our necks trying to position ourselves in front of the tiny mirrors we put up to temporarily hold us over until I finally figured out what I wanted to do - 18 months later.


So the MRI. It was fine, I have mastered the art of lying absolutely still for 35 minutes in what feels like a coffin. What was nicer this time was that I felt like I was going in healthy whereas last year I had the MRI just hours after finding out I needed a mastectomy. A very dark day. I don't know the situations of the other women were who were either just finishing up or waiting with me because the foundation is always Breast Cancer. One woman, who I think was a few years younger than me, was visibly upset, another woman who was older and had just finished up chemo was agitated because she was claustrophobic and had never experienced an MRI before. I just wanted it over and a really large coffee. And the needle out of my arm because with the breast MRI you're hooked up to an IV the entire time.

By last night I was exhausted and my cold had returned with a vengeance. Stupidly I decided to end my day by washing up the left over dishes before going to bed, so at 10:00pm, instead of sleeping, I'm cutting my finger open, nearly to the bone, on the knife I forgot about in the sink. I couldn't get the bleeding to stop so finally called Scott over to take a look at it to see if I needed a quick trip to the hospital for stitches. He bandaged it so tightly and then wrapped it with tape and then we waited to see if it would continue to bleed through. Now 20 hours later, I still have the ugly old bandage and tape on because I'm kind of afraid to take it off. Every time I whack it, which is all the time, I just know that it's reopening because the bandage looks a little worse. And the really awful part, aside from washing up all the blood off the floor and cabinets this afternoon that I didn't notice last night, was hearing Paul's voice in my head "I told you to stop leaving the sharp knives in the dishwater!"

All I can say is that Paul had better bring me home my order of Cheesits and also had better GUSH about how fabulous the bedroom looks...or I will be blogging about it.

Okay...another night of no sleep.

I am very, VERY cranky.

And I'm currently sitting at my desk with a cup of tea because my throat is sore and the thought of coffee makes me want to vomit - even though coffee is like the elixir of morning survival for me.

And tomorrow I'm having my breast MRI and being crammed in a noisy stupid tunnel with blue dye being leaked into my system through an IV for the entire time.

And Paul's away, leaving this morning for Virginia.

BUT, unless I'm thwarted by Jakob, I should at least be guaranteed a good night's sleep...and many boxes of Cheesits upon Paul's return.

We have decided to buy the new car! Can you hear the high pitched squeal? Are your dogs going mad in the house? And if you notice any massive spelling errors - well ignore them because I'm typing with two clenched fists!

Unfortunately it's not a hybrid, it's a Subaru Forester. But it was as if the heavens opened and instead of acid rain pouring down on our heads, sunshine and rainbows are bursting through to the sounds of angels singing and a GREAT DEAL WAS TOSSED OUR WAY. Otherwise we would continue to go strong with our little toy Escort, praying each time I used it that the tires would actually be inflated and the floor wouldn't drop out and that it would last just one more year. We couldn't turn it down. Plus it has a MOON ROOF and HEATED SEATS and a 5-star safety rating! And incredible financing!

Things are looking up I must say.

We even had THE CONTRACTOR over this evening to go over the deficiency list and he's going to correct almost everything...and without complaint! He's obviously doing quite well having moved away from renovations and into property development. He had a glass of wine, he was charming, he shook my hand... Of course he didn't say WHEN he would be starting the repairs.

So I'm sitting here having a glass of wine, feeling pretty darn happy. And I'm counting down the days to my breast MRI at Mt. Sinai hospital.

4.

Sigh.

We might be buying a new car! And it's all I can think about! Anything asked of me gets the response "we might be buying a new car!" and then I clench my fists, jump up and down, and make a high pitched eee-ing noise.

But I am nothing if not sentimental and know that if this does happen - this BUYING A NEW CAR, and one that does NOT have me pumping the tires with a bicycle pump or constantly nagging Paul with "did you inflate the tires? DID YOU!?" - I know that I will shed tears when we finally part ways.

We bought this car off my brother Bob 9 years ago when Satchel was all of 2 and it has been fabulous - outside of the really obnoxious flat-tire-every-5-days thing - but who knows how much longer it will last now that every time we take it to the garage, the mechanic raises his eyebrows and says "you're sure you want to spend the money on it? That's more than the car is worth."

It's not worth $300!? Crikey. If you look at it that way, a tank of gas probably costs more than it's worth.

But old Ellie Escort was my very first car and the memories of Satchel as a toddler, Jakob as a new born being brought home from the hospital, learning to drive standard, getting out of the stalled car on a hill, cursing at Paul, because I couldn't get it going, driving to London by myself one weekend and getting stuck at an intersection because once again I couldn't get the car moving (note: people in London were ever so polite, they just resigned themselves to being stuck behind me for an indefinite amount of time and not one person honked their horn or yelled obscenities at me even though it took 3 light changes to finally get the car going) and so many others, that it will very difficult to say good bye.

But...I'll get over it.

Two children, 1 year apart, and their individual approach to the game of soccer.

Guess which one is mine.

To my family I just want to say...Good luck to you!

Q: "I am 44 years old and starting to think I’m going crazy. I have
three school-aged children and work full-time, so, granted, I am under a great deal of stress. The last six months I’ve had a few irregular menstrual cycles where I’m two weeks late for my period, and my PMS symptoms, which used to be quite mild, are worse than ever - coupled by severe mood swings. Also, I feel my level of concentration diminishing and I'm forgetting things I should not be forgetting. I
hear a lot about these things happening as a woman gets closer to menopause, but my mother says I’m a little young for this. What could be going on?"

I found this last night while googling pms symptoms and perimenopause and pretty much fell off my chair because outside of the extra child and a mother you can actually talk to about these things, it matches me perfectly!

This is one of the things I love most about Satchel - his absolute appreciation for anything that I do for him...occasionally.

For example, 2 days ago I went out trying to hunt down soccer shoes. After exhausting the Yonge/Bloor area I raced home and drove to THE MOST PATHETIC MALL in all of Toronto - but which at least contains a Zellers and forces me to patron it at least once a month.

And there on the shelf was one last pair of shoes in Satchel's size and as I paid for them found out that they were 40% off so only cost me $15!

I felt like the heavens had opened and a chorus of angels were singing, celebrating my success.

I skipped out of the mall of horrors with the bad lighting, the discount furniture store, the tacky artwork shop complete with James Dean at a bar lit by tiny bulbs, the booths selling hockey cards, the orange tiling everywhere, the old people who can no longer separate themselves from the benches and raced home.

When Satchel arrived home I presented his shoes, still in the red bag, and he said that they were the most awesome pair of soccer shoes ever and then showed them off to his friends...who have absolutely no interest what so ever in soccer shoes.

And then when I said my final good night he actually said "Thank you for making this such a great day Mommy."

I'm moving in with this one when I get old.

I sent an email off yesterday to our contractor (and Paul) to provide times when he would be available for the final walk through, to address our ever-growing deficiency list.

Hi ___,

Would you mind providing dates/times that you are available to do a final walk through - and then I can coordinate with Paul's schedule?

Thanks!
Meg

I can't tell you how many times I had to edit this note, making it polite and direct, devoid of all feelings...but then I promptly went and put a few toothpicks into our voodoo doll to make up for it.

So now the countdown begins to when will we actually hear back from him.

I bought this on ebay last week and have to admit that I really didn't think I would get it when I put in the absolute minimum bid - but seemingly I'm the only person in the universe who felt the strong desire for a Gender Bender in their life.



But unfortunately Jakob decided to tear into the box yesterday which completely pushed me over the edge because the box is part of the absolute fabulousness of Gender Bender and how Jakob didn't understand my screaming DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT EVER GOING NEAR THIS! at him is beyond me. I must be losing my touch.

Today my sister Susan should have turned 54 years old.

Wishing her a silent happy birthday leaves tears in my eyes and sadness in my heart.

This first picture was taken on one of my favourite weekends spent with Susan, Chris and Melissa at her house in Kitchener where we played crazy 8's and drank beer until the wee hours of the morning.

Susan with her kids who meant the world to her.

This picture was given to me by a friend, taken of Susan in the 70s.


Miss you like crazy.

Yes - that book definitely has to go, I think it gave me the flu.

I stayed home from work today and even though it's now nearly 2pm and I went to bed at 9:30 pm last night and slept this morning - it's all I can do to stop myself from going back to bed. Even coffee is making me feel ill which is the benchmark for all sicknesses. You must be really close to death if you can't drink coffee. I think that's Chapter 1 in the books studied at medical school.

Yesterday Paul had me take his picture for a conference he's attending in September.

He's pretty hot and I have to admit that unlike someone else's picture, Paul's has barely been reworked in photoshop. The only thing that would have made this portrait even better is if he had worn his GOOD pajamas.

Cancerland?

I just finished reading Libby Znaimer's book In Cancer Land and I have to admit that I didn't enjoy it.

That it's only my unfaltering anal-ism and need to finish everything I start, that I suffered through the entire book. And now that I've finally finished it, I feel caught in a funk. And it didn't help, as I lay in bed, still recovering from the autogenous reconstruction after my mastectomy, that I read in the last few pages her discounting my kind of breast cancer as "Stage 0", and not really "considered cancer by some doctors."

I thought back to being told that my 7cm mass was considered stage 2 out of 3 (ratings for DCIS) and that the angels must have been watching me as it came within 0.01mm from spreading to my sentinel nodes. That I am now counting the days until my May 24 MRI since I am being watched closely with semi annual check ups, alternating the mammogram with the MRI.

But being reminded of the stats also helped deflate me even though so many more women survive now because of early detection and better treatments then they did 20+ years ago.

And Libby's other C word: cured. Are you ever really considered cured or is the notion of cancer reoccurring something you just live with, painfully reminded of the chances at ever doctor's appointment. How did Libby phrase it? Something like "you don't die OF breast cancer, you die WITH breast cancer."

And as much as I don't want breast cancer to define me, I can't help being reminded of it every time I have a shower or get undressed. Or when asked how I am, I wonder if it is a reference to what I've gone through - though thankfully that's easing with time.

Some days are more exhausting than others but I think the personal weight this book created means it will have to find itself a new home. Even if it is personally autographed by the author.

These kind of things always seem like such a good idea, especially after having spent the afternoon drinking wine at a baby shower in London, Ontario. And then carrying more of that wine around in a travel mug while shopping with one older brother and one younger sister.

But even sober, and weeks later, I still enjoy them.

I'm just afraid to see what else is in that bag that came home with me.

Okay, whew, I have a drink in my hand. I've recovered enough to sing Paul a song by KT Tunstall while strumming feebly on my guitar and knocking him unconscious.

Could it be my voice?

I woke him just enough taking this picture for him to threaten my life if I post it or write about him, but I'm all about living on the edge. Plus I think it's called PAY BACK.

These are our new stools from Visitor Parking - aren't they beautiful and shiny and white? And is that chocolate or maybe juice stains I see? And are the bases all crooked? And look at the dirt and fur on the shiny chrome bases!

OH...NO...CAN'T...BREATH!

I could feel myself being sucked into a very bad mood this morning - and it was unavoidable. It was like the gravitational pull from a black hole and there was nothing I could do to save myself so may as well embrace it and enjoy the ride.

The only thing that might have helped would have been to stay home and focus on the backyard and my sad little garden. And spending $1,000 at Canadian Tire, Zellers, and Rona, maybe Costco. Yes, all that and perhaps a glass of wine with a splash of pomegranate juice. You know, for my heart.

And RIGHT NOW, trying to tune my guitar, I have just broken my first f$&*ing string.

But now it's 8:30 and I had Pat and Brenda (and kids) over for dinner and Paul is outside while I type trying to put together 2 really inexpensive adirondack chairs and I can't hear one word of complaint...through the thick glass of the back doors...and maybe because Futurama is on...really loud.

So the day did end much better than it started. Take that stupid black hole.