A New Year Dawns

Whew. It's been quite a year. A whirlwind of birth, illness, doctors, negotiation, adjustment, and out and out change.

I have some New Year Resolutions.
1. Exercise. Even just a little bit. I saw myself naked in the mirror the other day and I was very, very frightened. Even worse, I am winded walking to the mailbox. I just to be fit, honest.
2. Drink more water. Dehydration is the largest contributor to fatigue in women. This will cut into my coffee habit, however. The deal I am making with myself is one (big) glass of water for every cup of coffee I drink.
3. Stop. Comparing. My car (1992 Lola the Corolla Wagon, o' faithful) to someone's new Cross-Country Volvo. My daughter to the crawlin', rollin', chattering machines at playgroup. And on and on. It's not healthy. It's not good. And I have difficulty stopping myself.
4. Figure out how to use my cell-phone. Yup, I have joined the rest of you. I decided I needed a cell-phone in case of emergencies with the kids (i.e., possible seizures), and my good friend James has graciously given his phone. I have yet to figure out how to program the phonebook or access voicemail. Maybe I should ask Francis to help me ...
5. Write at least 2 letters to my elected representatives about issues I care about. Namely, child-care, health care, and the environment. The budget may be balanced, but the big picture sure ain't. I need to do more than just complain about this.

That's enough, don't you think? I mean, I could go on and on, but more than 3 is quite ambitious, in my opinion.

Christmas with Kids

I find Christmas to be depressing. It is better now that I have Dan to share it with, but really, I just want to go to bed mid-November and re-emerge when the whole hullabaloo is over.

It's different with little kids, though -- it is better. You see the magic through their eyes. I normally do a Christmas tree ($20 from IKEA!) to try to lift my spirits, but when Francis came home and saw the tree, his eyes lit up. "Thanks, Mom!", he gushed sincerely. "It's beautiful!". Wow. More of that, please.

"Is it Christmas yet?", Francis asks daily. "Is it Christmas now?" We started the Advent Calendar last year as it occured to me it was a fun way to learn numbers. Even this year, it's taken a while for Francis to cotton onto the concept, as he wants to open ALL the boxes AT ONCE. (That the anticipation is part of the fun is a bit beyond him yet). He has a Playmobil calendar, which, although highly chokeable from Stella's point of view, has the advantage that it is not candy. (Francis has definitely inherited his mother's sweet tooth). Of course, I should be more AP and make my own Advent Calendar (check out the creativity over on SouleMama!), but alas, I wimped out.


We got pictures with Santa this year -- Francis was not as freaked out as last year, perhaps because he wanted to be sure that Santa knew what he wanted. (He's a good little consumer, our kid). Stella was completely nonplussed -- she was happy sitting on Santa's lap and checking out the fur trim on his suit. Francis has a two page wish-list of the loot he wants (any suggestions as to how to counteract the gimme's? ) -- Stella really just wants a lot of shiny, crinkly paper.

Imagine!

Francis' imagination is exploding lately -- it is so interesting to watch him and see what he comes up with. In the photo above he is playing "barber" and is "cutting" Stella's hair. (Don't see the connection with the paper towel? Well, to be honest, neither do I, but hey, I've never been to a barber). He followed the hair cutting with the brushing of mine and Dan's hair ... with a vegetable brush. (A bit of a yuck factor there).

Today we played "trolls" (I was Mama Troll and he was Baby Troll) and we hid in a "cave" (a big pile of blankets) and ate "worms" (Legos) and then "swam to shore" (climbed the stairs). It is also a really useful parenting tool, because I sometimes get some insight into what may be troubling him (or making him happy), and we can work through things by pretending.

Yesterday he pretended we had a TV (a Rubbermaid tote lid) with a video player (a toy piano) and we sat and "watched TV". Luckily nothing good was on.

I really enjoy myself when I have a chance to escape into Francis' imagery world(s). Why can I not capture these moments forever? I tell myself, I must remember, but I know I won't.

Brrr!

It's been cold here -- -25 C cold. One might think, even, that I live in Canada. Above is the view from the living room window. Maybe I jinxed the weather by hanging out the festive snowflakes? (There was fun to be had at 10,000 Villages). After -20, it really doesn't matter how cold it is -- it's just damn cold. Cold enough to hurt to breathe and to instantly freeze the snot in your nose into sharp shards. Those of you who know are nodding sagely right now.



And this is the way our windows look when it's cold. Our lovely, 1947 uninsulated house. Dan broke down and taped plastic over the windows in the bedrooms because there was a serious breeze blowing there. I lay in bed wishing I had put on a toque (in addition to the long underwear and wool socks ... tres sexy). "Net Zero" house -- maybe if the "Zero" is referring to insulation.

And with cold, comes .... snowsuits and gear. Wrestling both kids into coats and boots and hats and mitts makes one seriously reconsider why everyone is leaving the house in the first place. The whole reason Robert Muensch's "Thomas' Snowsuit" is so funny is because it's true. I know I am supposed to relax and make the moment a teachable moment. Something like, "Francis, where is your arm? Can you please put your arm in your coat? Good. Now, where is your other arm?". Instead, it's more like;

Stella: Looking at Francis
Francis: NOOOOOOOO. NOOOOO coooooooat ....
Denelle: Honey, it's cold out. You need a coat.
Francis: NOOOOOOO (running away)
Stella: WAAAAAAAA (Francis' screaming scared her)
Denelle: Francis! Jesus Christ, Francis! Come here!

Ah, yes, Dalai Mama indeed. Anyway, let's close this post with an adorable picture of my beautiful children. Stella bathing in the sink -- how easy is that? Why didn't I try that with Francis? Maybe that's my motto -- why make things easy for oneself?

Tomorrow's Another Day

OK, this photo is blurry, (Dan hates blurry photos), but I love it. I even love the blurry-homemade-ness of it. The human-ness of it .

You'll have to forgive me right now, I'll just scraping the bottom of the barrel, energy-wise. I'm exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically. Ever been mountain-climbing? When you are slogging up some never-ending scree slope, taking one step forward and sliding back three? I am fighting with Dan, fighting with Francis, fighting with the social workers. I am fighting Francis' eczema, Stella's ear infections, and with the endless clutter. I am fighting with TransAlta to let me go back part-time.

I think the kicker, though, is that FSCD has denied Stella aid services. I have spent months finding Stella daycare and support, which has been very time-consuming and surprisingly difficult. Most programs do not support children as young as Stella. (Surprisingly, no? Since the earlier the intervention, the bigger the impact?). DDRC has a supported childcare program, Providence has an outreach program (once a week), and even PACE has agreed to come into the daycare (5 days a week!). But FSCD says that they can only support aid if a parent is physically present.

OK, seeing as the therapist don't work evenings or weekends, what does this mean for me? According to Lisa Lo at FSCD (supervisor of the Marlborough Office), this means that I should stay at home with Stella (which, according to Ms. Lo, is what "most" parents of children with special needs do). Ms. Lo says that I "should" be able to find part-time work that I can schedule around Stella's therapy "in Calgary's economy". Ah, yeah, at Starbucks??? (Hello? OECD says that 79% of Canadian mothers with children under the age of 6 work???)

I am angry. I am frustrated. And I am very, very tired.

Tomorrow's another day.

Thumbs Out!

Here you see Stella ... USING HER THUMBS! Oh, glory day. She's got both soft and hard splints now to try to teach her to bring them out. I know she wants to use them -- her aspirations reach far beyond her capabilities with a thumb-less grasp.

AND ... (hold your breath, people) ... Stella has TEETH! Two, in fact. All the better to chew with, my dear. Remarkably, she likes my cooking. (Francis never has. Even as an infant he would turn his nose up at my home-purees and howl until a store-bought jar was produced). This kid eats. She is eating 4-12 oz of purees a day, plus tidbits off my plate. (She likes feeling like a big, big girl and can grab the fork herself). Right now (for what it's worth, since the doctors don't use the new WHO charts) her height right now is in the 50 percentile and her weight is in the 25 percentile. But she is SOLID. My little chuck roast. My little black hole. And ya wonder why I sling her?!

It's been a hard week -- fighting with the social worker (from Family Support for Children with Disabilities). Or rather, trying to track down the social worker (think,"Where's Waldo", but with social workers). She appeared for a home visit on June 7, 2006, never to be heard from again, despite repeated emails and phone calls (I think on my last message I actually cried out right in frustration). Finally I have contacted Ms. Young's supervisor -- apparently our case has been transferred to another work in September without anyone actually notifying us. Oh, great. (Um, has anyone there noticed that it is now November?) Meanwhile, I am going back to work full-time in January, and looking for services for Stella. PACE kids has a great program and will spend 10 hours a week (!) with Stella, but they need the approval of FSCD. Apparently, FSCD can't get their ... policies (substitute word here) ... in order to say yeah or nay. Or, phone me back.

Being Stella's advocate takes up so much of my time, it's really mind boggling. But, she's my princess -- my teethy, thumby girl.

Holler-ween

Sometimes when I am struggling with Francis, trying to persuade him to do something that is "fun", I have the presence of mind to ask myself whether I want to do do the something for him or for me. Like music lessons. Like playdates. Like Hallowe'en.

Francis has been having anxiety attacks and nightmares about Hallowe'en for about 2 months now. He was freaked out last year (it took 2 of us to wrestle him into his lion costume, and we only perserved because it took me 2! months! to sew the damn thing!) but I didn't fully grasp just how freaked out he was until the anxiety attacks started about it. He was so relieved when I finally clued in and told him that if he wanted, he could just stay home. But, see, Francis is a boy conflicted. Because although he is terribly afraid of the dark and of teenagers in Dark Vader costumes, he is seriously in love with sugar and candy in all forms. He dreams of treats with additives ending with the suffix -ose.

So. Off we went (Francis, Stella and I) down the hill to celebrate Hallowe'en with a friend in Bridgeland. All was good, Francis was having fun playing with Vanja's toys until we tried to go out trick-or-treating. Monika wrestled Francis (literally) into the lion costume (I did make him a new costume! a king! and he wasn't interested -- apparently Hallowe'en = lion now). And we dragged the kids along for about 2 blocks. We went out later than I had hoped, as I had wanted to avoid the (scary!) big kids and the dark-darkness. And it was damn cold, as per a Hallowe'en in Calgary.

The photo above is the only picture I have of Francis for this Hallowe'en. He really enjoyed the pumpkin carving. (He drew pictures of how he wanted the pumpkins to look and I "interpreted"). I was too busy negotiating with one child or the other to take pictures this Hallowe'en. Here is a picture of Stella, in the bear costume/bunting that her brother wore for his first Hallowe'en.


Big bear and little bear. How I love my baby bears!

Sleepy in Seattle

We (me, the kids AND Dan) just had our "summer" vacation in Seattle. Let's drive there, I said! It's just 2 days! Obviously, I learnt nothing from our screaming-filled trip to Castlegar.

Yes, so. There was screaming. A lot. Stella screamed until she was a red sweaty mess. Francis screamed to drown out Stella's screaming. Stella screamed louder because Francis' screaming scared her. Ah, yes, the fun-filled screaming death spiral. Family vacations, just like I remember. ("Moooooooom! She's TOUCHING meeeeee! Moooom! She's on my side! Mooooom! When are we going to stop? I have to peeeee!"). And silence from Francis is almost worse than the screaming because then you know that he is going to barf.

Dan found this amazing house rental for the week. It was a cute (read: small) craftsman. It was so comfy and nicely decorated. Ahhhh. Soothing -- because THERE WAS NO CRAP. None of the flotsam and jetsam of our normal life -- the papers and magazines (we're addicts) and toys and dust and shoes an and and.....

We got to visit with our friends, the beautiful and talented Natalie (aka "Martha") Brewster, Gabrielle Sukovaty, Danielle Giroux. I got to have a MNO with Danielle, Denise, Heather, Brenda, and Jasmine, and catch up over beers and just be me. (The Untouched Version). Ahhh. Thank you, my friends!

I splurged and got to go and see a dance performance at Meany Hall -- Momix. It was amazing. And I was so grateful for the opportunity to see something that would have NEVER comes to bland and uncosmopolitian Calgary. I mean, it was Avant Garde, and the theatre was full, and the audience appreciated the performance!

Isn't Seattle beautiful? We do miss it -- the climate, the greenery, the food, the vibe. (Oh, and the shopping! The sheer breath of consumer items available for sale is mindnumbing). I miss walking down the street and having complete strangers say hello, how are you, and stop TO LISTEN TO YOUR REPLY. Amazing. A huge city, and drivers still LET YOU IN their lane when you signal.

Remarkably, the weather was really nice while we were there -- absolutely no rain. And then we drove back (more screaming) and hit a blizzard that got worse the farther we got from Rogers Pass. We got back to this:

Francis went skiing in the backyard with his new poles! (yet more brainwashing -- "isn't skiing FUN? Don't you just LOVE SKIING?!") Ah, home, flotsam and jetsam and all.

Itchy and Scratchy

Mr. Itchy and Scratchy .... hmmm ... can you guess who that is? Yup, Mr. Francis P. Doll. I have met with ultimate and complete failure at trying to stem his eczema. His eczema now covers his entire body. His bum and feet are completely red and bleeding. His family medicine doctor is of absolutely no help (we had a heated disagreement last time we were in about how I rejected Dr. Cohen's suggestion that we treat Francis' eczema by using steroid cream for the rest of his life). We have an appointment with a dermatologist on Monday because I phoned them and cried, literally, over the state of Francis' health. I think that some of the discipline problems we are experiencing with him right now might be because he is just so uncomfortable. I am trying to keep him on a yeast-free diet as much as possible to see if that will help. The research that I have done suggests that eczema is an allergic reaction to .... something. The suggested somethings are dairy, wheat, yeast, citrus, corn, preservatives, soy ... let's see, pretty much everything edible, no? I've also made an appointment with a Naturopath for Wednesday ($150!!!) because I am at a complete and total loss as to how to help my poor boy. The eczema, since appearing for the first time a year ago, has slowly and steadily gotten worse and worse.

Other "good" news is that Stella's eardrum ruptured yet again (we are going to see her E&T guy on Tuesday) and that her Opthamologist has confirmed a diagnosis of intermittent exotropia. Apparently this is highly genetic and she gets it from me -- Dan calls it my "quibby eye" and it goes wonky when I am tired. There is no cure, or exercise, or anything. We are just hoping that it doesn't get worse. I am quite upset about the eardrum rupture -- the ear tubes were supposed to prevent this from happening. I am worried this is affecting Stella's hearing and language during this very important first year.

OK, enough whining. I even get tired of listening to myself go on and on. Time for a hefty dose of gratitude -- some things I am grateful for;
--(great!) coffee in the morning! (thanks, Dan!)
--Stella is almost sitting up independently
--huge hugs from my little man Francis
--huge smiles from Stella
--the chance to dress up Stella matchy-matchy girly-girly
--our house, to change and claim and love as we please
--sunshine (aah! why does it feel so good?)

Lights! Camera! Smile!

Finally! A picture of Stella smiling. Need I say that this smile lights up my world?

Thanksgiving today -- this is my favorite holiday. Food (and lots of it), communion with family and friends, a gentle reminder to embrace gratitude, and very little consumerism. Ah, perfect. I cooked an gigantic organic turkey (turkey recipes, anyone?!), brined overnight. Served with yeast-free apple-pecan stuffing (I am trying to reduce the yeast in Francis' diet to see if that helps his eczema), lemon-hazelnut green beans, maple roasted yams, and a dried berry/bacon/tomatoe salad with a simple vinegrette. For dessert I made an apple-cranberry tart and a tofu-pumpkin pie. Yum!

Speaking of gratitute, I am in love with this. Maybe it's the breastfeeding hormones, but I was in tears the first time I saw it. When we moved back to Calgary from Seattle, I was struck by just how unfriendly the city is. In Seattle, people will smile at you in the street. And even say hello! Good morning! And let you in in traffic! Imagine that, Calgarians! Since moving back to Calgary it has been my (personal) mission to -- gasp! -- smile at people when walking. I think that I should start to keep tally, because it is remarkable how many people don't smile back, or even look away. (Careful, honey, she smiled at us, she must want something! Hold onto that purse!)

So, smile, people!

Fall has Fallen

Yup, it is definitely fall. The seasons tend to turn rather abruptly here in Calgary; one day you wake up and all the leaves have turned yellow, and then a few days later they are falling like rain. No gradual cooling or gorgeous array of reds, oranges and yellows a la Quebec. Calgarians like to joke that there are two seasons in Calgary -- winter and construction.

Fall also rings in the return of Cold & Flu Season. The kids and I have been fighting off a cold for about a week now. All three of us have runny noses and Francis wakes me up in the night with his coughing. Still not too bad (anything but the barfing flu) except that Stella suffered yet ANOTHER ear drum rupture. It is always the right ear. The ear tubes were supposed to prevent the ruptures from happening. Of course we couldn't get in to see the doctor (not that we have one! Our pediatric neurologist, pediatrician, and family doctor are all on leave because of cancer! no wonder no-one is willing to take us on as patients ...) so we spent six oh-so-entertaining hours at the new Children's Hospital waiting to see someone there. The hospital is known around town as the "Lego hospital". It is actually pretty neat -- the design team involved a posse of children to collaborate in the plans. I just wish that it's opening wasn't such a significant event in our lives.

Ootischenia

The kids and I just got back from a week in Ootischenia (Castlegar, in the Kootenay Valley in B.C.). My Aunt Darlene, the single most influential and inspiring person in my life, and her husband Mark, live on an acreage out there. It is always wonderful to visit -- I rarely leave Ootischenia (breaking Guest Equiette Rule #1, Don't Hang Around All Day Every Day), content to check out the animals, pick fruit, talk shop with Auntie (the authority on all things important in life, including how to get a good set on jam and the best way to Time Out your child). That's my Aunt in the picture above, getting Stella to eat amazing amounts of her delicious homegrown, home-cooked food.

Here is a picture of Stella with my (little! She's all grown up now!) cousin Alexis. The kids loved Alexis -- she has a special gift with children. Francis called her "that girl", as in "where is that girl going", "where is that girl", "is that girl going to play trains with me", "can that girl and I watch videos". Alexis just finished her certification in Hair Styling -- you can probably tell by the hip and trendy hair (in stark contrast to ponytail girl, aka, me).

This is my Uncle Mark playing trains with Francis. Mark's patience and compassion for all human beings, including children, is awe-inspiring. He can fix and build anything, including the house you see here.

We all need a shelter from the storm, and this is it for me.

Bondage

Here is Stella with her braces -- the shoulder thing is supposed to round her shoulders forward, thus helping her grasp objects. The wrist braces are supposed to bring her thumbs outward, also helping her grasp objects. (Although what is happening is that her thumbs untuck from her palms but she then bends them at the knuckle back into the palm, thereby defeating the purpose of the brace, really). She doesn't seem to mind the braces, although I have to confess it breaks my heart somehow each time I put them on her.

She gets so frustrated sometimes, trying to grab things. She tries and tries, but not using her thumbs really limits her. And grabbing and exploring is how babies learn. Sometimes I pick the desired object up and put it in her mouth for her when she gets super frustrated.


Here is a picture of Stella in the Dreaded Tummy Time Position. Tummy Time, say the therapists, is key, key to all good things like rolling, crawling, exploring, and happiness (ok, I made that last one up). But the thing is, she hates Tummy Time. With a passion. I am supposed to "tough it out" and let her cry, and man! it is hard.

My Mom gave Francis a book called "Ruby in Her Own Time", about a duck who develops on a different (slower) schedule than her siblings.

She hatches late, is a picky eater, and refuses to swim, even while siblings Rufus, Rorie, Rosie, and Rebecca stick with the program. Their father despairs of Ruby ever catching up, but wise Mother Duck is quietly confident: "She will…in her own time." And sure enough, when it comes time to spread their wings, Ruby flies higher and farther than any of her brothers and sisters. But will she ever come back? You guessed it: "She will…in her own time."

I think about this book a lot. Stella has her own agenda, her own schedule. She's doin' it, in her own time.

FOs

Yes! Finally, some Finished Objects! This bag is from the Print-for-Free on the Ottobre site, but without the piping on the bottom (I couldn't figure out the piping as the piping piece was weirdly shorter than the base panel allowance). I got the fabric off the oh-so-addictive Fabric.com. I ended up gifting this bag and a necklace I made to Francis' teacher at his daycare -- she was amazing! Sadly, she has left the daycare for a similar job closer to home. She was truly a teacher, not a child-minder. We will both miss her dearly; I found her inspirational. Unfortunately I didn't think to get a picture of the necklace -- I used yummy vintage red beads.

I made these using a Print-for-Free pattern off of the Husqvarna site, and again using fabric from Fabric.com. I am planning on adding some bling-y beads to the crown as "jewels". However, Francis is not interested in being a king this year for Hallowe'en -- he wants to be a lion again. OK, easy enough (but why do I have a nagging feeling that he'll change his mind to something all together different days before when I don't have time to throw something together .... ?) So, I am planning to add this to his "tickle trunk" (dress-up box). I am very saddened that Francis is not interested at all in dressing up fantasy play -- this is the kind of play I like to encourage! (In contrast to anything involving a movie, or batteries, or violence). I am making him a pirate costume for Christmas, to go together with a (purchursed) sword and shield. Yes, I know, I know, I am getting him what I would have liked for Christmas as a child, instead of what HE really wants -- which is MORE Thomas trains and a roundhouse.

Not that Francis is without imagination -- you should see him play with his trains, with his doll, or pretend to cook! It's just that dressing up doesn't interest him for some reason. Here is a picture of him "baking".

Snips n' Snails n' Puppy Dog Tails

Oh, wow, do I ever have some deprogramming to do with Mr. Francis Doll. He goes to daycare, which means he leaves the influence of the carefully reconstructed world that is our house. He leaves my sphere of influence. This means he sometimes comes home talking about Superman (not encouraged) or "died" (we haven't approached this concept yet because really I have no idea of how to begin without freaking him out) or hot dogs (thank god for Tofurky dogs).

But lately he has developed this concept which strikes fear, or worse yet, anger, in my heart. The belief (where, oh, where did it come from?! and already?) that "girls" (meaning females) are not as brave, strong, or as big as "boys" (meaning males). For example, girls cannot see ghosts (Francis' catchall for all things frightening) because they are scary. Girls do not have "big muscles" (a current aspiration of Francis). Oh oh oh oh, where to begin the deprogramming?

On the other hand, maybe I am just overreacting. He is 3 1/2, and testing out the whole gender concept and what it means. (It doesn't help that all girls clothes, it seems, are pink, as are all "traditional" girls toys. I had to special order his primary-colored play kitchen up from the US). I remind myself that he is also steadfast in his belief that he has (five, always five) babies in his tummy, and that he can breastfeed.

Francis breastfeeding his baby Dileah (my spelling interpretation of her name ...)

Lions and Tigers and Bears ... Oh My

Lions ...

Bears ...

What are you afraid of? I am afraid of poverty (it's not as glamourous as it seems), of illness (it's not as noble as advertised), but most especially, of losing my kids.

I work hard at trying not to trivialize Francis' fears, although I do sometimes find them cute or funny. I remember how REAL my fears as a child were, and how my mom would try to reassure me by dismissing them, resulting in my feeling more alone and small.

Here is a partial list of Francis' fears:
--Monsters (lurking everywhere but especially in his room at bedtime);
--Ghosts (Hallowe'en is still very scary);
--Dogs (Francis is very afraid of dogs after being attacked by two unleased "friendly" golden retreivers);
--Strangers (this is OK with me);
--Heights (also OK with me);
--"Scary" videos (the seal eating the penguin in "The March of the Penguins" completely freaked him out);
--Bees;
... there's probably more.

This is what Stella is afraid of ... the deadly purple elephant! If you squeeze him, he says, "Let's go to the zoo! There's lots to see and do! Lions, tigers, elephants and bears! And even a monkey with a banana to share!". For some reason Stella is inconsolable after this speech. Oh, and being away from Mama.

What are you afraid of?

Diaster Averted

I am totally and completely addicted to Catherine Newman's blog Bringing Up Ben & Birdy. Her wry humor and naked honesty about the twins of love and frustration of raising children grounds me. She is my crack cocaine, my PMS chocolate, my beacon during my 3AM anxiety attacks. Her blog entries are officially posted on Mondays, but I start stalking the website on Wednesdays in the hope that it will be posted early. (Yes, I had trouble saving my Hallowe'en and Easter candy, too). She also has a book, Waiting for Birdy: A Year of Frantic Tedium, Neurotic Angst, and the Wild Magic of Growing a Family, which of course I sat up until the wee hours one night and read in one sitting (that is, after I had ripped it from the bewildered mailperson's hands).

So, anyway, when I learned that the Ben& Birdy blog was being cancelled, I fell to the floor in a writhing mess, screaming, NOOOOOOOO. (The Mommy equivalent of waking up and finding all the Thomas trains gone). But, miraculously, I found out that the blog was being continued on the new Wondertime magazine website as Dalai Mama. Wondertime magazine is a bit like RealSimple for parents (read, mothers). A magazine about "simplicity" filled with advertisements for stuff. And really, I have more than enough stuff -- what I need is more sanity. More patience. A listening ear. Which is why I love Brain, Child magazine (thanks, Michelle!). It speaks the truth to me more than an article on the 10 best ways to whatever (fill in the blank here -- discipline, feed, outfit) does.

This is My Brain ...

We got back the results of Stella's MRI. Unfortunately, I can't post pictures here (the neurologist showed them to me and it was kinda neat) but you can see how MRI scans of ACC differs from a brain with an intact CC here.

The bad news is that, yes, indeed, Stella does have ACC (Agenesis of the Corpus Callosum). I thought that this might be the case since the prenatal MRI scans were quite clear. However, I was hoping that she might have a partial or thin CC (dysgenesis).

The good news is that her ACC appears to be isolated with no other associated defects. Neurology was worried about Septo Optic Dysplasia in particular since her vision has taken so long to mature. (The main visual fibres cross midline in the back of the brain). No cysts, and other parts of her brain appear to have developed normally.

People often ask me what implications ACC will have for Stella. It's hard to know since ACC tends to manifest itself differently in each person, and outcomes depend on what else (if anything) is "wrong". You can learn more about typical characteristics of ACC here.

It is very important -- essential, really -- to accept her for what she is, my precious, precious gift. Did I mention that she is smiling now? Oh, it is glorious, in the true sense of the word, and makes my heart sing when she smiles at me. I will try to capture it on film to post it.

God of Small Things

Here are some things that give me pleasure:

The way small children enjoy their bodies (here Francis is picking raspberries in his birthday suit ... wearing his frog boots)

Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! Here we have The Machine in all it's glory in the corner of the kitchen that is the Coffee Shrine).

Baby cheeks. Baby chub. Baby dimples. So delicious!

Children's smiles (when do we become so self-conscious of smiling?)

Ice cream ... mmmmmm. Even soy ice-cream, on a hot summer day. Fat and sugar -- it's a Good Thing.

The way Dan plays with the kids. This gentle side to him warms my heart.


My House. Mine! My nest, my refuge, my MarthaStewardLiving ongoing experiment.

Oh, there's more .... Francis dancing. Driving fast. Really really good french fries. It is the accumulation of all this small things that make a life, no?

Wear Your Baby

There is a whole cult out there, a cult of Wearing Your Baby. Those in the know call it Slingin' Your Baby. Oh, it only starts with the Baby Bjorn, or, the ancient Snuggli. I did not really join the Cult with Francis. We did the Baby Bjorn, the Hip Baby, and the backpack. All more or less over-engineered -- hence Dan loved them (buckles! fits together like an IKEA product!)

I started innocently enough when my friend Mel from Seattle (an AP Mama if I ever saw one) used her pouch sling a lot. She got me interested. So, I bought a KKFP from Ebay. But then, it was too hot to use in Seattle, so I bought a HotSling. I loved that you could throw your sling in your purse, and that the same sling could be used for a front or hip carry (unlike the highly specialized Bjorn).

But alas, although Francis liked the pouch (he hated being swaddled, even as a baby), Stella was not crazy about it. And the great thing about slinging is, (when it works), it comforts the child (i.e., Stop the Screaming) and maybe even lets you do other things while you tend to your child.

So, now I have joined the Cult of Wrapping. I am addicted to a babywearing bulletin board appropriately called TheBabyWearer.com. There is a FSOT board -- which, interestingly, has a section called "Resources for help with shopping addictions". Ah, yes, that could very easily be me. Some Mamas have a huge stash of wraps to color-coordinate with their outfits and seasons! This is where I bought my second-hand Ellaroo wrap (in the "Christiane" color scheme, for those interested). And now I am learning the gymnastics of the FWCC, the BWCC, the Tibetan (with and without a chest belt), the HipCarry ... (see this list for more than you will ever want/need to know on the subject). The (German) Didymos is the "cadillac" of the wrap world, so I am haunting the BB for just the right price/color/weight combination ...

But in the meantime, of course! I had to also purchase a Mei Tai to try it out. It is really beautiful -- purple straps with a lovely purple floral pattern on the panel.




But I do love my wrap -- Stella settles down instantly when I put her in. I am actually reluctant to wash it, in case the smell comforts her. And versitle! (can be used as a blanket, a changing pad, a coverup) fits in your purse! Now, if only I can perfect the backcarry so that I can get her up there without her screaming (once she is up she loves the view).

I think that I will have a lot of FSOTing and/or Ebaying once this child is walking ....

I'm Not Going to Holland

When you find out that you have a child with a disability (OMG, I am still not used to saying that), people send you this article about comparing your experience with a unplanned trip to a foreign country. It is meant to be comforting and inspirational. Personally, I find this comparison trivial and a bit insulting. Brain, Child (thank you, Michelle, for introducing me to this life-affirming mothering magazine!) had a great piece on this. The Holland piece is hugely popular, and there is even (of course!) a blog named after it.

My. Child. Has. A. Disability. There, said it. It's still difficult. It took me my whole pregnancy to mourn my dream (a dream and an assumption that I didn't even realize I haboured) of a normal little nuclear family, everyone gathered around the table and talking about homework. It's easier now that Stella is here, and I can touch and talk to and hold her, and I find myself intensely, even fiercely, focused on helping and getting help for her. Your'e Satan but you can help her -- you're my new friend. You're an angel but can't help her -- sorry, no time for you. Right now, if I mourn the person I had hoped she would be, it is because I so want a "normal" life for her. Meaning, a job, an apartment, friends and family who appreciate and love and cherish her.

I refuse, and I mean REFUSE to be ashamed of my girl. If anything, I am more proud. Every milestone is that much more an accomplishment than it was for Francis.

This might sound woo-woo, but I knew that I was going to be Stella's mother. She visited me in a dream about a year before I got pregnant. I knew as soon as I was pregnant that something was wrong. But how to explain these feelings? Maybe it is even my destiny to be Stella's mother and advocate ....

Project-itis

There was a yarn sale at the local yarn store, Make1. Yum! I choose this cotton yarn for the beautiful jewel tones. I plan to knit myself at Knitty.com sweater. My reasoning (pick one):
(1) I need more clothes
(2) I need another sweater
(3) I need another project
(4) I have compulsive project-itis.
My "hard-and-fast" rule of only one project on-the-go at a time has deterioated to one kind of project at a time (i.e., only one knitting, one sewing ...) , to, well, project-itis.



Summertime! Does this photo not suggest summertime to you? Here we have Francis enjoying B.C. cherries with all his senses (we have a wonderful Farmers Market now at the old Currie Barracks). Summertime also means Stampede time. On the one hand, you have to appreciate a festival that the whole city, and I mean the whole city, gets into. Where else would you see the CEO of a major corporation dress up in costume? Where else would the police shut down a major traffic artery to clean up horse poo? On the other hand, I (grumpily) resent the tourists and the traffic, and hate the commercialism and the infantile drunkeness.



I tried out a recipe for playdough the other day -- so much nicer than the Playdoh that you buy. Easy! and I couldn't resist buying a baking set for Francis the other day at IKEA. Here he is "cooking" (his other favorite version of this game involves lots of dishsoap and water at the sink with some of my pots). I worry that I am enforcing gender sterotypes since he only sees me cooking (Dad does "fire", or aka BBQ-ing), but on the other hand, I really enjoy the creative process (and outcome!) of cooking, and hopefully I can pass that on to him.

Summer! I love summer.