Room to Spare

We took the brave step of moving Stella from our bedroom into Francis' bedroom (there are only 2 bedrooms in our house). Fitting everything in took much deliberation with the tape measure (hint: the change table is now in our bedroom). There is no way we can fit a single more thing into that room (which is smaller than my MIL's walk-in closet!).

The goal was for everyone to get more sleep -- when Stella would stir during the night I felt pressured to soothe her (generally involving breast-feeding), which meant that Stella and I were both not sleeping through the night.

So, because Stella is now 21 months old, and healthier than she was then when she was younger, and because I am so very very tired, we thought it was time to move her out. Even though it was my idea, it was harder on me than I thought it would be to let my baby go. The first 2 weeks were hard, but she does seem to be sleeping better/longer now -- but be careful what you wish for! because now she is waking up at 5-5:30AM!

We also hoped that Francis might be happier about sleeping by himself in his room if he had a roommate (Francis likes to sleep with us because it is "so, so cozy, Mama"). We also decided to upgrade Francis' bed from the toddler bed with the infant mattress since he is bigger now. (I am a big believer in investing in good mattresses). We let him choose his bed -- he wanted a "big boy double bed", which is basically a bunk bed. We choose the "introductory bunk bed" (ie, shorter than normal) one from IKEA.

One day we might live in a house with a bedroom for each of the kids, but until then I am still lying awake at night -- scheming of ways to squeeze more shelves/storage into their room!

Hallelujah! My Baby's Walking!

Stella took her first real, independent steps today and she was so proud, she was beaming! Oh, my pride and joy! Even six months ago I was wondering if we needed a van to accomodate a push-chair, but here she is! Walking! I am in awe of her determination, spirit and resilience.

Hallow-No!

Pumpkin design by Francis, carving by Dad.

Francis refused to go out Trick-or-Treating. Too scary. I lined up his idol (and my Mother's Helper), Olivia, to go out with him -- no. I sewed a fun Pirate costume -- emphatically no. I offered a Hallowe'en party (emphasizing the "lights on" part) with his friends -- no. For previous years I forced him to wear a costume and go trick-or-treating thinking that once out there he would have fun. I usually end up carrying him while he clutched me. So, this year I decided to respect his fears (what a concept!) and let him stay home (uncostumed) and hand out candy. We only had 10 treat-or-treaters come to the door, so it ended up OK that Francis handed out fistfuls of candy (and we still have extra!). Francis scored at daycare anyway, with trick-or-treating (uncostumed) within the Petro-Canada tower.



I dressed Stella up in her elf costume (isn't it darling? I think it turned out fine) and paraded her around to the Oldies in the neighbourhood who (appropriately!) oohed & aaahed over her. She was very happy to have crinkly wrappers to clutch and had a ball emptying her treat bag slowly and then filling it back again.

I love Hallowe'en, but I think I need to sit back and let the children decide how they want to celebrate the holiday rather than imposing my ideas on them. Actually harder to do than one might think.

Stella Aid(e)!

There's dancing in the streets -- Stella has a new PACE Aide! Yeah!

For those following the Saga of Stella, we had a temporary one-on-one aide for 2 hrs daily, 5x a week, from May until August. We have been searching for an aide since July. Having that one-on-one time with the aide made a huge difference in Stella's progress -- she works much harder for the aide than she does for me.

So, instead of waiting for the Agency to find us an aide, I began asking around. Bojana works at Stella's daycare as her Supported Childcare Worker, and was interested in additional hours as her aide. I have spent the past couple of weeks trying to weed through the paperwork to make this happen. Actually, none of this would have happened without the help and support of the wonderful! amazing! dynamic! new director of Pumpkin Patch, Lori.

This is the good news. The bad news is that Stella is sick still, often. She has lost one of her new T-ear tubes (um, the ones which were supposed to last 2 years?). There is a new ENT at the ACH, so here's hoping that he can help her. In the short term, she needs new tubes. I know that the surgery is routine with small risk, but these small risks add up each time they put her under. Each time they put her under they take years from my life with worry. In the long term, I need to find a way of short-circuiting these recurrent infections that end up in ear infections, chest infections, asthma. We are just treating the symptoms here, and badly. As our Neurologist pointed out, it is truly amazing that Stella has progressed as far as she has given how often and how sick she is.

There must be someone out there with a sub-specialty in this. I am ready, seriously ready, to take out loans and cross the globe to find someone who can help her.

(As an aside, the in the photo above she is trying to help rake the leaves).

Country Living

We just got back from Castlegar to visit my Aunt and Uncle. More specifically, my Auntie Dee-Dee and Uncle Mark live in Ootischenia, an old Doukhobor community. They usually have chickens (maybe even a turkey) and a dog for the kids to torment, but they are downsizing. Every year they plant their "last" garden, which my Aunt then spends weeks freezing and canning.

Needless to say, the kids loved it there. Francis loves to garden, and Mark let him crush grapes, and took him fishing and golfing. "We're doing guy stuff, Mama", Francis told me. (Apparently that also included peeing into the river, which Francis thought was fabulous).



I wish I visited more often - the drive can be up to 10 hours with the kids, depending on traffic and/or how much meandering wildlife is blocking the highway. The pass was very hard for Stella -- her eardrums ruptured the next day, from the pressure I am sure. And the winding roads are hard on Francis -- on the way back he threw up 3x. Maybe just as well -- I think that the 3 of us exhausted Auntie and Mark (especially Mark, since he had 2 days of Francis, Francis and more Francis).

They live in such a beautiful place, right on the river, in the middle of the mountains. My goal this winter, now that Stella is bigger and stronger, is definitely to spend more time in the mountains.

A Difficult Time

OK, I now fully admit to myself -- Francis is a Difficult Child. Or, rather, a difficult child to parent. I have plowed my way through mountains of parenting books, (the latest being The Difficult Child, Nurturing the Difficult Child, The Spirited Child), consulted with his daycare, met with the AHR child psychologist ...

Right now I feel that despite my best efforts I am not providing Francis with what he needs. I spend so much of my day fighting him -- to get dressed, to eat, to stop hitting his sister. I get accidents reports from his daycare -- Francis hitting another child in frustration, Francis kicking his teacher, Francis throwing his toys.

And yes, I see you out there -- you Moms in IKEA and on the playground and at his daycare. Pitying me -- or Francis. Saying, either he needs more structure/more discipline, or less structure or discipline. If I didn't have Stella I would admit that yes, the problem is me, my parenting. But Stella, with all her health and neurological issues, is an very easy child to parent compared to Francis.

This is a sad post. I am worried that Francis is internalizing that his poor behaviour means that he, as a person, is bad. And this worry is crushing my soul, breaking my heart. I am sending out a prayer that I can find a better way to nurture him, because god, I love and care for him.

You can send out a prayer for me, too, if you like.

The Beach

Here we are in the beach resort town of Parksville, on Vancouver Island, after 2 days (as predicted) of screaming, crying, wailing, and barfing, by both children. Stella, poor child, got sick (surprise!) on the day we left Calgary, resulting in a visit to the walk-in clinic in Nanaimo. So, now she gets drops in her eyes and ears, in addition to the saline flush up the nose. I am sure that our neighbours are considering reporting us to the local Child Welfare authority, with all the accompanying shrieking.

Our "cottage" is roughly the same size of our house, and is lovely. New, and co-ordinated, and slowly filling with the crap and clutter that follows forever in our wake. For one blissful day it was tidy and neat. Ah. For Francis, apparently the highlight of the trip so far is not the ferry ride, or time with the 3 boy cousins, or the beach, but ... T.V. We don't own a T.V., and this small cottage has three! Francis is a deep believer in the TreeHouse channel -- all kids! all the time! He doesn't quite trust me when I tell him that it never ends.

There is something magical about children and beaches. How they can amuse themselves for hours, digging in the sand. I love watching Francis playing with his cousins -- the way he tries to keep up, the way he tries to imitate their big-kid saunter and bravado. The cousins (David, Mathieu, Joshua) are so good about trying to include my boy in their world. I am indeed lucky that they are such good influences.

After this it is off to Portland for a couple of days. The cottage is so perfect for us, so decadent (especially after 2 days of camping) and great for the recovering and napping Stella, we will have to see how the hostel in Portland will work out.

Stay tuned -- will the Peacey-Dolls make it to their ferry reservation? Will they have packed enough clothes for all the barfing? Will the '92 Pathfinder make it back to Calgary without expensive repairs?

Climbing that Mountain

Did I mention that STELLA IS CRAWLING???!!!!

!!! Can you hear me? Shouting, clapping, smiling, praising? This here, this is one proud Mama.

Yup, it's true. It's commando crawling, and she is not really using her legs, but! damnit, it's close enough to crawling for me. She had learned to scoot on her butt, so getting her to crawl was very very hard. She has also learned to move to sitting from prone -- we had been working on this for about a year. She rolls onto her tummy and basically does a kind of downward-dog pose to sit up. (Did I mention that she is very very strong? We call her Chuckie -- short for Our Baby Chuck Roast). And ... (there's more) ... her aide says that she is crusing along the furniture and is using her spoon! Also, while I'm bragging, she can sign "hat", "more", "nursing", and "banana".

This is huge, and goes a long way to reassuring me that we are doing the right thing by advancing her into the toddler room in September. She (by the grace of god and the mercy of the daycare director) will be going to the same daycare as Francis. I, of course, am worried that she will be mowed down by the walking, talking, assertive other toddlers. But, mainstreaming means I need to step back and let her find her own way. If I was SAHMing with her, I know that I would be overprotective -- and who would that be benefiting.

Anyway. We are going to have a party to celebrate. This is huge!

Big Boys Wear Thomas Underwear

You know what I love? What nearly drives me to sentimental tears every time I see them?

(OK, OK, yes, the usual -- my kids playing together, a hug from my boy, the smell of a newborn baby ....

Size 4T boy underwear.

Yes, it's true. Maybe I'm totally wacky, but the sight of the teeny copies of adult skivvies, so unbaby yet so un-big-boy, the sight of these I-wanna-be-big things hanging off the oh-so skinny body of my sweet boy just makes me want to weep at the cruelty of time and memory. My sweet boy, how he flashes from insecure toddler into confident preschooler, how I can now only glimpse the baby-boy he was when he is asleep.

How he is rushing head-long into growing up, how he is trying so hard to hurry it along, and I just want to stop and inhale for the last time the sweet smell of his hair. Except, you never know that the last time is the last time until months later, when you think, when was the last time he said "'pooter" instead of "computer"? When did he learn to hop on one foot like that?

Buy, Buy Baby

I just finished `Buy, Buy Baby`, by Susan Gregory Thomas. Wah! It was enough to make one scoop up your family and head for cabin off-grid in the hills. Marketing to children -- babies! is everywhere, and cleverly to-boot. Here Dan and I had been patting ourselves on the back because we don`t have a T.V. (and oh, boy, does this book ever strengthen my resolve to NEVER own one), but the rapt attention that Francis has with videos on the computer apparently is similar to that of a low-level seizure. Oh, the guilt! (While I had no illusion of the ``educational`` value of Baby Einstein or Elmo, it did allow me a break to make dinner or have a shower ...)

What was a revelation for me was how the character recognition (Dora, Elmo, Thomas) IS the Brand for babies and toddlers. They are not cognitively capable of following a T.V. program, but they are capable of recogizing an icon.

What was even scarier was how I, a typical anti-corporate, cynical, child-centered Gen-Xer was pegged exactly by marketing. How easily my anxiety about my parenting and my children is exploited.

Which leaves a bigger question ... why is this OK. Do our children not deserve to live in a culture that respects them and cares for them, rather than exploiting them

Jealousy is a Sin

Jealousy is a sin, isn't it?

There is a new family at PACE; a little boy named Will who is exactly the same age as Stella. He lives with his two siblings in a big house in Springbank (a tony suburb of Calgary), his mom drives a Lexus and dresses expensively (albeit badly), with the largest diamond wedding ring I have ever seen. Actually, I am not jealous of all of this. (Oh, OK, maybe just a little).

I am jealous that she can afford to pay for private physical therapy lessons 2x week, along with a full-time nanny (she is a stay-at-home mom), and flys down to Houston a couple of times a year to take Will for treatment there. But she has a publicly-funded aide and we are on the waiting list! Oh, it feels so unfair. I feel guilty for feeling this way, because, frankly, Will needs the help more than Stella at this point. But! What about MY CHILD?!

There is something about having a child with special needs that brings out the Mama Bear in me in full force. I am way more protective than I ever was with Francis; this is something that I fight against in myself. I need to push myself to push Stella towards independence (ultimately, this is is the goal of parenting, no?). But the world can be so cruel, especially if you are a little different. Or a lot different.

Day Out with Thomas

I've been away from blogging for way too long. I've had computer trouble -- having problems downloading pictures, and really, what is a post without pictures?

The picture above is from our Day Out with Thomas. Yes, Thomas the Tank Engine, much revered in our household, visited Heritage Park here in Calgary. Grandmas gave us tickets for Christmas, along with a seasons pass to Heritage Park (they have a steam engine, which is the main attraction for a certain someone). Francis was beside himself with excitement. "Are we there yet?", and "Where's Thomas?" for the whole looooong car-ride there (not long by distance, but by Whine-age). Tickets were for one train ride only, and we waited at the station the whole time because, well, someone melted down every time we tried to walk away for other amusements during our 45 minute wait for our ride.

It's good to have passions, I guess. And I'd rather my guy was passionate about Thomas, as compared to, say, Spiderman (too violent), or guns (ah, way too violent). Although the consumerism of the whole Thomas thing really annoys me (MUST they package a copy of the catalogue with each new train?!) we are happy to support Francis in his interests. He knows the difference between a Steamie and a Diesel, fuel-wise, what a funnel is and where the firebox is located.

My wish is that he may always have the courage to follow his passions. I didn't.

An Aide for Stella!!!

We have excellent news to share -- we have a developmental aide for Stella. Her name is Kimberly, and she is starting on Monday (April 30). We have been waiting for PACE to assign us an aide since January (and have been on the waiting list since August) -- and of course this is after my huge fight with FSCD to get funding in the first place.

So, why are we so excited? (Over the moon, actually). The aide will spend 2 hours every day with Stella working on her developmental goals. Providence will still provide therapy and direction, but Kimberly will provide some much needed one-on-one attention. Most children, and especially children with ACC, learn through repetition. Stella needs a lot of repetition as part of her learning process.

The bad news is that Kimberly is only available until mid-August, when she goes back to her studies at Mount Royal College. We are hopeful that we can find a permanent aide for Stella by then. We are also hoping that the new daycare at the Alberta Children's Hospital will be open by then! (Original opening date: October 2006. New estimated opening date: September 2007).

Grateful, is the word of the day.

Obsessions

Dan and I have a love-hate relationship with Thomas the Tank Engine and his ilk. We love him as in we feel he is a better influence than, say, Batman, but we hate the overt commercialism and, frankly, boredom of it. (C'mon, how many times can you read "Cow on the Track" with conviction and enthusiam? A small sample: "Move!", said Thomas. "Moo", said the Cow. "No, not 'Moo', 'Move!", exclaimed Thomas).

Francis, however, has a love-love relationship with Thomas. He has the books, the videos, the tracks, and god knows, the various trains. He has seven Thomas t-shirts, one for each day of the week. Some are getting a bit Britney Spears-small (we layer an another t-shirt underneath) and some are getting less beloved (Dan put the one with the decal in the dryer and ruined it and so is basically unrecognizable to all but The Devoted).

Ha, ha, we laugh. Such enthusiam. Such dedication. Such ... obsession. But then, I turn around and see The Magazine Basket. Yes indeedy, there does seem to be a problem here, not only in storage. Let's see, I subscribe to:

(1) Mothering (I do so enjoy this one although it makes me feel inadequate as a parent in a whole different way than, say, "Parents Magazine" which is really all about advertising in obvious and not so obvious forms)
(2) Brain, Child (I love love love this one, it makes me feel human as a parent)
(3) Today's Parent (actually, this is pretty good)

(4) Parents (I am letting this one go. #3 is so much better, and is Canadian)
(5) Bust (helps me remember that being a woman can, yes!, be fun)
(6) Bitch (interesting but very uneven)
(7) Canadian Living. (Hey! It's got great recipes! and it's Canadian!)
(8) Harpers (Dan's, really)
(9) Roast (definitely Dan's)
(10) Ottobre (um, I need it for the kids?)
(11) Self (I am letting this one go as it is too "young" for me)
(12) Sew Stylish ("Threads" for beginners, really)
(13) Sunset (house-porn)
(14) Style at Home (Canadian! Although they neglect my favorite decorating style, 'Clutter')
(15) Canadian Gardening (I am letting this one go as I just don't have time for gardening and we are thinking seriously about knocking down the house).
(16) Mother Jones (this is my main source of "news". Believe it).
(17) Consumer Reports (we are big fans)

And then there are the free magazines that come in the Globe&Mail -- Avenue and Western Living. Do they count? Or the ones I buy off the newstand occasionally -- Wondertime? Bon Appetit? Marie Claire? FineHomebuilding? Threads? Do the CFA magazine that come with my membership count?

Down with consumerism, I cry! But then, I turn and look around and the hippocracy of it hits me like a 2x4 in the head. I am such NOT a good role model. I feel myself really fighting against consumerism -- damn it, it feels good to buy something. Not having a t.v. helps, not reading mainstream magazines would help, joining the food co-op helps (ie, not shopping).

Obsessions = consumerism? I guess in an oblique way that is my very own logic. Francis comes by it honestly.

Now I am Four!

My baby is four years old! Oh, man! Wasn't he my little baby Francis like, just a minute ago?

I am in awe of the person he is becoming, and honored that I get to be part of the process. He is going through a real cuddley lovey phase right now -- he'll stop whatever he is doing and walk over and hug me and say, "I love you, Mama". Aaaah. (Unfortunately, he also has learned that this will also stop punishment dead in its tracks).

This year's cake was the number "4", with a roadway and cars on it (thank you, Australian Women's Weekly). I still have red food coloring deep in my fingernails. Decidedly less complicated than last year's train cake.

Nonetheless, I am still resolved to take a cake decorating course since I see a lot of cakes to make still in my future. There was disappointment that the cars were not made of chocolate like in the picture accompanying the recipe.

This year we let loose 7 4-year olds in the KinderGym at Village Square for an hour, and then fed them chicken fingers, french fries, juice and cake and sent them home with ballons. (What is it about ballons that facinate children so? They are so happy to get balloons. This year I splurged and got helium-filled balloons). The money spent on having the party in a place padded with crash mats instead of my little house was worth every penny.
>

There was some tense moments as the party start time came and went and no-one came. No-one! Oh, I was white-knuckling it, ready to burst into tears for my dear, dear boy. But, traffic was bad (there are two seasons in Calgary, don't you know; winter and construction) and so everyone was late.

Happy Birthday, Francis! I hope your day was special!

A Primer

The longer Stella is in my life, the less she becomes defined by what she can't do. She simply is who she is, and I am still discovering what that person is like. So much so that sometimes I am a bit gobsmacked when we are out in public and some stranger points out in a shocked voice, " ... but she is not ___". [fill in the blank. walking, talking, drinking from a cup].

Most people, I think, mean well. Our society doesn't do a very good job at all at including those with any kind of differentness, let alone disability. At any rate, for those interested, here is a primer of what not to do.

(1) "But she looks normal!". Ah, yeah, thanks, I'll just start sewing a Scarlet "D" for "disability" onto all her clothes. I have to stop myself from replying, " ... but so do you!"

(2) Crying. This has only happened once, when I briefly mentioned why Stella had so many appointments, this casual acquaintance started to cry. I said that Stella was taking longer to reach her milestones, not that she was dying.

(3) "What did you do [to cause this]?" The geneticist has assured me that it was most likely nothing that I did while pregnant that caused Stella's disability, but some people seem unconvinced or want to share their most heartfelt theories with me ("it's all those ultrasounds!"). Ummmm, I'll be sure to tell Dr. Schorr that she can turn her research grant in now.

(4) "Oh, I'm so sorry". Sorry for what? That I have a beautiful, happy daughter? She's doesn't need your sympathy, and either do I. We need you to treat her as the person she is, but with a bit more patience because things take her a bit longer.

(5) Send a copy of the "Holland" article. Oh, how insightful. And no, it's not like finding yourself in Holland, it's like finding yourself in Afganistan. You didn't want to go to Afganistan, you would rather be in Spain, but here you are and you can appreciate the rugged beauty of it, but frankly, damn it, it's not Spain. Navigating the medical labrynith is more like a miltary campaign that it is like touring the countryside of Holland. There is this sappy the-disabled-are-closer-to-god crap that I find a bit weird -- everyone is flawed in some way, but it is more apparent in some of us than others.

Ring the bells that can still ring. Forget your perfect offspring.

There is a crack in everything. That is how the light gets in.

--Leonard Cohen ("Anthem")

Guilt, with a side of Worry

Today at Stella's development checkup, her locum/pediatrician Dr. Cassie suggested to me that I probably caused Stella's ACC by not taking enough folic acid. Lack of folic acid is linked to mid-line defects, she pointed out. I countered by saying that I had started taking pre-natal vitamins before I got pregnant. She thinks that because Francis has a high palate (apparently this is a mid-line defect) I should have know to take 6 mg of folic acid daily. This is roughly 5-6x the recommended dosage. She topped all this off nicely by telling me that, as a parent of a special needs child, perhaps I shouldn't be working. (Um, this isn't a decision to be made by myself and my husband? This isn't a decision that I revisit, oh, let's see ... daily?!)

To be honest, I am just gobsmacked that I could have caused Stella's disability. As it is, I spend many night laying awake wondering if it was the beer I had to celebrate Laura's new job, or the sushi I had with Maria, or if Francis kicked me in the stomach at just the wrong time .... I think that I will always wonder.

I think that I will always worry. I worry about Francis (is there something wrong that he wets the bed at night? should I be worried about his fine motor skills? are we doing a good enough job controlling his eczema?) but I worry even more about Stella. (Are we doing enough therapy? The right therapies? Why are her ears always infected? Is there an allergy I am missing? Is she getting enough sleep?) You know those job applications for McJobs? The ones that ask you to list your "personal interests and hobbies"? Well, mine is worrying about my kids. Why enjoy them when you can worry about them instead?

My other big hobby is guilt. Obviously others do not believe me that I am doing an excellent and complete job with my guilt that they feel that they have to contribute. I get the "what are you doing working since you have a child with special needs" a lot. A lot. I guess it doesn't matter that this is really a decision to be made between myself and my husband. Or that Stella loves, and I mean loves, daycare. (Oh, so of course I then feel guilty that I hadn't been socializing her enough before daycare ...). Or that I have invested, oh, 6 years of university, 3 years of professional certification and over 10 years in a career. (Not that that is reflected in my salary, unfortunately. Probably more a reflection of what a crappy negotiator I am.)

Hey, people? I've got the guilt and the worry thing covered, OK?

Fast! Like Batman!

Look at my boy! Here he is at his very first downhill ski lesson! I am actually surprised how much he enjoyed it -- he doesn't like to turn or to stop (a bit of a problem for others on the hill) -- he likes to "go whoosh, down, Mama, fast like Batman". (How he knows who Batman is is another mystery).

I really want to enroll him in the "Jackrabbit" kids cross-country program next year , which is supposed to be excellent. Actually, if Francis grows up and never straps on a pair of skis again, I would be sad but it would be OK. I just want to communicate to him that exercise is an important (and fun!) part of daily life, and to value the outdoors. Look at him in the picture above! How could I not be a Proud Mama?

Speaking of how I am a Proud Mama, Stella has made some milestones. She can clap her hands in delight now, and waves hello, albeit ham-fisted. She can suck by herself from a juicebox straw -- we are on our way to drinking from a cup. She is learning to turn pages in a book. She can push up on her hands when she is on her tummy. (I am hoping for crawling in the next 6 months). I believe that being at daycare has been good for her -- getting to know other caregivers, and more importantly, seeing what her peers can do. Stella appears to be very socially motivated -- which is a very good thing since ACC very often manifests in Autistic-like behaviours.

Am I not the luckiest Mama ever? How proud I am of my poppets.

Now I am One!

Our Stella Star is one year old! I can hardly believe it -- didn't I just get home with her from the hospital?!

Before we ventured forth with #2, I always swore that that I would treat my kids the same (being the oldest of two myself, and harbouring a life-long grudge that the "baby" always got special treatment). The reality is, it's impossible , because they are two different people, and the family dynamic is also different. (This is even setting aside Stella's DX). So, I guess I owe you an apology, Mom.

Anyway, what brought this musing on (and of course, the associated guilt oh guilt) was my rememberance of Francis' first birthday -- I made two different kinds of cupcakes (the chocolate ones with Scharenberger chocolate, naturally) and we invited *all* our friends over for cake and coffee. Really, the celebration was for us -- we were parents! Honestly, it was a bit much for Francis -Bear.

For Stella's first, we just invited family (and my girlfriend Maria and her poppet Diego, who is Francis' closest friend). So, Grandma, Grandpa, Granny, Auntie Michelle and her three boys came to celebrate with cake and coffee. And I made two different versions of a lemon poppyseed cake, one vegan and one full-on dairy (guess which one tasted better?) I think that the second child you hold closer, because it is less about *you* and more about *them*.

Stella got lots of wrapping paper, which is what she really wanted most of all.

Home Again

Stella is home again! Yeah!

We were in the hospital for a longer than I had anticipated -- a whole week. We had gone to the emergency at the Children's hospital on the Monday after seeing our wonderful family doctor, Dr. Ramanna. Emerg sent us home ... with asthma medicine. Uh-huh. Two days later Stella was even worse -- she could only pant to breathe, was feverish, lethargic, refused to eat, had diarrhea, vomited after breastfeeding, unresponsive. She would just lay in my arms and cry -- actually, mew, because she didn't have enough strength to cry. We went back to see Dr. Ramanna, who sent us back to Emerg, where we vaulted from the Triage line-up straight into Ward 2. Dr. Ramanna, God bless her, even called us at home the next morning to follow up.

The Children's Hospital here in Calgary is brand-brand new, and has quite a buzz about the design. Apparently the design was a very collaborative process, involving lots of input from children, patients, parents, and staff. All I have to say (besides the fact that the morgue is on the 3rd floor and the Mental Health division is on the windowless "lower" floor!) is that the designer did not try out the lounge chair or trundle bed in the patient's rooms. Ow -- I really need a chiropractor. In fact, I think that my thermarest on the floor might have been as comfortable.

The nurses were amazing -- so upbeat, professional, empathic. I would have been an emotional mess had it not been for them. Francis love love loves the hospital ... because it has T.V. And Francis does love T.V.

Thank you, everyone, for your prayers. I truly think that it helped. Let's not take good health (and good Health Care!) for granted.

Hospitalized

Stella is hospitalized right now for pneunomia. Please include her in your prayers.

House of Illness, House of Whining

The helplessness that I feel when my kids are sick is overwhelming. Right now, Stella is really, really sick. Sick enough that when Dan took her to Emergency at the Children's Hospital (ACH for those overly familiar) they waited all of 10 minutes. (For comparison, I waited 6 hours when I took her in 2 weeks ago. Or maybe it was Dan's Quebecois good looks?)

The doctors now think that Stella has asthma -- although they are reluctant to label it "officially" until she is 5. Her DX for her current sickness is "viral-induced asthma". Apparently this covers the laboured breathing, the constant coughing, the wheezing, the vomiting, the diarrhea, the lethargy, the fever, the crying.

What can I do? I just hold her and rock. In a way, it is easy, and I will miss it -- the simplicity of the comfort provided by simply physically being present.

I feel like raging against the universe -- haven't the dice rolled enough against my sweet, sweet girl? ACC, ear infections, extropia, and now asthma? Hey, God? Don't you think that's enough? Hey, God, are you listening?!

Francis has just recovered from some kind of flu-like illness as well. When he announced that he felt cold, and needed to go to bed -- in the middle of the day! -- I knew he was sick. (This is a kid that has to be coerced -- I mean, "motivated" -- to go to sleep). He's recovered, now, but Stella's illness drags on and on.

And of course this is all timed for my return back to work at TransAlta. Excellent.

Craft-o-licious

I have been crafting. There are some theories out there about how having a baby unleases a fury of creativity (it did for me). I get such a deep satisfaction out of creating. Maybe this is one reason why I love to cook? (speed-dial epicurious and chowhound ... and read Bon Apetit like it was (food) pornography.) The mouse above is from Ottobre (love love love Ottobre!). He ended up as a gift for our young friend Ronia. I hope he gets loved.

I made this child's purse also from Ottobre's free pattern page, using some left-over fake leather from Francis' pirate costume (that he refused to wear for Hallowe'en, wanting to be a lion (again) instead. Oh well, the lion costume was warmer, and there is always next year). The purse will get gifted for a birthday. (Tons of birthdays coming up!)

I made the Super-hero/pirate/knight cape for an upcoming birthday for our friend Diego. Sadly, dress-up is not a big part of Francis' imaginative play.

I am hoping to also finish this knight's shield/crest for Diego's birthday. I found a great piece of red felt in the remanent bin at Fabricland. (Sadly, Fabricland is Calgary's primary fabric store).

Speaking of Ottobre, I found some great Ottobre-like fabric at FabricHound. Lots of girly stuff for our Stella-bear since Francis is waaaaay too fussy to wear anything other than the "uniform" (Thomas t-shirt and jeans). I've been going crazy buying fabric and filling up giant Rubbermaid containers with the stuff, and I have to stop and actually finish some projects. We don't have room for all this fabric, (oh, nasty nasty fabric.com!) and my stash is getting too big for disorganized me to manage.

I want to make more gifts because all the plastic crap that passes for children's toys really annoy me. There was a wonderful article in the Globe & Mail today about "The Compact" -- which is basically "Buy Nothing Day" extended. I find this hugely inspiring. We buy way too much stuff. We own way too much stuff. It is too easy to pick up that new lipstick (I need it! I want it! I saw an advert for it in my latest magazine!) when waiting for the prescription at the drugstore. We Craigslist and Freecycle and consign (mostly buy), but increasingly it is clear to me that the key is just not to set foot in the store in the first place. Luckily (?) , having two kids under the age of 5 makes shopping (for anything, really) a lot less fun. I really like the lend concept -- the borrowing of maternity clothes was a godsend for my first pregnancy (thanks Denise!) and Charlotte's loan of Amelia out-grown clothes stash and accessories has saved us literally $100s. (Oh boy, Charlotte, how can we ever repay the favor?)

Anyway, I digress. This post was all about crafting. Can you tell that I was hugely crafty as child? Scotch-tape creations were my specialty.

Working Mother

Ever read "Working Mother" magazine? They make it seem so effortless and glamourous. Throw on that Anne Klein blazer! Storm the CEO's office! Dress that child in Paul Frank!

So ... Where's the puke on the (new) blazer? Storm the CEO's office?! (He doesn't even know you exist -- and doesn't want to, either). The child is lucky to be dressed at all, let alone in designer duds that s/he will outgrow in, oh, 2 seconds. (Do the daycare workers talk about me? As in, did she not notice the very obvious stain on her child's clothing?!)

Yes, I am going back to work. And the children will be going to two different daycares because I need more stress and confusion in my life. Seriously, the childcare situation in Calgary is grim. You can expect to pay a live-out nanny ~$2800/mth (that is before the required benefits, taxes, vacation pay, etc.) -- that is, if you can find one. Finding a daycare is a logistical nightmare which comes close only to finding a doctor. Or launchng a miltary campaign. If you call a daycare, and they have room for your child, you know you don't want to go there because there is a reason that they have room (i.e., it is something out of Oliver Twist. You want more porridge?!).

I thought it would be easier to transition Stella into daycare because I have already been through it once with Francis (the tears, the tantrums -- mine, and his). But it's not. It's hard. She's my baby, and she needs me, damn it. I worry. I'm anxious. I mean, I have done everything I can think of to help her (find a good daycare, find daycare support, find therapy), but still. Am I doing the right thing?

I need to learn to channel all this worrying and anxiety into something positive. Like writing Mr. Harper and thanking him and his government for his total and complete lack of support for Early Childhood Learning. (Um, is Mrs. Harper willing to come mind my children for my $100/mth "childcare initiative"?)