Last night I dreamed in Twitter.
I think I'm the first person to do this. I want a medal.
My dream was nothing more than my Twitter page, refreshing now and again, popping up with answers to What are you doing?
I can't even tell you what people were doing or saying or writing, but either I'm spending too much time on the damn thing (I'm rarely on it, so it's doubtful), or my brain is telling me I need to figure it out and make the most of it with following and tagging and all that fun stuff.
Or not.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Fog
Disclaimer: If you're looking for cute toddler pictures or equally uplifting fodder, look elsewhere. As today's title will attest, we're not in that kind of mood. Also, the language in this blog is not suitable for children. Reader discretion is advised.
Today I am in The Fog. Yes, it deserves caps, because it is a proper name. This Fog, The Fog, rolls in now and again. It has for many years, and for many years it didn't have a name. It used to happen often, now it visits me rarely, perhaps once a year, hardly more. The Fog is not a depression, though I've been there. It's simply a day of adjustment wherein my body, soul and mind need to reconnect to the present and let go of past hurt, confusion and yells of "It's not fucking fair."
The Fog follows A Dream (I'm starting to feel like Winnie the Pooh with these nonsense caps, I'll stop.) The dream is always different - the situation is different, the players are a motley cast and sometimes the same, but not always. What makes it The Dream that brings The Fog is the underlying feelings, tone and impression.
The Dream is about my mother, though she's never made an appearance. The dream is about losing her. It's about that headspace. That time. Of being there. Of being 16 and having my world blow the fuck up in my face and being absolutely, stunningly powerless to do a damn thing about it. The dream drips with regret, sorrow and, yes, self pity and a great big ole stench of "Why me?".
But not just why me in the sense of losing mum. Oh no. As if the teenage years aren't bad enough, life decides to throw THAT in my formative years. So there were other things happening too. Things that most of those around me could never in a million years have understood. They still don't, and very few actually tried. I don't blame them. In fact, I'm jealous of them in so many ways for having NOT dealt with it. I'm babbling. Where was I? Right.
The Dream is rank with regret not necessarily in regards to my mother, but to me, to my adolescent self. How I wish I could go back and smack her across the face, and then sit, pour her a cheap wine and let her spill it. All of it. All the shit she did and didn't do, the things she said, was accused of, the hurt, the betrayal, the loneliness.
The Dream itself is harmless. In it, at some point, I always end up telling all sorts of people I do and don't know how I feel (or felt, rather) and they understand, and they hear me, and they let me heal and they forgive me. But do I forgive them? I never know.
And yes, in the dream, mum is still alive, because it is THEN, not now.
And when I wake, I'm hit with the reality that she's gone again. All over again.
And the fog rolls in.
No amount of coffee pushes it away. I just have to wait. For real life, this life, to catch up again and carry me forward.
And so I wait.
Today I am in The Fog. Yes, it deserves caps, because it is a proper name. This Fog, The Fog, rolls in now and again. It has for many years, and for many years it didn't have a name. It used to happen often, now it visits me rarely, perhaps once a year, hardly more. The Fog is not a depression, though I've been there. It's simply a day of adjustment wherein my body, soul and mind need to reconnect to the present and let go of past hurt, confusion and yells of "It's not fucking fair."
The Fog follows A Dream (I'm starting to feel like Winnie the Pooh with these nonsense caps, I'll stop.) The dream is always different - the situation is different, the players are a motley cast and sometimes the same, but not always. What makes it The Dream that brings The Fog is the underlying feelings, tone and impression.
The Dream is about my mother, though she's never made an appearance. The dream is about losing her. It's about that headspace. That time. Of being there. Of being 16 and having my world blow the fuck up in my face and being absolutely, stunningly powerless to do a damn thing about it. The dream drips with regret, sorrow and, yes, self pity and a great big ole stench of "Why me?".
But not just why me in the sense of losing mum. Oh no. As if the teenage years aren't bad enough, life decides to throw THAT in my formative years. So there were other things happening too. Things that most of those around me could never in a million years have understood. They still don't, and very few actually tried. I don't blame them. In fact, I'm jealous of them in so many ways for having NOT dealt with it. I'm babbling. Where was I? Right.
The Dream is rank with regret not necessarily in regards to my mother, but to me, to my adolescent self. How I wish I could go back and smack her across the face, and then sit, pour her a cheap wine and let her spill it. All of it. All the shit she did and didn't do, the things she said, was accused of, the hurt, the betrayal, the loneliness.
The Dream itself is harmless. In it, at some point, I always end up telling all sorts of people I do and don't know how I feel (or felt, rather) and they understand, and they hear me, and they let me heal and they forgive me. But do I forgive them? I never know.
And yes, in the dream, mum is still alive, because it is THEN, not now.
And when I wake, I'm hit with the reality that she's gone again. All over again.
And the fog rolls in.
No amount of coffee pushes it away. I just have to wait. For real life, this life, to catch up again and carry me forward.
And so I wait.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
What happens when I do this?
The Chou is in a new experimental phase, which is how kids learn, so this is good. And for the most part it's not the heart-stopping kind of experimenting, you know the kind that endangers life and limb, but it sure is the kind that can make a giant mess.
Chou has started swimming in the tub, floating, expressing her wonder at the sensation. She's also loving putting feet, hands legs in the running water. She's starting to blow bubbles and get her face wet...and then she starts to splash and move and make waves, then more waves and so on. It's fascinating to watch her drink in the movement, the sensation, the buoyancy. Brilliant.
She's also testing her parents' patience. We're full on into the terrible twos, I'm sure. But part of what frustrates Chou and sets her off is not being able to DO all the grown up stuff we do. Gone is her willingness to climb into her booster seat and buckle herself in. Nope, now she'll only eat sitting/standing in a grown up chair. Gone are the sippy cups. She wants a regular cup like mum and dad. She doesn't want cut up food or anything baby. She puts on her own socks and boots and refuses to let us fix them. She is toddler - hear her roar!
So I'm trying. I'm trying to encourage her, to let her try, to do it herself. I'm trying to be patient, to wait, to keep her busy, to keep her entertained.
It's so hard some days.
But so worth it.
Chou has started swimming in the tub, floating, expressing her wonder at the sensation. She's also loving putting feet, hands legs in the running water. She's starting to blow bubbles and get her face wet...and then she starts to splash and move and make waves, then more waves and so on. It's fascinating to watch her drink in the movement, the sensation, the buoyancy. Brilliant.
She's also testing her parents' patience. We're full on into the terrible twos, I'm sure. But part of what frustrates Chou and sets her off is not being able to DO all the grown up stuff we do. Gone is her willingness to climb into her booster seat and buckle herself in. Nope, now she'll only eat sitting/standing in a grown up chair. Gone are the sippy cups. She wants a regular cup like mum and dad. She doesn't want cut up food or anything baby. She puts on her own socks and boots and refuses to let us fix them. She is toddler - hear her roar!
So I'm trying. I'm trying to encourage her, to let her try, to do it herself. I'm trying to be patient, to wait, to keep her busy, to keep her entertained.
It's so hard some days.
But so worth it.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Round 2
This morning marks the second leg of my journey towards a healthy weight. My Ottawa Manatee Momma called me yesterday ready to clean out her fridge, cupboards and bloodstream of junk and needed a) a friend to do this with and b) motivation to not just lose a few extra jiggly bits but to really clean up the kitchen. We're not just talking fewer calories and smaller portions, we're talking cutting out salt, adding in healthy fats and getting rid of the bad, decreasing reliance on packaged foods and increasing consumption of fresh stuff.
Our journeys are very different. For the most part, Casa Wumpus is pretty packaged-food free. Where I (and we) fall down is on portion control, over indulgence of baked goods and not moving enough. For Manatee Momma, food from the freezer or pantry is standard fare and a recent heart scare with her dad has got her counting sodium milligrams and realizing something has to change.
Yesterday we committed to not just a weight goal challenge, but a good old fashion spring, or fall as it were, cleaning of the kitchen, our daily routine and our bodies. We're de-junking (both in the cupboard and in the trunk) and getting moooving again. She's already a member of Weight Watchers online, and so I shall be too, but we've also made a wager: $100 to the member of our group who loses 10 lb by Christmas eve. For the record, as a percentage that means I have to lose more, but I'm OK with that. If we both do it, we both get the $100 from the other to spend on ourselves.
Sure, it's a wash when we both succeed but that's not the point. WW is so successful because of not just teaching portion control but also the social network and support you receive when you go to meetings. Without meetings, Manatee and I are forming our own group, albeit across two provinces, but I'll take what I can get.
You're welcome to join us. But you must actually have 10 lb or more to lose - according to an actual medical professional, not your own idea of what you see in the mirror. Jen P's version is she's got to gain 10 lb by Christmas, but she's pregnant, so she better.
So here it is, folks. Truth time.
I weighed in this morning at 146.4 lb. Up a solid 5 lb from April...in the face of training and running a half marathon. Wow, can you say lack of portion and self control? Um, yes. To put it in context, I'm barely over 5'2". According to WW, my highest goal weight "allowed" is 137 lb, meaning that this 10 lb loss puts me in the very highest of my "healthy weight range". In fairness, I don't think high 130s is high for me, but that's another discussion for another time. I would be down right tickled pink to hit the 130s and stay anywhere near there. And so we shall see what it takes to get there.
And now if you'll excuse me, I've got a work out to do and some healthy meals to plan. I heart meal planning!
Our journeys are very different. For the most part, Casa Wumpus is pretty packaged-food free. Where I (and we) fall down is on portion control, over indulgence of baked goods and not moving enough. For Manatee Momma, food from the freezer or pantry is standard fare and a recent heart scare with her dad has got her counting sodium milligrams and realizing something has to change.
Yesterday we committed to not just a weight goal challenge, but a good old fashion spring, or fall as it were, cleaning of the kitchen, our daily routine and our bodies. We're de-junking (both in the cupboard and in the trunk) and getting moooving again. She's already a member of Weight Watchers online, and so I shall be too, but we've also made a wager: $100 to the member of our group who loses 10 lb by Christmas eve. For the record, as a percentage that means I have to lose more, but I'm OK with that. If we both do it, we both get the $100 from the other to spend on ourselves.
Sure, it's a wash when we both succeed but that's not the point. WW is so successful because of not just teaching portion control but also the social network and support you receive when you go to meetings. Without meetings, Manatee and I are forming our own group, albeit across two provinces, but I'll take what I can get.
You're welcome to join us. But you must actually have 10 lb or more to lose - according to an actual medical professional, not your own idea of what you see in the mirror. Jen P's version is she's got to gain 10 lb by Christmas, but she's pregnant, so she better.
So here it is, folks. Truth time.
I weighed in this morning at 146.4 lb. Up a solid 5 lb from April...in the face of training and running a half marathon. Wow, can you say lack of portion and self control? Um, yes. To put it in context, I'm barely over 5'2". According to WW, my highest goal weight "allowed" is 137 lb, meaning that this 10 lb loss puts me in the very highest of my "healthy weight range". In fairness, I don't think high 130s is high for me, but that's another discussion for another time. I would be down right tickled pink to hit the 130s and stay anywhere near there. And so we shall see what it takes to get there.
And now if you'll excuse me, I've got a work out to do and some healthy meals to plan. I heart meal planning!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Accessories
In the midst of saying Cheese while bouncing on mummy's (very flabby) tummy
Her dad dressed her, which is shocking because I'm usually the one who chooses two very non-matchy matchy items of clothing.
She walks in these shoes as well as I do. Maybe better.
See?Tuesday, October 20, 2009
On measuring up and vomiting
That's right, I said vomiting.
Chou was sent home early today from daycare with her very first stomach bug. Poor thing was asleep in the high chair when I got there. I scooped her up, brought her home, she was sick again, I changed her and put her down for a nap. Two hours of sleep later and she was up, managed to miss herself and her cuskie but messed up her entire crib and blanket. I brought her and the laundry down, she had a big nurse and we snuggled and watched backyardigans. Within a bit, she decided she was better and dressed herself to go outside (well, I helped, but she really is getting quite good - she gets her socks and boots on and her tuque. Jacket and mitts are mum's job). Two minutes outside and she was yakking breastmilk all over the deck. Back in we went and it was another episode of backyardigans, then Maisy, then some Sesame street, more yakking, and then -poof- at 330, my darling daughter was back and very hungry. I wish we could all get over a bug like that.
On to measuring up (aren't you glad I'm done talking about yakking?).
I realized today as I tidied my kitchen, put a near-perfect carrot cake in the oven, wiped the counter and flicked on the dishwasher, that a) I'm quite domestic b) I'm getting much better at keeping house and c) I really am OK with measuring my success by my own yard stick and not ever feeling like I have to have the same things as everyone, or the same new kitchen or the same new car.
Wait. This is seemingly non-news to y'all who know me. Ms. Wumpus is synonymous with practicality, ask anyone. Really, truly there are times when I thought that all these years of frugality were temporary, that when we had more money we'd spend it more liberally, travel more, buy more, do more. Yes, there are places in the world I want to see. Yes, there are some new pieces of furniture I'd like, but really, truly having more disposable income hasn't meant buying more. Instead, we're investing more, weighing our options carefully, over-thinking home renovations and trying to make our money stretch the furthest.
Other people go on yearly (even more!) vacations, or buy huge houses or new leather furniture or the EVEN BIGGER television. Some just blow it all on clothes and wine. All these things are OK, they're just not for me. I get more joy out of spending an extra hundred bucks on groceries so I can make my man real, quality sashimi at home. I'm going to splurge and book some riding lessons (yay!). And yes, I'll finally get new underwear. But the wanting what others want? Don't want it. And that makes me happy.
And so concludes the two most randomly paired topics in the history of the blogosphere.
You're welcome.
Chou was sent home early today from daycare with her very first stomach bug. Poor thing was asleep in the high chair when I got there. I scooped her up, brought her home, she was sick again, I changed her and put her down for a nap. Two hours of sleep later and she was up, managed to miss herself and her cuskie but messed up her entire crib and blanket. I brought her and the laundry down, she had a big nurse and we snuggled and watched backyardigans. Within a bit, she decided she was better and dressed herself to go outside (well, I helped, but she really is getting quite good - she gets her socks and boots on and her tuque. Jacket and mitts are mum's job). Two minutes outside and she was yakking breastmilk all over the deck. Back in we went and it was another episode of backyardigans, then Maisy, then some Sesame street, more yakking, and then -poof- at 330, my darling daughter was back and very hungry. I wish we could all get over a bug like that.
On to measuring up (aren't you glad I'm done talking about yakking?).
I realized today as I tidied my kitchen, put a near-perfect carrot cake in the oven, wiped the counter and flicked on the dishwasher, that a) I'm quite domestic b) I'm getting much better at keeping house and c) I really am OK with measuring my success by my own yard stick and not ever feeling like I have to have the same things as everyone, or the same new kitchen or the same new car.
Wait. This is seemingly non-news to y'all who know me. Ms. Wumpus is synonymous with practicality, ask anyone. Really, truly there are times when I thought that all these years of frugality were temporary, that when we had more money we'd spend it more liberally, travel more, buy more, do more. Yes, there are places in the world I want to see. Yes, there are some new pieces of furniture I'd like, but really, truly having more disposable income hasn't meant buying more. Instead, we're investing more, weighing our options carefully, over-thinking home renovations and trying to make our money stretch the furthest.
Other people go on yearly (even more!) vacations, or buy huge houses or new leather furniture or the EVEN BIGGER television. Some just blow it all on clothes and wine. All these things are OK, they're just not for me. I get more joy out of spending an extra hundred bucks on groceries so I can make my man real, quality sashimi at home. I'm going to splurge and book some riding lessons (yay!). And yes, I'll finally get new underwear. But the wanting what others want? Don't want it. And that makes me happy.
And so concludes the two most randomly paired topics in the history of the blogosphere.
You're welcome.
Friday, October 16, 2009
The social life
I like older women.
Wait, let's back up a bit.
The Wumpus Plan to Happiness is in full swing - the office is settled in the basement, the Chou hosted a playdate yesterday and has invited all sorts of new mums and babes over next week.
I'm happy too. The playdate, with a fellow doula mum, was a lovely way to spend a cold and snowy Thursday morning. We made snowmen complete with carrot noses and grape eyes. We threw snowballs and watched as two toddlers galumped their way through the snow. It was great to connect with a like-minded momma and have company for Chou.
This morning the town mummy group is getting together, but I've got too much work to do to go (but not so much that I can't blog? I guess). I've offered to host next week, and I'm looking forward to meeting more people in my town.
What's funny (in a non funny way) is that there's really only one person in town I've really connected with so far and she's a good 10 years older with two nearly-grown kids.
I've discovered, or rather just come to accept, that I connect with women 10 years or more my senior. This isn't a new thing either, when I was 19 - a very tumultuous time - one of my closest friends was in her early 30s with three young kids. We had zero in common, really, except having horses, but that was enough. One of my most valued friends is in her 60s. And now, here in our new home, I'm clicking with someone at least 10 years older, yet again.
I don't know what it is, whether it's that I lost mum so young and look up to older women for their wisdom or if it's that I don't think like women my age (and haven't for as long as I remember) or if it's just that these are the women I click with and so be it.
Either way, I'm thankful for finally making a friend. For the first time in a very long time, I went out for tea at someones house. In the evening! GASP! I brought over pumpkin coffee cake and we sat and learned of each others lives.
I left the coffee cake there, half eaten. She promised to return it in the rural tradition: full of something else.
I love this town.
Wait, let's back up a bit.
The Wumpus Plan to Happiness is in full swing - the office is settled in the basement, the Chou hosted a playdate yesterday and has invited all sorts of new mums and babes over next week.
I'm happy too. The playdate, with a fellow doula mum, was a lovely way to spend a cold and snowy Thursday morning. We made snowmen complete with carrot noses and grape eyes. We threw snowballs and watched as two toddlers galumped their way through the snow. It was great to connect with a like-minded momma and have company for Chou.
This morning the town mummy group is getting together, but I've got too much work to do to go (but not so much that I can't blog? I guess). I've offered to host next week, and I'm looking forward to meeting more people in my town.
What's funny (in a non funny way) is that there's really only one person in town I've really connected with so far and she's a good 10 years older with two nearly-grown kids.
I've discovered, or rather just come to accept, that I connect with women 10 years or more my senior. This isn't a new thing either, when I was 19 - a very tumultuous time - one of my closest friends was in her early 30s with three young kids. We had zero in common, really, except having horses, but that was enough. One of my most valued friends is in her 60s. And now, here in our new home, I'm clicking with someone at least 10 years older, yet again.
I don't know what it is, whether it's that I lost mum so young and look up to older women for their wisdom or if it's that I don't think like women my age (and haven't for as long as I remember) or if it's just that these are the women I click with and so be it.
Either way, I'm thankful for finally making a friend. For the first time in a very long time, I went out for tea at someones house. In the evening! GASP! I brought over pumpkin coffee cake and we sat and learned of each others lives.
I left the coffee cake there, half eaten. She promised to return it in the rural tradition: full of something else.
I love this town.
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