Monday, December 31, 2007

2007 reads

50. Digging to America - Anne Tyler

49. Before I Wake - Robert J. Wiersema

48. The Keep - Jennifer Egan

47. The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing - Melissa Bank

46. The Septembers of Shiraz - Dalia Sofer

45. Stargirl - Jerry Spinelli

44. A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle

43. Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen

42. The Thirteenth Tale - Diane Setterfield

41. The Book Thief - Markus Zusak

40. Snow Flower and the Secret Fan - Lisa See

39. A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon

38. Silk - Alessandro Baricco

37. Special Topics in Calamity Physics - Marisha Pessi

36. Stumbling on Happiness - Daniel Gilbert

35. The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show - Ariel Gore

34. The Golden COmpass - Phillip Pullman

33. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

32. Dawn - Elie Wiesel

31. The Year of Magical Thinking - Joan Didion

30. Literacy and Longing in L.A. - Jennifer Kaufman & Karen Mack

29. Perfect Match - Jodi Picoult

28. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling

27. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling

26. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J.K. Rowling

25. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - J.K. Rowling

24. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J.K. Rowling

23. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - J.K. Rowling

22. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - J.K. Rowling

21. Abundance: A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Sena Jeter Naslund

20. The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry

19. It's a Girl: Women Writers on Raising Daughters - Andrea Buchanan

18. The Widow's War - Sally Gunning

17. Ten Thousand Lovers - Edeet Ravel

16. Baby Proof - Emily Giffin

15. My Sister's Keeper - Jodi Picoult

14. Getting Rid of Matthew - Jane Fallon

13. A Dirty Job - Christopher Moore

12. The Road - Cormac McCarthy

11. The Birth House - Ami McKay

10. Lullabies for Little Criminals - Heather O'Neill

9. In Lucia's Eyes - Arthur Japin

8. Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides

7. Summer of My Amazing Luck - Miriam Toews

6. To The Tower Born - Robin Maxwell

5. We Need to Talk About kevin - Lionel Shriver

4. Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

3. Bel Canto - Ann Patchett

2. Gilded Chamber - Rebecca Kohn

1. Year of Wonders - Geraldine Brooks

Monday, December 24, 2007

Happy whatever...

I had many posts composed in my head about this, and other, holiday seasons.

But then life intervened. There were parties! And visits! And driving across the province! And more parties! And more driving!



...and then it was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow there will be much spoiling of the child, food food and more food and far too much chocolate.

I'll be back after a few days with pictures and stories and deep thoughts and not-so-deep thoughts.

So whatever you may celebrate, may the season be good to you and your family!




Tuesday, December 18, 2007

That love that shan't speak its name

Fueled by kgirl's fetish admission in yesterday's comments, today I make an announcement.

A confession, if you will.

I loved, and still do love,

Little House on the Prairie


Okay, Little House on the Prairie. There, I've said it.

I loved the books as a child, receiving the box set the summer between kindergarten and grade one. By September I had finished the series. I re-read it over and over again, until the spines were cracked and the covers bent and faded.


But what I really loved was the TV series.




I was a child of a (very) broken home. By the time I was old enough to watch the series, both of my mother and father were gone, having abandoned their responsibilities as parents. I was left with The Nana. My childhood was not filled with the delights of most children my age - ET, The Muppets, etc. However, I was allowed to watch Little House on the Prairie.

I watched the show faithfully, seeing every episode several times over in re-runs (to this day Mr Babbler teases me that I can figure out which episode, down to the season, that we are watching within the span of a single scene). I hummed along to the opening and closing credits. I seethed with righteous indignation at the evil doings of Nellie Olsen and her busybody mother Harriet. I sang along to Bringing in the Sheaves and Go Tell it on the Mountain with the good Reverend Alden. I wanted to sit in a one-room schoolhouse with a tablet and a shared bench, being taught by Miss Beadle. I wanted to wear a calico dress with with a pinafore and black button boots, running to the Merchantile for a piece of penny candy. But most of all, I wanted to be a part of their family.


I coveted the Ingalls family. Pa Ingalls, he of the wavy, feathered hair and chiseled cheekbones, was my ideal father, a strong but caring man, a man who simply adored his wife and faced any and all danger to keep his family safe. He was stern, yet loving. He was kind, compassionate, a good leader and had a sense of humour to boot. Truly, a perfect man in all ways. A tad unrealistic perhaps, but to my adoring, childish eyes, a man to idealize as a father.



And Ma, pretty, sweet, kind Ma of the soft voice and will of steel. I wanted to run and hide in her aprons or help her with chores. I wanted her to dispense her womanly wisdom to me. In short, I had the biggest crush on Ma Ingalls and did my best to emulate her quiet, thoughtful manner. That isn't to say I was successful, but oh, did I try. (As an aside, in hunting for photos for this post I stumbled across this photo of Karen Grassle (Ma Ingalls) - wasn't she a hottie? Whee!)



I learned about morals and love and community and the power of family with each episode. (Oh, and I learned about a few other things along the way, like rape and death and oh, perhaps my Nana should have been monitoring my viewing a bit more closely.) In the later episodes I learned about love, eagerly awaiting the big kiss, and eventual marriage between Laura and Almanzo (although, to be clear, I did not have a crush on Almanzo. That was reserved for Gilbert. Sweet, sweet Gilbert Blythe. But Laura and Almanzo were a close second.)



I'm an adult now, and fully understand that the family life portrayed in Little House on the Prairie was idealized - a fictionalized, perfect version of family in which all hurts could be done away with a simple apology, a hug from Ma and some fiddle music from Pa. I think that perhaps I even understood that as a child, jaded as I was.

But still, the magic remains. I've recently started recording the daily re-runs of Little House on the Prairie, watching them while Peanut is down for her nap. I know that as Peanut gets older I will share my old copies of the books with her, and then sit down and watch the show with her, hopefully passing along a little of my love for the series.

And this Christmas, I'll also be pulling out these DVDs:



And awaiting the final scene. That sweet ending, and this long-awaited kiss (be still my heart):




"I don't want diamond sunbursts, or marble halls. I just want you."

Monday, December 17, 2007

Winter time reading - and a challenge

Yesterday was a snow day here in Toronto. Is there anything better than snuggling in a nice warm blanket, watching some Sesame Street and reading books? Nope - I didn't think so!

* * *

I've decided to take part in a reading challenge for 2008. As I've mentioned before, I buy books. A lot of books. Although I may purchase these books, it doesn't necessarily mean I get around to reading every book on my shelf. Things come up, life intervenes, some other more interesting book comes along, or sometimes I just don't feel like reading what I have lined up. As a result I have a number of books that have languished for years and years, being dragged off the shelf, taken on countless vacations, stuffed in purses and backpacks, re-shelved, and then pulled out to start the cycle all over again, and yet somehow they still don't get read.

To help clear this backlog, I've decided to join the To Be Read Challenge 2008. the premise is simple - you pick 12 books (and up to 12 alternates) that have been on your "to be read" list for more than six months. Starting on January 1, 2008 you can begin reading any of the titles on your list, in any order. The goal is to read 12 titles in total and clear them from your "to-be-read pile".



With a drum roll and some fanfare, and in no particular order, here is my list:

1) The Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley


2)
Sisters in the Wilderness - Charlotte Gray

3) The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen


4)
Bitch - Elizabeth Wurtzel

5) 100 Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez


6)
Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters

7) Sophie's World - Jostein Gaarder


8)
Possession - A. S. Byatt

9) Watership Down - Richard Adams


10)
The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova

11) Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett


12)
Ahab's Wife - Sena Jeter Naslund



Alternates List:

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke


Alias Grace - Margaret Atwood
Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

I Am Charlotte Simmons - Tom Wolfe

The Tipping Point - Malcolm Gladwell

So those are my titles. Anyone want to play along?

Thursday, December 13, 2007

This moment brought to you by Cookie Monster

Dude, this has been in my head all day, causing me to have a snapping good time!



Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I'll think about it tomorrow (just not today)

Today, Peanut paused in her play after lunch, abandoning her books and curled up on the floor with her lovey bunny. Seeing her lying there, I put aside the items I was tidying and got down on the floor with her, curling my body tightly around hers. Her head tucked up under my chin and body in a little ball in the curve of my hips and thighs, my arm rising and falling with her breath, the words of yesterday's appointment raced through my head.

... fine motor skills between seven and ten months...


... language and communication skills showing cause for concern...


... significant percentile drop in weight...


I want to shout - can't you see how beautiful she is? Can't you see how charming, how happy, how lovely? What does it matter if she hasn't said a word yet? She waves! She smiles! What does it matter that she only chews her toys, and can't stack a block? She "reads" her books! She crawls! So what if she's petite? She's dainty!

Today I curled my body around hers, holding back tears and struggled with my feelings of failure. Perhaps if my body - if I - hadn't failed her in my pregnancy, then she would not have these new obstacles to overcome. This guilt a great leaden weight in the pit of my stomach.

I know that others have larger struggles, great difficulties, and this is not a sentence by any means. I know that this is precisely what these appointments are for, to identify any potential "issues" early so that we can tackle them head on. And I know how lucky we are to have this program available to us.

Tomorrow I will recover - will get on with it - and we will buckle down and start working on the items as laid out by the team. Tomorrow my positive outlook and optimism will rebound. But today I want only to tuck her in my arms close to my heart (oh, my aching heart), where milestones don't matter and I have the power to kiss her troubles away.


Her smile - worth more than a thousand mamas or dadas.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Falling like dominoes

Here I am - I've been away for the last week as we all fell like dominoes around these parts. The sickness came and it hit us hard. However, I did learn several valuable life lessons:

Life Lesson #1
If your daughter is going to have her first bout of projectile vomiting, it will occur on the evening when she has decided she is really hungry, and eats half a salmon fillet, a large quantity of broccoli and a significant serving of pasta side dish. She will also not stop until every sheet for her bed, and nearly every pair of pajamas and towels are sullied. If you are fortunate you will have already purchased multiple backup lovey bunnies, as she will successfully hit four over the course of the night.

Life Lesson #2
If, over the course of two days, you've been vomited on, pooped on, kicked in the face (while trying to sleep) and held your daughter pretty much constantly, you will inevitably fall ill with something. Something like an incurable migraine, nausea and vomiting. This will also occur on the night your husband has to work late, and your daughter will not go to sleep and screams consistently for many hours well into the night (if you are lucky though, your in-laws will have arrived to attend to your child.) You will also need to time your bathroom requirements carefully, with four adults in a house with one bathroom.

Life Lesson #3
If, well into the night, you eventually decide that you are going to need medical intervention and head to the ER and your attending nurse sees your catch basin and says "I'm going to take this, or I'm going to throw up" with disdain and contempt in her voice, you are likely not going to have a quality care experience. When the same nurse asks you to "speak up, speak up, I can't hear you" when asking you to spell Imitrex, the evening is going to go downhill rapidly. When that same nurse is about to start your IV, and you put your catch basin on your lap as a precautionary measure, she says "Are you going to throw up when I do this? Because if you are, can you do it now before I get started", you may want to be glad that you don't have enough strength to wallop her, and congratulate yourself anyway on your self-restraint. And when that same nurse leaves for her break without passing your chart on to a doctor on call or another nurse to get your IV meds started, leaving you in your own personal hell - well, you'd better just hunker down and hope for the best.

Life Lesson #4
If, after pumping you with several different types of powerful anti-migraine and nausea drugs, the same nurse from Life Lesson #3 asks if your headache is gone, and you say yes, you may want to suggest that you take another half hour to an hour to simply rest. Otherwise, said nurse may come back and remove your IV immediately and send you packing. You may just end up staggering down the hallway, which might toss like the decks of a sailboat in a 55 knots storm, smash into a sliding glass door and ultimately end up passing out cold in the closest bathroom, whacking your forehead on the way down.

Life Lesson #5
If your husband also falls ill, it doesn't matter how sick you are, the husband is always more ill.

Life Lesson #6
Just as everyone starts to feel better, your child will immediately start to cut her next set of teeth, learn how to climb, and consequently how to pitch an enormous tantrum when denied her way.

* * *

Good news: all the illnesses seem to have passed. The teething seems to have settled down. I think (tentatively) that we're in the clear. For now. However, I am now left with detoxing Peanut off the lifeline of Sesame Street that has filled her last five days. She is clearly exhibiting withdrawal symptoms, turning eagerly towards the television like a junkie and squawking for the remote. Yeesh.

* * *

Somewhere in the last few weeks of ups and downs, I've been terrible blog citizen. Not much visiting (500+ items in reader, yikes!), not a lot of commenting, and a complete lack of acknowledgment of some lovely awards given to me.

First, the always lovely and eloquent Slouching Mom thinks my blogging is hitting the mark (now if only someone could give me a hint as to the target!)



I'd like to pass this along to nomotherearth, for her beautiful writing about the fears and realities and joys of having her second little boy.

Also, the terrific Nap Warden, she of the mad Photoshop skills, has given me this fantastic bit of bling.



Thank you ladies!

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Sloooow as molasses in January...

I think I'll just unload the dishwasher before bed.

Put away three or four glasses.

Well
that's annoying. That glass isn't even close to clean.

Set it aside for re-washing. Put a few plates in the cupboard.

Ugh! That bowl is still dirty.
Wait, so is this knife. And that spoon is filthy.

. . . ? . . .

Children are born. A Democratic president is elected. World hunger is solved. The ice caps re-form.

. . . ? . . .

Ah yes, perhaps I should try
running the dishwasher through first?

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The doll

Due to a fractured childhood that saw the disappearance of both of my parents by the age of 7, life with this Nana, and an eventual group home stint, I have very little of the memorabilia of childhood. One of the dolls I cherished as a child was my Cabbage Patch Kid, Cora Deanna. She was one of the early dolls, a pretty little thing with light brown yarn hair and a sweet-smelling face. Oh, how I loved her. As a child I was compulsive about keeping her clean and tidy, with her original outfit, her original hair ribbons, even her original diaper. As I grew a older I played with her less and less, as kids do, eventually leaving her on prominent display on my shelf.

My Nana was not known for sentimentality. Although I wasn't a child with a tremendous amount of toys, I came home one day when I was about ten or eleven years old to find her packing up a few precious toys and dolls.
I may not have played with my doll anymore, but I certainly didn't want to part with her. However, no amount of pleading would change my Nana's mind, and off went my beloved Cora Deanna.

A little while ago we started to notice that Peanut had a lot of interest in dolls. For her birthday we bought her an inexpensive doll, which she seemed really enthused with... for about 10 minutes. The doll was a little large and heavy, and we started to realize that she couldn't really pull it around with her. Remembering how much I had loved my doll, I started to toy with the idea of getting her a Cabbage Patch Kid, preferably with her same birth date. I scoured the shops, only to find that the new Cabbage Patch Kids were ugly. Hideous in fact. Streaked hair, "hip" clothing, "messy" wipe-away faces. Ick! These were not the dolls I remembered.

I decided that I would try to find an older, retro doll on eBay. A few clicks here, a search term there, and I was presented with an assortment of retro Cabbage Patch Kids. And then I found her...


The infamous Cora Deanna

Cora Deanna. Oh sure, she had a different name on her birth certificate, but she was my doll. The same hair and eyes, the same outfit right down to the shoes. She even had her original hair ribbons! I showed her to Mr Babbler, excited for him to finally see the doll I had told him about so many times. He told me to just go ahead and bid on it. Buy the damn doll he said, reclaim a part of your childhood.

I hesitated. The doll itself wasn't that expensive, but the shipping cost was going to be more than the doll. A wasteful extravagance. In the end, after much prodding, I went ahead and put in my bid and bought the doll.

A few weeks later she showed up, in brand-new condition in her original box. I pulled her out while Peanut was napping, stroked her hair and then set her on the back of the sofa, glancing at her periodically throughout the rest of the afternoon. While I knew that she wasn't my original doll, it still felt like I had a piece of my childhood back.

When Peanut came downstairs after her nap, she made a beeline for the sofa, having spotted the doll. She jumped up and down and attempted to hurl herself on the sofa. I pulled down Cora Deanna, sure that her interest would be fleeting, as is generally the case at her age. Surprisingly, it hasn't been. Mr Babbler suggested I take Cora Deanna upstairs, and tuck her away. But, you see, I can't.

The joy of recapturing parts of my childhood, those moments and things that I lost, and those moments and things that I never had, doesn't lie in having them for myself, but in being able to offer them to my Peanut. It's in giving her the things and opportunities and experiences that I never had (within reason, of course, so as to not spoil her) and seeing her obvious delight. In knowing that in 10 years, in 20 years, I'll be able to pull her favorite toys out of storage for her to pass along to her children, in being able to share those memories with her - memories of her first steps, her favorite past time, our special routines, and the trips we took as a family - so she can carry them with her into her own family.

And so now I get the pleasure of the return of a beloved childhood item, but more importantly, I get the giddy pleasure of watching Peanut with her doll. This doll, that I loved so much as a child, now her beloved Cora Deanna, who she grabs by the leg and drags around the living room, whose hair she plays with and diaper she scrunches, w
ho she solemnly gives kisses to when asked. Who she grabs in a big hug, arms wrapped tight around her soft body. And that is a far better feeling then merely having an item on a shelf.


Mummy, get your hands away from my doll!

Friday, November 23, 2007

The Stolen Child



Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.




Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.



Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

- W.B. Yeats

For my dearest friends, now, in this time of hurt and loss. For the child that should have been yours, to love and to hold. For the child that should have been.

My heart aches for you, and if I could shoulder some of this burden for you, I would.


Instead, I will hold your hand. I will offer you my words. I will be there.




Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Introducing...

So, this "introduction" has been sitting in my drafts folder for, oh, a month and a half. (Hey, it's still interesting now, right? Your readers are no longer inundated with introduction posts, right? It's an easy post to read during the crazy insane halcyon days of NaBloPoMo, right right right?) I thought I'd pull it out today, as I seem unable to pull together a coherent thought these days. Lots of posts rolling around in my head, but they just aren't coming together. So, instead I give you this:

1. Who is your man?

Mr. Babbler.

2. How long have you been together?
10 years together, 5 years married.

3. How long did you date?
10 - 5 = 5

4. How old is your man?
355 days younger than me. He's the first younger man I ever dated. Apparently that must have been what I was doing wrong before.

5. Who eats more?
Most of the time, I would say he does.

6. Who said "I love you" first?
I honestly can't remember. How terrible is that? Possibly him? He's so much better at remembering this stuff!
Update: I am vindicated. He does not remember either!

7. Who is taller?
He is, by almost 9" (and no, there isn't a dirty joke in there...)

8. Who sings better?
Ooh, definitely him. I'm going to completely embarrass him now, but he was a soprano when he was a boy. Shhhh... It's a secret.

9. Who is smarter?
I'd have to say we're pretty evenly matched. My formal education was broader, his was more focused on a specific subject. However he reads more current events magazines and newspapers, while I read more fiction and non-fiction. I'm probably more street-smart while he has more business acumen.

Like I said, we're pretty evenly matched.

10. Whose temper is worse?
Ooh, once upon a time I would have said mine was worse, as mine flares up and down fairly quickly (especially when driving). However, since Mr Babbler started his own company and became a manager to many employees, I'd say his is probably now worse.

11. Who does the laundry?
Whoever needs clean clothes first, or gets irritated first by the massive piles. I, though, am responsible for Peanut's laundry.

12. Who takes out the garbage?
This falls squarely in his range. I change significantly more diapers, so he gets the garbage. It's only fair, really.

13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
From the bed's perspective, I do. I just can't read when I'm lying on my left side, probably because I'm left handed.

14. Who pays the bills?
He does, but I manage the budget (when I actually get around to it that is. Ahem.)

15. Who is better with the computer?
I think we're probably actually fairly even on this. He is better about things like networking, but I'm pretty good about finding software solutions.

16. Who mows the lawn?
He does, but I'm convinced this is part of his escape plan. "Sooo honey, I need to mow the lawn this afternoon. Of course, I need to go to Home Depot first, for, um, something." Does this happen in anyone else's house, or just mine?

17. Who cooks dinner?
Most of the time this is my job, as Mr Babbler gets home from work too late.

18. Who drives when you are together?
Me, me, me. He doesn't really like driving all that much, so this is my job. I guess it balances out the mowing of the lawn and taking out the garbage.

19. Who pays when you go out?
He does, chivalrous man that he is, although it all comes from the same place.

20. Who is most stubborn?
I'd say him. He can stay in a snit hold a grudge longer than I can. I seem to be unable to hold a grudge no matter how much someone pisses off. It's quite ridiculous, really.

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
Who me? Wrong? Never!

22. Whose parents do you see the most?
His. All this isn't difficult due to my appalling "family".

23. Who kissed who first?
Ah, this one I do remember, as it was completely mutual. Sitting on top of a rooftop patio, something just clicked and bang! We were kissing (to the complete horror shock of his friend who was along with us. Perhaps this was because we weren't actually dating as of yet. Or something like that.)

24. Who asked who out?
There really wasn't any official asking out, per se. It's a long story involving evil boyfriends, horrific girlfriends and two people who were too blind to see what was right in front of their noses. Suffice it to say eventually we finally figured it out and one day we were friends and then another day we were just together. It was just meant to be.

25. Who proposed?
He did. It was all very sweet, and involved nerves, a moonlit beach and a dead fish.

26. Who is more sensitive?
I'm a delicate flower! He's a gentle butterfly!

27. Who has more friends?
I'd have to say him, although I have all you good internet-folk.

28. Who has more siblings?
I do. He has one sibling, I have a menagerie of siblings, half siblings, step-siblings, and foster siblings. I tend to think he got the better deal.

29. Who wears the pants in the family?
Peanut, of course!


Friday, November 16, 2007

A child is born

Listen to the mustn'ts child
Listen to the don'ts
Listen to the shouldn'ts,
the impossibles and the won'ts
Listen to the never haves
Then listen close to me
Anything can happen child
Anything can be.

-Shel Silverstein


One of my closest and dearest friends, Lady A and her husband R gave birth to their first child, a beautiful baby boy, late Wednesday evening.




Is there anything better in the entire world than seeing people you care about with their first (or second, or third) baby? Seeing the wonderment and amazement as they hold the creature that is theirs, with all of the attendant responsibility and love and hope and dreams? Of seeing two people, already bound together by love and now this permanent, most perfect connection between them?

Little one, you don't know it yet, but you're a very lucky boy. You have incredible parents, and I know that you will be raised with love and laughter, morals and integrity. You have grandparents that are just waiting to dote on you. And you have aunts and uncles (and bonus aunts and uncles) and all the cousins and friends that will love and surround you.

Welcome to the world, precious little one!
We can't wait to see what the future holds for you.

* * *

(Thank you everyone, for you words of advice and wisdom the other day. After an incredibly restless night, Peanut seems to be back to normal. We've had two good days in a row and last night she slept through the night again. I think it may have been teething, as nothing else has manifested itself. Thank goodness!)

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Sick Peanut

Taking a brief moment while Peanut actually seems to be sleeping.

Hysterical crying.
Fever.
Lethargy.

This is how my day has gone today. Normally I'm not a worrier. We've had reflux. We've had teething. We've had colds. I'm pretty used to it, and not really an alarmist.

However, today Peanut was completely lethargic and unhappy. All she wanted to do was lie in my arm, bunny clutched tight, as we watched our three PVR'd episodes of Sesame Street over and over with her dozing in and out. (Highly unusual behaviour, as Peanut is a happy baby, and isn't normally a cuddler, generally sitting with you long enough to have a bottle, and then is off again to explore. She wasn't even interested in her books, and that's truly alarming!) This was punctuated by several bouts of hysterical crying, lasting up to nearly two hours. She has had a fever of 39 degrees most of the afternoon and evening.

She doesn't seem to have a cold. There are no sniffles, sneezing or coughing. There don't seem to be any new teeth coming in, and the first four didn't result in anything like this.

I'm a little concerned. So, parents out there - should I be? When do you cave and go the doctor/ER. Should I be worried, or am I overreacting?

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Me me, all about me(me)!

I was tagged by the always interesting Megan over at Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills for the seven random facts about yourself meme.

First, the rules
  • Link to your tagger and post the rules.
  • Share seven facts about yourself, some random and some weird.
  • Tag seven people at the end of the post and list their names.
  • Let them know they were tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.
Alright. Seven random things about me? How hard can it be...

1. I can't sleep without something covering me. It doesn't matter what it is, but if I'm not covered neck to toe by something - a blanket, a sheet, even a jacket if necessary - I can't sleep. I can be completely comfortable on the couch, but without something covering me, sleep will not come. Even on the hottest days of summer, something must cover me.

2. In relation to #1, while I can't sleep without something covering me this does not extend to the wearing of socks. Wearing socks while sleeping is bad bad bad news. The only exception to this rule is when camping, but it doesn't make me happy.

3. I hate the texture of popsicle sticks. I will go to incredible lengths to avoid licking or scraping my teeth down a popsicle stick, often forgoing a popsicle in favor of the less offensive freezie. If pressed to eat something on a stick I'll go to great lengths to avoid those last few bites, often flipping the popsicle of the stick so I don't have to bite the stick. And people that chew the stick? What is the matter with you?! I'm not sure what it is exactly that I find so offensive, but truly it is like nails on a chalk board to me. Even the mere thought of scraping my teeth on a popsicle stick weeges me right out. Blehhhh.... Oddly, Mr Babbler shares this same affliction. Perhaps that's how we knew we were destined for each other.

4. Are we only at 4? I dropped out of highschool in the first semester of grade 12. I was three credits away from graduating, seventeen years old, holding down a nearly full-time job and living on my own.
Surprised? I couldn't relate to the teachers, the students or the whole high school situation, as my life was so drastically different. I was most definitely not ready for university. I spent a semester off working full time and saving money. I went back to school part time for my last year at an independent learning school that was the best experience of my life. I went to university the following year, a much better person for the whole experience.

5. I'm short. Very short. Think under 5" short.

6. I am ridiculously cheap. That's not to say I have cheap taste, I just have the most difficult time paying full price for anything and will out-wait all stores to get an item cheaper than retail. Electronics stores? I am the queen of open box. Children's clothing? Sales, further discounts and coupons combined with trade boards and consignment stores. Books? Used book stores, book sales and my previous employer discount. (This is the one place where I will bend my rules a bit, although I do have a discount card). Oh, and I love craigslist (and I get to feel better about my purchases, because we are reusing!)

7. Last last last (tapping keyboard in impatience, sighing deeply). I have a pathological inability to remember names. I try, really I do, but somehow they just slip away into the abyss. I'll leave a job, and two years later I won't be able to rem
ember the name of the person the next department over. It's really quite embarrassing. Unless I talk to you regularly (or visit your blog, rest assured), there is a good possibility that I've forgotten your name. It makes introductions and random meetings in public places really stressful.

Phew. That was harder than I expected. Okay, here are the tags:

Roz of Chez Roz
Den of
Work + Play ≠ Dull Boy
crazymumma
Mad Hatter of Under the Mad Hat
painted maypole
beck of Frog and Toad are Still Friends
flutter

... you're it. If you're not interested in playing (or have been tagged a dozen times before and enough with the damn memes already) no harm, no foul. (I do, though, admit to a certain fascination/curiousness/all out nosiness.) I'll be by to give you the heads up!


 

BLITHELY BABBLING © 2008. Chaotic Soul :: Converted by Randomness