Happy Halloween! Not feeling it this year. In the past, I went all out sewing costumes for the kids. Some years I was organized and had things done well in advance, other years the costumes went from the sewing machine to the kids' backs and we were out the door. It was sort of rushed and incredibly last minute but I function well under stress so it worked. This year, I just couldn't do it. I could blame the fact that the dog turned the cord to the serger into several piles of plastic and wire but truthfully, I was kind of relieved. All of a sudden I had an excuse that sounded ever so much better than "I don't want to!" This year the reality of Tatyanna's condition is weighing a little more heavily and although we are trying desperately to keep things functioning as normally as possible for the sake of the other kids, some times we stumble. Sometimes the grief that Trent and I carry just weighs too much. Although we keep moving forward, doing the little things becomes so very difficult. House work is neglected in favour of snuggling on the couch watching cartoons and fabric for costumes sits in a heap waiting for another time.

This year I tied dyed a shirt, tacked some flower trim onto a pair of flare bottomed jeans, added some daisies to her hair and Tatyanna was a flower child. I bought some black wings to add to Lexi's tap dance ensemble, put some makeup on her face and she was instantly transformed into a night fairy. Skylar put on last year's costume (Keirnan has declared himself too old for such fun) and we were good to go. The effort took minimal budget and less than half an hour of effort and the kids went out and had a blast and for me, that's what really counts. I want so badly for my kids to experience life as normally as possible for as long as we can. I want them to remember their sister as simply being a part of the family. I want them to remember us having good times because that is what is going to help carry us through when things get tough.

Scene - Lexi, sitting in the bathroom, Halloween costume on for a trial run, staring at her reflection in the mirror with a not so happy expression.

Lexi (brow furrowed): Hmmm.....I look bad.....like an evil fairy.....

Me (think fast, tread lightly): ummm..... It's Halloween so maybe that's ok?

Lexi : I look like the bad fairy on Tinkerbell and she's not nice at all.

Me : ?? She wears red....doesn't she? Well.....I don't think you look evil. I think you look beautiful! Anyways, do you think that there are only fairies out during the day?

Lexi: ......no......


Me: Don't you think that maybe there are fairies that come out at night too?

Lexi (looking skeptical, but interested): Hmm......yeah, I guess so.

Me: Well, if they only come out at night, they are probably doing some super secret, important fairy stuff and don't want to be seen. If they wore any other colour but black then everyone could see them. I think you look just like a night fairy!

Lexi (barely able to contain her excitement): Wow!!! I'm a night fairy......princess!!!!

***

And that is how to rationalize with a 4 year old. Although I believe the key element is luck and I truly have no idea what I would have done if she hadn't followed along with that train of thought.

Happy Bday to a pretty awesome person!

*Belated birthday post

Skylar,


It doesn't matter how old you get, you will still be the little girl who liked to order pespi with her hanguber and exclaimed with wonder that there were sparkles and stars shining in her feet after a particularly long car trip. I know that we often have differing opinions on how life should go around here but I just wanted to say that I am truly proud of the woman that you are becoming. You have had to endure far more than many kids your age and I truly wish that so many things could have been easier for you. But life isn't without its challenges and you have risen above and grown into a strong, independent person who has a good understanding of who she is. You have a beautiful spirit and underneath the sometimes prickly adolescent exterior, a heart of gold. I love you much my girl. Happy 11th birthday!


Love,


Mom

"it doesn't matter how rough your day was, when your husband comes home and responds to the question of how work was with a stricken look and "I ate muskrat!!!" you have to smile....just a little"

That was my facebook status line a couple of days ago. It quickly became the source of much humour both online and off....most of which was at my poor husband's expense. An online friend even went so far as to helpfully send a link to what has been termed "a once popular and always reviled song"- Muskrat Love by Captain and Tenille. Some have even called it a smash hit, although once you hear it, I'm fairly certain the only connection to that word is the sudden desire to smash the source of the auditory assault. The 70's were truly messed up times. Trent in his typical, easy going manner was good natured about the ribbing. As someone who was a good friend long before he was locked into matrimony, he was well aware that aside from the fact that his wife can barbeque a mean steak for a vegetarian, she is also a complete pain in the butt. Did you know that you can download that song as a ring tone? For a mere handful of change, you can listen to a song devoted to rodent romance every time your phone rings.

It's now been several days since my husband's gustatory adventure and the jokes have faded but do you think I can get that song out of my head? No, no I cannot. *sigh* I suppose I had it coming.

Kid of the day

Every so often Tatyanna's grade 1 class has what they call the Kid of the Day. It's a moment where they can celebrate the individuality of their peer and practice their drawing and printing skills. Recently, it was Tatyanna's turn and before we could even get her stuff in her locker there were kids running out of the class excitedly informing us that Tatyanna was going to be that day's chosen child. Truthfully, I had no idea what exactly it meant so I smiled, responded with an enthusiastic "wow! that's awesome!" and went on my way. When I returned to the school to pick her up, I was given a package containing all the drawings that the kids had made. As I began to flip through them, smiling at the kids' burgeoning art skills, I began to notice something that truly made my day. Some kids had chosen to draw the gold ring on her finger, some gave her ponytails, one even attempted to draw her bright orange wheel chair, but almost everyone had drawn her with a huge smile. As a parent to a "sick kid" I always worry about how her condition will affect those around her. Batten Disease is complicated and we have really struggled with how much information to share with her class. I know that eventually there will come a time when we will have to withdraw for the sake of the other kids but for now, I feel good about our decision to have Tatyanna attend a regular grade 1 class. At this moment, she is an important part of their class, and although she has some obvious issues, they choose to celebrate what is good.

Dear Mother Nature*,

I know that you are getting up there in years and as such are entitled to some forgetfulness but there seems to be significant confusion this year regarding the order of the seasons. Until now, the norm has always been winter, spring, summer, fall and not winter, springish, winter. You seem to have entirely forgotten about summer and fall. 2 weeks ago, we had a brief reprieve where the temperatures soared to 30 C.....in September. What was that anyways? A hot flash? At any rate, it did not help the country prepare for the early onslaught of winter. The leaves are still green on the trees and my yard is covered in snow. This just isn't right. I can understand some mix up with maybe one season, once in a while, as this isn't the first time that we have missed out on summer. But, 2 seasons??! Despite the fact that it is generally a precursor to the dreaded Manitoba deep freeze, I love fall. The crispness in the air, the colourful leaves, the geese flying overhead, it's an amazing time of year. One that is meant to be savoured with a mug full of chai and a fuzzy sweater and not an entrance full of wet soggy mittens and winter boots. I can handle missing out on summer again but could we please, please have fall back?

On the upside, to balance out the millions of disgruntled prairie dwelling Canadians, my kids are thrilled.

*Just to clarify, that was totally tongue in cheek and I have not converted to paganism nor do really I believe in mother nature. Mom, you don't need to schedule an intervention with the pastor or somesuch. :)

Sincerely,

Because middle of the night ramblings are often a cause for much regret, I have decided to stick to a safe subject. Shoes. Here's my top 3, favourite pairs:

This is me in a shoe. I've had this pair of docs since the days when I was allowed to wear fishnets, ratty jeans and multicoloured hair. My kids have since outlawed such attire. Despite what the Ripcordz try to tell you, kids don't' necessarily like it when "their momma wears army boots". These boots have not had an easy life. Years of abuse have left them a little...ok, alot battered. The leather is faded and they are full of holes but to simply throw them in the garbage to be covered in the remnants of last night's dinner would be so very wrong. And so, they sit in my closet. Allowed the dignity of semi-retirement. Once in a while, I still wear them and the moment I put them on, the planets realign and for a minute the world is good.....at least until i step in a snowdrift and then water leaks through the hole and I'm stuck with cold, soggy feet for the next few hours.




I saw these in a Chinese market and couldn't resist. I know the tag says Converse and they probably aren't but I love them anyways. They are a shout out to my punk rock past. A subtle way of remembering some truly fun times. Although I was on my game and bartered them down to a completely respectable price, the sales girl probably could have had me within the first couple of tries. There was no way I was leaving without those shoes.

Realizing the skull covered Chuck Taylor wannabes aren't necessarily suitable attire for meetings with neurologists and teachers etc. I recently went shopping for a new pair of shoes. The moment I saw these I knew I had to have them. (http://www.happylookslike.com/ if you want to have them too!) For some reason, they remind me of China, and that makes me happy. They are also the comfiest shoes that I have ever put my feet into. My daughter Skylar, however, does not share in my love for the shiny, new shoes and has told me that I should never, ever wear them when I come to her school. In fact, at the shoe store when the sales person approached and asked if we needed any help. My girl quickly responded with a pointed look and a "NO! We're just looking!!!" Sorry, Skylar you just sealed your fate right then. For the last 2 weeks those particular shoes have been on my feet every single time I've had to walk into the school. Because I love her like that. Now I just need to figure out how to get the brown alligator pair and the paisley pair.

*Yes, I realize how pathetic it is that I have pictures of my shoes, ready to use, already on my computer.

some colourful genetics

My girls are not what anyone would call wallflowers. The louder and brighter, the better. Throughout their younger years all writing utensils had to be kept up and out of sight. Should a wayward maker fall into the wrong hands, the following havoc was certain to ensue:

All we need to make the previous photo set complete is one of my grade 7 photos, proving that maybe they come by their heavy handed and colourful technique a little too honestly.

I could feel my heart sink and anxiety start to prickle at the edges of my consciousness. Of course that particular store in this mall had to be right next to the only place that I buy jeans. For a moment I debated going home, destined to spend an eternity borrowing clothes from my older daughter....or at least until she outgrows me (which could be tomorrow at the rate she's going). But, that would be foolish. Living in a relatively rural part of the country means that when you're in the city, you have to shop and normally, that's not such a bad thing. I gave myself a brief pep talk and began pushing Tatyanna's wheel chair with determined steps, hoping beyond anything that she wouldn't notice the sunny, yellow glow emanating from the source of my unease . It used to be her favourite place in the world. When we lived in Edmonton she would spy it from the upper concourse of the mall and make a mad dash for the nearest escalator yelling "I'm going to Build-a-bear....to make-a-bear!!!" She didn't care if she wasn't getting a bear, she just loved the process. The picking of the outer layer, the fluffing machine that stuffed the chosen companion to the perfect level of huggability and the kissing of the heart and making a wish before the new friend was sewn up, ready for dressing. She kissed a lot of hearts. I think most of our menagerie of build-a-bears contains more than one. Her eyes would sparkle as she danced through the store eagerly helping to chose the perfect outfit and accessories. The shoes were her favourite. A girl after my own heart, it didn't matter if they didn't have underwear...the outfit wasn't complete without an awesome (or is it pawsome?) pair of shoes.

I wasn't sure which would be worse, if she saw the store and didn't react at all, or if she did. At first I thought we were going to make it by without incident. Tatyanna's attention was caught by something on the opposing side and it wasn't until we were almost clear that her head turned. A veiled look of recognition crossed her face as she peered hard into the interior of the shop.

"Look! It's Build-a-bear! Wanna go in?" I asked, trying desperately to keep my voice cheery. Drawing on some apparently vast internal reserve of strength we made it past the helpful store staff and down the row of bins full of waiting animals. They finally have the pony. It was only out in select stores during the "old days", and we kept waiting for it's arrival, knowing that it would have been Tatyanna's new favourite. But the release date kept getting pushed back, and then it just didn't matter anymore.

It wasn't until we hit the fluffing machine, with the bin of hearts waiting to be kissed that the sense of loss came crashing in around me. Apparently, while vast, my reserves are also shallow. Tatyanna stared hard at the swirling fluff and I could feel my heart shatter once again. It was as if she was remembering. Remembering a time when things were better, when she could dance and sing and kiss hearts and make wishes. But with the expression of nostalgia there was also confusion. As if those past times were maybe a dream and perhaps never really happened at all. As if she couldn't comprehend how she had gotten from there to here.

It was all I could take, I think I fled the store fast enough that the employees checked for fires and counted their inventory after I left.

I hate Batten Disease. I hate that it is stealing our little girl before our eyes. I hate that remembering the fun times of days gone by is now done with a smile on my lips and tears running down my cheeks. I hate that every day, I have to pick up the pieces of my heart over and over again. But, I do. I hold my head up and keep going. I pick up the pieces and try to make our life the best it can be. Sometimes it works, sometimes I just really want to go back to a time when my little girl could kiss a heart or two.

Today's entry has been brought to you by the letter T and the number 3

I think the last week can be summed up by relaying the following conversation:

Super happy dental office reception lady: Good afternoon, Dr.'s C, G and S's office, how may I help you?

Me (not so super, not so happy): Hello, I had some dental work done a week ago and am wondering if increasing amounts of pain is a normal thing.....truthfully, I'm thinking that maybe I've developed dry sockets in the lower 2 extraction sites.....

Her (still really very happy): Oh??!! Well, you would KNOW if it was that........ (sounding skeptical)

Me: It sort of feels like my head is being eaten....from the inside out......

Her: Oh! Yes, that definitely sounds like it! We'll get you in right away!


Within an hour of seeing the dentist for an extremely simple, 2 minute procedure, I was finally free from the mind numbing pain of the last week leaving me wondering why I didn't just break down and make that call sooner?

Irony of the day:

While driving the kids and husband to the their respective places of education and employment we came across an accident of the vehicular sort. Wedged into a city vehicle with its front end entirely broken beyond all recognition was a small red car. Emblazoned in colourful type on the side of said car were the words, "Collision Centre Courtesy Vehicle". What I wouldn't have given to have my camera handy at that moment. I'd say that their day is off to a smashing start!

***

And on that note, I will leave you with the following video, because it's funny....and the world needs more funny.

Random observations from the last 24 hours :

1. Before dental surgery they give you a helpful piece of paper which outlines the pre-op protocol and post-op expectations. The words pain and discomfort are used on more than one occasion. Is there anywhere on that document that informs you of the fact that the procedure will leave you feeling as though you were left licking the kill floor of the local meat packing plant while someone beats you with a 2X4? No, no there's not. But I'm thinking that it would be a far better, and more enlightening description.

2. This is somewhat related to #1 - I'm fairly certain that Sookie eats a lot more breath mints and spicy gum than she lets on.

3. People are allowed to obtain prescriptions for injectable things like hormones, insulin and heparin....why not lidocaine? I think part of the post-op goodie bag should contain your own personal injection kit with a day or two's supply of local anaesthetic.

4. Observation at the oral-maxillofacial surgeon's office:

As you sit in the comfortable waiting room, you see people arrive to pick up their "charges" but you never actually see them leave. That's because the post-op crowd gets to leave out of the super sneaky back door exit. I'm sure, if asked, that they would tell you that it's for your own personal sense of privacy and dignity, but really.....it's all about the bottom line. If I saw someone leave through the front door looking that way that I know I did, I probably would have made a pretty hasty retreat.


5. Even if you are driving a totally hot, brand new Mustang GT, peeling out of the Tim Horton's drive through, tires squealing, with a bunch of empty Hagen Daz boxes stuck in your spoiler is still no cooler than swaggering out of the men's room with toilet paper trailing from your shoe.

I realize that my blood vessels are currently pumping a vertible cocktail of narcotics through my body (Midazolam, Fentanyl and Propofol with several T3 chasers) and as such my perceptions may be a little skewed....but I'm pretty sure that these photos are an accurate portrayal of my day.

Once upon a time a naive young girl (ok...maybe that's a bit of a stretch) moved away to a city halfway across the country with her husband and 3 young children. The move was made for the sole purpose of helping the husband advance his career and the lure of significantly more money, combined with a fairly extensive benefit package made it seem like the perfect opportunity. Deciding to be pro-active with the health and well-being of her mouth our young ingenue decided to procure the services of one of the local dental offices. After conducting what she though was a thorough search to determine the best possible professional in which to trust her precious pearls she was excited to find an brand new office mere minutes from her husband's place of employment. Upon entering the building she was relieved, or as relieved as one can get when walking into a dental office, at the squeaky newness of the building and the cheerful and professional staff that worked inside. And so she began on a quest to help her mouth be all that it could be.

One year and enough money to put the dentist's children through med school, our protagonist began to have a sneaking suspicion that this dentist was not all that he was made out to be and she began to wonder if, perhaps, he had obtained his degree from one of those online programs promising a PhD and employment in one year's time. This suspicion was quickly confirmed when she showed up for an appointment to correct some previous work and found that the jovial individual masquerading as a dentist had completely bailed on his practice and disappeared into the proverbial sunset.

Fast forward 3 years later....no longer the innocent young thing that she once was, our lead is now in significant amounts of pain as the dental work done in the city has fallen apart leaving her mouth in a jagged mess of ruin. Ridiculously attentive oral hygiene has done little to stave off the damage and a qualified professional has confirmed that despite her best efforts, the previous work was not up to par and will have to be "corrected". We will used the word corrected as an umbrella to cover such procedures as extractions, bridge work, implants and whatever exactly a periodontal specialist does when they are referencing "bone surgery."

And so she begins the quest once again, a little more wary, but hopeful nonetheless, that tomorrows proceedings will finally be a brand new start.