The bedroom from hell (aka the preteen's room, so much the same)

The idea was to take before and after pictures of my daughter's room to see just how clean she could get it. I had pulled everything out of the closet and left it in the middle of the room for her to deal with it. This was back in late September I think. Her idea of cleaning it was to shove everything back into the closet (so much so that I can not reach the clothes on the back rod) and to change the room around. Some cleaning was required for that effort. I am waiting to paint it, as she is a bit old for pink, but it is never clean enough. So there are no after pictures to join these before ones. If I were to take pictures right now, the room would actually be even messier than it is here.

Remembrance Day

Today Taylor will be taking part with her Girl Guide unit, and other Guides in our division, in the Remembrance Day celebration at the mall. I think it is so important for our children to know the sacrifices that were made for them by these brave men and women. It's important that we attend these ceremonies since there are so few veterans left. It is the year of the veteran in Canada, and today I will remember two in particular.

My maternal grandfather was a member of the Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire regiment and spent 3 years in Burma, the forgotten war. He doesn't really like to talk about those days. The only thing I know is that a Japanese soldier was about to shoot him when he himself was shot and killed. My grandad left the army in 1946, married my nan and had 3 girls. He is now living in the south of England, taking care of my nan who had a stroke 3 years ago. Taylor had the opportunity to meet him this summer and got on very well with him. They are very similar personalities, both very stubborn, opinionated and intelligent. I don't think Liam will be lucky enough to see him. Sad, that.

My paternal grandfather was in the RAF and was stationed in England. He managed to get home to Belfast quite often as my granny gave birth 4 times between 1940 and 1945. My mother often says that the only action my granda saw was a fight with a Canadian soldier. I don't know how true this is.I only knew my granda for just over a year. They moved to Canada when I was 7 and he died when I was 8, unfortunately I was too young to be interested in what I would have considered old war stories. A couple of years ago, I found out that he was actually jailed during the war for stealing arms and selling them to the IRA. Selling them, not giving them. He wasn't much of a nationalist. Strangely enough, he wasn't dishonourably discharged for this.

I will think of both my grandfathers today, even though one of them was far from the perfect soldier.

My baby's officially not a baby

Saoirse has just turned one. A year ago at this very moment, I was pushing and pushing and no Saoirse was appearing. She was stuck the poor thing. She'd come down and go right back up. Stubborn more than stuck perhaps. I ended up having a c-section and she was born at 1.49 in the morning. She was a screamer. They took her away to the Intensive Care Unit pretty quickly after I had a quick peek at her. I didn't see her again until 9 that morning. She was on oxygen and they said she had a terrible headache. So they assumed anyway. She was screaming so much (a solid 2 hours) that they gave her a dummy, which was something I was not going to use for her. They weren't supposed to, it is actually against the health region's agreement with the World Health Organization, but as my friend who works in that unit said when a baby is that upset they will do anything they can that might calm them down. And it did, I suppose. She still loves the dummy to this day. Not that particlar dummy, of course. We have loved and lost at least a dozen since then.

So happy birthday to my wee Saoirse Maeve. I hope today is a lovely day for you.

Finish my sentences, why don't you

This totally requires blogger particpation. I'll even go first....

I could really use a new.... pair of jeans. Or two or three. All the ones I have are either too loose or too tight. There's no happy medium with me.

The strangest thing about my family is.... that we are not very close. William finds that very strange for a Northern Ireland family. Obviously, I am talking about my dad's side here, as my mum's side are all in England. My aunt has disowned both my dad and my uncle. Odd.

When I was a kid I thought that all adults were... crazy. See above. I'll never forget those Christmas dinners that always ended in someone getting very drunk (my dad) and how about the New Years Eve my mum tried to stab my dad. Ah, childhood memories.

I'd love to be.... content.

The most beautiful sound in the world is... a baby's laugh.

My favourite board game is... Taboo. I am AMAZING at it. Especially celebrity taboo.

I'm not embarassed to admit that my CD collection has... every Corey Hart album, plus his greatest hits.

There we go...easy as pie. You have no excuses. Finish those sentences.

A silent killer

Early in the morning last Sunday a family of three were brought into the hospital. All were found comatose in their home by the daughter's friend. Both the daughter and her mother worked there. I knew the mother, but had never seen the daughter before. When I arrived at work on Sunday morning, at 11 am, the mother was already in the ICU, the daughter and husband were still in the ER. The mother spent 8 hours in the hyperbaric chambers, it did not help at all. The family was poisoned by carbon monoxide. A hospital is like a small town, and even if you don't know someone by name a description will usually have you saying "Oh sure, I know her. Lovely girl." And, like in small towns, rumours fly.

We heard that all three had been in the ER on Friday night complaining of headaches, and that they were all sent home. It turns out that only the mother was, and was there for 6 hours. All the talk at the hospital right now is about this family, and specifically the mother, who had been working there for some 15 years. It would be impossible to say a bad word about her, she truly was a lovely a person. She always used to say hello to me and ask about my kids. This was before I even knew her name, but like I said the hospital's a small town and my mother has worked there for so long that people I don't know seem to know an awful lot about me.

She died on Wednesday night, the mother did. 5 minutes after they pulled the plug. The husband was transferred out of ICU and up on to Medicine, he is expected to fully recover. The daughter is in ICU, she is on life support but apparently has shown some improvement. I am not sure what sort of improvement there is to be had when you are on life support, but I suppose it does happen. I wonder about the quality of life if she survives. It is all terribly, terribly sad.


* Just looked at the date and realized that Saoirse was due one year ago today.

I quit, effective immediately

I quit job #2 on Wednesday. When I first got the job it was fun. It was suppose to be for a maximum of 20 hours a week, but it ended up being 40. The hospital would call to see if I could work and I couldn't because I would be working at the store, or I would end up at the hospital on my days off. The only days I'd have off in the last month were the two sick days I took. I was getting more and more frustrated that I was turning down good money for bad. It was only $8 an hour and no one can survive on that.

What really got me was that I was scheduled for a call in shift on Saoirse's first birthday. (Let me just say that a retail store having call in shifts is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You have to call in 2 hours before your shift to see if they need you to come in, talk about putting your life on hold.) We were not allowed to book Remembrance Day off, but I wrote my manager a note and explained that I was having Saoirse's party that and could I please have it off. I assumed all was fine. I was at the hospital all this week so I asked my friend to check my schedule. When she told me I had a call in that day I was so pissed off. I didn't do anything about it though. I said I'd talk to her my next shift and if I couldn't have it off, I'd quit. I decided on Wednesday that I was going to quit, the opportunity for shifts at the hospital is just too great right now and I would like the odd day off. I went by the store and asked the assistant manager if one of the other managers were in. They weren't and I told her I would have to give notice. I had to put it in writing, with the date of my last day. I was going to work until Nov. 10 but then I looked at the schedule I couldn't believe the amount of people that had it off...lots of the high school girls who you'd think would want to work, all the people without kids. Candy has to work and pay a babysitter to watch her 3, which is something she specifically asked not to have happen. So that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I wrote my note which said " Due to personal reasons, I have to quit, effective immediately."

Thank God it's all over .

The Gomrey Report- who really cares?

Not me. I could really care less about who did what and who spent what and who knew what and who kept what secrets. I do have my opinions on it, of course. I am glad Paul Martin was found not to be at fault as I am somewhat fond of him. I think Jean Chretien is a bit of a mad man and I thought it when I was 19 and started voting for his party.

I don't think that this will really hurt the Liberal party. They seem to bounce back from an awful lot of messes. Sure, what's the alternative to them anyway? I like the NDP but you know they will never win and the Conservatives are worse than the very worst the Liberals could ever dream of doing. Not being in Quebec, the Bloc isn't an option. I hope Stephen Harper doesn't try and force a Christmas election. He did a bit of double speak today saying that in his opinion the public doesn't want a Christmas election but on the other hand in his opinion opinion polls are often wrong. So what will it be Stephen? Maybe he will try and force an election, screw it all up and be forced to resign as Leader of the Opposition. That would be a great Christmas gift. Peter McKay is much nicer to look at anyway, and like Paul Martin, is much more willing to poke fun at himself. Stephen Harper is so boring.

And that's that. People may read this and say I have no idea what really happened. And maybe I don't. But guess what? I really don't give a fuck.

Rain + freezing temperatures= Emma flat on her ass

Did I say I love the coming of winter? I think I did and I do, but not, I repeat, NOT when it involves rain. I think someone forgot to tell Mother Nature or God or whoever takes care of the weather that it does not rain in Edmonton in November. Clearly there has been some miscommunication as it rained all last night. Happily, I trotted off to work this morning, walking with Taylor and her friend Ashley who were on their way to school. I saw it. I did. But I thought it was just some frost on the sidewalk. So I walked on it. And I went flying. I didn't actually fall on my ass, but I definitely caused my lower back some grief as I tried to catch myself. It wasn't pretty. It provided Taylor and Ashley with much amusement and a tale to tell at school. Ah, winter/spring. It's a new season.

Walking home through the mall, I noticed that Zellers has their Christmas trees up. The giant tree at centre fountain only had two pieces remaining before it was finished. Benetton had garland in the windows. And so begings the Christmas countdown. Tomorrow I am going to start decorating the house, excluding the tree.

The Coming of Winter (but it actually turned into a post about Christmas)

I worked last night, a graveyard shift. It wasn't too bad, steady for the first couple of hours and then fairly slow from 3 am on, I had a bit of a sleep (it's always nice to be getting paid for sleeping) and otherwise just read. When I left the hospital at 7.30 it was bitingly cold. That's the worse thing about scrubs, they are so thin. My legs were freezing. The grass was all frosty, and I love mornings like that, when it is all quiet and so clean looking. It makes me look forward to the first snowfall. I used to love waking up in the morning with a fresh snowfall before all the footprints ruined it and all the cars on the street made it muddy and grey. Ah yes, I will be bitching about the snow a week after it gets here. But for right now, at this moment, I am looking forward to it. And that reminds me that I had better bring Taylor and Liam's winter coats out of the garage before I go to bed.

With the cold weather comes Christmas preperations. Walking through the mall on my way home I noticed that they had started to put together the giant tree at centre fountain. I guess they aren't changing that Santa display this year. I wonder if Saoirse will sit on Santa's lap this year. Somehow I doubt it, she's a bit scared around strangers. Well, alot. She screams actually.

I love Christmas. It is without a doubt my favourite time of the year. Taylor and Liam are generally well behaved throughout the month of December, as they are threatened with calls to Santa for any misbehaviour. I am pretty sure they no longer believe in Santa Claus, but the only time they questioned it, about 2 years ago, I said "If you don't believe in Santa, you get no presents from Santa." And Liam said, "OK , OK, I believe." I think I was six when I saw my mum putting presents from Santa under the tree, so to have them go to 7 and 8 wasn't too bad. Of course, they will have to continue to pretend now anyway, since there is now Saoirse to have believing in him.

I have been asking them what they want. Taylor wants rollerblades (done, my mum got them) and Spongebob Squarepants stuff. I asked if she thought she was a bit old for it, but she seems to think not. So whatever, I'll pick up a few things. She also wants books. I'm running out of books to buy for her and she ran out of bookshelf space long ago. Liam wants a guitar, just a guitar and nothing else. Very easy to please that one. He's also getting a Gameboy Advance, which he hasn't asked for so I think we may be able to surprise him once again this year. Last year, he had the best reaction to a shared gift with his sister, from Santa of course. There were 5 gifts, all wrapped seperately and out into a giant gift bag. He unwrapped a playstation game first and after a few seconds said "If there's a playstation game there must be a PLAYSTATION!!!!!!!!!" It doesn't write as funny as it actually was. A storyteller, I am not. Anyway, off topic. I mostly done Saoirse. She's easy as she gets what we want to get her. And a car or something, since she loves anything that moves and makes 'vroom' noises. I always thought that was only a boy thing.

Time for Jon Stewart, must go, leaving this post incomplete but long enough to bore the pants off you all anyway. Then it's bedtime, I am surprisingly tired for someone who slept until 3.30 in the afternoon.

Halloween

It's Hallowe'en and my doorbell is constantly ringing or kids are yelling trick or treat. William has taken Taylor and Saoirse out around the neighbourhood and then he will bring Saoirse home and take Taylor and her friend Allie out a bit further. Liam has gone with his friend Josh out to one of the wealthier neighbourhoods (home to doctors and hockey players) where rumour has it they give out full size chocolate bars and cans of pop. Happy days for my Liam.

Liam is Captain Jack Sparrow, Saoirse is Tigger and Taylor is a hippie with a great big blonde afro. I think I'll get William to post a picture for me. They are looking pretty cute.

The things some people search for

I must say that I am seriously concerned about some people with internet access. A few days ago someone did a search for mother and daughter sex tag team. I don't even want to know exactly what they were hoping to find, but I would say to any mothers of daughters in Phoenix, Arizona be aware of the freak in your backyard.

Spitting in the streets

My pet peeve is people spitting. There is nothing more disgusting than walking along the street and staring at big globs of gob (well, staring at puke is slightly more digusting, but a much rarer event- though there has been some by a mall entrance for about 3 weeks.)

I was walking to work today when from behind me I could hear some guy hoarking and spitting. It was enough to make me feel sick. He passed me and then I was dodging his spit. Yuck. I had to wait at the crosswalk with him and he continued hoarking and spitting. Oh, and smoking a very smelly cigar. I wanted to say him that if he couldn't handle the cigar he shouldn't be smoking it. He then proceeded to throw the lit cigar into the street. (I'm pretty sure there's a fine for that, shame there were no police about.)

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but it always has. I was amazed at how many people did it in Dublin, it seemed you were doing nothing but dodging spit. Today's guy had nothing on some middle aged man on O'Connell Street who put his finger on the side of his nose and blew and a great wad of snot landed on the wall of the GPO. I'll never forget that moment in time.

Taking the day off

I called in sick to work today, just like I did yesterday. It is not so much that I am sick, just that I am really, really tired. And I've had a headache for over a week, one just that doesn't seem to go away, but sometimes is just sort of there, not really bothering me but telling me it can turn into a migraine at any second and knock me for six. Which is exactly what it did last Thursday while I was at work. And there was my first sick day at my new job. And here I am on number 3. Not very good, I know, but I just couldn't be arsed.

So I called in this morning and I was told that as this was day 2, I needed a sick note. So I went to the medi centre over the road and after waiting for an hour (and reading an article on blogging of all things) I got into the doctor. This is not my regular doctor, just the one I go to when I am too when I don't have time to wait for an appointment to see my family doctor or when I just couldn't be bothered to see him as he's a bit of a quack. More on him later. I told her what was going on and that I needed a note and she said "Emma, what are you doing? You can't work 2 jobs with a baby!" Well, the sad reality is that I have to work. And though I would prefer just the job at the hospital, I can't feed and clothe a family on shifts I may not get. Which is why I got a part time job, where I am working full time hours and turning down shifts at the hospital, which I have said before pays way more money. It has been determined that I am just way to stressed, as shown by my rather short fuse leading to my rather bad temper.

One day things will get better, this I know.

A story about my family doctor... A few years ago, well 5 or 6 now, my doctor, a very nice doctor, had a baby. When she returned to work she decided to move her practice to the north side and work only 2 days a week. As I live in the west end and had young children who didn't find it convenient to get sick on only Tuesdays or Thursdays, I decided it would be best to go to a new doctor. Her office had sent our files to a clinic not too far away with a choice of 2 doctors. I called my mum and asked if she knew of either of them. Since she works in a hospital, she was able to look them up. I found out that one was Scottish and the other was Irish, both mid-middle aged. Who do you think I chose? Go on, guess. Of course, if you have glanced at my profile you know that I chose the Irish one.

And that was probably not the smartest thing I have ever done. For let me just say that this man, a somewhat nice fella from Galway, is a fucking eejit. No, no, not just an eejit, he is perhaps the most inept doctor ever put on the face of the earth. Maybe that's pushing it, but let me just say he does not represent UCD well.

I have been seeing him for 5 or so years and he does not yet know who I am. My gynecologist who I see much less then him knows me by name when she sees me when I am working at the hospital. My dentist, who I see even more rarely, said "Hello Emma" to me at Wal- Mart. They both know all about my children, even when they are not with me. (And believe me, I wouldn't take my children with me for a pap smear.) But this man, who treats not only me, but also my children, forgets I have them unless he is looking directly at my chart. When I take one of the children to see him, he doesn't know my name, he just calls me 'mum'. What's the deal with that? Shouldn't you learn a bit about your patients? Take a quick glance at their chart before going into the room? His people skills are less than pleasing. He has ignored my requests to look into medication for Liam's ADD. (I didn't actually want to put him on medication, but I wanted the option to be discussed.) When Saoirse was 2 months or so old she developed a hacking cough. When I took her to see him, he told me that fair headed babies often have bad chests. My aunt, a nurse, said she had never heard anything so foolish in her life.

So he is most definitely not the brightest man going. I should change doctors, but frankly, it is all such a hassle.

Does yelling at your kids make you a bad mother?

Someone did a search using that question and somehow ended up at my little ol' blog. So I'll answer it, since I am an expert in child psychology, having successfully fucked up 2.5 children. (The baby only gets a .5 since she is not yet a walking, talking mess.)

I don't think yelling at your kids makes anyone a bad mother, or a bad father for that matter. It just makes us what we are- imperfect, fallible people. I wish I didn't yell at my kids, but I do. I would put myself in the yells too much category, but do not think I am as bad as people I have heard yelling at theirs. I do realize that yelling has become moot. My kids literally tune me out as I go around screaming my head off for all the neighbours' entertainment. The thing is, I have yelled at them so often it really means nothing anymore. In fact, I get a much better response when I speak very quietly, with a certain "Say a friggin' word and I'll knock you into next week" sort of tone. Not that I ever would knock them into next week, though I may have threatened it once or twice in a very weak moment. In general they are pretty good kids who act up occassionally like all kids do. Their misfortune is that they have a slightly wound up mother who sometimes appears to go off the deep end when tormented. A mother of the year award will never find it's way on to my shelves, although I do have two "Best mom ever" wool people on the entertainment unit. One received last Mother's Day and the other the year before, both as third grade art projects. So while not perfect, and even though I yell too much, I'm sometimes a pretty good mum. So says the artwork anyway. As well as the note on the fridge that Taylor wrote me when she was 4...."Dear Mummy, me-and-Liam-love-you. Love Tay." She really loved hyphens when she first started printing.

Writing this reminded me of the maddest I have ever been at Taylor and Liam. I was so mad I sent them to their rooms and they actually stayed in them until their dad got home. Usually, they would come out of their room not even 2 minutes later begging to be allowed back into the livingroom or the basement. So anyway, I think they were 3 and 4 or thereabouts. They were playing very nicely in the livingroom and I was putting away laundry in the bedrooms. It seemed to be awfully quite and then I started hearing thumps and hysterical laughter. I went into the kitchen and saw 2 4L jugs of milk lying on the floor, and in the livingroom Taylor and Liam had made a slip and slide out of the milk and the carpet. They were having a great time running and sliding. At that moment, I wanted to kill them. Imagine the smell of sour milk in a day or two. The waste of all that milk. Today, I laugh about them doing that, but that day was very unpleasant. They went to their rooms and I had the thrill of steamcleaning my livingroom 2 times that afternoon.

Lyrics from the concert I was at

Tonight I went to see Jann Arden. She was fantastic. Made me laugh so hard I was crying.

Everybody's gotta find a God they love
Everybody's gotta figure out the end
No one can tell you how to live forever
And who would want to in light of all this
- How Good Things Are

Hide your heart under the bed and lock your secret drawer
Wash the angels from your head won't need them anymore
Love is a demon and you're the one he's coming for
Oh my lord
-Could I Be Your Girl

oh you probably won't remember me
it's probably ancient history
i'm one of the chosen few
who went ahead and fell for you
i'm out of vogue i'm out of touch
i fell to fast i feel too much
i thought you might have
some advice to give
on how to be
insensitive
-Insensitive

I've got money in my pocket
I like the color of my hair
I've got a friend who loves me
Got a house, I've got a car
I've got a good mother
And her voice is what keeps me here
Feet on ground
Heart in hand
Facing forward
Be yourself
- Good Mother

Every tear you cry
Every doubt you have
All of these things will pass away
All of your big mistakes
Your little old heart would break
I'm wishing that I could take them back
Write down the things you don't want
Burn them in a glass
Write down the things you dream of
Make a paper plane that flies to heaven
And buy a ticket for a plane and come and see me baby
Or drive your car all night just by starlight to Canada
That's where I'll be
Waiting
All of the empty rooms
Every warm embrace is you
Nothing is like it was
There's nobody here but us
I have been filled right up with this
Write down the words of sadness
Burn them in a cup
Write down the things you've wanted
Throw them to the wind that's soaring up to heaven
-Waiting in Canada


Depressing? Possibly.