The Haunted Cabin (and the moral of the story is?)

The night had long since fallen and I lay curled up beside Adrian in his bed, the dog warming our feet.

"What was your favourite part of the day today?"

"I don't know."

He was tired.  He'd been up for 14 hours.  Much too tired for this Mother's eager end of day questioning.

I pulled him in close and kissed his cheek.  "This is my favourite part of the day."

"This is?"

"Of-course.  Snuggling with you is always my favourite."  As I lay there, his breathing turning deep and even, a memory popped into my mind.  My heart constricted.  

I really, really miss my Mum.  It seems like I haven't seen her in forever.  Or 3 months to be more precise.  This memory that came to me out of the blue was such sweet comfort that my mind's eye peeked in towards it closer recalling the sights, the smells, the squeals.

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It was a grade seven school trip to a summer camp-cabin getaway for a few nights.  The name of the camp started with an H but other than that I can't remember the name of it.  My Mother, for the first time that I can recall, had volunteered to be a supervisor.    

My Mother is not your typical Mother in that she's really not all that maternal.  She is the type of Mother - even then - that didn't talk down to you no matter what your age.  Of-course she was loving and caring - there were always I love you's and hugs in our home.  She was a single mom who worked her butt off to raise her children in the best way she could.  It was rare for her to take the time off work to volunteer for my school.  Let alone looking out for a bunch of squealy 12 year old girls. (Now that was brave...I listen to 12 year old girls talk nowadays and just cringe.)  My Mum volunteering, especially for something like this, simply wasn't something I had ever expected her to do.  But I loved that she did.  And now as a Mother I appreciate it even more.  

The days at the camp were very un-school-like and super fun.  We hiked through creeks, had bonfires and skits at night, played games.  Of-course a few of us girls got into trouble from the teachers for going over to the boys cabins and had to stand at the flag pole for punishment for what seemed like FOREVER.  I remember griping to my Mom when she came over to us standing around the forbidden flag pole about how lame it was that we got into trouble.  It wasn't like we went IN their cabins.  We were just talking to them through their windows!  So lame.  My Mum laughed and shrugged her shoulders.  Rules were rules.  

That night in our tiny little rustic cabin, curled into our sleeping bags on 4 sets of bunk beds, a few of the girls were having hard time falling asleep.  

They were homesick.  Missed their Moms.  

And of-course our cabin was haunted.  

Clangity, clang, clang, clang!  

Cue high pitched twelve year old girls screams as they all jumped and huddled in one bed.  

The coat hangers!  The coat hangers on the opposite side of the cabin were moving on their own! (we couldn't see a thing in the pitch black but of-course it was the ghost haunting us)

Eventually the dramatics subsided.  Still, not surprisingly, some of the girls were not at ease.  

My Mum's voice was clear and comforting in the pitch dark.  She talked with us calmly.  Asked questions.  Quite possibly she sang songs.  She always sang.  She still does. She told us when she was a little girl and had a hard time falling asleep she would practice saying the alphabet backwards.  (This really is one of her many talents to this date.)  Silence fell as the girls contemplated this.  I fell asleep easily of-course without saying the alphabet backwards - the thought of attempting that to this day makes my brain hurt.  And though I'm sure I would've been fine had my Mother not been in the cabin with us, having her there was reassuring nonetheless.  Especially since the cabin was totally haunted.

I suppose there's some point to this story.  Some sort of common thread here between the night time cuddles with my son and the story I just told you.

Quite possibly the moral of the story is, if there is one, it's always nice to have the comfort of your Mother curled in beside you, her hand rubbing your back or her soothing voice nearby.  I think of it as a small gift every night to my son but especially to me - these precious moments we share.  I've never felt comfortable with the crying it out method though that's not to say I haven't done it a couple of times in the beginning.  But I've come to the realization it's just not how I want my children to fall asleep at night...upset, stressed, tear stained.  Shouldn't we all feel safe and comforted the last few minutes before drifting to dreamland?  

That's my belief. 

Not Quite an Astronomy Lesson

We crossed the road hand in hand.

The night loomed just around the corner, dusk already bidding its adieu.

The one whose small hand clutched mine looked up into the misty sky and declared, "It's a silver moon Mommy!"

A silver moon.

Poetic words coming from my three year old son.

My head tilted toward the night sky.  It was dark, foggy and sure enough...there was a sliver of a silver moon.

"It is a silver moon!  How beautiful."

The moon hung hazy and alone.  Not a star in sight yet.

"But where's the Mommy and Daddy?"

"Where's the moon's Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yeah."  His voice lilted and soft. His perfect profile stared up in perfect wonder at the soft, vague ceiling above us.

"Well, the moon doesn't have a Mommy and a Daddy honey.  But I suppose the stars are his family. We just can't see the stars yet because of the fog in the sky." Oh do I love this age and how attached they get to everything having to have a Mommy and Daddy.

It shows just how incredibly important family is already becoming to them.

"But the stars are the moon's friends?"

"Sure they are."  Friends, of-course, being another way of saying family. Don't we all consider our great friends family anyway?  I do.

So of-course the stars are the moon's family and friends. Why not? 

It's not like he's not at an age for an official astronomy lesson quite yet anyway.

And thank God for that.

'Cause I'm not at the brain capacity to teach one.

A Rant, A Wall and Go the F&^% to Sleep

Do you mind if I rant for a few moments here?  If you do mind, kindly click off and find somewhere else to go.

Thanks so much.

My husband's been off gallivanting (aka working) in New Zealand and Australia for the past 11 days. Which is all fine and good. It is.  And it's been going really quite well at home base with the boys.  They have been unreasonably well behaved and I somehow found a reserve of patience that I had no idea about.  We've gone out to 'real' restaurants for dinner...the kind with actual menus and a liquor license.  Where you sit down in a nice booth and there are candles lit.  Which were promptly put out by moi.  I've seen what their father can do with one innocent candle at a dinner table so I'm not risking sitting at one with his 3 and 4 year old sons.

I've taken them to the movies and parks.  We've been invited over to a couple of our neighbours homes for dinner.  Which I certainly never expect but appreciate more than I can put into words.  Because if you've ever been alone with your children for long stretches at a time when that dinner time rolls around and you're used to having nice family meals around the table it can tend to be a bit lonesome when your husband isn't there.  I'm not a person that ever feels easily lonely but dinner time?  Lil bit lonely.  Since John's been gone I've dealt with an ongoing situation at my son's school and was told by the teacher that he is 'just a really nice good kid'.  This of-course made my mother feathers fluff out.  I may have preened and clucked around with my neck out for a moment.  It's so nice to hear that from another adult but especially from a teacher.

Someone (a parent) recently said they 'hate it when people complain about how hard parenting is'.  But you know what?  THAT'S CAUSE IT IS.  And if you're doing it right it should be motherlovin' hard.  Not all the time of-course - not every minute or even every day.  But if you can say you don't find parenting hard you're doing something really, really wrong.  Or your child is just abnormally angelic.  And if that's the case we can never be friends.  Sorry.

Do you know what else someone (another parent) asked me after being without my husband for a week as we discussed how fast the week went by and I said a, "Thank you GOD." to that?

Do you really want to know?  

They actually asked me, "Really?  You find it hard when John's gone?"  That person was lucky I didn't have a cast iron pan handy because I was about to hand out a Rapunzel whoopass on them.  Wow huh?  Just...wow.

And then.  Then!  The one day my lovely father and his wife came to visit and I had to run out and grab some groceries as they played outside...do you know what happened???!!!  I came home about 40 minutes later to my Dad's wife and her broken shoulder.  I don't know how it happened because I wasn't there (guilt, guilt and more guilt) but it had something to do with my sweet damn dog's leash being wrapped around her ankle and then taking off after a stick that Adrian had thrown.  The thing is...before I left, when she asked for Riley's leash I knew, I  knew (because I have psychic powers)  that it was a bad, bad very bad idea to have Riley outside without me around.  So people.  Listen to me right now.  Read. the. words. that. are. comin' out of my fingertips....listen to your gut.  Always.

Every time I haven't I've regretted it.

Julie...I hope you're doing okay :(

Oh....you probably thought I was done ranting there didn't you?

WELL THINK AGAIN.  

This morning dawned a little later than usual.   This is a good sign.  That good sign lied it's little ass off to me.  It lured me in and then sunk me faster than a...than a...I don't know what but it brought me down yo.  And fast.

Today was challenging.  My children seem to be coming apart at the seams.  They are not listening.  At all.  They're fighting with each other.  Like sitting on one another's heads fighting.  Like hitting, screeching and being perfect little assholes to each other fighting.

Tonight was a complete gong show at bed time.  I was so beyond exhausted I actually put them in their beds, walked to my room and closed my bedroom door (which happens to have a child proof door handle on it...for reasons that not need be questioned).  There was crying and crying.  And banging on my door.  And more crying and more door banging.

It was a perfect night to yell out the lines from the book Go the F*&% to Sleep somewhat aggressively to my children through the crack of my door.  It really was.  That was actually the  mantra screaming in my head when I couldn't take the crying and door banging any more and was forced to lay down with them at intervals.

You could call it concrete, or stone.  Metal or brick.  But whatever that damn wall is made of, I've hit it tonight going at a fierce rate.  I'm done, kaput, finished and just plain kphflttt.  I've got 48 hours to go and I'm hoping it's like ripping off a band aid.

Quick with that inevitable sting that thankfully fades fast.

Here's hoping.

In the meanwhile I'll raise an (oversized) glass of wine to that and *ching* "Cheers Mates!"

I Dreamed a Dream (then I analyzed the crap out of it)

I've heard of people that do not dream when they're sleeping. This I cannot fathom.  It fascinates me that some people either don't dream or don't remember their dreams because I'm a very vivid dreamer.  Every night I dream and dream a LOT.  Crazy long dreams.  Short random ones.  I can recall dreams from when I was a child and I have a few recurring ones.  I have no idea what this says about me or if it even means anything.  I often will wake up in the middle of the night after a particularly vivid one and I always say to myself that I must write this one down because I will forget it in the morning.  Who knows, perhaps I could make it into a book some day like Stephanie Meyer who wrote the Twilight series after dreaming about it one night...maybe I could be the next huge author.

You just never know.

I had one of those insanely clear and strange dreams last night.  I had the same thought that I always do  when I awoke from it and was thisclose to writing it down.  But I was too tired and ended up falling back asleep.  Now I am full of regrets because I don't remember it at all.  Just that it was CRAZY.  There were lots of lively colourful blobs with personality and that's all that comes to me.  There was much more to it but I can't recall anymore of what happened.

When I fell back asleep though, I had another dream.  An incredibly clear and terrifying one.  I don't know what it meant (though I will give my interpretation at the end) but I can tell you right now that it confirmed my negative thoughts on ever going on a cruise - especially with my children.

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I was with my husband in what seemed to be a room in the basement of a boat - a very large boat - perhaps a cruise ship but on a smaller scale.  It was a dingy-Bingo-hall-esque type of room and there weren't a lot of people there.  I accidentally knocked over a man's drink - it was a dark drink possibly rum and coke.  He was very sarcastic and he and his wife were not friendly at all towards me.  My husband gave me a five dollar bill and I asked the man what he was drinking so that I could replace the one I knocked over.  He told me snidely, "You know what I was drinking."  But, no I did not.  I stood facing them feeling like an idiot while husband and wife stared at me with nasty smiles on their faces. I glanced over at my husband who was sitting at the next table over. I felt a drop of water on my head.  And then another...and another.  All of a sudden there was a ton of water raining down on us from the ceiling.  A screeching alarm sounded and a large video appeared in front of us that showed one side of the boat exploding into flames.  It was the opposite side of where we were.

Panic gripped me because all of a sudden it occurred to me that my boys were on the boat but I didn't know where.  Then we're on deck but inside a small compartment-type room and Adrian comes into view but out of reach from me.  I feel complete relief but I can't get to him.  Almost as soon as I see him he gets thrown into the water and onto a floatation device.  He had no life jacket on and he was obviously not secured onto the tubular lifesaving device.  It's night time and the waters were so very dark.  I'm so incredibly scared for him but my mind is telling me it somehow makes sense that he's out there and I'm not.  Then the anxiety rises inside me when I realize now I don't know where Finley is.

Finley appears but again...I can't get to him. The same thing happens to him.  I continually yell frantically to them to HOLD ON!  HOLD ON TO THOSE HANDLES AND DON'T LET GO!!!  

I feel sick with worry.  John never leaves my side.  He is completely calm.  Our neighbours were there with us but they didn't seem bothered by what was going on around us.  This was so confusing to me.  There were other relatives on the boat as well but they hadn't brought their children. Their dog however happened to be in the opposite end of the boat that blew up into flames.  I felt terrible for them.  And I felt relieved we hadn't brought Riley with us.

I had so many conflicting emotions barraging me.

The boat was now being tugged to shore.  The fire had been put out.  I kept looking from Adrian to Finley willing them to stay on those floatation devices but feeling so completely helpless though somehow knowing that we were all going to be okay.  All of us were going to be just fine except for the animals on the other side of the boat.

And that's when I woke up, saw my eldest asleep beside me and I pulled him in close.  My heart was pounding.  I was so thankful it was just a dream.

Just a dream.

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My interpretation of-course is pretty logical.  My youngest just turned 3, my eldest in now in school and will be turning 5 in a couple of months.  They are growing up.  And it's going by quickly.  At some point I have to let them go to discover the deep, dark and tumultuous waters of the world on their own and it is going to be extremely hard for me.  I will have anxiety.  Naturally.  As they grow into tweens, teens and adolescents there will be proverbial fires to put out and issues to deal with. But I will have my husband by my side.  He will keep me balanced (or at least try to)...most importantly he will always be there, consistent, calm and present.  We will be in this together through stormy nights filled with anxiety and all the craziness in between.  We will see it through to the other side, side by side as the tides of life bring us safely to shore.  The people surrounding us of-course may not be going through what we are so it makes sense that they can't see, can't feel, can't understand the emotions that are happening within me.  As for the poor animals.  I have no idea what all that means.  Except for the fact that I'd been discussing pets on facebook with my neighbours late that night.  That's all I got for that.  And that arrogant couple?  Well I suppose we all come into contact with people like that throughout our life.  And it's all in how you deal with them.  Or don't.

Got any more dreams for me to analyze?  I think I just amazed myself!

What's In Your Purse?

There are times when I go out in public...on my own....sans offspring.

Is this shocking to you?  Sometimes it is for me, let's be honest.  Even going to the grocery store by myself is like a mini vacation.

It's at these times when I'm running errands, doing groceries or generally getting the hell outta dodge because if I don't my entire being could very well explode into a raging awful mess, that I actually have the thought of what others think of me while I'm by myself.  Do I look like a Mother of 2 little boys?  Do I look like a single women simply perusing the stores at the mall for some new fabulous boots?  Do I look like a happily married woman?  When I have a full face of make up, my hair done, my sassy clothes on and a skip to my hop because...well...I'm alone...I wonder these things.

Do you?

Sometimes I think I can get away with being a fabulously awesome career woman who has not a care in the world but her work.  Sometimes I think I can get away with being a married woman on the brink of possibly starting a family but simply content with where she is in life.  Hey, maybe I could get away with being a lipstick lesbian.  Let's think wild for a minute here.

Or let's not.  Sorry about that.

But then I go to pay for my new fabulous boots.  Or my groceries.  And my hand goes to the zipper of my purse and then it alllll comes into focus....about who I really am.

I am a Mother...that is first and foremost at this point in my life right now.  And the evidence, ladies and gentlemen, is in my purse.

What you could find in my purse at this very minute if you should ever dare to look is...

* A Captain Britain figurine (Oh?  You thought there was only a Captain America?  Well.  I shall be ever the educator of superheroes for you and let you know that not only is there a Captain Britain but also! A Captain Canuck!)

*An obscene amount of crumpled up grocery store receipts

*A diaper (somehow a dead giveaway right there)

*A beautiful Coach wallet (the only beautiful thing about the innards of my purse)

*A toy motorbike that is missing its handlebars

*A Batman Figurine

*Not one but TWO pairs of plastic vampire teeth.  No idea.

*4 tubes of lipgloss all in the varying shades of pink

*Wet Naps

*Napkins for God only knows what fast food restaurant and how long they've been there for

*Hand Sanitizer (for obvious reasons)

*A Costco flyer (from I have no idea when)

*A business card from my hair person with my next appointment written on it...(hold on...I have to get this on the calendar before this gets lost in the abyss of my purse trenches....)

*An empty glasses case

*2 pens that probably don't work worth a crap

*2 plastic rings in the shape of hearts.  They are both orange and sparkly.  One has a bat on it and one has a really freaky looking spider.

*A mint from a restaurant that feels like it's actually half of a broken one. How did that get past quality control I ask you?

*An Old Navy clothing tag

*Tampons (sorry, but this is a fact)

*A penny (I hope it's lucky!)

*Far too many crumbs which is totally grossing me out right now

*And a raisin.  At least...that's what I think it is.

On a Great Night...(this is what you would see)

"I hear toys being thrown around down there!  If I come down there and toys are all over the place after I just cleaned them up I will NOT be happy."  I could tell they were shaking in their boots. (or underwear-slash-diapers as that's all they ever seem to wear around the house).

I was attempting to enjoy a dismal and cold November evening while my husband works away in the beautiful (hot) country of Australia.  The attempting was working for the most part.  I was bbq'ing steaks with thoughts of a glass of red wine in mind and listening to a random compilation of my favourite music while my boys played throughout the house.  Mostly getting along.  I really couldn't ask for more.  Except to have my husband there enjoying it with me.  Which was moot point.

I stormed down the stairs and surveyed toy cars strewn all over the floor.

"Really you guys?!  Clean these us right now.  Both of you!  Or no Wild Kratts after dinner tonight."  That was some serious threat right there.  I stomped back up the stairs with that glass of wine in mind that I'd yet to enjoy.

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We sat around the dinner table, plates full of steak, orzo mixed with goat cheese, tomatoes and peas and steamed broccoli as the song Beam Me Up by Pink played.  Adrian sat to my right singing what he thought were the lyrics...."Beeeaat me Uuuup!"

"Adrian really?  You think she's singing 'Beat me Up' with that beautiful melody?"

"She's not?"

"No she's not.  She's saying 'BEAM me up'.  It's about wanting to see someone that she loves in heaven again."

"She's saying 'Beat me Up." His face moved right into mine, "BEEEAT MEEE UUUP."

"Okay Adrian.  Eat your dinner."

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'Her hair is Harlowe gold, her lips sweet surprise; her hands are never cold, she's got Bette Davis Eyes...'

I jumped up from the table, "I love this song!  I have to dance."

The boys didn't need any excuse to get away from the dinner table.  They joined me on our living room dance floor, grabbing my hands and spinning me until I was dizzy.  I could see our reflection in the large picture window, the light from inside the house against the dark of the autumn evening.

***********************************************************************************

I walked down to the basement where I was convinced I would be faced with the disaster yet to be cleaned up despite my terrible threat.  The holler I had ready in my throat quickly dissipated.

The cars were all put away.

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After baths were had, teeth were brushed and books were read, we curled up in our jammies watching Wild Kratts in bed. My sons' lay on either side of me, heads on my shoulders, arms over my stomach, freshly bathed and smelling of orange scented shampoo.  I kissed and snuggled and loved them.

This is our nightly routine.

This is my life.

And though it isn't all roses and rainbows, oh no it isn't.   Cars are not always put away when asked and a slaved over dinner is often pushed away, sibling fights ensue, I get mad and our poor dog is too often harassed...but this is essentially us.

On a really, really great night.

Nostalgia: A Poem

She Dreams Under A Warm Purple Night Sky

Limpid Waters Turn and Lick

The Heady Haze of Sweet Summer Symphonies

Warm Scents of Fire and Lilacs Rise

As

She listens To Life under the Moon

Random Pictures Flash Through her Mind

Small Gusts of Wind Carry Them Away

The Crickets Sing and the Grass Tickles Her Neck

Languid Darkness Lingers

Amongst Yellow Pinpricks of Light

Nostalgia

An Uncomfortably Warm Blanket 

Yet Soft to Touch

It Whispers Gently

To Never Not Tell the Tale

Of Your True Heart Story

On the Upswing

Even though I was just a young girl, merely four years old, I recall with such vividness the feeling of swinging on the swing set just outside my pre-school.  I can still smell the wet sand beneath my runners and the feeling of the wind in my face, rushing past my ears.  I felt like I was truly flying, full of freedom, happiness.  I would pump my legs so strong and swing so high I could see the church steeple behind the school building.

I remember the underdogs my Dad would give me as a little girl.  He still remains (according to my sons') the best "hunder-dogger" ever.

I also remember falling off a wooden swing at a camp ground when I was about six.  You know the swings that are basically a piece of plywood balancing on a chain?  Not exactly kid-friendly there folks.

I don't recall the first time I learned how to swing independently.  But you know...it's kind of a big deal.  Maybe not as big of a deal as learning how to ride a two-wheeler bike...but still.  It's big.

Although now that I really think about it.  It's much more of a bigger deal to the parents than the child.

Let's be frank about our lovely offspring and swings shall we?  Alright then.

The first time you put your sweet baby in a baby swing at the park when they're about 4-6 months old and you begin to push them as gently as a soft summer breeze because we certainly wouldn't want to give our darling children wind whiplash now would we?  No no.  They're big, adorable toothless grins melt our hearts at once as we coo in our new high pitched Mommy voice, "Oh you love swinging sugar plum?  Oooohh look you!  You love it!  Are you having sooooo much fun sweetie pie?  You are!  Look at you go!" 

Yadda, yadda, yadda.  We all do it.  Don't even try to pretend you have no idea what I'm talking about...but you see.  This is our first mistake as parents.  We should never, ever, ever introduce our children to swings in the first place.  They suck you in!  Did you see how that just happened?!  And by the 200,000,000 push you couldn't be more over it, biting back words of irritation to your adorably innocent 3 year old child like, "Learn how to pump your legs already!  I mean COME.ON!  How hard IS IT?!!!"

Can I admit that I wanted to start some sort of petition stating that all swings going forward should be banned from parks?  Is that wrong?  I cannot possibly be the only Mother in the world that thinks this.  When I go to the park with my boys I want them to run and jump and slide and climb and hang from monkey bars.  I want them to burn all of that hellion energy off!!!  I don't want them sitting on a stupid swing all la-diggity-da while I push them!  Don't I do enough for them in life?!  What!  I have to push you on a *&^%)( swing now!?

Throw two kids into the mix that can't pump their own legs and I'm telling you it's like my own personal hell.  Especially when the only swings available are not side by side so your basically all GoGo Gadget Mama with your arms pushing 100 km a minute as you run like a maniac back and forth between swings while your blessed spawn screech, "Me Mommy!  My turn!"  "No my turn!  Higher! Faster!"  It never ends well.  It never does my friends.  And aren't the parks supposed be for good times?  Fun times?  So you all agree with me right?  Swings should be banned.

But then you're outside in your backyard (where those damn swings are again) on a mild November Saturday morning and all of a sudden your four year old son just starts pumping his strong little legs away on the swing. There he goes!  Higher and higher and higher.  There's that smile.  Except it's even bigger now.  Brighter somehow.  Because he's doing it all on his own.  So you sit on the other swing and you begin to swing along side with him.  And those feelings of when your were just a four year old girl rush back.  Flying.  Freedom.  Happiness.  You tilt your head on the upswing to a typical November sky that's grey-white with dense clouds. The scent of damp earth hangs in the air as your dog contentedly chews a stick in front of you and you listen to your child's giddy laughter beside you.

All of a sudden it hits you.

As you became an adult you forgot something.

Something very important.

Something you never want to forget again.

Swings are actually the best damn things ever invented.

There he goes!  In action!

He is 'Fee' (Three)

Finley tonight is the night before you were born and today was not a good day with us my love.  Perhaps it was because you weren't feeling 100 percent, perhaps you were tired because of this.  Perhaps it was because you refused to nap and therefore became a tiny tornado full of rage that wouldn't stop crying on and off for two hours as I began to cook dinner.

Spaghetti and Meatballs as you had requested.

You didn't eat one bite of-course.  You sure did miss out.

I tried to console you.  I tried to kiss your tears away as you battered your 3 year old fists against me.  I tried time outs and scolding you.  I tried to be here, there and everywhere as the food cooked on two elements and in the oven.  You cried, bath!  You cried and cried. You cried for Daaaaddyyyyy.  You cried at my feet as I blended tomato sauce before it burned and flipped meatballs before they blackened and drained noodles before they turned to mush.  And at times I just had to let you cry while insane guilty thoughts grabbed at my mind with gnarled hands knowing what a sensitive little boy you are.  I became convinced I was giving you abandonment issues for sure.

But.

I tried.

And still you cried.

Then John arrived and I threw my hands in the air with a "Thank God!" and "I just can't deal with this anymore.  I can't.  I'm done."  Quite possibly there were stronger words used that may or may not have sounded like I was thisclose to losing my shit.  It was not my first time and won't be my last.  But eventually a bath was drawn and justlikethat emotions and frustrations subsided. I sat in the doorway of the bathroom watching you play in your bath.  Your delicious little bum crested out of the water while you lay on your still Buddha-like tummy.  You blew bubbles in the water and peeked over the tub at me with your beautiful blue eyes and long dark lashes finally tear free.  You smiled, you talked, you acted silly.  My little Scorpio water baby.  You were back to yourself.  Water was all you needed.

But I don't want to dwell on a bad day on the eve of such an incredibly special day celebrating you.  No.  Because today?  This does not define who you are.  It does not define who I am as a Mother either.  So let's go back 3 years shall we and dwell on one of the most beautiful days of my life.

The day I met you, sweet love....

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The day dawned early for me as I'd been up all night tossing and turning with uncomfortable contractions.  The phone rang around 7 am.  It was your Gaga, my Mother with her always intuitive nature.  I was 5 days over my due date with you.  It was time for you to be born.  She must have known that.  During one of my stronger contractions on the phone with her I had to breathe through them.  She ordered me to get to a hospital if my contractions were 10 minutes apart.  They were coming at 7 and 8.  It was time.  A flurry of activity mounted.  Calling your Papa and Nana to make the trek from London to take care of Adrian.  Getting your big brother to the neighbours house in the meanwhile.  Making sure I had everything in my hospital bag.  It was exactly the opposite of how your brother began and for that I was ever so grateful.  It was spontaneous, exciting.  And yes, painful.  But the best pain one could ever experience.

The highway was free and clear as we made our way to the city and hospital where your brother was born a half an hour away.

We got there in 18 minutes.  8:30 am we were checked in.

As I sat in the hospital bed alone with my thoughts while your Dad parked the truck and I awaited my lovely doctor who delivered your brother, I began to cry.  The emotions of becoming of Mother times two just took over me and the tears dripped down my face and over my nose onto my belly where you protested your appearance.

The thing is, as a new Mother I had no idea the way a child would and could open parts of my heart and soul I didn't know yet existed.  But now.  Now I already knew that huge love. And that's where this was coming from.  That love was multiplying at an incredibly fast rate.  I was about to meet you.  I didn't know what your name was going to be, if you were a boy or a girl.  I didn't know your weight, your length or the colour of your hair and eyes.  I didn't know a thing about you besides the fact that your movements were soft and rolling and never uncomfortable...but I loved you already.  Oh did I love you baby boy.

There was nothing dramatic (thank God) about your birth.  We came into the hospital at 8:30 am and you came into this world at 1:36 pm on Friday, November 6th. A robust and even 9 lbs. It was just what I didn't expect being that my first labour was a horrific 38 hours including 3 hours of pushing.  But enough of that.  This is about you Finley.  And you, thank you thank you!  You were so very easy.

That amazing and enthusiastic declaration of, "It's a BOY!" as the sobs lifted from the depths of my belly and escaped my throat was truly one of the most transcendent moments of my life. Though we had names picked out for you like Henry, Chase, Asher and Zander it was all too clear to me that you were my Finley.  My beautiful Finley Alexander.  Your face red and smushed yet oh so perfect, your screams loud and unending yet oh so  healthy.  I held you to my breast and kissed your head a thousand times over, breathing in every bit of your scent. So in love.  So over the moon excited to have finally met you. My baby boy.  My sweet, sensitive, silly, smart, soft spoken little love.

Happy Birthday to you my beautiful Finley.  Finnegan.  Fin.  Finny.  Finny-boo. Finner.  Finner McGinner.  

Your Daddy, Adrian and I love you Big Much!  Always and Forever.

I love this picture.  John caught such a perfect, natural moment.

"Friday's Child is Loving and Giving".
I agree with that.  xo