tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57993472373602667522024-02-18T20:09:21.616-08:00Bird WatchingBird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-72777383470472953922022-05-05T20:08:00.008-07:002022-05-25T10:22:22.160-07:00Reflections from the Summit<p><br /></p><p>I know that blogging in this style makes me 12 years behind the times. I'm well aware that the Birds (us) are no longer in Alberta. But once in a blue moon the urge to write hits, and this little spot has proved a safe and reliable spot to store my musings. </p><p>It's done. Today, on International Day of the Midwife I wrote the Canadian Midwifery Registration Exam, meaning that all official exams are now finished and all that's left is a convocation ceremony. It's exciting and good and a big relief. But none of it feels the way I thought that it would. And on this eve of what feels like completion, I feel the need to lay the pieces to paper/internet before the rhythm of regular life takes over and this thing starts to shrink in the rearview mirror. </p><p>These last four years I've always believed that the end would feel like having summited one of the world's larger mountains. Only those who have had to do the work know the sacrifices made. I had believed that the sum of all of those sacrifices would have felt like a victory at the end. And instead, it feels like a swamp that was difficult to wade through and will still be difficult, just with stronger muscles and more skill. I'm good with words. I keep trying to find the right ones to properly memorialize this experience. But I can't. It's been an unholy mess and the words to go along with it aren't any different. </p><p>No one could have foreseen what the last few years have brought us. In so many ways I don't recognize the person ending this degree from the person who began. My sphere is smaller, because we didn't have an ounce of capacity to dedicate to anything other than the swamp we were required to tread. My body is bigger, lumpier, and more wrinkled thanks to many sleepless nights and many strings of days where it had to make do with little to no sustenance and with no consistency in when I could throw food at it. My brain feels full and tired, but organized and prepared. And my people who watched and pushed me have changed and been marked by this no less than I have. We are bigger/taller, tighter with each other, and I think a little braver too. </p><p>Hard? It's been so hard. The normal hard of the unpredictable nature of on call life, spending strings of nights awake. But hard in ways I couldn't have predicted either. Isolation, both due to COVID and support networks. Knowing that there was no way to readily unload the burden of learning because your partner is already carrying the load of solo parenting, making your "hards" siloed. Honouring the hard each of you must carry to keep the stack of cards standing. Hard because people in power keep them hard. I used to think hard made me stronger. Now I think its often a useless expenditure of energy. </p><p>Worth it? I don't know yet. So much hard makes it difficult to say and I'm exhausted. Learning to be a primary care provider in a pandemic while parenting with no community and social supports, and the erasure of your program...I feel depleted. Hopeful for better. Anxious for more stability to come. Grateful for all I've seen and been a part of. Ready for some time to put or pieces back together before they break open again in a new city and new practice. </p><p>The first week of on campus learning I left my two year old at home with my husband, exchanging my diaper bag for a backpack and I felt so...uncomfortable. Like an imposter, yearning for the consistency and predictability of our old life. I felt like a mom with a huge and very demanding hobby. It took some time to step into the role of primary care provider. And now that it's over...it feels like a long lasting bad dream. The rhythms of daily life will take over and, for the next few months, I'll belong only to my people with no pager in sight. I'll step fully into the role of mom again, temporarily, before putting a new hat of midwife on again. </p><p>Midwives are essential obstetrical care providers who are highly skilled and sought after by pregnant people. The demand in every jurisdiction in Canada outpaces supply. But they are chronically underfunded and are burning out at alarming rates. Patriarchal, capitalist societies have a bad habit of undervaluing women's work. Were I a family physician providing obstetrical care I could move to many non urban locations in Canada and have a large portion of my student loans forgiven. As a midwife with a nearly identical scope of practice as a family physician providing obstetrical care, no such incentives are available to me. At the outset of this I was frustrated that others I knew didn't seem to understand how huge this undertaking, this job was. At the other side, I'm sad that many still don't. There's so much work to be done. </p><p>I was putting the kids to bed a few nights ago. Ben is my most sensitive and affectionate kid. As he was climbing into bed he stopped, ran over and gave me a bear hug. I asked what I did to deserve it. He smiled, looked me in the eye and said "one thing: midwife".</p><p>It's done. And no one else might ever really understand. But we'll never be the same. We know. The people in the trenches know. And just for tonight, while the world is burning and a war on women has been declared but the summit of this thing has been reached, tonight it's enough. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZabFrhxLzOWMEL2Tu0B1S0zspV06Kk2JlOdIVckYGCVgxzms7zZW7IH-9CXQ1Df5zwUm4BHraIfcVDX6Iz4NHBysuvZrCOKJ-bruBsl0arBAMWq2Q96JOogEHvyB-Pv4Eta_Cxu-x2h0yol5mNhVgG-lpQAs1TzNbqs4suJH97w6SgwSodlN_5-Mjg/s4032/IMG_0363.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZabFrhxLzOWMEL2Tu0B1S0zspV06Kk2JlOdIVckYGCVgxzms7zZW7IH-9CXQ1Df5zwUm4BHraIfcVDX6Iz4NHBysuvZrCOKJ-bruBsl0arBAMWq2Q96JOogEHvyB-Pv4Eta_Cxu-x2h0yol5mNhVgG-lpQAs1TzNbqs4suJH97w6SgwSodlN_5-Mjg/s320/IMG_0363.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0RCmmcIayy4keUqD3R8i8uT9BNSgyE0NU6dSLOXiZ_nPEjCjWJoEf8kZRGy5t8HvlRBdr_G6QeS0FiLyTou5XLaEH29Jqq5wMz7FrYRY30dUMdAsXEF7KOlAveAdQAfZTzPphNc7r1QJyKHr_BT2TpClloe2CKK-zLk4GsOqDZQb1W5luTquEs7Bcw/s4032/IMG_1498.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0RCmmcIayy4keUqD3R8i8uT9BNSgyE0NU6dSLOXiZ_nPEjCjWJoEf8kZRGy5t8HvlRBdr_G6QeS0FiLyTou5XLaEH29Jqq5wMz7FrYRY30dUMdAsXEF7KOlAveAdQAfZTzPphNc7r1QJyKHr_BT2TpClloe2CKK-zLk4GsOqDZQb1W5luTquEs7Bcw/s320/IMG_1498.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q5UDA-zP0Ia_eN6gdRmyEGJBES3vuEJMBX4KmG49zfHbn_xOH3MXUVAXWciffY835AA95_EZPfI5hq0s7Do5X6CLTof7IB6SDcDHN-h-lGCn-gs_q54Uo-NAFWMTJ92h-pvjohm22KqoZidwIoLiCf6FY-daeBIna5cqz6eB0uXFf0pIqDs82dCNPw/s3088/IMG_0407.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q5UDA-zP0Ia_eN6gdRmyEGJBES3vuEJMBX4KmG49zfHbn_xOH3MXUVAXWciffY835AA95_EZPfI5hq0s7Do5X6CLTof7IB6SDcDHN-h-lGCn-gs_q54Uo-NAFWMTJ92h-pvjohm22KqoZidwIoLiCf6FY-daeBIna5cqz6eB0uXFf0pIqDs82dCNPw/s320/IMG_0407.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-56147638056767982092021-05-05T18:40:00.001-07:002021-05-06T06:04:12.969-07:00Shoes and Sadness<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s been a year. And the feelings are big and the loss is bigger and the distance covered between where we are and where we need to be sometimes feels overwhelming.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As many of you know, one month ago our program was terminated. Without going into the specifics, no part of the decision makes any sense. Our program was fully funded through tuition and provincial funds. The university supplies one quarter of Canada’s annual midwifery graduates. We were slated to begin our placements within two weeks’ time. We had collectively survived long-term lockdowns, last minute relocations for placements, a clinical learning environment based around COVID precautions and so much more. We have proved our dedication and our resiliency. All to have our program eliminated by some professionals in suits who, due to a provincial government washing its hands of a publicly funded institution, did not owe us any kind of explanation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And so, I have processed my grief the best way that I know how. I’ve moved as loudly and as quickly as I can towards the making sure that there is knowledge and will and energy to move my classmates and I to whatever is next. And overall, whether by virtue of people doing their jobs or the pressure we tried to keep on them, it worked. My classmates and I are being transferred to other institutions where we will be able to complete our degrees. Our placements, we are told, will be honored. And we are nothing but grateful to the institutions who have turned on a dime to accommodate us at the last moment. It’s going to be ok. But it’s also very, very not ok. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My response to unexpected, negative plot twists is to move quickly. I don’t sit and wait well, and I don’t have an overwhelming amount of trust in institutions to ensure good outcomes for me. But I trust my voice, and so much to the chagrin I’m sure of some, I’ve used it. When news of our program termination came, in the middle of our first day of a two-week clinical intensive I moved as hard and as fast and as loudly as I could in as many useful directions as I could find, only because it was the only thing that was soothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Today is the International Day of the Midwife. Today, we received confirmation from our adopting institutions, which is what we had been waiting for. It is good news! What I had not expected was to be confronted on the flip side of it with a heavy grief. The weight of a midwifery program is heavy. Apart from learning to be responsible for the lives of birthing people and their babies, the learning is unrelenting, complicated, and on the whole not always kind to its learners. We see obstetrical violence. We see problems that are bigger than us. We see love and heartbreak and indifference, and we are forever being evaluated. It’s a lot. But we had each other. We knew who our professors were. We knew our support staff. We knew our “home” and we knew that at the end of all of this awful pandemic learning and pandemic year, that we would finish together. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Except that now we won’t. Now those who have taught us and watched our growth…won’t get to share in our victory the same way. Won’t be the ones giving us our degrees. And it feels like such a stupid, unnecessary loss. Like a divorce that no one has asked for. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s been an unimaginably difficult year. Though I know that “this is the place” I never bargained that things would be this hard, for this long. I’ve always envisioned the end as a victorious one. COVID took so much from us. I never thought that our program, our class, our network, would be taken from us too. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">And so today, on this International Day of the Midwife, I claim sadness for the cost of this profession. I claim sadness for people who wielded power over us, not understanding the thousands of babies our hands would deliver. I claim sadness for the communities who won’t be served by us or those who would have followed us. I claim sadness for our professors and staff who worked tirelessly to train us, and who were terminated en masse in a zoom meeting, without severance. I claim sadness for francophone and Indigenous students and communities, already underserved who will see even less linguistically appropriate care. And in my own vanity, I claim sadness over those damned red shoes and what they should have seen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-10143650142143374822020-03-02T20:39:00.003-08:002020-03-02T20:43:02.185-08:00In Which Sam Reminisces And Update is GivenIt's been awhile, friends. Mostly because life has moved at a dizzying pace and we are only now briefly catching our breaths. And so, on this auspicious eve of my 33rd birthday, it seemed an apt time to reflect and update on where and how we have landed.<br />
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The end of July saw us leave our long time home and trek, like compass inept pilgrims, first west to the BC coast and the island to spend time with family before the big haul east. We relished our time in sunshine and with loved ones and, the day after Leo's second birthday, left for our trek east. We took the scenic route down through Salt Lake and across through Nauvoo which meant we were able to see a number of historic sights significant to our faith, as well as connecting with old friends we would never have otherwise seen. Two parents. Two vehicles. Two drivers. Three kids piled into a five passenger vehicle because the van was temporarily converted to a cargo vehicle. It was an adventure and we loved most of it ;)<br />
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The end of August to mid December saw us settle into our new temporary life, and we completely fell in love with Sudbury. It had beautiful nature at our back door, wonderful people who came out of the woodwork, and an endearing sense of community. The semester was more or less exactly what I would have expected with six classes. It was intense and often insane and the library and I became best friends as I fell in love with the science and learning of midwifery. Jim proved an incredible partner who held the fort far better than I ever did, and after an intense week of six finals exams in seven days we made it through the semester and home to Alberta for Christmas. The lottery of clinical placements allotted me a summer placement, but given that our housing situation was only valid until mid December we opted to move in January to the greater Toronto area where my placement will be and where we hope to be able to stay for longevity's sake.<br />
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And as I sit here, writing and reflecting on where we have arrived one year after my last birthday it feels...so different. During our time on the road and again at Christmas the only word that accurately described my feelings was "un-tethered", purely because all of the tangible grounding influences in my life were temporarily gone. Posessions were in boxes, anything we were using was borrowed from family, we had left our friends and community, and there was nothing to touch to bring me back to a sense of center. It was temporary, but uncomfortable. And now as I write from my new kitchen in my lovely rental where I am once again surrounded by the comfort of my own things, the tether feels reinstated but the center is yet to be found. The city feels overwhelmingly large, the reason for being here not yet active (as I'm "off" until April), and we are largely unknown quantities in this new community. We will find our space and we will make our community and this experience of "newness" is par for the course. But the nostalgia for the community we left is always there. We are in flux. We won't always be, but it's giving us a fun chance to flex our juggling muscles.<br />
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Our life in this moment is so different than it was a year ago. Jim now holds the fort like a pro, and the kids when they crawl into our bed at night snuggle up to him. The nostalgia for the home and life we knew still hits all of us, but I feel so blessed for this new family culture we are getting to forge together as we rely more heavily on each other. The boys have managed the transitions like champions and my nightly prayer is that this new normal will continue to work and flow for us, and that if it doesn't that we might have the courage to readjust. So far, so good, and I am so grateful. Halfway through last semester a dear friend shared the quote "honour the space between no longer and not yet". It hit alllll of the feels. Because we won't ever be quite what we were a year ago, and we have not yet reached the summit of this mountain. But when we do? I swear I can already see the wind blowing up tufts of hair on my men's heads and feel it in my own. And that feels like a good centring point for now.<br />
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If you are in the GTA we'd love to see familiar faces and have room!<br />
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A snowy halloween</div>
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A date out to see Come From Away</div>
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Snuggles with the snuggliest dude</div>
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Baby Dino </div>
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The aquarium and visit with cousin</div>
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View of the CN tower </div>
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Walk along Lake Ontario</div>
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-27891698163512125862019-07-21T15:29:00.001-07:002019-07-21T15:30:43.209-07:00In Which the Long Goodbye Comes to an EndI've moved a lot. Like...I think we are nearing the 20's at this point (but let's not count). It's part of the territory when your dad is a career naval officer. I have been exposed to so much good, and so much love, and so much world, and I wouldn't trade any of it. But as a dear friend once indicated, it means pieces of my heart are scattered far and wide, and that goodbyes are my least favorite thing.<br />
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This one has been a long one. The wonderful blessing of having so many transfer credits was that we were miraculously able to stay home for year. And it's been a full one of adventures and late nights and hard work and happy tears. It's also been a year of dialing back and carefully relinquishing and preparing for a big shift. And as I sat in my beautiful church congregation today for the last time, and as I write at this kitchen table in my mostly packed house, the length of the goodbye doesn't make the sting any less.<br />
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Living in this place, nestled in the northern part of a northern country in the northern hemisphere with a culture and land mass that, before our arrival had been largely foreign to me, it has become home. A home to this girl who regards the concept pretty fluidly. </div>
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And so it only felt appropriate to pen an ode to this time of our lives. In this special place we brought three little boys into this world. We leaned on each other and our friends heavily. We laughed and learned and felt so much love. That is so much of what makes a home, isn't it? Laughter and love. And there has been so much of it here. </div>
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A wise and beautiful friend had a poignant moment during a time of change in her life once, where she was reminded the importance of looking back even as she moved forward. We don't know what the future will bring. We hope that it will be a stronger family and another degree. We are excited and optimistic mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety. But with this week of goodbyes and so long's and good lucks I look back and my heart is overflowing with love and gratitude for this season of our lives. For the friends it brought us, for the reliance and trust it has fostered in each other, for the lives it witnessed us bear, for the growth it allowed for and the lessons it taught us. </div>
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Life is good friends. And hard. And magic and heartache and joy. Today I'm just leaning hard into gratitude for all of it. </div>
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Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-17692869200701319142019-04-24T21:45:00.000-07:002019-04-24T21:45:17.598-07:00In Which an Overdue Update is Given<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Life is busy. We like it (usually) that way). And it isn't likely to slow down anytime soon.<br />
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Acting on more than a few nudges and promptings and with a five month old baby, last January I did something out of my comfort zone, and applied two of Canada's midwifery programs. I think I did it partly so that I could say I tried, and put the dream to bed. Sane people don't go back to school with small kids in their 30's. They don't move across the country and take their families with them. Besides, there are only six midwifery programs in Canada (one being open only to residents of Quebec) and they are very competitive with an average of 400 applicants vying for, program dependent, 12-30 seats. It wasn't going to happen and I was ok with that. But I needed to stop researching programs at 3 am while nursing babies because I don't think most sane people do that either.<br />
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And then the unthinkable happened. I got in. And a world of possibility, anxiety, and adventure opened up like a chasm demanding consideration. Jim had been 100% on board since I had applied. "If you get in of course we'll go" he'd say, while my risk averse self kept saying "no we'll just think about it". God bless husbands who push their wives in the right direction when they need to be pushed. The stars mostly aligned, they credited far more from my first degree than I ever hoped they would, and so we have managed to live one more year in Alberta before the big move. It's been full. I've still been working two days a week and taking distance courses to fill gaps and most nights have seen me working until 11 pm on assignments because trying to study with three small ninja turtles awake just isn't possible on any planet. But I think I know how lucky I am to be able to work this hard for something I want this much.<br />
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I remember vividly Leo's birth. There was a female resident there that day. Just a young thing, she looked to be in her early twenties but she was excellent. I remember lying there on the birth bed holding my newborn and feeling the most ridiculous yearning to be her. To be there as women delivered their babies. To guide them through the process. To be their care provider. I brushed it off as ridiculous, because it was. But it just wouldn't go away.<br />
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Twenty months later here we are. Still ridiculous. Still unable to brush the feeling off. All of the coursework I can complete before we can go is done. We have a summer to make memories and enjoy the midnight sun and love on all of our friends before we turn our lives upside down. And it feels almost like being 40 weeks pregnant again when I couldn't wait to see what life would be like on the other side and I knew my body had done all it could do. You know it'll be different. You just don't know how.<br />
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The anxiety is real, but writing has always let me put my feelings in places that somehow made them more tangible and thereby more manageable. I know that there is no small amount of risk being taken here. I know that I'm relinquishing my status as a primary parent to a rockstar partner, and that that handoff is going to be hard for me. I know that the program is rigorous and that we will all pay a price for me to do this. Writing that last sentence I can't help but pause, because I don't know if that's fair. Daring in this kind of way means I may fail. We may fail. But there's lessons even in that.<br />
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Send your prayers over the next three years. We'll need them, and we'll love you for them.<br />
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PS Lest you forget what any of us look like, here's some snapped photos from a recent trip to Jasper. I'm not the greatest at taking photos, taking risks is the current project I'm working on ;)<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-63997152089990626682019-04-24T21:08:00.001-07:002019-04-24T21:08:00.337-07:00OverheardLife is busy. Like real busy. This morning we did the standard mad morning rush for school. Part of Adam's school curriculum includes swimming lessons with his class. While packing lunches this morning I asked him to grab his swimming stuff.<br />
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Spoiler: he didn't.<br />
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We realized this halfway to school. Today was a work day for me (I work two days a week at Adam's school) and so turning around to grab it wasn't an option. The best I could pull off was when I took Ben (who's in morning preschool at the same school) home for lunch to the babysitter (Auntie's who babysit are angels sent straight from heaven) and grab it then. The timing was gonna be tight. Like I said, it's busy. I was pretty sure I could pull it off but I wanted to let, if nothing else, the potential for natural consequences to sink in for a minute.<br />
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And then, as concerned as a six year old who might miss swimming with his class could be he said: "mom can we say a prayer that you can get them to me in time?"<br />
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Mom heart melted. "OF COURSE WE CAN PRAY"<br />
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Adam: "but what if it doesn't work?"<br />
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A conversation on faith ensued. You only need a little bit of faith to work miracles. But knowing it might not work is part of the gamble, and acknowledging doubt is part of practicing faith.<br />
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Little brother Ben to the rescue "Mom, don't worry I have LOTS OF FAITH". If it was a competition Ben wins on pure exuberance alone.<br />
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Adam doing his best to grasp the concept: "no too much isn't good either Benny! You have to have just ENOUGH faith"<br />
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Further conversations on faith and a prayer ensued.<br />
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The boy got his swim trunks by the skin of his teeth.<br />
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Hopefully lessons on both faith and listening to mom made a dent.<br />
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Life is busy. But it's pretty great.Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-35321726745530288302018-03-02T22:42:00.000-08:002018-03-02T22:42:47.944-08:00OverheardAfter a late night out with the girls, I was struggling to get out of bed. The boys had been parked in front of the TV for about 10 min when Ben had done something to offend Adam. Adam runs upstairs looking for a referee.<br />
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Adam: "mom! Benny did (I can't remember what)"<br />
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Me: "ok. Tell him to stop and if he does it again, I'll take care of it"<br />
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Two minutes pass, Adam runs back upstairs.<br />
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Adam: "ok mom. It's time to kick Benny".<br />
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I'm suddenly no longer sleepy.<br />
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Me: "What? Why would I kick Benny?"<br />
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Adam: "...well you said you would"<br />
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Me: "I said I would TAKE CARE OF IT. I'm not the Mafia"<br />
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Adam leaves disappointed.<br />
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Luckily, they do generally get along remarkably well.<br />
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Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-64123763183184523742018-03-02T22:32:00.001-08:002018-03-02T22:37:56.726-08:00An Auspicious Eve It's currently 11:09 on March 2nd. To most, this isn't particularly meaningful. To me (a general non celebrator) it signifies the eve of my 31st birthday. THIRTY-FIRST. And I find my feelings are a bit of a mixed bag. I am getting older. This cannot be denied. I am also a fully fledged, fully exited of my twenties adult (and have been for a year. It's just hitting hard at the moment). I feel like this should mean that I should have my s*** together, but sadly that's not really the case. I still have THREE family portrait sessions, beautifully done, and only one photo hanging on my wall, because the others didn't fit the frames properly and I couldn't be bothered to reprint and get hanging nails. Homemaking skills? Nil. They say the grass is greener on the other side (yes I know you should just water your own), but so much of my twenties seemed to be looking forward what would come next, that I feel like I should be more educated/eloquent/well read. And I DEFINITELY need to figure out makeup. This part of my teen years was completely skipped over and I'm realizing that my days of being able to coast on what my mamma gave are coming to an end.<br />
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In short: I'm a hot mess.<br />
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Realistically, I shouldn't be surprised by the above statement. But even as I type, my inner advocate is rising like the warrior she is. I managed to scrape together a degree with no student debt. I managed to put a pretty smart guy through law school. I also played a pretty big role in getting him a pretty great job. I managed and was blessed to birth three hilarious, rambunctious, healthy and interesting kids. And I have even managed to juggle some kinda cool part time work into that mix some of the time. Bonus points for keeping four extra people alive ON THE DAILY and not losing my cool more than a handful of times a week despite doing more on less sleep than maybe I ever have.<br />
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Alright 31. I may not have accomplished all my goals before your arrival. That second degree is slowly edging off of the back burner. And those family photo's are definitely not going up by midnight. They may never. But when the grandkids find the photos buried in some box at the estate sale, at least there'll be evidence of some kind.<br />
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The first 30 were relatively classy and totally awesome. Bring it 31. I'm ready for you.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-55097813513181540632017-08-23T22:06:00.001-07:002017-08-23T22:19:27.116-07:00And Then There Were FiveI've never been one for mementos, scrapbooks, baby books, or anything remotely crafty really. But, when given the time, I do like to write. So sorry kids. I didn't really save a lock of hair from your first hair cut, I didn't fill our your baby books, and there's no cool cement handprint from your first days. I'm just not that mom. Although I think I did keep your umbilical cord stub somewhere in a drawer, because the gross stuff is the most interesting! But, I do like to record your birth stories while they are still fresh. At least so far I can say you were all treated more or less equally.<br />
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They say that the third baby is the wild card, and to throw all expectations out the window. My motto in life is to hope for the best and to expect the worst, but I harboured more than a little hope that this babe might come at a comfortable 37, or 38 weeks. A girl can dream.<br />
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We did not see a baby at 37, nor 38 weeks. Not even at 39 or 40. I thought that my patience had been tested fairly with Ben at 40 + 5 and that I wouldn't be called to go through that again. I think from here on out, I need to throw all expectations out the window.<br />
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My maternity doctor, who had delivered Benjamin so beautifully, was going on holiday the day after my due date. This wasn't really the end of the world, but I A) didn't really want to be pregnant any more and B) hoped in a perfect world he might deliver again, and so given that I reallllly didn't want to be induced, I ramped up my efforts at encouraging labor. This included walking 3 km daily, eating copious amounts of pineapple, eating spicy food, and just about every other trick in the book. I had also done a condensed hypnobirthing class, and on my due date, tried some acupuncture to see if that might speed things. While it did have some effect that had me hopeful we might be getting somewhere enough that we went into hospital...no baby.<br />
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My mother in law and brother in law drove up on a week my mother in law could take off from work. They arrived two days after my due date and left five days after my due date. No baby.<br />
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There had been plenty of intermittent contractions, a few that even had me thinking we might be getting somewhere. But ultimately, no baby. And while I tried to be zen I tended to volley between thinking I could do this one more day, and being convinced that this was the seventh circle of hell. It's not a headspace I recommend.<br />
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Finally, on Saturday evening, a full week after my due date, I started to believe maybe this child was not indeed, an elephant in need of a two year gestational period. Around ten o'clock at night contractions seemed to be getting pretty consistent, albeit somewhat erratic. They were still quite manageable though, so I sent Jim to bed. Around midnight I sent for my doula (again, everyone should have one). She was beautifully encouraging, and I don't think she stopped gently massaging me my whole labor. As things began to feel more intense, my mind went to a place I don't think it had ever gone before in previous labors. I have never experienced prolonged prodromal (or early practice labor) like this, and it made it hard to see an end in sight. That, and the fact that my other labors had been relatively long, made me doubt myself in ways I hadn't expected. I have never wanted to request pain medication before (other than gas) but labouring at home it was calling my name. With any medical intervention there is a risk, and being risk averse I tend to avoid them, but I was sorely tempted. My contractions at this point weren't longer usually than 30-45 seconds, and at times were quite spaced out, but I took that to mean a long road ahead and I already felt so weary.<br />
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By morning it seemed like a good time to head to the hospital. I was still managing well, but given the somewhat erratic nature of my labor I was sure they would triage me and tell me I had progressed minimally. When the nurse said "you're a seven" I could have kissed her. Knowing that some of the longest, and hardest work was behind me, my mind shifted and I knew that I could do this.<br />
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We were assigned to a room and settled in. I had some excellent hippy zen music queued (magic stuff) and we settled. I laboured for some time before requesting the gas. We had arrived at the hospital at 8:00 am and laboured quite peacefully. Given that I am always positive for a certain type of bacteria that poses some risk to baby I had to have two doses of antibiotics administered intravenously. We just barely managed to finish the second round, when they checked and I was fully dilated (and likely had been for a bit), and my water still had not broken. The doctor arrived and they broke my water. Given that his head was still fairly high, it was odd, because they urge to push wasn't there like it had been previously. Up to this point I had employed hypnobirthing relaxation and techniques, but wasn't comfortable employing birth breathing (essentially using breathing techniques to deliver baby rather than pushing), and so I pushed. For all of five minutes. Birth itself, despite my dejected mind trip in the beginning, had been remarkably effective and manageable. I don't think contractions had ever gotten closer than 5 minutes apart. Pushing may have lasted 5 minutes but...oh I don't like delivery. I am a worker. I was an athlete. I don't quit and I am no pansy. But I really didn't know if I was going to survive pushing.<br />
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It's funny. I had been so anxious that this baby would be large. Ben had been 9.3 lbs and I really didn't want to go there again. As an athlete I often found that workouts and races were about lying convincingly to myself. Getting to the halfway point is always the hardest. This isn't so bad. You've done harder things. This is fun! It seems my mind employs the same tricks in labor. Laboring with this baby I knew, that this baby wouldn't be, couldn't be so big as ben. When they weighed him in at 9.11 lbs, I was grateful for the ability to lie to myself, and believe it.<br />
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That moment when they laid him on my chest, even though it was my third, is still so magically serene and surreal. Nine months. It's a friggin long time. And there he was, so pure and beautiful, and fresh. He was calm from the start and so far has remained. We decided to name him Leo after my grandfather, whose birthday was three days earlier, and Maxwell after Jim's grandmother's maiden name. And just like that, after months, countless walks, and some good meltdowns, he was here and in an instant it was all worth it. Every bit. Because we aren't complete without him. His sweet, calm, observant demeanour completes us.<br />
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I know that Ben will likely continue to struggle a bit with his role as baby usurped, I know that eventually Leo will have moments where he is as big a turd as his brothers, and I know that there will be moments that will test me in new ways I'd rather not think about. I will feel like I'm not cutting it, in some way or other, always. But man do I feel lucky. Three boys. Three wild things. Three musketeers. I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-43396617697181887882017-08-07T22:01:00.001-07:002017-08-07T22:01:03.816-07:00Standing on the PrecipiceClearly I only update surrounding major life events. Better than nothing.<br />
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As I write it's 10:44 pm two days after my due date with baby number three. We have enjoyed an easy, uncomplicated pregnancy, but it's time. I'm ready to not be the size of a moderately sized urban townhouse anymore.<br />
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As I anxiously await for things to get going in earnest though, I can't help but want to savour, and even feel some guilt at the change that I am about to bring about. Life is good. Very good. Adam is an excellent older brother, Benny relishes his role as the baby of the family, and we have a good routine. And in a matter of hours, or days, all of that will change. And as much as we are excited, I also can't help but mourn, in the smallest degree, that this chapter is ending. That change is coming. And that I don't know what that will look like or how it will impact the ones already here. Ben has always been my cuddly bear, and I think he senses something is shifting. Adam knows what's coming and is excited, having done it once before, and it's my hope that he might help his brother navigate what will be new territory.<br />
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And yet standing so close to this inevitable change, I am so anxious to hear that newborn cry, to snuggle that rose petal soft skin, and to smell that sweet milky breath. Standing in the in between has never been a preferred place of mine.<br />
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My headspace has been all over the place of late as I try to prepare for this impending birth, try to ensure my mind is prepared to put forth the work, to be patient, to trust that my body and my baby can work in harmony, to be patient, while still trying to be active and engaged, and fun to the two energetic boys I already have. It's such an odd place to be in, and it's my hope that my putting these feelings and thoughts into words, that the pieces might somehow fall into place and that the ball will start rolling in a forward direction. Because nobody really wants to be the size of moderate urban townhouse indefinitely.<br />
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Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We may need the extra strength over the next few days or weeks.<br />
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Until then, here's a photo of the two hooligans ;)<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-38023659253667656732017-06-24T20:55:00.002-07:002017-06-24T20:55:53.242-07:00OverheardWhile the boys squabbled over something in the car on the way home<br />
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Mom: "Who's the boss"<br />
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Two year old: "Me!"<br />
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Mom: "I don't think so dude"<br />
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Two year old after a brief pause: "Boss baby"<br />
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...I've unintentionally created a monsterBird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-28631147454887191672017-06-08T23:07:00.001-07:002017-06-08T23:07:23.177-07:00To Boys Who GrowIt's almost midnight. I have folded about 6 loads of laundry, started an article for a group I periodically write for, scrubbed my kitchen, and should be packing for a weekend trip we take tomorrow. Blogging is not what I should be doing right now.<br />
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But here's the thing. Today is June 8th. Tomorrow is June 9th, my oldest baby's fifth birthday. And my heart can barely stand it. Five years ago tonight he and I worked like dogs for him to be able to make his entrance into this world. And that baby has now grown into a beautiful, inquisitive, energetic, dinosaur obsessed, kind, brotherly boy who often seems to me to be wise beyond his years. And I completely adore him.<br />
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I know I can't stop the growing, though I have tried. When I ask him to stop now he just says "mom I can't. Heavenly Father made me so I could grow into a big daddy". And of course he's right. But what I wouldn't give just to slow his pace and savour it a little bit longer.<br />
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Yesterday was a hot, glorious day. And so along with some friends of our we went to a local splash park. Given the heat of the day, lack of a public outdoor pool, and the fact that it's one of only two in town, the place was pretty packed. I was keeping as close an eye on him as I could, but at some point when I wasn't looking he had managed to run into someone pretty hard. He ran crying into my arms, with a slightly bloody nose, and I held him close until the pain subsided. It was nothing remarkable. It's an act I've performed at least a thousand times and a hallmark of motherhood. But holding him there in my arms with his younger brother balanced on one knee it hit me: I may not get to do it a thousand times more for him. In September he's off to full day kindergarten. His landscape, our landscape, is about to change in some significant ways and the boy who knows his mom can make anything better...might not believe that for more than a few more years. And so I held him as if I could slow time. As if I could freeze it. As if I really could fix whatever came his way.<br />
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Oh Adam. I hope someday you always know how incredible you are. I hope you always ask so many questions. I hope that as you grow, you will learn to fix the problems that come your way, but I also hope you never get too old or wise to ask me for help.<br />
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Happy Birthday Bud. You completely rock our world.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-46572965518905918302017-05-12T12:04:00.000-07:002017-05-12T16:12:09.085-07:00Overheard in the PoolA few weeks ago a girlfriend and I took our boys to the pool. We both have two that are about the same age, and generally they play pretty well together. The big ones had life jackets on and were motoring around and so we were mostly focused on the littlest two. After a few minutes however, it became apparent that some significant tension had arisen between the two older boys.<br />
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Curious, as mom's we investigated. This is my first real foray into the overactive imaginations of preschoolers.<br />
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Me: "Adam, what's wrong man?"<br />
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Adam: "He stole it! He stole my imaginary treasure!"<br />
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Me: "huh? Where did he put it?"<br />
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Adam: "I don't know, but he took it and it's gone and I'm REALLY MAD AT HIM!"<br />
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Me, with a brilliant idea: "Oh no. But good news Adam, I got it for you right here". I hold up empty hands.<br />
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Adam: Eyes as big as saucers, utter surprise on his face "YOU STOLE IT BACK?"<br />
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Me: Uh huh. Just for you buddy.<br />
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Moments later, the other boy is shouting: "Adam thinks he has the treasure back, BUT HE DOESN'T!!!!".<br />
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Well that was fun.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-69814841106685836612017-05-12T11:57:00.003-07:002017-11-23T12:13:05.036-08:00OverheardOver spring break we went back to the island to visit. We thought we'd check out the Royal BC Museum and be tourists, and they happened to have a special exhibit on Terry Fox. For any Americans reading this blog, Terry Fox is revered in Canada as a hero. He was diagnosed with cancer in his leg in the late 70's and had to have it amputated. In 1980 he decided to attempt to run across Canada to raise money for cancer research. He made it from Newfoundland to Thunder Bay Ontario, where he had to stop as the cancer had returned. He died in 1981.<br />
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I explained all of this to Adam, who is too young to have learned about him in school. Adam went through the exhibit enthralled by the different things to see, but most especially by Terry's prosthetic leg.<br />
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Adam is always inquisitive, always thinking, and sometimes a little bit phallic. At the end he looked at me and asked "mom, what if Terry had had Cancer in his penis?". I told him that that doesn't happen very often and luckily he didn't. His response "yeah. Otherwise he would have had to have a METAL PENIS".<br />
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Thanks heavens it never came to that.<br />
<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-53600253899283927952017-05-08T10:06:00.003-07:002017-05-08T10:12:38.470-07:00Musings on GriefIt's been an interesting little while.<br />
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Grief isn't something I've been called to much in the last little while. But my grandfather, one of my life's hero's and most favourite people, passed away rather suddenly a few weeks ago.<br />
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Death isn't often a happy story, and this is no exception. But the story is as good as one can hope for I think. He was a regular smoker who had been smoking since his early teens. After a stroke when I was about seven years old he was told that if he didn't quit, he wasn't likely to last more than five more years. About twenty-three years later, at the ripe young age of 80, cancer finally took him. He had been diagnosed with stage 4 about a month prior and given 6-12 months to live. He made it a little over a month. Processing these feelings has been a bit of a ride. A significant portion of my prayers since as early as I can remember has been dedicated to pleading God to help him quit smoking. For whatever reason, that never happened, but I will be eternally grateful that his life, and quality of it, lasted as long as it did.<br />
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Life can be so interesting. In so many ways it feels like he couldn't possibly be gone, and yet the fact remains that he is. His life was, I'm sure to an outside observer, unremarkable in many ways. Born in the backwoods of Muskoka (long before Toronto's rich and made it posh and desirable), a factory worker, smoker, and father of four, he tended to stick to what he liked and knew (scratching bingo cards and drinking coffee. I suspect he kept more than a few convenience stores in business), didn't tend to travel far from home (unless it was to visit family), and was known to have a wry and wicked sense of humour.<br />
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And yet for those of us who knew and loved him, he was a great man. He spent his life quietly serving, without ever asking for any kind of recognition or compensation. Despite the fact that he had never been an active member of the LDS church, he funded more than a few missions, contributed to many more, and gave wherever he could. He and my grandmother had been separated for a few years before she died suddenly from a car accident in 1999. The story goes that while taking care of her affairs after her death, someone checked her answering machine. On it, was a message from him telling her he'd managed to pay her credit card before she could get to it, and that her medication had been paid for. Even though she had left him, he still insisted on caring for her. He lived frugally, but enjoyed taking us out for dinners and breakfasts, a rarity in our home as a child. Once in first grade, my little sister was talking to some of her friends and they were discussing all the best things about their grandparents, and the gifts that they would get when grandma and grandpa visited. Gumpo was never the most conventional of grandparents but my sister was sure she topped them all when she said "when my grandpa comes, he takes us out for breakfast and dinner!". I don't think it came off as impressive as she knew it was.<br />
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Despite the fact that he was a decided homebody as his grandchildren we knew that we could count on an annual visit from him. There were no exceptions to this. He came to find us wherever we lived, including when we lived in Italy. For most, a trip to Italy is a highlight of a lifetime. For him, he took the trip out of a grudging necessity to see his grandchildren, and delighted in calling it "wopy town". On his visits he demonstrated zero appreciation for the food, culture, or language. He never gave up hope he might find some place that would serve him pork chops and potatoes. Cultured, he may not have been. But we didn't care one bit.<br />
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My sister snapped this shot of him last summer at our family reunion. He had had always been gruff with a soft interior, but the softer side had become more apparent in his later years. She gave my the framed photo for Christmas, long before we knew he was sick, and I sobbed like a baby when I opened it. It captures who he was to me. Two weeks before he died I called him to check in. He sounded so much better than the last time I had heard from him. I told him he sounded great, and he replied "I feel great! You want to go dancing? I think the last time I danced was at your wedding". It was all I could do to hold it together. And so I anxiously wait for when I can take him up on his offer, but until then, I comfort myself with this photo of him dancing with my baby.<br />
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I can still see his favourite ball cap that said "don't steal, the government hates competition". I can still see his mischievous smile. I can still hear his laugh, and I can still, feel what it felt like to hug him. I'm glad I can, but it hurts to think that someday these memories won't be so fresh. So immediate. So real.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #3e3e3e; font-family: Cardo; font-size: 14.850000381469727px; text-align: start;">Grief is such an odd thing. There's no right or wrong way of going about it. How can such sadness be accompanied by something that was so wonderful? Because it was. Having him was such a gift. And it's the loss if it that feels so...empty. But what a beautiful life. What a beautiful man. What a beautiful gift.</span></div>
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Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-7068619141613194902017-05-08T09:35:00.001-07:002017-05-08T09:35:27.439-07:00OverheardAdam is learning to wipe his bum after he goes #2. It's a regular battle of him saying "no YOU do it" and me replying "you have to at least try!".<br />
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The other day he had gone and the battle had commenced. I said "Adam, I'm serious, you have to at least try before I help you". His response: "you're not serious! You're just lazy!"<br />
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Also<br />
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While discussing what we wanted to plant in our garden this year we ran the usual gamut of peas, carrots, tomatoes, zucchini. So I was more than a little surprised when Adam piped in "and burgers!". I queried him as to what made him think burgers grew in gardens. His quick response "the seeds on the buns mom! We can grow them!". Oh son. Would that that were possible. Also, you're flat out brilliant.Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-17422457845002697342017-02-07T19:49:00.001-08:002017-02-07T19:49:27.978-08:00Heavenly SleepAdam likes to have someone lay down with him to sleep. We are putz's as parents (and he otherwise isn't huge on physical contact unless it's wrestling) so it's become part of the bedtime routine.<br />
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While drifting off tonight "mom, let's cuddle", as he gingerly throws his arm over my neck and I nuzzle into his little chest.<br />
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There are more moments during a day than I can count that I am *this* close to losing my cool, but Dear God in Heaven, please freeze these moments for me. I never want to forget them.Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-54060694225712290582017-01-19T12:30:00.000-08:002017-01-19T12:30:13.404-08:00OverheardWhile discussing with Adam the impending start of pre-school for him (yes it's late. Long story), of which he's a little nervous<br />
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Adam: But I like to stay with you mom. Because...you're beautiful!<br />
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This kid has my whole heart.Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-25316153235637492392016-08-08T21:43:00.000-07:002016-08-08T22:15:39.307-07:00Olympic MusingsUnless you live under a rock, I'm sure that we are all aware the Olympics are currently underway in Rio. The olympics are awesome for a myriad of reasons. They bring the world together, they allow us to witness great victories, and crushing defeats. For two weeks, we are all united in a form of patriotism that truly seems unique to the Olympics. It's also some flat out good entertainment.<br />
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I was an athlete once. And so the Olympics hold some special weight and meaning for me. Not because I really think I could have made it there (although my mom still holds out some hope. Sorry mom, but that ship really has sailed), but because...I have dozens of friends, former teammates, rivals, and acquaintances there. For years I played part of a breeding ground designed to feed into the greatest of all athletic pursuits. In many ways, despite having been retired since 2009 (can you call it retirement when only your parents really paid attention?) and officially checked out, I am still invested. I can't seem to help it.<br />
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This morning I tuned in to the rowing events. And my heart both soared, and broke, for the people I know who successfully progressed, and for those who weren't so fortunate. Rowing is unlike any other sport, and you have to be a glutton for punishment to really engage. Elite athletes at the olympic level generally train 3 times a day, 6 days a week, often receiving little or no funding, and the only time the world really pays attention is at the olympics. It takes a special athlete, as well as the ability to be selfish. Selfish about your needs, your caloric intake, your rest. To be successful, it is imperative to take care of yourself. And so today, I was surprised at the emotions I felt as I watched races play out on the Lagoa, naively thinking that I was now far enough removed to be able to watch as a particularly well informed spectator.<br />
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I would be lying if I said I wasn't nostalgic, and maybe even a touch jealous. Could it have been me? Probably not But could I have been on the cusp? Maybe. And yet...as I watched with my two little ones cheering and playing next to me, I couldn't help but draw parallels. I can't be selfish in the way I once was. Teething babies at night are not conducive to 6 am practices that require your best. Nap times aren't scheduled around practices. And in the end...I chose this life. And I chose it willingly. And I wouldn't change it.<br />
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Rowing is a sport of intensity and miles. Truly countless hours and practices that feed into one race that, boat and conditions depending, will last between 5-9 minutes. The investment is staggering, all for several minutes to prove yourself. But each practice, each mile, each blister, each race, build on each other. And even then, even when you've done everything right leading up, the wind, an injury, or a rogue wave can ruin it.<br />
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I may not be an elite athlete anymore. These days I'm lucky if I fit in most of my training workouts for my upcoming half marathon. But each day I'm investing. It may be in other ways, but it's still an investment. I'm investing in my marriage when I choose kind words over snarky sarcasm. I'm investing in my children with each kiss, each late night feeding, each afternoon at the park, and each tantrum that I don't lose my cool over. I have my own victories, and my own defeats. Nine months of pregnancy, extended breastfeeding, sleepless nights, vomit, and homemade meals don't look anything like a boat down a race course. But it is an investment of my choice all the same. And EVEN THEN, even though I have given my everything to this extended process of child rearing (quadrennial my a**), there is no guarantee that it will go perfectly, or even how I want. A frightening world, wars, temptations and vice are all real threats that could throw THIS race sideways. But that doesn't mean I give up. It doesn't mean I expect defeat. It doesn't mean I don't work like a dog for the best possible outcome.<br />
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My mom has always called me her "reluctant athlete". I fell in love with a sport that turned me into one. And one I eventually had to walk away from. But maybe, those aspects of athleticism are still deeply engrained. Maybe, there's an olympian in every parent. Maybe. I like to think so.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-70805291660339055142016-02-14T18:18:00.002-08:002016-02-14T18:18:27.279-08:00OverheardAdam and Jim were wrestling, far and away Adam's favourite thing to do.<br />
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Jim: Adam, I'm gonna put you in the python!<br />
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Adam: Daddy, I'm gonna put you in the BUM!!!<br />
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I prefer not to try and imagine just what that wrestling move might look like.Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-7245704959661655272015-12-28T20:27:00.001-08:002015-12-28T21:19:32.631-08:00Mormons are ChristiansFor anyone remotely interested, here's the original article written for Mormon newsroom Canada. I didn't realize (like an idiot) that writing like a journalist would be necessary and so the final product reads quite a bit differently. That said, I thought it worth posting the original here.<br />
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Mormons Are Christians<br />
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“But Mormons aren’t Christians, right?” This was the response I heard from one of the girls who lived on my dormitory floor during my first year of university right before Christmas break. We weren’t close, but we had had positive interactions, we got along well, and had a healthy respect for each other. I was gobsmacked. Mormons not Christians? Where did she get that from? And had I not done enough in my actions to indicate otherwise?<br />
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Ten years later wisdom and learning have taught me that her perception isn’t all that unusual. There are still many people who operate under the misconception that Mormons aren’t Christians. And maybe I shouldn’t blame them. There are some differences between Mormonism and mainstream Christianity. The most marked of which are our additional canonized scripture, The Book of Mormon, the structure of our church which holds at it’s head a modern and living prophet, and our shunning of the Trinity, believing instead that Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit are three separate beings united in purpose. There can be little doubt, when held against our peers we are a peculiar people.<br />
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But yet…while the differences in Mormonism might define us, must they separate us so? Do we not share much more in our commonalities than in our differences? At this time of year when all of Christianity celebrates with such reverence the birth of the Messiah one cannot help but see how much we share in our love and devotion to the one who redeems us from death. How we are unified in our desire to return to Him. How we are once again reminded of how unworthy we are of His love for us, and of the depths to which He has gone to allow us to return to His presence. It is our love and devotion to Him that unites us and allows us to converse in the same language.<br />
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As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints we believe in the Restoration of the gospel. More specifically this means the gospel as it existed on the Earth during Christ’s ministry. Most notable aspects of this are the Prophets and Apostles that lead our church, others include our belief that the heavens are still open and that priesthood keys have been restored. As Paul so courageously spoke before King Agrippa “Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come: That Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.” Paul’s testimony is now book ended by modern day prophets who foretell and testify of His millennial return to Earth.<br />
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My all time favorite scriptural account takes place in John 20, immediately following the burial of Jesus Christ. In it Jesus appears to a broken hearted and bereft Mary Madgalene who is at a loss to know where the body of Jesus is. In verse 15 he asks her “…Women, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?” We are told that she supposes Him to be the gardener. When I picture her, I imagine a woman so overcome with sadness that she is on her knees with her head bowed. Unable to see for the river of tears flowing down her face. She then says “Sir if thou hast born Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away”. It isn’t until this moment that Jesus calls her by name “Mary”. And then she knows. She knows that she is speaking with her resurrected Savior, and that her tears were not needed. The first, and only words that the scriptures tell us she utters in His presence are “Rabboni” which is Hebrew for Master. How I yearn to not only see Him, as Mary did, but to know Him as she did. To feel at one and at home in His presence. To call him by the same word. Master. For isn't He the master of us all?<br />
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In the end, I looked at this acquaintance of mine. This girl that I liked but didn’t know particularly well. And with all of the confidence that an inexperienced 18 year old could muster I said “we believe in Christ. We worship Him. Isn’t that what a Christian is?”. She was quiet for a moment before nodding her head in agreement.<br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-82459874090104893042015-11-29T12:50:00.002-08:002015-11-30T18:26:40.800-08:00HomeHome. It's a concept that I've referenced in various ways at various times here before. As a child of a naval officer we moved frequently, and as such, home tends to be a fairly fluid concept for me. I have lived and loved in many places, and I hope to live and love in many more. As I type I have the computer set up on top of my suitcase that soon needs to be packed for our journey home from visiting family in BC. From one home to another. Home.<br />
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I haven't exactly been secret about my struggles of late. Be they in regards to motherhood or disciplehood, or as a member of the LDS church. Secrets and I haven't ever really gotten along. My husband likes to joke that I would make the worlds worst spy (and he's right). I tend to live my life fairly openly and this blog has proved a safe and creative form of expression for me, for which I'm grateful.<br />
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This morning we attended church with my sister and brother-in-law and their family. And the choir sang a number that I have heard before, but for some reason pierced my heart especially today. The lyrics are as follows.<br />
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My shepherd will supply my need:<br />
Jehovah is His name;<br />
In pastures fresh He makes me feed,<br />
Beside the living stream.<br />
He brings my wandering spirit back<br />
When I forsake His ways<br />
And leads me, for His mercy's sake<br />
In paths of truth and grace.<br />
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When I walk through the shades of death,<br />
Thy presence is my stay;<br />
A word of thy supporting breath,<br />
Drives all my fears away.<br />
Thy hand, in sight of all my foes,<br />
Doth still my table spread;<br />
My cup with blessings overflows,<br />
Thine oil anoints my head.<br />
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The sure provisions of my God<br />
Attend me all my days;<br />
O may Thy house be my abode<br />
And all my work be praise!<br />
There would I find a settled rest,<br />
While others go and come.<br />
No more a stranger or a guest,<br />
But like a child at home.<br />
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The last two lines of the song are repeated amid swelling voices and music, and the effect is quite striking. But almost more than the music (and the music IS stunning. Seriously. Go youtube it now!) the words hit me. In my last post I mentioned repeatedly (more than I think I meant to. Maybe I need to work on my editing. Or just not post so late at night?) how much I find a home in the gospel. That is absolutely true for me. And I love it. I want for my relationship with my Savior to be more important than anything else. One of the speakers today referenced John 21 where Christ returns after His resurrection to find the apostles fishing. Which they likely were doing because...well...what else were they to do? Christ was gone and fishing had been their profession. I'm sure I would have done the same thing. They fish all night and they catch nothing. A man comes and tells them to cast their nets on the other side and they catch, literally, more than they can handle. It's at that moment that Peter recognizes the Lord, and he's so excited he literally can't contain himself, and so he jumps from the boat to swim to shore. Sometimes I wonder. If it were me, would I be afraid? That I hadn't done or been enough? I yearn to be like Peter. To be so overcome with my excitement that I can't wait another second to embrace my Lord and Savior.<br />
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I don't always feel at home at or in the church. And I'm pretty ok with that. I don't lose sleep over it. Luckily, it's not a requirement for membership. I sometimes think that I stick out like a sore thumb for my at times outspoken opinions. Sometimes I feel less put together than my counterparts (what other 28 year old mormon woman do you know that can't figure out a curling iron to save her life, has never used eyeliner, and doesn't own hairspray. I am a rare and lazy breed). But especially lately I feel less at home when it comes to hot button issues like women and the priesthood, or the church's treatment and association with gay people that I love. And I have struggled as I have watched many friends and acquaintances, who I love and respect, leave because they feel thay they can no longer make or feel a home in the church.<br />
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As I heard that beautiful hymn sung I held my baby and wept. Because I realized that where many issues are concerned, I DO feel like a stranger and a guest. I don't freely support the policies and many aspects don't sit well with me. There is much to learn and discuss, and believe me when I say that I am....but outright, immediate support and acceptance has not been my reaction. I have never been a detail oriented person. Mercifully my husband is and so he compliments me well in that arena. But...if I can be like Peter, if I can feel like a child at home in my Savior, if I can unabashedly run into His arms like my three year old son does when his dad returns home from work, I don't feel like I'm lacking. I can put the rest aside and breathe until an increase in knowledge and understanding comes. Because with my Saviour, with my brother, I can feel at home. And if I can do that, then what else matters? If I am making and keeping my covenants, if my home is in Him, and in the gospel, I think, I hope, I pray, that that can be enough.<br />
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I want to make it my mission to help others find that same home, because the rest? I think it's just noise. And I don't want to focus on it. As much as possible, I don't want the noise to keep me up at night. Home is a fluid concept for me. But I want my primary home to be in my Saviour. And I want to invite as many other people over as I can. I'm not much good at it. But here's to hoping I can turn this weakness into a strength. <br />
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<br />Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-10602058278408892422015-11-15T21:27:00.001-08:002015-11-15T21:44:26.872-08:00ProcessingI bet you thought this blog was just for updates on my life as a mom of two cute boys, huh? GOTCHA. Sometimes I hijack it to ponder, process, and write about other things going on in my life outside of my family. Not often, but sometimes. And I think that this is one of those times.<br />
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It's been just over a week since the information about the LDS church's update to the handbook regarding the baptism/blessing of children of gay parents was prematurely leaked. Just over a week since the internet (and my feelings) exploded. And while I don't intend to say much more on the matter, I've had so many dear friends, and even some acquaintances, reach out that I feel obliged to put to paper/blog where I'm at, what I think, how I feel, and what I believe. </div>
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Perhaps it's my age, perhaps it's my personality, or maybe it's even a sign of the times but it seems that more and more the church is taking firmer stances on certain issues. I love the gospel, and I love what it brings to my life. It is home to me. But it seems that quite oft of late...I feel the earth move beneath my feet. And when that happens it's a cause for me to pray, ponder reflect, and discuss with those that I love. I remember once when I was at college one of the main contributors to the Joseph Smith Papers came to give a fireside to address and unpack many of the criticisms regarding Joseph Smith, and especially the first vision. It was an enlightening evening, but a theme that he kept returning to was the importance of being a "seeker". I distinctly remember sitting in the audience and thinking to myself "but that sounds like so much WORK! Just tell me what is true and I'll believe it!". Isn't it lovely to be innocent and 18? I don't feel that way anymore. The ability to hear and to believe without question is no longer something that I can easily do, and sometimes I envy those I know who can. It seems lately that I...fit the mould of the standard mormon women less and less. And I have no problem with that, I really don't think it's a negative thing in any way. In fact, I think it's a really good thing. But along with that it seems that increasingly often now it seems my lot in life is to really fight things out. Ask God, sometimes repeatedly, learn from those around me that I love and respect, and, as best I can, be led by the spirit. Is it more work? Absolutely? Is it worth it? A thousand times yes! Because the victory of finding and knowing the truth for myself...of finding new ground to stand on is a sweet experience, and it is mine to own.</div>
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These last two weeks haven't been easy. A sick husband, a teething baby, a toddler who seems to relish pushing his boundaries, a new policy, and what seem to be countless terror attacks have been cause for a great deal of thought and introspection. I'd be lying if I said that my heart didn't feel a little more tender than usual. I'd also be lying if I said that this new policy was an easy one for me to digest. It absolutely was not. I love my home in the gospel. Because it IS my home in more ways than any other place. There are some things I know, others that I believe, and a great many more that I don't know. But a rhetoric often repeated by many people that I know is "it was released by the brethren. We sustain the brethren, therefore we sustain the new policy". And while I believe that there is a great deal of wisdom and logic in that line of thinking, my thoughts and feelings aren't quite so linear. At the end of the day, this policy, no matter how well intentioned, is divisive. I have gay family members and friends, and I love them with a fierceness that I defy anyone to challenge. They are without question some of the very best people that I know. And it pains me to know that the home that I find within the gospel, is not a home as easily made for them. It hurts me that in order to not be considered apostate by this new policy that they are required to remain celibate. That isn't something I could ever ask of anyone. It hurts me that any marriage undertaken by them is one that my church doesn't recognize. And so I guess it shouldn't be surprising that the church would discourage the baptizing and blessing of their children as well. And if it hurts me, I can only imagine how much it would hurt them. Do I understand the logic? Yes. Families are the most important thing, and it would be difficult, to say the least, to not have church teachings be congruent and supported by home life. I understand. But that doesn't mean that I don't have deep empathy for those for whom this effects. It is more suck to what already feels pretty sucky. I believe that instead of being defensive, maybe compassion could rule, or at least temper the day. </div>
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A few short weeks ago I had the opportunity to bear my testimony. I tend to think that those are opportunities to share our victories in the growth of our testimonies, a time to share what we know while coming from a position of strength, and often that is the case. Of late I've been wrestling with enough issues that mine isn't usually one of strength. If anything it's been me trying to remain humble enough to find the answers that I'm looking for. And bit by bit, they are coming. But lately as I've watched some pretty disastrous things happen in the world, and in the lives of those that I love, I've realized that...the ground that I've won I am still holding. The things that I knew before I still know. I still know that God lives, and that He loves me. I still know that He hears my prayers and, more often it seems, is waiting in the wings to answer and hold me. I still know that I am not alone, and that I matter to Him. They may be simple truths...but my knowledge of them hasn't changed. And perhaps that is a victory in itself. Some answers come slowly. And some might not come in this life. I'm learning to be more cognizant and comfortable with that. As the ground beneath me shifts I am finding my footing. But I don't know that that is as true or easily said for those that I love who struggle with their sexuality because the home in the gospel that I love...I imagine would be a less easy home for them. And so I want to offer my love, my empathy, and my compassion. It isn't much. It is paltry. But it is all I have to offer, and I offer it freely. </div>
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Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-16035699210654914032015-08-02T22:36:00.001-07:002015-08-02T22:36:43.779-07:00He's Here!He's here! He's here! The newest little Bird has arrived and as a family we feel like we're on cloud 9.<br />
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We are completely in love and so happy that he's finally here. It seems that there's a sacred sense of peace in our home since he's come. As the oldest of five perhaps I should have remembered, that holy hush and awe that accompanies a newborn. It's hard to find the words to describe it, and I'm almost sad because I don't think I can make it last forever, but right now, our lives are feeling a little more magical. </div>
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The rest is a recounting of the birth story. I record it more for my personal remembrance than anyone else, so unless you're really into birth stories, feel free to either stop here or scroll to the end for pictures :)</div>
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All went well. Last month I was quite convinced that this little one would arrive early. Given that Adam was born four days early, and the distinct impression I had had to quit work early, I was confident we wouldn't see my due date. Or that if we did, it would be very soon afterward. My patience instead was given an opportunity to prove itself, and I didn't much like it. Jim's family came and went, with me convinced I'd go into labour within a day or two. Nada. My mom and dad opted to come on the 22nd (two days after my due date) since, you know, it couldn't possibly be much longer and I might need some people to help me smile. The fact that I hadn't experienced one single Braxton Hicks contraction (after having had many with Adam), and a complete absence of any signs of labour had me fairly convinced that either this baby was never coming on its own and I would have to be induced (my second biggest fear), or that I had somehow managed to gestate an elephant. For which the gestation period is two years. Neither were happy prospects. </div>
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Mercifully, on Friday night after having watched some TV with my parents and having gone to bed, contractions began. They were uncomfortable enough that I had to breathe through them and were consistently lasting for about a minute at two minutes apart. At the urging of my parents (Jim was sleeping at this point and given what could have been coming, it seemed best to let him rest) my mom took me to the hospital for assessment around midnight. As I suspected we hadn't progressed far and were sitting at about 2 cm dilated. Home we went. </div>
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I tried to get some sleep but contractions kept coming and were too uncomfortable for sleep, so I went downstairs to labour, and walk. Somewhere around 2 am I texted my doula who arrived around 3:30 and helped me labour. As a side note, doula's are amazing! Everyone should have one. She was an excellent guide and helped with various tips and tricks that served to make things feel more manageable. </div>
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Around eight people started to wake up, and I continued to labour. The contractions hadn't gotten quite long enough to warrant the hospital yet. At around noon it felt right, and so off we went to the hospital praying I would have progressed enough for admission. The hospital in Grande Prairie was built for a much smaller population than it currently serves, and as a result Labour and Delivery is often swamped, so often you have to be pretty established in your labour to be admitted. Luckily I was at 5cm, and we were admitted. As luck would have it, we were given the only room with a bathtub. It's my dream to one day have a water birth, but with no midwives or birthing centres it's not currently a possibility in Grande Prairie, so having a tub of any sort at all felt like a tender mercy. </div>
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We laboured in the tub for some time, each contraction feeling longer and more intense than the last. Jim was so wonderful. With each contraction he would slowly pour water over my tightening belly, which eased the pain. Out of the tub his strong arms would squeeze my hips together which made the difference between the contractions being bearable and not. He was my rock and my partner. I don't know that I've ever loved him more than I did while labouring through this birth with him. He was truly amazing. </div>
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At some point, time began to be distorted but I asked to be checked again, confident that we must have been close. My heart nearly broke to hear I had progressed only 1cm. I had been adamant in my plans for a completely natural and drug free birth, but I knew I couldn't keep up at this point. And so I asked for the gas. And now I'm a convert. I wouldn't say that it did much to ease the pain, but it did make me just loopy enough to forget a little how much it hurt in the in between, which was help enough. Nichelle, my doula was fantastic at helping me relax and stay grounded. With each contraction she would remind me to breathe deeply, and held my hand as I breathed in and out which worked wonders in keeping me grounded. I couldn't have done it without Jim or Nichelle. </div>
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An hour or two later (I wasn't paying attention to time much at this point), I asked to be checked again. Mercifully we were almost at a 10 but had a bit of a lip. The nurse rectified it, and all of a sudden what had been a mild urge to push with lots of pressure became an overwhelming need to push, and push hard. I had really wanted to try birth breathing, and more gentle approaches but the overwhelming need to roar and push was unlike anything I remember feeling with Adam. The doctor arrived quickly and I roared my way through the contractions which were coming on top of each other. As the head emerged I remember being asked if I wanted to touch it, but all I could think of was getting this baby out as quickly as possible, so I refused. My memory becomes hazy here but at some point moments later the pain subsided a bit and they told me to reach down and deliver him. So I did. And THAT was amazing. To deliver my own baby from my body to my belly was something I never thought I'd be able to do and it was SO COOL! To snuggle and touch him so immediately was something touching the divine. We stayed like that for some time while we waited for the cord to stop pulsing and for the placenta to be delivered. The nurses kept commenting on how big he was but at my last appointment I had been told I was measuring small and to expect a 7-8 lb baby. I was more than a little shocked when he came in at 9 lbs 3 oz. That helped explain what was a much longer labour than I had been expecting. And the pushing phase lasted only five minutes, although at the time I thought it might have killed me. </div>
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He was immediately an excellent nurser and has been the sweetest baby ever since. Adam is besotted with his little brother and doesn't like to let Ben out of his sight. I feel so incredibly blessed to have these two little boys. Mothering them to be men of courage, and valour, and kindness, to be men of God feels like such an incredibly daunting, exciting, and honourable task. Ben is only a week old and I know that this newborn stage is going to fly by faster than I can blink. Yesterday his umbilical cord fell off. Of course I know that that is beyond normal and yet I wanted to cry, seeing the evidence of his progression and maturation. One week ago his body had been literally attached and nourished by my own, and here he was already demonstrating his independence. Adam is three, in two more years he'll be in school. Time seems to roll on so much faster than I feel prepared for and I'm powerless to stop it. And so I know not only how fortunate I am, to hold this baby in my arms that I had nearly given up hope would ever come, but to have these precious moments. So many beautiful, precious moments. </div>
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Love to all :)</div>
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The Birds</div>
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Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799347237360266752.post-44273426137816915182015-07-17T04:25:00.002-07:002015-07-17T04:25:45.559-07:00On the EdgeHere I am. It's 4:30 am and I can't sleep. Maybe it's the continued movements of a full term baby shifting under my ribs (less than comfortable), maybe its the sun thats just starting to rise over a northern Alberta morning (SO many glorious daylight hours in the summer), or maybe it's the anxiety I can't help but feel as I wait for my life to change.<br />
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On Monday I'll be 40 weeks pregnant. In other words, Monday is my due date. Given that I never actually <i>made</i> it to my due date with Adam this is kind of significant. At this point last time there was a babe in arms by now. I feel like I'm standing on a cliff of change waiting for my body to push me over the edge. And as exciting, and wanted, and anticipated as that change is, it's still kind of terrifying. Because nothing can ever be the same again. We will never be a family of three souls again. A new little one will be here. A new little one's scent to drunkenly breathe in, a new cry to learn, a new person to know. A new life to love. And I'm SO excited. Really I am. But there's also this inevitable anxiety of <i>whoa. </i><br />
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I wish my/its body would just get on with it. But patience is a virtue, and I'd like to let the little one choose it's birthday. So here I sit, at 4:30 in the morning. Typing a blog post in my bathroom since I don't want the tapping sound of the keyboard to wake my husband up. The poor man has more than earned his sleep.<br />
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Oh but what a glorious baby moon we've all had. As hesitant as I was to quit work it was SO the right decision. Adam and I have had such fun on adventures with friends to the lake, and the splash park, and the library, and I've relished the time I've been able to unabashedly give to him. He is the best. Yesterday we went on our usual 3km walk (some say it helps promote labour. I'm averaging 9km a week and I'm about to call BS). I used to run it last year in 15 min, now I walk it in about 40 min, and when Adam decides we HAVE to pick saskatoon berries (and make multiple stops to eat them) it takes...well I stopped looking at my watch. And it was so worth it.<br />
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We just enjoyed the nicest visit with Grandma, auntie and cousins. One of which is super close in age to Adam. These boys had way too much fun being bad influences on each other. And it was awesome.<br />
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If you look closely, you can see Adam peeing on my garden. Just like his cousin had done a few minutes before. As you can see, cousin thinks this is pure brilliance. </div>
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The rest is proof of our killer summer</div>
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As anxious as I am for this baby to be out, and to get to know it, these last few days have been so precious and such a gift. </div>
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Somebody can't wait to be a big brother. And he's going to be the best!</div>
<i><br /></i>Bird Watchinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09832374690592524721noreply@blogger.com0