Future Rock Star?

Zachary had a school project recently to make an instrument from everyday household items, and it needed to produce sound.

After some discussion, he decided that he wanted to make a guitar.  He thought about a few ways he could go about this, but eventually settled on using a shoe box, and papier mache.

I helped a bit, particularly with the parts involving a knife, but otherwise he was on his own, and he did a great job!

I really hope he gets a great mark, because he worked SO hard at this, and put a lot of thought and effort into it.

What do you think?

 The finished product!

Jessica

The weight of the world

Mental Illness.

Its terrible, isn't it?  I have an enormous amount of respect for the people who live with it. Many people I love struggle with some form, but it is a struggle I can only begin to imagine.

On February 8th, Bell hosted Let's Talk day, and I think its a fabulous step.  We shouldn't have to work to remove the shame of mental illness.  People with mental illnesses should absolutely be able to live their lives without feeling shame that they have an illness. We need to yell from the rooftops that its OK!  You don't have to be ashamed. The people I know that suffer from this illness inspire me beyond words.


Mental Illness is like any other disease.  Sufferers should have the ability to disclose or withold the nature of their illness, as they see fit.  We all need to learn to be more supportive and try to be more understanding. Because its hard isn't it? Those who don't suffer from mental illness can't truly understand what its like.  But we can accept. 


But that's not what I feel the need to write about. Instead, let's talk for a minute about the ones left behind. The ones who are holding it together. The foundation, if you will. It seems, to me at least that we are often forgotten.


We are the person who sits at home or work, wondering how to "fix" the person they love.  The ones who desperately try to make it seem to the outside world as if everything is ok. Who put their needs aside, because they are terrified, terrified of what may come if they let their guard down for even an instant. The ones who may be struggling with the weight of it all, but believe that if they let go, even a little bit, that the person they're supporting will collapse. The ones who are walking on eggshells because they don't want to be a trigger.


Mental illness doesn't just affect the person who is afflicted, it affects everyone in their circle.  Family, friends, co-workers. Damage is done, and it can't be undone.  The hurts and wounds can be forgiven. Forgiveness is easy because we know that our loved one - who is so desperately trying to get better - has absolutely no intent to hurt you.  Its easy to forgive.

But its not forgotten. It can't be undone.

You're left wondering, when you are the support, the foundation, the glue.....who's going to hold it together for YOU? The foundation of a house is only as solid as the ground it sits on.


And its hard.  Really hard. Because here's the thing.  When you suffer from a mental illness, its your illness, your symptoms, your story to share or tell. Or not.


But when you love, support and are trying to help someone with mental illness find their way, their illness is a great big part of your story,  but its a part that isn't yours to tell.


To tell of the actions they have taken, or the thoughts they have shared, feels like, is, a betrayal.  You're so afraid that other people's perceptions of your loved one will change, because quite likely, the things you could tell them, WILL change perceptions. We're only human after all.

Its not always this hard. Somedays you know you can do it, other are filled with doubt.

So here's my request. If you know someone who suffers from mental illness, be accepting, forgiving and supportive.  And if you know someone who is their main support system, call them up, take them for a coffee, and ask them how they're doing. Let them know that you are there to prop them up when they need it.  Be their solid ground. Because often it feels like you are carrying the weight of the world.  And the weight of the world can cause stress fractures in your soul.

That's Love.

I don't just hate snakes.  I'm terrified of them.  Absolutely terrified. If I see even a picture of a snake, I get all sweaty and my heart speeds up.

I don't know why,  its not as though I was ever attacked by a snake.  Or that a snake has wronged me in some way.

Its just that they are so.....wrong. They've got no legs, and they still move around the ground. Wrong.

Anyway, last year Jordan and I took the kids to see the travelling version of Little Ray's Reptile Zoo. For the record, it is a pretty cool set up.  They bring these cool reptiles and animals, and the teach the kids about them. The kids get to pet them.  Fun, fun.

Last year, they even had a masturbating lemur.  Let me tell you, THAT was awkward.

But they also have snakes. Stupid, dumb snakes.

And of course, the kids wanted to go again. Hooray.

Last year I was able to hide behind my husband when they brought the stupid Boa Constrictor out. There are many reasons why its handy to have a 6'4" husband, and one of those is the ability to completely hide behind him.  Because we all know, if I can't see the snake, it can't see me.  Right? Right?

Well hubby was working this time. So it was all me....

So off we go to the event, which is in a hotel.  A HOTEL. Thats charming. Let me tell you now, if I was every in a hotel and found out a travelling snake exhibit was sharing lodgings with me......I would be demanding protection.

It costs $10 a ticket, which frankly I find pricey for a kids ticket, but whatever.  The kids want to see reptiles and I want the Mom of the Year award.

So in we go, and we get to see turtles and a great big alligator and snakes.  But get this, the kids refuse to pet the snakes.  Or any animal for that matter. 

Well I will be damned if I'm paying $30 for tickets to see a reptile petting zoo and no one's touching the snake. Hell, I didnt even get to see a masturbating lemur this year! Now it was enough that I managed to summon up enough bravery to go to the damn thing with out my "husband suit of armour", so I sure as hell wasn't touching the snake.

So I bribed the children.  Yep, bribery.  Mother of the Year, here I come.

There were these stuffed snakes that the kids wanted, and I told them they were too expensive. But not too expensive for bribery!! 

"Okay kids, if you go pet the snake, Mommy will buy you each a stuffed snake!"

Zoom, off they go!  I got pictures of the kids petting the snakes. The kids got their stuffed snakes.

I got to leave.

Win/Win, don't you think?

Reticulated Python.  Her name is Marshmallow.

Caiman

 Corbett and Zachary being eaten by a dinosaur

"Losing" his first tooth. And his second. Finally.

Dear Corbett:

How exciting!  You’ve not only lost your first tooth, but your second tooth as well!  I’ve sure been waiting a long time for those teeth.  They’ve been loose forever!

I noticed that you were a very brave boy at the Dentist’s office while she pulled your teeth.  Good job!

As I told your brother when he lost his first tooth, the first tooth is special, so I am leaving you $5.00 for it. For every other tooth, you will get $1.00.

Thanks for being such a brave boy!

Love ,

My baby no more?

Baby Boy!

Corbett was born with very little hair.  And it grew slow. SLOOOW.  On his second birthday, we took him for a haircut, not because he needed it, but because I grew impatient of waiting for that milestone.

Two Years Old

Anyway, his hair continued to grow, and the curls began to show.  And boy, did he have curls.  Beautiful curls.

Three Years Old

Those curls have garnered him much attention and won him plenty of "get out of jail free"cards.

"Ladies love me because I have curly hair"

But, he hates having it combed. It is very fine hair and it knots so easily. The tears were too much.  I have always said that I would never argue with my kids about hair.  Its just hair.  You want a mohawk?  Fine.  Blue hair? Even better.

Its just hair.

But, but, but...

Corbett's curls? Gorgeous.

He asked a while ago, to cut it, so we took him.  When the hair dresser asked what he wanted, he told her he wanted the back and sides long still, but the front bang shorter.  He was happy with that.  For a while.

On Tuesday, at his hair appointment, Corbett asked for short hair. The hairdresser looked at me, questioningly, and I replied, "It's his hair, his choice".

So she cut. 

And she cut some more.  If I was an emotional person, I might have shed a tear or two.  Instantly, as the hair fell away, my baby boy,  my precious, last born--grew up.  The child whose pregnancy was so miserable, but in contrast brings so much joy.  He was growing older, instantly, before my eyes. It was like watching one of those videos where you see a person age before your eyes.

I sent a text to my husband.

Me: Corbett is getting it cut short.
Him: Nooooooooo (He is the more emotional one.  I knew he'd be sad to see the curls go)
Me: Yes (followed by this picture)

Corbett LOVES his new haircut.  He no longer has to endure the combing sessions he hates so much.  I am happy for him, I truly am.  And he looks very handsome.  I admit that I miss the curls, but they were never mine to have. If he ever wants too, he can grow them back.

But, he grew up, right before my eyes.  And that?  Oh, my heart.

(this picture is not the best picture of his new 'do, but it is the first one,  I will post better pics next time)

Six Years Old.

Thank you. Thank you very much!

If you haven't read the previous post yet, you may want to do that. 

January 8th came and Corbett was still nestled safely in my womb with no plans on exiting. (For the record, he still operates on his own schedule.)

We headed to the midwifery office for noon, and she checked me out.  I was about 1cm dilated as I had been for a few days.  She did a stretch and sweep - (gee THAT'S fun)- and about 10 minutes later, I felt a couple mild contractions.

Feeling that we could probably get labour started we planned to head over to the hospital,  so we could try to induce labour, without drugs.  She let me know, that if a body is ready to go into labour, that a breast pump can induce labour.  How frickin' cool is THAT!?

We called my best friend Micheline, who had agreed to assist again, and let her know we'd call her once things got started.

After a much calmer drive to the hospital, I was admitted, and the great big double breast pump was brought forth.  It was scary, but it worked. By 1:30 contractions started slowly, but with strength.  Jordan and I walked.  Jordan and I talked. Jordan and I ate.  We joked that Corbett would likely share a birthday with Elvis Presley.  I declined to give him Elvis as a middle name. It was weird. It was much more relaxed than my labour with Zachary.

In fact, it was so relaxed, that when Jordan heard the Air Ambulance preparing to take off, he grabbed the camera and went charging down the hallway to get pictures of it out the window. I was in the middle of a very strong contraction. Stand back ladies, he's ALL mine.

Micheline arrived, and at this point contractions were pretty regular and intense.  I could never really find a comfortable position, because Corbett wouldn't stay still.  Although he was head down, he kept spinning around like a break dancer.  He was face up, face down, face sideways.  He did this the whole way through delivery.  In hindsight, this should have told us about our new baby's character.

Finally, I allowed them to break my water.  It had been offered to me twice as a way to speed things along, but I had declined.  Since my car accident in 1991, I have experienced a lot of necessary medical intervention, so I quite stubbornly tend to avoid it when its not necessary.

So my water was broken and soon I had to push.  There were no difficulties.  I tell people that an easy delivery was due to me after that pregnancy.  I know that it was just luck of the draw.

On January 8th, 2006, at 6:54pm , after just over 5 hours of labour, Corbett Peter Valiquette was born weighing 7 pounds, 13 ounces. He had very little hair, and what was there was so fine and fair it was barely visible. It was nine days after his due date. 

Yes, Zachary and Corbett were born on each other's due date.

Despite my persistent fears that my illness and all the drugs I had taken for it would harm him in some way, he was absolutely perfect.  I had been so afraid that I wouldn't love him or bond with him.  That even though he was so very wanted, that I would resent him for all the illness.

He took my breath away.  I cried tears of relief, because the pregnancy was over.  My baby was here, and we were both okay.

I knew then that all the trouble the pregnancy had caused me had been worth it.  It didn't make it any easier, but it made it worthwhile. 

Today Corbett is still full of spunk.  He's a firecracker.  His name means Raven. Jordan, Zachary and I all have dark, almost raven coloured hair. Corbett has curly, sandy coloured hair.  Its gorgeous. Everyone loves it and he knows it.  In fact, he has said "Ladies love me because I have curly hair".

And its true.  That curly hair helps him get away with a lot of mischief!

But more importantly, Corbett, everyone loves you. They love you because you are caring, energetic and funny.  You love to be with people, are quick with a smile (usually a mischevious one), and always giving hugs. Eternally optimistic and smart as can be , you just don't understand why things don't always go your way. You absolutely adore your big brother. Your wit and charm are unmistakeable, and I couldn't be prouder to call you my son.  I have no doubt that you will attain your 5th birthday wish for "FOURTEEN GIRLFRIENDS"

I just hope you wait.


Love,

Mom

                                                              Photo by PhotoCaptiva

Sometimes, pregnancy sucks.

Today is the day before Corbett turns 6.  This post is decidedly less wistful than the posts I wrote about Zachary.  But it is a story that deserves telling, because Corbett is loved, and his story is equally important to tell, even though its less "pretty".

Jordan and I always knew that we would want to have another child if that was what fate had in store for us.  We didn't have a set idea on how far apart our kids should be, or any other such plans.  We just figured that when it was time for #2, we would know.


I also knew that pregnancy hadn't been all that pleasant or "easy" for me.  I wasn't quite sure when I would be ready to put myself through that again.


Two years old.  It was shortly before Zachary's 2nd birthday when we found ourselves saying :Now.  Now our family is ready to grow."  Although these things are never truly in our control, we knew we wanted to avoid another December baby. 


Let's face it, December is a bit baby heavy in our families.  Apparently everyone needs a little extra lovin' in March.  My twin brother and I were born December 5th, Jordan's birthday is Deccember 8th, and his sisters are December 19th and 28th.  Follow that up with Zachary's birthday on December 30th, and it gets a little crazy here!  On top of all that, there's Christmas and several friends with December birthdays.


So we were hoping for a fall baby.  I became pregnant quickly, but from the moment I knew I was pregnant, I also knew I wouldn't be for long.  I don't know why I knew.  I just did.


Still, I scheduled an appointment with our midwife, trying to think positive. That's what I do.  I think positive.  The day of my appointment came, and I woke up to some spotting.  Damn, I thought. Damn.  I mentioned it to the midwife and she said all the right things, that spotting is normal, etc.


A due date of late September was set.  3 hours later, at 8 weeks pregnant, I miscarried.  Its funny how sometimes you just know these things.  Jordan was at work, and I didnt even call him.  His job can be dangerous, and he was working graveyard shift, so I just didnt want him to worry. Besides, what could he do?

I went home and had dance party with my two year old.  Because its really hard to be sad when you're dancing with a two year old.


We tried again, and lo-and behold, at the beginning of May, learned we were pregnant. Yep, thats right, the beginning of May.  My due date?  December 30th.  Zachary's 3rd birthday.

Well played, fate.  Hardy har.

 
My pregnancy with Zachary was tough.  This one?  It pains me to say, but it sucked.  I hated it. By 8 weeks, I knew I could never handle pregnancy again.  At 9 weeks, I was hospitalized with severe dehydration. At 12 weeks, it hadn't stopped.  Nor at 13 weeks. 


With this pregnancy, I was ill a minimum of 10 times a day, quite frequently as many as 25 times. I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum.

If you've not experienced this, you can really only begin to imagine.  To manage through the day, I took diclectin, gravol,and had a careful schedule of eating and drinking.  I could not eat and drink at the same time.  I couldn't drink more than about 2-3 ounces of liquid at a time. Just the sensation of liquid sloshing in my stomach, would make me ill. At least 30 minutes had to pass between eating and drinking.


This carried on from 6 weeks to 14 weeks, when out of desperation, I tried accupuncture.  "What the hell", I said, "it can't get much worse".  It helped.  Big time. After two treatments, I was only throwing up about 5 times a day.  Still, a lot, but far better for me and my baby.  Around the same time, we also discovered the foods that my stomach handled best.


1)Plain McDonald's Cheeseburgers - Nothing else.  Not home made. Not Wendy's or Burger King.  It had to have cheese too.  A hamburger wouldn't do.

2)Tim Horton's Honey Dip Donuts

3)Plain popcorn

I ate those 3 things, and ONLY those 3 things for 6 weeks. Finally, at about 21 weeks, the puking stopped.  I woke up with no nausea and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.  I was scared our baby had died, but then thankfully, he kicked me, hard. I`m still here Mom, he was saying.


The rest of the pregnancy went as most pregnancies do, but I was quite weak.  I can`t say I enjoyed the rest of the pregnancy, but I definitely didn`t hate it anymore. It still makes me sad to say I hated pregnancy, but there you have it.  I won`t lie.  Pregnancy and I just aren`t friends.


Despite the rocky start, Corbett (we knew he was a boy) kept growing well, and was looking to be a bigger baby than his brother.  My due date came and went. Not only did this baby make me ridiculously sick, he was now making me wait!! 


Finally on January 5th, my midwife and I had a conversation about Corbett`s arrival or lack thereof.  My parents were on vacation in Morocco.  My brother had to head back home to Toronto on the 7th. My close friends were moving to Toronto on the 6th. My parents were returning sometime around the 9th or 10th. We were running out of people to look after Zachary if I went into labour. And given the speedy labour with Zachary, we needed a plan.

"Well, how does January 8th work for you?" she asked.

"That works just fine", I said.

So it was decided that if Corbett hadn't made his entrance into the world by January 8th, 2006, we would coax him along. 

We had a plan.

Tomorrow: Thank you. Thank you very much!