Will you know my name?

I rarely struggle with my faith anymore.

I feel certain that God is okay with my buffet approach to His Kingdom. I pick what I like from each religion I encounter and add it to my plate. I hardly ever feel the need to justify the various snack sized portions I choose to take in. 

After all, I was born on the other side of the world to devout Muslims and less than a decade later was learning about Jesus at Catholic school in Canada. The change in exposure did nothing to change who I really am.  This truth has always quieted me in the face of religious debate. I feel a deep connection to God and sense that He doesn’t care how I label it.

Recently, however, my smorgasbord belief system was tested.

Halfway through Heaven is for real one evening, Deaglan came into the family room.  I explained what I was watching and told him he should watch too. As always, he had 57 questions. He doesn’t quite understand the concept of non-animated television.

“Is this happening somewhere right now?”  “Are these people real?” “Did that guy just say the F word??”

I explained again that TV is mostly a person with a camera filming people who are pretending...someone has a story idea and asks people to act out that story in front of a video camera. 

It gets trickier when the movie is based on true events.  Our conversation about this particular movie went something like this:

Did that boy really go to heaven?

Well, yes, from what he says, it sounds like that’s where he went.

So this movie happened in real life?

Ummm, yes.

That boy right there went to heaven?

Well, not him, but someone like him.

More complicated than explaining the difference between the movie and real life versions though, was knowing how to respond to my son’s pointed questions about my faith.

Mom, do you believe Heaven looks like that, the way the boy says it does?

Ummm...yup, I think so.

Should I believe it too?

If you like that idea. Do you like that idea?

I think I do. Does everybody go to Heaven?

Well...if they believe in it, I guess.

I felt Shaune's eyebrow shoot up from across the room.  I shot back a look that I hoped said obviously I mean that if the concept of Heaven is not real for you then you might not care about going there after you die!

Okay then, I want to believe it too...Will I see Great Gramma Mac and Judge and Crash in Heaven?

Yes.

But what about you and Dad? Will I see you there?  

My son’s voice was no longer inquisitive. It had taken on something close to desperation.

Yes of course you will!

But if you look different in heaven (the boy in the movie saw his grandfather not as the old man he was before he died, but as a young man), how will I find you?

His heart broke open then. He cried heavy hot tears into my chest; hugged me tightly.

I won’t be able to find you! How will we find each other in Heaven?!?

Hey, shhhh...it’s okay. You won’t have to look for me, sweetheart. Daddy and I will be waiting for you. As soon as we know you’re coming, we’ll be standing waiting for you!

Speaking of Heaven, here are some pictures from Naveen's birthday and some from our trip to KOA.

 

Simple, human and oh so far from perfect

I’ve spent a lot of time this past year wishing we had a bigger house in a different neighbourhood. 

The truth is, we’re quickly outgrowing our three-bedroom semi-detached with its shared front yard and driveway. I think six years ago Shaune and I made an inadvertently good decision. At the time it was in our price range but we couldn’t have known then how much two children, childcare (Close to $15,000 this year!) and everything else that comes with family life would someday cost us .

Over the years, we’ve grown attached to our little street, made some very good friends with our neighbours and to my delight have connected with some of the parents of Deaglan’s school friends because they live on our street or the one only a block over. 

It satisfies a deep yearning I’ve always had, to plant myself firmly in a home, feel connected to it and the people close by.

And yet in the back of my mind I know this rootedness is only practice for the next house we move to. The one I keep calling our “forever” home; the one I imagine will be in another part of town, flanked by like-minded neighbours with kids the same ages as ours, comparable salaries and jobs, maybe a pool in the backyard, and definitely a double car garage for Shaune.

I didn’t grow up dreaming of grand things. 

It never occurred to me to imagine a large wedding or granite countertops. I didn’t know I was supposed to want crown moulding or an ensuite. And I watch myself even now, on some level, keeping a distance from a crowd that might make me think these things are important.

A few days ago Deaglan told me that one of his friends, his best friend actually, during play at school, constantly threatens to call the police when things aren’t going right or his way. I dug around a bit with gentle questions and it turns out Reid* threatens to call the “cops” if he feels he’s been wronged or mistreated somehow. He does this all the time according to my boy. I added this information to something else Deaglan told me about Reid a few weeks ago which is that once in a while Reid goes to his Daddy’s house on the weekends without his Mommy.

My heart hurt for Reid. I couldn’t help but play out the scenes of his parents fighting, sometimes violently, before they decided to separate.

Last night our neighbour across the street walked over with her two oldest children. She wanted to let me know that her husband had been arrested again. She wanted us to know in case we were wondering why we hadn’t seen Marcus* around lately. 

Their oldest child is also in Deaglan’s class, a tiny raven-haired beauty with the inkiest black eyes you've ever seen. I adore all three kids but this girl, well there’s something about her that makes me ache for a daughter.  We’d socialized with the family a few times and almost always call the two oldest girls over to play in our backyard on sunny days.

The mother, my neighbour from across the street, told me that she’d lied to the kids (ages five, four and two), told them that Daddy had gone back to Jamaica* to visit his sick father and might have to stay there for a while. She didn’t think the oldest girl, Deaglan’s classmate, believed it.

All last night my heart hurt for those kids and especially for that little girl. I couldn’t get her hauntingly beautiful but sad eyes out of my mind.

And while I lay there, something else crept in. It wasn’t as noble. It snuck in the way it always does; when I wasn't paying attention. It filled me with shame. I was reminded that I am still, afterall, simple, and human and oh so far, far from perfect.

It was a whisper of a voice urging me to move my family to a better neighbourhood; one without jail sentences and late-night domestic calls.

All day that family across the street, the one with the dad who is sitting in a jail cell, all day they were on my mind. I wondered what was better for my boys: to live in a neighbourhood where backyard barbecues and two-parent families is the norm or one where we are forced to witness the realities of real life.

The truth is, I don’t know.

*Not their real names. Not the real place.

Getting caught up in the right things

 We ate a whole lotta cake over the weekend.

 We visited with lots of friends and almost all of our family.

 We got caught up in Naveen and it was so, so good.

Shaune was up to his usual tricks...you know, knocking our socks off with things like this: A  surprise vacuum cleaner cake for the birthday boy.

 Because it didn't seem right to let these years go by without acknowledging his love of household cleaning appliances.

 

We extended the weekend and snuck away to see a dear, dear friend. I needed to hug her again; let her know that even though things aren't the same as they were when we had all the time in the world to hang out, I think about her all the time; that time, distance and busy-ness does nothing to change how much I love her.

Deaglan learned how lovely and gentle Golden Retrievers are. (Maggie, Kathy's sweet, sweet dog, was so patient while Deaglan "taught" her all sorts of tricks)

 

  

We turned a 26 hour trip into a mini vacation. After visiting with Kathy and Maggie, we swam in the hotel pool, and then this morning, we walked the block from our hotel to see the Falls again. I asked a passerby to please take a picture of the four of us. This was the best we could get. In hindsight, we should have waited to hit the candy store till after we were done sight seeing.

Sometimes the best times come with hardly any planning at all.

She's one of my Facebook friends

I saw the perfect man today.

 

He was small, maybe even lean. His pock-marked face was framed by flat, brown, seventh-grade feathered back hair. He was wearing dark khakis with a boring navy and brown striped button down. He was slight of build. But most notably he was whistling through his teeth while he waited to pay for his coffee.

I’m not kidding, he was whistling through his teeth. His lips weren’t puckered, blowing out, the way I sometimes see Deaglan trying to whistle. His tongue was stuck up in the roof of his mouth. His top lip was stretched over his top teeth, and a low tuneless melody escaped; all the while his black eyes darted from one thing to the next.

 

He was perfect.

 

And I considered seriously, for a few minutes, contacting Dexter’s people to let them know I’d found their next villain. Maybe not a high profile axe murderer, but he could certainly make a compelling neighbourhood stalker-type.

Clearly, I need to stop with my Netflix preoccupation. And it wouldn’t hurt to ease up on how often I check into my Facebook account each evening either.

Last week at a funeral, I saw an old friend who I hadn’t spoken to since Matthew’s funeral. We hugged and confirmed that we needed to stop meeting this way. After that, we had very little to say to each other. We joked that that there was no need to ask about how the other was doing; we already knew.

 

She’s one of my Facebook friends.

 

On the one hand I rarely feel the need to call anybody anymore, which works out well these days since my boys turn into home-wrecking maniacs anytime I’m on the phone. People know how we’re doing by reading my blog and I know how they’re doing by paying attention to their Facebook updates. It’s all very handy.

 

I wonder though about the long-term effects. Where are we really going with all this?

 

Oh don’t get me wrong, nothing delights me more than the perfect outfit pin, or a 30-second video of somebody’s baby walking for the first time  or a cost-effective bathroom renovation. I can’t get enough of that kind of thing.

 

It’s the pressure Facebook, Pinterest and personal blogs seem to put on us:

 

To be happy

To post the perfect picture of ourselves

To get more DIY

To present a pin-worthy, photo-shopped, all is joyous in our house version of ourselves.

 

This is what has me wondering. And worrying a little.

 

But maybe it’s just me.

 

Maybe I just wish I could make my kids a birthday banner from recycled orange juice cartons, do a triathlon before 9 am and announce to the world that with no provocation whatsoever, my husband booked me into a spa for the day while he organized our linen cupboard and did crafts with the kids.

 

 

These are my birthday flowers from Shaune and the boys. Deaglan said he picked them out because he just knew they were my favourite. After watching his eyes sparkle while he told me this, these easily are my favourite flowers.

 

My friend Shannon came by last Saturday morning with these beauties, balloons and a new monogrammed coffee cup.

 

I take none of it lightly

You people.

You lovely, kind people. The things you said in your comments on that last post. Well, words can’t explain how much those things mean to me.

Thank you.

And to my Facebook friends: the ones who always comment on my posts (Frank I’m talking to you), the ones who send me private messages to let me know that something I wrote struck a chord or just that they liked it, and the ones I see in real life in the halls at work who stop to tell me they read one of my posts; to all of you, thank you. Thank you!

You should know I take none of it lightly.

I was feeling good about this and  about life in general despite the fact that we seem to have entered phase two of winter around here, the opposite of Indian summer, when I realized I forgot to tell you that in a few short days, Shaune will once again be a homemaker. Then I realized that I forgot to tell you that he got another temporary teaching job in the first place.  The technical term for which is long term occasional or LTO if you’re in the business.

Yup, lucky for us, once again someone needed surgery.

Last year he replaced a teacher who was having his elbow operated on. It gave him six months of work. Yay bum elbow! And then this past September he got a call to step in because another teacher needed his shoulder fixed. Greedily, my first thought was, that other shoulder isn't going to fix itself.

Maybe you’re thinking we should be taking a long hard look at the obvious. Elbow replaced? Shoulder surgery? What kind of work has Shaune gotten himself into? Will he one day come home and tell me they need to operate on his thumbs? Replace his forearm? We have thought of that and it’s hard to say for sure so we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  Besides, on most days I remember to tell him to be careful.

But it is hopeful that in the two years since graduating from teacher’s college, an industry everyone thought he was crazy to get into because of all the budget cuts our province has been making, he’s worked steadily at least half of each year.

He’s developed really good relationships with two principals and many, many teachers. Just last night a group of lady hospitality teachers took him out for dinner to celebrate the end of his LTO and to let him know how sad they were that he was leaving. They’d all told him on different occasions how much they liked working with him. A few said they appreciated that he always came over to their classrooms to say hi or discuss a lesson plan.

He was hesitant at first about going, just him and five ladies, some who are close enough in age to be his mother, but in the end he went and I think, had a good time. I heard him come in around ten so it couldn’t have been all talk about grandkids and gardening. Although, if they had discussed gardening for any length of time, they would have had his undivided attention.

He’s a food nerd on all levels.

Now he’ll go back on the supply list; take substitute teaching gigs whenever he gets calls. But more importantly I’ll have gained a Nanny. A handy, handsome nanny who does windows! Oh sweet, sweet unemployment. If last year is any indication, he’ll take the kids to their respective places. Every morning (!)

He’ll pick them up. 

Every afternoon (!)

He’ll have the house clean and dinner ready.

Every day (!!)

And if that isn’t enough to make me want to increase my pay scale to make this situation permanent, he’ll tackle another big project in the realm of home improvement. I’ve thought it through and already have come up with an itemized list in descending order of importance. It’s been just short of impossible to not fantasize about coming home to brand new curb appeal. I stay up late imagining the possibilities for the upstairs bathroom.

Obviously, and not to mention ideally, we need him to be gainfully employed. I mean it isn’t right that I’m over the moon at the thought of him being available should the school or daycare call because one of the kids is sick. Or that I'm practically giddy because now I could seriously consider doing one of the morning classes at the gym. It's not right.

Right?

And finally, we can get back to eating like this. These are all dishes he's made in the past when the only kitchen he cooked in was ours.

With a little help from my friends

This morning on our way out the door Naveen asked for cookies. If he was already dressed in his outside gear I would have likely said “no, sugar in the morning is not good for a kid’s brain.” 

Except I was running late and the thought of chasing him down to get his coat and hat on was exhausting. So I grabbed a mini bag of Chips Ahoy and used it to buy his cooperation. After that I realized Shaune had Deaglan’s backpack and lunch box in his car. He was already gone to work while Deaglan’s unpacked lunch sat on the counter.

I could have cried.

On the way to Deaglan’s school I apologized to both kids for yelling. “Mornings are hard on Mommies,” I explained. It’s become something of a ritual, my contrition. I am rarely my best mothering self weekday mornings. I told them, like I try to do every morning on our drive, that they are good kids.

And if it’s been a particularly bad morning, then I find a sympathetic friend at work to help assuage my guilt. I tell them what an awful parent I am; admit how crazy I acted. I welcome any number of compassionate responses: A childless friend could say something like, “I don’t know how you do so much before even getting here in the morning!”  

And just like that I am restored.

Someone with older kids might admit to having had many similar mornings herself - that it’s all just normal and par for the course. If I don’t believe that she would act as nutty as I did that morning, I might nudge her a little for an example – a time when she lost her cool, mixed profanity with religion because sometimes saying “Oh my f%#@*ing god” seems like the only justified response to a five year old refusing to put his shoes on even though he’s been asked 50 times. 

A good friend will search her memory for a similar story - even tarnish an innocuous instance if she can't think of anything,  just to make me feel better. 

My friend Sue

At Wal-Mart yesterday, Doris the associate checking me out, gave me some tips for hanging my slacks using children’s hangers. While she scanned the jeans I’d bought for Deaglan we had a fun little chat. Then at the Dollarama a few hours later, Iris who was ringing me through admired my choice in gift bags and together we marvelled over all the great stuff you could get for a buck these days.

It brought to mind Sue, my neighbour-friend down the street. She’s just itching to have grandbabies, I can tell. Last month when we gratefully accepted her invitation to come for a swim, she had all sorts of toys laid out for Deaglan and Naveen. Her twin girls, who she raised mostly on her own, are 21 and nowhere near having children.

She’s always walking her little white dogs, Becky and Chase, sometimes with 92 year old Dot and her little white dogs in tow. Dot recently moved in with her daughter because her vision had begun failing. Regularly Sue picks Dot up, brings her back to our neighbourhood where she’d lived for the last 20 years, and they have doggie spa days where the younger woman bathes and grooms the older woman’s dogs. They drink tea and have fresh baked cookies, catch up on each other, gossip about what’s been going on in the neighbourhood.

I can’t tell you how many times Sue offered to take Deaglan for a few hours here and there last year when I was bone tired and navigating the rough new waters of being mother of two.

She retired a year and a half ago, after pledging 32 years at a large communications firm. And although she earned a pension, a tight little income, she found a job as a cashier at a local grocery chain. She asked for only a few shifts a week so as not to cut into her retirement income.

I asked Sue a few times in passing how the new job was going. At first she bubbled with stories of darling old couples who routinely shopped on specific days, waited patiently in her line just so she could scan their groceries.

It didn’t surprise me. Sue has a way about her that makes you want to beg her to invite you for a sleepover.

But a few weeks ago Sue was fired. Well, she wasn’t fired – exactly, but the Big Boss told her that her IPM (items {scanned} per minute) was really low, lower than anybody else’s in the store. The acceptable number of items scanned per minute was 25 and Sue was lagging behind at just 18.  He told her she was doing a great job in every other way. However, Sue's shifts got cut back. And she was given a “partner” during her busy times, a young student who could scan up to 30 items per minute.

Having this prodigy work beside her made my friend nervous. She couldn’t take the time to talk with her regulars, get to know the customers the way she usually did. And the IPM genius treated her as if she didn’t know anything about the job. Sue reminded the kid that she was a bit slow scanning, not stupid. But the kid reported back to the Big Boss that Sue was difficult to work with.

Tired and defeated, my friend gave her resignation. I choked back tears (and the burning desire to hunt the kid and Big Boss down) when she told me this. I thought about how wonderful it is to go into a store and get treated like an old friend. How something like that can pick up your mood and have you humming for the rest of the day.

My friend Frank and his son

In middle school, Frank was my best friend. We were part of a larger gang, mostly boys - a few girls, who congregated at the end of Frank’s driveway on Bellevue Street after dinner every night when the heat of the Tucson days relented a little. There was never alcohol. No one in the group smoked. We were good kids. Mostly we stood around talking about movies we wanted to see, sports and our favourite albums. It was around the time Footloose came out, around the same time I fell madly in love with Kevin Bacon.

When my parents announced we were heading back to Canada, they might as well have informed me we were on our way to a remote camp on the planet Jupiter. I was inconsolable; a heartbroken mess of a girl who couldn’t imagine life without her friends.

I received regular letters from Frank for a few years but inevitably we stopped writing. I always wondered how his life had turned out. When the world wide web showed up, I Googled him but nothing came of my searches. And then last July, 25 years after I left Tucson, I received a comment from a Frank on one of my posts. When I logged onto Facebook, there was a message from him. He told me how sorry he was to hear about Matthew, and that sadly, after years of searching the internet, it was through my brother’s obituary that he was able to find me.

I saw that while Shaune and I were dilly dallying our way to a grown up life, breaking up, getting back together and then breaking up again, Frank was busy getting married, getting divorced and then getting married again.

On his info page Frank had written in all caps I LOVE MY KIDS AND WIFE. Everything seems to finally be falling into place. I knew in that instant some people never change. I felt vindicated in having always known what a true and pure person he was.

Through Facebook I fell in love with Jesse and Mikayla his kids; found myself wishing I was friends with April, his wife . I learned that Frank and April started to worry a little about Jesse their first child, right around the time he turned two. People looked sidelong at them on outings because they didn’t seem to know how to “control” the toddler who was throwing “tantrums”. Frank said they noticed that any words he’d learned up until that point, he started losing, so that instead of advancing in language skills, he seemed to be regressing. It took a few years to finally get a diagnosis.

Jesse, it turns out, has high functioning autism.

So began their wretched battle with the school system which set them firmly on a path of advocacy. First their sweet little boy was placed in a classroom with mentally disabled children even though Frank and April fervently protested. When they saw how this was hindering his progress, they decided to try and home-school Jesse. But realizing how unequipped they were, they took the advice of other parents in similar situations and tried to place Jesse into a regular classroom. They were denied. For two months they had to settle for their son, who required a stable environment in order to flourish, being shuttled between a room full of autistic children and short stints in a regular classroom. They withdrew him again when they saw that it was doing Jesse no good. Finally they were able to enrol him in a charter school where he will soon attend grade one.

Frank says that Jesse is really, really smart. He excels at math, spelling and reading but doesn’t do so well with speech and social skills. It’s been hard for all of them. Mikayla, at age four, understands that Jesse has specific needs but acts out sometimes when she notices that her parents’ attention necessarily goes to her brother.

I can’t imagine what it must be like. On my worst days, I am exhausted by the time the kids are in bed. And I didn’t have to do battle with the school system or worry about how the major surgeries to my son’s Achilles tendons went to prevent him from walking on his toes.

I can’t imagine.

I'm pouring my heart out with Shell.

Erin and Wes' wedding

An auspicious occassion did not fail.

The weather, the church and the golf club cooperated to make yesterday a beautiful success for my friends' wedding.

The church was ornate and spectacular with gorgeous stained glass windows and rich dark mahogany everywhere. Incidentally, Shaune's folks were married here almost 40 years ago!



I lived a charmed life for one day. My hair dresser pinned and curled my mane into an elegant up-do while Heather at the Mac counter applied some trickery to transform my face for the day.  

It didn't hurt that Erin chose a lovely chartreuse dress. She gifted us each with Swarovski chrystal earrings and a matching bracelet. And the fresh flower bouquets were delightfully fragrant and light to carry.

Thankfully the rain held off until after we were safely eating and drinking in the shelter of the reception hall. Erin was more breathtaking than usual, and her handsome husband made a dashing groom.

She was a vision in this white gown. And when she peeked her foot out, we were surprised with a pair of jewel encrusted Nine-West pumps the same colour as our dresses! Alas, I would have asked Shaune to take pictures of every detail, had I not been busy. And her necklace, also Swarovski, was nothing short of stunning.

The groom remained star-struck, in awe of his bride throughout the day. Handsome and sweet, he spent a good portion of the day hugging guests and expressing his gratitude.

We the bridesmaids giggled and groaned (high heels - enough said) our way through the day posing for pictures, enjoying a little champagne here and there, and scheming up new ways to bring the newly married couple together for a kiss.

The ceremony was mercifully short - my toes were numb by that point. If only pretty shoes were always comfortable.

Shaune the lonely date of a bridesmaid, small talked his way into new friendships until the early evening, while I giggled, groaned, posed, sipped and schemed. I also breathed a huge sigh of relief once my duties as MC came to an end!

A rare occassion for us to be out without the boys. Gramma was at home with them allowing me to relax and enjoy the day!

Etsy, here I come

My friend Erin is getting married in May. Yesterday we gathered at my house and showered her with love, food and gifts. There were about 15 of us. I didn't ask her if I could post pictures of her and the other guests so here are the decorations I put together leading up to this event.

I spray painted an old piece of art I had into a chalkboard and made a wreath out of an old tank top. After reading that, you'll probably stop feeling sorry for me when I tell you that Naveen keeps me up all night. She must be getting enough sleep to be miss crafty crafterson I can hear you saying.

I veered left into the woods near our house on a walk last week and found these branches waiting for me. Centre-piece they seemed to be whispering. Who was I to question them? So I did what any sleep-deprived, cheapskate, crafty-wannabe would do. I took a pair of bright red overalls someone had gifted us for the boys and drew and cut hearts to hang from my free branches. I stuck each heart to cardboard hearts cut out from one of Naveen's diaper boxes.

I hope the person who gave me the overalls isn't reading this post. But truthfully by the time Deaglan was old enough to wear them, it was mid summer and hotter than hades.

I made these crepe paper roses from a Martha Stewart kit. It was $2.00 for each kit. I bought three kits, meaning I had to make 18 roses. Can I say that sometimes my cheapskateness bites me in the butt? These were te-di-ous. And to add insult to injury, Shaune breezed by while I was softly swearing to myself twisting florist's tape, and maddeningly asked why aren't you just buying decorations for the shower??

Well he didn't have to tell me twice. I hired his cousin's partner to make these adorable cupcakes.

And I spent a day and a half of my life I will never get back fretting about these flowers, threatening Deaglan and the cat that if they so much as harmed one carnation, there would be severe consequences.

Do you love the frame? Another bad piece of art I discarded. A five dollar can of spraypaint.

Erin noticed all my efforts. I knew she would. That's why we're such good friends. She said she thought it was the best shower she'd ever attended. Love that girl for knowing what I needed to hear.

And this kid can finally relax. I even let him eat a cupcake in the living room.

An apology to my friends

Dear friends with no children or friends with children who are old-enough-so-that-you-don't- remember-this-stage,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you decided to call me and had to deal with all that it has entailed lately:

• The threatening of time-outs


• The counting to three


• The non-stop talk of pee and poop


• The screaming


• The crying


• The thinking that I was talking to you when I was actually talking to Deaglan or Naveen


• The non-stop talking about Deaglan or Naveen


• That I act as if I am the first woman to ever have two children


• The repeating of stories I might have already told you - I can't keep it straight these days who I've told that Deaglan is doing really well on the potty and who I haven't - I'm sure it was riveting the first time I told you!


• That I forgot to ask you how you are doing


• That when you asked if you should let me go - I said No I'm good


• That I talk so fast and cut you off because I'm DESPERATE for some good adult conversation

Please understand and promise we'll still be friends. I should be back to my adult self in a few years. Also, if you want to save yourself the headache then email or text me. I gotta go, Naveen will wake up if I don't keep walking.

Sincerely,

Kim

Here's a picture I took of myself with the pc cam. Clearly I am not ashamed to show you what my stay-at-home mommy self looks like these days. I've been going between the Snuggli (gifted to me from Erin), the Moby (gifted to me from my wonderful team at work) and this back pack (gifted to us from Shaune's cousin) to get things done around here.

A pregnant woman's bliss

The very talented writer Elizabeth Bradley honoured me with the Happy 101 award. It requires that I list ten things that make me blissfully happy. Since I am mid pregnancy I will share with you the things that make me happy these days.

1. Sleep - oh if sleep was sold in a jar I would take my life savings and buy every last bit that I could afford.

2. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, nibblies, bites...I guess food in general.

3. Energy to get things done. When I get an adequate amount of sleep I almost feel like my old self and am able to cross off of tasks from my to-do list.

4. Jodi Picoult novels - this is a new joy I've discovered. My close friend Lesa loves Picoult's novels and told me about them.

5. Baby kicks - recently I've started feeling movements from the baby inside. It is the BEST part of pregnancy. Related to this is hearing the baby's heartbeat at my monthly midwife appointments.

6. Deaglan and Shaune - they are my love, my home, my life.

7. A clean house.

8. The smell of Gain detergent.

9. Picking Deaglan up from daycare. It's the best part of my day seeing his snotty little face again.

10. Moments I stop and realize I will soon be mother of two.

I would like to tag some of the wonderful people I read daily:

Kelly at My voice, my view

Jenn at T Rex Mom and Dad tales

Ginger at Flowers and More

Christy at A Lil Welsh Rarebit

Gerri at Peace and Love

Vicki at Vicki Unplugged

Jenn at Monkeyland

Secret Agent Woman at Blogging Incognito

Wendy at Adventures of Nurse Wendy

Kat at My Girls and Me

If you have a note on your blog that you don't want to receive awards please forgive me and feel free to ignore me.

Birthday for Two

Deaglan will turn two on Christmas Eve. We've tried to separate Christmas and his birthday by holding a party a week or so prior. Then on Christmas Eve we will celebrate it again with Shaune's family. Here are some of the best shots. I would have included more but most of us had one eye closed or were just putting our forks into our mouths when the camera turned on us.

Shaune didn't fail us and put out a delicious spread as usual including freshly made vegetarian sushi, shrimp cocktail, his own guacamole and taco dip, meatballs, bruschetta with goat cheese, cilantro, tomato and kalmata olive, and much more.
Thomas was included of course and Deaglan has talked of little other than blowing candles. (I made sure to grab the cupcakes from the back rows to serve our guests).

The arrival of Cousin Asia was greatly anticipated and the two hardly left each others' sides. Asia is almost seven and Deaglan easily thinks she is the greatest person ever to live.

I'm sure next year Cousin Farrah will be joining in the running and screaming.

It was a fun day and we want to thank all of our friends and family for making it a wonderful celebration.