Guilty pleasure

So, I'm assuming you've Google'd someone? Used a proper name as a search to see if you get any hits? Find out what someone is up to, where they're located?

In a wanton display of unhealthy acts, I sometime Google my husband's whackjob ex-girlfriend (y'know, to see if it's time to move or anything). Last week, I decided to give up this practice because I found something that made me happy - a picture of the aforementioned whackjob, and she's now fat.

Like "round to the ground" fat. Wearing an "I give up" polyester skirt and shoes that my grandma would consider "too frumpy". My thimble runneth over.

I think I'll just give up this unhealthy habit....why spoil a good thing?



Don't judge, people - this woman walking the planet brings us all down a notch. Any heartache or misfortune she's experiences, she probably had a hand in orchestrating.

New Song on the Playlist

Sunday afternoon, drinking coffee with Mr. Hammy whilst Hamlet naps. Through the baby monitor, I hear the sounds of a stirring toddler, who decides to try out some new material.

"SHOT 'FREW THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BWAME!....BAD NAME!"

Mr. Hammy and I look at each other, "Is that? Did I hear? Did you hear?"

"SHOT 'FREW THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BWAME!....BAD NAME!"

This goes on for several minutes; just this one line, evoking memories of big hair and high school dances. From my 2.5 year old son.

Lullabye and goodnight

I sing to Hamlet every night. I like to sing and have a passable voice, so I'm trying to pass on that love of music to my son. He now makes requests:

"Mommy, you sing Cars song."
"Honey, Mommy is not Cheryl Crow."
"You try Mommy." He pats my shoulder, "You try." And because he is my pup, my love, I try.

"Mommy, you sing We Will Rock You."
Because his babysitter plays what she calls "Jock Jams" and We Will Rock You makes an appearance at every hockey game ever played...this is now on the playlist.


"Mommy, you sing Dreamland." There's a place, way up high, starry bright there through the night there...

And then there are the songs I sing to Hamlet that someone once sang to a smaller, younger Hammy.

When I was a child, it was a grand treat for me to spend the night at my grandparent's house. They lived across town, and my Pops worked nights. So, I sometimes stayed "to keep Nan company". I would snug down in her big bed and ask her to sing me to sleep.

"Oh, honey you don't want to hear my scratchy old voice." (For posterity, my Nan was 40 when I was born.)

"Yes, I do!"

And because she couldn't refuse me, because her heart was mine and we both knew it, she sang:

You climbed up on my knee
You're all the world to me
You're mine from head to toe
That little girl of mine
No one will ever know, just what your coming has meant
But I love you so, you're something heaven must have sent....

I was in heaven, and all was right in my world.

So, as I write this, wishing I could hear my Nan's voice one more time, I hear Hamlet in his crib...
(We will, we will rock you! Buddy you're a strong man!)...and hope that he always remembers how his Mommy sang to him.

You travel for work? How exciting!

Except that it's not.

It's lonely, and who knew I'd ever get tired of having someone else cook my meals? Seriously, you can only eat in restaurants so much before you start craving things like granola bars and cheerios.

Oddly enough, it also means that the line between "work" and "not work" becomes even more blurred. I find I put in longer hours, over and above the work I'm actually travelling to accomplish, because I can work until midnight without sacrificing my "real life". Meaning, time with Mister Hammy and Hamlet.

And I'm also struggling with the fact that Hamlet is old enough to both a) miss his Mommy, and b) tell me about it. He's almost 2 and 1/2, so it goes something like:

"Hi Mommy! You take the red car to Nova Scotia."

"Yes buddy, I'm working in Nova Scotia. Are you taking care of Daddy and the boxergirlies?"

"Mommy, I watchin' Diego!"

"That's great pup - who is he yelling at in Spanish today?"

"Leatherback sea turtles Mommy. Mommy I miss you. Mommy I love you. Bye Mommy!"

Sigh.

I remember, I started this for a reason

I read the blogs of others, but I do not blog.

I remember I wanted to have a venue to work things out; a safer haven than the paper process (yes, I was once traumatized by a family member reading my diary). I don't think that need has gone away.

The last year and a half have been the hardest of my life. Everything I believed about myself, personal and professional, was taken away. And I have had to search for the bits of myself, my real self, and painstakingly pull it together.

It sucked. Hard.

Call me cliche, but I feel like the pheonix - burn me to ashes, then burn the ashes. Fire streaks to the sky and I am reborn.

So, the present loveliness of my life should be doubly celebrated. Hamlet is 29 months old, beautiful and bright. He shines, does my lad. He deserves a Mommy who looks to the future. Mr. Hammy and I love with the knowledge that we came too close to losing everything; our family and ourselves. Love is hard and fraught with responsibility - i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling).

This week, after some work craziness and a certification exam, I'm hoping to push the "reset" button on some of my priorities. Physical fitness being one; perhaps mental fitness is another? I think this blog could be part of that - a spot to work out the things in my head before they spill over into life and damage what I've built.

Hey, you gotta start somewhere.

A quiet moment

It's quiet. Hamlet is in bed. Mr. Hammy is out with his buddies.

Holy crap, now what?

This summer has been so busy, it feels as if I haven't had time to turn around. New job at the beginning of July; found out that my grandmother has lymphoma in mid-July; Hamlet's christening at the end of July. Visiting family in Ontario at the beginning of August. Home on the 19th, crazy week at work, and here I am.

Things have been rough. I'm still carrying around a lot of baggage from the professional and personal kickings I underwent in the last part of 2006, beginning of 2007. It feels as if I work every day to keep myself on track. The voice in my head has to be coached and I find I have to be vigilant about where my thoughts are taking me. Listening to the timbre of my internal and external responses to determine where they are coming from...am I upset because of something that is happening, or carrying around responses from things that have already happened. It's exhausting.

But I think I'm moving toward a better life; a better me.

Some of that has to do with how I'm dealing with people in my life. I said to a friend a little while ago, that my relationship with my mother is so tumultuous because I have this nagging feeling that if I just say the right thing, make the right argument, that the light will finally shine and she'll say "Oh!" And I'll finally have the connection I want, and she'll finally have the life she deserves. But I'm realising that life is not like that. Her choices are her own, and I have to establish boundaries that protect me and my heart. It's hard and it feels like giving up, but I am tired of brokering our relationship. I'm tired of being the kid who has done everything right, and gets screwed because I can take care of myself. Apparently, I should have been more of a fuck-up and then perhaps I'd've been heard. My mother of course denies this. She was overwhelmed when I was young, and did the best she could, she says. That's well and good, but in my mind, that doesn't absolve her of the repercussions of those choices. Hardship is not a free pass.

And so.

Work is good. Home is good. They both have feelings of anxiety attached, but I can work on that. And time doesn't necessarily heal, but it does build new experiences to overshadow the old.

Hear that?

Me neither.

EVERYONE HAS GONE HOME!!!

OH BABY THE SILENCE!!!!!

(more later-tired of communicating)

xo

Can't talk now...

We christened Hamlet on Friday, we've been inundated by family and friends, my mother and my aunt are here until Tuesday....

...pray for me....

What day is it??

Okay, I have to say it - I love my new job.

#1 - I have an actual office. Seriously, after working in a cubicle for...say....holy fuck almost 10 years, it's an amazing thing to be able to shut the world out when you need to think or have a 2 hour conference call.
#2 - My boss actually seems interested in me, my opinions, and my professional development. I'm gobsmacked. Not to mention that the executive in charge of health & safety is one of the founders of the company who I've spoken to more times in the past 3 weeks than I did in the last 6 months to my shit-eating, upwardly mobile middle manager at my previous job.
#3 - I'm getting an assistant.
#4 - I'm getting an assistant. (Nope, I meant to do that - so nice I typed it twice.)
#5 - I wore jeans to the office on Friday. That may not mean much to some of you, but in my last company "casual Friday" meant "no blazer with my dress pants".

Not to mention that despite being with the company only weeks, they are honouring the travel plans for August that I made waaaay back in January.

They are working my ass off though. But it actually seems like I'm accomplishing something and working for a purpose instead of the perpetual stream of other people's fuck-ups that was my daily bread a few short months ago.

Moral of the story - Getting fired (oh, sorry, reorganised) can be the best thing that happens to you.

On the homefront, my Mom and Aunt are arriving tomorrow for a visit. We are "Christening" Hamlet on Friday under some pressure from both our mothers. However, under the heading of "you can tell me what to do or how to do it, but not both", Hamlet's christening will be performed by the Salvation Army minister who lives next door to us. We will be saying the words in our very own backyard, with Hamlet's lesbian godmommies standing proudly by.

Faith on my own terms, or not at all.

Take that higher being.

Good thoughts needed - back to the grind

Okay, so I'm starting my new job tomorrow after being home for 3 1/2 months. The ending with my last employer was ugly and drawn-out with the results being a significant severance package ("we're sorry we fucked with you, will you go quietly?") and a thoroughly battered self-esteem.

The self-esteem part has undergone some hefty repairs - ironically assisted by the application and interview process. At one point, I had two competing job offers and was at the third stage of interviewing for a third position. Nothin' like love to make you feel better eh?

But the reality is, I'm still a bit nervous for tomorrow. New job, new responsibilities, new schedule, new demands.... Hammy's wheel indeed.

Wish me luck. Or rather, wish me talent... :)

When the world is running down...

Okay, so many things were whirring around in my head this morning. We are meeting with our lawyer tomorrow to discuss the next steps in this bizarre child-support thing, a response to the papers filed with the court system filled with half-truths and flat-out lies.

I have always found that putting something down on paper allows me some distance and freedom from situations that are tormenting me - probably why I've returned to this blog; a virtual outlet trading writer's cramp for carpal tunnel. So I put into a document all the responses Mr. Hammy and I have been tossing back and forth over the weekend. And it seems to have worked - I feel better and there's nothing in the back of my head insistently tapping, "Hammy, don't forget to tell him this."

I am hoping that speaking to our lawyer tomorrow will give me some peace; I'm a girl who needs a plan. As long as I know where we're headed, I'm okay but uncertainty can throw me for a big loop.

And I'm going to have to get better at moderating my responses to this type of stuff. I can't let these intrusions throw me, make me sad, bring up things that I've already worked through and accepted. A good friend of mine, who is a lawyer, gently reminded me that issues of family law can take years to resolve. And if that's the case, so be it. Hey, if it goes on long enough at least we'll be able to give the money directly to the boy instead of his shit-crazy mother.

Ah me, a silver lining....

Sooo tired of this shit

So my husband's crazy-ex filed court papers for child support (after 14 years I might add), but has refused to participate in a paternity test. Her written document read like "sainted mother done wrong by callous male" instead of the more appropriate "fucking whackjob wants to get paid for the screwing, physical and mental".

We visit our lawyer this week to say "WTF?"

I'm so tired of having to deal with this crap.

It's been awhile...

And I have to tell you that the end of 2006, beginning of 2007 was the worst period of my life. And I 've been struggling on how to "get up to date" here - do I rehash the whole thing?

The shitpile of counselling and coaching I've been through in the aforementioned time period says "nope - just move on". So that's what I'm going to do.

My son, the handsome Hamlet is 18 months old. Happy, healthy, freakin' cute.
My husband and I are looking to build our dream home in May of 2008 - we'll be able to hear the ocean as we go to sleep and walk down to the beach from our back door.
I start a new job with a highly-rated company on July 3rd.

If crap comes up that seems out of context, just tell yourself "oh, that must be part of the Dark Days O'Hammy".

Cheers.

Where am I NOW??

Busy busy summer. Both Mr. Hammy and I have been off work (maternity leave for me, teacher's life for him), so we've been running the roads with BabyHammy practicing this "being a family" stuff. It's going to take me a while to catch up, so bear with me.

My last post had to do with the impending visit of my Mom and her sister. My Mom was estatic to see Hamlet and spend time with him. She couldn't wait until he got up in the morning and was ready there for bathtime at night. She is so proud and happy about this little guy, so could just burst. It's a lovely thing to see.

My aunt was also very excited about being here and spending time with us. This trip was the first flight she'd ever taken on her own, and she was apprehensive, but she got here. She brought a visitor with her as well; a not very welcome guest named "Alchoholism".

Now my aunt has always been a heavy drinker. Hit it hard Friday night after work and continue on until you have to go to be Sunday night. Her's is an addictive, destructive personality - various drugs while growing up, issues with eating disorders, smoking, etc. The archetypical factory-worker, barely-educated existance. I always thought that the drinking was a weekend event, until about 10 years ago.

I was still living in my hometown and my aunt showed up at my grandmother's house after work on a Friday night - as usual. She pulled a plastic baggie out of her glove compartment full of those small airline booze bottles; there were 8-10 and they were empty. I asked her what they were for and she airily explained, "They were for work today."

I lost the plot. Called her all sorts of unflattering things (she worked in a factory with heavy rollers and machinery). Told her she needed help if she thought this was okay. I was angry; she was upset. I was thoroughly scolded by my grandfather (I'm pretty sure he was pushed by my grandmother) for "making her feel bad". "Good." I said. "I'd rather she feel bad than dead." But nothing changed and I moved from the province a short time after that.

Now those people are all gone, including my aunt's husband who died earlier this year. So she's a 48 year old widow, used to making excuses for her own behaviour, who is drinking herself to death.

She was at our house for 11 days. She consumed 5.0 litres of rye in that time.

By 11am each morning her hands were shaking. The first drink of the day was always before noon. I confronted her on the second day and she pulled the whole sob story, "my husband just died" blah blah blah. Don't think me heartless, she can't convince me that this volume is recent. As I told her "You have to practice a long time to drink like that." My efforts only slowed her down...somewhat.

Scary stuff. And as you might imagine, not the most relaxing visit for my mother or myself.

Bracing for impact

My mother arrives this afternoon. We're excited as she hasen't seen Hamlet, her one and only grandchild, since January when he was mere weeks old. He's now almost 7 months and a vigorous personality in his own right.


Her sister (E) has also decide to come along - I have mixed feelings about this. My mother's sister is also my godmother. She was 15 when I was born and the baby of her family. Perhaps my mom wanted to include her in the much-anticipated birth of the first grandchild/neice? I've never asked my mom why...

I grew up in a fairly small town. All of my mother's family lived in the same town and were very involved in each other's lives. Until I graduated from High School, my godmother (and later her husband) made much of me. I was their "baby". E would buy cards for me that were intended for Mothers, and write "God-" in front of the text. I was smart, hard-working, and good. Until I moved away.

University wasn't so bad, only a 45 minute trip down the highway, but it was the beginning of my "out of sight; out of mind" sentence. Then, a couple of years after graduation I decided to move to another province with my boyfriend (eventually husband). I was esentially forgotten as folks on the homefront settled down to their factory jobs and illegitimate children - much more interesting than my budding career and foray into a Masters' degree. My uncle didn't even come to my wedding as it was "too much family crap" for him. My godmother so resented having to travel and the money spent (and I think, resented not being the actual mother of the bride and therefore focus of attention) that she gave me $50 for a wedding present. I give $50 to people I barely know. Quite a fall from favour wouldn't you say?

Now, my grandmother (her mother) was E's best friend. She passed away in 2003 and it was devestating for all of us. This spring, E's husband died. She is lonely and alone. And all of a sudden I'm interesting again. She has called more since Hamet was conceived/born then in the previous 9 years combined. I am not a fan of "fair-weather friends" - and that's what this feels like. So I'm not sure how I will respond to this visit...the fall from my former pedestal was painful, and I am not interested in being dumped again.

Nor am I interested in having E horn in on my mother's role as a grandparent.

Excited and apprehensive; what a lovely combination.

REPRIEVE!!!

We were supposed to head to the in-laws today for a BBQ. My sister-in-law, who is 24, has landed her first real job. Yep, she's building a website and gathering a database of contacts for eco-friendly services in her area. So, we're celebrating....

Woo freakin' hoo. For additional fun, we'll probably open some envelopes and gasp in awe. Don't get me wrong, she's a good person, but a bit of a flake. And I just don't get how my in-laws seem to applaude every move both my sisters-in-law make (and chalk up even the most horrendous mistakes to "at least they had fun", or "it's a learning experience" while ignoring the bone-headedness that got them into the jam in the first place), but are quite dismissive of my husband's achievements.

Oh yes, the reprieve part. Today, it rained. Not surprising considering the weather here lately, but nonetheless. so my mother-in-law decided she didn't want to have a dinner if we couldn't sit outside. Hence, we stayed home.

And after I spent all that time teaching the baby to fake-cough....

(I shouldn't get too excited; we're going tomorrow.)

So long solitude

And I have to say, I'm not sorry.

Mr. Hammy is a teacher, which means he finished work on Tuesday. And by "finished work" I mean "spent half the day golfing". Does this make anyone else question their choice of careers? Of course, I couldn't have survived (read: the children wouldn't have survived) a Grade 6 classroom for the school year. We all have our strengths.

So, what this means is that I no longer have to pilot this parenting boat by myself during the day. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Hammy is a great Dad - poopy diapers, feeding, bathing; nothing is too yucky as long as he gets to spend time with his boy (they're great to watch together). But, it is hard to be a stay at home Mom. It's far more isolating than you think; social visits require the planning and tactical execution of a hostile takeover. And the person whom you spend the most time with (ie. Hamlet) is a great love, but slightly light-ended on conversation.

This summer as a family will be filled with visits and travel, but hopefully we've left enough time for the three of us to revel in our new family-ness.

First up: My mother arrives on the 8th of July. Oh, and she's bringing her sister (my godmother) which is a mixed bag at best.

All hail Hamlet, the Great Distractor!!!

A visit with irony

My father and his girlfriend left this morning after almost a week. They made the 15 hour drive from Ontario to New Brunswick on Thursday, on a mission to meet their new grandson.

They are both great to have around, but those two sentences you've just read set the stage for a buttload of irony.

#1. Father's girlfriend. I should say fiancee, because there is one of those shiny rings involved. Even so, the terms "girlfriend" and "fiancee" make theirs sound like a new-ish relationship. "Girlfriend" was at my grade 8 graduation (I'm 33). I've told my father on more than one occasion that with his sense of pacing, we should have the wedding right before the wake.

#2. My father drives a lot. He works in the oilfields of Western Canada and spends more time in a vehicle than anyone I know, excepting only long-haul truckers. The 15 hours to get to my front door were taken entirely in stride. However, Mr. Hammy's parents live 1.5 hours from us and constantly lament how far away we are.

#3. Related to #1, Dad's girlfriend - C - is overjoyed about her grandson. She's 42.

Dad, being of the old-school fathers, held Hamlet twice and said insightful, emotional things like "Woo! He's a load isn't he?" He also cut down 8 trees in my backyard, fixed the steps on the deck, replaced the shed doors, and relentlessly stalked the dandelions in my yard. Love has many different shapes.

C kept us fed, played with Hamlet, changed his diaper, helped with his bath, and took his picture. She also got some well-deserved rest - reading and watching TV. She has her own business and travels a lot; we were glad to give here a space where she could be "unavailable" for a few days.

I hate watching my family leave. Crying before breakfast is never a good way to start your day.

And they all lived....

So, BabyHammy was born and despite his harried entrance into the world, his Apgar scores are great (meaning his colour, responsiveness, breathing, etc. are good). But in the meantime, I am in shock (literally) and there is a team of folks inspecting my nethers doing a whole lot of sewing. At one point the OB/GYN asks for better light. I say "For Jeebus sake, make sure he can see what he's doing. There's stuff down there I'd like to use again someday."

My own doctor takes a good look at me and interrupts the nurses doing nursey things with BabyHammy. "Let's get baby over here to his mother." Because I haven't held him yet, just watched him pass overhead. I can't tell you that there was an instant connection, that I was right then and there in love. But he was here, after waiting so long and working so hard. And I was sure this little guy and I were going to fall into love, no problem. As soon as I could breathe.

He was 8 pounds, 10.5 ounces, and 20.5 inches long. They also felt that he was a little overcooked - 41 weeks instead of 40. Talk about overstaying your welcome!

BabyHammy (or Hamlet as some prefer) is now 5 and a half months old. He's a great little guy that wakes up laughing, and sleeps 12 hours at night. Mr. Hammy and I won the baby lottery it seems, and we know we're very lucky.

Intermission....interrupted

Floating on the loveliness of the epidural, both Mr. Hammy and I were able to relax somewhat. My very organised engineer friends had developed a call-out tree for Mr. Hammy to initiate, so it was time to set things in motion. Family also had to be notified. His parents and sisters are about an hour away and were intending to show up, but my family is all in another province, so we were just putting them on "there will be a baby today" alert.

My family was very excited and wished us well. His parents? "Can you give us a call at noon and let us know how things are going? We've got some errands and stuff to run today." This was after their son had told them that the doctors had said baby was definitely on the way TODAY. For double certain sure.

"Call us?" WTF?

Mr. Hammy, you gotta love him, said "No. I'm fairly sure that I'll be busy." (Worry not, there will be more on Mr. Hammy's family later.)

Back in the labour room, we settle down to wait things out. Things are bearable now and I try to nap, but I think excitement, terror, and adreneline are conspiring to keep me chattering to the nurses, visitors, anyone who will listen. The intern who has been performing my pre-natal appointments over the past 9 months comes in and breaks my water to move things along.

I wasn't aware that a nurse constantly stays with you monitoring vital signs for both you and baby. At one point, nurse says "Hmm." and asks me to roll onto my other side. Then back again. "What's going on?" we ask. "The baby's heartrate dropped a bit, so the repositioning sometimes helps to get it back up." Hunh. Okeydoke. She seems satisfied with the result, so we relax again.

Around this point, Mr. Hammy realises that the snacks and provisions that we had put together are still at home on the kitchen counter. "Do I have enough time to go and get a snack in the cafeteria?" he asks the nurse. "Oh, sure you have plenty of time."

(this, my friends, is foreshadowing)

Mr. Hammy wanders off. In the meantime, the nurse has me do another rolling routine as the baby's heartrate drops again. She explains that in a lot of babies, the cord sometimes gets wrapped around their neck as they move around and down for birth. Nothing to worry about. Oh.

A friend from work arrives with a sandwich for Mr. Hammy (who is not there), and we start to chat. Of a sudden, the nurse wants me to roll. Then back. Then she pages the doctor. Then she asks my friend to leave. Then she makes me get on my hands and knees.

The baby's heartrate has dropped again, lower than before, and it is not coming back up with my acrobatics. They want to attach an internal monitor. I am not fully dilated, so they tell me that they are prepping me for an emergency c-section. I am still on my hands and knees, my husband is gone, and I am terrified.

They need to take blood. What? How? Why out of my arm of course (ramp up terror level), y'know one of the two that are supporting my weight. (I was bruised for weeks) The room is filling with people. My doctor and intern have been shunted aside for the emergency OB/GYN and his team. So much is happening. I hear my husband briefly; they explain what is happening and get him into scrubs. I don't want a c-section - my needle phobia pushes me to the brink of panic at the thought, and the room and the people continue to surge around me.

At some point, I am allowed to lay back down. Mr. Hammy is beside me and he says clearly, "Babe, the baby is okay. The heartrate is back up." Okay, I can breathe. Whatever happens next, BabyHammy is okay right now.

My doctor explains, "You've become fully dilated in the last few minutes. The baby's heartrate is back up, so we're going to allow you to push. There is a window here that we're going to use; if the heartrate drops again, we'll have to go to surgery." Read: do this quickly or not at all.

They get me into position. They tell me to push, but they don't explain how. After years of teaching people how to lift safely, I blow out as I exert myself. No no no. "You have to hold your breath to increase the pressure and help the baby out." Well, why didn't anyone say so? Why is this vital information left out of pre-natal classes?

I hear the sound of cutting. (Sweet jeebus) They put a vacuum on the baby's head. I push again. "Is it working?" I can't feel much because of the epidural (thankfully), so I need someone to tell me what's happening. "Again!" Three contractions and BabyHammy is out, torqued and wrenched like a rugby ball leaving a scrum. BH is lifted to the warming table behind my left shoulder. I can see a foot as he passes above me, and I can see that BH is pink.

"It's a boy babe! A boy!" Mr. Hammy sounds so happy that his heart may burst.

(Mr. Hammy tells me later that from his vantage point, he could see the cord wrapped around the baby's neck when he made his entrance to the world. The image was burned into his brain; terror and joy combined.)

Next time: The denouement