Shaken but not stirred...

Life has its way of taking you by the scruff of the neck and making you pay attention.

Sometimes we get so bogged down in the throes of our own woes and cares that we neglect to look around us. Now I'm not talking about the pleas for assistance for the starving masses that abound just across the ocean. Nor even for the unseen homeless that wander the streets of even my tiny prairie town. I'm speaking of the people that share the dinner table with you, or used to. Your kids.

Of late (over the past hmmm year or maybe even longer?) I've had a number of family related issues that have stretched and torn tiny holes in our family fabric. Over all, we're still a family (I hope) but we're not really one that can be worn out in public to a fancy gettogether.

That we are still a family was evidenced by a late night call from my sil who informed me that my eldest was in the hospital awaiting an emergency appendectomy. She is pregnant with my second grandchild and we haven't spoken in well over a month.

Why? Because as my second oldest informs me, "you two are too much alike and when you both think you're right there's no talking to either of you." Hmm...

But being family this goes by the wayside, or perhaps I should say onto the back burner, cause you just gotta know that this is gonna simmer over at another time. Hubby and I speak briefly to a drugged cherished daughter (mine but his by heart) and tell her that all will be fine, she's expected to go into surgery within the hour. We stare at each other, knowing the reality of a surgery being scheduled that quickly, and the added complication of her pregnancy.

After the call, I phone for a sitter, but am unable to go. We discuss which of us could go, I'm not well, neither is he. Plus he's had a couple of beers since dinner. So we wait. We sit up and play silly computer games that I'm sure neither of us can recall. Finally after turning the ringer on the phone up to SHRILL CAR ALARM status, we stumble to bed. I read, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. We don't talk, there's nothing more to be said, but our hands creep across the covers to clasp the others.

The hours pass and sheer exhaustion from being sick and up extra early the day before win out and we doze. The phone rings, by the time the second ring starts we are halfway down the hall, stumbling over each other and trying to not shove each other out of the way in our eagerness to get to the phone. He reaches it first, and his worried expression remains then a nod and it lightens as he passes me the phone, whispering she's okay. My sil tells me that she's sleeping, that the surgery went well and the baby is fine and still inside mommy. I breath. I tell him to tell we'll be there the next day, little platitudes you murmur in such times and we hang up. Hubby takes my hand and leads me back to bed for an hour or two more of sleep before work.

Late in the day we arrive at the hospital. Because I am sick I stop at the nurse's station to ask for a mask. Hubby and the littles go in ahead of me. She's pleased but then it registers on her face I'm not there. Hubby quickly assures her that I'm just getting a mask and a look of relief passes over her face. When I walk in she's crying and asks to speak to me alone. Hubby takes the littles for a juice and we talk. She's had a *gush* of fluid, the dr is coming to see her and she's worried it's the baby. She's obviously in a fair amount of pain despite the meds and I help her to the washroom. I assure her that all will be well, inquire about whether they've given steroids to the baby. An oblique way in my mind of ascertaining whether they (the ubiquitious they) are concerned she'll go into labour. She calms at my assurances. I may not really know but I'm mom after all and can sound certain when I have to. I mask my own fear and hold her hand for a few moments. Then the littles and dad come back in and we visit. Nothing comments about school and such. I watch my hubby's face. It's tight and that little muscle at the back of his jaw works now and then as he fights to stay calm and at ease. I ask him later why he didn't hug her, and he says in a choked voice that he couldn't, he would have held on so tightly he'd have hurt her.

She's home from the hospital now. She's spoken with hubby, they've laughed. Her and I have not spoken. I suggest to #4 that she call and see how she's doing. She does... her sister is giving her daughter a bath and calls back, I answer and she asks for #4. I hand over the phone and know the crisis is over. We're back to not talking ...til the next time we need each other.

Such is the fabric of my family.

Swimming along...

Do I strike you as the splashy sort? <grin> Let's explore.

I'm not sure who I am. I've let myself be defined by all these labels all my life, willingly and without need of any screeching I'm going to conquer the world, penis envying feminist who makes men eye me suspiciously when I approach a door.

(er, did I mention sooner rather than later?)

Ah, well, it's as good a place as any to start defining me. Who I am as it regards being a female of (muffled sounds) years living in the western world. Married, with children. Twice.

I like being treated with respect, and yes, even some deference to the fact that I'm female. (and old but yeah, 'nother post) I like a door being held open for me. Not only because I'm female but because I believe in courtesy and manners. I've been known, much to the chagrin of my children, to hold a door open for someone, and if they haven't acknowledged my gesture with either a nod, smile or thank you to holler after them, "you're welcome!" So that's one checkmark. I'm mannerly and I like to be treated in a mannerly fashion.

I don't need some feminist screeching about my rights and how they are being contravened by some imagined slight. Maybe this is my rose colored glasses act again, but frankly I think that fight has been fought.

've watched friends turn themselves into nervous wrecks and basket cases trying to be SUPERMOM. It sucks. We aren't. Guys aren't SUPERDAD. They don't get twisted about having a career and being mommy...so why should we. We work, we make do. Kids will survive without 3 hundred activities a year. They don't need to be in every sport, every club, every brownie troop/cub pack. I think that sets them up for all sorts of failure and psychosis later in life. They as children, are expected to be soccer players, gymnists, swimmers, basketball players and all around scholars. Hell for starters you got 4 different muscle training session there to excell just at the sports. Guess they are supposed to study on the treadmill hmmm? And recreation? Bah, we don't need no stinking recreation..we got organized activities, scheduled the nth degree.

Oh, in that whole definition thing....scattered thoughts has a pretty good position in the pack, y'know.

So next checkmark, NOT a SuperMom feminist who can conquer the world with a spatula in one hand, and a day planner in the other.. Check... Next...

Nope, sorry not done after all. When I was a kid and even now as an adult who enjoys RPGaming, I loved the feel of Just Say... just say you're my hero, and poof the other kid was. My littlest one #5 as we affectionately will call her in deference to privacy issues and such, is excellent at just say. I am by turns through out the day, the mother of a lion, a rabbit, a dog fairly regularly. It makes me use my brain when I say, "Ok time for little girls to be dressed." "I not a little girl, I a rabbit." So how do I tell a rabbit to put on clothes? HMM? Got any suggestions?

...to be continued, but I guess you'd gathered that...

Diving In...

I've always considered myself reasonably intelligent, and not just for a female either. By the way, in no way is that to be construed as an admittance of male intelligence superiority or any other sort, but that said, I AM NOT A FEMINIST. Frankly feminists annoy the hell out of me. Believe me that's a whole 'nother post and will definitely hit this page eventually, likely sooner than later.

Now back to the issue at hand. About reasonable intelligence. Seems a pretty simple, straight forward phrase, no? Reasonable, as in not beyond expectation, desire or out of reach, and intelligence, something we as humans are supposed to possess. The ability to reason... reason...reasonable... hmmm...

Not so much, y'know? I look around my life and see every sort of intelligence, from the complete and utter lack to that coloured by age, or maturity or at the hands of that age old teacher, experience. Even the brand shiney new sort that sets your teeth on edge, because they think they know -everything-. I think mine is reasonable. I've screwed up, sometimes even more than once in the same way but for the most part I learn from my mistakes. Sometimes. Eventually. Hmms and considers that for a moment... Let's just say that I'm becoming more and more aware of the fact that Karma has a sense of humour.

So about this reasonable intelligence thing; I think that despite some rather startling incidences of evidence to the contrary, I'm reasonably intelligent. I can reason. I can even do it, without blurring the lines with emotion. Sometimes I choose not to and appear quite, hippy-esque, ala rose colored glasses and love beads, but often that's a conscious choice on my part not a lack of ability to do so. I prefer the world I expect and anticipate to the one that I actually live in, but it does not blind me to the fact that the later is reality. So I let the parts that have to be real be so, and revamp the rest in my mind to suit myself.

I recognize that I can't control others, no matter how hard I wish for the ability to do so. All I can be is who I am. Only...

That's not always something easily defined. Who I am, I mean. On the surface, it's pretty easy to define myself by who I am to others, I'm a Mom, friend, spouse, lover, confidant, whipping boy, sound board, evil letter writer (long story), buddy, chum, playmate... and the list goes on and on. But who am I? Who am -I-? Who is inside me, and do they want to come out? Do they like being anonymous, or would they rather splash themselves all over the scenery and never be anonymous again.

Maybe not, but maybe...just sometimes... that'd be okay, y'know, just not on a permanent type basis.