Cranky Slurred Attempt at Remembering My Point

This is my new PMS driven cranky post. I've been avoiding writing for the passed few weeks because there's been a lot going on: I haven't been feeling well which isn't unusual plus the passing of a lovely neighbour that left us all shocked and a lot of other confusing, dark and twisted things. I'm tired. Don't get me wrong, it's not all bad considering my amazing beautiful friends, The Mister, my strange and wonderful children and my now FOUR precious cats (that is no particular order of importance). They keep me supported and strong and smiling. 

There are endless lists of things I need to do, bills I need to pay, appointments I need to attend and getting my brain to remember even half of those is a battle in itself. In fact, today was the second day in a row where I was called because I was currently missing an appointment. Go me!  It makes me worry, I forget way too much lately and I don't know where to place the blame ... stress? sickness? overwhelming amount of crap?  I'd say a little from each column. 

I'm looking for a new, more affordable apartment and was lucky enough to find one in the building that a friend of mine lives in. Ground floor, lots of space, heat included in the more reasonable rent and a better neighbourhood. I filled out the application, provided my incredible references and now I sit here waiting to be denied. I forgot that my old, pervert landlord (see previous entry) has my credit screwed and now I'm embarrassed that I even filled out the application. I should be sticking to small privately owned flats in hopes that someone will take some pity on me. I thought I had a sublet a couple of months ago but, turned out they knew Mayez and let the tenant I was going to take over from know that if I showed up at the building, they'd have me arrested. Rapist: 1, me: 0.  

I've been passing my time cleaning, scooping poop and making mental lists of things I desperately want to remember to put into a list of things I'm tired of hearing, along with trying to remember appointments and phone calls that need to be made. I'm having a hard time with memory and, although laughable at times, it's getting annoying. 

For example, I completely forget what the point of this post was. I had it all mapped out when I was in the shower, I had specific topics to vent about and a point to make. Gone. Forgotten. I'll remember again sometime around 3am followed by telling myself I'll write it in the morning to which I'll just simply trot through the day and then once again remember when I'm in the middle of a shower. I figure that as long as I remember the important things, like to feed the kids and where I live, I'll be okay. 

C'mon, laugh. I'm having a wonderful giggle at my own expense. 

OH! I remember! I am not drunk!  Let's elaborate shall we: I have good days and bad days. I have trouble with memory and that includes trying to have a conversation because I sometimes lose my train of thought or have a hard time getting the thought from my brain and out of my mouth, that connection breaks. Add to that the fact that if I'm tired or fatigued, my speech slurs and we have a recipe for disaster. I'm slowly becoming reclusive because of this issue and because I know people assume I have been drinking. The people close to me get it but try going to Tim Horton's in the morning with the toonie you found in a parking lot, walking up to the counter and totally forgetting how to articulate what it is that you want to order. Some of my conversations with the Mister go like this:

"I had this wonderful idea where if we take that thing out to that place where we can, you know (I'm flailing in hopes that somehow my constantly moving gimp hands will help me form words) shoot or whatever, we can figure out how to make the thingy we were talking about the other day."

In my brain, I have everything I want to say but my mouth just refuses to do it, I legitimately forget how to articulate a thought. Luckily for me, the Mister smiles and responds: 

"If we drive to the range we can see the other frames people built to hang targets so we can build our own?"

Yes!

It's a small victory, a giggle followed by trying to figure out how the hell he figured that out. He speaks my language of doo-dads, thingy-ma-bobbers and quigger-jiggers. I am incredibly thankful for that and text messages. Texts are easy, I can stop and think about what I'm trying to say. Turns out my thumbs are smarter than my tongue. 

I am off on a weird tangent and I honestly don't think my memory was the point of the post. Feminism maybe, the plight of being a single mother and trying to be taken seriously but that is a long ass rant for another day. I'm in too good of a mood now after having a little laugh. 

Time for tea and relax time with my little people. 

PS: I didn't proofread this, please forgive my atrocious grammar. 

My body wants to be inside out ...

Can I be blunt here for just a few minutes? I'm in bed, flat on my back and trying to figure out how to describe how I'm feeling. Aside from a minor headache, I feel like my whole body is electrified, twitchy, my skin isn't crawling but my muscles are and my spine feels like it's going to crawl like an alien out of my back. It's almost as if every muscle in my body wants to tighten and flex, that's the only way I'll get rid of the feeling but dammit, that hurts after a while.  Why does my body feel like it wants to turn itself inside out?  Oddly enough, the only things that hurt are my hands but I think I'd take an ache over this because at least my ibuprofen could help with an ache. 

I have no idea if these feelings are caused by my medication or by my MS, I'm confused by the whole thing. Here's the blunt part: I hate every minute of this: every needle, every morning of waking up and wiggling everything to see if it moves. I'm already tired of being thankful for every step I take, every morning that I don't fall on my face and every dish that doesn't get broken.  I am grateful for all the little things but at the same time I wish my little victories were still being happy for the Friday bus ride home from work instead of trying to find new ways to open things that don't include my teeth or waiting for the kids to come home from school so they can help me open a yogurt. 

I'm not trying to have a pity party here and I understand that my prognosis can be positive. I am alive after all, I just wish there was a window into the future that could tell me what quality if life I am facing. Is there hope that I'll be on a Friday evening bus home from work again?  My neurologist says no to me right now, got the papers in the mail today saying so.  That's probably what set me up for a tailspin this evening. The kids are bed, the house is quiet & my brain decided to be over active. 

Silly brain needs to come up with a genius way for me to knit again instead of making me feel like there's a layer of slime under my skin.  I'm sliding around now like an eel. Hey! I found a bright side: I am becoming quite adept at squirming which is a bonus to know that I can wiggle away from danger like the imminent zombie apocalypse.  However, if I'm going to be gimpy, I at least would like the benefit of knitting scarves and poorly matched socks or sew more zafu pillows or not concentrate on my gait when I walk anywhere so people don't think I'm drunk at 8AM.  I do get to carry around a letter saying that I have MS and will not pass a field sobriety test. I find that one pretty amusing.  I don't drive but is it possible to get a WUI (walking under the influence)?

Okay, I'm getting silly and tired. I think it's time to cut this drivel short and try to find a way to calm my twisting muscles.  I do have to say thank you to my darling readers, your non-judgement and unwavering support over the last few years, months and weeks has been incredibly appreciated. I hope to have many more of these foolish posts to come. 

Note: I blurbed this out to the speaker on my phone so please excuse any spelling and/or grammar errors. Also, I'm a little too twisted up in my blankets with a cat on me to proofread this crazy post. 

Birthday Schmirthday

I'm turning 34 today.  Seems like every other day since I woke up with a tiny person jumping on me at an ungodly hour, the kids are screaming, the house is a mess, the mister showed up late for breakfast and left early and I've barely sat down from cooking and cleaning the usual Sunday mess.  There are a mass of Facebook birthday wishes I'm quickly reading, liking then twisting to finish whatever mess I started trying to fix.  I'm taking a minute now to sit with a cup of tea and some music before I go break the ice off of the step.

My brain keeps trying to reflect on the last year, try to get a handle on things and pack 33 away before 34 starts rolling but I don't want to do that.  There has been so much good tempered with so much bad that it really was a year that left me shrugging my shoulders and wondering what the hell happened.  I would like to pack it all away without the reflection and the fight to understand this last year.  There are parts that I'll never understand and probably best that I don't.

If I could have one birthday wish, it would be that the bad things and the hurt don't carry over from one year to the next.  I wish that our birthdays were a cut-off date for shitty times from the previous year.  Whatever we were hurting from or stressing over the day before ends on our birthday and we can celebrate a new beginning, a fresh start.  Sure we got our lessons from the previous years, we remember how we learned and we grew but what if our birthdays carried us over to something better?  We take our friends, family, good times and happiness into the next year but the hurts and the pains and the worries stop as if they're hitting the wall.  It wouldn't be ignorning them, it would finishing them and moving on with only a somewhat bitter and fleeting memory remaining.  Basically I want to put Bad 33 in a box (MS, Mr. Khoury, finances, etc) and tuck it away but take the Good 33 box (kids, the mister, my friends) and leave it open to add Good 34 stuff to it.  Does that even make sense?

What I'm learning from today is to not put hope into something as trivial as the day the number on the life odometer flips over.  It really is just another day with all the same occurances, with all the same disappointments, heartaches, smiles and love from the previous day.  Change is simple and slow, sometimes unnoticeable until we take a few minutes to look back but sometimes it slaps us in the face with the recovery slow and almost unnoticeable.  This is especially true when looking at pictures of our 1980s hair.  I'm going to remind myself today that nothing lasts forever, it all has an expiration date so I shouldn't put too much stock in the hurt and enjoy the peaceful moments when they're here; feel it all, it all eventually goes away and that happens much too fast.

Except Madonna, she's forever so I'm going to throw on some of her tunes and dance in the kitchen to my guilty pleasure, read my Facebook wall posts again from all the beautiful people in my life because hey, it's my birthday and there's only a few hours left.

Mr. Khoury, You Don't Get To Win This One

This one is going to be hard to write but it has to be done.  My hands are shaking and my brain is going a mile a minute trying to clear up what it is exactly I want to say, where to start and where to finish.  I'm angry and so, I'm writing this open letter to an old landlord who just won't get out of my life.

Dear Mr. Khoury:

There's nothing "dear" about you but we'll get to that explanation.  We started our doomed tenant-landlord relationship a couple of years back when I took over an apartment from two dear friends of mine.  That place was a dream come true for myself and my kids with its big rooms and big yard with a garden, great neighbours and close to a school, parks, bus.  Beautiful place in a prime location so I'll give it to you that you're smart with real estate.  My friends warned me that you were a creep, that you would give me a hard time but I blew them off.  You see, I'm a tough girl and have survived quite a lot in my life that the majority of people who know me, don't know about and I plan on keeping it that way.  I figured if I survived those things, there's nothing you could throw at me that I couldn't handle.

Holy hell was I wrong.

It started out seemingly innocent, you'd drop by to see how the kids and I were adjusting and give me a hug.  Eventually you were around at least twice a week and hugs turned into hugs with an ass grab.  After a while I was thankful for the chain on the door because a few times you tried to get into the apartment while I was in the shower.  The ass grabs went from that to touching my chest and telling me you liked my shirt or using the excuse that I had a lint on my sweater ... you lingered a little too long.  You made too many requests that I wear lower cut shirts.

I finally told you that you were making me uncomfortable and that's when things went to hell.  Soon you were at the apartment every day, knocking on my door, yelling up at my window that you wanted to talk to me.  You were approaching my kids and telling them that their mother had better start behaving.  I told them you were joking but they were scared and soon nicknamed you The Scary Man.  Then you started coming in and telling me what furniture to get rid of, how I wasn't properly cleaning the apartment, berating me for not weeding the garden.  You gave me rules:  I wasn't to have any overnight guests except for female family members and there was to be absolutely no men allowed into the building.  You assured me that you would be watching and you did.  The kids and I would hide on the bed and be as quiet as possibly hoping that you wouldn't realise we were home and you'd leave us alone.  They refused to play outside because they were afraid you would come around and I would call my neighbour to look for you before I left the house and before I came home.  We were prisoners.

After a few weeks of living like this you called and left a message that you were having trouble with your bank account and would need to collect rent from me in cash.  I quickly called you back and offered to leave an envelope in the mailbox for you and you could leave a receipt in exchange but you refused.  The first month it was fine; you came in and took the money, hugged me, grabbed my ass, kissed my cheek, told me I was beautiful when I'm on my knees in the garden (I'm not the first or only person you've used that line on) and conveniently forgot your receipt book but would drop one off.  You left and I showered for what felt like an eternity to wash the stink of you off my body.

The next month was hell of hiding from you.  I couldn't stand the idea of you touching me, I could feel your disgusting hands on me, smell the sweat coming from you, the brown on your teeth and odd sweet smell from your breath.  I was looking for a new place, hoping to find something in the area so the kids wouldn't have to switch schools.  The kids were tired of laying on the bed being as quiet as possible when you were around which was now on a daily basis and for hours at a time just walking around the yard or standing outside the door waiting to hear a footstep or a toilet flush.

I was taking my time looking and I finally found a place one street over at the same time that you came for your next month's cash payment of $1200.  Even though the lease said $1050, you charged me extra for care and maintenance of the place and because I was late once and you were forcing me to pay your banking fees even though you wouldn't show me proof but I figured it was easier to pay you than to deal with you so I obliged.  So through the month I was withdrawing bits and pieces, stashing it away until you came around.  When you came this time, I let you in and you asked me to sit so I did, thinking you were going to sit with me but instead you stood over me.  I handed you the envelope and you told me once again that you forgot the receipt book.  I tried to stand up and you put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down into the chair.  Shocked I stared at you and you started berating me for having an unclean home, good women don't have laundry piles or dirty supper dishes soaking in the kitchen sink. I put my head down and bit my tongue when you finally sat across from me and reached for my hand which I quickly pulled away only to have you grab it back and squeeze.  I pulled away again and that's when you told me that I could make the issue with rent easier, that all I had to do was give in and spend some time with you in the bedroom.  You told me that you could show me what being with a real man was like and in exchange you would make my life easier by lowering my rent considerably.

I jumped up from the table and told you to leave, you refused and told me to sit.  I yelled at you to get out or I was going to have you removed, that I would not have sex with you but you refused to leave.  You stood up and walked to me, I was backing away from you while you were telling me I was a disgusting girl who didn't know her place and should have more respect for the men in her life.  I was finally backed into the corner of the counter while you kept grabbing my breasts, between my legs, pushing my arms away when I tried to cover myself, when I finally screamed at you to "GET THE FUCK OUT" and that's when you slapped me so hard that my glasses came flying off of my face and called me a dirty, disrespectful bitch and whore while you turned and ran out of my door. 

You didn't come around the next day.

The day after that I got a summons to tenancy court for eviction for not paying rent.

I thought this was good news.  I could tell the tenancy board what had happened and that I already had a place with a moving date.  I know you're wondering why I didn't call the cops but I didn't think I had the option.  I'm a single mother of three and had no where else to go so I thought keeping my mouth shut while I was still there was my best option and I could open it when I left, including the tenancy hearing.  You were very careful of making sure that you only did these things when the kids were asleep or I was alone so, I had to hope that someone would believe me.

When the tenancy hearing finally came, I realised I couldn't proved that I paid cash because you refused to bring me receipts but that was okay, I had honesty on my side and I knew that you had dealings with the tenancy board many times before.  Another thing I was wrong about.  I broke down into tears on the conference call for the hearing, no one would listen to what I had to say and the lady who was running the hearing was making it sound like I was a ghetto rat just ripping off my landlord when I yelled that "this man tried to rape me".  The lady disconnected from you and spoke only to me, saying that I needed to grow up and get a hold of myself.  She then told me that I would have her decision within two weeks.

Two weeks passed, I moved and no notice from the tenancy board.  I saw you parked across from my new place when I first moved watching me.  I know you refused my friend entry to finish getting the last of my things and clean the place so I figured you just wanted me gone as much as I wanted to be out.  Two dressers and some clothes were worth having you out of my life.  I saw you drive behind me slowly when I was going to Giant Tiger, I saw you pull in the mall parking lot and watch me going to Wal-Mart or Tim Horton's.  I see you driving by my apartment five to six times every single day.  You've approached the kids early in the time that I had moved so I rerouted their walk home from school and notified the school of the make, model and license plate number of your car.  I've watched you follow me, I saw you in my work parking lot more than once.  I saw you at my bus stop.

Months passed and still nothing so I thought that everything was done and over with. Then I go to the bank and guess what? Somehow, you were able to get a small claims judgement against me without my knowledge.  I never received a summons at home or at work.  I never had a phone call.  I don't understand how you were able to do that when I had absolutely no notification.  You know my bank, my address, my phone number, where I work and follow me enough to know my schedule.  The tenancy board also has all of that information so there was no excuse for me not to be able to defend myself against you in a small claims court.  You put a lien on my bank account six months and one day after the date of the judgement which was a smart move because that meant that I couldn't appeal the decision.  After a week of back and forth between courts and finally having a complete breakdown in the sheriff's office, I was able to get a sheriff who knew you and understood that I was being honest and the victim of your vengeance for loss of control and did what he could to make things easier for me.

I closed my account and went to cheques only and have been forced into the process of filing bankruptcy because I'm the sole provider of three children and on a long-term disability income after losing a great amount of dexterity from complications of Multiple Sclerosis.  I hope that makes you happy Mr. Khoury.

You never stopped the driving by, the stopping in front of my apartment, the pulling in front of me when I'm walking, pulling into parking lots and watching where I'm going but a couple of months ago you made a big mistake and that was stopping my girls.  Two little girls on their way home from their friend's house and you stop them on the sidewalk, wouldn't let them pass, yelling that you had a message for their mother and they had better listen to you.  They ran home, came in crying and just like the Mama Bear I am, I went over to the next street and I berated you.  Your only answer was that I was said that you "stopped fucking me and I couldn't handle it".  I almost threw up, walked back home and called the police.  You can do whatever you want to me but you will not scare my children.  They had a chat with you and the next day I filed a peace bond application.

That didn't stop you.

The hearing came and a friend came with me.  All you had to do was answer yes or no.  If you said yes, we'd sign the papers and agree to stay the hell away from each other, it would be over.  You said no and because of that, a hearing would have to happen.  My heart sank and I broke into a fit of tears.  I wanted it to be over, I wanted to be done.  The bankruptcy is taking care of the judgement and the bond would have taken care of the rest but no, I had to go through more.  I bawled in the courtroom, in the silence all I could squeak out was that all I wanted was for you to leave my family alone.  The sheriff rubbing my back while my friend stroked my hair and the judge told me to get some help and the hearing was scheduled.

I contacted the Avalon Centre and found some wonderful, amazing women who helped me put into perspective the sexual assault and supported my decision to not move forward with sexual assault charges.  You see, in the time since that initial peace bond hearing I was given my definitive diagnosis and started taking daily injections every evening so my concentration has to be my health, I cannot ... no, I refuse, to make you a priority.

That's where I'm supposed to be tonight, telling a judge why I think the bond should be in place but I'm home with my children instead.  I contacted Victim Services and a counsellor at the Avalon Centre contacted to court to do what they could so that I could go to court during the day while the kids were in school so that I wouldn't have to worry about childcare, I wouldn't have to do an injection in a courthouse and I wouldn't have to face you.

The court said no.  For some reason, the people who apply for peace bonds and are in fear of someone have to face them when it comes to a peace bond hearing, they have no choice.  Any other court case and the person in fear can be in a different room, provide video testimony or have a proxy but not in a peace bond case.  You have assaulted me, sexually and physically and I would have no protection from you in that court aside from a sheriff.  Victim Services and the Avalon Centre were great in offering to accompany me to the hearing but that doesn't help me with childcare or with my health issues. 

You get to walk into court tonight and the judge gets to throw out my application because I am a no show due to family and health issues plus was refused to be allowed to offer an affidavit, a notarised letter, video testimony or to meet with the judge at an early time when I wasn't sticking a needle in myself and putting three kids to bed.  It's not fair.

You get to hurt me, I don't get to tell.  I get silenced by red tape.  I get silenced because I don't have the money to fight you.  I get silenced because I am a single mother with medical issues and no one willing to work with me within the justice system. You get to hurt me and walk away scot free.  You get to hurt my family and get away with it while I'm the one who is moving out of the area, changing my phone number and moving the kids so that you can't find us.  It's not fair.  You get to hurt me over and over and over while I get to feel abandoned by the justice system that is supposed to protect me from you.

File sexual assault charges? Why? So I can suffer for years while you're being investigated? No, my family has been through enough hell with you and now you get to keep on doing it to me and any other woman that crosses your path that you think is vulnerable.  

You don't win though.  You didn't get my body even though you tried and you may have torn down big pieces of my life including my finances, my feeling of safety and brought me back to panic attacks and anti-depressants but you know what? I am not ashamed because I'm still here and I can tell other women that they're not alone, that we can survive what people like you do to us and that we will come out stronger.  I may have to eat an Ativan to help get me through the day but goddamn you will not steal my ability to have a voice against you and the stupidity of the courts when it comes to peace bonds.  I am positive I am not the only one and I'll scream from the roof about how unfair it all is, how unfairly I was treated from the tenancy board on down to the provincial courts.

So you see Mr. Khoury, you don't win this.  All you did was give me the fire to fight.

Birds, Bees and Hairy Armpits

I am a survivor, a fighter and an all around pain in the ass when it comes to certain things.  I dredged and trudged my way through a lot of hardships and losses, losing my parents and a daughter, failed and tumultuous relationships, financial struggles and then, the icing on the cake, being diagnosed with the disease that took my own mother's life.  I'm still smiling and I'm still happy and I'm still moving forward.  There is one thing that worries me like no other, one period of time that I'm now facing head on for the first time from the perspective of a mother and an adult.  This is scary business, some serious stuff that I really don't know how I'm going to handle.  It's called ....

.... dun dun DUNNNN ....

Puberty.

I am the proud mother of three babies, one of which recently turned eleven.  I'm looking at her and seeing my little girl, a chubby nine pound baby who had so many rolls she resembled the Michelin Tire Man (real name is Bibendum - I remember that but can't remember the name for scissors, go figure).  Now my chubby baby is almost as tall as I am with hips and a waist and ... lord thunderin' help me ... we're shopping for bras along with preparing for periods which I'm hoping that when it finally does come, will give a brief relief to what seems to be almost a year or more of severe PMS.  However, I also know that this is probably the tip of the hormone iceburg but I'm refusing to admit that yet.

Attitudes are changing, wants and needs are changing.  My little girl is in a strange transition period where she wants to be independent; choosing fashion and friends, taking babysitting classes and dreaming about her future while at the same time getting excited for Santa Claus and sheepishly asking for dolls.  Little Miss L who now looks eye-to-eye with her dear ole mother, is stuck between being a little girl and the reality of growing up.

It's becoming easier to embarrass my little girl and she's getting to the stage where being seen in public with Mommy Dearest and her "little" sister and brother is a shameful act.  That's where I dance around like a fool and watch her whisper through clenched teeth while her face turns red, "you are so embarrassing".  On the flip side of that, I'm not too embarrassing to be around when there's a nightmare, a bully or an issue with homework.  I am embarrassing when I start talking about how normal it is to get hair in funny places then complain about shaving armpits.  The two "little" ones find me hilarious while my blooming soon-to-be junior high student just turns red and ....

"MOM! NO! You're gross! Ewww!" ... *stomp* *stomp*

I guess it's obvious that we have a very open house about changes in our bodies and Miss L knows she can ask questions and get the uncomfortable answers from her mother.  I don't mind being open about the voice changes, hair changes, hips and boobs, pimples and moods simply because I don't remember anyone being that open with me.  I heard the word "menstruation" a lot but no one explained to me about cramps and bloating, PMS, leaks and what to do.  Ladies, we all know how beneficial it would be if someone had've taught us how to make an emergency pad out of toilet paper and that cold water takes blood out if you get it right away or, that a special selection of super comfortable "period panties" is an absolute must.  It would also help to know that small make-up cases in the bottom of our school bags would be perfect for hiding pads, fresh bloomers, deodourant or, what I would like to call The Puberty Emergency Kit.

I wish I had've been armed with the information so I'm hoping that my being so open about the changes we all experience to become an adult, as well as respecting our bodies when it comes to relationships with other people, will be of some benefit to her and to my other two soon to bloom munchkins.  I was twelve years old, only one year older than my snotty pubescent darling daughter, when someone was exceptionally inappropriate with me and my lack of even basic knowledge at that point left me in a situation where I couldn't even describe to anyone what happened.  Our girls need to know that our bodies are ours and no one has a right to touch us when we say no or when we're not ready.  I sincerely hope that my openness (no, my girls do not know what happened to me and this is the first I've come out with it outside of a therapist's office) can give both of my girls and equally importantly, my son, the knowledge, respect and ability to stand up for themselves and to know there is no shame in saying no or waiting and respecting the other person who may say no to them.

Mind you everything is appropriate according to ages although the little sister was quite jealous that her big sister got to go shopping for "panty stickers" without her.  That turned into an interesting conversation that ended simply with a disgusted eight-year-old whom, after absorbing the information, flipped her hair and strutted off doing her patented drama walk.  The boy might be a different story.  At this point he's simply fascinated with himself and that's wonderful but I do see a lot of phone calls to Daddy in the future.  Girls I kind of understand, boys are totally different animal.

With all that said, puberty scares the shit out of me and not because of talks or body changes or issues with sex or sexuality.  By they way, we are 100% supporters of gay rights and I myself identify as bisexual.  Wow, I'm coming out with a lot today aren't I?  I'm quietly giggling thinking of what twists my own, very private sisters would be in if they knew I was sharing so much with the world but hey, if I'm experiencing this stuff than so is someone else so why not share and commisserate and support each other?  Anyway, I'm on a tangent so back to puberty ... it's the realization of how fast time goes by.  Eleven years ago I was nursing a little girl and staring down at her, absolutely terrified of being a mother and shell-shocked that I really had a baby.   Then I blinked and I'm sitting here writing about puberty.  I never understood when people told me to enjoy them when they're small because it goes by quickly but now I do and I worry if the next eleven years are going to be just as fast.

I guess this is really a family transition and like all transitions, bumpy.  We'll survive and one day I'll get to do with my babies what I loved doing with my Ma before she passed and that was sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and talk about what it was like growing up, telling funny stories of things I did as a child that either I didn't remember or she never found out about.  I tell my kids that I'm not their friend, I'm their mother and here to guide them into becoming adults but, at some point in the future, we will be friends.  As much as I want them to stay tiny and innocent and ridiculously hilarious at times, I'm also excited to get to the friendship part of the parent-child relationship.

Those will be some pretty great stories ...

Another Hiatus ...

I guess my promise not to take another long hiatus from writing sort of went down the toilet.  In all honesty, it's been a pretty stressful couple of months or so with trying to figure a lot of things out.  It's okay though, I'm doing well aside from fatigue and a new relapse that is including vertigo which throws me off balance so if you see me out, I'm not as drunk as I might look.  I'm powering through it, setting myself some nap schedules and adjusting to my new normal.  Now that the diagnosis is definitive and the syringes of Copaxone are sitting happily in my fridge, I feel ... well, I feel surreal.

"New Normal".  Is there such a thing or is normal not so compliant as to allow itself to become in a state of newness?  I don't know how well or for how long I can wax poetic on the ever changing and morphing state of normal. I guess it can change, we change. I read somewhere that people tend to have gone through personality changes on an average of every seven years which explains why when we reacquaint ourselves with someone from our past, they can seem so very different than what we remember. Silly maturing brain. 

So I suppose the point of my rant before I drifted off into a pre-nap, exhausted tangent is that my new normal includes a feeling of being surreal.  I guess the surreal feeling is coming from having to adapt to something that I just wasn't prepared for nor did I ever want to be prepared for it.  Sitting across from a neurologist and hearing him say that he was positive I had MS turned my whole world upside down.  He went on after that explaining to me the ins and outs of the disease but all I heard was that I am now the proud new owner of the same disease that killed my mother.  I know, I know ... medications and treatments and outcomes are completely different now and the chances of me ending up with such an aggressive form of the disease is slim but I can't help it if I slip into memories.

There's a lot of new things that this new normal has brought with it, like giant pink elephants in the room with me that I try to ignore.  I'm sure this is perfectly normal to allow myself to slip into autopilot as I progress though the daily tasks of laundry and dishes and sweeping floors, chasing kids and making lunches.  The elephants sit there though, waiting for attention but I prefer the autopilot.  The old wonderful will has to be updated and we all know just how much fun that can be (definite sarcasm there) plus with that comes appointing guardians which means some difficult conversations to have.  Then there's determining a living will and the possibility of appointing someone power of attorney in the case that I can't make decisions on my own (already had a pretty intense nightmare about that one that required tea to recover).  There's also looking for a new apartment without stairs since my heavy legs are making it hard to get up and down the ones here.  I also have to hunt for some fat utensils for my gimpy hands, find some way to get some vocational training since office work is out of the question and almost impossible to me now and blah and blah and blah and elephants.  I prefer autopilot for the majority of the day and tackle the big things one at a time, no rush since I plan on being here until I'm at least 114 years old.

So even though I'm gliding through my days spaced out on Planet Distracted listening to old George Carlin stand-up and crossing things off of my multiple lists, I seem to be enjoying these days more.  I get excited for sunshine and snowflakes, the rain doesn't seem like such a horrible thing anymore.  I don't dread the housework but rather enjoy the outcome after a good cleaning session.  I like chasing tiny people around in the morning and waking the munchkins up has become a game.  I look forward to making supper and hanging out listening to the events of the day from the perspective of three elementary school kids whose hugs have become the best thing in the world, I could simply melt.  The daily trip to the gym to limp around with the other ladies, most of them over 65 and in better shape than me, is inspiring and amazing.  My lovely and sometimes strange BBM texts from two of the most wonderful and beautiful girls I know are sure to brighten my day and are definitely something I thoroughly enjoy, even if most of them are sent from the bathroom.  Then there are Thursdays.  Yeah, that's a whole other post but that amazing shooting teacher still gives me butterflies and makes me stutter.  Thursdays have become my favourite days, one that I can forget my elephants and relax with someone who loves zombies as much as I do, can talk as much as I do and smell the pears and caramel in a freshly opened bottle of whiskey.

It has become quite a surreal life these last couple of months.  2013 was frought with worry and wonder and 2014, although started quite oddly, seems to be settling itself into a balance of exceptionally difficult and exeptionally beautiful.