Reflection

I have been thinking a lot lately about 2010 and the wild ride it has been. I have been thinking about how it has been both wonderful and terrible. I have been thinking about how lucky we are and how grateful I am to so many. I want to reflect on this a little here as the final hours of 2010 tick away.
Our families have been invaluable over the course of this journey. When we needed them, they jumped in and did what was asked without question. Our mothers took over our household while I was in the hospital - my mother-in-law was here for nearly six weeks. They dropped their own lives to help us with ours and things would have been absolute chaos without that.
Our friends, both near and far, have offered help whenever possible and have understood when I didn't have the time, energy or, in the case of the early days, wherewithal to be a good friend myself. I am sorry for my seeming laziness when it comes to our friendships and I promise that, as things calm down (which they already are) and I start getting more sleep (not really on the horizon yet), I will rekindle our relationships.
My babies have been so incredibly tolerant. I have not been the parent I want to be in recent months. This is changing on a daily basis, but I appreciate that the little people in my life are understanding and patient.
The hospital staff, the NICU nurses and our doctors (both on-site and at the IWK) have been SO supportive. I have tried dozens of times to write a letter, expressing my gratitude, but I can never find the right words. I am aware that my living in the NICU was unorthodox and I imagine that it was not ideal for the nurses who work there. They went out of their way to not only get my son healthy, but also to keep me well-fed, well-rested (as can be expected) and emotionally-well. Their dedication to us and to all of the families who passed through their sanctuary was inspiring and we will never forget it. Everyone else, from the doctors to the toll-booth attendants (who never commented on my tears and made a point of making me laugh whenever possible) made an impact on me.
My husband is second to none. Relationships have been strained to the point of breaking by lesser stressors than we've experienced and somehow, we are still here. I have seen sides of him that I didn't even know existed over the course of the past year. He has done his best to calm me when I was pulling my own hair out over Orin's health, my own lack of sleep, Isabel's behaviour or the state of the house. He has taken on huge responsibility in our household due to my simply being unable to manage as much as I once could. He has taken on the challenges we've faced with strength and grace and he has helped me to do the same. I am eternally grateful to have such a teammate in parenting and partner in life.

Santa Claus on the Brain

I'll be honest, I've been thinking a lot about a man other than my husband lately. A man who finds me funny (or at the very least, he belly laughs at nearly everything), has good taste in colours (red and green are my second favourite colours) and has a sweet tooth nearly as large as mine - as evidenced by all the cookies he eats over the course of Christmas Eve.
Yes, I am talking about Santa. Isabel is at the age where she is really starting to "get" Christmas and Santa and is developing that sense of wonder that encapsulates childhood as we all remember it. She is not keen to sit on the knee of a stranger - no matter how jovial or how many treats he is willing to hand over. But she understands that a magical man will be coming on Christmas Eve while she is sleeping and will be leaving us all gifts. She knows about Santa's reindeer and his elves. She knows that he likes cookies and that his deer like carrots. She's got the gist of it. As a result, we've decided to go whole hog with the Santa gig this year. We have seen Santa at the mall. We've written him and received a letter back. We've received a video email from him. We will be following him via NORAD on Christmas Eve and we will be leaving the requisite treats by the tree before going to bed.
After the children have gone to bed, the real magic will happen. Isabel has asked for such simple gifts - a pair of pyjama pants because the ones she loves are too small and an electric toothbrush (which she calls a "big toothbrush") because hers broke. She will be getting both of these items and I've put the bug in her ear that she might like a Jessie costume so that the chest of costumes will be absolutely amazing in her mind. We will be leaving a trail of sparkles throughout the house and yard where Santa will have walked. We are making sled tracks in the snow in the front yard and her stocking will be moved from the spot it is hanging on the bookshelf to her doorknob. I've no doubt that this will 100% solidify in her mind that Santa is indeed real and did, in fact, visit our home. My hope is that it will ignite a spark in her imagination so strong that it will take years of non-believers to squelch it.
Why, then, do I still have Santa on the brain, you ask? Because I have begun noticing that around every corner there are people either actively or inadvertently doing things to foil my plan. Why, in heavens name, do companies feel the need to allude or flat out state Santa's being a myth in their advertisements? Why do shows, aimed at children, talk about Santa in such a grown up way (the fact that he is the spirit of giving in all of us, for example)? And why do parents who choose not to practice "Santa" not also teach their children tact and respect for the beliefs of others, thus keeping them from unceremoniously taking away a beautiful part of childhood that other parents have created for their children?
This blog post actually angered me with its condescending tone and disrespect for the innocence and wonder of childhood. He makes a lot of assumptions too (like the emotions he attributes to every child who learns the truth about Santa - smugness and superiority) and sweeping generalizations never sit well with me. He lost me entirely though when he scoffed so entirely at "invocations of magic or mystery." Yet another conceited, middle-aged man who thinks that because he cannot sense it, it obviously isn't real and is therefore worthless. I think this, in a nutshell, is why I can never identify as an atheist. While I don't believe in anything in particular, I certainly can't say that I believe in nothingness either. I can't say that his theories are all bad because I do appreciate the value in teaching children problem solving skills and honing their questioning by turning their questions about Santa Claus back on them, but to say that belief in Santa is just evidence as to "how completely we all can snow ourselves if the enticements are attractive enough" suggests to me that he and I see Santa VERY differently. With that in mind, I am going to close the tab containing this man's blog and tell you about my Santa.
I was a full-on believer in Santa until the ripe old age of 8, if I had to estimate. It was around then that I either started to question myself or could no longer ignore the signs around me that suggested there may be more to the story.
For lack of a better description, I stored away Santa-related information until I was about 10, gradually realising that there may not have been a dude in a red suit sliding down my chimney, but still not willing to let go of the magic yet. Unfortunately, Santa as I knew him ceased to exist rather suddenly around this time and it was entirely of my own doing. (Mom: Turn away now if you don't want to learn that I was, in fact, not perfect ;) )
All of my peers snooped and bragged about their finds. They had for a couple of years at this point, but I had steadfastly refused, partially because I didn't want to get into trouble, partially because I didn't want to ruin surprises and partially because I was afraid of what I might discover. Well, in a moment of weakness, I rummaged lightly in my mother's closet, making a half-hearted attempt at snooping, sure she had hidden things well. With a light tossing of some clothes, I found a Wheel of Fortune board game. I was IMMEDIATELY remorseful and regretful and disappointed in myself. I covered it back up and bolted. For the weeks leading up to Christmas, I prayed to whatever deity would listen that the game not be from Santa, but it was not meant to be. On Christmas morning, the game was labeled from Santa and the whole thing was shattered. You may think that I would be angry at my parents or feel betrayed, but mostly I was just disappointed in myself. I had ruined Santa for myself.
The next Christmas, I held my breath for what was sure to be the worst Christmas possible - a Santa-less Christmas. To my surprise though, the disappearance of Santa didn't ruin Christmas at all. As a matter of fact, Santa was still there, in my heart. He was made up of all of the things I loved about Christmas - the tree, the music, the baking, the family - the magic. This new Santa warmed my heart just as much as the old Santa had, so it was easy to keep believing for the sake of my little sister and my family and even myself.
Since then, Santa has grown to include the joy of giving and the compassion and goodwill toward others that come with maturity. There is a little bit of Santa in all of us. I am hoping that we, as a society, don't forget, or heaven forbid, become scornful or dismissive of it.

"Becoming a mom made me a better person."

This is something that lots of people say. Lately, I have been reflecting on just how true that is for me.
Isabel made me a better person in the traditional ways - I became more patient, my understanding and compassion increased, my appreciation for the little things and that special view of the world that only children have was rekindled. I was bettered simply by becoming a parent.
Orin bettered me because I became *his* parent. Firstly, I am better at taking help from others. This is something I really struggled with - I was independent to a fault. I had no choice but to take help from our parents in the form of childcare and from various friends in the form of visits and general support. Most notable though was the help from the nurses at the NICU, the willingness to allow me into their space to care for my own child in the way I wanted. I know that my staying there long-term and being so involved in Orin's care and the nurses being so involved taking care of me was unorthodox. I don't think they will ever know just how much I appreciated their allowing this to happen. I am sure that, not only our short-term family dynamic, but also the long-term one benefited from my closeness with Orin as a newborn.
The other major change to me as a person is the increase in confidence. I have always had strong beliefs and, as a rule, would voice them when I thought it appropriate or important. However, there were still people with whom I "didn't want to argue" or with whom I felt less confident in my opinions (people I felt were smarter than me). My experience with Orin has reignited my confidence in my own opinions and beliefs and intelligence. I am a large factor in Orin's being as healthy and happy as he is. I made major decisions on his behalf, sometimes with less support than I should have had, and not only has he continued at the status quo, but he has thrived and surpassed expectations. I consider that a notch in my belt.

The Case of the Missing Sophie or The Steel Trap Strikes Again

This is a story from way back. There was Halloween stuff in the stores, to give you some perspective. We were walking into Walmart. Orin was in the child seat of the cart and Isabel was in the cart itself. She knows she is supposed to sit, so when she stood up and started flailing her hands and talking a mile a minute, I stopped the cart. I told her to sit down, doing that terrible parent thing that so many of us do where we tune out the kids in order to make our message heard.
She didn't sit, despite my repeated directions to do so, so I asked her what had her so wound up. She pointed at a shelf to our left and started talking about a giraffe and "some kid". I couldn't see what she was talking about at first, but after a second a small white hoof caught my eye from under the shelf. It turned out to be Sophie the Giraffe. "Some kid" had dropped Sophie and lost her and "was sad without their Sophie." She knows that Orin likes his Sophie and was SO upset about this child being without their beloved Sophie.
I calmed her down enough to suggest that she take Sophie to the customer service desk where they had a lost and found and where the child and his or her parents could find her. This seemed to appease her, so that is what we did. She was very serious as she told the customer service associate that "some kid lost their Sophie and they should be sad without her." The associate wasn't entirely sure what to make of this, so I explained that Sophie was the giraffe's name and how much her brother liked his.
Why am I telling you this story? Well, in spite of her not having mentioned it since about a week after the incident, she started talking about it as though it were yesterday as she picked up our Sophie to put her away this morning.

Giggles!

Rather suddenly, Orin has started giggling at every slightly humourous thing. He is actively playing with us and laughing about the silliness that ensues.
For example, at supper, the game of the day is "drop the sippy cup on the floor over and over and over again and watch the nearest adult retrieve it every time." Well, I tried to stop one dropping before the cup hit the floor by catching it just as he dropped it. He caught onto this element of the game quite quickly and starting making like he was going to drop it, but kept hold of it and laughed hysterically when I grabbed the other side of the cup. Then I had a tug-of-war on my hands and this too incited uncontrollable giggles.
After bath, a similar scene played out. Dave pulled Orin out of the tub and placed him on his towel. As he was handing him off to me, Orin threw his had backward and laughed a belly laugh like no other I have heard. Apparently, this was so fun that it had to be repeated several more times before I finally had to rain on his parade and actually get him dressed for bed.
As I laid him down to dry and dress him, he got a little surly because I was ruining his fun and he hates this portion of bath time on a regular day. If he is kept distracted though, he can usually be kept from falling to absolute bits. In an effort to distract him, I started talking...I was telling a story. This is the nonsense I came up with and which drew Dave from the bathroom to give me an eye roll.

THIS JUST IN! The babies of the world, on this odd day in December, have all become rather giggly, rather suddenly. There is no rhyme or reason to the occurrence. They have just become silly or seem to appreciate the silliness of the world much more readily. To help us understand this strange happening, we have baby expert, Dr Flugalheimer.

[in my best Freudian/Schwarzenegger-esque accent]"Eet vood seem zee babies 'af all been abducted by zee aliens. Zee aliens 'af put zee radio transmitters in zee babies' brains and zee babies' laughter is transmitting zee informassssion collected to zeir new masters. Eet ees only a matter of time before zee aliens come to earssss to keednap us ohlll and take ohfer zee planet."

Well! That sounds terrible! Thank you so much for your time Dr Flugalheimer.

[insert accent]"Vee don't 'av time for your silly formalities, you fool! Run from zee babies, for zee luhf uhf Got!"

It did the trick...there was little crying, but I may have just confirmed that I need to get out more.

A Childhood Memory - Shattered.

I've been on a kick over the last week. I've been downloading all of my favourite Christmas specials and movies. Izzy and I have been watching them together. Today's lineup - ALF Christmas special, The Peanuts and A Very Brady Christmas. I remembered that ALF had a penchant for cats as cuisine and the running "meat" jokes with regard to Alice on the Brady Bunch, but I figured both would go over Isabel's head.
With no obvious need to sensor, I plunked us both down after Orin went for his nap. The Brady Bunch was up first. In the first 5 minutes, Mrs. Brady's behaviour kind of made me a little embarrassed as she chased Mr. Brady around the house begging and sulking like a small child because he wouldn't tell her about his gift to her. After Alice arrived (having been dumped by her beau - the butcher), there was a conversation with regard to Mr. Brady's desired breakfast. Mrs. Brady chastized Alice for offering to make it because she didn't work for them anymore and bragged about how she'd taken over all of Alice's duties when she left. Then the Mrs proceeded to make an elaborate bacon and eggs breakfast, while Mr sat on his duff and then bustled out the door with no more than a glass of orange juice in her so she wasn't late for work. I knew that this was all stuff that Isabel was missing, but the red flags were up. And good thing they were. Fast forward a bit and we find Peter chatting with his boss about his holiday plans. We come to understand that they are dating and he is unhappy with the fact that she is higher up in the company than him. When asked "would you be happier if I had a desk out there and you had one in here?", Peter responded with an earnest "yes", not because he wanted to be the boss, but evidently because he was uncomfortable with his girlfriend having a higher up job than him. I started to outwardly scowl at this point, but actually shut off the TV when she seductively plunked herself on his lap and told him, "Nine to five, I'm the boss, but five to nine..." and he perked up, "I am." I nearly barfed. Now, I am just sad that something I remembered so fondly has been marred by the grossness my grown-up-self recognizes in it.