So, hubby's had the surgery to remove his tumour. The official term for it is a 'right hemi-colectomy'. It went very well and we find out in a few days whether or not chemo is needed.
But the day leading up to his surgery was a series of events better suited to a Three Stooges' skit.
He was supposed to go in for 7:30AM on Tuesday. Monday night, at around 10:30PM, we receive a phone call from the hospital. "Hi, I'm calling from the hospital's surgical services department. We're having trouble with some of our equipment, so you don't have to come in at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Stay home. We'll call you when we're ready for you."
Equipment? What equipment?! Hubby is now in a bit of a panic. If you don't already know it, he's absolutely terrified of anything involving doctors and/or needles. I'm talking mind-numbingly, strap-him-down-or-he'll-bolt kinda fear. So, when he heard the words 'equipment problems', his heart rate just about tripled - not a good thing when you're anemic and awaiting surgery. He had visions of anaesthetic equipment malfunctioning mid-operation and him waking up to find his innards on his bedside table.
Needless to say, it wasn't a very restful night for him. Nonetheless, he was in fairly good spirits the next morning, figuring he at least was getting a little reprieve before having to go under the knife. Nothing like a little imposed procrastination to brighten your outlook. It was short-lived, though. At exactly 7:30AM, we received a call from the hospital. They're ready for us, we need to come in right away.
We arrived at the admission desk, commenting on how it appeared to be a little warm in the hospital that day. We were greeted by a nurse with a clipboard and a handful of papers. She knew who we were right away and had us take a seat. "The doctor wants to speak with you."
Right on cue, in walks the surgeon. The 'equipment problem' was actually an air conditioning malfunction. The problem is that the sterilization room is heavily air conditioned. If there is no air conditioning, there is too much humidity in the air, and they can't sterilize anything. We now have a choice. We can either get hubby admitted - he already has a room and a bed waiting for him - they'll start him up on an IV and he can wait here until they get everything straightened out, or he can go home, remain on clear fluids all day, and they'll call us when everything is a go, most likely some time after supper today or tomorrow at the latest. Uh, gee, what were my choices again? We're out the door faster than you can say, "Please sign this consent form."
That was around 9:00AM. Hubby had enough time to get home, swallow another bowl of Jell-O and was in the middle of his extra-large glass of water, when the phone rang. "Have you had any fluids? Yes? Well, stop." But the doctor said... "Yes, but we think we'll be ready for you around 3:00 this afternoon."
It's now 11:30AM, so the rest of the family starts making plans for lunch while hubby watches longingly from the wings. Ring, ring! It's the hospital again. We're ready for you. Now. But you said...! Oh, never mind. So much for a reprieve. We say goodbye to the family - again - and off we go to the hospital, with poor hubby's nerves about as frayed as Daisy Duke's little shorts.
This time, they send us straight up to his room. They want him ready and down in OR for 3:00PM. Poor Nurse Cari has the pleasure of trying to introduce the IV to hubby's rapidly retreating veins. He's so tense that the muscles in his arms are actually clamping around the veins, effectively shutting them off from Cari's prying needle. After failed attempt number three, Cari wraps his arms in some soothing warm blankets and heads off in search of a smaller needle - or maybe a bottle of Jack Daniels, whichever comes to hand first.
On the fourth attempt, Nurse Cari manages to get a precarious IV going. She tapes the crap out of the thing in the hope that hubby's veins don't somehow manage to spit it right back out after she leaves. She tells us that the 'pain management nurse' will be in shortly to discuss hubby's options.
Nurse Kelly comes in and very cheerfully announces that the best option, the Cadillac of pain management, would be an epidural. I start to giggle involuntarily. Hubby loses what little colour he had left in his cheeks. You see, his only experience with an epidural was with my first pregnancy. After twenty hours of labour, they had to get one in me for an emergency c-section. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that hubby was more traumatized by the experience than I was. There was a lot of moaning and crying out in pain on my part, it apparently took a few attempts before they were successful, and there was blood spurting across the room like a low-budget B-grade horror flick.
But we managed to convince him to go for the epidural because it apparently makes a world of difference in recovery. We explained to him that it would be a completely different experience from mine because a) he did not have a nine pound alien trying to escape from his body, and b) they would be giving him a light sedative beforehand, so even if it did hurt, he probably wouldn't remember it afterwards.
No such luck. He remembered every excruciating detail, including the facts that they had to try to get it in him twice and that it hurt like hell. But they finally got him all settled in and he apparently didn't even get the chance to start counting backwards from one hundred before he was out like a light.
As I said in the intro, the operation itself did go well. The surrounding organs were checked and nothing appeared to be infected. A couple of lymph nodes gave the surgeon some cause for concern, but we won't know anything for sure until the pathology report comes back in the next week or so. Meanwhile, hubby gets to spend a week in hospital, enjoying the luxury of having the TV to himself all day long, and trying to get back on his feet. I had half-jokingly said we were going to work his scar into a nice tattoo, but then I remembered that tattoos involved needles, so I don't think he'll be volunteering for one of those any time soon.
Technorati Tags: cancer ; Colo-rectal ; Colon ; Hemi-Colectomy ; Epidural ; Lymph Node
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Speaking Of Ducks...
As the popularity of blogs continues to explode, yet another international corporation has jumped on the blogwagon.
This one is a little sexier than most company blogs, though. No, it's not Victoria spilling all her innermost secrets. It's from Federico Minoli, head honcho at Ducati Motor Holdings, maker of Ducati motorcycles. He's decided to start up a blog so he can keep everyone abreast of his comings and goings in the motorcycle world.
For those of you who don't know what a Ducati is, let me enlighten you. Ducati is the Ferrari of motorcycles. They're sleek and sexy. They're the epitome of Italian design. They're the 'beautiful people' of the motorcycle world - except that they are available and attainable and fun to be around. They turn heads with their stunning good looks and very distinctive sound. It's like dating a supermodel, but without all the pretention - and she doesn't mind if you stop for a burger now and again. (Photo from Ducati Manchester)
And Ducati's blog is no different than the bikes themselves. It's written in both English and Italian. If you're reading it in English, though, you have to put on a really sexy Italain accent. It just 'sounds' better that way. Reading the comments is a lot of fun, too. Most of them are in Italian, and will therefore make no sense to the average North American. But it's fun to scan through them just the same. It's like taking a European vacation without leaving your desk.
Federico isn't just another suit, either. He's a motorcycle enthusiast and proud Ducati rider as well. His blog will take you from high-society galas to the race track to the Italian countryside in the blink of an eye - or with the blip of the throttle. I may be way off base here, but I get the feeling from his blog that he would be the kind of guy who'd gladly sit with you for hours and chat about bikes over a glass of wine.
If that is the case, then I'd like to extend an open invitation to him. Sig. Minoli, if you're ever in Canada and have some time to kill, drop me a line. My husband would love to bend your ear for an hour or two. All I ask is that you give me enough notice to get a few bottles of my father's best shipped to us in honour of your visit. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. :D
Technorati Tags: Ducati ; Federico Minoli ; Motorcycle ; Sport Bike ; Supersport ; Monster ; Racing
This one is a little sexier than most company blogs, though. No, it's not Victoria spilling all her innermost secrets. It's from Federico Minoli, head honcho at Ducati Motor Holdings, maker of Ducati motorcycles. He's decided to start up a blog so he can keep everyone abreast of his comings and goings in the motorcycle world.
For those of you who don't know what a Ducati is, let me enlighten you. Ducati is the Ferrari of motorcycles. They're sleek and sexy. They're the epitome of Italian design. They're the 'beautiful people' of the motorcycle world - except that they are available and attainable and fun to be around. They turn heads with their stunning good looks and very distinctive sound. It's like dating a supermodel, but without all the pretention - and she doesn't mind if you stop for a burger now and again. (Photo from Ducati Manchester)And Ducati's blog is no different than the bikes themselves. It's written in both English and Italian. If you're reading it in English, though, you have to put on a really sexy Italain accent. It just 'sounds' better that way. Reading the comments is a lot of fun, too. Most of them are in Italian, and will therefore make no sense to the average North American. But it's fun to scan through them just the same. It's like taking a European vacation without leaving your desk.
Federico isn't just another suit, either. He's a motorcycle enthusiast and proud Ducati rider as well. His blog will take you from high-society galas to the race track to the Italian countryside in the blink of an eye - or with the blip of the throttle. I may be way off base here, but I get the feeling from his blog that he would be the kind of guy who'd gladly sit with you for hours and chat about bikes over a glass of wine.
If that is the case, then I'd like to extend an open invitation to him. Sig. Minoli, if you're ever in Canada and have some time to kill, drop me a line. My husband would love to bend your ear for an hour or two. All I ask is that you give me enough notice to get a few bottles of my father's best shipped to us in honour of your visit. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. :D
Technorati Tags: Ducati ; Federico Minoli ; Motorcycle ; Sport Bike ; Supersport ; Monster ; Racing
Monday, May 22, 2006
Lovely Weather, If You're A Duck
We've gotten over the initial shock of our really, really bad news and have decided that we're going to be just fine, thanks. Hubby is going for pre-op tomorrow and is scheduled for surgery on the 30th. In the mean time, we're enjoying an unbelievable amount of support from family and way more friends than we realized we'd been blessed with.
The first wave of our out-of-town support team arrived on Saturday. It was my brother, his wife and their little girl. They came to offer their shoulders for a couple of days. Their daughter is four months younger than Trouble. Between the two of them, there was enough sweetness floating around the place to send everyone into diabetic shock.
Having just come from Montreal, where it's apparently been raining for two straight years (to hear them tell it), they were looking forward to our somewhat drier shores. No such luck. The rain had defied all laws of meteorology and followed them westward. It was chilly but sunny when they got here, so the children got in a couple of hours' worth of play time before the clouds caught up with them.
Much to everyone's dismay, Sunday dawned soggy and frigid. I believe our daytime high hovered somewhere around six degreesCelsiuss, with a windchill of minus a hundred. I kid you not. Even the dog refused to go out, unless it was to pee. At that, the poor thing had to battle against the wind to the point that she quickly learned to pee downwind. After a bout of small hail stones, we witnessed something that looked suspiciously like snow. I kid you not. As we stared agog at the tiny whiteness before our eyes, we all wondered if frogs and locusts would shortly follow.
My brother and his family departed Sunday night after dinner. On Monday we started making plans for our arc. That turned out to be unnecessary, though, as the clouds soon scattered and the sun poked his happy little face out once again. No doubt, the rain decided to head home to Montreal. I'm guessing, if nothing else good comes of it, the mushroom harvest in Quebec is sure to be a good one this year.
Technorati Tags: Weather ; Rain ; Hail ; Snow
The first wave of our out-of-town support team arrived on Saturday. It was my brother, his wife and their little girl. They came to offer their shoulders for a couple of days. Their daughter is four months younger than Trouble. Between the two of them, there was enough sweetness floating around the place to send everyone into diabetic shock.
Having just come from Montreal, where it's apparently been raining for two straight years (to hear them tell it), they were looking forward to our somewhat drier shores. No such luck. The rain had defied all laws of meteorology and followed them westward. It was chilly but sunny when they got here, so the children got in a couple of hours' worth of play time before the clouds caught up with them.
Much to everyone's dismay, Sunday dawned soggy and frigid. I believe our daytime high hovered somewhere around six degreesCelsiuss, with a windchill of minus a hundred. I kid you not. Even the dog refused to go out, unless it was to pee. At that, the poor thing had to battle against the wind to the point that she quickly learned to pee downwind. After a bout of small hail stones, we witnessed something that looked suspiciously like snow. I kid you not. As we stared agog at the tiny whiteness before our eyes, we all wondered if frogs and locusts would shortly follow.
My brother and his family departed Sunday night after dinner. On Monday we started making plans for our arc. That turned out to be unnecessary, though, as the clouds soon scattered and the sun poked his happy little face out once again. No doubt, the rain decided to head home to Montreal. I'm guessing, if nothing else good comes of it, the mushroom harvest in Quebec is sure to be a good one this year.
Technorati Tags: Weather ; Rain ; Hail ; Snow
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Worst Day Of Our Lives
This is not a happy post. I can usually put a funny spin on just about anything. Sorry, not today.
You see, my thirty eight year old husband has just been diagnosed with colon cancer. We've been told the outlook is good, since he's young and they apparently caught it early. I'm going to tell you the whole story, just in case anyone out there is feeling the way my husband did before seeing a doctor, and is thinking it's no big deal.
Because, you see, it all started out very innocently. Hubby was feeling tired and a little run down. Perfectly normal feelings for someone who had been working up to sixty hours per week. Until, that is, the company began cutting back on the overtime. Then, with all the free time and week-ends off, we thought he would be getting some of his vigour back. Not so. He began feeling even more tired, if that was possible. So, after a month of feeling really lousy and having several people tell him he looked terrible, he finally went to see our family physician.
The doctor wasn't impressed with his heart beat. It was irregular, suggesting a murmur or possibly arrhythmia. Blood work was ordered. Lots of blood work. Which was no consolation to my poor husband, who is terrified of needles. I managed to drag him to the lab where they squeezed out the four vials they needed. We'd hear from our family doctor in about a week, they told us. This was Friday morning.
Saturday at around noon, I get a phone call. It's the family doctor. Hubby's hemoglobin is at approximately sixty - one third what it should be. He's severely anemic. This tells us he probably is bleeding internally. We need to get him to the emergency room, and don't be surprised if they tell us a transfusion is required.
Sure enough, as soon as we arrive at the ER, they waste no time in getting hubby into a wheelchair and into an exam room, leaving me to fill out the paper work. By the time I can get back to see hubby, he's hooked up to all sorts of monitors and with an IV in his arm doling out fluids. He's already been through the dreaded 'rectal probe' while I was having him registered.
The doctor comes in to tell us he's going to start a transfusion. He believes we're dealing with a very slow leak somewhere within the body, most likely an ulcer, given hubby's age. Hubby will be admitted for the week-end. Our first order of business is to get the blood levels back to where they belong (or at least out of the danger zone). On Sunday, he'll start prepping for a pair of scopes. Yup, from both ends. A colonoscopy and an upper endoscopy.
At this point, hubby is in a complete panic at the thought of a camera being driven around his insides. I was trying to be helpful by telling him about my own experience with a colonoscopy. He didn't find it amusing. Nonetheless, he was a trooper and took his medicine with only minimal cajoling on my part.
He went in for his scopes on Monday. By four o'clock, I hadn't heard back, so I called the nurses' station. Sure enough, he was too doped up to talk to anyone at this point. As soon as he's awake, they'll have him call me.
At around five thirty, I get the dreaded phone call. It's the surgeon. The doctor who was initially dealing with my husband had asked him to come in and consult with us. It turns out that it isn't an ulcer. It's a tumour. On the right side of his colon. We're going to schedule him for surgery ASAP. In the mean time, though, they've already called my sister to go pick hubby up because he really wanted to come home.
And here we are. He's been for a CT scan so the doctor has a clearer picture of what he's dealing with. Surgery is scheduled for the end of the month. They're going to (unless the plan changes once they see the CT scan) remove the part of the colon where the tumour is located, and then connect the rest back together. Hubby is feeling like a pincushion. And, as much as he hates needles, he's now grown quite used to them, and will become heartily sick of them before all is said and done, I'm sure.
The moral of this story is - no matter how bad you think a colonoscopy might be, it's nowhere near as bad as cancer. So, please, please have yourselves screened. Convince your loved ones that they need to see a doctor if they're feeling 'off'. The signs aren't always blatant. It can start out as simply as feeling a little tired.
Technorati Tags: colon ; cancer ; anemia ; hemoglobin ; fatigue ; colonoscopy ; endoscopy
You see, my thirty eight year old husband has just been diagnosed with colon cancer. We've been told the outlook is good, since he's young and they apparently caught it early. I'm going to tell you the whole story, just in case anyone out there is feeling the way my husband did before seeing a doctor, and is thinking it's no big deal.
Because, you see, it all started out very innocently. Hubby was feeling tired and a little run down. Perfectly normal feelings for someone who had been working up to sixty hours per week. Until, that is, the company began cutting back on the overtime. Then, with all the free time and week-ends off, we thought he would be getting some of his vigour back. Not so. He began feeling even more tired, if that was possible. So, after a month of feeling really lousy and having several people tell him he looked terrible, he finally went to see our family physician.
The doctor wasn't impressed with his heart beat. It was irregular, suggesting a murmur or possibly arrhythmia. Blood work was ordered. Lots of blood work. Which was no consolation to my poor husband, who is terrified of needles. I managed to drag him to the lab where they squeezed out the four vials they needed. We'd hear from our family doctor in about a week, they told us. This was Friday morning.
Saturday at around noon, I get a phone call. It's the family doctor. Hubby's hemoglobin is at approximately sixty - one third what it should be. He's severely anemic. This tells us he probably is bleeding internally. We need to get him to the emergency room, and don't be surprised if they tell us a transfusion is required.
Sure enough, as soon as we arrive at the ER, they waste no time in getting hubby into a wheelchair and into an exam room, leaving me to fill out the paper work. By the time I can get back to see hubby, he's hooked up to all sorts of monitors and with an IV in his arm doling out fluids. He's already been through the dreaded 'rectal probe' while I was having him registered.
The doctor comes in to tell us he's going to start a transfusion. He believes we're dealing with a very slow leak somewhere within the body, most likely an ulcer, given hubby's age. Hubby will be admitted for the week-end. Our first order of business is to get the blood levels back to where they belong (or at least out of the danger zone). On Sunday, he'll start prepping for a pair of scopes. Yup, from both ends. A colonoscopy and an upper endoscopy.
At this point, hubby is in a complete panic at the thought of a camera being driven around his insides. I was trying to be helpful by telling him about my own experience with a colonoscopy. He didn't find it amusing. Nonetheless, he was a trooper and took his medicine with only minimal cajoling on my part.
He went in for his scopes on Monday. By four o'clock, I hadn't heard back, so I called the nurses' station. Sure enough, he was too doped up to talk to anyone at this point. As soon as he's awake, they'll have him call me.
At around five thirty, I get the dreaded phone call. It's the surgeon. The doctor who was initially dealing with my husband had asked him to come in and consult with us. It turns out that it isn't an ulcer. It's a tumour. On the right side of his colon. We're going to schedule him for surgery ASAP. In the mean time, though, they've already called my sister to go pick hubby up because he really wanted to come home.
And here we are. He's been for a CT scan so the doctor has a clearer picture of what he's dealing with. Surgery is scheduled for the end of the month. They're going to (unless the plan changes once they see the CT scan) remove the part of the colon where the tumour is located, and then connect the rest back together. Hubby is feeling like a pincushion. And, as much as he hates needles, he's now grown quite used to them, and will become heartily sick of them before all is said and done, I'm sure.
The moral of this story is - no matter how bad you think a colonoscopy might be, it's nowhere near as bad as cancer. So, please, please have yourselves screened. Convince your loved ones that they need to see a doctor if they're feeling 'off'. The signs aren't always blatant. It can start out as simply as feeling a little tired.
Technorati Tags: colon ; cancer ; anemia ; hemoglobin ; fatigue ; colonoscopy ; endoscopy
Thursday, May 11, 2006
WAHM Bloggers QOTW
This week's assignment from the ladies at Work-At-Home-Mom Bloggers is to answer the question: How do you stay fit mentally and physically?
Physical fitness has never been a problem for me. I'm in perfect shape. Unfortunately, that shape is 'round'. Being a work-at-home-mom means that money and me-time are luxuries I'm not going to enjoy for the next few years. Therefore, a gym membership is definitely out of the question. I do own a large, heavy treadmill. The only exercise I've ever gotten on that thing, though, was from periodically moving it around the house. I'm hoping my arteries will hold out for another two years. At that time, Trouble will be in Junior Kindergarten. This will mean that the dog and I can go for walks at a speed somewhat higher than half a metre per hour, which is as quick as we can go right now with Trouble thoroughly investigating every weed and rock and candybar wrapper along the way.
Luckily, mental fitness is easier (and cheaper) to come by. Being the freak of nature that I am, I enjoy a good ('good', not 'difficult') logic puzzle now and again. Another way I like to stretch my brain a little is with a game of Tile Rummy (or Rummy-O or Rummy Squares - I've never seen a game with so many names). Teaching an old dog new tricks is a great way to exercise the ol' cranial muscle, so I learn as much as I can about websites, blogs and the internet in general whenever the opportunity arises. Writing in my blog really is a great form of intellectual stimulation. It's also an exercise in building patience, as my cursor struggles to keep pace with my typing and my screen refreshes for no apparent reason, leading me to believe that Blogger is going down yet again, meaning my entire post will soon be lost if I don't save it soon. Hang on a sec ... I'll be right back ...
Now, where was I? Writing - right! Did you know that I've always wanted to be a writer? For better or for worse, life got in the way of that little dream, so it looks like blogging is as close as I'm going to get. Unless someone reads this blog and likes my style enough to offer me a gig, in which case my e-mail link is in the left-hand menu (*wink*). The experts will tell you to write what you know. I know sarcasm and self-deprecating humour, which, thankfully, appear to work well in a blog. How does that manifest itself into mental fitness? Let's just say that my goals are more in line with 'week-end warrior' rather than 'decathelete'.
There you have it, folks. BikerMomma's secret guide to everlasting beauty and a rapier-sharp mind. Not buying it? How about 'Body by McDonald's' and 'enough brains not to walk into things'?
Technorati Tags: WAHM ; QOTW ; Fitness ; Exercise
Physical fitness has never been a problem for me. I'm in perfect shape. Unfortunately, that shape is 'round'. Being a work-at-home-mom means that money and me-time are luxuries I'm not going to enjoy for the next few years. Therefore, a gym membership is definitely out of the question. I do own a large, heavy treadmill. The only exercise I've ever gotten on that thing, though, was from periodically moving it around the house. I'm hoping my arteries will hold out for another two years. At that time, Trouble will be in Junior Kindergarten. This will mean that the dog and I can go for walks at a speed somewhat higher than half a metre per hour, which is as quick as we can go right now with Trouble thoroughly investigating every weed and rock and candybar wrapper along the way.
Luckily, mental fitness is easier (and cheaper) to come by. Being the freak of nature that I am, I enjoy a good ('good', not 'difficult') logic puzzle now and again. Another way I like to stretch my brain a little is with a game of Tile Rummy (or Rummy-O or Rummy Squares - I've never seen a game with so many names). Teaching an old dog new tricks is a great way to exercise the ol' cranial muscle, so I learn as much as I can about websites, blogs and the internet in general whenever the opportunity arises. Writing in my blog really is a great form of intellectual stimulation. It's also an exercise in building patience, as my cursor struggles to keep pace with my typing and my screen refreshes for no apparent reason, leading me to believe that Blogger is going down yet again, meaning my entire post will soon be lost if I don't save it soon. Hang on a sec ... I'll be right back ...
Now, where was I? Writing - right! Did you know that I've always wanted to be a writer? For better or for worse, life got in the way of that little dream, so it looks like blogging is as close as I'm going to get. Unless someone reads this blog and likes my style enough to offer me a gig, in which case my e-mail link is in the left-hand menu (*wink*). The experts will tell you to write what you know. I know sarcasm and self-deprecating humour, which, thankfully, appear to work well in a blog. How does that manifest itself into mental fitness? Let's just say that my goals are more in line with 'week-end warrior' rather than 'decathelete'.
There you have it, folks. BikerMomma's secret guide to everlasting beauty and a rapier-sharp mind. Not buying it? How about 'Body by McDonald's' and 'enough brains not to walk into things'?
Technorati Tags: WAHM ; QOTW ; Fitness ; Exercise
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
I'm Not Going To Say It...
I'm not, I'm not, I can't ... must ... resist ... temptation ...
Oops! ... She did it again!
Sorry. What can I say? I'm weak.
It would appear that Britney Spears is expecting baby number two. Rather than sending out cute little announcement cards, she preferred to share her joyous news by making an 'unscheduled' appearance on the Late Show with David Letterman.
I know the article says she chose to make the announcement on the Late Show because she wanted to beat out the tabloids. However, I can't help but get the impression that it was more of a desperate plea for attention. After all, the media has been a-buzz for quite some time with news of TomKat's and Brangelina's respective progeny. All we've been hearing about Britney lately are stories of visits from the Child Welfare offices.
Unfortunately, the whole TomKat/Brangelina market saturation has started putting people (namely me) off of the 'star spawn' craze. So, they can breed. So can a bazillion other people on the face of the planet. You want to impress me? Publish pictures of what you look like after a month of midnight feedings. Let me see what your breasts are doing after you've stopped breastfeeding and before you schedule the appointment with your plastic surgeon. Show me your manicure after you've changed a couple years' worth of dirty diapers by yourself.
What I really want to see, though, is a video clip of Brad getting peed on when he tries to change his first diaper. That would impress me!
Technorati Tags: Britney Spears ; Tom Cruise ; Katie Holmes ; Brad Pitt ; Angelina Jolie ; David Letterman ; Pregnancy ; Babies ; TomKat ; Brangelina
Oops! ... She did it again!
Sorry. What can I say? I'm weak.
It would appear that Britney Spears is expecting baby number two. Rather than sending out cute little announcement cards, she preferred to share her joyous news by making an 'unscheduled' appearance on the Late Show with David Letterman.
I know the article says she chose to make the announcement on the Late Show because she wanted to beat out the tabloids. However, I can't help but get the impression that it was more of a desperate plea for attention. After all, the media has been a-buzz for quite some time with news of TomKat's and Brangelina's respective progeny. All we've been hearing about Britney lately are stories of visits from the Child Welfare offices.
Unfortunately, the whole TomKat/Brangelina market saturation has started putting people (namely me) off of the 'star spawn' craze. So, they can breed. So can a bazillion other people on the face of the planet. You want to impress me? Publish pictures of what you look like after a month of midnight feedings. Let me see what your breasts are doing after you've stopped breastfeeding and before you schedule the appointment with your plastic surgeon. Show me your manicure after you've changed a couple years' worth of dirty diapers by yourself.
What I really want to see, though, is a video clip of Brad getting peed on when he tries to change his first diaper. That would impress me!
Technorati Tags: Britney Spears ; Tom Cruise ; Katie Holmes ; Brad Pitt ; Angelina Jolie ; David Letterman ; Pregnancy ; Babies ; TomKat ; Brangelina
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Road Trip
We're home! Oh, the joys of sleeping in your own bed after a week-end away. Oh, the joys of having your children sleep - period - after a week-end away.
There was a family function to attend in La Belle Province. Since hubby is running short on vacation time, we decided to save his few remaining vacation days for - well - his vacation. So, my sister and I loaded our children into my car and hit the road. Her teenage son (we'll refer to him as 'SuperStar') preferred to stay home. Gee, I wonder why. "Stay home with my girlfriend and buddies, or spend seven hours in a car with my kid sister to go visit my grandparents where I'll have to listen to lame jokes about my piercings and share the computer with at least ten other people." Choice? What choice? So he was left for two days with a set of rules a mile long, and all the neighbours, as well as his uncle, popping in to check on him when he least expected it.
The ride there was nothing short of heavenly. Three children crammed into the back seat - Mini-Me in his booster, Trouble in his car seat, and my niece (let's name her 'Butterfly') stuffed into the two-inch space between them. You'd think this was a recipe for disaster. Hubby and I had learned from our last road trip, though, that two children plus one set of headphones for the DVD player equals straightjackets for Mom and Dad. So we had bought an extra set of headphones for Trouble. Butterfly had her own personal DVD player which my sister had bought during their last road trip (no doubt having suffered through the same lesson we had just benefitted from). So the ride there was made in relative peace. When anyone asked me how the ride was, I boasted expansively about how wonderful those headphones were, the best investment I've made in years, we didn't hear anything out of the kids during the whole trip, yadda, yadda, yadda... Did you hear that? That would be the sound of Fate laughing long and hard at my boasting. She was gonna teach me a lesson, but good.
Night number one was spent at my brother's house. His two children are close in age to Butterfly and Mini-Me, and so they always have fun together. And a great time was had by all. Bed time rolled around, so we set the kids up on the living room floor with a pair of inflatable mattresses - boys on one, girls on the other.
I slept in my niece's bed with Trouble. I learned two things that night. One: For such a little guy, Trouble takes up a surprisingly large amount of space in bed. Two: He leads with his head. He doesn't just flip and flop and toss and turn. He points his head in the direction he wants to go, and then gives an almighty heave with his freakishly strong little legs. I slept very little that night, as Trouble brought back fond memories of my pregnancy with him, where he would plant his skull in one of my kidneys and dig in with all his might.
As if Trouble wasn't giving me a hard enough time, Mini-Me decided to take a few years off my life. When I went for my middle-of-the-night-pee, I decided to look in on the kids in the living room. There were the two girls, but where were the boys? I checked my nephew's bedroom. OK, there's my nephew, but where's my son? Back to the living room - nope definitely not there. Maybe he snuck into my bed during the fifteen minutes I was sleeping? Nope, not there, either. Full blown panic has now struck. In my mind, I'm having visions on Mini-Me suddenly developing a sleep-walking habit, and he's now wandering around the streets of a strange neighbourhood in his Hulk pyjamas. I bolt down to the basement to wake my sister. Hang on, there's an extra lump in her bed. There's my son, snuggled in next to his aunt. OK, I can breathe again. My sister had woken up at this point, so I asked her why he was there. "Why didn't he want to come to bed with me?" asks the hurt little voice inside my head. "Oh, he said he didn't want to sleep up there. The girls were making too much noise."
Of course, he was right. By the time I got back to bed, there was no way I was getting to sleep. For I was now painfully aware of a fact about inflatable mattresses of which I had previously been blissfully unaware. Every time one of the girls would roll over or shift positions, the mattress would emit sounds that made me think someone was building six foot tall balloon animals in the living room. Fabulous. Two hours of sleep after a seven hour drive. No problem. I can catch up on my sleep the next night, right?
Not so much. Night number two was spent at my parents' house on the inflatable mattress with both Mini-Me and Trouble, and a cousin on the sofa next to us who is a self-proclaimed 'violent sleep kicker'. One of the many downfalls of sleeping on the living room floor is that you have to wait until everyone else in the house goes to bed before you can do the same. This happened around midnight. I settled in with Mini-Me on the outside edge, Trouble in the middle and me taking the perilous spot mere inches from the violent sleep kicker. Around three o'clock in the morning, I discovered that Trouble doesn't enjoy sleeping in the middle. He really needs his space after all. He woke up crying loudly, and no amount of cooing or shushing from me would get him to calm down. So I picked him up and cuddled with him in an armchair. He fell immediately and deeply back to sleep. Great. I can't stay in this armchair all night, though, so now what? I gingerly place Trouble back on the inflatable mattress, where he rearranged himself into a suitably sprawled position, and didn't wake up again.
Well, that was good for him, but there wasn't room for me anymore. I tried in vain to attain a comfortable sleeping position in that armchair. I gave that up for a bad idea after the first half hour. I thought I'd try to sprawl across the foot of the air mattress. This would have worked, except that my legs from the knee downwards had no mattress underneath them. Add to that the fact that air mattresses are very much like waterbeds without a frame. If you move a fraction of an inch, everyone else on the bed goes for a trampoline ride. And, if you lie too close to the edge, the air in the mattress rolls out from underneath you and you get tossed rather unceremoniously off the bed.
As I clung precariously to my little corner of the bed, it never occurred to me that the mattress had, in fact, three other sides. At about four o'clock that morning, there was a loud 'ker-THUMP!' Mini-Me had learned the perils of rolling too closely to the edge of the treacherous air mattress. He was fine - had, in fact, jumped right up and climbed back into bed on his own without even waking up. I really didn't want a repeat performance, though, so I spent what was left of the night with one arm and one leg out at ninety degree angles, trying to keep Mini-Me and Trouble from rolling off the bed again.
So, a seven hour drive followed by two hours of sleep, followed by a party, another three hours of sleep, and another seven hour drive. The icing on the cake was my alarm going off at seven o'clock this morning so I could get Mini-Me off to school. The real kicker? As I protested weakly and pounded on my snooze button, Mini-me bounced out of bed, got himself dressed, and poured his own bowl of cereal and milk. Trouble woke up shortly thereafter, actually singing. *Sigh!* There went any hopes I had of lying comatose until noon.
Technorati Tags: Road Trip ; Parenthood ; Sleep ; Air Mattress ; Travelling ; Children
There was a family function to attend in La Belle Province. Since hubby is running short on vacation time, we decided to save his few remaining vacation days for - well - his vacation. So, my sister and I loaded our children into my car and hit the road. Her teenage son (we'll refer to him as 'SuperStar') preferred to stay home. Gee, I wonder why. "Stay home with my girlfriend and buddies, or spend seven hours in a car with my kid sister to go visit my grandparents where I'll have to listen to lame jokes about my piercings and share the computer with at least ten other people." Choice? What choice? So he was left for two days with a set of rules a mile long, and all the neighbours, as well as his uncle, popping in to check on him when he least expected it.
The ride there was nothing short of heavenly. Three children crammed into the back seat - Mini-Me in his booster, Trouble in his car seat, and my niece (let's name her 'Butterfly') stuffed into the two-inch space between them. You'd think this was a recipe for disaster. Hubby and I had learned from our last road trip, though, that two children plus one set of headphones for the DVD player equals straightjackets for Mom and Dad. So we had bought an extra set of headphones for Trouble. Butterfly had her own personal DVD player which my sister had bought during their last road trip (no doubt having suffered through the same lesson we had just benefitted from). So the ride there was made in relative peace. When anyone asked me how the ride was, I boasted expansively about how wonderful those headphones were, the best investment I've made in years, we didn't hear anything out of the kids during the whole trip, yadda, yadda, yadda... Did you hear that? That would be the sound of Fate laughing long and hard at my boasting. She was gonna teach me a lesson, but good.
Night number one was spent at my brother's house. His two children are close in age to Butterfly and Mini-Me, and so they always have fun together. And a great time was had by all. Bed time rolled around, so we set the kids up on the living room floor with a pair of inflatable mattresses - boys on one, girls on the other.
I slept in my niece's bed with Trouble. I learned two things that night. One: For such a little guy, Trouble takes up a surprisingly large amount of space in bed. Two: He leads with his head. He doesn't just flip and flop and toss and turn. He points his head in the direction he wants to go, and then gives an almighty heave with his freakishly strong little legs. I slept very little that night, as Trouble brought back fond memories of my pregnancy with him, where he would plant his skull in one of my kidneys and dig in with all his might.
As if Trouble wasn't giving me a hard enough time, Mini-Me decided to take a few years off my life. When I went for my middle-of-the-night-pee, I decided to look in on the kids in the living room. There were the two girls, but where were the boys? I checked my nephew's bedroom. OK, there's my nephew, but where's my son? Back to the living room - nope definitely not there. Maybe he snuck into my bed during the fifteen minutes I was sleeping? Nope, not there, either. Full blown panic has now struck. In my mind, I'm having visions on Mini-Me suddenly developing a sleep-walking habit, and he's now wandering around the streets of a strange neighbourhood in his Hulk pyjamas. I bolt down to the basement to wake my sister. Hang on, there's an extra lump in her bed. There's my son, snuggled in next to his aunt. OK, I can breathe again. My sister had woken up at this point, so I asked her why he was there. "Why didn't he want to come to bed with me?" asks the hurt little voice inside my head. "Oh, he said he didn't want to sleep up there. The girls were making too much noise."
Of course, he was right. By the time I got back to bed, there was no way I was getting to sleep. For I was now painfully aware of a fact about inflatable mattresses of which I had previously been blissfully unaware. Every time one of the girls would roll over or shift positions, the mattress would emit sounds that made me think someone was building six foot tall balloon animals in the living room. Fabulous. Two hours of sleep after a seven hour drive. No problem. I can catch up on my sleep the next night, right?
Not so much. Night number two was spent at my parents' house on the inflatable mattress with both Mini-Me and Trouble, and a cousin on the sofa next to us who is a self-proclaimed 'violent sleep kicker'. One of the many downfalls of sleeping on the living room floor is that you have to wait until everyone else in the house goes to bed before you can do the same. This happened around midnight. I settled in with Mini-Me on the outside edge, Trouble in the middle and me taking the perilous spot mere inches from the violent sleep kicker. Around three o'clock in the morning, I discovered that Trouble doesn't enjoy sleeping in the middle. He really needs his space after all. He woke up crying loudly, and no amount of cooing or shushing from me would get him to calm down. So I picked him up and cuddled with him in an armchair. He fell immediately and deeply back to sleep. Great. I can't stay in this armchair all night, though, so now what? I gingerly place Trouble back on the inflatable mattress, where he rearranged himself into a suitably sprawled position, and didn't wake up again.
Well, that was good for him, but there wasn't room for me anymore. I tried in vain to attain a comfortable sleeping position in that armchair. I gave that up for a bad idea after the first half hour. I thought I'd try to sprawl across the foot of the air mattress. This would have worked, except that my legs from the knee downwards had no mattress underneath them. Add to that the fact that air mattresses are very much like waterbeds without a frame. If you move a fraction of an inch, everyone else on the bed goes for a trampoline ride. And, if you lie too close to the edge, the air in the mattress rolls out from underneath you and you get tossed rather unceremoniously off the bed.
As I clung precariously to my little corner of the bed, it never occurred to me that the mattress had, in fact, three other sides. At about four o'clock that morning, there was a loud 'ker-THUMP!' Mini-Me had learned the perils of rolling too closely to the edge of the treacherous air mattress. He was fine - had, in fact, jumped right up and climbed back into bed on his own without even waking up. I really didn't want a repeat performance, though, so I spent what was left of the night with one arm and one leg out at ninety degree angles, trying to keep Mini-Me and Trouble from rolling off the bed again.
So, a seven hour drive followed by two hours of sleep, followed by a party, another three hours of sleep, and another seven hour drive. The icing on the cake was my alarm going off at seven o'clock this morning so I could get Mini-Me off to school. The real kicker? As I protested weakly and pounded on my snooze button, Mini-me bounced out of bed, got himself dressed, and poured his own bowl of cereal and milk. Trouble woke up shortly thereafter, actually singing. *Sigh!* There went any hopes I had of lying comatose until noon.
Technorati Tags: Road Trip ; Parenthood ; Sleep ; Air Mattress ; Travelling ; Children
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Ooh! Me! Pick me!
I read on Yahoo! news today that Bill Gates doesn't like being the world's richest person.
Well, boo frickin' hoo! Here's my daily act of charity. Mr. Gates, if all that money is really making you miserable, I'll gladly ease some of your suffering by taking a few billion dollars off your hands. A link to my e-mail address can be found in the left-hand menu, at the bottom of the page. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future.
Now that's one e-mail I'd love to receive. Wouldn't you? It'd be a darn sight better than what I've been getting lately, I'll tell ya. Now, I know that you're taking your chances and should expect a certain amount of spam when you create websites and put yourself out there on the WWW. But what I'm realy itching to know is, where on the internet does it indicate that I'm a seventy year old horn dog looking to buy bucketsfull of Viagra so I can satisfy my inflate-a-date? And where, or where, did I ever sign up for the e-mail in foreign languages that apparently offer me nothing other than gratuitous pornography?
Seriously, Bill, I could really use some of that cash you're so tired of being saddled with. Maybe then I could afford to hire a team of investigators to track these people down and return the favour by subjecting them to floods of unwanted parenting advice and cute children's stories.
Technorati Tags: Bill Gates ; Microsoft ; Money ; Rich ; Spam
Well, boo frickin' hoo! Here's my daily act of charity. Mr. Gates, if all that money is really making you miserable, I'll gladly ease some of your suffering by taking a few billion dollars off your hands. A link to my e-mail address can be found in the left-hand menu, at the bottom of the page. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future.
Now that's one e-mail I'd love to receive. Wouldn't you? It'd be a darn sight better than what I've been getting lately, I'll tell ya. Now, I know that you're taking your chances and should expect a certain amount of spam when you create websites and put yourself out there on the WWW. But what I'm realy itching to know is, where on the internet does it indicate that I'm a seventy year old horn dog looking to buy bucketsfull of Viagra so I can satisfy my inflate-a-date? And where, or where, did I ever sign up for the e-mail in foreign languages that apparently offer me nothing other than gratuitous pornography?
Seriously, Bill, I could really use some of that cash you're so tired of being saddled with. Maybe then I could afford to hire a team of investigators to track these people down and return the favour by subjecting them to floods of unwanted parenting advice and cute children's stories.
Technorati Tags: Bill Gates ; Microsoft ; Money ; Rich ; Spam
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Amateur Blogger Tips
No, I don't mean that I have tips for the amateur blogger. Au contraire. I mean that, as an amateur blogger, I'm going to dole out a few tips of my own, for whatever they're worth. These tips come from my heart after having spent some time surfing a few random blogs on the Blogger network. They may seem like common sense to those of you who - well - have common sense. Clearly, though, there are a lot of people out there who simply don't.
1) While I understand that some bloggers are artists, I'm not sure half of a badly formed sentence would constitute 'art'. I came across a blog that had one entry to the effect of "I am happy to have my wet." That was it. There was no "click here to read the entire post" button. Instead, there was one comment. The comment was made by the original poster. This comment said, "Dragon." Uh, huh. Right. Gotcha.
2) Interestingly enough, the Blogger TOS does not disallow pornography. However, you'd think it would be common sense to, at the very least, have a massive disclaimer at the top of your screen to the effect of "THIS SITE CONTAINS PORNOGRAPHY. IF YOU'RE NOT AT LEAST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE, PLEASE DO NOT SCROLL DOWN PAST THIS DISCLAIMER!" That way, when I happen to come across your site while surfing, I don't have to explain the concept of S&M to my six year old who's hanging over my shoulder at the time.
3) Ads, ads, ads. This blog is all about ads. How do I know it's about ads? Because the ad poster has used the word 'ad' in their ad about fifty million times. Ad. Not only that - ad - they've interspersed the word 'ad' into their ad amongst a bunch of other words that don't make any sense when strung together. Replace the word 'ad' in the preceding sentences with whatever they're trying to sell, and you'll get the picture. Maybe, if you read these blogs backwards, they'll convey some hidden message from Satan, kind of like playing and Alice Cooper album in reverse. (If you don't know who Alice Cooper is, or what an album is, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave because you're making me feel old.)
4) Now, I know not everyone who blogs is a professional writer. Heaven knows my grammar, spelling and punctuation leave a lot to be desired, but at least I make an effort. Come on, people! They are called 'periods' and they go at the ends of your sentences. Some of these posts actually make my eyes bleed just by trying to follow them.
Now, then. If you want some real tips from some real experts, I would suggest you check out a few of the folks in my list of links and my blogrolling sections to the right. Elizabeth has plenty of tips at her blog, 'Blogging - What's In It For Me?' And Michele has a whole bunch of neat tools at 'Cool Blog Tools' to make blogging fun and easy.
Happy blogging! :D
Technorati Tags: Blogging ; Tips ; Tools
1) While I understand that some bloggers are artists, I'm not sure half of a badly formed sentence would constitute 'art'. I came across a blog that had one entry to the effect of "I am happy to have my wet." That was it. There was no "click here to read the entire post" button. Instead, there was one comment. The comment was made by the original poster. This comment said, "Dragon." Uh, huh. Right. Gotcha.
2) Interestingly enough, the Blogger TOS does not disallow pornography. However, you'd think it would be common sense to, at the very least, have a massive disclaimer at the top of your screen to the effect of "THIS SITE CONTAINS PORNOGRAPHY. IF YOU'RE NOT AT LEAST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE, PLEASE DO NOT SCROLL DOWN PAST THIS DISCLAIMER!" That way, when I happen to come across your site while surfing, I don't have to explain the concept of S&M to my six year old who's hanging over my shoulder at the time.
3) Ads, ads, ads. This blog is all about ads. How do I know it's about ads? Because the ad poster has used the word 'ad' in their ad about fifty million times. Ad. Not only that - ad - they've interspersed the word 'ad' into their ad amongst a bunch of other words that don't make any sense when strung together. Replace the word 'ad' in the preceding sentences with whatever they're trying to sell, and you'll get the picture. Maybe, if you read these blogs backwards, they'll convey some hidden message from Satan, kind of like playing and Alice Cooper album in reverse. (If you don't know who Alice Cooper is, or what an album is, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave because you're making me feel old.)
4) Now, I know not everyone who blogs is a professional writer. Heaven knows my grammar, spelling and punctuation leave a lot to be desired, but at least I make an effort. Come on, people! They are called 'periods' and they go at the ends of your sentences. Some of these posts actually make my eyes bleed just by trying to follow them.
Now, then. If you want some real tips from some real experts, I would suggest you check out a few of the folks in my list of links and my blogrolling sections to the right. Elizabeth has plenty of tips at her blog, 'Blogging - What's In It For Me?' And Michele has a whole bunch of neat tools at 'Cool Blog Tools' to make blogging fun and easy.
Happy blogging! :D
Technorati Tags: Blogging ; Tips ; Tools
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