Things I Know I Have And Wish I Could Find

I love our new home.  I hated moving.  I’m still hating moving.  There are still unpacked boxes, disorganization and chaos, not to mention more than half the crap that is lost, is mine. 🙁

Stuff I know that I have and wish I could find:

1. My backup hard drive.  I know I have one, I use it all the time because I do not trust my laptop to live much longer and I take a copious amount of photographs that I do NOT want to lose when this laptop finally starts its death rattle.  I really wish I could remember or find the box I packed it in.  And I really, really wish that I had someone other than myself to blame.  Blech.

2. About 10 bottles of shampoo.  Yes, yes, I know, who needs 10 bottles of shampoo?  The simple answer is ME, I do.  Stop judging me, it’s not like I have 100 bottles.  That would be a problem.  BUT, I bought them on a crazy discount sale and was really depending on not having to buy shampoo again until sometime in 2014 and now that plan is shot to hell.  Dammit.

3. That last Cadbury Cream egg.  I could really, really use that right now.  I’m pretty upset about that shampoo and Cadbury tends to help me through these emotional crisis.  For the love of all things holy, STOP JUDGING ME.  It’s not like I’ve lost my mickey of Vodka or something.   Geez.

4.  Our DVD player.  I know – weird one, huh?  BUT, I can see the box we packed it in (it’s a huge box with the throw pillows from the couch and the shelves from the T.V. unit just to name a few things), I just can not FIND the box that we packed it in.  And I want it back.  The kids are no help either, they have VHS to keep them happy.  Cretins.

5.  Most of my tee shirts.  And pretty much all of the ones that were made for woman AND that fit me.  Curiouser and Curiouser.  I have tee shirts in my drawer, and most of them are mine (now), but I don’t seem to have many that were made, designed or meant to be worn by a woman.  Of those, yesterday, I had precisely three.  So I gave in and bought three more.  So I’m up to six and I’m good with that number but  I’m taking bets on how long I’m wearing each one before some kind of catastrophic spill occurs and sends me back into my oversized, shapeless men’s tees (mostly freebies from cereal boxes, no less!).

I’m sure there are more things that I can’t find but now that I’ve spent this time listing these few things, I’m too discouraged to continue, so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead and go and find me that Cadbury egg (or at this point, a handful of chocolate chips, will do).  Little bastard has to be around here somewhere.  Just watch it be packed with the shampoo AND the DVD player. Heads will roll! (well, I guess only mine will because it will be my fault and that will suck because I will NEVER live it down and I can’t put myself in time out because then I’ll be accused of taking a holiday.  And I will probably have to share the egg, but I will have clean hair for cheap again, so it’s not a total wash).

This is what is eluding my capture and what will truly (maybe)soothe this savage (or demented, I suppose) beast.


A Month Of Firsts – And Then She Squished My Boobs Sideways…

So, this post will be fairly devoid of photos, because as much as I curse and use questionable language I am not ready to go down the homemade, amateur porn road (see how easy it is to just say NO, Octo?).  And trust me, you’re not ready for me to go down that road either.  You’re welcome.


 “First”Number 7 – The Mammogram Saga

Anyway, very shortly after we moved into our new home, Mr. KB noticed some unusual lumpiness on my breast one night as I was drying off after my shower (aside: SAHP, don’t you just LOVE it when you don’t have time to shower until moments before you go to sleep?  It is just the best EVER.  Um, actually, no it’s not, nevermind) and asked me about it.  I looked and saw it, felt it and realized that um, ya, there was something funky there and it didn’t feel right.


Calm face, voice, demeanour.  Nonchalance to keep Mr. KB from being too alarmed.  I’ll call the doctor in the morning, Honey, and make an appointment to get in and have it looked at. We go to bed, sleep uneasily and wake up to the usual kiddie chaos, fighting, screaming and lost lunch bags.  Get everyone fed, sorted and out the door and then call and make the appointment for the following evening.

Waiting.  Sucks.  Mr. KB stressed out, worried.  Me, deciding that “this” isn’t going to happen to me.  Period.

Appointment time, I leave Mr. KB to manage bedtime routines and head into town for my appointment. Not much of a wait, although there are some very interesting specimens to observe in the waiting room.  People watching (without being too obvious or getting caught) is one of my favourite things to do.  Mr. KB calls me nosy, I call me interested.  Maybe it’s a bit of both.  Besides, there are some fucked up looking people out there.  Not my fault but why shouldn’t I reap the benefits?  People’s lives, freakish and ordinary, fascinate me, I can’t help it.

Name called, into the exam room.  Chit chat with the doctor, flash some lumpy boob, careful to conceal the nipple-area because unless it’s absolutely necessary, I try to limit my nipple exposure in public (take note Lindsay and Ms. Jackson sometimes it is cooler to NOT show nipple).  Except when I was nursing.  Then it was a virtual nipple free-for-all.  No apologies forthcoming, so stop waiting.

Referral for a mammogram and ultrasound (um, but  but, mammograms are for OLD women, aren’t they? And I only have ultrasounds to see fetuses and heartbeats and shit – this can’t be happening).

Panic.  Breathe.  Refind calm demeanor to convey the information to my beloved.

Another stupid night of non-restful sleep.  Repeat the routine of the following morning, except add a trip to nursery school to drop Rigatoni for the morning, then home and calling the lab.  Oh, they can take me tonight?  Well, that’s kind of fast.  Hmmm.  Why are they seeing me so quickly?  If I were pregnant I would have to call three clinics to get an ultrasound appointment a month in advance.  How quickly this appointment is offered is disconcerting.  To say the least.

So, once again that night I depart and leave Mr. KB to put the feral monkeys to bed.  I get to the lab and there is no wait.  What is with this place and speed?  It is not calming at all when things move quickly.  But off we go, into a small, tidy room at the back of the lab.  I’m handed the generic gown and instructed to remove everything from the waist up and then wait.  Again, not much of a wait.  It would seem that the universe is conspiring to flatten me as quickly as possible.  The lab tech was really nice, but at the end of the day, she was the one that was going to place each of my breasts on a glass plate and then smush the hell out of it with another glass plate while shooting ionizing radiation through my body to find out of my lumpiness was a bad  lumpiness that was going to turn our lives inside out or just further proof that I’m some kind of super human superhero.

Okay, pervs. Enough already! Here’s your damned boob shot. But for the record, these are not my boobs. Mine were flatter at the time of imaging. Hope you’re all happy now.

Now, you may think that having flat boobs is a bad thing.  It’s not so bad.  Smushed flat is preferrable to the side smashing that comes next.  Not fun, not flattering and not comfortable. I don’t know if all mammogram techs are female, but I am ever thankful that mine was.

And this is what the Smusher looks like. It looks innocent enough, until you remember that top plate is going to slam down on your breast until you’re flatter than you were in the third grade. I can’t say that I’m a fan, but as long as it saves lives, I’m all for it. BUT, I’m pretty sure that no one (read: no MAN) has invented a similar machine to squish nuts for early detection purposes. The fuzzy end of the lollipop again, ladies.

An ultrasound is an ultrasound, but this time it actually had answers for me.  I must admit that I much prefer my previous ultrasounds when I got to see my baby’s heartbeat or perfect little body growing inside me, but in absence of a baby, what the ultrasound tech found this time was good too.  A very funkily and completely blocked duct.  And that’s all.  So, no badness and sadly, no superhero proof either.  I’ll find that proof one of these days.

Relief.  Happiness.  A renewed committment to lose weight, eat healthier and take better care of myself and be around for Mr. KB and my kids for a long, long time.

And then I shared a tub of Moose Tracks with Mr. KB and I think that we both finally breathed again.  And thought ‘ah, fuck it.  The celery will still be in the fridge for me to feast on tomorrow.’ (And likely for the rest of the month *grin*).

P.S.  Just a tip that is completely Keswick-related and I really, really wish that I would have known two pregnancies ago – The ultrasound and lab in Keswick on the Queensway (above Fabricland and down the hall from Keswick Dental) will do testing for ANY doctor and/or midwife, not just local ones (as I was lead to believe all these many years ago now).  Knowing this would have saved me many un-necessary trips to Newmarket and even as far as Richmond Hill (!!) to get prenatal testing and routine ultrasounds done.  And not having to make extra trips to Newmarket or Richmond Hill would have been a HUGE time and money saver.  So, if you’re with York Region Midwives or have an OB-GYN north or south of the ‘wick, keep this place in mind, it’s less than likely that your service provider will have Keswick-specific requisitions – none of mine did.  Oh well, live and learn and pass it on 🙂

Tonight I Paid My Respects

Ever since the arrangements for Kyle Ehinger were released, I’ve been determined to go and pay my respects to his family.  I usually hide away from large gatherings of any type, and tend to avoid situations where it’s just me, alone and not knowing anyone else, in a gathering of people who all know (and appear to like) one another.  But I’m done hiding away and am putting on my big girl pants and stepping outside my comfort zone and actually being a grown up and not just acting as though I am a grown up.

But tonight, I was not sure that I would pull it off.   What would I say to Kelly and Ed Ehinger?  “I’m sorry” sounds so lame, but it’s true, I am sorry.  And as I drove to Sutton this evening, my vision kept getting blurred as my eyes filled with tears, while I thought about this 18 year-old man-child, who felt, if even just for that one critical moment, no hope for his future.  And I thought about his girlfriend, Sam, who I do not know and have never met, but I have read her posts to and about Kyle on Facebook, and my heart aches for her.  I saw her at the funeral home tonight and she is (physically) the tiniest little girl and she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.  And she is holding her own.  She is strong and I admire her strength.  From only watching her at the viewing tonight and reading her posts, I just know that she will come out on the other side of this nightmare and live a long, blessed life.

The crowd at the funeral home was unreal.  Kyle was barely 18 years old but seeing the sheer number of people who showed up to see him one last time, to say good-bye, to hug his parents and each other was, well, honestly, nothing prepared me for the sight.  For the first time, I really understood what it means when “they” say that a town is grieving.  That is Georgina right now.  It is a collection of towns that are grieving the loss of this child (and yes, I know that technically he was an adult, but I’m a mom, and Kyle, who turned 18 just weeks after my Declan did, so to me he was a child, and I make no apologies for that).  I looked around at the various groupings of people who were chatting, laughing, crying, hugging, comforting and talking quietly, many of them wearing ‘In Loving Memory of Kyle Ehinger’ tee shirts and I wondered to myself – who was Kyle?  How did this kid influence and make such an impact on this many people in the short time that he was with us?  What was it about him that made him so special to so many people?  And why was it not enough to save him?

When I left the funeral home, I had a bit (okay, more than a bit) of a cry, then I texted Declan and asked if he wanted to meet me for a bit.  He did, so we did, and it helped put my mind and heart at ease, to see him, talk to him, check in with him, hug him and know for myself that my firstborn was okay.  Then I came home and checked on my four sleeping smalls and kissed each one of them and took a moment to marvel at how perfectly beautiful they are.  With the stresses and pressures of life, it is far too easy to forget to stop and really love and appreciate our children.  I, for one, really need to make sure that I slow down and enjoy my kids.  Cleaning the house, doing the laundry, unpacking from our move – those things will all still be there (waiting for me, like a some kind of rabid stalker) after bedtime.  Life and love are far more precious than clean dishes and empty boxes.

Tomorrow Kyle’s family and friends will say their final goodbyes.  I will not be there.  With my two smallest smalls home with me still, I know that we would be a disruption or distraction and that is the last thing that I want.  For those of you who would like to attend but do not have the latest information, Ed, Kyle’s dad, posted some additional information on Kyle’s FB Wall, this afternoon:

“on Thursday there will be a procession from TaylorS funeral home in Sutton to the OUR LADY OF THE LAKE church in Keswick
we will have a file past the casket before for anyone who wishes to see him for the last time.please come early for that Kyle is gonna ride in the back of his own truck leading the way !

So, I will say goodbye to Kyle now.  Rest in Peace, child.  I hope that you have found in death what you could not find in life.  Watch over your family and friends until they can see you again, they miss you so.

Borrowed this picture from Kyle’s Facebook page. There were too many to make choosing just one an easy task, but this one spoke to me. I hope it speaks to you as well.

And Then Our Miss Moon Turned Two!

I was always afraid to one day have a daughter.  Having been a girl my whole life (just in case anyone was thinking we had another pregnant man situation here, rest assured, we do not), and having been a teenage girl for seven or so years (a couple of decades ago), the thought of parenting a girl, quite frankly, scared the shit out of me.So, I became a mother to boys.  One after another, until there were four of them.  But we didn’t feel like our family was complete yet, so one last time, knowing, just knowing that we’d have five boys at the end of it, we got pregnant again.

And then Miss Moon was born.  And our lives have never been the same.  I love my boys, all of them, big and small, but having a daughter is so very different for me.  I know, it’s only been two years and her teen years will probably kick my ass, but I can’t help it.  She delights me.  And I was meant to have her in my life.

Daddy holding Miss Miranda just hours after she was born. It was love at first sight.

And when I saw these perfect little feet, I knew that they would carry her safely for thousands and millions of miles throughout her life, and I wanted to remember them, brand new and perfect forever.

So perfect, like her brothers before her, yet completely and totally her own brand of perfection.

And somehow, we made it through a year with her, juggling her needs and the needs of her brothers and each other.

Miss Moon’s 1st Birthday, a year ago now (and her feet are still lovely!).

And then, in the blink of an eye, and a million life changes, buying and selling our home, moving, her eldest brother moving out, not to mention all the milestones she passed (and continues to pass almost daily) she turned two.  Out of nowhere, my baby girl turned two.

In the past year she has grown up so much.  She doesn’t talk much (or more accurately, she doesn’t speak very much English, she talks all the time, it’s just in Miranda-ese), but she understands absolutely everything we say to her.  She is very proficient with the word “NO!” which, while cute the first hundred or so times, is not so much cute anymore.  But, watching her do things that she sees us or her brothers do is fabulous and she melts my heart on an almost hourly basis with her sweetness.  And she’s headstrong and fiery (hmmm, with Mr. KB and me as parents, was fiery at all avoidable?  I think not), and independent and loving, helpful and gentle.  She is all curly blonde hair and serious big blue eyes.  She looks before she leaps (which I really hope that she continues to do throughout her life, but know that she probably will not) and she has the wisdom to reach for my hand when she’s unsure of something.  And I love that.  I cherish those moments.

So, while I am still sure that I will be forced to start drinking heavily or develop some serious pill habit to get through her teen years, I wouldn’t trade her, or being her mom, or the experience of raising a girl, for anything in the world.

Happy 2nd Birthday, sweet baby girl.  We love you.