lest we forget

magnificent charles comes home today. how wonderful it will be to see him.

my sister (helpful pam) and father (showtunes/frugal blake) left today. dad heads right back up to yellowknife, but pam is spending a few days in vancouver with our grandparents.

my grandfather has been in a nursing home for almost one year. as a nurse specialising in geriatric care, pam can talk to the nurses in the home and be of real assistance to my gran. my gran visits him every day, and keeps her home spotless. keeps the home fires burning, you might say.

this isnt the first time my grandparents have been separated. in the 1940’s my grandfather, a banker not a professional soldier, was stationed in saskatoon for basic training. his sweetheart was two provinces away. letters were irregular, calls, almost never. when my grandad learned deployment was imminent, he called my gran, and, accompanied only by two suitcases, she took the train to be with him, and to become his wife.

the leader of the squad, who she met the day before she was married, walked my gran up the aisle. another new friend was matron of honour. could this have been the wedding day she dreamed about? or the marriage?

they set up house, gran got pregnant, and grandad headed off to war. gran still has the letter he wrote her after jon was born. the greeting is firm and clearly written…and the handwriting discentegrates quickly afterwards. the celebrating must have been good, "somewhere in europe" that night.

imagine what it would have been like to be a war bride. no cnn, no emails, no direct dial calling or fax machines. just the news. that was never specific enough. where young boys on bicycles carrying telegrams were feared.

gran raised jon by herself. yes, everyone was doing it, but that didn’t make it any easier. because she didn’t know if it would be this way for the rest of her life. never knowing if jon would meet his father. never knowing if her husband would hold her again, if they would be able to enjoy the future he was fighting for. if he would be able to exchange the youth he was wasting in a battlefield for old age.

yes he survived. and received a hero’s welcome when he came home. it wasn’t HIS fight, but it was his country, and he fought for the ideals our country held high. what a hero! cried the country.

but then the years passed, and other tragedies occurred, and suddenly, those vibrant men who fought for our freedom are scorned. passed briskly on a sidewalk. alone at church.

the veteran’s assistance groups are not swift in returning phone calls, they are understaffed and so many of the vets are now requiring medical assistance. times are tough, many bills which should be covered, are not, because resources are slim and the need is great.

what can i say, except thank you. to both gran and grandad. what courage you both displayed. how great your sacrifice.

my grandparents have seen quite a bit of the world, but i think the trip that meant most to them was in 1995, when they returned to holland to mark the 50th anniversary of the freeing of the netherlands.

the dutch people couldn’t do enough for the veterans. young children ran out just to touch the Canadian heroes, host families treated my grandparents like royalty. we owe you everything.

parades, speeches, acknowledgements.

gran was thanked for her sacrifices. held hands of people who have directly benefited from my grandfather’s, and maybe your grandfather’s also, courage, and beliefs. i wish i had been there to see everything.

i wish my children had been born and were there. i will always remember the sacrifice, but as the number of surviving veterans continues to decrease, will the next generation? will sebastian see november 11 as a bank holiday?

charles leaves for weeks at a time, my grandfather was gone for years.

i love you both, i thank you both.

after you read this, can you please contact a war veteran? a relative, a friend’s grandfather, or a stranger you see at a ceremony, or a widow of a war veteran and tell them thank you. they don’t need our thanks, they didn’t give the best years of their life in order to get thanks, but freedom is worth at least a thank you.

thank you.

the ageless cry

from the separate soothing darkness of my computer cave, i can hear students shouting outside.

we live very near one of the university campuses and every now and then there is a rally. sometimes for better food in the cafeteria, other times for freedom of the falun gong in china. tonight the debate is freedom of speech in the mainland.

the rally has been going on for a while now, and the students are excited. the blare of the megaphone is blurred by the roars of the students, pledging their time and commitment to this cause.

i love listening to this emotion. this passion.

remember the tiananmen square massacre? the 1997 memorial, the first one i attended, was filled with trepidation. hong kong was about to be handed over to the chinese. would we ever be allowed to have this memorial again? no one knew. dissidents from china were apprehensive, knowing it was possibly dangerous for them to be at the gathering, yet unwilling to stop fighting for democracy. no matter the cost.

paranoia clung to all of us that night. i knelt down to light a candle, and immediately a policeman approached me. apparently it was legal to light the candle, but illegal to let the wax drip on the pavement. someone passed me some aluminium foil and i solved the problem by letting the foil catch the wax.

a small group gathered. someone took my picture. was it the press? or was it someone representing another, more powerful, more ominious group? probably paranoid, but i say that in hindsight. although we knew there were some chinese reps there, the crowds, safe in numbers and darkness, were singing, chanting, swaying and screaming. willing to fight for freedom. anonymous yells spurred speakers on to longer speeches, those who attended and survived the 1989 massacre were greeted with hysterical screams. 

there were pictures. pictures of those who had died, pictures of those who werent seen after the massacre, young men and women whose families desperately hope are living elsewhere, happily, and free, and not staying in touch for fear of bringing danger upon the family.

and of course, the picture of the tank, steaming heated metal stopped with the defiance of one man and his beliefs.

what could we not change if we all believed as completely as this man did!

and when daylight returned, the megaphone was turned off, the pictures were removed and the candles were plucked from the ground, and we all returned to our jobs and the avaricious world of hong kong.

but something remained from that night. the 1997 memorial saw the unveiling of the PILLAR OF SHAME, a sculpted statue made in commemmoration of the massacre. the pillar features torsos and faces, exquisitely detailed, faces caught in agony and horror. it is an overwhelming piece of art to look at. not pleasant, but humbling. shaming.

after the event, the pillar was not allowed to remain in the park. beijing apparently did not want it, and so the question was, where would it go? with the handover weeks away, where could this statue that openly disapproved of beijing’s handling of the massacre be put? this was a huge trouble. anyone who housed it was implying disapproval of the motherland. not a great way to begin a reunion.

in a bold step, a step that resounded with rightness, hong kong university took the statue. and placed it in an outdoor common area. where everyday students can look at it, and remember other students. who died for a dream. the students involved in the 1989 massacre didn’t handle themselves perfectly, but their hearts were pure, their dream was right, their idealism was admirable.

so students posting up flyers to round up attendees can look at the pillar and say to themselves… i’m doing my bit to change what i believe needs to be changed…and other students, walking to and fro classes can look and know they are lucky, to be 21 and alive, with their dreams ahead of them.

at the bottom of the pillar of the shame is written a very inspiring yet thought provoking statement:

the old cannot kill the young forever.

what an incredible statement. IT IS TRUE.

but then you remember, the ones who killed were once young themselves. what happened to their youth? to their commitment to improving the world?

so youths yelling tonight, be passionate. and idealistic. this is your time. make it count.

and the rest of us, with commitments, mortages, families, remember that youth is a state of mind. support what you believe in…whether it be the fight against breast cancer, or bicycle helmet laws.

THE OLD CANNOT KILL THE YOUNG FOREVER.

######################################################

this website shows a picture of the pillar of shame…..

www.trcasia.com/hk/

i held a month old baby today.

she is sweet, soft and pliant, with a floppy head and eyes that can only muster together the energy to focus every hour or so. she only weighs 8 pounds; the scales at the queen mary are obviously are wrong, as my children were never that small. impossible. they must have weighed more than 1000g, 910g and 780g. because they were never as small as this eight pound, fluffy, wobbly, sweet baby. ooooooooooooohhhhh, i want another baby.

ha ha. no i don’t.

but i like holding other people’s babies. if anything, it reminds me of how quickly time passes and that to try to remember, and even appreciate these days.

they were weighed today, my little babeolas, at their hospital checkup. although sela drew a circle of admirers, and blinked at them all, it was jasper who really held court. he gurgled when i took off his nappy and grinned when his starkers body was placed on the scale. looked concerned when they held his head and pulled on his legs to get his correct length (68cm). chatted and wheezed his way through the doctors exam. grinned and grinned as he tried to pull her stethoscope into his wide, curving mouth. wow! he was so ADORABLE. under those unflattering hospital lights, too!!!

how come after a sleepless night i am haggard and cranky looking, while jasper, who apparently, by way of his age, can be sick and sleepless and still look wrinkle free and adorable, in his fire engine onesie, dungarees and robeez shoes? no no no no fair.

"fair to bad" is how the doctor described his lungs. he was given a refill of the drugs meant to open his lungs, and clear them of fluid. here’s to hoping it works.

i don’t hold out much hope, it is midnight here and i am typing with the winsome bald monster on my lap. he isn’t whinging, just sort of wailing. the book of lamentations, by jasper caldwell sort of thing. and dramatically, painfully intaking his breath. if you watch his onesie encased chest when he inhales, the little line of pale blue cars right under his boobies disappears, only to re-emerge when he exhales. at this late hour, it is almost hypnotic.

jasper, the true chivalrous male, let his sisters be examined by the doctor first today. he was pretty anxious to be fed by the time i exited the hospital and ran the stroller home.

((tentative) wahhhhhhhhhhh…i hope they don’t forget to feed me…..(tentative) wahhhhhh, i wonder if they forgot that i like my food in the green bowl…or even at all...)

sorry this is more of a captain’s log and an interesting blog…it was actually a good, albeit tiring day.

magnificent charles, i am fine, but we ALL miss you. tomorrow i might write an update on sebastian, he is tres amusing these days. xo

the babies, those irony and and poo filled creatures they are, pulled a cute one last night: d.i.t. slept while carys and jude tag-teamed awake and whinging duties.

at around 5.30am, or, if my sleep deprived calculations are correct, 15 minutes before jasper was due to wake up and 20 minutes before carys would doze off, i broke off my chat with wailing daughter number two (importance of proper running shoes) and called my mother, while keeping a semi-loving eye on carys, who was licking the floor and her fist.

t: tell me the end is in sight

m:hello darling. the end is in sight

t: tell me i can sleep soon

m: you can sleep soon

and then, noting the monotone and huge silences between her responses and my question, she asked:

m: have you slept yet

t: well, sort of. ummm…in between babies crying, you know the deal. i’m tired

m: when will everyone else wake up?

t: you mean like the babies or like sebastian or like pam and dad?

m: someone who can help you

t: they offered, really….but umm, you know…they’re my kids, and i am used to this, and well, no one can help me. ever. there will never be relief for me. i know my fate

m: thank you anne boleyn

now the silences are growing long on her end, and i realise she is watching golf. we talk about tiger losing

t: hold on

while listening to my mum’s tv commentary about vijay singh, i heard this cuumpth sound. carys had bonked her head. was whinging intermittently. not enough for me to move off the couch, but enough for me to shift and check on her.

m: is carys alright?

t: let me check (and i scoop her up and give her a cuddle..she’s now quiet!)

i either gave carys or she found, a piece of old tape that used to hold something together. she started chewing it, and became quiet. i was so impressed. what a girl!

my shards of sanity would not even cover my size 12 bod if the triplets were my first children. it is a huge debate, whether it is more challenging to start off with multiples, or if it is better to have one first who does add one more to the equation, but does give you experience in parenting.

i am so glad i knew a little about babies and lost my honourable health intentions during the sebastian baby stage and before the triplets. can you imagine if i insisted on using three bowls and three spoons during feeding time? washed colour coded soothers every time they ended up on the floor? called the doctor the time i put ear drops in their eyes? held them continuously and didn’t let them learn to play on their own? these are triplets! they should be thanking me for a few minutes of peace and quiet and alone time.

when sebastian was born, he never left our laps the three days we were in the hospital, unless we were changing him. we used the bassinette to store the delivery pizza boxes. but unrelenting bonding did not make a child who loved cuddling. au contraire, sebastian is a tres independent little man, and very reserved with his affection.

i am so glad. because if i didn’t have this case study, i would think i needed to be holding a baby whenever i wasn’t holding another one, or two. i would have jasper in the baby bjorn, sela in my handbag, and carys in my moneybelt.

even though it is untrue, and worse, a bit naff, i am so thankful for the Beatles song,

all you need is love

because early in the morning, minus energy, sleep, initiative, etc, that’s all i got. and they don’t seem to mind.

what wonderful kids!

diva in distress

somehow, d.i.t. has picked up a ‘flu bug. d.i.t. is, daughter number one, child number three, stretch marks 5-12, flirt alert, diva in training, sela.

previously known to enjoy rude health, d.i.t. is now snuffling, coughing up pleghmy bits, feverish and not sleeping. the snuffling was kind of endearing, the coughing up not too alarming, the fever, not above 100, basically nothing was bothering me seriously. until she stopped sleeping.

now i am as sick as a parrot as well. not physically, mentally. in anticipation of tonight.

because experience with children 1, 2, 4 and living cat 1 and dead cat 1 and only husband has taught me, if they’s sick and not sleeping, i’m not sleeping either. or eye-ther. who cares? i still am not getting sleep!!!

between 8pm and midnight are my publicly declared favourite hours of the day. i am not an evening person, but i love the quietness, and knowing that, God willing, i don’t have to deal with en mass demands for 10 hours. ten. double numbers, count em. i can read chapters, talk while making eye contact with magnificent charles (who as of today will be magnificent from india for five days), finish work, do online banking with out hoisting  a child over my shoulder or having to ignore sebastian’s pleas to "sit mummy’s lap play bob the buildah"…i have two empty arms and the brain to match. and to give further example of my lack of ability to make sense or myself better, i waste precious moments that i could be sleeping, just enjoying the sense of quiet, and not being needed.

i could be asleep between the 8pm and carys midnight feed, but i can’t. because i love that time of day so much i don’t want to miss a thing. (to quote aerosmith). i love watching my children sleep. i replenish a lot of love for them during that time. i smooth their mussed about covers, refold their clothes, straighten their rucked up play areas, pray over them, talk to them and am rejuvenated when my words are met with silence. my voice is softer, and not just because they are sleeping. because i am not responding, i am initiating the conversation and because i can end it whenever i choose with NO ramifications. just walk out of the room, no cries, no guilt.

i will miss that tonight. but in the words of katie scarlett, "tomorrow is another day".

nothing fair about just

today we are looking at the word just. we just must.

the English (and therefore correct?) definitions of the word include: right, fair, deserved, righteous, proper, correct, nearly, only, barely and immediately.

but the word just, is completely different than the phrase just. which is prefaced with a subject and then a verb.

ie:

i’m just going to take a minute to check my emails

he’s just headed over there for a second

we’ll just say hello and then we can leave

when faced with this sentence structure, the longwinded and close to scientifically proven definition is:

irritating phrase used as a futile ploy to disguise length of time. increased use and enhanced aggravation guaranteed when under a time constraint already.

people use the word just to justify that they are going to make you even later.

there is virtually nothing that takes "just" a second, unless you are on a honeymoon. oh, there is breaking a heart, falling in love, yes, okay, you’ve made your point all you anal retentive folks out there. thank you.

but the sane, dare i say COOL people out there, you get it, dont’ you? there is no way you can log in to your email account, read your emails, "just send a quick response, sorry it’s urgent" in under one second, let alone minute. 

why downplay it with the word "just".

how can you "just" say hello to a person? will you not wait for their response? 

we throw just in there to downplay the actual time our task will take. particularly if it is something that is only interesting to ourselves. (i’m just going to swing by the upholsterers on the way..) especially when we know that our companions are not thrilled about this task and would NOT stay if they knew how long it would really take us. "no, why don’t you go and meet us afterwards?" "oh, no, it will JUST take a second."

just, unjustly had become an word that negates, or at least postpones immediately. which is ironic, considering the original

maybe my issue is with time frames. i really am a word nerd.

and i was "just" going to write for a second before feeding a baby. whoops.

pam

there was a time when pam and i didn’t speak a lot.

there were a few years there where due to location and lifestyle, youth and attitude, we saw each other maybe once a year. the silence was mainly my fault. oh, and we were both poor and calling was expensive.

we also lived pretty different lives.

i did not want to forgive my sister. my anger toward her and my teenaged angst take on how she had terribly altered my life was necessary for me to keep justifying my attitudes and a few of my choices. this continued on throughout my 20’s.

i didn’t take the time to put walk a mile in her moccasins, after all, she had chosen her path. and i, tess of the perfectness, had to suffer for it.

i was a narrow minded, unforgiving, snobbish, two-faced (there is your junior high word for the day) prig.

she was my excuse, for my bad choices, for my lifestyle. she was so convenient. and i was so conniving.

and thankfully, we both turned 30, and changes began.

a happier person, i was able to forgive her. actually, forgiving her was easy, i had already done that, i didn’t want to let go of my moral high ground. i liked being morally superior. i had so little self esteem that i needed to condemn her in order to feel better about myself, to make my errors in judgements seem a little less offensive.

miraculously, she forgave me. looking back, she had more to forgive. for pam had never deliberately hurt me. i had, on many occasions, deliberately set out to wound her.

no matter what, pam was always in my corner. i remember one day in grade seven, i was arguing with a fellow in my class and he said to me, "shut up you stupid epileptic." and i burst into tears and ran down the hallway to pam’s classroom. i had friends i could have run to, but i wanted her. i blubbed out what had happened, and she ran out of her class, down the hallway, and into my class and proceeded to beat the crap out of the offending boy. she got detention and probation for that. DETENTION!!! and she never mentioned it to me, knowing how i hated acknowledging my epilepsy.

that was pam. even with examples of her love littered throughout my life, my wounded pride was still greater. so many wasted years i could have reciprocated with my love.

thank you GOD for being able to change me, and for the gift of time, and the ability to spend time with my sister.

thank you PAM my wonderful, brave, selfless, funny, supportive, forgiving sister. thank you for coming to hong kong to help us all. saving me once again.

cyberFRIENDS or codependents?

housekeeping items:

1) magnificent charles, with the assistance of intriguing sara linked me to tertia. tres cool. thank you!

2) there is no new president.

3) andreah – is there an email address to contact you at? i keep trying, but your link comes up a blank screen and i am told your blog cannot be displayed.

X O X O X O X O X O X O

here’s another aspect to yesterday’s blog.

when your cyber relationships begin to infringe on your “other” relationships, do you need to pull back?

i have on occasion, chosen not to go out with friends because i want and need to catch up with my on line friends. when i explained this to a friend, she was shocked.

online friends are not real friends.

does physical proximity mean the person is by default, a better friend?
just because the above mentioned person can hear and see you cry, does that mean they will offer wiser, better and sager advise, or even better, no advise but a listening shoulder?

online friends are like harvey the rabbit, you can make them be anything you want. just choose the topic (ie:infertility, weight loss support, online bridge club, cancer support) and you have support in that area.

is this a bad thing?
issues that affect me are thankfully issues that do not affect the majority of my physical friends. i don’t have a close friend, or even an acquaintance who has epilepsy. before we went public with our infertility issues, i only knew two friends with similar issues. getting support in that area is good, because chances are your “Group” can’t afford you much sympathy (just relax and it will happen!!!) and your like issued friends can also educate you, something i like friends to do all the time. whether by example or by sharing something they read in their local newspaper.

online “issue oriented” friends make you a drama addict

your website got the most hits when carys was closest to dying. everyone loves a drama.
or maybe the people praying wanted updates? the friends who had supported us from clinical conception to emergency c-section? yes, issues, particularly health oriented ones do have dramas, days of test results or procedures in particular. does living amongst these highs and lows make us drama addicts? i can’t say i am bored when i get on line, read a blog or a thread and see that no one is having a test, change in medication, blood level come back today. or dang it, that tertia is still pregnant.

it isn’t like a real friendship, where one missaid word or tone lingers and can hurt, irretreivably alter the friendship. you get to type, edit and then post, and even then you can edit. that’s not natural.
i named my firstborn daughter sela, which, among other things, means pause and reflect.
i wish more people did think before they speak. lived by bambi’s “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say nothing at all”. i try to think before i speak. online posting has helped me there, and i am grateful. i admit, my words sound better after edited, but does that mean i should stop doing it because it wasn’t the first sentence that jumped out of my mouth?

the reason you are so close to these women is because you haven’t met them, or spent any time with them

possibly. or maybe it will be like friendships you have with kids you went to first grade with. you’ve known them for so long, and have so much dirt on them, (ie: head lice, puking in the sink in grade three) and have so many shared experiences, you can forgive their political leanings, their clothes, their musical tastes, you can look past all that to the person they are. and not be afraid or disdainful. i think it is wonderful.

or maybe they can’t be classified as friends because i am so completely honest with them? how many of us have that luxury with our physicla friends, when conversations tend to include other people, opinions on how husbands acted, well, do you think he was drinking too much?

i would love your feedback on this one ladies. (and gentlemen).

or should i say, FRIENDS.
xo

TERTIA wrote a very good blog the other day. no surprise there.

the topic of this brilliant post was internet friendships. how sharing information regarding cervical length, mucous, infertility, etc has forged some powerful bonds amongst women who might not make intimate friends easily. i know i am in that category.

i have some amazing internet friends. the hen house is filled with women that grouped together. we had two things in common, warped senses of humour and the desire to spend $10,000 getting pregnant. (we are nothing if not philanthropic). some achieved their goals sooner than the others, some changed their dreams and found joy. but we remain hens.

i think i personally find internet friendships so rewarding because these cyber friends are a select, separate area of my life. a secret spice that the other components of my day are not privy to.

as well, my cyber friends only know my perspective. when i say someone has ticked me off, they loyally and wonderfully assume it was the other person’s fault. (which of course, is the case). who doesn’t love someone who knows lots of the issues and details in your life, will offer pithy comments and sage advise on the topics, YET isn’t physically involved in any of them? its like having a second jury at a trial, one that only looks at your attourney’s evidence.

cyber pals, thank you. for your tolerance, bluntness, patience, passion, humour, love and dreams.

xo

we share one huge issue…infertility. even those of us who have children…we are still infertile, having children does not change or erase your IF challenges.

bloody monday

WARNING: Dad, i know you read my blog and it is great that you support me, but please do not read this. i love you, hence the warning.

there has never been a time in my life i was happy to get my period. not in september of grade seven, and definitely not this morning.

i started going off judy blume when i read ‘are you there God, it’s me margaret.’ what sort of person would want to get their period? i assumed that it was an united states girl thing. one of the ways canadians are different to southern north americans. there was no internet in those days and i lived closer to the north pole than to the united states, so i had no way of finding out.

there has never been a time in my life when i looked at my knickers, saw that my cycle had started and exclaimed, “WHEW!! i’m not pregnant!” when you are trying to conceive, your period is the red badge of discouragement. it is devastating. a HPT telling you you are NOT PREGNANT is one thing, but when youd body does, it is a cruel betrayal.

even today, when my cycle arrived with its usual unreliable choice of day, i felt disappointed. not because the winter prom which is being held in the gym and i have been asked by the captian of the football team to be his date is next week and i didnt want to be bloated and carrying tampons around in my purse, but because my period is the present reminder of my infertility. who can’t get pregnant? TESS!!!!

(that tess does not want to get pregnant any more, is not relevant.)

i hate pads, and i hate tampons too. i hate jumping into my greying nubby period knickers.

pads are unreliable and shift about, and tampons hurt. please, don’t advise me to buy the “teen slim” tampons, because then i would be changing them every 18 minutes. that would hurt too.

during my testing the fates stage, when i had a hot thong friendly body, when i was expecting my period, but hoping against hope and several negative HPTS (that i had fished out of the garbage hours after taking them just in case a late positive second line was showing) that i was pregnant, i would wear my finest undergarments. victoria’s secret, and the agent provocateurs i had picked up in london. you wouldn’t let me get my period while wearing these!!!

but even then i knew the inevitable was en route. i would wear one of those thong pantiliners. can i say right now that those liners have not been tested correctly. they have an unerring ability NOT to stick to the aforementioned thong, and to attach themselves leech like to anything they can land on. they are flypaper. save yourself money, ladies, don’t get a brazilian wax, wearing thong pantiliners is the perfect diy.

i am not wearing a sweater wrapped around my waist, but i can guarantee you that after i stand up, and before i turn out the light, i will check the chair.

and then, if necessary, my trousers.

so, i leave you with these happy thoughts, because i have to go now. don’t i have horses to ride, gymnastics competitions to win, and swimming to do? dancing closely with a hot man while wearing a white miniskirt and smiling knowingly?

see you.