Bread Crumbs In The Butter

I take no credit

I had nothing to do with the fabulous new design.  All I did was ask and Aitch totally delivered - which is awesome cause working with me is always a logistical pain in the ass. Every single time we encounter some sort of Canada-US payment snafu because of Pay*pal, wish lists etc...   If you want a personalized and tailored-to-you-blog-design, she's the girl. Really.

Blog Ambition

I signed up to participate in Mrs Kennedy's ambitious blogger challenge NaBloPoMo.

For a scary few minutes, I was inspired by Reluctant Housewife's participation in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month.  The inherent problem there is that I don't have the attention span to write a novel in a month.  I could easily write a novel, but it would take me a year.  See why blogging appeals to me?  A fresh! new! idea! everyday!

Unfortunately, for me and you, I'm fresh out of any fresh new ideas.  And it's not like November will be a particularly interesting or eventful month for us.  There are no birthdays. No anniversaries.  I'm not even terribly PMS-y.

Why oh why did I share the naming stories with you last month?

Why oh why didn't John and I get married in November?

That's like 9 posts right there.

But I digress! I'm up for the challenge.  I pledge, to you (all 12 of you) to post one entry every day in November.  Good ones.  Meaty ones.  Thought provoking ones. 

Okay, let's just go back to "I pledge to post one entry every day in November."

I'm ready.  I even have a list of potential posts.  Little notes jotted down as they came to me washing dishes or showering or rocking back and forth under the table.

See?

Don't be intimidated by the awesomeness of my ideas.  I understand that any potential post revolving around my Mom's Christmas gift makes you want to throw your own blog out the window, but stick with it, okay?  And take the challenge too, if you feel so inclined.

See you November 1!

Don't leave him alone. We should know that by now.

I guess Alex got tired of waiting for the chicken pox to crop up on their own?

Maybe he wanted to end the madness of his mother constantly checking his chest and back for spots?

Perhaps he realized that I was otherwise occupied and it was his chance to hid in the closet and do this?

I was mortified and shocked, but is it really bad that my second reaction was to hike him up on the counter and take a few pics?  When John came up to check out the commotion he laughed his ass off and said "That's the best thing I've seen all day."

Click through to see the really good pics... And yes, hairspray gets Sharpie off the skin. 

Passing Notes

The thing with knowing someone for twenty years is that you can easily place them at any point in your life.  The happy, the sad, the totally mundane.  And the innocent.  I'm 31 years old.  If I've known someone for twenty years, that means we were 11 when we met.   When I prepared this post, my mouth dropped open at that realization.  We were 11 when we met.

Like most other preteen girls, we passed notes in class.  Or we'd shove them in each other's lockers.  I'd get home from school and even though we had just said goodbye five minutes earlier, I would pick up the phone and dial the number I still remember to this day.

Twenty years later, we still chat daily, only now we've gotten a bit more high tech.  We chat on our cell phones, sometimes as we are driving to meet each other.   Mostly though, we instant message each other.  A lot of it is fluff and fun and complaints about how tired we are.   I can complain to her about parts of my daily life without being judged or accused of not enjoying my life.  She gets that you just need to vent a bit, move on, and feel better.  It's also nice to know that I can share the small joys in life by popping on and typing "Meghan just wiped her own butt!"  or  "I washed, folded and put away four loads of laundry this morning."

Lately though, our lives have been a bit stressful.  Nothing major, just typical adult stuff, perhaps with a little bit of a kick in the pants chaser.   Finances, potentially ill parents,  sick children, being sick ourselves ...  We've focused on these things a lot lately, forcing me to realize how we've transitioned over the years and yearning a bit for more innocent days.

At 12 years old our little notes included doodles and happy faces.  Hopes that she would end up in the same class at some point.  Fears about moving on to "intermediate school" and wondering how cool it would look if my Mom drove us to school on the first day next year.

At 14 years old, fresh into high school, we'd share names of crushes and our desire for the other to call that boy and let him know about it.  The most philosophical we got was "Do you think I should change my signature to include a heart above the "I" in my name?"  or  "We have to find a tailor to make my uniform skirt shorter, or can your Mom do that?"

Gradually over the years more serious matters took over.  Finally getting our licenses and her totally cool "new" car. Our first long term serious relationships.  Agonizing over post-secondary choices, and the idea that we'd be separated as one of us left home for the first time.  Finding out that one of us was pregnant halfway through second year (Me!) and planning a wedding when neither of us had any idea what we were doing.

It's hard for me not to look back on the transition and yearn for the easier times.  When confronted with adult problems, the innocent and mundane seems very desirable.  The things we took so seriously in those days are laughable to me now.    When I compare trying to refinance my mortgage to crying because some boy failed to notice I curled my hair, I want to build a time machine.   Go back and slap that girl and say "Look around. Enjoy this.  Don't curl your hair to notice him, just go up and tell him you like him. If he doesn't ask you out right then, he's clearly stupid and you should move on."  Thinking about her need for a new roof, I remind her of the time we got drunk at Parliament Hill on Canada Day and how terrified we were our parents would find out.   When really, the most that would have happened to either of us was a grounding and stern looks.

To be fair to where we are now,  I like who we've become.  After a few stops and starts together we've learned how to be friends to each other.  When to back off and stop pressing and when to push for more, because you know the other has something to get off her chest. We've hit a groove.  One that makes it okay to remind her of how simple it used to be, without sending her into a tailspin of worry and dread.  Having someone who gets how momentous that is makes me feel less alone.   My husband is my partner in life, facing with me the events of the day, as is hers. To each other, we're that (mostly) unbiased person who just nods approvingly and knows.  You can't put a value on knowing someone so long that your memories include singing Debbie Gibson songs in the rain and her holding your hand when you found out you were having your first son. 

When we chat today, I'm going to make an effort to be just a bit sillier than usual. Maybe we'll make today our "passing notes" day.  We'll discuss boys and clothes and raiding our parents liquor cabinet, even if we are the parents now and the liquor is our own.

________________________________________________________________

Do you have a friend like this? Are you still close with any of your childhood friends? Almost all women I've met still have that one friend.  The one they call "My friend since I was like 5 years old".  I'd love to hear about her or him.

...and so he was Alex

When a couple with three daughters finds out they are expecting their first boy, do you think they will use a name they have had since their first daughter?   Perhaps.   Some would. Sure.  Not us.  Because we like to make things as challenging as possible, we had a different boy name for each baby.

In 1996, before we found out Kristyn was, well, Kristyn, we had chosen a boy name should she turn out to not be, well, Kristyn.  That name was Nicholas John.  Nicholas was after John's best friend at the time.  John because it is tradition in John's family to give the first born son his father's name as a second name.

Here is where it gets a bit freaky.  My Mother, at the age of 15, had put a baby up for adoption.  Not only did we get married on his birthday, but when we found him in 2002, we found his adopted parents had named him Nicholas. 

In 1998, massively pregnant with Erin, we decided that should the ultrasound be wrong, we should probably be prepared with a male name.  We decided not to use Nicholas and I can't really tell you why.  John and his friend Nick were no longer close, but that doesn't seem to be the reason I remember.  Perhaps we had outgrown the name?

We were in bed and I said "You know what boy name is cute?  Jack, but just Jack. Can we do that?"

John thought about it and said "No. Not really. Cause Jack John would sound bad.  How about we call him John with another middle name and just call him Jack?"

I wasn't crazy about using John as his first name.  I wanted to avoid the whole Jr or II thing.  If I remember correctly we settled on Jackson John, and really hoped the ultrasound was right.

Which brings us to Meghan and the name we had for her should she come out with a penis, causing shock and awe in the room.  2001 is when I became obsessed with the name Andrew Alexander.  We lived in Stittsville at the time, and during the Ottawa Amalgamation, a street had been renamed Andrew Alexander.  I loved it.   I was desperate for it.  John didn't want to give us his name as middle name, and I didn't want to give up either name.  We hit a wall in the argument, but I think the conclusion we came to was Andrew John - for which John was convinced we would shorten to AJ.   I filed that one under "No freaking way.", but it was moot since once again,  female parts prevailed!

Now, I don't know why Andrew didn't stick around once it was time to choos a name for our fourth, the first boy.   If I think of it romantically, I say that it's because each child is a unique being and before you know who you're about to meet, their potential names should be solely theirs.  Honestly though, I just love to think up names and clearly get bored of them pretty easily.

Unfortunately for Alex, how we chose his name is not very exciting.  Though, I venture to say that boys don't care about this particular piece of their history, right?   We were sitting on the couch together.  John was rubbing my back because I had spent a good portion of the morning barfing.   And I said "Okay, I'm beat down now.  Allison for a girl, Alexander for a boy, but no AJ, okay?"

And he said "Okay."

That was that.  It was that easy.  I had never known an Alex in real life, and had some doubts he would emerge as a tiny Republican from an 80s TV show, so I had no expectations of the name. This left Alex free to define the name on his own.  Now when I think of Alex, I see a rough and tumble boy who personifies everything little boys are known to be.  He's also incredibly sweet and seriously, he adores his mother.   All made sweeter by the fact that the "X" and the end really rolls nicely off your tongue when you're yelling it.  With the added bonus that "Alexander!" can sound really disciplinarian when you're booming that one too.

Meggy Beggy Mo Meggy

After I named Erin, basically changing her name without consulting John first, you'd think I wouldn't have much pull when I became pregnant with number 3.

You'd be right.

Oh sure, he humoured me a bit.  He even smiled approvingly as I threw out names.   I had midwives for this pregnancy and only planned on having one ultrasound at 18 weeks.  Everything went well, but baby was shy.  I was not impressed at not knowing the baby's gender, but being forced into not knowing was kind of fun too.   At 22 weeks things went a bit wonky, I started to bleed and my blood pressure went up, up, up and didn't really come down.  Making my pregnancy with Meghan not at all fun, and the only one with any real complications.  You'd think I'd get a bit of pull with the name?   I was on bedrest, medication and really really swollen. 

This time, you'd be wrong.

At 28 weeks I had another ultrasound that went something like this.

"Dad" said the sonographer, "What did you say you had at home?"

"Two girls!" John said "A 4 year old and almost 3 year old."

"Well, invest in Tylenol Dad, because girl number THREE is on the way."

I think she expected us to cry or carry on that we weren't having a boy, but we were just in awe. Three girls.  It was a bit daunting, but so incredibly adorable at the same time.

We discussed names at length.  Funnily enough the name Allison did not come up once this time.  Once again John threw out silly names or made up rhyming games with my suggestions.  It was a barrel of laughs I tell ya.

I thought we had settled on Rebecca Margaret, and so I got used to that.  I came to know the baby as Rebecca.  Tried to figure out if I preferred Becca or Becky.  I liked that name more and more each day.

One night as we were headed to bed John said  "You know, I don't like Rebecca.  At all.  I like Meghan.  With an "h".  M-E-G-H-A-N.  Don't even try to talk me out of it. "

It wasn't just because of Erin's name that I gave in.  It was the first time that he had shown any sort of real interest in a name.  I could tell he really liked it.  He even chose her middle name, out of nowhere and it just clicked.  It was beautiful and classic.   Even though I wasn't crazy about the name, I was crazy about his excitement for it.  So it wasn't a hard sell.

Though, I do admit, it took me some time to get used to it.  When she was born, with a huge amount of thick brown hair, the name fit her perfectly.   Still, I didn't warm up to it for a few months.   Now, when that compact little ball of emotion comes bounding into the room, with her still massive amount of dark brown hair, I realize she's Meghan.   I can't imagine calling her Becky or Becca,  only Meghan, or Meg, or Meggy, or Meggy Bear, or Meggy Muffin, or Stinky Meg.

Shuffle up and deal

Did you know that Jennifer Tilly, the actress, took a hiatus from acting to play professional poker? 

As an aside, did you know Jennifer Tilly is almost fifty years old?  Geez, I don't look that good now and I'm thirty-one.

Moving on...

Do you think I can be the first Stay At Home Mom to take a break from ... um ... Momming to be a professional poker player?

I learned to play poker about two years ago.  Every time my Mom and her boyfriend come over we play a few hands.  I've watched lots of World Poker Tour and Celebrity Poker, so I've gotten to know the game.  When I take it seriously (I like to think) I'm pretty good at it. 

The first few poker nights we've attended, including ones we've hosted, I've gone out pretty early.  I was intimidated by the speed of the game when playing with strangers.  I didn't want to upset them by taking too long.  Now that I'm more comfortable with the game, I can keep up.  Though, I've recently realized that I do have some time and anyone who's in a hurry probably has kick-ass cards and I should fold!

Saturday night we attended poker night at Moyra's, aka the only woman on earth who can be as crass as me.   So. Much. Fun.  There was great food, great wine (ouch on Sunday morning) and really great people to play with.

... and yeah.  I won.  Both games.

I was very gracious about the whole thing.  Really.  I didn't gloat at all.  Especially to John on the way home.

And if you believe that, we should play poker together.

Weekend Business

I'll continue the Great Naming Story on Monday.  The last two aren't as eventful as Erin's, but they're good in their own right.

On a Saturday, you can hear a pin drop in the Blogging World.  Good time to address some blogging business I've been meaning to write about.

First, I've been nominated for a Canadian Blog Award.  I've never been nominated for anything so I'm thrilled.  I know who nominated me and I thank her ten times over.  Not just for this, but for everything.  We've had a stressful week here, with (trying to) refinance our mortgage and some health news from my Dad.   She let me stress and even called me late one night to see if I was okay.  That's a friend - and a half.

So woohoo!

Check who I'm up against.  Holy shit on a stick, that's some fierce "competition"!  The Family Blog Category alone is like a Who's Who of Kick Ass.

Second... Well, actually, that was it.  I don't have a second thing.

Okay, so instead, read these blogs. They rock:

• Blonde Chick Blogging (a fresh new blog design!)
• The Wallpaper Of My Mind (her writing is so good it makes me cry for my own writing)
• Remodel Me (We had babies together in May/June 2001 and have been emailing since. Her home remodel is so awesome it leaves me speechless, and we have the same kitchen cabinets!)

Have a great weekend!

Energetic Erin

Just seven months after we had Kristyn, we found out I was pregnant again.  I was beyond thrilled.  From the time I peed on that stick, I knew she was going to be a girl.   The thought that she would be a boy didn't even enter my mind.  John hoped for a boy, but even he guessed girl.

We sort of shot ourselves in the foot with Kristyn.  Not only did we give her our absolute favourite girl name, we gave her our second favourite as a middle name.  We were a bit stuck on a name, but by the time I was 32 weeks or so, we had settled on the name Allison. John's Mother's name was to be her middle name (who had passed away earlier that year).  We were happy with that.  So Allison it was.

She was born late April 1998 in a quick and intense labour, with a jawdropping single push. Head. Shoulders. Butt. All at once.  She was immediately full of life and it was pretty obvious she had a hard time remaining still even then.

We sat together on the bed, Erin and I.  I unwrapped her blankets to get a good look at her.  It was very early morning and we were alone, waiting for Daddy and Kristyn to come and bring us home.  She had a tiny bit of reddish blond hair.  A red face.  Very long legs.  She was just over seven pounds and nearly 23", most of it her lower half.

"No, this just won't do."  I told her.  "This name doesn't suit.  You are not Allison, are you?"

To me the name Allison described someone with a sunny disposition.  Someone content to sit back and enjoy things as they happen around her.  It's a warm name.  This was not the child in front of me.  She seemed to do everything in a hurry.  Her legs were always moving.  She had very little patience.  Energy.  The good kind. It seemed to bounce off her.  Today, Erin is an extremely happy girl and always smiling, but even her smile is busy and energetic.  She puts her whole face into it, and she has the most amazing dimples.

Considering these things, the name Erin popped into my head.   We had briefly discussed it early on in my pregnancy.  Mostly as a middle name, but Allison Erin didn't seem to flow.

"Are you an Erin?"

It just felt right.  Allison was a beautiful name (we'll get to that later), but it wasn't her name.  Even though we had settled on it, it wasn't right.  While pregnant with Kristyn, I often worried that the name wouldn't suit her when we met, but she was Kristyn in all ways.  Erin was always Erin, it just took me a while to figure it out.

When the Health Card lady came around so we could be discharged she asked the baby's name.  It was the first time I had said it out loud, and John had no idea yet what I had decided.  I said it trepidaciously, but the woman loved it. 

"What a beautiful name.  Where did you come up with it?"  I told her and she patted my leg. "Your husband will love it. Don't worry about that!"

When I told John he was surprised, but when he looked at her I could tell he agreed.  He was more than okay with my changing her name, but when it came time to choose a name for our third daughter, it wasn't something he let me forget...

Smart, bubbly, Kristyn.

For reasons I can't explain, I have never really liked my name.  There is nothing wrong with the name itself and I have grown to accept it more as I've gotten older, but I've never really thought it reflects who I am.  Does that make sense?  Maybe it's how French the name is? How regional it is? That it seems to be hard to spell and gets mispronounced a lot?  In any case, I always wanted something simpler, more classic.  Like Kate.  I'd make a great Kate.

I met Kristin in elementary school. Grade 2, I think?  To my seven year old self, she was beautiful.  She had long straight brown hair, brown eyes.  She was energetic and funny.  It was infectious.  I remember feeling more adventurous around her.  A bit of a dorky kid myself, she was well liked by everyone.  When I was that age, if you asked me who I most admired in the world, I probably would have chosen her.

The name Kristin always struck me as one to describe someone like the one I knew.  Smart, bubbly and popular.   I stored it away in my head, saving it for a day when I would have a baby of my own.  I really wanted to have a Kristin.

When John and I found out we were having a girl, it was an easy sell.  John agreed that the name Kristin was classic and simple, two things he was very fond of.  The only thing he wasn't sure of was the spelling.  For ease, I wanted to use Kristen.  John seemed to prefer Kristin.  A friend came up with Kristyn.  It sure looked pretty.  We looked in our baby book and found that it was a "legal" variation of the spelling and not something we plucked out of the air.   It was settled.  In December of 1996 we would have a Kristyn.   And we did.  Her name suited her the day she was born and has every day since.   

Some days I still can't believe I have a Kristyn!  Of all our kids, her name is my favourite.  Having said that, the story of her name is not necessarily the most interesting of our kids'.  That's the next one...