tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13339120095401313992024-03-19T01:48:58.483-07:00MyLifeSoFarPixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.comBlogger798125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-22097432948184667512024-03-17T08:20:00.000-07:002024-03-17T08:20:12.204-07:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-DH_Cf_BqRZytrY_2wcNpzEOCZgPM5PqVDDiNuQnRl5fa0wL_Wbhct_WzEhnIFN2GLukJmPz2f6KqytBMokOJLHNtmmnxSoYVw6nucT0bUP6ILeNL0Bro79BjGfn34i4cZVPsJf9kkGVYH0fkkUYrWjPTLFBASmJYysa-i0hOCilQYrJnS1s5ehivZ8/s1672/433090971_3385394278257899_4475901174498099284_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1672" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-DH_Cf_BqRZytrY_2wcNpzEOCZgPM5PqVDDiNuQnRl5fa0wL_Wbhct_WzEhnIFN2GLukJmPz2f6KqytBMokOJLHNtmmnxSoYVw6nucT0bUP6ILeNL0Bro79BjGfn34i4cZVPsJf9kkGVYH0fkkUYrWjPTLFBASmJYysa-i0hOCilQYrJnS1s5ehivZ8/w552-h640/433090971_3385394278257899_4475901174498099284_n.jpg" width="552" /></a></div><br />Two weeks ago, we lost a colleauge, Jenny, to pancreatic cancer, she was only forty-six. She not only touched all of her patient's lives, but those of her co-workers as well. I did not know her well, only in passing to say hi, but she visited us often in diagnostic imaging during the course of her treatment and we would talk briefly. I also posted funnies for her on instagram because I do believe that laughter is the best medicine and she told me that she enjoyed them.<p></p><p>I just finished reading "Hello Beautiful" by Ann Napolitano, a book I would highly recommend. It's beautiful and sad and hopeful. I read this paragraph last night, near the end of the book and it made me think of Jenny.</p><p><i>"When an old person dies," Kent said, "even if that person is wonderful, he or she is still somewhat ready, and so are the people who loved them. They're like old trees, whose roots have loosened in the ground. They fall gently. But when someone like your aunt Sylvie dies - before her time - her roots get pulled out and the ground is ripped up. Everyone nearby is in danger of being knocked over."</i></p><p>Jenny's death, even though we knew it was coming, knocked us all over a little.</p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-28598347815523614562024-03-08T10:02:00.000-08:002024-03-08T10:02:52.838-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1z9frRdOOQIbEjuU4XHk5O_m35fc1Y6Vu2QmRGD7ZCih1jbgaDDlqROK1V2zTppltd9KV9jiw1YJ8Pp8oYrHEWzeF5XH0jN8bSgO_ZRjxyOenZkxtirx3QDMSdw_S-V1imPoDoneWPOrLTGhpuuS_JqcCunupeRNJf2ww8ueY_aYwvBSjMz0fX2nkbs/s1440/429587291_3381241825339811_2220972745053578632_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1z9frRdOOQIbEjuU4XHk5O_m35fc1Y6Vu2QmRGD7ZCih1jbgaDDlqROK1V2zTppltd9KV9jiw1YJ8Pp8oYrHEWzeF5XH0jN8bSgO_ZRjxyOenZkxtirx3QDMSdw_S-V1imPoDoneWPOrLTGhpuuS_JqcCunupeRNJf2ww8ueY_aYwvBSjMz0fX2nkbs/w640-h480/429587291_3381241825339811_2220972745053578632_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />We had a cold snap which was unpleasant but it's warming up now. I was early to pick up hubby yesterday, so I went for a short walk down by the river. There were three kids there with their dad, toboganing down a small hill, having a great time. This is a view of Groat Bridge, and the buildings on the right are part of the University of Alberta. <p></p><div>It feels like I spent the week taking Katie to appointments but that's not true. I booked her for an ECG online, the chat bot took care of it, except it booked her for an echocardiogram and not an ECG. That was Wednesday. My fault. I looked online, again, and decided to take her to Tawa Centre but it said you couldn't book an appointment for an ECG, but you could I realized this morning as we waited. My fault. We waited for forty mintues this morning and Katie did surprisingly well in the waiting room. Nobody would sit near us though, like her disability is contagious, sigh. She also did a good job of lying still for her ECG. A lovely women, wearing a hijab, did the ECG; I know she has three kids, because Katie always asks about children. The tech was charmed by Katie. As I got Katie off and on the examination table, I wondered how long I'll be able to do this, physically help her.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm driving a different vehicle this week, a van, because our car is in for repairs. Everything is unfamiliar in that vehicle and it doesn't have winter tires, so it was slippery driving, in unfamiliar parts of the city, with Katie trying to get my attention the whole time. I felt quite old this week, unable to deal with booking things online and driving an unfamilair vehicle. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still have such a hard time reconciling my actual age with my mental age. I look in the mirror and I look my actual age but when I work with the young nurses, I don't feel old, until they don't get my pop culture references. When these nurses are my age, I'll probably be dead. It's just weird.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack's behavior is still off, not his usual self. Plus he's constipated, poor guy. Last night he explained that his poop had spikey parts and it hurt his bum. Then we talked about poop for awhile. He seems concerned that it won't come out, I assured him that the poop will come out, eventually. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've made an appointment for him to go back to see the child pyschologist. He's anxious and like everyone when they're anxious, he's not at his best. He's gotten yelled at this week by us, which is unusual. Gracie's mother and sister continue to lie to her, not telling Gracie when they take Jack for a night or a day, because they don't want to spend time with her. Eventually the shit will hit the fan.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the mean time, life goes on:)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcMNklec9V_M5Q6f4oV2ZyJXrjvXccieG1305KDbVt_iyLyOjODwukwiXgbfzE9-J38RirDDY0pTQutMnit05CmktFCSM6PGFnRsOJsC36pakUfabQc6M_ZVSVqIcSwFtzUzEwY6ynVoqCpnAT5OA6YQJS_q-DbiiqFBWohm5PaRSycAu_L7vj5DKJYI/s480/thumbnail_image012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcMNklec9V_M5Q6f4oV2ZyJXrjvXccieG1305KDbVt_iyLyOjODwukwiXgbfzE9-J38RirDDY0pTQutMnit05CmktFCSM6PGFnRsOJsC36pakUfabQc6M_ZVSVqIcSwFtzUzEwY6ynVoqCpnAT5OA6YQJS_q-DbiiqFBWohm5PaRSycAu_L7vj5DKJYI/w400-h400/thumbnail_image012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-29949423501423009272024-03-02T09:02:00.000-08:002024-03-03T13:38:17.348-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpWO1bqSXbsO-Tj0gYFUZhvADQe1WCPZXcTfZ0MoAoCfNyLYvMWhj3uDqFLGdT2f7M_g0ONoMC6eSvDHUhsFW35gKb_IGC9S46ArZuafYlSwB4Ma7Cr-BGaCconq2PESLU07cEXPDglL1iKhmtmCJavTqWUtd-obR_-rR_fpCSlBZcUiOoyRQGvXT3wow/s3055/IMG_5074_Localtone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2196" data-original-width="3055" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpWO1bqSXbsO-Tj0gYFUZhvADQe1WCPZXcTfZ0MoAoCfNyLYvMWhj3uDqFLGdT2f7M_g0ONoMC6eSvDHUhsFW35gKb_IGC9S46ArZuafYlSwB4Ma7Cr-BGaCconq2PESLU07cEXPDglL1iKhmtmCJavTqWUtd-obR_-rR_fpCSlBZcUiOoyRQGvXT3wow/w640-h460/IMG_5074_Localtone.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />As I was lying in bed this morning, listening to Jack explain to his poppa how the door had locked itself and he couldn't get out, I realized that one of my greatest luxuries is lying in bed, awake. <p></p><p>I thought about yesterday and my patient with the worst case of conjunctivitis I've ever seen and how much better she felt when I cleaned it up her eyes for her. My coworker contacted her oncologist about the patient's severe skin reaction to the immunotherapy and got her a prescription for doxycycline for the skin reaction. We did good.</p><p>I thought about what I was going to do today, swimming lessons for Jack and an evening by ourselves. </p><p>I thought about the summertime and the walks and hikes I can take with Jack, as well as a one night camping trip with Jack to Elk Island National Park.</p><p>I daydreamed about taking him to the mountains when he's older.</p><p>I stretched and just enjoyed lying there, lovely and warm. </p><p><br /></p><p>What is your greatest luxury?</p><p><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-62918434867478436172024-02-29T10:20:00.000-08:002024-02-29T18:01:36.415-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxT48ey-2_HlZsGJw9Ryz6SKq9xoNPxmgA-vHAWaTXUsnFzxWQjQAji7vbh6haSHVLJXN4dJwKNP7pqSMm4Hf-ssu0kHZxVU48Hv-AYZl3E_Vee6mEidt-vTmwJki9_R0Ei_PJj9DkIeE3wPcCNuJDDHgbBUU4ckDIUImhyphenhyphen137_gZ8TrUV7x82hyphenhyphen2ehA/s1296/UZx0C2erQGCTtqRrLe1RqQ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1296" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxT48ey-2_HlZsGJw9Ryz6SKq9xoNPxmgA-vHAWaTXUsnFzxWQjQAji7vbh6haSHVLJXN4dJwKNP7pqSMm4Hf-ssu0kHZxVU48Hv-AYZl3E_Vee6mEidt-vTmwJki9_R0Ei_PJj9DkIeE3wPcCNuJDDHgbBUU4ckDIUImhyphenhyphen137_gZ8TrUV7x82hyphenhyphen2ehA/w640-h426/UZx0C2erQGCTtqRrLe1RqQ.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I went to the first meeting of our new workplace book club. I had a lovely time. We had read "Lessons in Chemistry" by Bonnie Garmus, and much to my surprise and delight, we talked about the book, not exclusively, but a lot. We also talked about being a woman, being a mother, being a wife, gender and patriarchy. One of the women is one of our radiologists and her husband is a family doc. They have a sharing agreement of total hours worked inside and outside the home, sounds like a good compromise and it keeps their family of six afloat. I was also home by 8pm which was very nice.<p></p><p>I had promised the dogs a walk today, as yesterday was way too cold. Charlie has delicate feet and can't handle much colder than -10C. Right now it's only -17C, so I'll wait. It's supposed to warm up but who knows. Certainly not me.</p><p>Because Jack has been having a hard time with life and daycare, I picked him up early and we went to McDonalds so he could play at the playplace. On the way there, we talked about one of his teachers in OSC (Out of School Care), which the preschoolers are transitioning to. He told me that this particular teacher had told him that if he can't listen, she would lock him in the bathroom. That's strike two because on Tuesday something similar happened that left him in tears. Jack loves going to daycare but not now. I have emailed the owner of the daycare and will talk to her later today when I pick Jack up. I understand that there are cultural differences, all the women are new immigrants, but this is not acceptable. </p><p>I'm off today, using up holidays before my retirement and I'm just putzing around, deep cleaning some things, moving plants, baking muffins, shredding crap, prepping supper and hopefully walking the dogs. In the forecast, it looks like more snow which means it will warm up. Just hoping that happens before I need to pick up hubby and Jack.</p><p>Update. Everything is fine at the daycare. The owner asked the ladies in the OSC to stop using candy as a motivator and Jack was making up some stories. He was never told he would be locked in a bathroom. We've never had a problem in four years with this daycare, which is why it was such a shock. Lesson learned, almost five year olds make up stories. Now that I think of it, he had all the staff at the daycare convinced that we all had gone to Disneyland over the Christmas holidays. </p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-75358569698606530482024-02-28T09:12:00.000-08:002024-02-28T19:47:36.810-08:00<p> I'm angry, again. What's new?</p><p>Jack has spent two Saturday nights at his mom's place and his behavior has deteriorated significantly. Whining, way up, tantrums, way up, crying way up, not listening, way up. When we picked him up from daycare yesterday, he was almost hysterical and couldn't stop crying. What the fuck does this stupid excuse for a mother do to him? And why the fuck do we have to keep doing this?</p><p>He's been home for three nights and spent two of those nights in my bed, because he crawls into bed with me in the middle of the night, again, not like him.</p><p>I'm also mad at his other grandma and his aunt who are supporting Gracie and allowing this to happen. They always seem happiest when they don't have to deal with Gracie and her bullshit. But Jack has to deal with it. She is not a fit mother!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYc04w_tfZJOteZemCOpYv684BdppBAKJXRmSJt7H9ZK9212MzVSqzsfuBe3JnyaW91TZa5SxK5z5_DCEUPi6qPImArgVBwg3VdP29o-VlFULHy41_B6NWWWI13bO8_l5p2R8mxrbnFdhTA2L8aIak3o7hqf8OUkm_ZNv0G8xL0-G-l_r-zKN2SGs6yEE/s236/94395bd4a366bdff6aa4497c7e5168c8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="236" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYc04w_tfZJOteZemCOpYv684BdppBAKJXRmSJt7H9ZK9212MzVSqzsfuBe3JnyaW91TZa5SxK5z5_DCEUPi6qPImArgVBwg3VdP29o-VlFULHy41_B6NWWWI13bO8_l5p2R8mxrbnFdhTA2L8aIak3o7hqf8OUkm_ZNv0G8xL0-G-l_r-zKN2SGs6yEE/w400-h280/94395bd4a366bdff6aa4497c7e5168c8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Update, I went outside and shovelled the driveway to work off my angry energy and that helped a great deal. The young neighbor came over and helped me which was very kind of him. </p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-213854966578629892024-02-25T14:40:00.000-08:002024-02-25T15:22:23.804-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1AUXhhFbm3NuzSx2QeefrqBglVLoQ_V4Hg9FqeKxxexAK0tYGjKW-TXZCWMvY1pCBd1ckyCh8VC1yQVvvO5hDlZ3g_szLVF4bC0wYfcG9Fyc21shcVstwAnbNp4CsLVXF3dfR6nRQNC40lxdDdg58FrMcERrlbFnVlgeVsMTiCvzQ9A009Y4btlvLhX0/s1440/428638136_3371830876280906_7517915240335940648_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1440" height="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1AUXhhFbm3NuzSx2QeefrqBglVLoQ_V4Hg9FqeKxxexAK0tYGjKW-TXZCWMvY1pCBd1ckyCh8VC1yQVvvO5hDlZ3g_szLVF4bC0wYfcG9Fyc21shcVstwAnbNp4CsLVXF3dfR6nRQNC40lxdDdg58FrMcERrlbFnVlgeVsMTiCvzQ9A009Y4btlvLhX0/w640-h590/428638136_3371830876280906_7517915240335940648_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Jack's artwork from the past week. He was home sick with diarrhea and I had taken a couple of days vacation, so we hung out. I painted a couple of the hearts too and I had forgotten how much I enjoy being creative. </p><p>The dogs were walked at the dog park.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHGZovqcWsp-LdgFuSgPW3J_2TV3o-tQB7TyNBwh2yc3-KlSr-WMb0D5nMNlvC9ZoMlTYZrmZdMp2oJXOr9NVtKkl0ww6Tu3e8bTV8TTeJd2q3OF1ZP_VUJVP6N-ypa9qUaExLytF-0dCaDSMhECGmX5xZB4YU919Gx00ho_DufyYX106BamUcd5Id60/s1800/428688895_3370304453100215_7741548906463804060_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHGZovqcWsp-LdgFuSgPW3J_2TV3o-tQB7TyNBwh2yc3-KlSr-WMb0D5nMNlvC9ZoMlTYZrmZdMp2oJXOr9NVtKkl0ww6Tu3e8bTV8TTeJd2q3OF1ZP_VUJVP6N-ypa9qUaExLytF-0dCaDSMhECGmX5xZB4YU919Gx00ho_DufyYX106BamUcd5Id60/w512-h640/428688895_3370304453100215_7741548906463804060_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p>The day was beautiful and warm, the sky was blue and what little snow we have is melting.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHa_9IYJRF9hz3xERBaW6gCbDN6GzdAk57y8lwoAzWWqmB2C-kxzjyqVd_dUnlFf24wxnJx09XkDYBbJCLJi4Q_9x26oOwyVnTx7WFUSYE0aUQMZ9kkJyShAJRbksFyCZ-qimFBQ5bkGtcHIwvLy-Qr2LFAjRYp-gG971Ej3YAAqoaQgVoNerpf0ImTM/s1800/428693108_3370303879766939_3138337929669088165_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHa_9IYJRF9hz3xERBaW6gCbDN6GzdAk57y8lwoAzWWqmB2C-kxzjyqVd_dUnlFf24wxnJx09XkDYBbJCLJi4Q_9x26oOwyVnTx7WFUSYE0aUQMZ9kkJyShAJRbksFyCZ-qimFBQ5bkGtcHIwvLy-Qr2LFAjRYp-gG971Ej3YAAqoaQgVoNerpf0ImTM/w512-h640/428693108_3370303879766939_3138337929669088165_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />I'm feeling restless, but I always do this time of year. It's snowing right now as I type, we're supposed to get 4-8 inches. Should be fun driving to work in the morning.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUMqsXwBRq6eQQZEXz4oPtIZwiGddr60OnDw9u-xppan0fWCmgLvcuVUFZhUIbwCD0used1ZuVyKnjzoG3lTpTZtcXW8liiq6gvISTzbMZaMOhC-48TGe2TuivEElZ5PHZsfvqIt-_r39QstHckmLH1LfYOMX1nk2S-jTr7OIEkxjOtwTYehYTnd1QKY/s1800/429673592_3373174066146587_7814470202969279609_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUMqsXwBRq6eQQZEXz4oPtIZwiGddr60OnDw9u-xppan0fWCmgLvcuVUFZhUIbwCD0used1ZuVyKnjzoG3lTpTZtcXW8liiq6gvISTzbMZaMOhC-48TGe2TuivEElZ5PHZsfvqIt-_r39QstHckmLH1LfYOMX1nk2S-jTr7OIEkxjOtwTYehYTnd1QKY/w512-h640/429673592_3373174066146587_7814470202969279609_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div>It was the anniversary of my mum's death yesterday and I forgot until today. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Can't decide but I do miss her.</div><div><br /></div><div>I took Katie out for lunch today, as I do every Sunday, we had a nice time but she has a very sore left knee. She had the adult equivalent of a temper tantrum last week and dropped to her knees on the cement floor of the garage. Her knee is quite bruised and sore.</div><div><br /></div><div>She has to go for another ECG in two weeks. There were changes to her ECG that can be fatal, so I've been worrying about that. I think it takes up more space in my mind than I realize. If the changes still appear on her next ECG, we'll have to look at changing her anti-psychotics, so she doesn't die. Fucking hell.</div><div><br /></div><div>We watched the last of Ted Lasso last night. If anyone hasn't seen this series, I would highly recommend it. It's beautiful and funny and heartbreaking. Of course I cried.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack has been with his mom since yesterday at lunch and should be home in about an hour. I hope things went well for him. </div><div><br /></div><div>And that's about it. </div></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-79983508725863897062024-02-18T21:15:00.000-08:002024-02-19T06:40:12.708-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMx0I1ehClQKG6KxSDm0X7FxhCNaOlIBGDIs7uzTfI0-QfqdqyxFKRK_LvL61wsbAnB0fsfI7Nh8upU2j9Ivr7fUbFWUvXetVMrfRlft6kDcztUouWAf9ZlRlbPistIiV5bASZYTJsJgwbZxGNO8qKKx2HcZsTxaQEZmi1ITs9sqc4eKbbvRY2Rulnbk/s1152/yA3jnQZrQFODOLNjjLQPcw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1152" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMx0I1ehClQKG6KxSDm0X7FxhCNaOlIBGDIs7uzTfI0-QfqdqyxFKRK_LvL61wsbAnB0fsfI7Nh8upU2j9Ivr7fUbFWUvXetVMrfRlft6kDcztUouWAf9ZlRlbPistIiV5bASZYTJsJgwbZxGNO8qKKx2HcZsTxaQEZmi1ITs9sqc4eKbbvRY2Rulnbk/w640-h480/yA3jnQZrQFODOLNjjLQPcw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>No new photos right now. This photo was taken on the way home from Wetaskiwin about eighteen months ago. That's an Alberta sky for you.</p><p>Many years ago my brother had a sweatshirt with the following quote on it. <b>Ecoutez et toute le monde vous entende</b>. In english it means, listen, and the whole world will hear you. My brother left that sweatshirt behind when he moved to Florida for a year. I found the shirt and kept it; I loved it and wore it out.</p><p>It also made me think about listening. I have/am ADD and have a huge problem with interuppting people, because if I wait too long to say something, it disappears from my brain, so I blurt. I've gotten better as I've aged, but I know it was bad when I was young. I also know that I'm not alone. Many people do this. Jack does this and I am in the process of gently explaining to him that conversations are two way, which means he can't interrupt and that people take turns talking. It's a social skill and it can be learned.</p><p>I interrupt much less, but I also don't get my point across always, because, as predicted, I forget what I was going to say. I've noticed with Jack that he often forgets what he was going to say if he has to wait too long. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That is why I like to write, because I can go back over my thoughts and sometimes I don't even realize what I was thinking until it comes out of my fingertips and onto the keyboard. I can also get a complete thought out without being interrupted, because other people interrupt too.</p><p>I looked up <b>I Don't Feel Heard </b>the other day on google. I wasn't at all surprised to find that there were 860,000,000 results for that particular google search. It is a common problem, in the world, in communities, in families, in relationships. </p><p>I am a sixty-one year old woman, who is also a nurse. I often feel unheard and unappreciated. I am also a mother and caregiver of a young disabled woman (my youngest daughter), as well as my grandson. I often feel unheard and unappreciated, but as a woman, I also realize that most women feel unheard and unappreciated, 992,000,00 results for that particular google search. </p><p>But here's the thing, my husband doesn't feel heard either, and I have no way of making him feel heard. I can listen to him, I can empathize with him, but he still doesn't feel heard. Both of us grew up in homes in which healthy communication was never displayed. Our parents were of the generation that believed children should not talk back, and that children should obey their parents, even if the rules made no sense.</p><p>My father was all about the rage and the anger, or fear really. He wanted to control his children's lives in the hopes that nothing bad would happen to them. My mother preferred passive aggressive manipulation. And me, I chose a mix of their styles. One of the most difficult problems I have, is crying when I'm talking about things that I feel strongly about. </p><p>My husband grew up in a similar kind of post war family, except it was his mother who was the control freak. She knew better and people should listen to her. I'm guessing that she never felt heard in her family growing up either. </p><p>So now we have two people who don't feel heard, don't have their feelings validated and don't know how to communicate with each other, despite their best efforts. The main difference between the two of us is that I think most of the people in the world feel unheard and he doesn't seem to get that. It's not that I don't empathize with him, I just don't think he's unique. </p><p>Obviously that answer doesn't help us communicate better, and I'm sure he feels even less understood. But I also think that we have to go back to the source, to fix the problem. I know with myself that it's my responsiblity to tell people how I feel and why. I also know that I struggle with this because of my upbringing, but it's still my responsibility. I also don't expect people to agree with me. It would be lovely if they did, but unlikely. The best that I can do is to be honest with myself and others. I can't make anyone think something or feel something, I can only accept. </p><p>And as I wrote that last sentence, a light bulb went on. I can't make my husband look at his family or deal with the issues that stem from his family, I can only accept. I can set boundaries but I can't change him. Hmmm. Well, that sure didn't go the way I thought it would:)</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p> <p></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-45294152529870753992024-02-14T18:44:00.000-08:002024-02-14T18:44:20.466-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXPKO0kVaGpzB4Q5cHO_bXqDB1qiXYummJhpiBkeD27MSMu4Yt4OtgdfGJouWPqgwT4AOOPQx_NC3sLHthNMk1GIl9gx8BBpJBbAn-Cf12R89f2KHNElq0vW5iP3Ar04X5Ck9PNliJ11z9dlG1PhHsED_Hp4dr3ep6GnQ24XlpU7zZ1PmLxFAyzrGTrM/s2800/IMG_20210704_175928_981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2800" data-original-width="2240" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXPKO0kVaGpzB4Q5cHO_bXqDB1qiXYummJhpiBkeD27MSMu4Yt4OtgdfGJouWPqgwT4AOOPQx_NC3sLHthNMk1GIl9gx8BBpJBbAn-Cf12R89f2KHNElq0vW5iP3Ar04X5Ck9PNliJ11z9dlG1PhHsED_Hp4dr3ep6GnQ24XlpU7zZ1PmLxFAyzrGTrM/w320-h400/IMG_20210704_175928_981.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Dog park in the summer, above, and dog park in the winter below.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfaK_8uMCU0YmU96ZEOaBlE3A8XxXWvJgWUoTJnqi1lwWiqx2ViQ8vecxNyntq-5kwSRtuTZuo4TQUq0_NzOHAmi8mxUfu5XBHhyphenhyphenAxaChjNI3qaOWaVOkgG19EWZY6SIwULnI1QZ7GqTPUYAc0Kea3MpvzNPAA2g1Vei49H4UYIHhOgpTbmtbDqrWiww/s1800/426375765_3365194606944533_7221756312311555568_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfaK_8uMCU0YmU96ZEOaBlE3A8XxXWvJgWUoTJnqi1lwWiqx2ViQ8vecxNyntq-5kwSRtuTZuo4TQUq0_NzOHAmi8mxUfu5XBHhyphenhyphenAxaChjNI3qaOWaVOkgG19EWZY6SIwULnI1QZ7GqTPUYAc0Kea3MpvzNPAA2g1Vei49H4UYIHhOgpTbmtbDqrWiww/w320-h400/426375765_3365194606944533_7221756312311555568_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me in 1972 with our dog, Dino. I loved that dog more than anything but he only lived three years. He had to be put down due to a spinal injury and paralysis; my parents couldn't afford the surgery that might have helped him recover the use of his legs. I remember writing about him in school. We were supposed to write something about what we would wish for if we had one wish. One girl wished for world peace but all I wanted was for my dog to be okay. I told my parents I would forego a Christmas present if Dino could have his surgery. We never got another dog after him but I would walk the neighbors dogs whenever I could. Some things don't change. I still love walking my dogs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtk_PscJ2yc9f2CfAxkKulrPVmTlfyYPeXE4Fdiyo-KAsXMmGhIQYUAFRUwIOEjAeBKFLJwkmTRvjn0LedxfpjsacU-vOaKP1aFVJ5Sv3h7Zk9RazMFSmNt7mp1Wn6wWKBQZ1gGTKmG5nd13XwCOg7FPonMdae386-wEiFWlt60KteXLV5JGsuKOKPNvs/s1800/426350795_3365195560277771_4073971588732097110_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtk_PscJ2yc9f2CfAxkKulrPVmTlfyYPeXE4Fdiyo-KAsXMmGhIQYUAFRUwIOEjAeBKFLJwkmTRvjn0LedxfpjsacU-vOaKP1aFVJ5Sv3h7Zk9RazMFSmNt7mp1Wn6wWKBQZ1gGTKmG5nd13XwCOg7FPonMdae386-wEiFWlt60KteXLV5JGsuKOKPNvs/w320-h400/426350795_3365195560277771_4073971588732097110_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Today is the anniversary of my dad's death. I wish I could talk to him now, tell him I forgive him and that I understand now that he only wanted to protect us. <div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqqQ1DR4Eo8fAhCeda-UALoCBcze19IG1-DhErglEyZBVF1Jt9FESvgdAev3sVSb7wRM_lZg380wQqaPje5en9ac2lo5yu_wftgT4m72gCefFUIzltznhWXBajg4rnY6rzO_5o6tsxYFy238c1vtkmJy7usxbMafOeAeBcLIAp3jvyrYVLiPtWtrMfL4/s2936/427975416_3365127740284553_4519010091485486859_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2936" data-original-width="1427" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqqQ1DR4Eo8fAhCeda-UALoCBcze19IG1-DhErglEyZBVF1Jt9FESvgdAev3sVSb7wRM_lZg380wQqaPje5en9ac2lo5yu_wftgT4m72gCefFUIzltznhWXBajg4rnY6rzO_5o6tsxYFy238c1vtkmJy7usxbMafOeAeBcLIAp3jvyrYVLiPtWtrMfL4/w195-h400/427975416_3365127740284553_4519010091485486859_n.jpg" width="195" /></a></div><br /><p>We went to court again yesterday. Jack will stay with us at least until July when we have another court date. Jack will start staying one night a week with Gracie and then in two months, it will be two nights a week, Friday and Saturday. Gracie started working with homeless people on Monday, I'm guessing at the new navigation centre set up by the local and provinicial government. She told her mom that because she had a job, Jack could come back and live with her again. She has a serious disconnect in her brain, not even addressing her addictions and the trauma it's caused Jack.</p><p>On the upside, the judge told us to go ahead and register Jack in our local school, until we see what happens going forward. I told the judge that Gracie always goes off the rails in August or September, every year. He looked surprised but thanked me for my honest response. I doubt that Gracie liked it but I'm tired of how her family deals with everything, including her addictions. If we don't talk about it, out in the open, nothing will change. So Jack is set for kindergarten, even if his mom goes off the rails.</p><p>The down side of him spending more time with his mom is that his behavior always seems to get worse. Not sure if it's because of how she deals with him or his response to stress, or both. Probably both. I try to remember to be patient but it's hard sometimes. </p><p><br /></p></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-66746878648442132102024-02-11T18:48:00.000-08:002024-02-11T18:48:51.134-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsGh06-mffbPH2kfwyiKvX9OfgQYN-_Eb9k2nULTKiz-izMa9uSj5JWtLqGtywWb_Qiznq3x3IA36kQUg2LjgR5XyRpFToh0tjukS14akMtq5LHMI-B_F-6aHfHd2QenNKO9XscdmZEAxs_yC333lQqPUSSDlou9h62Z3saOwtjTLEbEAk7FKqYjbDjM/s1534/426851988_3363032993827361_3155537286028464795_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsGh06-mffbPH2kfwyiKvX9OfgQYN-_Eb9k2nULTKiz-izMa9uSj5JWtLqGtywWb_Qiznq3x3IA36kQUg2LjgR5XyRpFToh0tjukS14akMtq5LHMI-B_F-6aHfHd2QenNKO9XscdmZEAxs_yC333lQqPUSSDlou9h62Z3saOwtjTLEbEAk7FKqYjbDjM/w600-h640/426851988_3363032993827361_3155537286028464795_n.jpg" width="600" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Conversations over the past week with Jack.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jack put my indoor shoes on his feet and then proceeded to shake his bum. "Look at me poppa! I do old lady dance."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a long involved story about Wyatt at his preschool and apparently Wyatt kept saying fuckin'. Fuckin' was repeated over and over again as Jack told us the story of what happened at school that day. It took a lot for me to not laugh out loud. The story ended with Jack telling us that fuckin' was a bad word. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He asked me this morning, while we were driving, when was I going to die. He also wanted to know when his parents were going to die and how would he pay for furniture when he was a man.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Explained that he didn't like human food. Human=adult.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He went to a birthday party yesterday and got a loot bag. He couldn't find all of the toys from the loot bag this morning and he told us he was angry about that. Of course he'd left those tiny toys all over the house and I pointed that out to him, as we collected them up and put them back in the loot bag.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAfJ2-OxGswLnResAg1y3nq3bkMhOscaNMahp1uFVy3j1qr1etmBJ_vFOzhXKnuk4pDz-_qQ-XeDjzSAd8_7l41T8O9mqQS5AOa7xXz58XjBdBWLZHX7syRJXG4ycJON7zvg5ZU8VIlM2AxHubpRQvOKbugxRqKWzrRxRSJW_EAk68r7gwQSlfketYSg/s1440/426346893_3362240867239907_5054485425432354845_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAfJ2-OxGswLnResAg1y3nq3bkMhOscaNMahp1uFVy3j1qr1etmBJ_vFOzhXKnuk4pDz-_qQ-XeDjzSAd8_7l41T8O9mqQS5AOa7xXz58XjBdBWLZHX7syRJXG4ycJON7zvg5ZU8VIlM2AxHubpRQvOKbugxRqKWzrRxRSJW_EAk68r7gwQSlfketYSg/w400-h400/426346893_3362240867239907_5054485425432354845_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> He decorated the lightswitch faceplate this past week.<p></p><div>We go to court again on Tuesday. Gracie found a job last week, rehoming homeless people, which I applaud but I also know it will trigger her. Last time she had a job like that, it didn't work out well for her. There is a lot of trauma and grief involved in a job with homeless people. One of her clients overdosed, and there were a lot of drugs and alcohol involved. I guess we'll see.</div><div><br /></div><div>Good things?</div><div><br /></div><div>Hugs, from Jack and the big guy</div><div>Dog walks</div><div>Wonderful young women to work with</div><div>Dog love</div><div>Lunch with Katie</div><div>A few good books</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-49934415015406537472024-02-06T20:37:00.000-08:002024-02-06T20:37:32.762-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinmjzis_OzMVDM_dPAX5ODdnHn3DI83a2VYhHdC2AqM5G8OrmTq1gC1MCtT15ex56EdlxqU7M9rVmVPKJn6f37T2pT4-pKcl6ZThcku3vuQxMaEnG_Yaa8Vm3sx6BKBaPX9Rwgzoy0fTC8vikgV08fZ7IHlTdFC3eEhL3OEkM430c4h4kQpmuv12RKVo/s1440/425336118_3356039844526676_1950879941488200961_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiinmjzis_OzMVDM_dPAX5ODdnHn3DI83a2VYhHdC2AqM5G8OrmTq1gC1MCtT15ex56EdlxqU7M9rVmVPKJn6f37T2pT4-pKcl6ZThcku3vuQxMaEnG_Yaa8Vm3sx6BKBaPX9Rwgzoy0fTC8vikgV08fZ7IHlTdFC3eEhL3OEkM430c4h4kQpmuv12RKVo/w640-h640/425336118_3356039844526676_1950879941488200961_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Last Friday was foggy. The dogs had a great time at the park, Charlie kept disappearing from sight and then reappearing through the fog. Most of the snow has melted but we did have a little snow over the weekend. It's going to be a dry summer without our normal snowpack. Normally we have, on average, 48 inches of snow going into spring. As you can see, that's not happening.<p></p><p>When Katie was eleven years old, she hit puberty, or rather, puberty hit her. Overnight she became violent. We had three weeks that summer with no caregivers and no summer programs. I advertised and a young woman answered our ad, her name was Manon and not only was she patient and kind, she knew ASL. She also kept coming back, day after day.</p><p>Her two younger sisters also cared for Katie when Manon moved onto more stable employment, but we always kept in touch. She is now a middle aged woman and was just diagnosed with breast cancer, the same disease that killed her mother. Her first treatment was today and I meant to visit her during her treatment, even wrote it on my calendar, and then completely forgot about it. She texted me as her treatment was ending but I missed her by five minutes.</p><p>She's coming back on Friday to have a Port put in, so I'll get a chance to see her then. Bloody hell.</p><p>This morning at work I spoke to my manager and asked if I could bump up my retirement to the end of June so that I would have the summer off. The only reason I chose the end of August date was because I was worried about money. We saw our financial advisor last week and money will not be an issue when I retire. So I was at the desk, talking with my coworkers before I started work, about retirement and money and one of my coworkers asked me quietly if we could talk.</p><p>Lihua is an Asian woman, mid fifties, no children and no debt. She told me that she had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and wondered about pensions and enjoying her life. She never told any of us that she was diagnosed with breast cancer and she managed to have six weeks of radiation treatment without any of us knowing. I just realized there has been a change in her over the last six months and we've all wondered about it. She says exactly what she thinks now, no filter, no sugar coating. It's funny to watch sometimes but I'm guessing that's where it came from, a cancer diagnosis kind of puts shit in perspective.</p><p>My daughter in Vancouver surprised me when I told her about bumping up my retirement. She asked if I was going to have a party and then said she would like to cater it. I was surprised and touched. So I'm having a party, at the end of June:)</p><p>Here's a shot of Charlie, just because he's so handsome.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpRM2cIgKB_AVkP1xNGNJ-_wMA4HK2TADwkPZ9Q5Yz6Skj1K1tX6tjaST2thJeMKaCa2NN3XvE32q5H3XI0l4ruFhAfSzHPavII-UUUoxUKAqvviwg4lwj65zMsbvYXcNZhiAHoaB4tiXwO1H1lMQU23fhD3Mt_w-sshBZ1nTXm4dUHDvhBvp7UqsPh0/s1440/424834034_3354407371356590_1696780160694935911_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpRM2cIgKB_AVkP1xNGNJ-_wMA4HK2TADwkPZ9Q5Yz6Skj1K1tX6tjaST2thJeMKaCa2NN3XvE32q5H3XI0l4ruFhAfSzHPavII-UUUoxUKAqvviwg4lwj65zMsbvYXcNZhiAHoaB4tiXwO1H1lMQU23fhD3Mt_w-sshBZ1nTXm4dUHDvhBvp7UqsPh0/w640-h640/424834034_3354407371356590_1696780160694935911_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>And here's a shot of me and Jack. I hate having my photo taken but this one turned out not too bad. My cousin said I look like my mum. I do.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9m4eYEyWjvzovk0ZDM96l8zVuLsSQT1M5z9xYVh62ac_bYuJd7Jpo_w4rgEADHhhjhc0jTmk5NmbBD1ZWobP94Nm6fguaARgLgE3cka_8T6YrgyttyVkF1y2qgnydkM2A74nQxqJt_8dB2TTsVIFFr4Wy5ij1BPTyTh1dSdYFkp2YGGske9ksDOZ6AYk/s2048/423582714_3352011494929511_1887181517715755942_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9m4eYEyWjvzovk0ZDM96l8zVuLsSQT1M5z9xYVh62ac_bYuJd7Jpo_w4rgEADHhhjhc0jTmk5NmbBD1ZWobP94Nm6fguaARgLgE3cka_8T6YrgyttyVkF1y2qgnydkM2A74nQxqJt_8dB2TTsVIFFr4Wy5ij1BPTyTh1dSdYFkp2YGGske9ksDOZ6AYk/w480-h640/423582714_3352011494929511_1887181517715755942_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-70802346621717037072024-02-02T07:22:00.000-08:002024-02-02T07:22:00.953-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCbR_h7ksvlkWudoDQQNfyveJSg6a5VHwMMsdGa-9S9dqcvm1_LEpQ-rP-l9W-Pum9uE8Y_-ZF_WMKVxZFFLfnhSfqemB2-Huaeir0HhjGG5tNTOd89KEzXCNQ40ghBN7gYmcJ_r22QjmnqQUwI-lGwFpMdxDPjnjVgU_hjlj24_kJYnZwAauM31DM2U/s1440/422894173_3354242181373109_3955882175601678228_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCbR_h7ksvlkWudoDQQNfyveJSg6a5VHwMMsdGa-9S9dqcvm1_LEpQ-rP-l9W-Pum9uE8Y_-ZF_WMKVxZFFLfnhSfqemB2-Huaeir0HhjGG5tNTOd89KEzXCNQ40ghBN7gYmcJ_r22QjmnqQUwI-lGwFpMdxDPjnjVgU_hjlj24_kJYnZwAauM31DM2U/w640-h640/422894173_3354242181373109_3955882175601678228_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p>My neighbor is seventy-seven and she still works. She's lived with her son for the last eleven years, since she left her abusive husband. Two weeks ago, her trunk latch broke, hubby helped her out with some zip ties. Her sister requires surgery but also waits hand and foot on her senior, incontinent husband who refuses to wear a daiper. Other stuff going on too. Last week, her car wouldn't start, the trunk light had been on for the past four days and had drained the battery. She sat at Shoppers Drug Mart for hours, waiting for AMA or her son to help her. Shoppers is 3 km from here, I could have walked it. </p><p>She finally made it home after dark, just as we came home from supper out. Her son was helping her, had boosted the car and and removed the lightbulb in the trunk. She started telling me what had happened and then burst into tears, so I gave her a long hug and listened.</p><p>She's never asked for help, doesn't like asking for help. She lived her whole life with an abusive man who threatened to kill her. The police didn't take her complaints seriously. She sheilded her two sons from the abuse she suffered. She's a cancer survivor. The son she lives with is seriously depressed, an alcoholic and doesn't really talk to her.</p><p>I asked her why she didn't call us for help. Her words, "I don't like to ask for help." I asked her who convinced her that she isn't allowed to ask for help. She didn't know and it breaks my heart to see a lovely lady, a hard working woman, so afraid to ask for help. </p><p>She's not alone. I hate asking for help, although I have improved with age. I got so used to doing it all that I just did it. Also, if you don't ask for help, nobody can say no. You don't make yourself vulnerable, don't open yourself up for hurt. It's a form of protection that just hurts. Nobody can do it all. We all need help sometimes.</p><p>Our society also encourages the myth of the individual, that self reliance is all important. Except we're all babies to begin with, requiring care. We all get sick, we will all die and unless we have a catastrophic death, we will require care while we're dying. Humans need each other. We need a human touch, a hug, a kind word. We are more a collective than individuals except we seem to have forgotten that.</p><p>None of us would eat if there were not farmers. None of us would be able to buy goods unless other human hands had made them, packaged them, and driven them to our city or town. When we're ill, we need doctors, nurses, and techs. All of us rely on each other without even realizing it. </p><p>My lovely neighbor, and me, we isolate ourselves in hopes of avoiding pain and rejection. It's not possible. To be alive is to open ourselves to pain and rejection, and to still go on, to deal with it, to forgive, to have compassion with ourselves and those that hurt us. None of this is easy and life seems filled with suffering, no wonder we seek so desperately to avoid pain. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-71403545958776101022024-01-27T10:06:00.000-08:002024-01-27T17:09:28.874-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcw_nihJBmjcxZCi-yka7gsttjcEifIO-SnC2RdAHlh6mnXvzn_pQgBX7-aZ-PhggdOuaa5Zq8p_uo2RZAmgfsbh_YDrCaSL7V4iHTcK1fFJzyi2vwqc63OxkFgq0XzKBvI78kV0LWf8X3o2frkwlUsCrVXnnXgOIGM0ep8cCFfS-GX-PDjbIuCN9v7NY/s500/2316923666122413553.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="500" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcw_nihJBmjcxZCi-yka7gsttjcEifIO-SnC2RdAHlh6mnXvzn_pQgBX7-aZ-PhggdOuaa5Zq8p_uo2RZAmgfsbh_YDrCaSL7V4iHTcK1fFJzyi2vwqc63OxkFgq0XzKBvI78kV0LWf8X3o2frkwlUsCrVXnnXgOIGM0ep8cCFfS-GX-PDjbIuCN9v7NY/w640-h334/2316923666122413553.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Margaret and Rosemarie both had AI generated images of themselves on their blogs recently. I thought I'd give it a try too and took a photo of myself last night and then ran it through the hippie filter. The image does look like me, but me forty years ago. AI straightened my face and got rid of my pointy chin. When I was pregnant, forty years ago, I had Bell's palsy and it left me with a lopsided smile. <div><br /></div><div>The image did remind me of my youth. I wanted so badly to be a wild child but I didn't have it in me. I was shy and had zero confidence. I was bullied for four years by a boy in my school. Between that boy and my dad's rage, I was scared, a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I went into junior high school, my bully all but disappeared. I was academic, he was not. I started making friends, started spending less time at home. My best friend's family and home became a safe place for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>High school increased my time away from my family. More friends but lots of drama, as only teenage girls can do drama.</div><div> </div><div>I discovered boys, discovered I could attract boys and thought that gave me some power. And then I discovered alcohol, that special elixir that that could smooth away my anxiety, make me feel confident and stopped me caring so much what other people thought of me. I started dancing and OMG I loved dancing. When I was drunk and on the dance floor, I was free, and that's the closest I ever came to being a wild child.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p></div></div></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-56935928257304300412024-01-20T08:05:00.000-08:002024-01-20T08:05:41.318-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh937Z00VTa3Bl-FRsYCO7MlBI150tO1i0fpV43oFpIiaq38Kdkx5pIYSh48HY_9O-I35UyoQq9RT3jZvMAwbUCLowbZmtcXTaYpGE1FDyfrvrI-F8JJYZAanwITnCbG1MusYP6keiZ2OMBNDTuKGmIftasefgGqkcCYlYyUwpYk2CysWb_oDg_Sgs3oTY/s2048/420614187_3345906385540022_6707956237003075148_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh937Z00VTa3Bl-FRsYCO7MlBI150tO1i0fpV43oFpIiaq38Kdkx5pIYSh48HY_9O-I35UyoQq9RT3jZvMAwbUCLowbZmtcXTaYpGE1FDyfrvrI-F8JJYZAanwITnCbG1MusYP6keiZ2OMBNDTuKGmIftasefgGqkcCYlYyUwpYk2CysWb_oDg_Sgs3oTY/w480-h640/420614187_3345906385540022_6707956237003075148_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>The light is returning.</p><p>Jack starts back into swimming lessons this morning. He pays better attention to the teacher when he's in the big pool and can drown, smart boy:)</p><p>We had a rough week at work. Yesterday we had a patient with a severe allergic reaction to the CT dye. She coded and we had to recusitate her. There must have been twenty people in the room at some point. It took forever for the code team to arrive because the overhead paging system wasn't working. Then the oxygen in the CT room decided not to work. All I did for the patient was call for a stretcher, yell, I yelled. We moved her onto a stretcher. I couldn't feel a pulse, neither could the other nurses, so one of the techs started compressions and the oxygen got sorted out. Her blood pressure was so low, I didn't believe it and asked another nurse, a younger nurse with younger ears, to check it. I wasn't wrong. I got an IV up and running and then I talked to the 911 operator with her inane questions. I know the questions are designed for the general public but they're so irritating when you're a nurse, lots of repeat questions. </p><p>We got the patient back and she was awake, breathing and talking before EMS took her. Apparently she said, "SHIT!" when she was told she'd had an allergic reaction. My kind of lady. She'll be okay. The rest of us, the nurses and the techs, we had a tougher time for the rest of the day.</p><p>I went back to starting IVs and screening patients for CTs and promptly started crying. My patient understood, but it's hard to go from a code back down to regular work. My adrenal glands had worked overtime pumping out adrenalin and it just takes time for the effects to wear off. The rest of the day, passed in a blur of patients. By the time we got to the end of the day, all of us were exhausted. We all just sat at the desk, trying to decompress. Our manager is good and understands this, thank goodness.</p><p>Last night I could only manage toast for supper and crawled into bed at 720pm. I slept for almost twelve hours and feel restored today but that was hard.</p><p>Otherwise, the countdown to retirement continues. I applied for my holidays this year, trying to spread them out and get full enjoyment out of them. I'm going to visit my daughter in Vancouver in April which I'm looking forward too. She will be working for a couple of the days which gives me time to drive around and take photos by myself, something I enjoy a great deal.<br /></p><p>Life goes on, no great or deep thoughts, just getting through the days, one at a time. That's enough though right now.</p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-86767377014716986182024-01-14T08:14:00.000-08:002024-01-14T14:35:57.761-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7xceEs_4m1unst1B2XgdA680MjZ7VxlrUSQ15kQbD0cFKmg-tbuqs7ZRBEKbGrstGr6Pmh1XDKP0Gym9MQ23jBh8ESXXlRTZ8tqLsee93tjm-jU1AvrX6jLQfv5ci2j43ebkbs-CaEkA2z6jOYnVUvf23h64rZNWJUCa2_j9oTwjM2giJvNv8FOksI4/s4624/20240114_073756.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7xceEs_4m1unst1B2XgdA680MjZ7VxlrUSQ15kQbD0cFKmg-tbuqs7ZRBEKbGrstGr6Pmh1XDKP0Gym9MQ23jBh8ESXXlRTZ8tqLsee93tjm-jU1AvrX6jLQfv5ci2j43ebkbs-CaEkA2z6jOYnVUvf23h64rZNWJUCa2_j9oTwjM2giJvNv8FOksI4/w480-h640/20240114_073756.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /> The week in photos. Too damned cold.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDmAAHxNwBTgu2Six6AWwm5LsmYf3BhHVUFBA0jpBjebM6fTQDF7p3VrEanwl0HrqlXaE-MCBIqYbC2aTyynW4tOwqUQnS2i7UkMKg8Ohu0qQRIGwKu4DWNayAHzpEK9LIowDvo4MGyJjlqbkhVhzdQ12nnj9qrEPUwn4UeGNpn1hRIDCQj2mSouHM2U/s2400/Screenshot_20240108_081456_Instagram.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDmAAHxNwBTgu2Six6AWwm5LsmYf3BhHVUFBA0jpBjebM6fTQDF7p3VrEanwl0HrqlXaE-MCBIqYbC2aTyynW4tOwqUQnS2i7UkMKg8Ohu0qQRIGwKu4DWNayAHzpEK9LIowDvo4MGyJjlqbkhVhzdQ12nnj9qrEPUwn4UeGNpn1hRIDCQj2mSouHM2U/w180-h400/Screenshot_20240108_081456_Instagram.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Meta has decreed me elderly apparently. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5u-Te9T5ENlsc5jmlP_G0XanXwQu8EUReulaR4geHpUTn7e5Ewtk__mBsBBRNCESvzrRypMsfWNiOGC3x1h8_e6I7X_zyJoylxsCUhsj0qLvdiiYdbeXZzZg_G-yPo9Jb4BLgr5PqaYXkH0rkZIZjU9pQQhBGU5390LmZ-2sT4Ub3eiueGgHGfgun2UE/s4624/20240113_122911.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5u-Te9T5ENlsc5jmlP_G0XanXwQu8EUReulaR4geHpUTn7e5Ewtk__mBsBBRNCESvzrRypMsfWNiOGC3x1h8_e6I7X_zyJoylxsCUhsj0qLvdiiYdbeXZzZg_G-yPo9Jb4BLgr5PqaYXkH0rkZIZjU9pQQhBGU5390LmZ-2sT4Ub3eiueGgHGfgun2UE/w640-h480/20240113_122911.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> </div><div>Angel biscuits. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVvcMehrky0sYWO52K7aiWbc-Rikt3u4sRPONsyqvaMIP8x7Ikp-qM5Dqswe2AX5n9zkQwlGJdbLW_YY7RGGv1cSlHhTqkp8SyHOwlbDDr1NjTOmCjd8nMGdkRgumCPxoX1luiyVbMwvImdaCe0hLEfUikDx1DSuCTqgXcXovoioFdkSDl3JAWSjJO5A/s4624/20240113_115912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVvcMehrky0sYWO52K7aiWbc-Rikt3u4sRPONsyqvaMIP8x7Ikp-qM5Dqswe2AX5n9zkQwlGJdbLW_YY7RGGv1cSlHhTqkp8SyHOwlbDDr1NjTOmCjd8nMGdkRgumCPxoX1luiyVbMwvImdaCe0hLEfUikDx1DSuCTqgXcXovoioFdkSDl3JAWSjJO5A/w480-h640/20240113_115912.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Jack keeping himself occupied when it's too cold to go outside. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeL_3WjzrafE-rk4ZirPCpG2eGOYYhnS_4X3yXYha2eMqmrioEQU6GpvVaffH2sJQZam2TBtyQDjPzeX63hLMGcmXfhXrRwYfUw6QpLvzwwHL2qy-bQL1532oxpbL4MsQ1lfeZi4zIv1kRi6DMMI095AW-i6l8LzXNlg9u-qSxPsObIoMUyaEwBy9ehbk/s4624/20240112_155359.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeL_3WjzrafE-rk4ZirPCpG2eGOYYhnS_4X3yXYha2eMqmrioEQU6GpvVaffH2sJQZam2TBtyQDjPzeX63hLMGcmXfhXrRwYfUw6QpLvzwwHL2qy-bQL1532oxpbL4MsQ1lfeZi4zIv1kRi6DMMI095AW-i6l8LzXNlg9u-qSxPsObIoMUyaEwBy9ehbk/w400-h300/20240112_155359.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p></div></div><div><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refinery_Row_(Edmonton)" target="_blank">Refinery row.</a></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-11771983619257079742024-01-10T09:22:00.000-08:002024-01-14T15:16:07.681-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhz6Gtu05Ia7e1dWd91x8-5ysSB0SMyb3zc5CFzfOAp821Gz3IDBpgkH8hQiVe9VcNR2qpE0VyySNNSc3NgHMyooY0rdJAJ98_PpyeDunf_FtSNXvRoqGri4aSs2uJpLxMcXzIa6DY6h-zN36mOL2HtGSCCtevlf8BiMTcSZ6XhZf9TPelWHGDUPIqAM/s1440/416549156_3334111343386193_2318225099275061118_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhz6Gtu05Ia7e1dWd91x8-5ysSB0SMyb3zc5CFzfOAp821Gz3IDBpgkH8hQiVe9VcNR2qpE0VyySNNSc3NgHMyooY0rdJAJ98_PpyeDunf_FtSNXvRoqGri4aSs2uJpLxMcXzIa6DY6h-zN36mOL2HtGSCCtevlf8BiMTcSZ6XhZf9TPelWHGDUPIqAM/w640-h640/416549156_3334111343386193_2318225099275061118_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The weather has taken a turn for the worse. It snowed for much of yesterday, which I don't mind. There isn't enough snow to make the roads awful, yet, but it's also supposed to snow all day today again. It's cold and with the wind chill it's -32C, time for boots, hats and mittens.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKSZK85y1drIxhKv7mV1kc-bWtljEAv-NONBp46H42oWCOcNAqeMg81DJWD8qGdwNIcIXQ_kCQeiePYsBZqLo6Z6RxFlX3VAsWA7_v5DG-dMfR3r-rV6b9gGPz5qaTNGcWMRASP77zCcrnWNusJ02FsP2D3OWGOHxV1ly4_zLFp4A3KVjxzCMkCOPycpg/s1800/416638275_3334111673386160_7230316468416960346_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKSZK85y1drIxhKv7mV1kc-bWtljEAv-NONBp46H42oWCOcNAqeMg81DJWD8qGdwNIcIXQ_kCQeiePYsBZqLo6Z6RxFlX3VAsWA7_v5DG-dMfR3r-rV6b9gGPz5qaTNGcWMRASP77zCcrnWNusJ02FsP2D3OWGOHxV1ly4_zLFp4A3KVjxzCMkCOPycpg/w512-h640/416638275_3334111673386160_7230316468416960346_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div>I'm off today and thought about taking the dogs to the dog park but they both just came inside from the backyard, holding at least one foot up from the cold, so that's a no go; they were only outside for a few minutes. I'll cook and do laundry today. I made a Walmart stop on the way home from dropping off Jack at school and hubby at work, so I have what I need to make chili and <a href="https://littlesunnykitchen.com/marry-me-chicken/" target="_blank">Marry Me Chicken</a>. I made this chicken recipe about a week and a half ago and OMG it was delicious.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm counting down the days to retirement in August, 135 days left:) I still plan on working after I retire but it will be when I want to work. I'll have more time off and a burden will be lifted off of my shoulders. Right now when I work, I look ahead and worry about the coming week and think about which days to do laundry, to vacuum, what meals can I make easily when I get home at 4:30pm and we eat at 5pm (for Jack). I need to know what groceries I need and the list goes on and on. I'm often too tired to shop or think after work, so a few less days of work will be lovely. </div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, every working mother thinks like this. One of my coworkers has five children and another has four children; I don't know how they manage. They also take their children to jiu jitsu lessons, hockey, walk the dog, go out with girlfriends and go to bed after 8pm. I'm lucky we only have Jack but I am a lot older than my coworkers, old enough to be their mothers. The thought of going out after supper overwhelms me. I put on my pyjamas when we get home, I make supper, clean up and give Jack a bath. I'm even too tired to read. I look at blogs but my brain doesn't really function well in the evening. That's what I can do right, but there is an end in sight. To be honest, not really an end, just a change.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack starts kindergarten in September and I'm signing him up for kindergarten in the Park here. I know two things. Gracie will fuck it up and not register him in time for any school, and Gracie will also go off the rails in August or September, at least, that's what she's done for the last four years. I will not have her fuck up Jack's first day of school.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jack is spending time alone with his mom now. We told Gracie she needed a landline for Jack to call 911 if need be, and we taught Jack how to call 911 and what to tell the people who would answer. It's a big ask for a little person but he needs to be safe and to feel safe. Gracie still doesn't have a job and I will not let Jack spend more time with her until she is working again and can prove that she can manage to hold down a job without drinking or drugs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Work has been busy, always new patients for staging. I had a patient yesterday with <a href="https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/inclusion-body-myositis" target="_blank">IBM</a> yesterday, I'd never heard of the disease but he had a lot of muscle wasting, along with his cancer. And his wife died a month ago, just before Christmas. His eyes teared up when he told me about his wife and of course I started crying. Bloody hell, people go through so much suffering sometimes. </div><div><br /></div><div>We also had a new nurse start. She'll be casual and works in systemic which is where patients get their chemo. I've known her for ten years I guess but we've never really talked much. Yesterday we talked about the weight of the grief that nurses carry, and how it's never really addressed or acknowledged by our employer. That weight is what makes me so tired, and her as well apparently.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps I will do more work with grief when I retire, nurse's grief specifically. I did take one course on grief about a year a half ago and wanted to do something within our institution, but life. It could still happen I suppose.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-26331830908208451602024-01-04T12:15:00.000-08:002024-01-04T12:15:53.895-08:00<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fdNk2Ddfcd1KjAmpKXV3kIHB6Ak8NvDHTnymIdtbYjK5_la50KaqvuS_4S2N7rXRQAZKzf61pLrBas9Sa86IuK5vpSnTJSCuB6qtc1QHW3xkDUggs14zEYW8yKfq1JaRGL_hI-ywF3oojkMFUipIhCP_OAIR_TP2xoIxDiHFxGZSmqbEDhyphenhyphenfXV1-fjQ/s1240/download%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_fdNk2Ddfcd1KjAmpKXV3kIHB6Ak8NvDHTnymIdtbYjK5_la50KaqvuS_4S2N7rXRQAZKzf61pLrBas9Sa86IuK5vpSnTJSCuB6qtc1QHW3xkDUggs14zEYW8yKfq1JaRGL_hI-ywF3oojkMFUipIhCP_OAIR_TP2xoIxDiHFxGZSmqbEDhyphenhyphenfXV1-fjQ/w640-h360/download%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I finally watched the Barbie movie. This is America Ferrera's monologue from the movie. Wow.<br /><p><br /></p><p><i> <span style="font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px;">It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart,</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px;"> and </span></i><i style="font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px;">it kills me that you don't think you're good enough. Like, we have to</i></p><p><i style="font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px;"> always be </i><i style="font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px;">extraordinary, but somehow we're always doing it wrong.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="8" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.6;"><i>You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can't ask for money because that's crass. You have to be a boss, but you can't be mean. You have to lead, but you can't squash other people's ideas. You're supposed to love being a mother, but don't talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="9" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.6;"><i>You have to answer for men's bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you're accused of complaining. You're supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you're supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="10" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.6;"><i>But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="11" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.6;"><i>You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It's too hard! It's too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="12" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.6;"><i>I'm just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don't even know.</i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="12" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 1.6;"><i><br /></i></p><p class="css-x6js8g et3p2gv0" data-journey-content="true" data-node-id="12" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Charter, Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 1.6;">It's not easy being human and it's even harder being a woman.</p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-1435836208223723312024-01-01T14:09:00.000-08:002024-01-01T14:09:06.227-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMiXSAZoFYPnKfimic3uPn5sriVHT71uouFOxw2ttj-ChTitqM-HdUZ7LTfUW_Puc0VLge-pAaWTpT9QfQxX3g0HPd6ZWdLQkZu0ZkGfOOrIutl87FnFaLyK9Y4FiaBnYHwBxtrM7FaJ97wh2X6UKCqqP1DGuDKqakaZ6N107dbXocznnOJqeCOaX44yc/s1440/412891164_3327467520717242_989065305647683639_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMiXSAZoFYPnKfimic3uPn5sriVHT71uouFOxw2ttj-ChTitqM-HdUZ7LTfUW_Puc0VLge-pAaWTpT9QfQxX3g0HPd6ZWdLQkZu0ZkGfOOrIutl87FnFaLyK9Y4FiaBnYHwBxtrM7FaJ97wh2X6UKCqqP1DGuDKqakaZ6N107dbXocznnOJqeCOaX44yc/w640-h640/412891164_3327467520717242_989065305647683639_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Last year was a rough year, for so many reasons, and I'm glad to put it behind me. I am hopeful that this year will be better, at least, I am hopeful that I will deal with things better. <div><br /></div><div>We've all been sick for the past week, hubby has it the worst. Last night Jack and I went down to Festival Place, along with everybody else who lives in Sherwood Park, and spent some time there. The lights were beautiful, we saw some Lego, an ice sculpture and he got to play in the kid's park, in the dark. It was the last bit I couldn't cope with. It was dark, there were a million kids, and I was terrified of losing him. </div><div><br /></div><div>We never did make it to the fireworks at 8pm, too many people and too much noise for me. Jack was home and sound asleep by 8pm when I heard the fireworks start, fine by me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to do more for my physical and mental health this year. My work schedule has been changed, at my request, and I now have every Wednesday off, which means I only ever work two days in a row. It's all I can manage now. I'm also applying for my pensions and plan on retiring in September, if everything goes according to plan. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I put away the tree and all the decorations today. Jack and his Poppa set up train set. The dogs got walked early, early. Back to work tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWEJ4EWL8S8OStsSjRnkng4EPVlgyzmTdKtUmBzSR1yAEsRRarwyROXbfOYE8T4paawy6A4fzuVXky7dv_y8nbt4qER7LaGbQ3jZhGw_x2a3grjyLLjUbUCcUMPlcsYtpeMwJd5-pDYwDcpgp3iRjWR-MBwTCfn35FHwO9xvNC8vpcoFxQLZvUq0ZlsA/s1440/416584241_3331967610267233_9081501782365215944_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWEJ4EWL8S8OStsSjRnkng4EPVlgyzmTdKtUmBzSR1yAEsRRarwyROXbfOYE8T4paawy6A4fzuVXky7dv_y8nbt4qER7LaGbQ3jZhGw_x2a3grjyLLjUbUCcUMPlcsYtpeMwJd5-pDYwDcpgp3iRjWR-MBwTCfn35FHwO9xvNC8vpcoFxQLZvUq0ZlsA/w400-h400/416584241_3331967610267233_9081501782365215944_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /> <p></p></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-38344717205939470652023-12-28T09:16:00.000-08:002023-12-28T09:16:42.697-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZiHHVdqZ-vcGwH8Z8xws0CAKxRYHTcHWfy1f6FXKita_G7hbEEfj5nmJqFtTOI9n3_oznbVulm-XfzQ7EwHGTCNl5Y_GxBqDScBbjHcHqBGHzU54Ava4BZ3PxeSQE4RUZJFgq8coQlkDYNIm7E-SRHDJK9Qyl216UhLM96eirXLc_3i7Kr5JoNtPxLE/s1800/412824533_3327467794050548_7402131717229911383_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZiHHVdqZ-vcGwH8Z8xws0CAKxRYHTcHWfy1f6FXKita_G7hbEEfj5nmJqFtTOI9n3_oznbVulm-XfzQ7EwHGTCNl5Y_GxBqDScBbjHcHqBGHzU54Ava4BZ3PxeSQE4RUZJFgq8coQlkDYNIm7E-SRHDJK9Qyl216UhLM96eirXLc_3i7Kr5JoNtPxLE/w512-h640/412824533_3327467794050548_7402131717229911383_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />The weather here continues to be mild and most of the snow is gone. The sun remains low in the in sky, even at noon. I'm looking forward to the longer days.<p></p><p>I'm home sick today, probably with whatever made Jack sick on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. He recovered quite quickly and I imagine I will too. Jack comes home this afternoon. Even though he keeps us busy, we miss him when he's gone.</p><p>My son came over last Saturday for supper. I tried to reach him to ask him if he was coming but couldn't reach him by phone. He showed up about 1:30 in the afternoon when Jack and Poppa were out doing Christmas shopping. He is sober and that's about it. He got angry with me because he said I lied about trying to call him. I have probably five numbers in my phone for him and obviously, I texted and called the wrong number. He only stayed for about thirty minutes but it was a long thirty minutes. He was angry about everything. I did suggest he see a counselor and that was not the right thing to say. So, although he's sober, he has done no work on himself, especially the whole looking at yourself in the mirror part. Everything wrong in his life is my fault.<br /></p><p>He scared me enough for me to leave the house and go over to my neighbor's, who was very kind and took me in until my son left. My son stormed out of the house but then had to wait in the driveway until his cab came. He has no license due DUIs and not paying any child maintenance. He threw Jack's gifts in the garbage and left, all the while sending me angry texts.</p><p>When he had gone, I fished the gifts out of the garbage and they became gifts from Santa for Jack. My son said he would block me on his phone, but he wants the money he sent me, and then yesterday, he asked if we had any spare furniture for his new apartment. And so it goes.</p><p>My son won't look at himself. He said he has no family or friends, which is true, because he has used everybody, both family and friends. It's up to him to make amends to those he's hurt but I'm not holding my breath. </p><p>The whole thing upset me for a little bit but really, it's just more of the same with him. I think it upset my hubby more and I'm so thankful Jack didn't have to see any of it; Jack's been through enough.</p><p>Otherwise, life goes on. The sun is shining and it's above 0C which is lovely. Two years ago on this date the temperature was -35C. Mild weather makes winter much easier to take.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-31941974164116848582023-12-25T04:22:00.000-08:002023-12-25T04:22:29.103-08:00Huron Carol by Tom Jackson<iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/QCa6BM6-F24?si=c3_uRlT0WWQJacoD" frameborder="0"></iframe>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-66284803931423529382023-12-23T14:34:00.000-08:002023-12-23T14:34:15.416-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisD0pecekNQideaa8AuGyUJKCT2YlVFiGSmjSoQuhO0EJ4ehPxJOuRY_5XkKysDYu5JQF0BSH9naVxYZw-8rCHHnBh7WtpFicfQCQVdR8q7cD9Be3yxTaH_JzNc___STKUpF15Q6FjRHz60tABy-Y6CKGWhEw2xQOrtbyrDx9tpNZjW0dQONyeOyaGEZ8/s4624/20231223_103424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisD0pecekNQideaa8AuGyUJKCT2YlVFiGSmjSoQuhO0EJ4ehPxJOuRY_5XkKysDYu5JQF0BSH9naVxYZw-8rCHHnBh7WtpFicfQCQVdR8q7cD9Be3yxTaH_JzNc___STKUpF15Q6FjRHz60tABy-Y6CKGWhEw2xQOrtbyrDx9tpNZjW0dQONyeOyaGEZ8/w480-h640/20231223_103424.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /> This guy keeps me going.<p></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-90412767959303599132023-12-21T08:27:00.000-08:002023-12-21T08:30:29.861-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmqEALkujHY1qgvoy88dEvaKJL7fyYyg5fKN19s7S25W0lUIfUHkuwERHl_F8GfsQ2OUk_oGRAhTgP08cTZ_F9SfCJaSHW5IKJnViANEkqNXaYXner__NHqjewtKxl6tQqbCWrfjipl5citjJFi3pDtgXE-zsX8BkVIiPhNSp2gtr6GQjSJeS8Wk_b7Y/s1440/412284816_3320610851402909_6561013292379328827_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="1440" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmqEALkujHY1qgvoy88dEvaKJL7fyYyg5fKN19s7S25W0lUIfUHkuwERHl_F8GfsQ2OUk_oGRAhTgP08cTZ_F9SfCJaSHW5IKJnViANEkqNXaYXner__NHqjewtKxl6tQqbCWrfjipl5citjJFi3pDtgXE-zsX8BkVIiPhNSp2gtr6GQjSJeS8Wk_b7Y/w640-h514/412284816_3320610851402909_6561013292379328827_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Happy Solstice. We get seven hours and twenty-eight hours of daylight today. Our yard faces straight east, note how far south the sun is. Sigh. On the upside, virtually all of the snow has melted so driving and getting around has been easy.</p><p>Charlie and Jack have become best friends. Jack is so excited about Christmas this year. He woke up at 4:30 am this morning and wanted to know if it was time to open his gifts. I'm guessing the next three mornings will be the same. He and Poppa have a plan for what to leave out for Santa, and no fire in the fireplace on Christmas Eve. Jack also wants to see what reindeer poop looks like, because Poppa told Jack that he had seen some reindeer poop in the gutters when he was putting up the Christmas lights. I wonder if reindeer poop looks anything like elk poop, and I just looked it up and yes, reindeer poop does indeed look like elk poop. Good to know.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEAxO1MKIoI9BidaQK0dNMwhdTKNKROu9qDMsfFXUH-rW80WRhvjumgg2I63gUvArirauC7eCi8lPhhNGDUuOG1uHBcQIHhDrkr8CQgi8RimsdaZnvfZJAIi4ODG_vXRAXGjUX7QLZHW_2vWE4QGjqhAQiuujkb3Lb49LThVxCdEYFDjzktsgKxWLIzE/s1440/413035637_3323465934450734_4140429180925939471_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEAxO1MKIoI9BidaQK0dNMwhdTKNKROu9qDMsfFXUH-rW80WRhvjumgg2I63gUvArirauC7eCi8lPhhNGDUuOG1uHBcQIHhDrkr8CQgi8RimsdaZnvfZJAIi4ODG_vXRAXGjUX7QLZHW_2vWE4QGjqhAQiuujkb3Lb49LThVxCdEYFDjzktsgKxWLIzE/w640-h480/413035637_3323465934450734_4140429180925939471_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I'm still struggling with depression and feeling overwhelmed. Last week I cried twice at work and this week, only once, so far. Yesterday I had a patient who seemed fine, but I was having a hard time finding a vein on her. We were really busy and I was alone with ten patients to start drinking, screen them and start their IVs. Plus this poor lady, whose arm I had to heat for ten minutes and then I still blew her vein. She said she hated this time of year and was tired of people saying, I'm sure 2024 will be better. She said she didn't know if she would even live through 2024, and then she burst into tears, at which point, I did too. I gave her a good long hug and then found another nurse to start her IV, someone who was not crying. She broke my heart.<p></p><p>There are so many new patients and so few old patients. Some days it feels like an assembly line of sickness and death, which I can deal with when I'm not depressed. But when I'm depressed, every hour of work feels like an eternity and I keep saying in my mind, only one more day this week. Next week, I only work two days. I can do this. Keep going. </p><p>Another patient, when I asked her if she was ready for Christmas, said, that it didn't really matter. Christmas would come and go, regardless of whether or not she was ready. It's only a day she said. That helped me. I put a lot of pressure on myself, along with most women, to make Christmas special. Baking, cooking, cleaning, buying and wrapping of gifts, decorating, and socializing, most of it left to women to organize and accomplish. It's a lot.</p><p>On Christmas day we'll open Jack's stocking and gift from Santa and then take him to his grandma's for a few days. We'll go pick up Katie and take her out for lunch, at McDonalds, her favorite, and then go home. The two of us will have supper in front of the TV. There will be no large family gatherings, no elaborate meal and I guess a part of me misses that. Not that family gatherings were all that wonderful in my family but it was a tradition. </p><p>Mostly I'm tired and sad. My back is killing me and I'm tired of everything. I know this will pass. It always does. I'm having a massage for my back at noon and then I'll take the dogs out for a walk at the dog park. </p><p>Another huge plus, my friend in Australia, has just emerged from her own dark pit. We're a pair. I'm looking forward to reconnecting with her. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHBS8KsR3xk3rkNVcDqk0_eXYNmo1-QAcHr4Fbo3z5ywgrK2h6HmlLZbUP_m9o9XeAo5buOp3S4BE6C7P2EjQd-2w2qnzdvDinop51AwVmsNKG7KoP25CiV63xHD1os4IeO3ELXZBQxyp8SLkbU_mdYCVdIpa1Ip-nSB5tZVpUYxgOGNsJyQXVCnSErw/s705/7e9272c2809b521deda04bda24054616.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHBS8KsR3xk3rkNVcDqk0_eXYNmo1-QAcHr4Fbo3z5ywgrK2h6HmlLZbUP_m9o9XeAo5buOp3S4BE6C7P2EjQd-2w2qnzdvDinop51AwVmsNKG7KoP25CiV63xHD1os4IeO3ELXZBQxyp8SLkbU_mdYCVdIpa1Ip-nSB5tZVpUYxgOGNsJyQXVCnSErw/w320-h400/7e9272c2809b521deda04bda24054616.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /> </p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-34317309386139730722023-12-10T07:53:00.000-08:002023-12-10T07:53:05.174-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqzpFy5lFYtgbLBYAdvcUSx4nhjx7OKnW5OQWUVUvD8muocdUwuNH8fLx96aWXuP7_xdTZftATU5UHw2yjboyJN72cNnpOJyvh1oeYTgsqhXgAHkm4-zXLUsI19mwRfcSTD8hQB2Mq_dWt4KV-6eMJMBh8PiS_a8R26LEHr4Rlun75clhVChTkTxY5eQ/s1440/409223542_3313835692080425_5281327593556268929_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqzpFy5lFYtgbLBYAdvcUSx4nhjx7OKnW5OQWUVUvD8muocdUwuNH8fLx96aWXuP7_xdTZftATU5UHw2yjboyJN72cNnpOJyvh1oeYTgsqhXgAHkm4-zXLUsI19mwRfcSTD8hQB2Mq_dWt4KV-6eMJMBh8PiS_a8R26LEHr4Rlun75clhVChTkTxY5eQ/w640-h640/409223542_3313835692080425_5281327593556268929_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The black dog has caught up to me again, even walks at the dog park are not chasing it away. I can feel it on my face, just under my eyes and I want to cry a lot. I miss my children, not my son so much, although I do wish he could get his shit together. My daughter's memory is getting worse and she's using a cane to get around. I'll get a hug from Miss Katie today which will help.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's that time of year. The long, dark nights get to me. I worry about my middle daughter and her health. I worry about Jack. Kindergarten registration starts in less than two months and I know it will be a fight and a shitshow with his mother when I register him for kindergarten here and not in Edmonton. She doesn't have a job and there is no way she can get to Jack to school on a regular basis but none of that will matter to her because it's only about her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last night Jack stayed with his other grandma for the night, hubby and I went out for supper. I started thinking about our lives before Jack was born. We used to have fun. We used to travel. We had a life. Now we have a 4.5 year old to care for, which I'm happy to do, but the other side of the family don't seem to understand that we had a life. I'm resentful I guess.</div><div><br /></div><div>And sad. I'm not a fan of Christmas. It makes me sad because it never lives up to the hype, does not meet expectations. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jack is back this afternoon. Perhaps I'll take him to the dog park with me. It is beautiful and as you can see, we've finally had snow.</div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxAN35s_4AWzyXqkIlBdDm79YwQsUX7L5dOd_RVowWbVtD8fZTodQAu3mlX00NEGh2m9sBpVDo1xqRrSWvpYPntv3eYFITQmEOM_qcM52SbhkqWLvCrgjunbT5f0T43sGy9c8QFLVLlesTJSxA2bbp_0C4tve4UBhSxk3LYVKG3TmbcXUteA4oFmmsys/s1800/406782302_3314666615330666_9184891080130167625_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxAN35s_4AWzyXqkIlBdDm79YwQsUX7L5dOd_RVowWbVtD8fZTodQAu3mlX00NEGh2m9sBpVDo1xqRrSWvpYPntv3eYFITQmEOM_qcM52SbhkqWLvCrgjunbT5f0T43sGy9c8QFLVLlesTJSxA2bbp_0C4tve4UBhSxk3LYVKG3TmbcXUteA4oFmmsys/w512-h640/406782302_3314666615330666_9184891080130167625_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-77976223485184977402023-12-06T07:33:00.000-08:002023-12-06T10:53:37.444-08:00Florence + The Machine - Free<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me today.</span></div><div><br /></div>\<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/ui8kUKuLBaU?si=Uf6G2aGjWlMF88D3" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>I'm rage cleaning, with music full blast. I'm crying, thinking about all of the children in the world, dying because of the decisions made by adults, mostly male, in the name of religion ( the religions of god with different names and the religion of wealth and power), all of it, just makes me so angry.</div><div><br /></div><div>Update. </div><div><br />The house is vacuumed and the old toilet upstairs has been removed. I will attempt to install the new toilet this weekend. A lot of rage was expended on this toilet and that helped. And thank you for the comments. I'm not alone.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOrAr832HthtLPM3b1wq1HrxfC-z_M0wGs0NU2UJ9WXCRm-tajAhVeFOdRK6NH48LuJB3b4OA-m47wXD-2QWQKuw3owLl7XWzDc69sPdMzfgtXQZbg4DXZYVfdTmaa8IsLNeAIxc_hLSysgn8E8kJsEN_5hJP_H9ffTcPV9xKajEJzWGWmSq5qjoMVOw/s2048/408387629_3312395938891067_5906190597554755755_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOrAr832HthtLPM3b1wq1HrxfC-z_M0wGs0NU2UJ9WXCRm-tajAhVeFOdRK6NH48LuJB3b4OA-m47wXD-2QWQKuw3owLl7XWzDc69sPdMzfgtXQZbg4DXZYVfdTmaa8IsLNeAIxc_hLSysgn8E8kJsEN_5hJP_H9ffTcPV9xKajEJzWGWmSq5qjoMVOw/w480-h640/408387629_3312395938891067_5906190597554755755_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-49222251970790433832023-11-30T07:47:00.000-08:002023-11-30T07:52:56.891-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYxdel_Hn-q6-JNEbmCtErSC1F-HsEDuWizb9wJyk4BOMLS9wOgUKfiMyQ3-p3ZI6aBzYSBsIHiSW5PdFX4a1uj9OGO0g4sh4ZSnyd9tHZr-ECaHx4E5GBR6m9UkOv4wyksWJSRpSnGLXNH0wYAtkG-A30e3LASVXmih2mFsKB1kB-aiM1JiMP9CXOec/s1800/407233841_3307970366000291_6581725551849803428_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYxdel_Hn-q6-JNEbmCtErSC1F-HsEDuWizb9wJyk4BOMLS9wOgUKfiMyQ3-p3ZI6aBzYSBsIHiSW5PdFX4a1uj9OGO0g4sh4ZSnyd9tHZr-ECaHx4E5GBR6m9UkOv4wyksWJSRpSnGLXNH0wYAtkG-A30e3LASVXmih2mFsKB1kB-aiM1JiMP9CXOec/w512-h640/407233841_3307970366000291_6581725551849803428_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Do you have crayons spread across your kitchen table?<p></p><p>Does lego appear in strange places, bathroom, bedside table, kitchen counters?</p><p>Do you regularly dig lego out of your vacuum?</p><p>Do you have discussions about poop and pee on a regular basis?</p><p>Do you get ongoing notifications of visits to the toilet?</p><p>Are you involved in courtesy wipes, post poop?</p><p>Is your sleep often interrupted?</p><p>Do you buy a lot of milk?</p><p>Does anybody in your household point it out to you when you use a swear word?</p><p>Have noticed an increase in the amount of laundry you do?</p><p>Do you often have to repeat yourself, or ask others to repeat themselves?</p><p>Are you exhausted at the end of the day?</p><p>You may have preschoolers:)</p><p><br /> </p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333912009540131399.post-23020313238940914492023-11-28T14:57:00.000-08:002023-11-28T14:57:58.118-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QgXV2nB91Y4XMwTivJ3hI-7VPLhViYpMpC9TBZSLhS92P4gFtEnchzTu3pYVAMY48qLHBLD9lPLWDHl0qkzAzMrceeCrxO48Fl5wYS4Lk9dbv4H1OiOrUeZ7g6yKe9ps3oJbywiMg-oeqddDin1zxM3kaLUFpQUsXF-4uYpJ3SnfWPa34_9dTQONGiw/s1800/406284132_3306644059466255_8122966297642283270_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QgXV2nB91Y4XMwTivJ3hI-7VPLhViYpMpC9TBZSLhS92P4gFtEnchzTu3pYVAMY48qLHBLD9lPLWDHl0qkzAzMrceeCrxO48Fl5wYS4Lk9dbv4H1OiOrUeZ7g6yKe9ps3oJbywiMg-oeqddDin1zxM3kaLUFpQUsXF-4uYpJ3SnfWPa34_9dTQONGiw/w512-h640/406284132_3306644059466255_8122966297642283270_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br />Still no snow here and the dogs and I are enjoying it. Heidi is concentrating, she's listening for a squirrel. I was trying to capture her breath in the morning air but was unsuccessful, however, I still liked the shot.<p></p><p>We went to court today and we'll try again to slowly reunite Jack with his mom, with the court watching this time. We have another court date for the end of February. I imagine it will go on like this for quite awhile, until things completely fall apart again. What I didn't say in front of the judge and Gracie and her family, was how much her sister and mother dislike spending time with Gracie. The mom and the sister are stuck, for the next month, supervising Gracie while she's with Jack. If I say this out loud, I risk losing the trust I've built up with Gracie's mom and I guess I'm not willing to go there right now. </p><p>We're in it for the long haul, regardless. After everything was over the other grandma and I gave each other a huge hug and both cried. We both know how fucked up our children are, we just want Jack to be safe. </p><p>Nothing much else going on, work, housework, being at the beck and call of a four and a half year old:) Last night he crawled into bed with me at midnight and we argued about milk and benadryl. He said his nose was itchy and he wanted milk. I said no to both requests, he complained bitterly and then promptly fell back asleep. I guess technically, I'm not at his beck and call, but it does feel that way at times.</p><p>My Christmas shopping is almost done. My middle daughter is waiting for surgery on her fractured hip. I want to go visit her and her fiance in the spring time, so I need to make that happen. Meanwhile, I'll ship some Christmas baking off to them in a couple of weeks, along with their Christmas gifts.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZyEPvEvvS0EXmgK-j_UE_HKADi_FH9bOzPPbD9Qq2Cx8KXto4YTdxy2JL5GqEqZEvZbuWD7vCJTNUMWuvF93S6DI_FXbsupvJCmUqXMyLObGIb4XC_MyxHQb4HTAJDlIMWVBaUwlmGxMqdlc6FFoXphnmT5mDgCMUGGcNuHYMeRWDRDeQSF7AwdRroM/s579/6bc5d3a26c2bff153ff5f1d0c30399d2-funny-dog-memes-dog-funnies.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="579" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZyEPvEvvS0EXmgK-j_UE_HKADi_FH9bOzPPbD9Qq2Cx8KXto4YTdxy2JL5GqEqZEvZbuWD7vCJTNUMWuvF93S6DI_FXbsupvJCmUqXMyLObGIb4XC_MyxHQb4HTAJDlIMWVBaUwlmGxMqdlc6FFoXphnmT5mDgCMUGGcNuHYMeRWDRDeQSF7AwdRroM/w400-h400/6bc5d3a26c2bff153ff5f1d0c30399d2-funny-dog-memes-dog-funnies.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313413260127376288noreply@blogger.com11