I've been writing here for almost ten years and before that there were other blogs where I wrote for about another ten years.  I even went to a blog conference many years ago in Chicago.  My blog was called tired mummy and it was about taking care of Katie.  When I told people at the conference the name of my blog, their eyes glazed over and they found an excuse to wander away, except for one or two people.  One woman I met was wonderful; she felt like one of those people you've always known.  She was familiar.  We kept in touch for awhile, but life.  I wonder what happened to her.  She had a son name Roan who must be fully grown now.

I think it's time to take a break for awhile from blogging.  I will probably still read blogs and maybe even leave comments but something's changed for me, not sure what, but blogging has become work instead of an outlet for me.  

We had some new snow last week, I think it was.  I can't remember, not long ago.  It's made everything nice and clean looking again, for a few days anyway.  Heidi and I are enjoying are walks at the dog park.  She likes to poop in the woods (who am I to judge).  I just like listening to the birds and petting friendly dogs.

 

I have to go to physio today for another assessment and for rehab, despite having no foot pain.  Have I mentioned how much I dislike being told what to do?  Because I really hate it.  The worst part is that every person I talk to about my foot has the wrong diagnosis, except for my podiatrist.  Fortunately my podiatrist comes back from holidays next week and I have an appointment on the 11th so that she can clear me to go back to work.  Sigh.

Just got back from physio, what a nice young man.  He asked me why I was there and he was fine with my swearing.  He assessed my foot and did give me some toe exercises because I have big toe pain.  He doesn't think I need physio. HAH!

My renter moves out of the condo this weekend and next I will paint the condo.  Hopefully I can get it done in a week.

Jack is now spending four nights with us and three nights with his mom.  He's exhausted when he comes back to us, not getting enough sleep.  He also has a TV in his room at her apartment, because every child needs that to improve their sleep habits.  She put one in his room when he was nine months old.  We have a guardian meeting on Monday so I guess we'll see comes of that.  Last night at supper he wouldn't eat what he had asked for, pizza and then yelled at me that he wanted candy NOW after he refused to eat it.  I told him that didn't work with me and he didn't get any candy.  His behavior is getting worse, the more time he spends with his mom.  It's so strange how that seems to happen.  It's almost like there's some kind of correlation there.

My depression has lifted, thank god.  

I checked to see if he had really written this and he had.

The anniversary of my mum's death almost passed without me realizing it.  Both of my parents died in February and it seems to drag me down.  Mum was a beautiful woman but even more importantly she had a wonderful sense of humour, something she passed down to me.  I don't pretend to understand my parent's marriage but they stayed together through thick and thin; their ashes both sit together at the bottom of Ladysmith Harbour on Vancouver Island.  Or more likely, their ashes drifted off, spread wide and far in the Strait of Georgia.

I mostly feel like crying.  There's a long list of things wrong with the world and I drag all of those things together, pile them up around myself, stare at all the pain and hurt in the world and cry.  My heart hurts.  Death and destruction in Ukraine, the same in Turkey and Syria (mother nature and corrupt builders this time), babies who won't know their mama's, the United States seems to be sinking into a dictatorship with the rights of women and girls being smashed under the boots of the Republican party, mass shootings (in the US), climate change and fossil fuels.  Closer to home Lucy is doing worse on the Lasix, her cough and breathing have declined and I realize how much I'll miss her when we finally have to put her down, and how do we decide that time?  And Jack, caught in the world of adults, he doesn't get a say in his life and that breaks my heart too.  He fights for control, all the time, I recognize it and feel the same way myself but it's hard.  And the insurance company is telling me that I can't work.  I hate being told what to do.  I dig in my heels and it brings out the worst sort of bitch in me which makes me sad too.

I just get so tired of feeling depressed.  It comes and goes of it's own accord.  I try to feel better.  I write, I breathe, I walk, I practice gratitude every single night, I take my pills and still it hounds me.  Depression is a life long disease that robs me of good feelings on a regular basis.  It is a bastard.  

Lucy

It's bloody cold today, -36C with the wind chill.  Hopefully this will be the last cold snap before spring starts to slowly arrive.  I did wonder how Gracie managed to get Jack to daycare today with the cold.  I hope she took a cab instead of a bus.  I pick him up this afternoon from daycare and he'll stay with us until Sunday.

We're trying, actually Gracie's family is trying, to get Jack and Gracie back to living together.  I have my doubts but I guess time will tell.  I'm not getting fussed about it this time.  Everything seems to just follow the same old patterns.

I don't know how much help Gracie is getting from her sister this time.  The sister and her boyfriend had a very close friend murdered earlier this month.  Gun violence is not that common in Canada and when it does, it usually revolves around drugs or mental illness.  Their friend was gunned down on the street at 5:30 in the afternoon.  Not sure what their friend was involved in, or if it was a case of mistaken identity.  

I'm making progress on getting the condo ready for sale.  The ceiling will be painted for $1000.  The painter can do the walls for an additional $2000 but I'm far too thrifty to pay that much money for someone else to do what I can do.  It will take me a week to paint but I enjoy it.  The cleaners have been booked and the screen door will be replaced (the renter's cat tore a hole through it).  I'll be glad to have it sold and the money will go toward our mortage.

Yesterday was a down day, no car, nothing that needed to be done.  I cleaned the house, washed the floors, made shortbread and watched a movie that wasn't as bad as I had expected (Shotgun Wedding).  But I felt down all day.  Today is a better day, I have errands to run and things to do.  I do like to feel productive which is something I will have to deal with when I retire.  I will still work part-time I think, or volunteer, because I need a purpose.  Or maybe Jack will be living with us, I don't know.

Speaking of Jack, my hubby ordered glow in the dark stars for his bedroom.  So far I have put up stars in the shape of the big dipper (the only constellation I can recognize) and Orion.  I'll put up another one today.  I'm guessing Jack will love them.  Maybe this summer we can get him out to Elk Island National Park which isn't far from us, and is a dark sky preserve.

My ode to nursing, which I miss so much.

Not much going on around here, some rough days for me mentally but things are back on stable ground thank goodness.  I'm still walking the dogs as much as I can, sometimes just Heidi, sometimes Heidi and Lucy.  Lucy is enjoying the walks a great deal and I'm walking slower to give her time to sniff everything.  Heidi will be eight this year and I've noticed that she doesn't run as fast with the young dogs as she used to, neither do I:)

My foot is feeling good and I'm still waiting to hear from my insurance company about the course that is vital to my successful return to work.  From what I can see, the company is more concerned with algorithms and ticking off boxes than individuals.  I have an appointment with my podiatrist on March 11th, so I'll give them until then.  Otherwise, my doc and I will decide what will ensure my successful return to work.

Jack woke up at 3:30am on Saturday morning and stayed up.  Saturday was a truly unpleasant day in which both nana and poppa said bad words.  Jack now points out to us when we say a bad word which is so helpful.  When Jack is tired he gets quite hyperactive and doesn't listen to anybody.  We had to leave swim lessons early and I carried a crying child past all of the other parents standing around, watching their children learning to swim.  It would have bothered me when I was younger but I'm old enough now to understand that every single parent watching me has dealt with the same screaming child.  He also didn't want to eat, although he did drink a lot of milk.  He was sound asleep by 6:30pm and everybody was so much happier Sunday morning.  

I'm reading another good book (there are so many good books in the world), "Breath" by James Nestor.  It's about breathing and breathing exercises which sounds dull but he's an excellent writer.  I've started doing some of the exercises and I guess we'll see.  I did manage to calm myself in the car yesterday when I had to drop Jack off with his mother but she was a no show and her phone was dead (a common occurence with her).  I ended up dropping Jack off with his grandma and then raced across the city to pick up Miss Katie, who was also having an off day.  The exercises are specific, which I need, not just breathe in and breathe out.  This exercise involves counting which keeps my brain busy enough to keep going with the breathing.

One of the people mentioned in the book is a man called Wim Hof who claims his breathing methods can cure all kinds of problems.  I was thinking about what I would like to have cured and I decided I would like to no longer have to deal with disordered thoughts and depression.  I would love to be able to trust my own thoughts, to not feel broken, to not have to work so hard to appear normal, because let me tell you, it's hard fucking work dealing with depression day in and day out.  

But everything is not dire and humour helps, always.

It's been twenty-three years since my dad died.  I used to think that he died on Valentine's day so that mum would never date again but now I think, maybe he died on Valentine's day because he loved her so much.  I hope so.

My dad was a very difficult man.  He was angry and built a wall around himself that only mum was allowed to pass through.  I think/know he had undiagnosed depression.  He grew up in extreme poverty with an alcoholic mother and went off to war when he was nineteen years old.  I learned many years later, from my auntie, that his best friend was killed beside him during the war.  He also told me once that he thought he would go to hell for things he had done during the war.  I told him god doesn't work like that.  His brother suffered from schizophrenia and ended up on the streets of Vancouver where he died in the seventies, beaten to death.  His was a tough family that came from the mines and poverty and addiction.

I was born when my sisters were almost sixteen.  There were five dead babies between me and my sisters.  A counselor once told me that I must have been so precious to my parents because of that.  Maybe I was, but that's not how it felt.  Looking back at old photos though I see my dad holding me and I hope I was precious to him.  I hope he let me pass through the wall when I was little.  I hope I gave him some comfort.

I didn't grow up poor but I didn't grow up well off either, working class I guess you would say.  My dad always worked at least two jobs while I was growing up, sometimes three jobs.  We never went without and always had a roof over our heads.  That was his way of showing us love; I just didn't realize that when I was young.  The hardest part about growing up with him as a father was his rage and his anger.  He never once hit me but he would shake with anger and that scared me enough.  He also sped off in his car when that happened.  I think now that he left because he was afraid of what he might do.  He was afraid of his own anger, just as I am afraid of mine.

When he left mum would always start crying and wringing her hands.  Dad never left for long and he always came home.  As I grew older I realized that dad could never leave us because he couldn't actually take care of himself.  My mum was his anchor and his support.  She saved him and he knew that.  There was also real love between them, although it was hard to see, especially as a child.

I wish I had the chance to talk to him again, with love, with understanding, with compassion.  I understand too much, too late.  But isn't that how life so often is?  We live it forward but only understand it backwards and maybe that's why grandparents are so important to children.

I've been working on getting out and walking the dogs more frequently, to make sure my feet are good to go back to work.  Somebody carved two hearts into a dead tree.  I couldn't resist.

I want to apoligize to all of the people who left comments and who I only found today in my spam folder.  My bad.

Jack is with his aunt and uncle this weekend.  They took him up to Lac La Biche for a birthday party thing, so we have time to ourselves.  It's weird and lovely.  I slept until 8am this morning.  Jack usually gets up at 5:30 or 6am, so sleeping in is heaven.

When I picked up Miss Katie this morning she had received a jury summons in the mail.  I had to laugh and I so badly just wanted to show up with her at the jury selection site, but I filled in the form online that tells them that she has an intellectual disability and that she can't read, write or speak.  Katie would have loved it.  All of those people to say hi to and to shake hands with, heaven.  This morning she met a seven week old baby at the mall.  She was over the moon and I thanked the mom for stopping to talk to Katie.

I had a couple bad days last week.  My stomach has been giving me a hard time, lots of reflux so I've been taking pepcid.  I was doing pretty good and I always get to a point where I think, okay, I can take this without my depression getting worse.  And then the next day I dropped into a dark depression where I thought about suicide, a lot.  At least now I know what causes it and I stopped the pills.  The worst of it was gone the next morning but I don't know what to do.  My GERD isn't going away, neither is my depression.  I'm sleeping on pillows piled up so I'm half sitting to prevent the reflux.  I also know that the reflux puts me at increased risk of esophageal carcinmoa.  What to do?

I met with a realtor last Friday, he looked at the condo with me.  My renter is moving out on March 4th and then there will be cleaning and painting.  I want to get the condo on the market asap.  My realtor asked me three or four times how people (my renter) can live in such filth.  I told him I had no idea.

I'm reading "Bewilderment" by Richard Powers right now (thank you Sabine).  It's a wonderful, heartbreaking book and I would recommend it.  I loved his last book too, "Overstory".