Great Big Sea got it right

Funerals are such dismal affairs. Of course death is sad, I have a tough time with it myself. But why should the ceremony leave you feeling worse than when you arrived? All this sitting and standing, bleakness and repetitive empty words.

My aunt died Friday and I attended the funeral this morning. I arrived as the family was in a separate room, gathered around the open casket with the priest, everyone sobbing to say their final goodbyes. My Dad who'd held it together till then saw me and began crying in my arms. It was hard to see him and my other aunt so overcome - they lost their mother when they were 9 and 6 and my now deceased aunt acted as a surrogate mum to them growing up.

Meanwhile, the rest of the people in attendance sat in a room in silence listening to some extremely depressing organ music. We filed in and the priest began to reminisce about Lois, her life, how she was with children, what a good wife and friend she was. He must have named her about a dozen times, which would have been a really nice touch except that her name is Pauline. Everyone was turning to one another "who's Lois, who's Lois" and finally my other aunt stood up and corrected him. Turns out "father forgetful" had his mind on Lois, the young pretty blond lady who's job is to stand and sing a song during the service. Hmm. This would be the second service in my family where the priest forgets the deceased name.

Thankfully my Aunt Jo stood up and related some cheerful anecdotes to liven things up a bit but I use the word 'liven' loosely. Bloody hell. Why couldn't everyone get together with some upbeat music playing and take turns relating fun stories, and maybe have someone else make note of all the person's accomplishments, legacies, children, grandchildren etc? And why, oh why, do people still insist on viewing an over inflated, extremely made over corpse of the deceased? It's not even them anymore, it's just awful.

I mean our family is after all of Irish descent - Murphy's - pretty Irish eh? and I couldn't help thinking of that song by Great Big Sea:

Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget
Some of the boys got loaded drunk, and they ain't got sober yet;
As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play

That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy
That's how they showed their honour and their pride;
They said it was a sin and shame and they winked at one another
And every drink in the place was full the night Pat Murphy died

Now that's gonna be my funeral. And you can play this damn song to liven it up a bit!

an "overnight" stay...

Last Sunday, we went to Toronto for an "overnight" stay to see Greg's Dad who was in from Dryden. And of course we were packed for an overnight stay. We used hotwire.com to book our hotel as we usually do and stayed at the Renaissance. Once there we realized that by the time we'd spend some quality time with Grandpa that we wouldn't be on the road till early evening and that would mean that Ashiah wouldn't sleep once home so we opted to stay an extra night. We "hotwired" our hotel again and ended up at the Hilton. Then Ashiah got sick for the first time with crazy diarrhea and vomiting. Poor thing, she was such a trooper, didn't even cry after she projectile'd all over mommy and we had to hop into the shower fully dressed.

Now it's Tuesday and Greg has to get some work done before we can leave. Once done we stop to eat and now it's late afternoon, a snowstorm begins and the windshield wipers break. We manage to find a garage and set ourselves up in a nearby coffee shop for several hours. The car finally repaired we now face driving in a snowstorm and Ashiah wouldn't sleep the night once home again. So we opt to stay for 2 more nights because Greg's sister happens to be coming into town the following night and it would be good to see her. Now in need of fresh clothing we quickly run to the mall for a 1 hour shopping spree and book ourselves into the Sheraton for 2 nights - which by the way had the best service. Ashiah has survived on a bag of clothing I had in the car to give away - although mostly too small for her, we managed.

All the while, Ashiah's still sick and I take her to a local clinic that says we've done all the right things (pedialyte etc.) and not to worry it will pass. We finally set off for home Thursday afternoon, it's sunny, everyone's in a good mood after a fun family dinner the night previous, Ashiah's doing better and all is well. We stop off at a roadside eatery for a snack. Big mistake.

About 15 minutes later I begin to feel very nauseous. I already suffer from bad car sickness and I'm in the backseat because Ashiah was upset. I ask Greg to pull over at the Kingston exit so I can hurl. 4 stops later, we haven't left Kingston, I'm still vomiting, extremely weak and suddenly can't feel my limbs. Greg brings me to hospital where I'm admitted. I can't even stand at this point and am still vomiting so I can't hold Ashiah who's now screaming for me in the adjacent room the hospital provided for Greg and Ashiah to stay in. I have to say, they were some of the kindest nurses I've ever encountered other than at Ashiah's birth. But regardless, it was a nightmare - hearing my baby scream and not even being able to move a muscle to get to her. It was awful. Poor Greg was trying everything but this time not even Daddy could calm her. The second nurse who tended to me could see that despite the heavy medication they gave me to sedate me I was fighting sleep and I started to cry because I wanted my baby. So they brought her into the bed with me and I nursed her and we both fell asleep.

Then Greg began to feel ill. So he was off to bed too. They diagnosed me with food poisoning and dehydration. Oddly enough however, we found out that Grandpa has also been ill so I wonder if the food might have set off a dormant virus given to us by baby? Who knows. Anyhow, the hospital we found actually closes and they had to either transfer me to the bigger one around 6am or they offered to find us a hotel where we could try and rest and return if we didn't improve. With baby and the threat of various viruses in hospital, we opted for the hotel - the Peachtree Inn I think it was and there we remained till earlier today. Greg felt better yesterday and went out for some baby food and jello and popsicles, I remained in bed. Greg was so wonderful despite feeling very ill himself - it was so hard to look after a baby with both of us sick in the hotel and I suddenly really longed for our own mothers. But Greg's such an amazing Daddy, I am so very proud of him and love him so very much. We are lucky to be such a very special tripod :)

And now we're home and having all napped again when we got in, we're all up at this ridiculous hour and Ashiah won't sleep till much later not to mention that her original very difficultly attained 10pm bedtime is now down the drain. So moral of the story is we should have just come home Monday night I guess - how ironic!

2 dogs a cat and a baby

I haven't had the strength to blog till now because I've finally recuperated from last week. I've discovered that a 17 year old cocker spaniel, a 3 year old golden retriever, a 7 year old cat and an 8 month old baby when put together will give you an eye twitch. No really!

Two Thursdays ago, my friend who houses my now very senior cocker spaniel and my cat (because Greg is extremely allergic to them) went to Colorado for a ski trip. Naturally I was going to sit them since they are of course MY pets. So it was agreed that I would move into his house with the baby for a week and Greg thought this would be a good time for him to embark on a whirlwind work trip that took him from Vancouver to Seattle to San Fran to Washington to home in 5 days. We agreed that from Thursday to Saturday night before his departure, the dogs would come up to the cabin with us so Greg could be with Ashiah longer and he could walk and play with Calum the very enthusiastic Golden and would endure the sniffles for a few days. Then on Sunday, he would help me pack up the herd and all our belongings and help us get settled in our new digs and off he would go. The cat would be okay for a few nights alone. Good plan?

Wrong. Bad plan, very very bad plan.

For starters, Greg is still sniffling after a complete sterilizing of the house and about 10 loads of laundry, all blankets sheets cushions clothes etc. I'm still not done the laundry and am back trying to figure out some reason and miracle cure for poor Greg's animal allergies.

But that's really not the bad part. We ended up getting the snowstorm of a century and were snowed in at the cabin till Monday. Greg had to hike up to the highway through knee high snow in his runners (no need for boots where he was going) with his luggage and grab a cab to the airport to catch a very delayed plane. Meanwhile, I waited for the bulldozer to come dig us out. After 7 trips from the house to the car, the car was finally packed. Whiskey, my 17 year old cocker is having terrible bowel problems now and had pooh'ed in my car on the way to the cabin so that now it was frozen in the middle of the console and smelled fabulous. I hacked away at it with a knife swearing to myself in the freezing cold. I finally got both dogs, the baby and all the luggage in and off we went to Ottawa.

Once established in town, it was a week of picking up pooh, running after dogs and baby (who is now very good at crawling and getting into everything) and keeping them separate. On Wednesday I went to speak to the neighbors about Whiskey's now incessant barking and the wind slammed the door to the house shut and I was locked outside with only my boots on. Thank God I'd dressed Ashiah. Half an hour and $60 later, the locksmith who couldn't pick the very complex locks took a crow bar to the patio door and we were in. Great, now I'd broken my friend's door, something else to stress about. I hightailed it to Ashiah's doctor's appointment in Wakefield (half hour drive) and an idiot woman who thought she had enough room to pass side swiped me and the parked car beside her despite my waving no, taking out a huge gash in the parked car and denting mine and she took off. I got to the doctor's appointment and they said there had been a mistake and we were an hour early - this after I undressed a sleeping baby. Fast forward to 7 pm when I just want to sit and eat and my sister called with a frantic nephew needing assistance so it was back in the car and off to Hull where I helped bathe, feed and put to bed my 1.5 year old nephew and console my poor sister who had a hell'ish week herself back and forth from the hospital with my nephew sick with the flu.

Anyway, I survived the week but was sad that it wasn't the "cuddle with my pets fest" that I'd hoped it to be. I was frazzled and my nerves were shot by the time Greg got home at midnight Friday.

Despite everything however, I miss my boys now... Whiskey, Calum and Wookie. I miss them all terribly. I hope they somehow know that I still love them even if I can't always be with them or look after them the way they deserve. They will always remain my first babies... but furrier.

Milestones

It's interesting how we tend to stop recording milestones as we get older. Hmm, first time I saw a whale with my own eyes....geez, how old was I, 25/26? First time on a plane....hmm, I think I was also around 25. First time I put my feet in the Atlantic ocean...I think I was around 20? First time in the Pacific...26? First time off this continent, age 33. First time attending a birth, age 33. First time giving birth, age 34. First time writing a blog, 34.

Point is, every time my daughter crosses a new milestone she is so excited and proud of herself and so are we. I tend to try and keep track of every fascinating thing she does now so she, and we, can go back and remember it, but I've now realized that her whole life is going to be one new adventure and fascinating milestone after another and that I could write endlessly - because really, life should never stop being fascinating, nor should we become so jaded that we forget to mark our continued milestones and be proud of them.

First time learning to appreciate and record life's milestones: age 34.

The teacher of this life's lesson: my daughter, age 7 months.


To family members, here are a few of Ashiah's milestones:

First road trip: 1 mth (to Toronto for Daddy's Ultimate game)
First plane trip: 2 mths (to Washington - Daddy's work trip)
Grasps things in her hands: 3 mths
First dip in a pool: 4 mths (in Hawaii on family vacation)
First time trying solids: 4 mths
First time jumping in jolly jumper: 4 mths
Sitting up alone: 5 mths
First family winter holiday: 5 mths (Winnipeg in December)
First time standing up alone while holding something: 6 mths
First time being without Mommy and only with Daddy for more than 4 hours: 6 mths
Implementation of Mommy/Daddy Wednesday date night and being babysat: 6 mths
Transferring from Mommy & Daddy's bed to the bassinet: 6 mths
First temper tantrum: 6 mths
First big accident: 6 mths (split her bottom gum on coffee table)
First two teeth (bottom): 6 mths
First time seeing fish and sharks under water: 7 mths (San Francisco)
First time sitting in and touching snow: 7 mths
First time clapping: 7 mths
First time crawling: 7 mths (Ashiah's mastered the innovative "crab" crawl
First visit to the Children's hospital: 7 mths (fell off the bed on her head, thankfully mild injury)