Thursday, December 31, 2009

Passages, Large and Small

My husband and I are going to be moving to a larger apartment next month. This was not exactly in the plan, but we've vastly outgrown our itsy bitsy teeny weeny apartment (which was fine for the two of us but when two became three, and three came with baby stuff and then AND GOT BIG...yeah. It's time.) We were supposed to have been in a house by now but if there's one thing 2009 taught me (again) is that sometimes, things really aren't in my control---or anyone else's.

So I wrote out our notice to our landlord---it'll go out with tomorrow's mail---and I feel a pang. It's not that I want to stay (gods forbid---when I say we're cramped, I'm NOT kidding) or that we're making the wrong decision in moving. But this place was our home for almost five years and a lot of good (and bad) things happened here. I found out I was pregnant here, and miscarried here. My husband came home from coronary bypass surgery here, and our daughter was conceived here. My water broke here, and five weeks later, we brought our daughter home from the NICU. My cat passed away while we lived here. And so on, and so on. Life happened, in other words.

I don't know who will live here after us. That's the thing with apartments---they're supposed to be transitory. But I wish them well, whoever they are.

And to anyone who may be reading this...may 2010 bring all for you that you didn't get in 2009, and may you stay safe and healthy with those you love.

Blessed be.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

The Age of Reason. Sort of :)

I'm home today---my husband has a nasty migraine (though really, is there any such thing as a non-nasty migraine?) and has been suffering from it since about o'dark thirty this morning. So it's pretty much me and Roisin today. This, coming on top of the Cold Virus of Doom (which we all had over Yule and are all---still---trying to get over) makes me really want to go throw a pity party, table for three. We're all just getting sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Which brings me to my daughter. She's had the crud since Christmas day (and for one of Dante's rings of hell, nothing quite matches a sick, cranky three year old with parents who've had roughly three hours sleep between them.) When Roisin is sick, she alternates between being cranky and being clingy. But as she's been getting better, I've noticed something.

I can reason with her now.

No, I'm not talking about advanced level discourse---we'll not be solving the problems in the middle east anytime soon, or ending the war in Iraq. But she's getting to the point now where I can talk to her and at least explain what she's doing wrong and what Rob or I have asked her to do. I don't pretend that she immediately does it, or that we don't have to repeat ourselves---she's three, after all. But it's the difference between not being able to explain to her (because she wouldn't get it) and being able to communicate fully with her.

It's a nice change, if a little unnerving at times. She's changed so much in just the last year---it wasn't so long ago that we were seriously considering having her evaluated for a possible speech delay. But to look at her now...she's growing more into her own person. And I wonder what else she'll tell us.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

To My Daughter, on Her Birthday


Today, at 2:45 am, you turned 3. (When you read this, I know you'll wonder, as I used to with my mom, how in the heck I could remember the exact time, but trust me. When your life changes forever, you tend to take notice of the time.) They dried you off and your dad and I waited for your first cry and there it was---thin, but annoyed as hell. You were a fighter---but then, after all we went through just to get you here, I knew that.

When I look at you now, the only sign of your NICU stay is the couple of IV scars you still have---you might lose them in time, but I sort of hope not. They're your history, symbols of how strong you had to be before you even knew what strong was. And, incidentally, how strong you made us. You were there for five weeks, and every day we saw you, every day we took pictures. I'm glad we did, because to look at those pictures now and remember, is to see a miracle.

You're walking and talking and trying so hard to figure out your world that you astonish your dad and I both with how much you're understanding. And you've discovered the fine art of pouting, lower lip and all. Your dad and I are doing our level best to teach you right from wrong in spite of the lower lip tremble, just so you know. (And by the way, it's very cute, that look. We can't give in...but it's cute, just the same.)

So this is my wish for you on your third birthday: that you continue to be strong and healthy, that you love carefully but fully, and that though you won't always agree with us (I can guarantee that) that you'll never doubt how very much you're loved.

Happy birthday, Roisin. :-)

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Actually, the Winter Solstice is the reason for the season....

Dear Co-worker,

I've known you forever. You're a good person, and a great friend. And I'm thrilled you've found your faith again. I really am.

But, for the love of [insert deity of your choice here] can you please stop sending me religious emails? You know I'm Wiccan. This means that I celebrate Yule at this time of year, among other things which we've talked about and which I know you know about.

I don't want emails about how "Jesus is the reason for the season"---it's a nice rhyme, but it's not true, since Jesus wasn't born in December.

I don't want emails about how we should pray for our country (apparently, we need to pray extra hard now that our president is reaching out to members of other faiths. Right. Because this is SUCH a problem, and the fact that 1 in 8 Americans is on food stamps is a minor concern. /end sarcasm.)

I don't want emails about how there should be prayer in school. There shouldn't be, unless it's a private religious school. I believe strongly in the separation of church and state.

I don't want that email about St. Theresa's money prayer that I know you've sent me ten or twelve times in the last year---don't you think the saint has better things to do than monitor our emails and keep track of who forwards it?

I don't want the email on the latest conspiracy theory/doctored picture/email scam that you've received and decided to send to me because "I'll know if it's fake." Your trust is touching, but really, I use Snopes.com. Nothing complicated or mystical. Trust me.

And finally...before you hit "Send," please think twice. I know the temptation is to assume that everyone around you is some form of Christian, but a good many of your co-workers and friends may not be. We are not all the same and many people keep their beliefs out of the workplace. I don't have a problem with your beliefs. Please respect mine.

About Me

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Wife, mom of a preemie, follower of the old ways, lover of anything Irish or Celtic, history buff, trivia nut, Star Trek and Ren Faire geek and costuming fiend. Offer me coffee or chocolate and world peace is assured. Or at least I'll try really hard. :) I also believe in deleting spam. So, to the person or persons who keep leaving me comments in Chinese (along with links to what I can clearly tell are Chinese porn sites) stop it. It's bad karma, to say nothing of being really, really rude.

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