Change of Blog Plans

I've been thinking that this little blog of mine is too eclectic, so I'm starting a different branch of it called "3 Little Billy Goats". I want a place specifically for the boys and family news - Cookies Daughter was meant to be a space for me, but my thoughts have been gobbled up somehow by my three great guys and my affection for them. They need their own spot - not one that's murky with my childhood memories. So, if anyone is reading this, and you want to know more about the lads and their antics, go to: http://3billygoats.blogspot.com/. Meanwhile, my plan is to keep Cookies Daughter running so I have an outlet for the strange thoughts that fill my head.

Thanks for stopping by.

Croup[id] rhymes with stupid. . . .

We're at the hospital - Aidan was admitted yesterday so they could keep an eye on him. It made for an interesting night. His crib looks like a cage (it has a lid so he won't get out). The meds he was given made him hyper - so it was like watching a baby gorilla swinging through a metal jungle. He was in good spirits during that time - thank goodness. I wore him out with his favourite finger plays, and he finally got some rest.

I'm writing from the parent lounge - it's nice that hospitals are wired so we don't feel so out of touch! Hoping to be discharged and out of the cage later today, or tomorrow. I hope Aidan's good spirits stay up - and that he can rest and get well for his grandparents visit on Wednesday.

Croup Rhymes with Group

Croup is such an ugly word. Rhymes with group for a reason, I guess - because the bloody thing gets us working together to try to control it. James and I were on a relay team taking Aidan into the steam-filled bathroom 6 times last night - it was the only way to help him breath. Poor little pumpkin sounded like a squeaky toy, it was quite scary. Scary because it came on so quick! Yesterday he was fine, and enjoyed a little time in the snow (did this bring it on?).

Luckily we could help him breath with the steam, otherwise it might have been a sleigh ride to Emergency. Yesterday was our first snow on the Island, and the hill outside our house was so slick with ice, cars/trucks/vans were sliding backwards while trying to get up. The power went out for a couple of hours, we steamed him by candlelight, and I rocked him in the rocking chair so long my shoulder feels like it's dislocated this morning.

Still, though, all these complaints, and I'm grateful. My mom used to say, "it could be worse," and she's right. It wasn't heart surgery (we already did that). We can handle anything - it's just hard to be brave and take it with grace when you're in desperate need of a nap! I think of others out there who are in the hospital right now, with less sleep and more fear, and I'm humbled.

The day can only go up from here!

Lads

When I think about my boys, I feel blessed - I am the luckiest mom on the planet. I'm not sure what I did to get so lucky. Perhaps it was the vitamins, or maybe it was the prarie sky, but whatever it was I'm thanking my lucky stars.

This photo was taken just after Aidan came home from the hospital - it's one of my favourite photos, as it captured so well the excitement the boys were feeling at the time.

This seems like a good spot to tell you what happened the morning I had an appointment with the doctor to confirm my pregnancy with Aidan (my littlest). We were living in Edmonton at the time, and Kieran woke up early, came downstairs and started to tell us a dream he'd had:
"Last night I dreamt that we found this baby that didn't have any
owners. You said we could look after him, and so I asked him if he
wanted to be called Batman, and he said, 'yes'."

The funny thing was that we had not told either boy about the pregnancy, and
hadn't been hinting at it. I went to the appointment, got confirmation, then told Kieran and Liam that we were having a baby. Kieran hugged me and said, "thanks, mom!"


I'll always remember that - and to this day, I am amazed at their bond. Kieran is a boy who can get rather stressed out. He's moody and feels things very deeply. If he's having a bad day, we inch Aidan a little closer to him, and watch as Kieran calms down and overcomes his frustrations. In some ways, Aidan is like a therapy dog - he never fails to bring out the best in people. Kieran becomes incredibly gentle and protective of Aidan - he is tender and not afraid to show his love for him (he's not like that with other people - he usually holds things in).

Kieran and Aidan


Liam and Aidan

Liam, my 5 year old is also an amazing big brother - but in the beginning he was like a drive-by blur. He would get so excited, and start running around. He'd want to help, but his idea of helping was to throw a diaper at us when Aidan needed changing. Now, he reads books to Aidan, and wrestles with him, yelling "attack, it's attack of the baby!"

And Aidan? He soaks it all in - and loves every minute of it.

I Feel Like I've Joined a Special Club

I was sitting at the side of the pool with Aidan, watching Liam have his swimming lessons. A dad and his little boy sat beside us and we started to chat. The little boy had his bathing suit on, and showed me that he had a 4 inch scar on his lower back, close to his side. "I got an owie (sp?)", he said to me. His dad said he had to have an operation on his kidney. So, then I told the little boy that Aidan had an operation too, and would he like to see Aidan's scar? - of course he said, yes! So I showed Aidan's little heart scar, or as my flickr friend, Jennie, says his "chest zipper".

What followed was a conversation with the dad about having kids go through operations. How difficult it is, how thankful that we are that modern surgical procedures are as advanced as they are, and how we rejoiced when our kids were "fixed up".

Then he asked me, "so, is it any different to have a child with Down syndrome?"

I had to think for a second, then said, "yes, you know it really is for me. Since Aidan was born, I feel like I've joined a very special club. What I mean is that people who have kids, grandkids, siblings, etc. with Down syndrome just seem compelled to come and talk to us. We're tied together by that special little person with the extra chromosome, and that's kind of cozy."

I really feel blessed to have Aidan in our family, and I know the rest of my family feels the same way.

Well, that's it. Just wanted to share that thought with the world.

Echoes of Stress

Aidan had a cardio appointment yesterday to meet our new cardiologist and have an echocardiogram done. He took it like a trooper--but not me. I was very stressed about it--to the point of panic attacks. I can't believe how much of the raw shock from the first echo came back at me. I knew that Aidan was fine this time around--there have been no signs of heart failure and the cardiologist in Winnipeg said he was completely repaired. But still, I thought that he was fine before his first echo--I really believed his ticker was okay and the shock I felt when they told me he had 3 holes in his heart and would experience heart failure and need surgery completely overwhelmed me. I remember I felt like I was being kicked repeatedly in the stomach. I guess you never forget those feelings, and even a routine echo has the power to send my head spinning.

Anyways, Aidan was great. He lay back with his hands behind his head while the technician performed the echo. He looked like he was getting a massage at the spa. Best news is that his heart is still fine, and we do not need to go back for about 5 years.

So, those panic attacks were unwaranted, but sure served a purpose to remind us how far we have come, and to be grateful for it.

"All About Networking...."

A long busy day today, and it's that moment just before bed when I think back to all I've done and said and heard and saw and this is what I came up with: "it's all about networking". That sums up my day. Well, most of it. I'm not sure the bike problem was networking, but you never know.

First, boys to school. Kieran wanted desperately to ride his bike because he's just learned without training wheels. Liam, not one to be outdone, also wanted to ride. So, I walked pushing Aidan in the stroller and the big boys biked. Except by the time I got to the school I was dripping with sweat, had a scowl on my face, was possibly cursing under my breath, and my heart would not return to it's regular calm beating. I nearly had a thousand kittens on the way to school. Watching Kieran hit the ditch and ride straight down the bumpy, grassy hill with his feet out to the sides like a double kickstand, heading straight for either a pine tree or into the blackberry bush. Me yelling, "hit the brakes!" and not having enough time to do anything about it--I almost let go of Aidan on the hill heading into the depths of traffic hell which is the mad rush of parents dropping their children off before hurrying to work themselves. And the scene from Battleship Potemkin running through my head as I imagined the pram bumping it's way to the stairs.

After that fiasco I went to a meeting for spouses and listened to women give tips about the job search on the island. "It's all about networking", they said. I sat there feeling pretty good--replaying last nights outing to the Children's Literature Roundtable, and anticipating another night out at the fiction writer's critique group that I would attend later that day.

And so the day is over now and I couldn't help but think "okay, I'm networking..." all the while I smiled and listened, and looked and commented. Now, what will come? We can't see what's around the bend, so I leave it in God's hands.

Now, should I let the boys bike again tomorrow? I'm not sure my ticker will take it!

A few words jotted down

This morning after Kier went off to school I took Aidan for a long walk to the view I've fallen in love with. Each step and some words started forming in my mind, and they kept reworking themselves until I had to stop, get out my notebook and scribble them down. What I came up with was either a first chapter to a YA novel, or a short story. After the jotting down, I walked some more, and stopped in at the hospital (I feel at home in hospitals), sat down on a bench and jotted down a better ending to the chapter. God it felt good.

I just love the high I get from writing. When I've written something that feels good and right and solid, I just feel this incredible elation. I'm not sure when it started for me, but I remember writing a poem in my mid-twenties and I felt like I had climbed to this summit that nobody else had ever been to. The view I was seeing was mine, and I wanted to share it with everyone I knew.

Now, here's a question. Is this normal? Do other people feel this overwhelming sensation that they have to write their thoughts down? Or am I just the crazy one?

Blue water's my daughter, I'm gonna skip like a stone. . .

Okay, I like Tom Waits, or some of his songs. The lyrics are amazing and at times strike a chord deep within me. When I left Owen Sound, I felt a need to be near the water, and was fortunate that Trent University was situated on the Otonabee River. My first summer away from home I worked at the Peterborough Marina, and my love of the water was fed well then. Growing up in a harbour town imprinted certain things in me, I'm sure. Like the names of boats. It was second nature to read the names of the ships as we passed them. I think the longing of a connection with my father was always there too. When I was old enough to row the boat at the cottage, I used to take my journal or whatever book I was reading out with me. I'd row to the little rocky island, or just a little out and drop anchor. And just float. God, that was when I felt real, and alive, and connected, and like anything in the world was possible.

When I moved out West, I was again in a city with a river, but none of the big ships. Still, I loved to walk along the Meewasin Trail and watch the pelicans scooping up their dinner, or see the lone beaver minding it's own business. I loved the walk across the bridge in the early morning, and again, the world was full of possibilites and hope.

And now, I'm on an island, and I feel so at home. On my morning walks with Aidan, I like to go to the highest point on the Goose near our place so I can see the Inlet. If nobody's looking, I salute it. I can't imagine ever wanting to leave.

I Blog, Therefore I Am!

I was hesitant to begin a blog because I wasn't sure where to start, or how to start, or what to say, or how much to say. Deepest, darkest secrets? Biggest, boldest dreams? Will anybody read this? Will anybody care? Is what I have to say important?

I've decided that this personal blog will be an exploration of who I am. It is not meant to chronicle the lives of my kids--though I'm sure there will be days where it seems that's all I do. I have been using Flickr for that. It might end up being a chronicle of myself as a hopeful writer and teacher. Though I began with my parent's stories, I do not intend it to be all about them. I simply needed a starting point.

Ultimately, I suppose, this blog is for me. If you choose to read along, welcome to you! If you wish to comment, go right on ahead. At the end of the day, we measure out our life with coffee spoons. . . might as well make each spoonful worthwhile.

Best,

Carol

Cookie's Wife--and other details

My mother spent the first 4 years of Dad's illness looking after him at home. I remember those years as being very difficult for her, and very hard on her. There were times when my dad would wander at night, and we would drive around looking for her. He would often stagger as if he was drunk, and this was embarrassing for her. Once he vomited grape juice in the kitchen and dining room. There was purple "throw up" on my math text book, and the walls were splattered. Our walls were covered in a green geometric-patterned wallpaper, and years later we would notice the odd speck of purple that wasn't properly washed off. I refused to use my math text, even though Mom cleaned it off. She went to my Grade Two teacher to explain and asked if we could exchange it for another copy. For all I know, she just told me it was switched; but, I believed it to be a new copy, and continued with my math homework.

Just a little side note here: I do not remember any teacher asking me how my dad was doing, or for that matter, how I was doing. Everyone pretended what was happening was normal, even though it was most definitely not normal.

The Doctor told my mother that when it got too much to look after Dad, he would have him admitted to hospital. The way I remember it: Dad woke up and tried to go to the bathroom. He fell and couldn't get up. Mom and my sister tried to move him, but couldn't. In the morning Mom phoned the Doctor; the Doctor sent for an ambulance; Mom got my sister and me ready for school; the ambulance drove passed us while we were walking to school; our dog, Suzy, was very upset, and sat in the window watching the ambulance take my father away. There was no lady with the alligator purse.

I can only imagine how difficult that morning was for my mom.

He never came home again.

Regarding Cookie and what happened to him

My dad was a ship's Captain on the Great Lakes. After I was born, he got his pilot's licence and would pilot foreign ships through the Welland Canal. In the winter he taught Marine Engineering at Georgian College in Owen Sound. I remember my dad as being a huge man, with lots of freckles. So many freckles that he won a freckle contest and his picture was in the paper. He was a jolly man, and liked to laugh with people. He fished, golfed, skidooed, drank beer, and smoked cigars. My Uncle Wink recently told me that on my Dad's Latin exam during his graduating year from high school he wrote "audios Huarache's, the steamboats are calling". I don't know if he translated it into Latin or not. My Dad's cousin Ray said that it was his impression that my dad was very intelligent and could have done anything. It might have upset my grandfather who was a Doctor in Wiarton Ontario, that his eldest son did not follow in his medical footsteps. A sailor? Honestly, I think the water called his name. Apparently my Grandmother's family came from Island Magee in Northern Ireland; and that our ancestors were sea-faring people. Perhaps sailing was in his blood more than we realized.


When my mom and dad were engaged some guy started an awful rumour about my dad. Said he was swept overboard by a cable. My mother said it was horrible waiting to get confirmation about it as my grandfather dealt with trying to locate the ship. Grandpa gave Mom a tranquilizer which she said didn't work at all--it just made her more upset. When they discovered it was a rumour, my mom's brothers had a few "words" with the jerk who started it all. I wonder what he had against my Dad? Didn't everybody love him? As a kid, I just couldn't imagine that.

In the early '90s I worked as a waitress for a few months in a little artsy cafe in Owen Sound. I was a terrible waitress, but I do remember very clearly hearing a Stan Rogers song while wiping tables called "White Squall", and there is a line in it that went "a red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall, 'cause her lover's gone into the white squall." It was one of those moments when I could have dropped a tray of dishes. It froze me inside. Could Stan Rogers have been in Wiarton during the time of the rumour? Did he hear about it?But Mom said Wiarton had a lot of sailors back then. They were a dime a dozen.

In 1972 I was 4 years old, my sister was 8. Dad was felled by a mosquito that left him with a brain injury. The virus he contracted was called "Encephalitis", and I hated that rogue mosquito ever since. Dad's symptoms were high fever and headaches. The story goes that when my mom and dad's friend Maryann was having her third child, he told her he was simply experiencing sympathy pains. My mother looked after Dad at home for a couple of years, then sent him to the long-term ward at the old General and Marine Hospital. He was only 36 when he "took sick".

I'll write more later, this is enough for now.

What's in a Name?

Coming up with a good blog title befuddled me. It raised all kinds of questions--how do I want people to view me? Should it have something to do with me being a mom of 3 boys? Should it somehow contain my love of writing and big huge dream to be a published children's author. Perhaps it should have something to do with the teacher-librarian side of me? Or, maybe it should focus on the fact that I'm an Island Girl now! Oh, and then there's the whole trying to lose weight and get in shape part of my life. . . .

What the heck do I want my blog to be about? And, does it have to have just one focus?

I chose the name "Cookie's Daughter" because for so many years, I felt that first and foremost I was my father's daughter. Who my dad was and what happened to him, and what his life was like really did shape who I am. I think it did, anyway. My sister might disagree. My husband might disagree. But for so many years I felt that I lived in the shadow of Him.

I'll write a little about my dad's story in my next entry.