How can I tell you this?

(My little darling the day before...)

There's been a little accident. Happened a week ago, actually, but I wasn't able to write about it then. So I decided to let my three scheduled posts run, thinking that by now it would be easier. But it's still not.

Last Friday morning, we were all at home together (it was Quebec's National Holiday), still in our PJs, wondering what to do with our day. M started making peanut butter pancakes with LP. I put the kettle on, then brought my very hot tea mug to the table. Little miss F had finished her breakfast, so like I sometimes do, I sat her on my lap. I automatically pushed my mug a little further to make it out of her reach, since she's been wanting to grab everything, lately. Then, during a second a distraction while I talked to LP, the unthinkable happened: she still somehow managed to grab it and spill it on the table. On herself, mostly.

I still remember the moment when I realized that this was going to be really, really bad, but that there was nothing I could do. I jumped out and yelled. "What's wrong?", said M, startled. "She burned herself, she burned herself!', I shouted, completely hysterical. "Put her under cold water!" After a few seconds she started crying, an extremely loud, high-pitched, non-stop shrill that would go on for the next hour and a half. M immediately put her into the kitchen sink with running water. I was trying to be focused but mostly failing, my heart racing, taking LP to his room to try and get him dressed (he had started crying too) while telling him that we were going to the hospital, then just throwing his clothes on the floor and giving up, then running the cold water in the bath for no reason, then reaching for towels and wetting them, all into the same 30 seconds. I went back and grabbed her. "Don't panic, it's going to be OK, it's going to be OK," M kept saying, but I knew it wouldn't be because I could feel the extreme burning sensation on my own thigh and wrist. We undressed her (she was wearing a onesie and jeans), and she was completely red on her abdomen, with skin peeling off already (M said this was the moment he realized this was for real, worse that everything we had ever experienced as parents). I put her onto her changing pad and applied cold wet towels on her. I told M to get LP dressed and take him to the neighbors, which he did. During this time I was still running around like a mad person with her in my arms, getting more towels, putting her on my bed to get dressed in whatever clothes and shoes, taking a diaper. When he came back, I asked M to assemble everything we needed to go to the hospital, then I had the idea to take her to the neighbors, too (our neighbor is a firefighter, so he's trained as an emergency first respondent). We stormed into their house with the naked, all wrapped baby. His wife dialed 911, he pulled out bandages used for burns, and they sat me down on a chair with F on my lap, applied the bandages on her, bringing new cold wet towels every minute. LP was downstairs with their girls, apparently OK (he told me later that at this point he was "reassured"). M was running in and out of the house, bringing our car seat, her pacifier, our house and car keys to leave them, a blanket and some clothes, the diaper bag, her medical ID, etc. The wait seemed endless. She kept looking at me in shock, not understanding what had happened to her, her mouth dry from shouting, almost yelping in real, real, pain. I basically wanted to die.

Finally the paramedics arrived, two women, one of them the rudest, least compassionate person I've ever met. They decided to leave the temporary bandage made by my neighbor, installed her in her car seat, then on the gurney, and put her into the ambulance. I climbed in, and M followed in our car. The ride made her calmer. They monitored her heart rate, which was regular, and gave her oxygen, which I was told was standard procedure for pediatric patients. I couldn't believe I was going through this, speeding on the highway in an ambulance with strangers taking care of my little baby. We arrived at a local (suburban) hospital I had never been to, and just like in Grey's Anatomy, two people were waiting for us in the yard, helping us to rush her in. They brought her into the "shock" room, and told me to wait outside. I asked one of the guys to bring me some OJ, since I am hypoglycemic, had not eaten anything, and was feeling really faint. Someone did almost immediately. I could still hear her wail. I wanted to just lie on the floor and break down. After two minutes, a nurse came to fetch us, just as M was coming in.

At least seven people were taking care of her. They had changed her diaper, removed the bandage, put electrodes on her tiny body. A nurse had even brought in a small bottle of formula, "just in case". When I told them I still breastfed her, they asked me to try right then, to see if it would calm and comfort her, but she wouldn't take the breast, she was too distressed. The friendly doctor reassured us while his very efficient team worked. When he asked when had this happened and M told him "half an hour ago," it didn't compute at all. It seemed like it had been years. She had second degree burns (superficial as opposed to deep) on about 10% of her body, mostly her abdomen, with little spots on her left hand (I think she's going to be a leftie like her mommy). He expected her to heal relatively quickly without requiring any kind of procedure. But because it was 10%, after she was stabilized they would have to transfer her to one of the two Children's Hospital in Montreal (which Will and Kate are scheduled to visit tomorrow). Again, standard procedure for a baby this age, not because it was so critical, but because there were concerns about her maintaining her body heat and hydration. You lose a lot of heat and fluids with such a burn, so she would need to be monitored. They decided to wait a little before doing another bandage, because they wanted to see how "far" the burn would go. They gave her ibuprofen, then attempted to install her hydration IV. They made me leave, because apparently I looked (and felt) as if I wouldn't be able to take it. I expected it to be endless and awful, but M came back to get me after five (long) minutes of hearing her wail again. It was done, and they had given her a small dose of a morphine derivative.

F was now calm and awake, just looking at everything around her with her very wide eyes. They wrapped her abdomen up again, and she did not say anything. We waited for the other ambulance to arrive. One of the nurses told us that she would accompany us there and discuss the case with the team taking over. I was sitting by F's side, still blindsided. But then I realized that her expression had changed. She was smiling at me. And when I smiled back, she did a little hand wave with her burned hand, something she had started doing just the day before. I cannot tell you how much better I felt at this moment. My baby was back. She was going to be alright.

Before momentarily leaving him again, I told M to call everyone, to arrange for his sister to pick up LP, to have his parents come from Quebec City. We hopped into another ambulance, arrived at another hospital. F slept the whole trip. This time, the paramedics and the nurse were really friendly, and I was so grateful for them to be there. After the nurses "transferred" the case, we were taken to a small room within the ER, where they hooked her onto a new IV machine, examined her, took standard samples from her throat, ears and nose (to verify if any unusual bacteria was on the surface of her skin, which would have made infections more likely). They took us to the "Observation Room" adjacent to the ER, where they let us put our things into a small glassed room with a rocking chair and a crib. M left with her to be seen by doctors and get a better bandage done. Again, they suggested I stayed behind, because I "looked too weak and pale". I was such a wreck I didn't really argue. Being with her would be agony, being without her would be agony. I thought that they would come back within five minutes, so I sat on the rocking chair and watched the seconds pass on the clock, one after another. I could hear a baby wail and assumed it was her, I couldn't control myself, I was crying hysterically again. Once in a while a nurse would smile tenderly at me and told me everything would be fine. Over an hour passed. I didn't think I could physically take it anymore.

Then M brought her back. She was calm and happy to see me. He told me that they had cleaned her wounds, peeled all the little dead skin off, and she hadn't even cried for a second. The doctors had taken pictures of her chest with their iphones and put it on a repository, so if someone else wanted to see it they wouldn't have to make her endure any more pain. She was all bandaged up, including her hand. They told us they would soon take us to a room on a different floor to spend the night. Several nurses and doctors came to check up on her. I nursed her, I hadn't all day and it was nearly 3 PM. She fell asleep in my arms.

M went to have a bite to eat, then I did -we were still running on empty stomachs. We called LP and told him that we were alright, bébé was OK, we would be back soon. I texted my mom who was begging for reassurance. I didn't feel like I could talk to anyone except my son (I still find it difficult, actually), I was so certain everyone was going to blame me and I didn't think I could take it.

Around 5, we were taken into a private room in the Trauma department. There was a bed on the floor for me as well. Nurses took care of her, taking her vitals, bringing her a high chair and a tray of homemade purees within five minutes. We put her into it and she ate with great appetite. She was pretty much back to being herself, curious, social, smiling, chatting, batting her eyelashes to flirt with everyone. She truly amazed us.

M went back home to get us some things and spend a little time with LP. Around bedtime, she became a little fussy, so she was given a micro dose of morphine. I hated my baby to receive narcotics, but I hated the idea of her suffering excruciatingly even more. M came back and stayed with me until she fell asleep at around 9:30, then he went home. I dreaded the night, but it ended up not being so bad. F slept well despite nurses coming in every hour, and despite all the tubes, wires, monitors that kept on beeping because her pulse was getting too high and such. She only woke up twice to nurse, and fell right back to sleep. I slept too, even if never longer than in hour-long stretches. They would take every dirty diaper I took off her and weigh it, to make sure she was hydrated enough. After a while, they determined that she was. Given the circumstances, she was doing very, very well.

Despite realizing the situation it's as if it hadn't really sank in yet. At this point I was just so relieved to see that she was doing well and that it hadn't been worse, it's as tough I had forgotten why we were there in the first place. I couldn't really see the bandages anymore, they didn't shock me, and I couldn't really imagine what was under them, either. I was still, however, endlessly thinking about the moment, reliving it, trying over and over again to see how it could have been different. Why didn't I let my tea cool on the counter like I often do? Why didn't I put her on her playmat after breakfast until I finished mine like I usually do? Why didn't I put her in the thick, long-sleeved sweater I had decided she would wear on that cool day, but put aside for after breakfast because I didn't want her to stain it? But also, how lucky that it was a holiday and I didn't have to deal with this alone. I additionally realized that her bulky, super absorbent cloth diaper probably stopped her from being burned on her lower abdomen,
genitals, and legs, so at least there was that.

M returned early the next morning, and the plastic surgeon who was going to be in charge of her from now on came by, so the nurses gave F morphine again and took out her bandages. I braced, and it really looked terrible to me, but everyone said that it wasn't a "bad burn" at all, and they had seen much, much worse. The surgeon told us we could take her home, and come back to change her bandages every few days. It would heal by itself, and after the bandages were gone we would only have to massage the area with lotion 3 times a day to help the skin regenerate, and keep her out of the sun for at least a year. She did expect the burns to leave a faint trace, not a scar per say but maybe just a slight discoloration. We told her we we supposed to go to California a week later. She said that she wasn't sure she would be healed enough then, but we would see.

The nightmare was over, but then a new, more insidious one was beginning. Our life sort of resumed normally, thanks mostly to LP, and thanks to F who has been nothing but a champ. We give her Tylenol every four hours, and have codeine on hand in case she's really fussy and seems to be suffering, but we barely had to give it to her. She laughs when we tickle and kiss her, greets us in her crib with a smile, and still adores her brother more than anything. She eats, and nurses, and babbles, and plays, just as usual. She doesn't seem to mind her bandages at all, and basically never complains. When I see her like that, it makes me feel OK. She gives me strength and energy. I try to remember that she won't always be like this.

But to tell you that I'm feeling good would be lying. I was deeply shaken, and every day it seems to sink in more and more. When I look at the pictures now it hurts more than when I took them. My tiny baby, so surprisingly strong, but so fragile, too. Seeing her wound (her chest basically has no skin now, and it looks so incredibly painful) is putting me in a really, really bad place. You have no idea how much I would have wanted to take the hit, take the pain in her place. It's so hard to accept that she has to go through this. I don't try to suppress these feelings, I just want to process them (writing this helps, I think), and find a way to live with them. I have fallen apart on occasions, it's only normal I think. But there are also some dark demons in there (figurative speech! I am not losing my mind, I promise), and I'm trying hard to fight them, because this kind of guilt is a bottomless pit, really, and no one wins if I give in.

I know you guys are kind people and you are all going to want to tell me that it's not my fault, I shouldn't feel responsible for this. And I know it's not my fault, of course. I never in a million years wanted or thought that anything like that could ever happen. I know that. But. This shouldn't have happened. My role is exactly to protect her from things like that. I didn't. I've been way too relaxed and carefree in such situations. I can't afford moments of inattention like those, and I have plenty of them, thanks to my usual tiredness and flakiness. I'm supposed to make sure she doesn't get hurt. She got really, really, really hurt.

I love it when...

...food producers use the "you wouldn't buy it" excuse to distract you from the real reason...

For instance, a few years ago, we changed the way we buy meat: eating less, and of better quality. Over time I have found pretty reliable sources for everything, with a few exceptions. Bacon was one, and the other was ham. Both things we occasionally love, but found hard to find without nitrates, which is a preservative, mostly used for color. It's carcinogenic, so this is why they don't recommend deli meats for young children, part of the reason why no one should eat that much of it (there's also the salt and saturated fat, of course), and why they say when you do eat it you should balance it out with a food that contains antioxidants. Mhh. OK. But I'd still rather avoid it when I can.

So several times I've asked butchers, or farms, or the like, if they added it to their ham. "Oh but we have to. If we didn't, you wouldn't buy it." Really? I wouldn't? You know that?

That's kind of funny. It's also exactly what apple orchards tell us during our annual visit in the fall when we ask if they spray their fruit with pesticides: "We do because you wouldn't want an apple that's not treated." Well isn't strange. Because interestingly enough most supermarkets now offer a wide range of organic apples, and, wait, they look fine! They're also just as tasty. Some are just a little smaller, some are less shiny, but that's not even really a rule.

Don't assume what I want. Don't use your "just between you and me" tone of voice, as if you were doing me a favor. Don't do something that's bad for me and my family, and tell me that you're doing it "for me". Don't tell me what I need or don't. Give me a choice, and I'll make it, alright?

I know you're probably not a bad guy, you just have to make understandable choices. But I'd really rather have you tell me the truth, something like: "Listen, doing things differently is more difficult. It take a little more time, and it cost a little more, and our margins are thin and we don't want to scare our customers away. It's always easier to just do what we've always been doing, and rely on the fact that 99.9% of people don't ask questions and don't even care."

I'm sorry to be the annoying one that does. I don't mean to be, you know. It's just become some kind of a personal battle of mine. How not OK the whole food industry is, how much it relies on the fact that they just can get away with it. I know it's more complicated to ask questions and to care; wouldn't it be so much better if we didn't have to? But that's the thing. The industry knows you'd rather not care; whether it deserves it or not (definitely not, very often), it has your trust, so why toy with something so golden?

And the funniest thing? Recently I've seen ads for new nitrate-free meat products (for instance these and these -the "rolling greens" stuff on their site is still such BS, by the way), not even just ham, but also bacon, sausage, hot dogs, deli meats, salami, and the like... The ingredients are just like a dream: pork, salt, garlic, mustard seed. And wait, they look, and taste, exactly the same. Isn't crazy? So I guess, you didn't really have to after all, uh?

The Switch

The following ad came up recently during the Jamie Oliver Food Revolution show on ABC. It's for a new, customizable cover on your Dell laptop:





And, something sounded vaguely familiar. Until I put my finger on it. Malajube!



One of my favorite local bands. I'm so happy they got that gig, it will probably win them big, both in terms of visibility and financial sustenance.

I even posted about that song back in 2008. No I did!

Sun blocking

Do you know what's in your sunscreen? It seems simple enough: the sun can burn your skin, hence you put on a product that protects you from it. So that product is good, harmless and trustworthy, right? Of course, when you dig just a few inches deeper, you then realize that it's not. Unfortunately, it's never that simple.

The world of sunscreens is apparently a bit of a free-for-all. There are few regulations that prevent, for instance, a manufacturer from making unverified claims. So when an advocacy group tested over 1,700 products earlier this year, they found that 80% failed the test, either because they weren't as protective as they claimed, or because they contained potentially dangerous ingredients. Four out of five! I just couldn't believe it, even though I must say that for the last couple of years, since I've started researching and questioning cosmetics, I've seen little but disappointing claims, unscrupulous abuse of the public's trust, lots of cause for concern, and so on.



Here are some general rules from what I've been reading on:

-Mineral ingredients, like zinc and titanium, are better choices than chemicals, some of which have serious toxicity concerns.

-Oxybenzone is the main ingredient to be avoided, especially for children, because it is widely presumed to be an endocrine disruptor (same as BPAs).

-Another culprit you don't want in your sunscreen: forms of vitamin A, which new evidence suggests is photo-carcinogenic, i.e. could cause cancer when exposed to light! WTF! Manufacturers use it sometimes because it's an antioxidant, which slows down skin aging.

-Don't trust very high SPF claims (like SPF50+). Usually, these are simply untrue, and they give you a crazy, potentially dangerous false sense of security.

-Don't forget UVA protection. Most sunscreens fail at providing an adequate one.

-Stay away from spray-on formulas. From what I understand, the nano-particles used in those could be inhaled or absorbed into the skin, which can be hazardous.



When I checked the industrial-size tub they were using at LP's daycare, I immediately saw that it was loaded with oxybenzone, parabens, etc. So I have become one of those annoying mothers, who bring in their own (they were charging us $23 per year for that cr*p, by the way).

But which one to choose? This database provides a good list, but I picked the La Roche-Posay Anthelios. Why? It contains a mix of sun filters, including titanium, but also avobenzone, which is considered the "better" of the chemicals, as well as Mexoryl, a seldom used but highly effective UVA filter. Both avobenzone and Mexoryl are in the "lowest concern for human exposure and toxicity" category. It it water and sweat-resistant (do not believe a label that says "waterproof," it's simply not possible), and has an easy-to-apply lotion formula. On the negative side, it's pricey, and it may or may not contain parabens (I couldn't verify for sure).

I also remembered that my dad always insisted on us putting Ombrelle when we were teens (I don't think we were using much sunscreen when I was a kid). So I checked the ingredients and surprise: they're basically identical as the LaRoche-Posay, and it's much cheaper. Then I realized both brands were owned by L'Oreal, so it figures... I think I'll go with this brand from now on. Kudos to them, by the way, for the little "Add to my Blog" widget on their website.

And lastly, you know what, I don't think the sun is that much of an enemy. Call me crazy but I still think we need a little exposure every day whenever possible, if only because we need the vitamin D, especially around here when we don't get much in the winter. So I don't systematically apply sunscreen to the kids whenever we step foot out of the house. If we go out for a few minutes, to water the plants for instance, or if we're only walking to the car, then to the store, then back to the car, I don't use it. For anything longer than that, we lather it on.

Have fun in the sun!

Merci.

Thank you all so much for your love and support re: last week's post on my struggles as a mother of two (including those of you who sent emails). It means everything to me, it really does, you have no idea. Here are a few afterthoughts...

I know I have perfectionist tendencies, coupled with a big fear of failure, which has always led me to be more of an underachiever than I probably should/could have been. This is certainly part of the problem (as is the fact that I am such an overthinker), but the thing is this isn't about me... It's about them. I don't wish to be a better mother for the sake of my own standards, it's more that I feel this is the one thing I CAN'T sc*ew up. But your comments were really helpful, and really there's nothing to do but relax a little more, and not agonize so much over this.

Strangely, I don't really feel so bad about the situation regarding F... It's true that she does get a little shortchanged compared to when LP was a baby (I don't read stories to her every night and rock her like I did with him, etc.), but then she just doesn't know that. She has never known anything else, and when I look at her I can see that she's absolutely thriving... It's not always the case for LP, whom I can see sometimes suffer from the situation.  

It was a little freaky and ominous that the night before this post was scheduled for publishing, my son, who's been sleeping remarkably well lately, woke up crying and confused. When I went to see him, he first told me he had a nightmare, but after a few minutes it turned into a very real, desperate, semi-conscious meltdown about exactly what I was trying to articulate in the post. Not quite awake, sobbing, he started shouting at me that he didn't want me to take care of the baby anymore, he didn't want to have a little sister anymore! He wanted me to take care of him! He needed me! In the past seven months, he had never expressed anything like that. He wasn't mean, he was just hurt.

I finally calmed him down, after a very long time cuddling and kissing and whispering into his ear that he was my one and only big boy, that I adored him, I loved him so much, in fact, that I didn't want him to grow up alone, I had wanted to give him a little sister who is now his biggest fan. That I knew this hasn't been the easiest time for him lately, but that it would only get better... That I would always be there for him, and that I would try for us two to have more time together every day... The next morning, he didn't remember anything, and had reverted back to being the loving big brother that he is.

I really hope that my post has not suggested in the slightest way that I ever regretted this decision to have another child... Because it has never been the case. Even on the tough days, I'm still so happy that we decided to plunge. The interaction that they already have makes everything worthwhile -LP can make her laugh like neither of us can, and seeing them being silly together is the best feeling ever. It's like we didn't even know before that our family wasn't complete... And now it is. So don't you worry about us... I know it won't always be that intense and challenging, and I never forget about the blissful moments, either. I'll just keep trying... I'll just never stop trying. We'll be alright. I hope.

(On the Lake Champlain ferry, Father's Day).

Spooked

I don't really believe in supernatural stuff much. We don't have ghost stories in our family, or things like that. They interest me and sometimes fascinate me, it's almost as of I'd like to believe them, however my rational, skeptical side always wins.

About six years ago, I went to see a psychic, after someone at work kept insisting on taking me me for months. She wanted to make me a convert. She lived by what that woman told her, and she was so certain that I would, too. Back then, M and I knew each other, had told each other about our feelings, and I was thinking about him all the time. But he had recently started to see someone, having decided that after two years of waiting for me, if nothing had happened yet then it never would (ha!). So we weren't a couple.

So did the psychic wowed me? Meh. Not really. Although a lot of what she told me did come true, that yes, we would be together and he was the true love of my life, we would get married, have two children -one girl and one boy, etc. She also somewhat (although not exactly) accurately predicted how we would officially start our relationship, a week or two after that. She additionally said that we would one day start a business together, and live in a big, secluded house by the water with lots of space and a huge wooden garden, which actually are our two big, main dreams (well that and living abroad).

But you know, she told me what I wanted to hear and to believe. Nothing in there is also out of the ordinary -she pretty much described the most generic life path and family one could have. Normal odds of these things happening anyway were pretty much in her favor... Furthermore, I mostly think that these people's greatest talent lies in extracting the slightest thing you suggest to them, verbally and non-verbally, and extrapolating on that... The only thing that did take me aback was when she affirmed that M rode a motorcycle, because truly she had no way of knowing that and it was pretty random. So.

But premonitory dreams/visions/feelings, I don't know. These are puzzling and a little confounding. My dad has had not one but two of those, both occurring within a month of each other when I was a baby. Both were true and completely spooky. My father is a science man, very rational and sensible. So these, I believe.

Now you might remember that M has started a new job a few months ago. So even though he's friendly with his co-workers, he doesn't know them much and hasn't shared a lot about his personal life. But last week one of them came to his desk, looking grave.

She asked him, completely out of the blue, whether he had a specific health issue (which he does, but nearly no ones knows that). M nodded, a little dumbfounded. "Is is well controlled?", she went on. M shook his head. "Go to doctor. You need to be better at controlling this".

"Er?..." Was all M was able to say.

She went on to ask that he please not think of her as a witch, but that she had a dream about him last night. About this aspect of his health, which is not major but could potentially become worrisome. And it wasn't good. She felt awful and couldn't sleep after. She added that it was one of those dreams she has once in a while when she knows she has to tell the person after.

And did these dreams usually come true? Yes, she said. Once, she even called a friend she hadn't talked to in years to predict her miscarriage. The woman hadn't told anyone she was (3 months) pregnant yet. She sort of laughed at her. Then called back two days later because she had lost the baby.

...

M now has an appointment, but only next month. I must admit I have a hard time thinking about anything else.

Groundhog vs. family garden: victory of the former by K.O.

Rookie mistake number 1: thinking that we could garden while sharing the yard with a groundhog.

Because Julie couldn't help herself climbing in to munch on our delicious shoots as soon as they grew, and I got tired of replanting them, M bought a powder repellent and applied it everywhere. It didn't faze her.

So we built a two feet high chicken wire fence around the vegetable patch. Haha, we thought, we outsmarted her!

The next day I saw her walking around the patch, confused that her all-you-can-eat-buffet was suddenly unavailable to her. She then left pitifully and went on to eat on one of our ornamental grass perennials, thus revealing to me why it simply wasn't growing this year.

The day after that she somehow got in, ate all the shoots again, made a terrible mess, then wasn't able to get out. So she dug and dug and made a huge hole in one corner. She eventually found her way out, probably thinking that this was no big deal and no one was going to notice.

So after that of course I realized that I wouldn't be able to plant again until she was gone. My father who has had this problem before has a trap/cage at his house, which I can borrow when I'm going with the kids next week. We'll then have a few days to try and entice her with an apple, and release her in a nearby park. Then we're leaving for LA so I won't be able to tend to the garden for two weeks, and then it will definitely be too late to plant.

So despite our excitement at the amazing, brand new vegetable patch, we won't do much more growing than we did in previous years. She doesn't like tomatoes (that I already knew because she never touched them before), so these are thriving, actually having grown so much they are already completely cramped, and already bearing small, unripe fruit. The cucumbers seem to be doing fine, as are the peppers. The groundhog left the onions and the radishes alone, because these taste too strong and she's a picky vegetarian at that. I'm however filled with a feeling of impeding doom whenever I look at them now.

Recent scenes from a marriage

First scene, interior, nighttime, bedroom. The room is dark except for the glare of an ipad, which the woman is reading from in bed. A man arrives and undoes the covers on his side, looking tired, lying down as well. Just as his head hits the pillow, he jumps out with surprise and horror. He turns on the light and returns to bed, where he finds a metallic toy robot at his place, all perfectly tucked in.

The man, looking at the woman: ?????

The woman: Yeah, right, I forgot. Victor the Robot needed to take a nap.
___________________

Second scene, interior, nighttime, living room. The same couple is there, him working at the computer, her reading the latest issue of National Geographic. The following conversation occurs without them looking at each other.

The woman, thinking out loud: What? The Inca were still flourishing around 1500?

The man: Yes. What's your point?

The woman: Nothing, I just thought that this civilization peeked earlier.

The man: Well, they were still thriving until the Europeans arrived.

The woman, smiling: These damn Europeans. They really sc*ewed up everything didn't they?

The man: Don't say that... If they hadn't come to the New World, we...

The woman, still smiling, interrupting him: ...we wouldn't live in a place that was totally inhospitable to begin with and where all there is are either terribly harsh winters that can literally kill you or terribly humid summers when you are literally eaten by mosquitoes?

The man: Point taken.

____________________

Third scene, exterior, day, besides a car. The (slender) woman is trying to help a little boy get into his car seat, but space is very limited around them. The man is on the other side, buckling a baby girl.

The woman: Good thing you're not very big ("pas très gros", which in French means both big and fat)...

The boy, innocently: Oh yes! Good thing I'm not as big/fat as you are because then I could never get in!

The man smiles demoniacally, aware that he's now going to have a new, very fruitful pool of wisecracks at his disposition.

The woman: Don't you even think about it, you smart*ss.

The man, grinning: Well you know what they say... Better a smart*ss than a fat one!

Just another mother of two

You guys, thanks for your comments about me doing great as a mom. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm a good mom. I really care, which I hope all mothers do. I think I am thoughtful, and loving, and such. But I am not *always* doing great. Try as I might, I don't always have my sh*t together.

I know it's not really possible to be perfect, but since last year I feel that my good mom quotient only keeps on getting down. Something began changing when I got pregnant, and I find myself in a place of unbalance, or dissatisfaction towards my own attitude a lot more than I used to. This makes me unbelievably sad.

I started relying on the TV too much, despite seeing how not good it is for LP, and for the whole family bonding/communicating as well. Yet, I've been so unable to get out of a perpetual sleep deprivation state that now that he's old enough to do so, we let him get up earlier in the morning and watch it alone while we (and especially I), try to sleep in just a little bit more in the next room. Sometimes, I just don't have the energy to do a fun little activity with him, and it's just so much easier to let him watch his programs.

I've become impatient. I used to be a fairly patient person, even towards his extreme fussiness as a baby, or his terrible-twos. That's the thing: at that age, you cannot get mad at them. They are so pure and innocent... Even the slight discipline you have to do then seems almost fun. But since last summer (starting during out trip to Italy), which might or might not be related to the arrival of his little sister, something has been different. We have good phases and phases worse than I could ever imagine. Some days are only about whining, crying, disciplining, bouncing off the walls, shouting (his), him being bored and unhappy and defiant. I yell at him sometimes, despite promising myself I'd never do that, despite knowing how wrong and useless it is. I lose it sometimes, in the heat of the moment, when I'm especially tired and we're having a bad day and I just cannot take it anymore -repeating the same thing over and over and over again while he keeps on playing deaf, refusing to do what I ask of him, negotiating everything, constantly doing things he very well knows he's not allowed to, constantly interrupting our conversations to ask the same thing we both said no to, whining, throwing himself on the floor because it's the sixth time I have asked him to eat his breakfast instead of watching TV and I turn it off.

I get completely exasperated, which is incredibly sad. I hate disciplining him and would love if I never had to, but I feel that not giving him clear boundaries when he's acting out and does something wrong would be the worst thing that could happen to all of us in the long run. So I resent having to. I feel so bad that we don't have as much quality, fun time together as we used to, especially since you know, he sees me all lovey-dovey with his sister all the time -again, how could I not be towards my baby? Despite being much stronger and completely unconditional, your relationship with each of your children has a lot in common with the one you have with your spouse. And babydom is that phase at the beginning when everything is rosy, you never argue, you don't see any of the other person's flaws, nothing has clouded your intact rapport yet, and you (mistakenly) believe that it will always remain that way.

I also don't know what happened, but without even realizing it I have somehow lost this special connection I had with him, and I find this devastating. Sometimes he asks me to do something for him and I tell him I'll do it right this minute, then get distracted by something else that needs to be taken care of, and completely forget. Way to show him how much I care. Sometimes, I'm with the baby, who still needs a lot of time to be nursed/changed/fed, and after a while I suddenly realize that I haven't heard LP in like half and hour, and I have no idea where he is and what he's been doing (usually playing quietly or "reading", my sweet boy). And worst of the worst, while I wake up at night at the slightest sound F makes, sometimes M tells me in the morning that he got up to see LP, who had awoken and was calling for me but I didn't hear him. He needed me, and I didn't even wake up.

Whenever I keep him home during the week (once or twice, depending on what we do), I also often get completely overwhelmed. How bad is that? My mother was home all the time with us three, my maternal grandmother had five, my paternal grandmother had twelve. I can't even really deal with my two, despite my first being old enough for relative autonomy and a certain reasoning. And they're not fully interacting/getting on each other's nerves yet! Not to mention that I'm still on mat leave, at home full-time.

It's not always so bad, I obviously adore him and also think he's smart and funny and even adorable but it's not always really great, either. For some women, motherhood seems to be so natural. They would be perfectly at ease with 5 or 6 kids, and everything would run smoothly. It's just... so not the case for me. Often at night I vow to be more patient, to take everything with a grain of salt, to become a better, more understanding mom. I cry a bit and try to work through my guilt. It works somewhat, but in the end this new life is always a bit of a roller-coaster ride. And frankly, I'm not the mother I really wanted to be. I strive for better than that.

Do you remember back when I was so hesitant to have a second child, because I simply couldn't imagine how it would be possible to give them both enough attention, how I feared that I simply couldn't do it? It really pains me to say, but in hindsight, I was right. Every day (usually several times a day), one of them cries and needs me but I can't take care of them then, because I'm busy with the other one, or, even worse, doing something else entirely (cooking, household chores, the 15-20 minutes I need each day to get ready). Is that a bad thing? I guess it depends on the point of view. My own heart sinks every time, but my friend G who also has a baby the same age as F and a 5 year-old girl, thinks it is salutary for her daughter, whom she believes was "too overbearing" and in need of learning how to share and get out of the spotlight. Does this means they will not turn out fine? Probably not. But I still feel for them, for LP especially who gained a little sister he adores but also, let's not be coy with words here, has lost his place by us (can you tell I was a first born?).

In the end, these times at night when I ponder how I could do better, I always have the same image in my head. F's birth, while being an incredibly joyous occasion, will always remain a little tinged with sadness for me. Because while I was holding my tiny daughter in my arms, I remembered a solemn promise I had made nearly four years earlier in that same hospital, just one room down the hall. A promise to my newborn son that I would always do EVERYTHING possible for him, that I would ALWAYS go the extra mile and become the best person I could ever be for him, that I always be there for him, that I would love him to the moon and beyond, and never forget how to show that love.

And I did not hold on to that promise.

Going back to...

Well, big changes are coming for my friend Julie the LA cupcake lady and her family. They are leaving California, and moving to Denver at the end of the summer.

And:

1-We really miss California, and our week there in March felt more like a teaser than anything else.

2-M still has two weeks of paternity leave left, which he is not only encouraged to take, but which the company he works for will compensate to near his full salary.

3-We've decided that he would take them during the first two weeks of July, since we like taking our annual vacation on the early side. The two last weeks of July is when most people are on holiday, and everything is more crowded and expensive. Then August is when the weather, our garden, pool, etc., are at their peak, so we like to be home then and take it easy. 

4-Up until a few days ago (i.e. less than three weeks ahead), we still had no idea of where of where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do. Several plans and ideas fell through, we had a hard time agreeing on a destination, we first wanted to do a road trip but the truth is F is not the greatest car rider so it might be a little bit of a pain for everyone at this point... We didn't want to spend too much (hence Europe was out much to M's dismay), since we've already taken a trip this year and I'm on a mat leave salary. Etc., etc.

So you're seeing me coming, right? We're going back to Cali (I do think so :-) ). Learning that our friends wouldn't be there anymore made us sad, sadder than we expected. Since they've been living there we've sort of taken for granted that we had a pied-a-terre in SoCal, and it's always been our little paradise. It's hard for me to describe how I feel when I wake up there the first morning, but over there I'm more relaxed that I've probably ever been, it's like I've arrived home and I've arrived in heaven all at once. It must be the sun, people. The sun, and the lushness, and the especially wonderful scented air. Every time, it reminds me with incredible clarity that I really wasn't made to live in a northern climate.

It'll be my fifth time there, and even though it doesn't mean that we'll never go back, we know that from now on it'll always be more complicated and costly. So we decided to be a little crazy and head back, even if it means it's the second-time-in-four-month-with-two-kids-including-a-baby. It seems like it's a big trip, but actually it's probably less complicated for us than going to say, the nearby Maritimes by car (like I wanted to do) and also less expensive. The airfare is not cheap, but along with the rental car it's really the bulk of our expenses (staying with friends, few restaurant meals, etc). We have short stopovers in Dallas on the way there and Chicago on the way back, so no flight will be longer than four hours, which is a great duration for the kiddos. And while there it will be easier to make some food for F instead of relying solely on jars, properly wash/sterilize her utensils and bottles, do laundry, keep some kind of a predictable routine, etc.

We also plan to spend a few days in San Francisco, where we're supposed to meet two favorite blog friends: Meg and Lisa.

We're leaving at dawn on the 4th of July, which means we'll step out in LA early enough to take part in our friends' Independence Day celebration (I think we're going to see some fireworks at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena). I'm really excited, M is super happy and is making lists, LP can hardly contain himself (he REALLY misses his two little friends), and F is, well, usually in a good mood anyway.

My sister is due to give birth to her second child, my first niece, somewhere between the end of this month and mid-July. Fingers crossed that the baby is not late!

With pictures even

This is funny. A post called What it is like to (not) sleep at night. These illustrations are the best!

I must say that even though 1-F doesn't primarily sleep with us (but usually joins us in the bed early morning), 2-I have never nursed for more than 10 minutes, 3-M does his fair share of getting up during the night as well, and 4-we don't have cats, strangely a lot of this rings true. (Thanks to Jamie who tweeted it).

  

(Pictures from aforementioned post)

My grandma and her babies

I really love my grandmother. Each time I see her, I make sure to ask as many questions as possible to let her talk about her childhood, her family, how things were when she was young. I want to remember everything. The last time, she pointed out that I was the only person to ever do that with her. I just feel so lucky she's still around.

She met my grandfather at 17. He was a bit of a bad boy, which I'm sure is what made her fall for him. She wanted to be a nurse when she met him, had studied longer than most women at the time. She still has a sister she's really close with, and the contrast between my grandma and her is striking. Her sister left school early, didn't really care about studying, making a difference, seeing the world. You wouldn't guess that the two women were raised together by the same parents. My grandma's language level is more refined and articulate, her manners are more polished, her conversation is much deeper. I'm not saying this to be a snob or anything. But it's fascinating to me, to try and figure out how can such a difference could have happened. I think most women of that generation in Quebec were like my great-aunt -this is how they were raised, this is what was expected from them. Not much education, not much awareness of anything that was going on in the world. My grandmother's parents were modest, not the type of people that would come up with this highly original concept of putting lots of hope into a girl. Yet, here is my grandmother, subtly unlike other women her age, self-made into a woman of thought and culture.

When they first met, my grandpa sort of always changed his mind and gave her the cold shoulder and made her crazy. At one point she had enough and decided to become a nun. It might seem highly strange to us now, but at the time, especially in a rural, isolated region, if a woman wanted to devote herself to pursuing studies and readings, to travel, to have more of an introspective life, and especially to escape the rigorous life of a poor housewife with 12 children, this was pretty much the only way.

After she joined the order, he would come see her every day and "cry, cry, cry." So she got out and they got married.

The second month, she got pregnant. "How did you know you were pregnant, then, without tests and such?", I asked. "We just knew," she replied, kind of mockingly. Her first daughter was born a month ahead, as ended up being her four subsequent ones. She told me everyone around them "counted". "Counted what?", I asked rather stupidly. Turns out they were counting the months between your wedding and the birth of your first child, in order to make sure you did not have sex out-of-wedlock. So since she did not get pregnant during the first month, she was still sheltered from public shame, even with a premature baby.

She had spent all of her pregnancy making her layette -literally. She had sewn tiny night gowns, knitted booties, made little hats and blankets and a big pile of cotton diapers. After she told me this it started making more sense to me, that babies used to be considered genderless and were not dressed in a specific color according to their sex. Since there was no way of knowing what you were having and since they were putting all this effort into making the baby's clothing, they could not afford to double their work. All of the babies you would end up having also needed to wear the same things.

After giving birth, at 19, she wasn't even given the option to breastfeed. Did she want to? She's not sure. No one did at the time. They weren't even talking about it, it was a given. She thinks it was only because the nurses "didn't want to bother showing the new mothers, it would have been too much work".

Her baby got cow's milk from birth. She wouldn't tolerate it and would have terrible digestive problems. She was really fussy and my grandmother still remembers this period very nervously. Her daughter, my aunt, didn't walk before 17 months. People kept telling her she was doing everything wrong as a mother. She was young and inexperienced and "way too stressed," she says. She got pregnant again and had my mother, the tomboy and troublemaker, two years later. Then she didn't want any more kids.

"How could you not get pregnant without contraceptives?," I dared asking. Again without expressively telling me she made me feel a little naive. She used the calendar method. "And people talked about these things?" Well, she said, her mother didn't, but her sisters-in-law did. They would give each other tips and such, when they were among women, not highly publicly, but not as in a shameful secret, either. And maybe this wasn't full-proof for all women, but it worked for her, because after my mom she did not get pregnant again for over four years. 

And what made her change her mind, since she ended up having three more daughters after that? Again, nosy people around them. Starting from when her firstborn was six months old, they kept asking: "Well, what are you waiting for to get pregnant again?" The local priest, too, wasn't happy at all about her only having two kids.

"It's probably very hard for you to imagine how things were back then, since you grew up with so many possibilities and opportunities. You studied for a long time, you traveled, you met several different men, you built your own career, you only had children when you decided it was time..." She wasn't at all bitter, more like proud and tender. "But it was a very tough time for us women. People have this idyllic view of the fifties, of a more traditional time when women stayed at home. You shouldn't always believe them. I, and all the women around me were so unhappy... We couldn't decide anything. We couldn't have an opinion. We couldn't have any of our own money; we didn't even have an own name. Everyone spied on everyone else's and bickered. You were considered lucky if your husband did not slap you for talking when it was not appropriate, when he did not get too drunk too often". I was already aware of this quite harsh reality of the working class of the time, but I couldn't help wincing.

I asked:"Given a choice, would you have worked?" "Well not at the beginning, when the kids were young. I mean, I had the three last ones within three years. Three little ones with bottles and diapers at the same time. But after that, yes. Pursuing your own thing is a wonderful thing. Being independent is a wonderful thing. Even if you hope you will never have to, knowing that you could leave your husband and support yourself and your family is supremely important. It might seem like it's crazy, planning for the worst like that, but believe me it's not, it's just a matter of dignity and survival."

She last added: "But I don't want you to feel bad about working even when your children are young. In many ways kids today are much more nurtured that they used to be, and no one benefits from a mother who sacrificed herself. I think you're doing great. I know your kids are the most important thing to you, but I also know that you understood how it is possible to care for them AND also do something else." 

I don't think I'm always doing that great. I don't think there is one perfect solution. But I can tell you this: these words were probably the more comforting I've heard in a long time.

The annual LP questionnaire

LP is now 4 years and 4 months old. Let's see how much he has changed (or not) compared to last year...
___________

Favorite clothes? This t-shirt (he means the one he has on, heather gray with a vintage motorcycle on it, from Gap).

Favorite movie? Cars! (Some things never change. I'm a little surprised though, he hasn't watched it in a looooong time. But then the sequel is coming).

Favorite car? Racing BMWs. (Only European cars. Must be daddy's influence).

Favorite TV show? À faire en Italie! (Said very enthusiastically. It's a (French) Travel channel show featuring a guy visiting Italy and checking things off an imaginary list -after each segment he says for instance "Eating proscuitto at an osteria in Parma: done!" LP LOVES this show and wants to watch it every day. He keeps checking things off the list of his life, too, and when he plays Legos, he's building "the Asinelli tower", when he plays with his little sister, he tells us that "she's going shopping at Prada", when he's pretend cooking he's "making antipasti at the mozzarella bar in Rome", etc.)

Favorite sport? Bicycle and Golf. (He's riding a big boy bike now. With training wheels).

Favorite toy? My little gray car and my Hot Wheels tracks. (Other current faves: train tracks, monster trucks. He also has a playmat with the image of a town on it, and he creates all kinds of scenarios with it: putting little animal figurines in a park so it becomes "the zoo," placing toy boats into "the lake", firetrucks by a nondescript building which becomes "the station," buses and trailers in a wide load parking (he recognized the letters for BUS on an actual bus stop in our street and pointed out that it was the same as on his mat), and "our cars" by "our house" (in this scenario he always drives a Lamborghini while I drive an old, boring Toyota or something)).

Favorite book? Ni Hao Kai-lan (the book is from a TV show we watch with a little cartoon girl teaching kids a bit of Mandarin Chinese. For some reason he loves everything Chinese).

Favorite kind of food? Chinese, especially dumplings (didn't I tell you so?)

Favorite meal? In'n'Out burgers! (Well excuse me, mister I've-been-to-California-twice-even-though-I'm-only-4...)

Favorite activity? Crafting. (I was certain he would say swimming in the pool, or his tennis lessons, or going to the library. He does like crafting, but he's kind of messy and not very focused).

Favorite fruit? Mango.

Favorite vegetable? Mangetout peas.

Favorite dessert? Chocolate ice cream.

Favorite color? Aqua. You know, that's a blend of blue and green, mommy.

Favorite song? (Singing...) "Oh-oh, I wann so moe-o, oh-oh, I wann som mo-oe..." (Actually Animal by Neon Trees.)

Favorite city? LA (yes he said it like that. I'm kind of sad it's not NY anymore. But it'll come back).

Favorite country? Well, Italy, of course!

What do you want to be when you grow up? A race car driver. (I didn't ask this question last year but yeah, it was the same.

Checking in

Hey! I didn't think that anyone would notice if I didn't post for a couple of days, but when I started receiving emails asking if everything was OK I realized that I shouldn't refrain from my usual ways too much... And, that some people cared about me. Which felt awesome.

I'm still here, just... busy with life. I got two sizable freelancing gigs with the same (tight) deadline, and suddenly I didn't have a minute to write for fun anymore. I used to be able to plan for such things by always having a few scheduled posts ready, but I've been struggling to be able to do that lately. The two kids are a lot of work... Still not sleeping much. I'm trying... But mostly feeling quite scattered and boring these days. I always thought that the self-discipline of writing a little each day was what kept me together in the end... And I guess I was right. It's a catch-22.

Hoping to be back soon. Thanks for still being here.

One more year

It's my 36th birfday. And not that I'm freaking out or anything, but suddenly these are becoming less and less fun. Could I be over the hill already?

In any case, I would appreciate just a leetle cheering up.



(The other day LP found this framed picture in a basement closet. M loved it and put it up on his book shelf. That was early 1997; I was 21. I can't help sighing whenever I see it.  I know there's nothing to you but get used to it because it's never going to stop, but it still takes some getting used to, catching more and more glimpses of middle age in the mirror these days).

Casual Friday

Call it fun research: I've been watching jeans commercial from the '80s for an article. And, I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.

I can't use videos over there, but I thought I could at least share the joy here. Something that had never occurred to me before in this boob-centric era we're currently experiencing: the eighties were all about the ass, people. It's just... everywhere.

Grow your own!

Last year our back neighbors changed the fence between our two yards. As it turned out, the old one was not on their true property line, so while at it they had this corrected. This means that when we came back from Italy, we had lost some privacy (the old one was -illegally- higher), but suddenly gained two feet of linear space.

While there used to be one foot between the pool deck and the fence, we suddenly had a little over three feet. Earlier this spring, M noticed that this was the sunniest place in our east-facing backyard. We both had the same idea: we had everything needed to start a vegetable patch now! I could stop complaining that I didn't have space and start growing instead!

Along with his father, M built a huge wooden box to contain our crops in a day and a half of hard work. We chose cedar, which is more expensive, but is both rot-proof and (somewhat) insect-repellent. People usually use treated wood here, but you don't want chemicals near the vegetables you're going to grow. The box is about three feet high, three feet deep, and ten feet long. This is not a humongous space by any standards, but it's plenty for us. Self-sufficiency is obviously not the goal here (although wouldn't it be wonderful if it could be ?). We just wanted to give it a go, teach LP how it works, and harvest/eat some of our own plants.

We planted a mix of seeds and already started shoots to give us a head start (don't forget that our growing season is short). Generally, I like to choose small varieties, which grow quicker and produce more (one plant of beefsteak tomato will have maybe 4 fruits, while a plant of cherry tomatoes will have a hundred). 

We used a very rich mix of soil, with peat moss, bone meal, compost, manure and shrimp powder (all natural). I plan to use fertilizer, and have heard of a great local brand that is suitable for organic growing, but I have yet to find it nearby.

From left to right, we planted broccoli, beetroot, green beans, peas, small carrots, radishes, green onion, peppers, tomatoes, and Kirby cucumbers. No lettuce -we have a resident groundhog on the yard and she loves it too much (LP decided that it was a she, and her name was Julie). By the way, the sunflower you see on the picture was unknowingly living through its last hours, thanks a lot, Julie. We have since used some natural pepper deterrent, let's hope it works.

We also applied the organic principle of "companion planting", which may sound like we're all holding hands and singing and sh*t while gardening, but simply means using plants insects loathe to keep them away, instead of pesticides. So we have nasturtium (which will eventually have colorful flowers), marygolds, and rosemary. By the way, I've learned that in huge organic farms in California, they plant one row of marigolds for each seven rows of baby salad mix, and that's how they control pests. Mhhh. On one hand, you have very damaging pesticides. On the other hand, you have pretty flowers. Tough choice, both sensibly and esthetically.

So far, everything is growing really well and fast. We're already eaten delicious, peppery radish sprouts in a salad (with kaftas, flatbread and Greek yogurt, yum!) since only one week after planting the seeds, I already needed to thin them out.

Here are two more general pictures of our backyard taken from the kitchen window and patio -its' my 7th summer here, and for the first time I'm starting to think that we're finally getting there.

(I have a separate box for herbs)

I'll keep you posted about our successes/challenges/failures...