PK has taken a real interest in words and letters. She's been able to spell her name for a while now (since her tenure at the Montessori class at daycare), but now she can actually write her name on paper. She started doing this a month or so ago, though the letters in her name were all scattered throughout the page, in what appeared to be a letter jumble. Then, last week, she brought back some artwork that she'd made in aftercare. Not only was a picture of something (as opposed to scribbles), she'd also written her name. Across the top. Letters in order. I was soooooooooo proud and excited!
In addition to this newly-found name-writing skill, she has really taken to practicing writing various letters on paper. She's gotten really good at it too! She brought home a drawing of a monster, and surrounding the monster was the letter "B". Sure, it looked more like some weird alien symbol, with the loops being way too far apart. Still, it was a great start! By the end of the weekend, her Bs looked like real Bs! How cool is that?
At the same time, PK has been learning to sound out letters at school. Oftentimes, she'll say, "Turtle. Tuh...tuh...T! 'T' starts with 'turtle'!" and so on, with various words. She's gotten really good at that. Then, over the weekend, the hubby was reading PK a story from one of her Dick and Jane readers before bed. (Remember those??? We actually found a couple at Indigo a while back and snatched them up.) The cool thing about the Dick and Jane books is that the words and sentences are really simple and repetitive. In this particular case, the hubby was reading PK a story about a girl named Pam. When PK saw the word "Pam", she tried to spell it. PK tends to want to do things right to left (even though it appears that she'll be right-handed), so in this case, she sounded out "map". The hubby then corrected her, saying that the word started with the "P", not the "M". And she proceeded to sound out "Pam".
I was downstairs when this happened, and the hubby immediately called me to share the news (trust me...at our house, calling me on my cell is better than yelling down 4 floors). I was completely elated. I have to confess that I was a bit disappointed by the fact that I wasn't in the room when it happened, but that doesn't make it any less cool and amazing. Obviously PK still has a long road ahead to learn how to read and spell in English. It is unfortunately not a very phonetic language, with Cs and Ks sometimes sounding alike. It's a wonder people pick up the language at all. Anyway, I'm really excited to see how this pans out.What an exciting time in PK's life!
December 5, 2011
November 24, 2011
She-Devil
Over Thanksgiving weekend this year, I received an e-mail from one of the moms in PK's class. She told me how PK and her daughter, K, were best friends in class, and that she wanted to invite us over for a playdate. We had lunch at their place on the Saturday, and had a very nice time. After lunch, the girls played at Indigo and then went to the ROM. I was happy that PK was making new friends, and especially happy that we finally met someone more or less in the neighborhood.
Then, a few weeks later, I started getting reports from PK about how K was being mean to her. First it started off with things like, "K says that she doesn't like me." And then it went to, "K says that she's not coming to my birthday." Apparently the birthday thing is a big deal to kiddies at this age, and having your favorite friends coming to your birthday is a status symbol of sorts. To be told that one of your friends does not want to come to your birthday is the ultimate insult. The verbal assaults were bad enough, but then when I heard about K smacking PK, well, it got to be too much.
The hubby and I started discouraging PK from playing with K. Unfortunately, PK was really fond of K, in spite of the little she-devil's behavior. That really scares me, because, in spite of her feisty personality and penchant for tantrums, PK is a very sweet, and kind-hearted girl. When kids call her names, I tell her to call them names back, and she flat out refuses. Like one kid called her a baby, and I told her to call him a baby back. She refused to do so, citing that he wasn't a baby. Or one time PK was playing with another little girl in an ad-hoc play pit at the mall near my parents' place, and the other little girl started taking advantage of PK. PK was sporting a Hello Kitty purse with some play money. I left PK with my mom while I went to do a bit of speed-shopping, and by the time I got back, the little girl was carrying PK's purse, and PK acted like there was nothing wrong. In these types of situations, I've tried to explain to PK what was wrong, and that she should defend herself, but it seems to be lost on her. Is she too young to understand, or is it just in her nature to be "too kind".
She's a very sensitive girl to begin with. She cries if she notices that the hubby and I are having a heated debate. Even if we're not arguing or are made at each other, it's enough to make her cry. Last night, she just about crushed the hubby's toes with her play high-heel shoes, and as he cried out in anguish, PK proceeded to sob, saying that she didn't do it on purpose.
Of course, you may be wondering if PK was making this all up. It's a fair question. Unfortunately, we saw K in action on Remembrance Day. PK's school had an in-class observation, whereby parents are invited (in small batches) to watch their kids at work for 30 minutes or so. On the day of our observation, PK was working on a puzzle with gal-pal R. We really like R. She's an older girl, is nice to PK, and according to PK's teacher, is a very good influence on her. A+ in my book. While PK and R were working on their puzzle, K lingered around. She was up to no good. She looked like she wanted to disrupt the peace. During the entire time we were there, K didn't do any work of her own. Instead, she walked around the classroom, looking for trouble. She didn't get into any trouble while we were there, but boy, was she itching to do something. After our observation, we talked to PK's teacher. We were obviously concerned about what we had seen and what PK had told us, so we wanted to make sure that her teachers were aware too.
It seems that our concerns were definitely valid, as the teacher told me that the dark side of K's personality has reared its ugly head in the past several weeks. She also told us that PK has complained to them about K's behavior, which is good. K, of course, denies any wrongdoing, but fortunately the teachers are savvy and experienced enough to call BS on that one, and they let K know it. On their part, the teachers will continue to keep an eye on the PK/K relationship, and mitigate the situation as much as possible. They continue to encourage PK to report any of K's bad behavior, which PK does.
For our part, we also encourage PK to report any of K's misdemeanors to her teachers. I am also trying to explain to her that real friends aren't mean and don't hit you. I went through the list of PK's friends and told her how they're nice to her and don't hit her. I also told her that if K continues to behave this way, that PK should tell K that she is being mean and that PK doesn't want to be her friend anymore.
I think it may have started to sink in. We haven't heard as many bad stories about K lately, as PK has been spending more time with R and another little girl in her class, S. PK's teachers have told me that that this is making K feel very left out. She hasn't acted out as a result quite yet, but who knows. A storm may be a-brewing. I should feel sorry for K. It sucks to be left out. I was never popular growing up, and I was always left out. Always the third wheel. I was a shy, obnoxious, know-it-all kid, so I kind of get why the other kids didn't really take to me. But at least I wasn't a mean or violent kid. When it comes to K, however, my first thought is, "I'm glad that you're feeling the sting of your actions. You little b*tch. Leave my kid alone."
But alas, the plot thickens. A couple of days ago, I got the invitation to K's birthday party, which is taking place on New Year's Eve. I had already expected an invite, since K's mom had mentioned it to us over Thanksgiving weekend. At that time, we had told her that we were coming. But that was before we knew that K was a she-devil. We are most definitely NOT going to be attending that party. But we have to deal with this situation delicately, because, in spite of K's bad behavior, I have a feeling that PK would be crushed if we told her that she isn't going to K's party. I haven't told PK about the invite yet, and I hope that I can go as long as possible about disclosing this information to her. To be honest, this is uncharted territory for us. What would you do?
Then, a few weeks later, I started getting reports from PK about how K was being mean to her. First it started off with things like, "K says that she doesn't like me." And then it went to, "K says that she's not coming to my birthday." Apparently the birthday thing is a big deal to kiddies at this age, and having your favorite friends coming to your birthday is a status symbol of sorts. To be told that one of your friends does not want to come to your birthday is the ultimate insult. The verbal assaults were bad enough, but then when I heard about K smacking PK, well, it got to be too much.
The hubby and I started discouraging PK from playing with K. Unfortunately, PK was really fond of K, in spite of the little she-devil's behavior. That really scares me, because, in spite of her feisty personality and penchant for tantrums, PK is a very sweet, and kind-hearted girl. When kids call her names, I tell her to call them names back, and she flat out refuses. Like one kid called her a baby, and I told her to call him a baby back. She refused to do so, citing that he wasn't a baby. Or one time PK was playing with another little girl in an ad-hoc play pit at the mall near my parents' place, and the other little girl started taking advantage of PK. PK was sporting a Hello Kitty purse with some play money. I left PK with my mom while I went to do a bit of speed-shopping, and by the time I got back, the little girl was carrying PK's purse, and PK acted like there was nothing wrong. In these types of situations, I've tried to explain to PK what was wrong, and that she should defend herself, but it seems to be lost on her. Is she too young to understand, or is it just in her nature to be "too kind".
She's a very sensitive girl to begin with. She cries if she notices that the hubby and I are having a heated debate. Even if we're not arguing or are made at each other, it's enough to make her cry. Last night, she just about crushed the hubby's toes with her play high-heel shoes, and as he cried out in anguish, PK proceeded to sob, saying that she didn't do it on purpose.
Of course, you may be wondering if PK was making this all up. It's a fair question. Unfortunately, we saw K in action on Remembrance Day. PK's school had an in-class observation, whereby parents are invited (in small batches) to watch their kids at work for 30 minutes or so. On the day of our observation, PK was working on a puzzle with gal-pal R. We really like R. She's an older girl, is nice to PK, and according to PK's teacher, is a very good influence on her. A+ in my book. While PK and R were working on their puzzle, K lingered around. She was up to no good. She looked like she wanted to disrupt the peace. During the entire time we were there, K didn't do any work of her own. Instead, she walked around the classroom, looking for trouble. She didn't get into any trouble while we were there, but boy, was she itching to do something. After our observation, we talked to PK's teacher. We were obviously concerned about what we had seen and what PK had told us, so we wanted to make sure that her teachers were aware too.
It seems that our concerns were definitely valid, as the teacher told me that the dark side of K's personality has reared its ugly head in the past several weeks. She also told us that PK has complained to them about K's behavior, which is good. K, of course, denies any wrongdoing, but fortunately the teachers are savvy and experienced enough to call BS on that one, and they let K know it. On their part, the teachers will continue to keep an eye on the PK/K relationship, and mitigate the situation as much as possible. They continue to encourage PK to report any of K's bad behavior, which PK does.
For our part, we also encourage PK to report any of K's misdemeanors to her teachers. I am also trying to explain to her that real friends aren't mean and don't hit you. I went through the list of PK's friends and told her how they're nice to her and don't hit her. I also told her that if K continues to behave this way, that PK should tell K that she is being mean and that PK doesn't want to be her friend anymore.
I think it may have started to sink in. We haven't heard as many bad stories about K lately, as PK has been spending more time with R and another little girl in her class, S. PK's teachers have told me that that this is making K feel very left out. She hasn't acted out as a result quite yet, but who knows. A storm may be a-brewing. I should feel sorry for K. It sucks to be left out. I was never popular growing up, and I was always left out. Always the third wheel. I was a shy, obnoxious, know-it-all kid, so I kind of get why the other kids didn't really take to me. But at least I wasn't a mean or violent kid. When it comes to K, however, my first thought is, "I'm glad that you're feeling the sting of your actions. You little b*tch. Leave my kid alone."
But alas, the plot thickens. A couple of days ago, I got the invitation to K's birthday party, which is taking place on New Year's Eve. I had already expected an invite, since K's mom had mentioned it to us over Thanksgiving weekend. At that time, we had told her that we were coming. But that was before we knew that K was a she-devil. We are most definitely NOT going to be attending that party. But we have to deal with this situation delicately, because, in spite of K's bad behavior, I have a feeling that PK would be crushed if we told her that she isn't going to K's party. I haven't told PK about the invite yet, and I hope that I can go as long as possible about disclosing this information to her. To be honest, this is uncharted territory for us. What would you do?
October 18, 2011
Getting Help
As I've posted over and over before, mat-leave was rough for me. Probably a lot rougher than I've let on in this blog. I was stressed about being a mom. There was stress in my marriage. There was stress in my relationship with my parents. During the course of my mat leave, I actually tried to seek help. I found a counselor through the hubby's Employee Assistance Program (EAP). I knew that there was something wrong. I probably should've figured that it was post-partum depression (PPD). I wish I had figured that out earlier, so that I could've sought treatment earlier. But alas, I didn't. I went to see the counselor, hoping that she would just fix things for me. Unfortunately, the thing with EAP is that it's meant to be short-term counseling. Which they tell you from the beginning. And since the beginning, I felt like I was being shoved along a drive-through. Being given quick-fix advice, with the expectation that things would resolve themselves quickly. After two sessions, I quit. I wasn't in the right headspace for it, and I found the counselor rather antagonistic.
Over two years passed. Many of the stresses from my mat-leave year were still there, albeit to a lesser extent. I've always complained on this blog that PK seemed to favor the hubby over me. It pissed me off to no end. Why was it that my relationship with PK was more like a "typical" relationship between a child and her father, while the hubby's relationship with PK was more like the mother-child relationship? The more she took to the hubby, the more I resented them both. It was a vicious cycle.
This past February/March, all of the stress just about caused me to crack. I was in one of those moods where if PK said or did anything disobedient, it made me want to crawl into a corner and bawl my eyes out. I was not in a good headspace, and I knew it. I needed help. Badly. I needed to talk to someone to just get all of this crap from the past 3+ years out in the open. I've got a few close friends that I've confided in over the years, but let's face it. Everyone has their own set of problems. I didn't want to burden them to the point of driving them away. I was in desperate need of a psychotherapist.
Unfortunately, most psychiatrists do not practice psychotherapy. That normally falls under the realm of psychologists. And the thing with seeing a psychologist for psychotherapy is that it's not covered by OHIP. Of the psychiatrists who DO practice psychotherapy, many of them have huge patient waiting lists. If they even take new patients at all. I went to my family doctor to try to get a referral, and he said that he didn't even know anyone that he could refer me to.
So I did the only thing I could - I once again turned to the EAP. This time through my workplace. This time, I saw the counselor for about a month or so. While I had more or less the same experience with him as I'd had with the previous counselor, I decided to stick to the therapy this time. I found this guy way too antagonistic for my taste. I related to him some of my past stresses that gave way to my present stresses. He listened patiently for the first couple of sessions. Then when I went on rambling rants, he just got pissed and basically told me to stay on topic. While he may have been right, his people skills were definitely lacking.
One of the things that I talked to him about early on was my relationship with PK. I recounted the stresses of the past several years which led me to where I was with PK. He was actually quite worried about how this would affect my future relationship with her, and actually recommended that I contact a clinic which deals specifically with child psychiatry/family psychiatry issues. I contacted them that very day, and got a callback later that evening.
To make a long story short, anything psychiatry-related around here has a long long wait time. It was almost two months before I spoke to someone over the phone to assess my case (i.e. to determine whether or not I would get seen by their team of pyschiatrists), and then another 6 months before we were actually seen. But alas, the day did come!
We started seeing the psychiatry team in early September. Since my stresses affect my family, all three of us came for an assessment. The assessment took several sessions. We brought PK to the first two, and in the last two, the hubby and I each spoke to a psychiatrist (separately) to get our respective family histories, so that they could better understand us and our family dynamic.
I have to admit that the history portion of the assessment was very emotional for me. It brought back some memories of things that I had long ago repressed. The psychiatry team determined that I suffer from depression. I have to admit that I'm not terribly surprised. If you read this blog regularly, you'll probably notice that the tone of the posts go up and down like some crazy roller-coaster. I'll go through periods of being totally elated with life, and then, I'll get into a funk.
It's funny when the psychiatrist interviewing me first told me that I might be suffering from depression. I guess many patients don't necessarily take well to being told this. I, however, have been pretty sure that I've been suffering from depression for a long time, so it was no surprise to me. Not to mention the fact that all of the difficulties in my relationship with PK are the result of my depression, triggered by things that happened before and during my pregnancy. I can't even begin to express the extreme relief of knowing that I'm not alone in what I'm going through. That others before me have gone through this too. Not only that, they are willing to help me!
At the end of those five weeks, when the psychiatry team gave us their final assessment of the situation, being told that they could do something for me nearly brought tears to my eyes. I was finally getting help. I was finally going to fix things.
My treatment will be a two-pronged approach. On the one hand, I've got weekly therapy sessions with PK at the clinic. They've determined that there is nothing psychological wrong with PK and her reaction to me. Rather, it's just a behavioral thing, which can be worked through with the right therapy. Our weekly sessions will consist of 30 minutes of playtime with her with a therapist in the room, followed by 30 minutes of talking with the therapist about the playtime. I'm also getting help for myself. If all goes well, I'm going into a group therapy session starting in January.
At the end of the assessment, I was asked if I'd be amenable to taking any medication to deal with my depression. I respectfully declined. There may be a time and place for meds in my life. I hope it never comes to that, but you never know. I'm open to it, but I don't want it to be the first thing I try. Don't get me wrong. I think that there are cases where medication is the only way around certain issues. In my case, however, I just need someone to talk to. I need to talk through the crap that has happened in my life. These assessment sessions have helped me realize that there's a lot of stuff that happened in the past 15 years or so that I've just never properly dealt with. Individually, they are probably fairly insignificant. Put them all together, and you just get the big emotional wreck that is me.
I have to admit that I had reservations about writing this post. It's always tough writing about anything psychiatric. There is such a stigma around mental health. Of course I worry about what my friends reading this blog will think of me. Will they treat me any differently? Will they feel sorry for me? (For the record, I don't want pity.) Will they stop being my friends? I guess time will tell. In the end, I don't care. I figure that those who stick around will do so because they can see past these issues and realize that deep down inside, I am still me. Plus I hope that if anyone stumbles upon this blog post, it will give them hope for their own individual case and perhaps inspire them to seek help. There is help out there. Just make sure that you get it before it's too late.
I look forward to brighter skies ahead.
Over two years passed. Many of the stresses from my mat-leave year were still there, albeit to a lesser extent. I've always complained on this blog that PK seemed to favor the hubby over me. It pissed me off to no end. Why was it that my relationship with PK was more like a "typical" relationship between a child and her father, while the hubby's relationship with PK was more like the mother-child relationship? The more she took to the hubby, the more I resented them both. It was a vicious cycle.
This past February/March, all of the stress just about caused me to crack. I was in one of those moods where if PK said or did anything disobedient, it made me want to crawl into a corner and bawl my eyes out. I was not in a good headspace, and I knew it. I needed help. Badly. I needed to talk to someone to just get all of this crap from the past 3+ years out in the open. I've got a few close friends that I've confided in over the years, but let's face it. Everyone has their own set of problems. I didn't want to burden them to the point of driving them away. I was in desperate need of a psychotherapist.
Unfortunately, most psychiatrists do not practice psychotherapy. That normally falls under the realm of psychologists. And the thing with seeing a psychologist for psychotherapy is that it's not covered by OHIP. Of the psychiatrists who DO practice psychotherapy, many of them have huge patient waiting lists. If they even take new patients at all. I went to my family doctor to try to get a referral, and he said that he didn't even know anyone that he could refer me to.
So I did the only thing I could - I once again turned to the EAP. This time through my workplace. This time, I saw the counselor for about a month or so. While I had more or less the same experience with him as I'd had with the previous counselor, I decided to stick to the therapy this time. I found this guy way too antagonistic for my taste. I related to him some of my past stresses that gave way to my present stresses. He listened patiently for the first couple of sessions. Then when I went on rambling rants, he just got pissed and basically told me to stay on topic. While he may have been right, his people skills were definitely lacking.
One of the things that I talked to him about early on was my relationship with PK. I recounted the stresses of the past several years which led me to where I was with PK. He was actually quite worried about how this would affect my future relationship with her, and actually recommended that I contact a clinic which deals specifically with child psychiatry/family psychiatry issues. I contacted them that very day, and got a callback later that evening.
To make a long story short, anything psychiatry-related around here has a long long wait time. It was almost two months before I spoke to someone over the phone to assess my case (i.e. to determine whether or not I would get seen by their team of pyschiatrists), and then another 6 months before we were actually seen. But alas, the day did come!
We started seeing the psychiatry team in early September. Since my stresses affect my family, all three of us came for an assessment. The assessment took several sessions. We brought PK to the first two, and in the last two, the hubby and I each spoke to a psychiatrist (separately) to get our respective family histories, so that they could better understand us and our family dynamic.
I have to admit that the history portion of the assessment was very emotional for me. It brought back some memories of things that I had long ago repressed. The psychiatry team determined that I suffer from depression. I have to admit that I'm not terribly surprised. If you read this blog regularly, you'll probably notice that the tone of the posts go up and down like some crazy roller-coaster. I'll go through periods of being totally elated with life, and then, I'll get into a funk.
It's funny when the psychiatrist interviewing me first told me that I might be suffering from depression. I guess many patients don't necessarily take well to being told this. I, however, have been pretty sure that I've been suffering from depression for a long time, so it was no surprise to me. Not to mention the fact that all of the difficulties in my relationship with PK are the result of my depression, triggered by things that happened before and during my pregnancy. I can't even begin to express the extreme relief of knowing that I'm not alone in what I'm going through. That others before me have gone through this too. Not only that, they are willing to help me!
At the end of those five weeks, when the psychiatry team gave us their final assessment of the situation, being told that they could do something for me nearly brought tears to my eyes. I was finally getting help. I was finally going to fix things.
My treatment will be a two-pronged approach. On the one hand, I've got weekly therapy sessions with PK at the clinic. They've determined that there is nothing psychological wrong with PK and her reaction to me. Rather, it's just a behavioral thing, which can be worked through with the right therapy. Our weekly sessions will consist of 30 minutes of playtime with her with a therapist in the room, followed by 30 minutes of talking with the therapist about the playtime. I'm also getting help for myself. If all goes well, I'm going into a group therapy session starting in January.
At the end of the assessment, I was asked if I'd be amenable to taking any medication to deal with my depression. I respectfully declined. There may be a time and place for meds in my life. I hope it never comes to that, but you never know. I'm open to it, but I don't want it to be the first thing I try. Don't get me wrong. I think that there are cases where medication is the only way around certain issues. In my case, however, I just need someone to talk to. I need to talk through the crap that has happened in my life. These assessment sessions have helped me realize that there's a lot of stuff that happened in the past 15 years or so that I've just never properly dealt with. Individually, they are probably fairly insignificant. Put them all together, and you just get the big emotional wreck that is me.
I have to admit that I had reservations about writing this post. It's always tough writing about anything psychiatric. There is such a stigma around mental health. Of course I worry about what my friends reading this blog will think of me. Will they treat me any differently? Will they feel sorry for me? (For the record, I don't want pity.) Will they stop being my friends? I guess time will tell. In the end, I don't care. I figure that those who stick around will do so because they can see past these issues and realize that deep down inside, I am still me. Plus I hope that if anyone stumbles upon this blog post, it will give them hope for their own individual case and perhaps inspire them to seek help. There is help out there. Just make sure that you get it before it's too late.
I look forward to brighter skies ahead.
October 4, 2011
MIA
I can't believe that it has been almost a month since my last post. Which, now that I look at it, was kind of blah, since I don't really know if it conveyed what I was trying to express. Oh well. Anyway, I had all of these grandiose plans for posts on various topics and life updates, but given that my choice these days is between blogging, sleeping, and photo editing, the latter two usually win out. So, now I'll write a total cop-out post with some of the exciting things that have been happening here in PKLand. Dun dun dun...
1. Daycare
Daycare has been done since mid-August. I was really really sad to leave PK's daycare. I think I just about cried on PK's last day. We made some really awesome friends there, and I was sad that I wouldn't been seeing them every day. Plus PK was totally thriving in the pre-school program and totally loved her classmates and teachers.
2. Summer Camp
After we finished at the daycare, PK attended one week of summer day camp at her new school. The point of this exercise was to get PK used to her surroundings, even if the summer program itself wasn't in any way a Montessori program. I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical about sending PK to day camp, especially since there were daily field trips scheduled for the kiddies, some of which involved walking and/or taking public transit. I was really nervous about the thought of PK taking public transit with a bunch of other 3-to-6-year-olds.
I am happy to report that PK's summer camp experience was extremely positive. Since she was only there for one week, she didn't really get to bond with any of the kids, but from what I can tell (this kid doesn't like to divulge too much info - arrrgh!), she had a pretty fun time. Among other things, she got to go to Ontario Place, visit a fire station, and have picnics in the park.
3. End-of-Summer Vacation
After PK's week at day camp, we went on a family vacation to Vermont. This vacation was really special for us, because the hubby and his family have been spending summers there in one form or another since the hubby was a kid. In more recent years, we'd been going down to Vermont with the hubby's parents, my mother-in-law's brother and his wife from Montreal, my sister-in-law and family, plus a bunch of my father in-law's family from Boston and Calgary cousins and their kids. We had stopped going about three years ago, which of course coincided with PK's birth, though the Boston and Calgary folks had been keeping up with the tradition.
I really missed going to Vermont for Labor Day weekend. It was a highlight of the end of summer. I love going to Vermont at that time of year, where you get the tail-end of summer with the warm days, and the cool autumn nights. There was something so very awesome about the little mountain town where we stay. A few main roads. Little inns dotting the landscape. Total quaintness. No sign of Starbucks or McDonalds. No malls. It was awesome.
So this year I was determined to return, and I managed to convince everyone else to do the same. We rented a big house with the Toronto and Montreal folks. At our peak, we there were 11 of us. It was awesome. PK spent a whole week with both of her cousins. Both she and her younger cousin had never been to Vermont before. They had a blast, and we had a blast showing them our old traditions, and picking up some new ones.
4. Montessori School
After Labor Day, PK started at her new school. In spite of the fact that we were somewhat familiar with the school and routine from our week-long summer day camp experience, it was still new territory for us. Kids are dropped off at the doorway, and are whisked away to their classrooms by the teaching assistants. Parents are discouraged from entering the school at pick-up and drop-off, in order to keep things moving, and in order to make them more independent. Kids must greet their teachers with a handshake. They must also shake their teachers' hands before leaving for the day. PK has been pretty good with the routine overall. She's pretty headstrong though, and sometimes gives her teachers a hard time when I pick her up. Like if she forgets something (e.g. rain boots) in the coatroom, she's supposed to go down and get it herself. Sometimes she makes a fuss and wants someone to get it for her. She can also be a real pain in the butt when it comes to shaking hands at the beginning or at the end of the day. Am I in for it when she becomes a tween/teen or what? Oy...
Packing lunches has turned out to be an interesting experience, since it was a brand-new concept for the hubby and me. We'd been relying on the awesomely nutritious and super-cool menus provided by PK's old daycare, so things such as breakfast and lunch weren't a worry for us. Since starting day camp/school, lunches have been hit and miss. Sometimes she'll do really well, and other times, she'll barely touch her lunch. The hubby makes a point of reviewing PK's lunch contents with her after packing them, to ensure that she's aware of what she's getting. He also emphasizes that whatever she doesn't eat goes to the trash, and that has somewhat struck a chord with her. We try not to get mad over untouched lunches, but it's a bit disheartening. On the bright side, she at least makes up for crappy lunches by having a big dinner.
Breakfasts aren't provided by the school either, so we have to make sure that she eats a good breakfast at home beforehand. This means that we now sit down to breakfast as a family. Before this, the hubby never used to have breakfast, and I would always eat breakfast at the office. I actually really like this new family routine!
We don't take the stroller with us to/from school since a) it's pretty close by and b) there's no good place to park it for the day, so in the mornings the hubby will drop us off at school on his way to work, and in the evenings, I often carry PK home from school. It's only 500m away, but this girl is sure getting heavy. I definitely have some good biceps as a result. If I'm lucky, she'll walk partway, though it takes 20 or 30 minutes instead of 15 or so.
One big thing that I've noticed since PK started school is just how tired she is. By the time we get home, EVERYTHING pisses her off. To mitigate this we have started putting her to bed earlier. We've managed to move her bedtime from 9pm (I know...bad mommy) to 8:20pm. The hubby and I end up with a longer evening together, and PK wakes up well-rested in the morning. Unfortunately, she's still exhausted in the evening, but at least that means that she falls asleep pretty quickly.
Well, that was quite the update. Hopefully it won't be another month until I post again.
1. Daycare
Daycare has been done since mid-August. I was really really sad to leave PK's daycare. I think I just about cried on PK's last day. We made some really awesome friends there, and I was sad that I wouldn't been seeing them every day. Plus PK was totally thriving in the pre-school program and totally loved her classmates and teachers.
2. Summer Camp
After we finished at the daycare, PK attended one week of summer day camp at her new school. The point of this exercise was to get PK used to her surroundings, even if the summer program itself wasn't in any way a Montessori program. I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical about sending PK to day camp, especially since there were daily field trips scheduled for the kiddies, some of which involved walking and/or taking public transit. I was really nervous about the thought of PK taking public transit with a bunch of other 3-to-6-year-olds.
I am happy to report that PK's summer camp experience was extremely positive. Since she was only there for one week, she didn't really get to bond with any of the kids, but from what I can tell (this kid doesn't like to divulge too much info - arrrgh!), she had a pretty fun time. Among other things, she got to go to Ontario Place, visit a fire station, and have picnics in the park.
3. End-of-Summer Vacation
After PK's week at day camp, we went on a family vacation to Vermont. This vacation was really special for us, because the hubby and his family have been spending summers there in one form or another since the hubby was a kid. In more recent years, we'd been going down to Vermont with the hubby's parents, my mother-in-law's brother and his wife from Montreal, my sister-in-law and family, plus a bunch of my father in-law's family from Boston and Calgary cousins and their kids. We had stopped going about three years ago, which of course coincided with PK's birth, though the Boston and Calgary folks had been keeping up with the tradition.
I really missed going to Vermont for Labor Day weekend. It was a highlight of the end of summer. I love going to Vermont at that time of year, where you get the tail-end of summer with the warm days, and the cool autumn nights. There was something so very awesome about the little mountain town where we stay. A few main roads. Little inns dotting the landscape. Total quaintness. No sign of Starbucks or McDonalds. No malls. It was awesome.
So this year I was determined to return, and I managed to convince everyone else to do the same. We rented a big house with the Toronto and Montreal folks. At our peak, we there were 11 of us. It was awesome. PK spent a whole week with both of her cousins. Both she and her younger cousin had never been to Vermont before. They had a blast, and we had a blast showing them our old traditions, and picking up some new ones.
4. Montessori School
After Labor Day, PK started at her new school. In spite of the fact that we were somewhat familiar with the school and routine from our week-long summer day camp experience, it was still new territory for us. Kids are dropped off at the doorway, and are whisked away to their classrooms by the teaching assistants. Parents are discouraged from entering the school at pick-up and drop-off, in order to keep things moving, and in order to make them more independent. Kids must greet their teachers with a handshake. They must also shake their teachers' hands before leaving for the day. PK has been pretty good with the routine overall. She's pretty headstrong though, and sometimes gives her teachers a hard time when I pick her up. Like if she forgets something (e.g. rain boots) in the coatroom, she's supposed to go down and get it herself. Sometimes she makes a fuss and wants someone to get it for her. She can also be a real pain in the butt when it comes to shaking hands at the beginning or at the end of the day. Am I in for it when she becomes a tween/teen or what? Oy...
Packing lunches has turned out to be an interesting experience, since it was a brand-new concept for the hubby and me. We'd been relying on the awesomely nutritious and super-cool menus provided by PK's old daycare, so things such as breakfast and lunch weren't a worry for us. Since starting day camp/school, lunches have been hit and miss. Sometimes she'll do really well, and other times, she'll barely touch her lunch. The hubby makes a point of reviewing PK's lunch contents with her after packing them, to ensure that she's aware of what she's getting. He also emphasizes that whatever she doesn't eat goes to the trash, and that has somewhat struck a chord with her. We try not to get mad over untouched lunches, but it's a bit disheartening. On the bright side, she at least makes up for crappy lunches by having a big dinner.
Breakfasts aren't provided by the school either, so we have to make sure that she eats a good breakfast at home beforehand. This means that we now sit down to breakfast as a family. Before this, the hubby never used to have breakfast, and I would always eat breakfast at the office. I actually really like this new family routine!
We don't take the stroller with us to/from school since a) it's pretty close by and b) there's no good place to park it for the day, so in the mornings the hubby will drop us off at school on his way to work, and in the evenings, I often carry PK home from school. It's only 500m away, but this girl is sure getting heavy. I definitely have some good biceps as a result. If I'm lucky, she'll walk partway, though it takes 20 or 30 minutes instead of 15 or so.
One big thing that I've noticed since PK started school is just how tired she is. By the time we get home, EVERYTHING pisses her off. To mitigate this we have started putting her to bed earlier. We've managed to move her bedtime from 9pm (I know...bad mommy) to 8:20pm. The hubby and I end up with a longer evening together, and PK wakes up well-rested in the morning. Unfortunately, she's still exhausted in the evening, but at least that means that she falls asleep pretty quickly.
Well, that was quite the update. Hopefully it won't be another month until I post again.
September 12, 2011
Ten Years Ago on 9/11
Ten years ago on 9/11 I was in an on-again-off-again emotionally-abusive relationship. I had just graduated from university. I had been at my very first post-university full-time job for exactly one month. I had been on my very first work assignment on my new job for exactly one day. I was exhausted from having worked at the office until 10pm. I walked into the office, tired, cranky, and wondering what the hell was in store on my second day. My role was as a software tester (which I hated, because I wanted to be doing development work, not stupid testing work). We worked at one of the office buildings at the Eaton Center. The room we were in had no windows, so it smelled like ass. And it was cold, because we shared it with a couple of servers.
We had barely gotten into the workday when someone barged into our room saying that some plane had hit the World Trade Center. We were all dumbfounded. We tried to get onto the CNN Web site, but it was super-slow. Probably because everyone and their uncle's goat was trying to get to it too. So I called my mom at home and asked her to put on the TV. At that point, she had NO IDEA what was going on. She called back a few minutes later, and relayed the news.
As the morning wore on, the learned the news of what had gone on. It was unreal. One plane hit one of the WTC towers. Then another hit the other tower. Then one tower collapsed. The the other tower collapsed. Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. This was the type of stuff you saw in movies. Not in real life. Everyone at the office was in disbelief. I could only imagine what those poor people in New York were going through.
There was some concern over the safety of downtown Toronto, so we were eventually sent home by lunch hour. I ended up getting a call from my on-again-off-again in the morning. We were off at the time, but he was worried about me, and made contact. He wanted to pick me up downtown, and drive me home to the burbs. He didn't want me taking the subway, because of reports that the Toronto subway system might be attacked that day. He drove all the way from Mississauga to pick me up. We spent the better part of the afternoon together. I honestly can't remember what happened that afternoon. We did go to some garage, because he needed to get his car detailed. He drove a red 2000 Honda Accord coupe with black leather seats. I jokingly referred to it as the Batmobile. It's funny how things stick in your mind.
He eventually drove me home, and by the time I got home, we were on again. I guess the events of the day were overwhelming enough to me that I thought we had a deeper connection than our abusive relationship. The funny thing is that we were broken up again by December, and stayed that way until the 6-month anniversary of 9/11, in which that big flood of emotions came gushing in.
I think there are few times in one's lifetime which beg the question, "Where were you when...?" In my lifetime, I can think of a few:
1. September 11th, 2001
2. The blackout in August 2003
3. When Obama got elected president (his presidency has been a disappointment to me, but his election was still a remarkable event)
4. The space shuttle Challenger explosion on take-off
5. The space shuttle Columbia explosion on re-entry
In my parents' lifetime:
1. The Appollo 11 moon landing
2. The Appollo 13 accident and safe return of the astronauts
3. The assassination of JFK
4. The assassination of MLK
The interesting thing is that I can more clearly remember my whereabouts and portions of my day during the more tragic events than say, the happier events. Like when Obama was elected president. I remember writing a post about it in my other blog. I also remember that the hubby mentioned that it was a well-written post. But that's about it. The more tragic events, however, stick in my mind more, so I have a better recollection of what I did on that day. And it's interesting that even though we're not directly involved in these events, they can still affect us in some way. The events of 9/11 caused me to get back into a relationship that caused me great stress and misery 90% of the time. Twice. (And pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease do not for a second take this as me blaming 9/11 for my relationship woes. That's dumb, and that's untrue. I'm just saying how traumatic events, even ones in which you are not directly involved, can mess with one's emotions. Just replace this event with another traumatic event and I could've had the same outcome.)
Anyway, although I would rather not have gone through the kind of stress that I experienced with this guy, that crappy relationship (once I was finally free from its shackles), helped me realize what a healthy relationship was like. And what I wanted out of a relationship. And most importantly, that being alone was better than being in a crappy relationship. And a couple of months after I broke it off with that guy for the last time, I met the hubby.
So where am I 10 years later? I'm on my 3rd job since finishing university. I live in the city. I've been married to the most wonderful and tolerant guy ever for the past 8 years. I've had the privilege of having a little person call me "mom" for 3 years (well, 1.5-ish years, if you consider that she's been talking for that long). I know that I will never know exactly what those directly involved/affected by the events of 9/11 went through. I've seen documentaries. Watched newscasts. I am in awe. I am saddened. I will never be able to fully understand what they went through. The physical and emotional stress. The hurt. The sorrow. If anything, though, this is a time for me to be thankful for what I have.
We had barely gotten into the workday when someone barged into our room saying that some plane had hit the World Trade Center. We were all dumbfounded. We tried to get onto the CNN Web site, but it was super-slow. Probably because everyone and their uncle's goat was trying to get to it too. So I called my mom at home and asked her to put on the TV. At that point, she had NO IDEA what was going on. She called back a few minutes later, and relayed the news.
As the morning wore on, the learned the news of what had gone on. It was unreal. One plane hit one of the WTC towers. Then another hit the other tower. Then one tower collapsed. The the other tower collapsed. Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, they did. This was the type of stuff you saw in movies. Not in real life. Everyone at the office was in disbelief. I could only imagine what those poor people in New York were going through.
There was some concern over the safety of downtown Toronto, so we were eventually sent home by lunch hour. I ended up getting a call from my on-again-off-again in the morning. We were off at the time, but he was worried about me, and made contact. He wanted to pick me up downtown, and drive me home to the burbs. He didn't want me taking the subway, because of reports that the Toronto subway system might be attacked that day. He drove all the way from Mississauga to pick me up. We spent the better part of the afternoon together. I honestly can't remember what happened that afternoon. We did go to some garage, because he needed to get his car detailed. He drove a red 2000 Honda Accord coupe with black leather seats. I jokingly referred to it as the Batmobile. It's funny how things stick in your mind.
He eventually drove me home, and by the time I got home, we were on again. I guess the events of the day were overwhelming enough to me that I thought we had a deeper connection than our abusive relationship. The funny thing is that we were broken up again by December, and stayed that way until the 6-month anniversary of 9/11, in which that big flood of emotions came gushing in.
I think there are few times in one's lifetime which beg the question, "Where were you when...?" In my lifetime, I can think of a few:
1. September 11th, 2001
2. The blackout in August 2003
3. When Obama got elected president (his presidency has been a disappointment to me, but his election was still a remarkable event)
4. The space shuttle Challenger explosion on take-off
5. The space shuttle Columbia explosion on re-entry
In my parents' lifetime:
1. The Appollo 11 moon landing
2. The Appollo 13 accident and safe return of the astronauts
3. The assassination of JFK
4. The assassination of MLK
The interesting thing is that I can more clearly remember my whereabouts and portions of my day during the more tragic events than say, the happier events. Like when Obama was elected president. I remember writing a post about it in my other blog. I also remember that the hubby mentioned that it was a well-written post. But that's about it. The more tragic events, however, stick in my mind more, so I have a better recollection of what I did on that day. And it's interesting that even though we're not directly involved in these events, they can still affect us in some way. The events of 9/11 caused me to get back into a relationship that caused me great stress and misery 90% of the time. Twice. (And pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease do not for a second take this as me blaming 9/11 for my relationship woes. That's dumb, and that's untrue. I'm just saying how traumatic events, even ones in which you are not directly involved, can mess with one's emotions. Just replace this event with another traumatic event and I could've had the same outcome.)
Anyway, although I would rather not have gone through the kind of stress that I experienced with this guy, that crappy relationship (once I was finally free from its shackles), helped me realize what a healthy relationship was like. And what I wanted out of a relationship. And most importantly, that being alone was better than being in a crappy relationship. And a couple of months after I broke it off with that guy for the last time, I met the hubby.
So where am I 10 years later? I'm on my 3rd job since finishing university. I live in the city. I've been married to the most wonderful and tolerant guy ever for the past 8 years. I've had the privilege of having a little person call me "mom" for 3 years (well, 1.5-ish years, if you consider that she's been talking for that long). I know that I will never know exactly what those directly involved/affected by the events of 9/11 went through. I've seen documentaries. Watched newscasts. I am in awe. I am saddened. I will never be able to fully understand what they went through. The physical and emotional stress. The hurt. The sorrow. If anything, though, this is a time for me to be thankful for what I have.
August 23, 2011
Belated Birthday Post
I feel like a total caca-head for waiting this long to post something about P
K's birthday. I actually started it a couple of weeks ago, but alas, life got busy! My little monkey, the little love of my life has recently turned THREE. THREE! I can hardly believe it. She came to us on August 6th, 2008. That day, in the wee hours of the morning, the hubby and I arrived at the hospital as two. A few short hours later, our twosome became a threesome, with the birth of our lovely little baby girl (warning: the writing from the blog post about PK's birth kind of sucks since I typed it out sleep-deprived on my Blackberry from my hospital). I was thrilled and elated. I was mortified and exhausted. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.
PK was just a little runt who couldn't do much of anything on her own when she was born. She fit along the length of m
y forearm. She had dark grey eyes and a pretty good head of dark brown hair that looked like a little fluff-ball after her first bath at the hospital. Today, my little runt has grown up to be a lovely little lady with brown eyes and golden-brown hair which flows down the middle of her back (still hasn't gone for her first haircut yet). She talks and sings and dances. Her new thing is jumping. She wants to jump off of everything. Steps. Ledges. Step stool. Rocks.
I can scarcely believe what it was like to care for an infant. To have to feed her constantly and change poopy diapers. To do emergency loads of laundry after being spat up on, peed on, pooped on, or all of the above. (Fortunately for me, the hubby was usually the one who was pooped on more often.) I can scarcely remember that first time we put her in her crib. How big the crib looked as she lay there,
a little burrito swaddled with her arms sticking out (she hated having her arms confined). I can scarcely remember having to prepare bottles with formula before bed. Warming formula in the middle of the night. Sterilizing bottles. Pumping my crappy supply of breastmilk for two hours before bed just to make sure that she got some. It all seems like so long ago.
PK can now drink milk out of a cup. She can (mostly) feed herself. She can take her clothes off, and put some clothes on (socks, underwear, shoes, pants, and jacket). PK can now pedal a tricycle on her own in spurts. She knows how to use a (three-wheeled) scooter. She makes friends at the park like it's nobody's business. She serves us pretend food. She invites me to sleep in her tent while covering me in blankets. She can write "H", "A" (upside-down), "O", "V", and "I". She can do a really funny-looking "R". She understands Portuguese, and can translate a number of words between English a
nd Portuguese. She can recognize her name in writing. She can type her name on the computer. Where oh where did the time go?
I swear that she was born just yesterday. Wasn't it just yesterday? She was too small for her newborn clothes. She looked so tiny and squirrelly, yet to me, she was the most beautiful baby in the world. She is mine. All mine. I am her mom. And to her, I am the only person in the world worthy of the word "mom". What an honor. What a privilege.
There are days when I swear that I want to tear my hair out. The tantrums. The "I want daddy" when I refuse to let her do certain things. Freaking out because I forgot to let her put the straw in the juice box by herself. Freaking out because we forgot to bring Baby with us on our way out. Freaking out because we didn't let her have ice cream after she refused to finish her dinner. There are days. Those days are trying. Those days make me want to throw my hands up in despair, yell at the
top of my lungs, and scream obscenities. It's so very tempting. But it's not the right thing to do. I have to remember that she's just having a tough time, a crappy day, or wants attention. I need to remember to compose myself and just roll with it. Very hard for someone like me to do. So very hard.
As with everything in life, there are the ups and there are the downs. Parenting does have its fair share of downs, but the u
ps are incredibly uplifting. They are the moments that put a smile on my face when I think about them. They are the moments that make my day just a little bit more bearable, knowing that this little person that I brought into the world is so excited to see me at the end of the day, an
d tell me stories about her day. Thoughts of her big hugs and her tender kisses just warm my heart.
PK is my little girl. She will always be my little girl. She will always be loved. Happy birthday, PK. May your heart always be big, your smile always sweet, and your dreams always endless.
August 10, 2011
Paralyzed
I am in a funk again. I don't know what it is about this time of year that brings it out in me, but it does, and I totally hate it. I am paralyzed, unable to find the motivation to do much of anything. I have work to do, but I don't feel like doing it. My mind wanders, thinking about anything but work. I am shifty in my seat. I can't seem to get comfortable. I click from my work to Facebook. Then back to my work. Then back to Google Reader. Then back to my work. Then back to Google News. What's wrong with me? Where did my motivation go?
I'm mad at myself because I know that this is self-destructive behavior, yet I can't seem to snap out of it. I am in a terrible funk. Today, the hubby took PK to the doctor in the morning for her 3-year checkup, which meant that I had the freedom to be able to run from home to work - a total of 4 km, with probably 5 kg in my backpack. The run was invigorating. I remember walking into the office, panting and sweating, and feeling great. I also remember thinking how exercise creates endorphins and endorphins are supposed to make you happy. I exercise regularly. Almost religiously. I should be swimming in endorphins. Yet I get bummed out so very easily by the most mundane things. I go through these spurts where I feel good and everything seems to be going okay. Work, marriage, child-rearing, parental relationship is stable. Then one of those falls apart, and everything around me seems to crumble. It can be the smallest thing. Like finding out that one of my good friends from university (who works at a different company) made manager. Stuff like that pisses me off and makes me feel bad about myself.
Which makes me a total hypocrite because I keep writing about how it's totally childish to feel that way. And yet I do. I feel like an idiot. An idiot child.
Work is clearly not fulfilling me, but I can't even dream of quitting. Part of what got me depressed during mat-leave was that I wasn't working. If I didn't work, then what would I do? Yet I can think of plenty of things to do. I would work-out, build my photography business, read all the stuff I don't have time to read. Do lots of baking. Take a few classes in whatever tickles my fancy. Maybe finally make time to practice violin and piano properly. Learn how to play the guitar properly. Clearly there are a ton of things that I could do with my time. But the thought of being unemployed, of having the hubby support me. Well...it makes me sick to my stomach. So I am stuck here, in this limbo of total apathy, unable to work. Stuck in this funk.
I feel ashamed of being stuck in this funk, because there is so much right in my life. But I keep focusing on the bad. Why do I keep doing that? And then when I start to do that, I find myself getting into this pattern of withdrawal. Aimlessly checking my phone. Grunting one-word answers to the hubby. Being distant. Sucking at being a parent, thereby making PK want daddy over mommy again. Which makes me feel worse and more withdrawn. It is spiraling out of control. I need to find control, because I'm scared of withdrawing into this dark abyss from which I may not emerge.
I'm mad at myself because I know that this is self-destructive behavior, yet I can't seem to snap out of it. I am in a terrible funk. Today, the hubby took PK to the doctor in the morning for her 3-year checkup, which meant that I had the freedom to be able to run from home to work - a total of 4 km, with probably 5 kg in my backpack. The run was invigorating. I remember walking into the office, panting and sweating, and feeling great. I also remember thinking how exercise creates endorphins and endorphins are supposed to make you happy. I exercise regularly. Almost religiously. I should be swimming in endorphins. Yet I get bummed out so very easily by the most mundane things. I go through these spurts where I feel good and everything seems to be going okay. Work, marriage, child-rearing, parental relationship is stable. Then one of those falls apart, and everything around me seems to crumble. It can be the smallest thing. Like finding out that one of my good friends from university (who works at a different company) made manager. Stuff like that pisses me off and makes me feel bad about myself.
Which makes me a total hypocrite because I keep writing about how it's totally childish to feel that way. And yet I do. I feel like an idiot. An idiot child.
Work is clearly not fulfilling me, but I can't even dream of quitting. Part of what got me depressed during mat-leave was that I wasn't working. If I didn't work, then what would I do? Yet I can think of plenty of things to do. I would work-out, build my photography business, read all the stuff I don't have time to read. Do lots of baking. Take a few classes in whatever tickles my fancy. Maybe finally make time to practice violin and piano properly. Learn how to play the guitar properly. Clearly there are a ton of things that I could do with my time. But the thought of being unemployed, of having the hubby support me. Well...it makes me sick to my stomach. So I am stuck here, in this limbo of total apathy, unable to work. Stuck in this funk.
I feel ashamed of being stuck in this funk, because there is so much right in my life. But I keep focusing on the bad. Why do I keep doing that? And then when I start to do that, I find myself getting into this pattern of withdrawal. Aimlessly checking my phone. Grunting one-word answers to the hubby. Being distant. Sucking at being a parent, thereby making PK want daddy over mommy again. Which makes me feel worse and more withdrawn. It is spiraling out of control. I need to find control, because I'm scared of withdrawing into this dark abyss from which I may not emerge.
August 2, 2011
Poetry & Career Ponderings
I wrote a poem today. To be honest, it came out of nowhere. I was sitting at Second Cup at York and Queen's Quay, enjoying my hard-earned Italian soda after a 5.5km run. I sat back, enjoying the serenity. Then I started thinking about how all this running has kind of isolated me, because I opt to run instead of socialize with people at lunch hour. Then I started thinking about how I'm not that isolated, because we always seem to have plans with someone or other on the weekends. So how could I be socially isolating myself. And then my thoughts turned to how, even though I was social, I was still isolated in a way. At which point two lines of poetry magically popped into my head, and I found myself furiously jotting them down on my iPhone. And so, in 5 minutes, a poem was born. It didn't take any effort. It practically wrote itself. Which is exactly how I like my poetry to be written.
It is a little-known fact that I am a published poet. I've had my works published in three anthologies. Don't get too excited. Two of my poems were published in anthologies compiled by the school board when I was in high school. The other was published in an anthology from some poetry society. I have the book somewhere at home. It's thick and has teeny tiny print, and there are A LOT of poems in there. Still, it's an accomplishment.
The other day, my mom was asking me about why I don't write poetry anymore. It was almost a lament. One of those, "Oh, you were capable of such greatness, and you just kind of gave up." kind of comments. Without actually saying the words. Truth be told, it stung a bit, though in knowing my mom, I think it was meant out of encouragement. That's her way. Even if I don't fully get her method.
Did I tell you that I've written music before too? I've written a couple of clarinet duets, and as part of our first Christmas together as a married couple, I wrote a piano piece for the hubby. I never finished the arrangement (ssshhh...don't tell him). As part of my OAC music independent study project, I wrote and arranged a piece for my high school's senior band. I used to know stuff like chord progressions and it turned out kind of cool for someone who had never tackled such a large musical project. I had it recorded, but something got screwed up during our run, and the recording was never made. I'm kind of bummed over that, but the experience itself was what mattered. I got to try something that I'd never done before. It was pretty cool and rewarding.
I don't really write music anymore because I guess my heart just isn't into it. Besides, if a piece doesn't write itself, it's not worth writing. Just like with my poetry. The last poem I wrote was almost 3 years ago, when my grandmother died. Again, the poem just wrote itself. I jotted it down on my Blackberry one night, shortly after I'd found out about her death.
So today, I was pretty pleased with the fact that I wrote this poem. Not just because it's been a while, but because I think it turned out kind of neat. And also because it sort of awakened the inner poet in me, and allowed me to realize that I am more than just my job. I'm still in a job funk, and I am searching for something to get me out of that funk. I keep returning to this place every year, and I guess it's because I'm so unsatisfied with my professional life. My friend Jesse from university wrote a great post on his blog about this. And today I read a great post from my favorite career blogger about this. Bottom line: it seems that way too many people are stuck in careers that they hate either because society will look down upon them if they try something different, or because they will disappoint their parents. I am CONSTANTLY worried about disappointing my parents. I can almost hear them in the background as I type this.
Which is why they don't know that I am on the verge of launching my new photography site. It's almost done, and I'm pretty excited. Now I just need to sell a few prints and/or get a few clients to take pictures of their cute kids and I'm set. If you want to check out my site in progress, message me. I prefer to stick to anonymity on this blog, so I won't post it here.
Now back to the poem. You're probably dying to read the poem, if only for morbid curiosity, so I've posted it below. I have to warn you that I was in a pretty agreeable mood when I wrote it, though the tone is totally sad. That being said, if you're ever wondering the despair/depression that I felt in my first couple of years of motherhod, this gives you a pretty good glimpse. Happy reading!
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Alone
Surrounded by people, yet lonely I stand.
Alone in the void of this large, barren land.
My husband and child, filled with life, play together.
While I sit here and stare for what seems like forever.
The world, it moves on, not a beat being missed.
While I linger here. I await for my kiss.
A kiss to wake up from this wretched nightmare.
But until that day comes, I just sit in despair.
Alone in the void of this large, barren land.
My husband and child, filled with life, play together.
While I sit here and stare for what seems like forever.
The world, it moves on, not a beat being missed.
While I linger here. I await for my kiss.
A kiss to wake up from this wretched nightmare.
But until that day comes, I just sit in despair.
July 21, 2011
The Four-Year Itch
It must be a summer thing. Last summer, I was feeling it, and I'm feeling it again. I feel like it's time for a change. I just found out today that one of my co-workers is leaving our team for another job elsewhere. I'm not surprised by the move. This guy did a lot and didn't really get rewarded. Still, it sucks. That leaves only 2 full-time developers (including me) on the team. It was already bad enough that last month another co-worker who was an awesome guy to work with had left the team.
The guy who's leaving handles a lot of the annoying support stuff. Including the on-call crap. I'm getting too old and too tired to deal with on-call support stuff. I avoid it like the plague. And now, with only two of us full-time dev resources, I have a feeling that a lot of the crap is going to fall on me. Plus I can't pull the seniority card, because the other guy is fairly senior too (albeit a bit less senior).
All of this calamity of course coincides with the fact that I've been rather unhappy at work. I am not too excited about the work that I am doing. I am bored out of my mind. While I have plenty of work to keep me busy, I have little motivation to do it. That is not good. It gets done, mind you, but it is a struggle to sit there at my desk and do this work. Especially since we have been banished to the basement since early July and I don't even get to see daylight. Or anyone outside my team - we are in a space big enough for only my team alone. Can you say sucktacular?
Anyway, this year's rut is severe enough that I am now motivated to look for a new job. Probably in the same industry. At the same time, I would love to kick-start that photography work. I just don't know how. I've got a decent portfolio, but my Web site sucks. I can put a site together, but a) it would be really time-consuming and b) the type of site I want is outside the realm of my ability.
So even if I pursue this photography thing, all I can think of is how my parents will react. They'd probably have a heart attack. They'd probably wonder why on earth I went to school to study engineering in the first place if I was going to just end up pissing it away. And why would I give up a perfectly good career in IT to pursue photography? That's a hobby. That's not a real job.
So here I am. Stuck. Itching to get out. I have no doubt that I will get out of this, but what I end up doing is totally up in the air.
July 20, 2011
Please Pass the Humble Pie
Today, an old classmate of mine texted me, asking if I would be attending a gala dinner thrown by the fine folks in my old department in university. Honestly, I'm not too keen on attending. I don't really practice the area of engineering that I studied, and I'm not exactly close to my former classmates. A big gala dinner just seemed awkward. Still, he sent me the URL containing information on the festivities, and out of sheer curiosity, I checked out the site.
It's a neat little site. Alumni can share their class memories, post class pictures, and submit profiles of fellow students. One of my classmates posted a picture from the day we got our iron rings on the site. My face was rounder and smilier, it seemed. I guess 10 years does that to you.
When I got to the profiles page, I frowned. I was confronted face-to-face with an old frenemy. This girl was the epitome of perfection. In high school, she was a model. She was one of the top students in our class. She won this big swanky engineering award at graduation. She went on to med school after engineering, and is now practicing medicine in the US. In a fancy hospital. Of course. It was no surprise that she'd be profiled on this page.
Out of frustration, I IMed a former co-worker of mine who graduated from the same program last year. I complained that I would never get profiled on this thing. After all, what did I accomplish in the 10 years since graduating from university? I complained that my arch-nemesis was profiled. As I typed the words, they began to look ridiculous. Childish, even. I sounded like a jealous brat. Her response to me was, "If you want to be profiled, you should become an MP" (one of the people profiled there was an MP). I don't know if she was being sarcastic or what. Normally I'd be pissed by such a comment. But not today. I realized that I was sounding like a spoiled brat. I was suddenly deeply embarrassed by what I wrote. Especially when she asked me why I considered this girl to be an arch-nemesis. I had nothing concrete to go by.
Then it hit me. I was sounding jealous of this girl. But why? I have no desire to be a doctor. Nor do I have the desire to move to the States. She didn't have the life that I wanted. I have the life that I want. And I am living it now. But instead of living it, I was sitting there, being jealous of someone's life that I didn't even want, because they had been profiled on some Web site. Because by having their profile on this site, they suddenly became important. Which of course is silly. We may not all be world-famous important. We may not all win the Nobel Peace Prize, become Prime Minister, come up with a brilliant scientific breakthrough, or even become CEO of some company. I am important in my own way. I am important to my family. I am important to my friends. Heck, I'm even important to my co-workers (at least as far as the work I do goes). That counts for something. Even if it doesn't end up on a fancy profile page.
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