wrinkly toes

I took ALL THREE boys to a nearby wadding pool BY MYSELF yesterday.

And even came home will all three!

Not willing to get in myself, I sat on the edge with Andrew between my legs, either sitting on the edge with his feet in the water or with him floating on my legs (I, with a firm grasp on the back of his shirt and waistband). I didn't realize until looking at these pictures how wrinkly his toes had gotten.

Couldn't you just eat them? Chubby little baby toes.

is aging gracefully still "in"?

At 3:45am this morning, I was wakened by the sound of little feet walking quickly across the hardwood laminate flooring in our room.

It was Simon.

Simon has NEVER gotten out of bed before in ALL of his 32 months. (I know. Hard to believe. But for all his crazy-making, he does stay in bed once put there, which I consider nothing short of miraculous.). I jumped out of bed, thinking something must be really wrong, but he simply said, "I pooped." and then, "I hungry."

I took him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom to change his diaper. Except he wasn't dirty, just wet. Although I was slightly annoyed to have been jarred out of my slumber for only a wet diaper, I was impressed that he'd woken up for it. That he'd even NOTICED.

Baby steps.

We then headed to the kitchen where I got him a glass of water and banana to eat. So I found myself sitting in the dark, at 4am, having a snack with my two year old. Then it hit me...

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Happy 30th Birthday to me!

The big 3-0!

For a rare treat, I thought I'd show you these gems:

Commence oohs and ahhs. I was precious.

Although it feels a bit strange to say that I'm thirty... I'm thirty? Really??... I'm handling it fine, thankyouverymuch. No crisis. No meltdown. No wailing and gnashing of teeth over the few grey hairs who have made an appearance or the baby crows feet (chick feet??) that I see when I look in the mirror. I'm okay with it. REALLY.

I've earned my stripes, like I've earned the scars, wrinkles and grey hairs. I've EARNED them. Long ago, I decided to age gracefully, so hopefully now that I'm beginning to see the beginnings of the signs, I'll be able to embrace aging as easily as I was able to embrace the idea of aging.

*Gifts of chocolate and lemon meringue pies will be gladly accepted. Email for address.*

(Where does a thirty year old getting dreads land on the "embracing aging spectrum"?? Not that I've done it yet... the discussion is ongoing.)

From Mourning to Dancing - part II

Part I

With the Trisomy 18 diagnosis confirmed, we decided that the easiest way to let people know would be a mass email. A pretty impersonal way to find out news of that magnitude, but we knew we were not up to re-telling the story dozens of times and having to exlpain the details over and over. The term "incompatible with life" was still ringing in our ears. We didn't want to have to repeat it at nauseum.

The response from our family and friends was overwhelming. We received emails from all corners of the globe, from friends we'd lost touch with, and from people we'd never even met., but who had somehow heard our new. Many people included poems, scriptures, or verses from songs, the majority of which went unread. The news was much too fresh and our emotions were much too raw for any of it to be helpful at the time.

We spent most of our spare time researching and reading. I joined a support forum for families dealing with a Trisomy 18 diagnosis. Much of my time there was spent reading of the experiences of other families. Other families who had lost babies. I read their stories, looked at their pictures, and cried.

Sometimes it felt like I did nothing but cry.

* * * * * * * * *

After doing almost unending reading online, talking, and really searching our hearts we knew what we were going to do. We knew that we'd never be able to end the pregnancy early. It might have been easier in some ways, but we knew it wouldn't make the pain any more bearable.

The option of induction and ending the pregnancy early was tempting, thinking I'd somehow save myself some pain by not really having a chance to bond with the baby. Because if I could convince myself that I hadn't already bonded with him, that he hadn't already become a part of the very fiber of my being, that he hadn't already taken over every tiny crack and crevice of my heart, and that I hadn't already planned an entire future in which he was an integral part of our family, well it wouldn't hurt so much. Right?

But we knew how much we already loved him. Once it was said and felt, it couldn't be taken back. We still wanted to meet him and see him and hold him. We decided to do everything possible to love our baby while he was still inside of me and for as much time as we'd be given with him once he was born.

While clicking through the archives and galleries of the Trisomy 18 Support site, I found myself focusing on the stories of the babies who had lived for at least a short time after birth. I didn't want anything to do with the stories of babies who had miscarried, or died in utero or during birth. I couldn't handle the thought of that happening to us. Our biggest hope was for time.

* * * * * * * * *

In Romans chapter 8, it talks about the Spirit interceding for us in groans too deep for words.

Groans too deep for words.

That so perfectly describes my state, my heart, my depth of grief at that time (and for a long time afterward, but I don't want to get ahead of myself). It was near impossible for me to pray. I'd get as far as "Heavenly Father, please..." before dissolving into tears and wracking sobs.

Thankfully, even though my words wouldn't come, I knew that those who loved us were praying. When pressed for specifics, these were our requests:
- that I would be able to carry our son to term or as long as possible to give him the best possible chance
- that I wouldn't go into early labor
- that he would be born alive (!)
- that we would have at least a few days with him, even being able to bring him home with us
- that we would be able to plan this all in a way that would allow for our family to be with us when he's born - to meet him, hold him, and help us celebrate his life.

The difficulty in planning something like this was that most Trisomy 18 babies don't survive pregnancy. There's a high risk of them dying in utero. Initially we hoped for a scheduled induction or c-section (more risky for me, but it would have given the baby a better chance, as labour -induced or occurring naturally- would be very stressful for his heart) around the 37-38 week mark. Scheduling the birthday was especially important for Peter's brothers,spread out in the States, his parents as far away as Egypt, and his sister possibly in Spain. Having missed the chance to hold our nephew, Lachlan, when he was born, I knew personally how important this was.

* * * * * * * * *

One of the worst things during this period was the constant uncertainty. Only three days after receiving the diagnosis, I found myself constantly worrying about whether he was still alive. And would he be with me tomorrow? The upside was that I was able to truly enjoy and cherish each little flutter of movement. He was quite active (even at only 20 weeks!), although that made the situation that much more unbelieveable. He seemed so healthy and active.

In those early weeks, we really stuggled over the lack of control that we had over the whole situation. You know the Serenity Prayer? "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." Well, we couldn't accept what was happening OR change it. We were stuck. It all seemed surreal. We hadn't quite come to terms with it (likely never will), but we were slowly able to accepted that we had no power to change it. We were determined to enjoy the pregnancy as much as possible since it might be all the time we would be given (at least we decided to be determined. At some point...).

It became clear though that being sad and depressed all the time was not helping me or the baby. I had not been sleeping much, had next to no appetite, and could hardly keep down what I did manage to eat. At that point, it was not longer morning sickness - it was the stress of it all. So I decided to (try to) control what I could, and resolved to be happy and healthy for my baby's sake. That was easier said than done however.

If I wasn't playing with Liam and trying to hold it together for his sake, I was crying. So Liam, our little just-turn-two year old ball of energy, sunshine and happiness, quickly became Peter and my sole focus. He was already the center of our little world, but he became (quite seriously) all that kept us going.

I clearly remember sitting with Peter on the stairs to our backyard deck, watching Liam play with the pool we had set up for the summer. He was throwing toys and sand into the newly filled pool, but, as it was only a few days after the diagnosis, we didn't care near enough to stop him. Peter and I were both lost in our own thoughts when Peter said, "If it wasn't for Liam, I'd go drown myself in that pool." I knew he was serious.

Some of you might be taken aback by that, but I wasn't. Not at the time. Not when I felt as awful as he did. But I wasn't worried, because I also knew exactly how he felt about Liam, how much he loved that little boy, and how that love would keep him going.

It was keeping me going, too.

P.S. I Google "Serenity Prayer" to be sure I was quoting it properly. It's obviously been a long time since I've seen the entire prayer (even though it was hanging in my parent's staircase since, oh, TIME BEGAN), and I was blown away by the prayer in its entirety. I'll post it here for all your benefit. It's lovely.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

Part III

wordless wednesday - puddle jumping

For more Wordless Wednesdays, head over to 5 Minutes For Mom and to Wordless Wednesday.

From Mourning to Dancing - part 1

I first read about Stellan many months ago. I forget now how I stumbled onto My Charming Kids, but I was quickly taken in by MckMama's cute kids, her stunning photography and her faith, especially in the midst of what was happening to her baby. And again this week, the blogosphere, twitter and Facebook are being flooded with requests for prayer for Stellan.

This little boy and his little heart have been through so much. He's eight months old, only a little older than Andrew. I'm constantly checking Jennifer's Twitter feed for updates, hoping for good news and at the same time fearing that I might be following this sweet babe's final days.

Yesterday morning, I found myself thinking of Stellan almost constantly. And almost every thought of this little boy (who really I don't know at all) leads to thoughts of a little boy I do know. The little boy that I lost.

I can't help but whisper, "Heaven doesn't need any more babies."

Ever since I added the pictures of all my boys to the side bar, I've been thinking of sharing the story of my second-born. It's still hard when I'm asked, "How many kids to you have?". To say four then requires an awkward explanation, which in turn leads to even more awkwardness on the part of the questioner. But the easier response, "Three", makes me feel like I'm denying him.

I've sort of felt the same way here on my blog. I've shared his video, but not the whole story. I don't want to feel like I'm denying him here. I'm proud that he is my son! Poor boy doesn't get much play on the ol' blog though, so it's time to rectify the situation.

At the risk of people thinking that I'm somehow trying to capitalize on Stellan's story (which I'm TOTALLY NOT. I've been crying over little Stellan and praying for strength and peace for his parents -peace that passes understanding, peace that defies understanding, peace that-is-in-no-way-related-to-understanding because you just can't understand a situation like this), but the truth is that thinking of one little boy naturally leads my thoughts to another little boy. One who I've been really wanting to share with you... my son Nathaniel.

Part 1 - The Diagnosis, June 2005

After six months of trying, Peter and I found out in early March that we were expecting our second baby Nov 9th, 2005. Despite all the morning sickness (it's quite clear to me that it was a man WHO HAD NEVER BEEN PREGNANT came up with the term "morning" sickness ), we were thrilled by the prospect of a baby brother or sister for Liam.

I had my first ultrasound Monday, June 13th, in the evening just before going into work for the night. Although she began my appointment chipper and almost annoyingly cheerful, her tone changed dramatically by the end of the scan. She had spent what seemed to me an exceptionally long time examining one particular area, taking measurements and writing notes. Even though she'd turned the screen away from me, I could crane my neck around just enough to see what it was she was looking at.

On the screen was my unborn baby's little head. Even though I am not an ultrasound technician, I could tell that something wasn't quite right. I couldn't remember what Liam's head looked by ultrasound during my pregnancy with him, but this baby's brain seemed to be divided into four unequally circles, black in the middle with a small rim of white.

After finishing her measurements, the technician left the room saying that she needed to consul with one of the clinic's doctors. When she returned she told me several times to call my doctor as soon as possible to discuss the results, but wouldn't explain what she'd seen or if there might be a problem. Even though the U/S technician didn't say anything decisive, she certainly didn't leave us believing that everything was fine. Everything was clearly not fine.

Was there a problem with our baby?

We left the office and I headed to work. I tried to stay calm, but was completely unable to push back the mounting fear. Without anyone there to check me, my mind raced through every possibility, each worse than the rest. By the time I got to work, I was sick to my stomach and fighting back tears.

Even though Peter tried his best to reassure me that everything would be fine, it was an awfully long night. Awful.

The next morning I called my doctor as soon as the office opened only to be told the results wouldn't be in UNTIL FRIDAY. We already knew that something was likely wrong or at least abnormal with our ultrasound, and now I was being told we would have to wait FOUR MORE DAYS before we would find out the results. I called back later in tears, blubbering and sobbing to the poor receptionist, and told her I couldn't wait that long. I just couldn't. I needed to know what was going on. The reception was very sweet and told me she'd see what she could do. Bless her, she called back about an hour later with a twelve o'clock appointment for me. It was nice to know we'd soon have some answers, but then I started to worry even more. They wouldn't have made the extra effort and gone to the trouble to rush things if there wasn't something wrong, would they? It seemed even more likely now that something really was wrong.

A problem with our baby.

I picked Peter up from work and we went to the appointment together. When we finally met with our doctor, he told us that there were several anomalies consistent with Down Syndrome: choroid plexus cysts (cysts on the glands in the brain that normally produce the fluid surrounding the brain), shortened femurs, and a very thick nuchal neck fold (over 9mm instead of under 5mm). I'd declined all the prenatal blood screening, not thinking it necessary as we had no risk factors or markers for, well, anything. Young, healthy, didn't drink, smoke or do drugs, no medical history of any complications or issues, diseases or illnesses. Our doctor explained that these markers on their own would not be cause for concern, but together the painted a rather different picture.

I sat there on that crinkly paper covered exam table, hardly able to take it in what the doctor was telling us. Never did I imagine I'd be sitting in a doctors' office hearing news like that. The part of me that was even able to register how I was feeling knew without a doubt that if I started crying, I wouldn't be able to stop. Peter was sitting next to me and I could see him nodding his head to indicate to the doctor that he understood, but I couldn't make myself turn and look him in the eyes. I was able to keep my voice mostly steady while we asked a few questions, and the doctor recommended an amniocentesis as the next step if we wanted a concrete diagnosis, which we accepted. There was no way I could endure the remainder of the pregnancy without knowing. The amnio was scheduled for the following week, June 21st.

It was an awful week to endure. There was absolutely no way we could look at the situation in a good light. It seemed like all our dreams for our family and this baby were gone. We read about Down Syndrome, researching and visiting DS parenting forums. But even reading all the accounts of how DS kids bless and brightened their families' lives did nothing to comfort us. For us, this news was nothing short of tragic. We were heartbroken. The option of terminating the pregnancy was discussed (it had to be put out there), but was immediately dismissed. We could never live with ourselves. We even talked about putting the baby up for adoption, but really only because we felt we had to discuss all of the options. We knew that adoption wouldn't be an option for us either. The mere thought of it made us feel sick and selfish and cowardly.

This was our baby.

It was tempting to try to distance myself from the baby. To try to tell myself that it would be better to end the pregnancy early rather than have a child who would be so terribly limited in what he or she could do. I pictured Liam running around with a group of boys playing soccer. Running behind them, trying desperately to keep up was another little boy whose face I couldn't quite see. I couldn't see his face, but I could easily imagine a life of being left out and left behind and pushed aside. It was not the life I wanted for my child.

This was not the baby I'd been dreaming of.

June 21st we arrived at the Southern Alberta Maternal - Fetal Medicine Clinic (just the name sounded scary!) just before 9:30am. We were expecting to just have the amnio done, which I'd been told would take about 15 minutes. First though, we met with a nurse who documented my prenatal history. Then they did another complete ultrasound ( a Level II U/S) of the baby from head to toe. The technician was great and took loads of pictures of the baby, a baby who, to us, looked completely normal and healthy and lovely. When she was through, she went out and talked to the perinatologist who then came and wanted to look at some things for himself. He spent extra time on the heart and, strangely, the baby's hands.

When he was through, we sat down together to discuss his findings. Right away he started explaining that all of the characteristics were consistent with Trisomy 18. We stopped him and asked if the baby had Down Syndrome (Trisomy 21). He answered with a definitive no. We were so relieved! I remember smiling and thinking, "It's not Down Syndrome!" He then proceeded to explain Trisomy 18...

(Both Trisomy 21 (Down Syndrome) and Trisomy 18 (Edwards Syndrome) occur when a baby has three chromosomes in either the 21st or 18th position. The risk of having a child with Downs, for my age group, was only 1:1300 live births. Trisomy 18 is the second most common trisomy after Downs. It occurs in about 1:5000 live births, though it's estimated that the frequency among miscarried babies is one hundred times these numbers. Do I sound like a dictionary? I've often felt like one.)

After our meeting with the perinatologist, it was discovered that we were not, in fact, scheduled for an amniocentesis like we'd thought. Thankfully, the doctor was able to fit us in and performed one that afternoon. The amnio was much more painful than I thought it would be (ie. it was excruciating. The doctor figured he hit a nerve on the way in. Nice. I will NEVER forget the feeling as that needle pierced my uterus.) We were told that the full report could take between two and three weeks, but they'd be able to give us preliminary results by that Friday (using a FISH (Fluorescence In Situ Hybridization) test that uses some sort of probe or light to count only chromosomes 13, 18, and 21 which are the most common trisomies).

Without even seeing the results, however, the perinatologist had little doubt that our baby did have Trisomy 18. As he looked through his notes, he began to describe the findings. The biggest red flag for him was the fact that our baby would not open his hands throughout the scan. They remained clenched the entire time. He then went on to paraphrase the other markers he'd seen on the ultrasound:
- small, spread out eyes
- large skull
- very small lower jar
- small, low-set eyes
- short legs and arms
- etc, etc, etc.

Really, he made our baby sound like a malformed little monster. He made us question whether or not we even wanted to see him. How hard would it be to see an obviously sick baby? Are those the images we wanted to carry with us?

As we sat in his small office considering the mountain of abnormalities it seemed our baby already had, the doctor mentioned that he could call the hospital that day and schedule us for an induction. An abortion.

I remember thinking, "WHOA. Hold on a minute! The results aren't even back! We've just heard about this Trisomy 18 for the first time and you're already asking us if we want to end it all??" Even though we'd pondered that same option only the week prior, having someone else suggest it put me immediately on the defense.

This is my baby!

We politely yet firmly declined his offer and explained that we needed time. We also let him know that we were definitely leaning towards carrying the baby to term, in spite of the diagnosis.

After the amnio, we took a break for lunch (and found A $60 PARKING TICKET on our car window since we thought we were only there for a 15 minute proceedure and then completely lost track of time, what with finding out our baby was seriously ill and all. Nothing like getting kicked when you're down, eh) and then met with one of the genetic counselors. Her name was Jennifer and she was kind and informative and great at answering all of our questions and discussing all the possible outcomes and options whether the test came back positive or negative for Trisomy 18. Even with a negative result, the baby would still face a myriad of problems.

Here is a copy of the results from the level II ultrasound:

Multiple fetal anomalies are noted:

Brachycephaly is present with a "strawberry" shaped skull.

The CSP are not identified during the exam. (I think that's a part of the brain that they normally measure the nuchal fold from. The doctor said it just wasn't there.)

The nuchal fold appears mildly thickened, consistent with her prior exam.

The nose is small and the nasal bone is hypo plastic.

There is micrognathia. (which I figured out means a small jaw)

The orbits appear small and are widely spaced, suspicious for hypertelorism.

There is flow across the interventricular septum suspicious for a VSD. The cardiac outflows appear normal (this means there's a hole in the heart)

Both hands remain clenched with the second fingers overlapping the third and the fifth overlapping the fourth. The thumbs remain inwardly fixed with the fingers.

Fetal choroid plexus cysts are noted.

The observed femur length is less than 90% of the expected.

The fetal humerus length is less than 90% of expected.

Both kidney are echogenic though normal in size (this means they showed up white on the U/S when normally only really dense things like bone show up white)

Both heels are prominent.

I didn't understand half of what the report contained, and it was probably just as well at that point. What we did understand (or could figure out with the help of Google) was that even without the chromosomal abnormality, our baby still had a hole in its heart, kidneys that didn't work properly, cysts in its brain, and bits of its brain that were missing.

Thankfully we didn't have to wait two to three weeks for the final results -which would have been shere torture!- as the geneticist called the following day. My heart pounded as I answered the phone and heard Jennifer's voice on the other end. Apparently, one of the lab technicians had insomnia and decided to go into the lab and work all night, meaning our results came back in less than 24 hours (that's what you'd call small mercies). The results were positive for Trisomy 18.

Our baby had Trisomy 18.

What I haven't explained up til now is that, unlike Down Syndrome, Trisomy 18 is fatal. The term we heard several times during our day at the clinic was "not compatible with life." Not. Compatible. With. Life. Most babies die before birth, rarely surviving pregnancy. Those who do make it to birth typically only live a few minutes, hours, or a few days. Less than 10% (of those who even survive pregnancy) live to celebrate their first birthday.

Truth be told, we were pretty numb to the news. We were so cried out from the week prior. We'd spent all our tears and anger and sadness and frustration on something that we didn't think could possible get any worse (than Down Syndrome) only to find out that it could get worse and it did. That night, Peter and I both seemed to feel nothing. Just empty and numb. It took several days to digest and really understand what it all meant.

Not compatible with life.

Our baby was going to die.

Here is part of the email we sent out to our family and friend, sharing with them this devastating news,

It's pointless to think of how unfair this is. How our family (my family) has already been through so much. How we've already had to bury Heather's baby. Part of me would like to end it all right now and not prolong this pain. To get on with our lives and our family. But then I think that going through another twenty weeks of this pregnancy -even with all the pain and heartache and grief and uncertainty- will be worth it if we're able to spend even a few minutes with this baby. After all, he's still our baby.

We love him.

Oh yeah, it's a boy. The little brother we always dreamed of for Liam. The one who was supposed to be a best friend and playmate for Liam, like Peter was for Tim.

We'd so appreciate your prayers for us over the next few weeks and months.

We're having a hard time praying ourselves.

Amy (for Peter and Liam)

Part II

at the beach

This is my entry for this week's i heart faces photo contest. The theme is "at the beach" which left me with a slight dilemma as, living in land-locked Canada, we haven't had too many beach visits recently. So I dug up this shot taken while we staying in a lake house while in Michigan for David and Kristi's wedding last year. There was no better location for a house full of little boys (and not-so-little boys) of all ages. Canoes, kayaks, rowboats, frisbees, sticks and rocks for throwing... there was so much to do. There was also FREEZING COLD water and a sorry excuse for a "beach" that consisted of small rocks and pebbles sharp enough to draw blood. (I might be exaggerating ever so slightly, but it really was painful to walk more than a few steps without shoes or flip flops. Even Simon, who weighed maybe 20lbs at the time, couldn't handle his own weight pushing those little rocks into his feet for long.)

bolo

Last night I attended the first (annual??) Blog Out Loud Ottawa event at Raw Sugar Cafe. The evening was the brainchild of, and was organized by, Lynn of Turtlehead. I wasn't sure what to expect, but will say that I had THE BEST TIME. Seriously. I felt all giddy on my drive home.

(Although the two iced coffees I threw back might have had something to do with it. It seems that I don't handle caffeine well seeing as I was up until 3:30am and, even when I did go to bed, I was awake until 4:30am. Lesson learned. If I drink coffee, it'll have to be before supper.)

I'd hoped to arrive at Raw Sugar Cafe before 6:30pm, but didn't walk in until just after 7pm. I was worried that the other bloggers I know (ie. had met ONCE before) would have already found seats and I'd be left standing awkwardly by the table, desperately waiting for an invite to sit down, all the while having flashbacks of junior high.

Thankfully, my fragile ego need not suffer long. As I found the few faces in the crowd that were familiar to me and approached the table, a chair was quickly pulled up and space made for me. I spent the evening sitting and chatting with Andrea, Dani, Anna, Lauren, and Chantal. Mommy bloggers unite!

I also had the chance to meet several others whose blogs I've just recently found. XUP (pronounced like zoup or, as is my preference, X-U-P) was nothing like how I'd pictured her, yet also more than how I'd pictured her. Her story was captivating, funny and wistful. Her reading, with just a hint of a drawl, was full of sweet nostalgia. One of my favorites.

Another reading I loved was a short and sweet piece by Woodsy from Coloured Marbles. As soon as she read the title, 10,000 Pieces of Lego, I knew I'd be able to relate. Being the mother of three young boys -and also the owner of copious amounts of Lego- I am extremely familiar with the sound of rustling Lego. Woodsy (whose self and blog were both new to me) seemed lovely. Soft yet strong, earthy and elegant.

Another highlight of my night was meeting and chatting with Kym from Relishing and Circumnavigating. I only found her blogs this week when Lynn linked to her site from the BOLO blog, and I am so, so glad for it. Kym's personal site is full of recipes, talk of Ottawa, and amazing fashion. There are almost always pictures of her gorgeous, fun, unique clothes. Her sense of style is well worth the visit to her blog, but more than that she's a beautiful writer. Her description of the trip she and her husband's took around the global chokes me up at almost every sentence. I've read it four times in as many days. Her writing is moving, lilting, and haunting. Like magic. MAGIC. (Kym, are you blushing?)

Did I mention that she's also tall? Cause she's TALL. And her husband is TALL. And their friends are TALL. During one of the breaks I was standing near the entrance talking to three of them and feeling decidedly like a little midget. A midget mommy-blogger. Seriously. If Kym and I were characters from Lord of the Rings, she'd be an elven princess and I'd be a hobbit. Or a dwarf. Need a visual?

That's Kym on the left and me on the right.

(Now, NO ONE FREAK OUT. That's not how I see myself. There's a shocking lack of pictures that match the search terms "female dwarf", "dwarf woman", "female hobbit", "hobbit girl", etc. I've seen a few too many sexy dwarf anime avitars tonight, thankyouverymuch.)

In addition to readings from a dozen or so bloggers, there was also a space for local photobloggers (or bloggers who take pictures, a la me) to display their work. I spent many hours trawling the depths of my photo files, looking for pictures worthy of being shown. In the end, I managed to put together an album with 77 images. It was actually very satisfying to leaf through the pages once filled. Others must have liked it too as I had two requests for business cards.

Who me? Business cards?? Reeeeally?! Moo Cards here I come! (Thanks for the recommendations, Andrea and Dani!)

In summary, it was a lovely, fun, entertaining, coffee-filled evening. Another huge, HUGE thank you to Lynn.

ETA: I'm re-reading this four days later and just corrected no fewer than 10 typos or other errors. Apologies to all who suffered through the poorly edited version.

a little less neglected

I've actually been updating my photo blog relatively often lately, but keep forgetting to let you all know. If you'd like to see some of the pictures from the wedding I shot, check out the link in the navigation bar above. I'd love any comments or critiques, as this was my first time delving into "professional" photography.

Feel free to subscribe to the RSS feed if you're interested in seeing more. The posts over there will be 95% photographs and very little text... and easy read.

is it a fullmoon or something??

Thanks to all who responded to my post about the dreads. Did you notice that my family commented? ALL of them?? That is THE FIRST POST that my mom AND both my sister have commented on! Boy, dreads bring 'em out of the woodwork, eh? Bunch a crazies.

(I noticed that my lovely mother-in-law has refrained from commenting. She's too sweet and/or polite to say what I'm sure she's thinking. *waves* Hi, Mora!)

To save you all the trouble of going and finding their comments, I'll copy and paste them for you reading pleasure.

First up, my older sister, Heather:

I think you are getting grey hair too! You should have edited that out of the picture. Aren't I a loving sis?? If you got dreads how lame would it be for me to do them, then! Copier!

The dear old mum:

Please, I beg you --- no dreads!!! They are creepy, look so unkempt and would also be the things for Andrew to pull at. Go for the short do --- hair grows so you have variety along the way. Peter --- help!!! I'll even forgive your pride in Simon's sculpturing efforts.
Love,
Miss Ellie

Finally, my thinks-she's-funny, unable-to-capitalize younger sis, Lynette:

i know that you have been waiting for MY advice b/c i am, lets face it, prolly the one who spends the most time on herself in our family!

1. i agree with heather! you are going grey!
2. agree with heather! no one likes a copier (people also don't like sisters who steal their clothes and the only way you can get them back is when you stay in their overly creepy house with serial killers lurking in the basement when they go away on vacation... ah, focus!)
3. to have really nice ones, you have to have at least nip length hair (in my opinion)
4. if you do get your hair cut, do something different! spice it up a little amy, you are getting into a hair funk and pixie is SO last season... i suggest a bob a-la victoria becham (also last season but i think you can pull it off)
5. the only good thing about you getting dreads that i can see is that you never wash your hair anyways, so the upkeep will be no different from your everyday!!!

Let me start off by addressing a very important point... I AM NOT GOING GREY! Those are natural highlights! HIGHLIGHTS!

I have yet to decide what to do with my hair. If I'm ever going to do dreads, I think it needs to be now. That way I can enjoy them for a few years before moving overseas. If I'll be required to be involved in any embassy "stuff", I would probably be in my best interests to not look like a dirty hippy look presentable. However, I think I need to do a bit more research before I make a decision.

P.S. Lynette, get a blog already.

nude self portrait

Sunday I decided to take a self-portrait... in the buff. Although that implies that I was, in fact, nekkid, the less scandalous less embarrassing less interesting truth is that I was merely without makeup or any hair product. Straight from the shower.

Sorry to disappoint.

No makeup? Hair not done? Those who know me are wondering why on earth this event was picture worthy since I so very, very rarely wear any makeup or put much effort into my hair.

My reasons for this un-coiffed, un-made-up portrait are the following:

• I wanted you all to see what I really look like. Not as "really" as my bikini clad pre-Shred full body pictures, but me "in the flesh". Unplugged. Au naturelle.

• I need your advice on hair styles.

• I have a challenge for you all at the end. *evil grin*
  

So here's the picture I took:

Yes, my pores really are that huge. Find me a paper bag.

And here I am in June of 2008, when Simon was around seven
months old (so about the same postpartum state as I'm currently in).

Gah! Don't I look young? Aren't my pores small?? That was only two years ago!

I know you're all struck dumb by my exquisitness (not), but if you could focus for a moment, I have a question. A question about my hair... and what I should do with it. I want it to look good, but I don't know what to do with it (I'm nothing if not vain and indecisive... oh wait, I'm lazy too. Especially when it comes to my hair. Vain, indecisive AND lazy.)

I really love how my hair was the the above pictured cut. My hairstylist was also one of my closest friends, so she knew me well, knew what I liked, and knew exactly how much time (ie. how little time) I would spend on my hair each day. Unfortunately, she's no longer an option seeing as she's several thousand miles -and almost $1000- away. So here are my options:

• Do nothing. Live with my boring, longish hair that is spending more and more time pulled back into a boring, longish ponytail.
  

• Find a new stylist here in the Ottawa area to give me another short, sassy, EASY cut.

• Get dreadlocks. Not thick, matted, nasty dreads... pretty dreads (no, mother, that is NOT an oxymoron). Like these:
  

What do you think? Could I pull off dreads? Would I regret getting them done? Should I just stick to another cute, short, easy-to-maintain style? CAN ANYONE RECOMMEND A STYLIST IN OTTAWA??

* * * * * * * * * *

My challenge to you, should you chose to accept it, is to post a picture of yourself without makeup and without your hairstyled. This picture is SOOC (straight out of camera) except that I whitened the white of my right eye which was heavily bloodshot thanks to my teething 6 1/2 month old.

If you decide to play along, let me know in the comments and I'll add a link to your site, so that EVERYONE CAN SEE YOU in your God-given glory. Sounds great, eh?

ETA some fellow brave and lovely mamas who decided to play along:
- Sab @ Seeds of the Heart
- Rebecca @ A little bit of Momsense
- Andrew @ a peak inside the fish bowl
- Lynn @ TurtleHead
- Capital Mom (I'm so sorry I forget your first name! *hangs head* Remind me, please!)

wordless wednesday - x-rated food

I swear that Simon created this little masterpiece completely unassisted. He
proclaimed quite proudly that it was his "tower". How could I not take a picture?
Yes, Peter was VERY proud.

For more Wordless Wednesdays, head over to 5 Minutes For Mom and to Wordless Wednesday.

the one where they decide it's time to put up the baby gates

He wasn't doing this even three days ago! He's just 6 1/2 months. Oy vay.

Omega Park part 2: birds of prey

(Here's Part I of our Park Omega trip.)

Just as we were about to leave the park, I remember that the brochure mentioned a "Birds of Prey" demonstration was scheduled for 2 o'clock. Peter was ready to head home, but I convinced him that the boys would love it.

A barn owl.

Liam was totally into the show and, truth be told, I loved it too. Simon was more interested in climbing up and down the bleachers, which we decided wasn't a great idea seeing as the birds were flying low overhead and a couple of them might have been able to fly away with him. Peter took him to burn off some of the excess energy that had accumulated while being pent up in the van for so many hours driving through the park. We were both getting so frustrated with his inability to sit still that it was wither let him run or voluntarily feed him to the birds (figuratively AND LITERALLY).

I forget what this one was called, but it lives in the desert
and gets together with buddies to gang up on roadrunners.

A juvenile red-tailed hawk, whose tail was not yet red.

This falcon was rather impressive. Once its hood was removed, the trainer (keeper?) attached a piece of meat to a bird-shaped piece of wood that was attached to a long cord. He then swung the "bird" around his head in wide circles. It took the falcon a couple tries, but when he did manage to catch the bait, it was pretty awesome. AWE-some.

(Related: Simon found the falcon's hood hilarious. "Burdies no needa hat!" in the same tone as you'd say "Where'd they get this guy?". He might as well have been rolling his eyes.)

Speaking of awesome, check out this winged wonder.


It's a bald headed eagle, but again a juvenile so it's white head feathers haven't come in yet. This was a seriously scary bird! I know this next picture is lacking in many areas -I didn't get the full wingspan or the tail in the shot- but just look at its eyes! And its beak! Yikes. That's the meanest looking bird I've ever seen! Simon wouldn't stand a chance!


This was taken just as it (he? she? I wasn't about to get close enough to find out.) was about to land. I really love this picture and how you can see all the air ruffling its feathers as it braked in the air.

Has anyone seen "The Secret of Nimh"? Doesn't this remind you of the scene at the end when the two crows are flying off, all tangled in the string?

Park Omega part 1: Get that wapiti out of the car!

Not long after we moved here to the Ottawa area, we heard talk of Omega Park (or Parc Omega depending on what side of the river you're on). The stories were of a place where the animals came right up to your vehicle to eat out of your hand. For real? FOR REAL.

Last week, we packed a picnic lunch and loaded the kids into the van along with 10lbs of carrots, 3lbs of apples, and two bags of celery. The 45 minute drive went smoothly thanks in part to Disney's Cars and our on board DVD player. (Yes, we're those kinds of parents. I don't care what anyone says to the contrary... Car travel is a hundred times better with a DVD player.)


We weren't exactly sure what to expect other than deer and other hoofed (I thought it was "hooved" but it's "hoofed", go figure) creatures coming up to our van. Once we got to the park, we decided to put Liam and Simon in the front passenger seat and, since we were driving less than 5 kms/hr, we put Andrew on a blanket on the floor of the van (we have one of the bucket seats removed). He loved it so much we were afraid that he was going to refuse to ride in his car seat after that.

We were a little shocked at first when they came and
stuck their heads RIGHT IN THE WINDOW.

Look at the rack on this fella!

These guys loved the apples.

These are white-tailed deer. They were timid,
but not enough to keep them away from the
carrots. This was so neat for the boys.

Proof that Peter was there.

This picture makes me laugh. Look at Liam's exuberance.
Adults can't muster a fraction of that. Love it.

I was there too! (Thanks for cooperating, Simon.)

These are masive, masive, MASIVE animals. At one point, while taking a
close up at the far end of my zoom lens, the beast took a step towards me and
I jumped and screamed like a litle girl totally startled. The zoom brought him so close, and I DO NOT want to be close to one of these bohemouths!

Having a little fun using the rearview mirror for reflections.
Did you notice me and Liam in the first picture?

The park is home to white-tailed deer, wapiti, elk, bison, caribou, ibexs, wild boar, raccoons, coyotes, arctic and timber wolves, and black bears. There's also a traditional homestead with a little farm that is home to cows, donkeys, horses, an enormous AND LOUD turkey, sheep, goats, pigs, and bunnies. Liam loooooved the bunnies.


Although a bit pricey (it was $52 for the five of us, with Andrew free), it was definitely worth it. I'm sure it will be a yearly thing for us. There was also a very cool birds of prey show and a public feeding of some of the black bears and the timber wolves and pups.

It was a really fun day for all of us. Even the drive was lovely. It's so green here! The drive takes you through several small towns and all along the road are cute farms with amazing, photo-worthy, weathered, old barns. I'm sure I could've found dozens of things to photograph at every one of the dozens of farms we passed on the way. Am I alone in my love of old farm buildings??

something's off here

As I mentioned yesterday, I don't feel like my outside matches how I feel on the inside. Case in point: clothes shopping.

I needed to buy something to wear to the wedding I photographed last weekend. I needed something that wouldn't bunch or pull or ride up, and something that I could squat, kneel, and bend in without worrying about exposing too much skin or other fleshy bits. It had to be comfortable in order to concentrate on my job and not worry about too low a cut shirt or pants that expose one of my least favorite cracks. Oh, and I had to be able to nurse in it too. Should've been easy, eh?

I did end up finding a cute-ish dress to wear (with leggings) that worked really well. The main problem I had while shopping wasn't so much related to style of clothing, but finding the right size. Not only has the sizing of clothes changed since I last shopped on a regular basis THREE PREGNANCIES AGO, but when I did last shop, I was a different size. In my head, while shopping, I'm still that size.

Not much can ruin that fun little shopping high as quickly as realizing that ALL NINE items you've taken to the change room with you are too small. You immediately forget how proud you were of the 6.5lbs you lost over the last few weeks when still can't fit into clothes you thought you'd be able to.

I don't even understand it myself.. I know that I'm heavier than I'd like to be and than I think is healthy for me, so WHAT PART OF MY BRAIN thinks I can still fit into a size 6?? Why don't I start at, say, size 12 and work my way down, feeling good about myself? Is it that I think, even with the weight I want to lose, that I look better than I actually do?

Am I like those parents who blindly can't see (or don't chose to admit) that their cherubs are actually rude, badly behaved little monsters? Someone who thinks they can sing when they can't? Thinks they're funny when they aren't? Anyone who's idea of themselves differs greatly from reality? Am I like that??

Am I afraid to admit that the problem is worse than I currently believe? Or do I chose sizes that are too small because I'm an optimist? And because I dare to hope that I'll be shocked pleasantly surprised and find that they actually fit?

Fitness Friday

It's late Friday night/Saturday morning and I just realized that I didn't write an update on my Shred. This will have to be quick cause I HAVE TO GET TO BED.

I started over with my Shred rotation yesterday, meaning that Thursday I did Level 1, and today it was Level 2.

Um? Ouch. I hurt. I haz pain. ALL. OVER. Here are a few reasons I think I'm so stiff and sore:

• I hadn't done the Shred in almost two weeks. I'd say that's a wee bit more than a "break". I had no intention of letting it go that long, but it happened. So all that work I'd done to not be so sore after shredding? It took a break too. I'm definitely back to square one. Or square -1...

• I had been exercising using 3lb weights, since I thought we'd lost one of the 5lb ones. Well my dear husband -bless him- found the other one. So now I'm doing all of the moves with almost twice the weight. Double the weight = double the effort = DOUBLE THE PAIN.

• I've been working harder. While I know that the first two points are definitely playing a role, I think this is the kicker. I'm so tired of not being comfortable in my own skin and not feeling like me. I'm tired of it. I want how I feel inside to match how I look on the outside, and right now it doesn't. Taking two weeks off is NOT the way to encourage change (neither is eating ice cream and cheese cake at night. Um... not that I did that. Not me.), so I definitely had some lost ground to make up.

I felt like I was going to throw up today after Level 2 and tomorrow will be Level 3. I intend to work just as hard and not give in when my sore, weakling muscles are screaming. I intend to push myself til I feel the sweat rolling down my face. I intend to challenge and to MAKE my body change.

I'm a little scared.

Related: I don't like the taste of sweat.

this must be how his mom felt when he started kindergarten

Peter starts his new job at the Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade -or DFAIT- this morning!

He first wrote the Foreign Service exams in January of 2007. Six months later, the interview process began and lasted for another six months. Christmas Eve 2007, he received a job offer from the Foreign Service and in May of 2008 we moved out to Ottawa for him to begin his year long French language training.

So now, ALMOST TWO AND A HALF YEARS after starting on this journey, he'll finally sign the letter of offer today. It's exciting!

Although I tried to get a good picture of him this morning, all fancy in one of his new suits, you'll all just have to be content with these less than satisfying shots. (Seriously, he's almost as hard as the boys to take pictures of. He's either sneering, sticking his tongue out, or making some other obscene gesture silly face.)

If I'd been more on my game, I would've moved the slippers out of
the shot and tried to position him so that the sun wasn't hitting him so
awkwardly. But seeing as he wasn't too keen on me taking pictures in
the first place, I didn't think he'd submit to me posing him.

halfway between a sneer and a smile

Focus, Amy, focus! Peter, just come back
for one more. Fine. This'll have to do.

I imagine this is what his mom felt like sending him off for his first day of school. Excited, proud, curious, maybe a little apprehensive... Will it be what he expected? Will he enjoy it? Will it challenge and inspire him? Will he make friends get along with his co-workers? Who will he eat lunch with?? And -most importantly- will he manage to keep his suits clean for more than one day???

(A special thanks to our salesman, Jasmine, -yes, that really was HIS name- for helping us out at Moore's the other day. It's hard to tell in the pictures, but that's a charcoal wool suit, light teal shirt with a subtle white pinstripe, and a black/turquoise/white tie. Pretty sharp. Jasmine knew his stuff.)

fitness friday - week 3

My fitness/Shred review for this last will NOT take long. I have done the Shred a grand total of ZERO times this week.

(sigh)

Shred FAIL? Yeah, I'd say so.

It would be convenient to blame Peter and his constant presence this week around the house, but that wouldn't really be fair. It's not like I couldn't have done it. If I'm completely honest, the real reason is that I'm embarrassed.

I'm not embarrassed about doing the Shred - I'm quite proud to be working out and getting stronger. But that doesn't mean I'm ready for an audience. When I work out by myself or under the non-judgement (although quizzical) gaze of my always adoring *snicker* children, I can fully concentrate on what I'm doing. But if Peter -or anyone else- were to watch me? I know I'd be totally self-conscious and preoccupied with how much of me is unattractively jiggling and wiggling or hanging where it shouldn't be.

(Is anyone else more than slightly horrified by what their stomach looks like when they're in the plank position?? Ugh. My stomach doesn't look flat even when standing up, but when parallel to the floor and under the full force of gravity... well I won't go into detail, but it's not pretty.)

I know I need to get over myself, but I can't help being self-conscious about my body in it's present state. However, when my self-consciousness is keeping me from exercising and changing my body, well, it kind of defeats the point, eh?

Even though I haven't exercised at all this week, I've still managed to maintain my weigh loss which surprised me quite a bit. I think that not doing the Shred has made me a bit more conscious of what I've been eating, not wanting to completely undo the work of the last two weeks (as has the eczema on Andrews neck that I'm pretty sure is due to the dairy I've been eating).

* * * * * * * * * * *

Now it's your turn.

If you have an exercise move, tip or advice you'd like to share, or even if you are simply documenting your progress, link up! Any post written this week is fair game. If you're doing something daily like the Shred or another exercise or running program, feel free to add a link for each post with a brief description in parenthesis.

Please make sure to link directly to your post, not your homepage, and please include a link back to Muddy Boots in your post so that others can, yes, read my blog, but also find the links that others are leaving to their blogs. If you're not sure how to add a hyperlink to your text, feel free to copy and paste the following:

Fitness Friday at Muddy Boots

Let the fun begin!

how to host a star wars party in 5 excruciatingly painstakingly detailed steps: part 4 - THE CAKE

K, I know this post could use some, well, WORDS, but it's late and I'm lazy tired and I just want to get them published before blogger eats another of my posts.

CAUSE I REALLY NEED ONE MORE REASON TO WANT TO JUMP THE BLOGGER SHIP.

(deep breath)

I promise to be back with some wordy instructions later tomorrow. There are definitely some gaps in the pictures that I will deftly fill in with words. Promise.

***NOTE: I've since discovered that icing the rice krispie treats is A TOTAL PAIN and completely unnecessary. The fondant will stick just fine without the icing. Also, using icing to stick fondant to fondant is difficult and doesn't even work very well. A small paintbrush dipped in water is amazingly effective. The water makes the fondant stick to itself and you avoid all the messy icing showing behind your work. 

This post links back to Wordless Wednesdays at 5 Minutes For Mom.

How we did it:
pre-party planning and ideas
the invitation how-to
pool noodle lightsabers
marshmallow fondant
the cake (in less than 100 pictures)
the big day