Wrestling with our Social Consciences.

At this point I'd say it's safe to assume that everyone is feeling the effects of the ongoing financial crisis. If not in tangible terms through a reduced income, lost job, or home foreclosure, then in the intangible terms of fear and anxiety over what may lie ahead.

I don't spend every day in angst over the state of the world's finances, and about unknown factors that could directly, or indirectly affect our family. I can't worry about things that I am powerless to control, (took me a while to get here, huh?). I do however have a heightened awareness as most of you do, that things are rocky and it seems prudent to take stock, pull our horns in and make wise choices that will improve our personal financial foundation.

As the holder of the purse strings, it falls to me to manage our household finances and I have recently taken steps to reduce our spending. My biggest success so far has been in reducing our grocery expenditure and our phone bill. I am couponing and learning from these wonderful sites and from local friends whom I've adopted as coupon mentors (they don't seem to mind!). I am enjoying pretty impressive savings, and get a real buzz in the process. We have also switched our phone service from a traditional phone company, to a Voice Over Internet Protocol (VOIP) provider and are saving around 75% on our phone bill, which is great considering the transatlantic phone calls we make.

My main reason for doing this was so that we can finish paying off my car and crank up our savings. In January our plans took a set back with the announcement from my husband's employer that all employees were subject to a pay cut. This was not entirely unforeseen since it's been clear that business is way down these days, but hard to take all the same.

After a day or so of figuring out what this pay cut would mean, and an overall assessment that we are lucky that my husband's job is secure (for now), we are grateful for what we have and for the fact that our frugal measures would stand to us with a reduced income.


While counting our blessings, we are acutely aware that so many people are not so lucky. As each day brings more stories of homeless families, desperate people taking drastic and desperate measures, some with devastating results my conscience is pricked ever more, what should I be doing, what can I do?

I have written about this kind of thing before, and have received great encouragement from others, especially from Jen at One Plus Two - but of course, excuses come up, busy life with my two kids, and focusing on what we need first... After an initial flurry of determination - beyond small financial contributions, my efforts to help are not what they could be.

I hear news stories about food banks running low on donations, about thrift stores seeing increased numbers of customers, and simultaneously receiving less in terms of donated merchandise.

And, I struggle. I feel like we're doing what we can to protect our family - and yet, knowing that we have so much more than other families, I feel selfish for taking measures that effectively leave me less to give. I feel guilty that this is what is happening in many homes across the country and is what is causing the shortages in the food banks etc.

My coupon clipping of late has opened up an opportunity for me to continue to save money, and still donate to the food banks - and this is great, but is not without some conscience wrestling on my part. The thing is - many of the products that go on sale at the grocery store, and for which there are multiple coupons each week, are for prepackaged soups, mac n cheese, canned meals etc. If I combine these coupons with what's on sale, I can get these items for pennies on the dollar oftentimes, and can donate them. I wouldn't feed these items to my family - and so I ask myself if I consider them not as good as the from scratch meals I cook myself, why do I palm them off as 'good enough' for a struggling family? I don't have the answer to this - I feel like a food snob, but I have to assume that some food is better than none for a hungry family. I can't shake the feeling though - maybe I'm over thinking it?

Meanwhile, I have a four year old whom is becoming increasingly inquisitive about life, and how she fits in the grand scheme of things. At Mass she sees the Poor Box, and the little Lenten rice bowls like the one we have in our kitchen, and she understands that these are there to collect money for those less fortunate. As much as a four year old can, she gets it that she's in a better position than some. Aware that she's of an age where I can start shaping in her a solid social conscience I try to encourage her to think of others, and I involve her in sorting through her outgrown clothes and toys and with a little persuasion, she will willingly give them away so another little girl can enjoy them as much as she did.

On Sunday, Miss E put the grocery bags in the wagon outside our church and expressed concern that we were giving away our food. What followed was a conversation that started off simple enough, 'these are extra things that Mommy bought so I could give them away for families that don't have enough to eat'... and ended up with me worrying that I was loading her up with too much information that might feed her rather active imagination and cause her fear.

So, I work on balancing that fine line of giving my child an appreciation of all the good things she enjoys that some don't without scaring her or rocking her securities. We have little chats now and then as the opportunity arises where I can reinforce the concept that we need to take care of ourselves, and those in our community.

Then I wonder, when I seem to think and talk about these issues way more than I act, I have to ask, 'how solid is my own social conscience?' 'What more could I be doing?'

I understand that children learn best from what they see - I know that my husband and I need to be the example for Miss E and her brother. Once again I find myself taking small steps to contribute in a more tangible and meaningful way. Recently, I participated in a small way in a local event that involved painting the exterior of a house for an elderly woman in town. While I didn't have Miss E with me, I did tell her all about it and her response was 'I wish I could come and paint and help someone' - she knows that I felt good having done it - and I'll certainly consider taking her to the next event. I'm encouraged that she's starting to form her social conscience, which is great considering that most four year olds are still pretty ego centric.

Our collective social conscience remains a work in progress - and I am all ears to any suggestions on how to more actively contribute with my time, particularly any suggestions that involve the kids.

The Mark of my Faith

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday when Catholics attend Mass and receive ashes on their forehead.

These ashes are applied in the sign of the cross with the words 'Remember you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.'

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a period that is meant to echo Christ's forty days in the desert. A time when we are called to make sacrifices designed to sharpen our focus on Christ's sacrifice for us, and on how we should live our lives in His light.

At least, this is my basic or simplified understanding of Lent - and it is one that I've followed with varying degrees of success or failure (mostly the latter I'm ashamed to say) over the years.

Jay and I received our ashes at Mass yesterday morning while Miss E was at school. We turned up to collect her a little while later and a few steps in the gate of the school I felt the stares, and one mother came right up to me and said 'I have to tell you, you have grease all over your forehead, did you know?'

I instantly felt bad - I felt bad for her that she was trying to be nice and was telling me in case I didn't know, that my face was 'dirty' - but I also felt incredibly awkward in having to explain that it was not grease.

The penny dropped quickly for this mom and she said 'oh yeah, it's Ash Wednesday' then her next question 'Aren't you supposed to wash that off?' And I briefly answered, 'no - part of the point of having the ashes is to wear them all day as a mark of faith'

This happened me last year also, albeit that it was with someone a little more rude.

These experiences bring a multitude of questions for me. Clearly, many people are not aware that ashes are part of the Ash Wednesday ritual for some and this strikes me as odd initially - since I come from an area where the population is pretty much 50% Catholic and 50% non-Catholic - but the non-Catholic population by and large is aware that Catholics receive ashes on Ash Wednesday and so it's not that big of a deal and rarely elicits comments, at least in my experience.

Deeper than this though are the questions these experiences raise about my Catholic faith and how uncomfortable it makes me to have to defend it or explain it - and then I wonder if my discomfort comes from the fact that I don't feel 100% confident in explaining it correctly - and at 36 and a lifelong Catholic, shouldn't I be confident?

Part of my reticence to discuss my faith comes I'm sure from a bad experience after Miss E was born from an Evangelical Christian who pretty much told me Catholicism was wrong, that it was not a true Christian faith and that I was wrong to have Miss E baptised a Catholic. This is a person who loves God, and does on the whole embody what it means to be a Christian - but she refuses to see that we agree on so, so many areas - we are both followers of Christ, the only difference is that I choose to be so within the 'family' of the Catholic Church.

Maybe it's because 'Religion' is one of those taboo topics, like politics, many people don't like to discuss their faith - or hear of someone else's, and so the general trend is to keep mum, and brush it all under the carpet as something personal and private.

But isn't this absolutely contra to the message that Christ give us - to spread the Good News?

I know the answer to this question - yet I am somewhat uncomfortable in discussing my Christian faith in general, or my Catholic faith in particular with people. So does this mean I don't have the strength of faith I thought I had? Maybe - and I'm pretty sure this needs a little work on my part.

Part of what comes as being a life long Catholic is that you fall into a pattern of attending Mass each week, on holidays and holy days - because, that's what you do. But, how much of that time is spent truly absorbing the word of God, and applying that to our lives, families, passing it on to our kids? Like I said, I have work to do.

My parish has a number of Lenten programs running where parishioners have the opportunity to discuss and inquire about our Catholic faith. The fact that these exist reassures me that I may not be alone in feeling this way.

I expect this post will go the same way as my only post on politics - I'll hear cricket's chirping for days! However, please do share what helps you share your faith, if you're happy to do so.

"Busy but Benign"

That's what the surgeon said to me yesterday!

I have no breast cancer, and nothing to worry about!

He told me that I have Fibrocystic Breast Disease and the pathology findings were consistent with that condition.

The calcification they removed is benign.

You have NO idea the huge relief this is for me - aside from the obvious.

On Wednesday, I got a phone call from the Radiologist who did the biopsy procedure. Her information was slightly different.

She told me the calc was benign, but they found another area of 'disorganized cells' which in 30%-40% of times becomes 'something bad'. She also said it wouldn't show up on a mammogram until it was 'really bad'. Her recommendation was that I go ahead and have a surgeon do an excisional biopsy.

You can imagine what that did for the old stress-o-meter!

I went to my surgeon's appointment then waiting for him to tell me all of this too. He simply read the report through with me and told me I was in the clear!

I told him what the Radiologist had discussed with me - and he again went through the report telling me it said nothing about disorganized cells, no evidence of atypia at all - just healthy, albeit lumpy, tissue! And, under no circumstances did I need an excisional biopsy. He was quite irritated that I'd been told otherwise.

This surgeon is a very nice, very no-nonsense kind of guy. I trust him 100% - and happily take his diagnosis!

So a weight off my mind to be sure.

Now if I could just get my little man a clean bill of health we'd be good.

We were back with Jay at the doc's today - fifth time in 3 weeks. I think I'm due my own parking space there at this point!

Poor little mite after three weeks in which he's had croup, pneumonia, croup again, congestion and a bad cough (which I was paranoid was a pneumonia relapse) - now has an ear infection!

Please, please let this be the end of it!

I can be a Good Mother Without Reality TV

Blooming Marvelous Reality TV Star?

No thanks!

Nothing brings into sharper focus your perspective on your life as a sometimes frazzled Stay at Home Mother, than an invitation to apply to appear on a Reality TV show.

'Supernanny' to be precise.

Yep - that's what I got for my whiney post on Monday - an email from the casting producer of the ABC Show Supernanny that basically said 'You don't like Supernanny's book? Well, then come on our show'.

Yeah right!

In asking if Supernanny offered refunds, I was kidding. I have had success with Supernanny techniques. They're simple, and they work. We're just having a bumpy patch right now and I was facetiously looking for someone to blame, you know, because that's a better option than having to admit that it might be my fault!

Despite my apparent frustrations in parenting a spirited child, I know we do a lot of things right. Lately my mommy ego took a bit of a bashing, and I was reaching out for tips, advice, and solidarity and I got all three. Thanks to all of you who responded in comments, and via email. It is so reassuring to know I'm not the only basket case challenged parent out there!

Vanity had me bashing on my keyboard demanding to know how I could get this right, and pride drove me to seek the magic answer that would suddenly turn me into a perfect mom.

Reflecting about this whole issue, and reading your responses two things are crystal clear:

1. There is no magic wand that I can wave, and make things better in an instant (damn!)
   
   
2. I don't have to be a perfect mom.

I'm willing to bet that the Supernanny producer didn't read beyond the first paragraph of my last post, nor did he read any of the other posts in my blog. But, I have to admit, after initially laughing about receiving the email, I did feel a little defensive.

We are not a train wreck family - our kids are by no means out of control. They are completely normal. Miss E in particular is testing boundaries lately, in other words, she's doing her job and she does it well.

What she also does well however, are things I have blogged about before, and feel the need to do so again in the interests of balance, is show us love unfaltering. She makes us laugh, makes us proud, and makes us unbelievably happy that she's in our lives.

Miss E is most definitely a feisty child. She has been this way since the instant she was born, announcing her arrival with lusty cries, letting us know she was not happy to be so unceremoniously evicted from her cosy cocoon. Who could blame her? (I on the other hand was mighty relieved ha ha!)

In her infancy and toddlerhood, Miss E commanded attention from all around her. She is a thoroughly engaging child who regularly amazes all who meet her with her articulate conversation and the depth of her feelings. She has always been extremely affectionate, and repeatedly tells me 'You are the best Mommy in the whole wide world' and 'Mommy, I love you all the way to the moon'.

As a big preschooler, Miss E is now exercising her independence, which is thrilling and sad all at the same time, but it's wonderful to see. She is teaching her baby brother so much, is so playful with him and is undoubtedly his protector. She has come a long way since for the first months of his life, she was the one he needed protection from!

Miss E is creative and a very fast learner - she can pick up concepts in a heartbeat and has a memory for facts and conversations that blows me away. This of course means that we can't pull the wool over her eyes on any matter. She keeps us on our toes.

This is Miss E's first day back at preschool. I am excited for her that she has a wonderful new teacher. That she will make new friends, and catch up with some old ones. I am happy that she's in a loving and supportive environment where her little sponge like mind is going to learn even more. Despite all of this, and even though we've had our challenges lately and will be glad of the break some days, today, I miss her.

Being a stay at home mom in general, and a former career woman specifically, I think I have made the mistake of setting the expectation that I need to get everything right. I excelled in my job and my achievements there were a direct reflection of my skill. It's hard then for me not to take the challenges that we're not doing well with here, as a reflection on my skill as a mother.

I know now that this is wrong. Trying to get everything right is going to cause more problems than it solves, and so my motto from this day forward is in the words of Jill Churchill:

There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one.

Ten Lessons from a Day at the Beach

1. Assuming the camera is where you *thought* you last saw it in the car is a big mistake. Always double check before you leave that you actually have the camera and can take photos of your sticky, sandy kids and don't have to rely on a measly blog post to preserve the memories!

2. Shaving your legs an hour before you spray on sun protection and get into salt water is a BAD idea - of gargantuan proportions.

3. While taking meticulous care to spray on sun protection all over your arms and legs, and asking your spouse to ensure that your back is adequately covered - it is always good to remember that your neck and the top of your chest area could also benefit from said spray. Otherwise you may spend the rest of the day cursing and dousing yourself in aloe.

4. Maybe you need to go to the beach more often so that your three year old kid can correctly identify the dusty, granular substance on her hands and doesn't have to tell you 'Mommy, my hands are covered in sea dirt'.

5. Don't assume that your normally quiet younger child is the shy timid type. Revel in his willingness to be knocked over by waves, laugh and pick himself up and brace himself for the next round. Enjoy his socializing with neighbouring beach goers, and his loud enthusiastic 'BYE's to them as they leave.

6. A navy one piece bathing costume is totally unflattering - time to buy a new one Annie (preferably one that you didn't last wear when you were six months pregnant!).

7. If you're squeamish about swimming in seaweed littered ocean - don't stand like an eejit trying to throw eleventy billion little pieces of it back towards the shore (only for the retracting waves to pull it right back at you), or certain Irish ladies standing at the water's edge with her kids might just split her sides laughing at you.

8. Don't expect that there are working toilets in the beach bathrooms, or that there will be a clean square inch of floor on which to stand and change out of your wet, sandy bathing costume. Although contorting yourself in all manner of positions to do so, while holding on to your clothes and towel - without bare feet or garments touching this floor could earn you a spot on the US Olympic Gymnastics team.

9. One plastic trash bag is never enough when you have two adults, two kids, diapers, wipes, and lunch leftovers.

10. Count down the minutes until next week when you plan to do this all over again. (Packing the camera, now!)

They're only markers!

Dear Kate Gosselin,

I realize that you have eight beautiful children and can imagine the amount of work a family of this size generates, I really can.

I understand that a family of ten will generate mountains of laundry to rival the Rockies, I get that.

However, markers? You wouldn't let your kids use markers in the Crayola Factory (where I'd be willing to bet they use the washable markers especially for little visitors)?

Come ON!

My heart was breaking watching an episode of Jon and Kate plus 8 last night. Kids in the Crayola Factory - what could be more dream worthy than that? Excited to use the many different art supplies available and actually have FUN, these kids were jumping out of themselves and pumped to get to use markers when Jon let them do it. You didn't like this though and immediately put an end to it, citing interminable laundry and not wanting kids to be seen with marker on their clothes. The kids, especially Cara and Maddy were devastated.

Washable markers are magic, they come right out in the wash - even without pre-treating the stains. If this doesn't work, Crayola.com have wonderful and plentiful tips on removing stains from their products, should you encounter these. And if all this fails, and your kids went home after having a great day at the Crayola Factory with a few marker marks on their clothes, in the scheme of things, is this the worst thing that could happen?

If you're going to take your kids on a fun day out - let them do that! Have fun.

Oh, and never underestimate the calming, relaxing effect of colouring with crayons or markers yourself. Sit down at the table with your kids - get those colouring books out - heck be reckless, breakout the dreaded MARKERS, and try it yourself. Enjoy the therapeutic benefits of doing nothing but shading in your images. Look at the delight on your children's faces when they have you all to themselves, colouring with them. I promise, you won't regret it.

Yours sincerely,

Blooming Marvelous.

Back, and busy.

Well, we're baaacccckkk! And, have been back in Florida for almost three weeks now which is very hard to believe.

Ireland was great - wet, and cold, but great!

Just like last year, it was so nice to be in my other 'home'. The kids had a blast - why wouldn't they, spoiled with attention and surprises every day? I also enjoyed the constant company, a lot of it with adults, too.

Coming down from this 'high' of familial attention and companionship hasn't been easy on the kids, or myself to be honest. I've pretty much had to detox Miss E from getting her way (anything for a quiet life, you know how that goes), and have employed many more of Supernanny's techniques than I've needed to in quite a while - but it's working, and slowly we're getting back into our groove.

I recently found myself slipping back into that 'funk' I described a while back. I could feel it happening, but didn't have the energy to fight it. This wasn't helped by the fact that I got sick last week with a horrible stomach flu - great for losing a few pounds though, which is never a bad thing. I'm focusing on my treadmill again and although the muscles are objecting, I'm feeling better.

The kids were sick a lot when we were in Ireland - Jay practically wasted away before my eyes. Miss E and Jay were bombarded with heavy colds, vomiting and diarrhea, Jay had the added discomfort of a simultaneous ear and throat infection - good times eh? My little guy is just that, little. He can't afford to lose any weight - at 20 months, he's not much over 20lbs - so when he gets sick and starts dropping the weight, I get very anxious. All my family reassured me that he'd bounce back, especially hubs Grandmother who's raised sixteen (yes, 16!)children of her own - 'he'll bounce back, they all do' and she was right.

We are fighting fit now though, physically and mentally, and ready to enjoy the rest of the summer, before preschool starts and we get back to that routine. We've all had to acclimatize once more to the Florida summer though. At 9am each day Miss E has a swim class - and Jay and I sweat our butts off watching her - at 9am! How awful is it that I'm willing on the weeks so we can cool down a bit? There's nothing like wishing your life away.

My sister's wedding was amazing. She looked absolutely fabulous. Her ceremony was wonderful and the reception was a blast.


Miss E was flower girl, and she did a great job, even if she couldn't quite be coaxed into all the photographs!


The weather was horrendous, but it didn't dampen anyone's enjoyment, at all. My sister and her husband, lucky things, just got back from honeymoon in Rome and Sorrento.

I'm still catching up with all things stateside. I've been keeping a close eye on the presidential candidate coverage, and am frustrated to say the least at the less than objective reviews each candidate gets depending on which source I watch. This is where I miss Tim Russert - I'm so sad that he died. I credit this man with helping me understand the whole electoral process here, the primaries, caucuses, delegates etc. I feel bad that he isn't here to see this election pan out. He had such enthusiasm for his job, and for the whole political scene in general. My heart goes out to his wife and son.

People are still complaining about the price of gas I see - and I can understand to a point, but after seeing that Northern Irish drivers pay the equivalent of $11 a gallon, I don't feel like I have a right to complain about $4 here. I also drive a very thirsty car, and while I wish it cost less to run, it was our choice to buy this vehicle, and now we live with it. Besides, nobody, not even dealers, want to buy SUVs around here, so we're stuck with it, what's the point in complaining?

With that, I've got to run, load my kids up into my gas guzzler and head right down for this swim class - I have the oddest feeling that we're going to be late, again!

Looking forward to catching up some more, soon.

Heading Off to the Auld Sod

This is where we are going next week:







You jealous?

We'll be away for a LONG time. Hubs is staying here for the first few weeks and joining us later.

See you all when we get back!


Photo credit.

"Happy Mudder's Day"

"Happy Mudder's Day" - the happy greeting that Miss E has given me almost every day this week - she knew it was coming up and I guess she was covering all her bases by saying it every day to make sure she got it on the actual day itself.

Her Daddy had conspired with her and although she did very well in keeping secret what goodies were in store for me, she managed to let slip that there were lots of them, and they were all in Jay's closet - "Ret's go see Mommy!".

Last night when I kissed her goodnight for bed I said 'I'll see you in the morning - when it's Mother's Day' - she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. She went straight to Daddy and said 'Uh Oh! She telled herself! Daddy, Daddy, is it okay if she telled herself?'

I'm still giggling.

See my salute to all mothers, here.

Enjoy your day!

Why I hate being a stereotypical female

I know nothing about vehicles. I mean, it's like how I am with computers. I know how to drive one, and how to get it to do what I need it to do (except maybe reverse park, but we won't go there). But, with cars (or computers), whenever something goes wrong, or something needs tweaked, fixed or serviced - I have no clue. Not a notion.

Yet, since I am the person in this house with all this free time (ha!), it's me that gets to take the family vehicle for its servicing appointments and the like.

Yesterday I took the car to get new boots. Four spanking new tyres (or tires for my US readers). Once I steadied myself at the counter after seeing the bill (ouch!), I spoke for a few minutes with the guy in the shop. I told him that the steering had been pulling significantly to the right, and that oftentimes I would have to pull pretty hard to the left just to keep my trusty truck on the straight and narrow.

He told me 'that is most likely due to an alignment problem, we can look at that for you'. I asked how long, and how much? 'Forty five minutes and sixty bucks'. Hmm - I had to pick Miss E and her buddy up from Preschool, and didn't have the time - but I don't want misaligned wheels either!

So, the conversation continued. I told the guy that at the last service, Ford told me the truck was pulling to the right because of how the tyres were wearing and it would most likely rectify itself with new tyres since these ones were about ready to be replaced. The guy in the tyre shop says full of disdain 'They ALWAYS do that, tsk. Instead of taking people's money, they just say "it's only the tyres". It doesn't make sense!'.

I'm standing there in this shop asking myself do I need my wheels aligned or not? I'm so confused. Shop guy says 'your tires (since he's American he says tires, not tyres), wear for two reasons, one is that the pressure is wrong [our pressure has been fine, at least no wee lights were on to tell me otherwise!], and the other is that your wheels are out of alignment' Okay, I think, this makes sense to me. But wait a minute. Didn't this guy just tell me that Ford were dumb for not just taking my money and doing a wheel alignment? Does he really think my wheels are out of alignment, or is he just trying to cash in on the (correct) assumption that I don't know any better, and do the alignment whether the truck needs it or not?

Arggghhh!!

What did I do? I took it for a spin. I drove straight down a straight road and the car did not pull in either direction - I even did it with no hands for a few seconds. Straight as a die.

Shop guy told me to bear in mind that 'since your tires are all new and flat [huh? I don't want flat tyres, especially not after the megabucks I just gave you!] that the car is going to want to go straight'

Okaaaayyyy! None the wiser, but happier to be driving straight and not having to over correct steering in any way, I picked up the kids from school and merrily drove home.

Hubs can take care of the big metal baby from now on - he can sniff a spoofer from 100 yards, and he knows what they're talking about into the bargain.

Uh Oh! We've discovered IKEA

We've been meaning to take a trip to the IKEA store that opened not long ago, about an hour from here. Today was as good a day as any so off we went.

We got there not long after the store opened - and it was kind of busy - by the time we left there was no room available in the parking lot, and we had people queuing up to take our space when we pulled out!

Of course, a few minutes into our browsing - I could totally understand why it was this busy. (Either that, or the weekend many people have their fists around their economic stimulus funds was maybe not the best one to venture out to check out IKEA).

Getting out of town was a tonic in itself, a relaxed drive (all the better for the fact that I was not the driver), gorgeous weather, a complete change of scenery. Little did I think I'd be positively bursting with excitement once I got inside those doors!

Zone after zone of beautifully pulled together rooms, many of which are not to my specific taste, but I can certainly appreciate that those with different lifestyles (probably without kids, judging by the number of white sofas!) could completely furnish their apartments or homes, in great style, without going bankrupt in the process.

We spent a good couple of hours browsing the showroom upstairs. Miss E and Jay content to play in the little staged apartment areas and people watch from the stroller, respectively. This in itself is a testament to how great this store is - because every other store we go to causes both kids to instantly morph into starving, whining, 'I need to go potty', 'This is boring', 'WHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAA' demons!

We've fallen for a dining room table and chairs - we hate our current one which is far too big for the space we have. The IKEA version is very much my taste, and seems to be of decent quality. Not exactly what you'd call an investment piece - but, with two kids the ages that ours are, whom have a tendency to scratch, chew, scrape, draw on any level (or unlevel) wooden surfaces we're thinking investment pieces are not the way to go for us for now. However, I need to deliberate over this one a little more to make sure that I really like it enough, and am not rushing into a decision simply because I want rid of our current set, stat. (Plus, going back to buy the table and chairs gets me another go around this paradise. Bwahahahahaha!)

We chose a great kids' table and chairs, and picked up a cute little wooden train set for Jay, and a darling ceramic tea set for Miss E (for half of nothing I might add). We rode the elevator (which was enormous and had me wondering if the Swedish population indulges in too many Swedish Meatballs?), down to the ground floor where I thought all we'd do would be to pick up the table and chairs and pay for our purchases.

HA! Those elevator doors opened and I think I might have squealed a little bit - a whole Aladdin's cave of goodies - housewares, storage, textiles, plants, basically everything you never even knew you needed, and more! Good job we'd stopped by the cafe and fueled up because you know that was another hour's worth of browsing. Thankfully Miss E's little legs were tired and she gratefully hopped into the shopping cart sans protest of any kind (again, this NEVER happens at any other store).

We're lucky we came away with as little as we did, and we're lucky this store is an hour away!

Looking for a fun family day out? Go to IKEA - seriously - you won't be disappointed!

Hormone Junkie

Hello, my name is Annie, and I am a prolactin addict.

Four years of being pregnant and/or nursing ended for me at the beginning of February. I was two months pregnant with Jay when Miss E eventually weaned, so I have not had any 'break' from pregnancy or nursing in this time.

At the time, having weaned Jay was a bit of a non event. He was ready and so was I. It was a gradual process that I really didn't realize had finally happened until I took stock one day and realized it had been a few days since he'd nursed. He was done and that was that - life went on as normal.

Except it wasn't. Normal.

I have felt progressively gloomy over the last couple of months. To the point of asking myself 'what the hell is wrong with me?'. Constant tiredness, lack of motivation for the simplest things. Doing the bare minimum to keep my kids fed (and not very nutritiously so!), poor appetite, headaches, not sleeping great, and the crying, a lot of crying.

About a month ago I did briefly let the thought wander around my mind, 'what if this is the start of depression?' Not knowing what depression is like, and certainly never thinking this could happen to me, I dismissed it after a short while and told myself to 'shake it off'. This happens to all mothers.

Except, I can't shake it off.

I have worried my poor husband, who knows that I am down in the dumps, but can't understand why. When he asks me 'what's wrong?', I talk in circles, and I can't explain why because I didn't understand it, either.

I would never win any housekeeping awards, and I am totally okay with that - we keep the house pleasantly 'lived in' - it's clean but rarely tidy - and I may have periodic laundry backlogs - but nothing that couldn't be fixed catching up one morning. Now? My house is trashed - and last minute laundry is my specialty.

I've spent a few weeks mentally chastising myself for being lazy. I have had to force myself to stay off the computer realizing that time spent here was time away from my kids - and that made me a bad mommy. So I backed away from my blog, and sat on the couch - pleading with my kids to entertain themselves because 'mommy has a sore head', 'mommy's tired', 'just let mommy watch something that isn't animated and full of music - just for once, PLEASE?!'

My self confidence has nosedived. My skin is breaking out like an unfortunate teenager - and since I never was that unfortunate teenager, this is the first time in my life that I have felt self conscious about my skin.

I compare myself unfavourably to others and let myself feel inferior to them. I know nobody can make me feel this way - only if I let them! I know the theory of not letting people make me feel a certain way - yet putting that into practice is a different ball game.

This all came to something of a head last weekend when after a wedding on Friday where I felt so out of place compared to all the 'beautiful people' in attendance - I cried with my husband about how bad I felt. Once those floodgates opened, I spent the most of Saturday in tears and he patiently and supportively listened while I talked in more circles and tried desperately to make sense of this.

Then the penny dropped and I figured that I could pretty much pin the start of this downward spiral to the time that Jay was finally, and completely weaned. I struggled to understand if this meant anything in terms of how I felt and dismissed any sense of loss at the end of the nursing relationship. As I said - I was ready for him to wean (at last!) and so was he. But maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss the weaning as an emotional issue. I've spent four solid years nurturing a child - be it as they grew inside me, or as I breastfed them. These were done by me - all me. These are confidence boosters - it's amazing to think that I had that capability and I executed it beautifully. And now it's over.

More than this though - I think the hormonal adjustments that my body is undergoing is what is really messing with me. Prolactin has been coursing through my veins at varying levels for four years - and now its presence has significantly dropped. That feel good, 'happy hormone' was giving me a maternal high, and I'm going through withdrawal, I'm sure of it!

I have been reaching out to various individuals over the last couple of days. Seeking validation that my suspicions are correct - and looking for advice on what to do about it. I have had amazing feedback from La Leche League - and from friends.

I have received great advice on steps I can take to help me get out of this 'funk' and I'm working on them already - exercise being the top of my 'feel better' priority list. Maintaining the motivation to keep at it though is going to be my challenge, as it always is where exercise is concerned.

Ironically - at a time when I had taken a step back from blogging - several people advised journaling as a positive outlet and something that could help me feel better. I have always felt cathartic benefits from writing through certain things on this blog - but I struggled lately to articulate anything about what I was feeling, and figured it would be too depressing to read so I stayed clear of discussing any of this before. But writing through it may be just the thing I need to do - and if I can carve in time to do it before the kids get up, and after running on the treadmill - I will do just that.

A La Leche League leader, who also happens to be a therapist, spoke to me at length this morning and I feel so much better after speaking to her since she not only agreed that a hormonal shift is definitely involved in how I feel right now but she also suggested looking into herbal supplements - Kava Kava, and 5 HTP - so - now I'm reaching out to any of you who understand these, or have used them? I've never heard of them and what I'm reading online is mixed - any feedback you have would be appreciated.

Also - if you have weaned, particularly after nursing for an extended period - did you go through this weirdness? And, how did you get yourself out of it?

I feel better today than I have in the last couple of months, better for knowing that there is a reason for me feeling this way and that I'm not just quietly going nuts here.

I don't expect to feel better overnight - but I will do whatever I can to help myself and make myself feel happier - for me, and for my family. I don't want to feel this way - and I don't want to have Miss E frequently ask 'Why you sad Mommy?'.

Fourteen Months Already?

Today Baby J you are fourteen months old. Not so much a baby anymore. Time for a name change. From here on in we'll call you 'Jay' - which is how I refer to you from time to time.

The first year of your life has gone so quickly - and has been peppered with all these tests on your hearing, and on other parts of you, many times we wondered would it ever end? While you certainly haven't endured as many tests as some little babies, the fact that you are healthy, and developing normally has had all of us question why we're putting you though it all.

You have been a trooper throughout - engaging everyone in your beautiful mild manner, and your gorgeous smile. You have had CAT scans, sedated procedures, kidney ultrasounds, heart EKGs, Genetics, ENT and Neurology exams and each time we get a resounding 'NORMAL' back in the test results (well we're still waiting for the EKG results but it looks good that it is normal, too). Your Neurologist wanted to do a brain MRI, but on learning that you would have to undergo general anesthetic - Mummy and Daddy decided not to go through with this one, because nothing about you indicates an urgent need for this test and we don't want anyone putting you to sleep when we don't consider it absolutely necessary. We have one more little test, an eye exam which we'll put off until after Christmas - we all need a bit of a break. We think this test will be fine too, and hopefully after it's over we'll be in a position with the doctors to review everything and conclude that you have a tiny little hearing loss and that it is isolated and not connected to, or complicated by anything else. We will keep having your hearing checked to keep an eye on it - but we pray always that it stays stable as it is now and that it never gives you any bother.

You have had many lessons to teach us throughout the last 14 months, and some of them your Mummy has been a bit slow to learn.

You look at me with your huge blue eyes and your big smile and you reassure me that everything is, and will be okay! You have hit all your milestones on or before the 'normal' timeframes.

While I was feeling anxious in your younger months, you were busy growing in leaps and bounds - making your mark in our little family. Interacting with your sister - and holding your own against her (which is no mean feat!).

You started to talk and will now excitedly exclaim 'DADEEEEE' when you hear the kitchen door open in the evenings. You place your chubby fingers over your face and say 'Hidey' in anticipation of Mummy's 'Peekaboo'. You say 'Hi' and 'Bye' and 'All Gone' - and you have proven to us, and to professionals that you do not need to be assessed for speech issues!

You have taught us that it is okay for us to stand up to medical professionals and say 'enough', because you are doing so good.

You are such a wonderful little person full of character and fun! You are trying so hard to walk on your own but still have that little level of reservation (you get that from me!), and so for now you just grab on to anything that will keep you upright and push it around the house - the kitchen chair, your push along lion, the toy basket, your little train (that you can only push around if you're on your knees - how funny you look).

I can't believe you've grown so big so quick - but I am reveling in every little detail and enjoying you very, very much.

You are my sweet, loving Baby Boy, and always will be, no matter how big, or smart you grow to be - I love you so much and always will.

Holiday Challenge!

Thanksgiving traveling, and two sick kids have meant very little computer time and no blogging for me lately.

Miss E is back at school, Baby J is fast asleep, and I have the luxury of peace and quiet at the computer for a couple of hours. One luxury amid many for which I am extremely grateful.

We live in a modest house. We don't have an extravagant lifestyle. I stay at home, and we go without certain things so that we can live on one income. For now, we are happy and healthy, and life is good. Yes there are things that I am anxious about, but these are not life threatening issues. We could save more and need to do better in this regard, but we are doing alright.

I don't have to worry about where we will sleep tonight. Nor do I have to panic that I can't buy food to feed my children. If I were to find myself pregnant with another child, it wouldn't send me into fear or despair about how we could afford it. I don't have to worry that my husband would raise his hand to me, or our children. I don't have to deal with mental or physical abuse of any kind that would send me running towards anyone who could help me.

Ever since I wrote this post, I have been ruminating over what it is I can do to help those people who face all of these fears and challenges, and more. Reading some of Jen's posts at One Plus Two has had me in tears many times. I have cried with sadness at the circumstances that leave people seeking shelter where she works, and I have cried in shame at my own awkwardness when presented with the issue of homelessness in the form of panhandlers. For some reason I can't link to individual posts at Jen's site - so you'll have to dig through her archives to see what I mean - I promise it's worth it!

We find ourselves once again in full blown holiday madness. I am getting to the point where I don't even want tv on in the house because all channels during the day are full of toy commercials that have Miss E dancing around the house shouting 'Can I get that? Can I? Can I?. I try to explain as best I can to her young self about how we will look forward to receiving some gifts at Christmas, but it certainly won't be everything she sees - she looks at me like I'm the worst mother ever to deny her the latest set of plastic rubbish she's seen and I feel so sad. I will not let her grow up obsessed with the latest material 'in thing'. I want her to enjoy the magic of childhood of course, but I also want her to grow up socially responsible and considerate of others less fortunate than she is. I will work on finding a way to teach her these things, in a way she can understand. We have started to talk about things she has outgrown, toys and clothes, and how other little girls younger than her would love to have these things because they don't have any toys. She is warming up to the idea of letting some things go, but I can tell this will be an ongoing lesson since I'm not sure she's 100% there, yet.

I'm not in a position to make grand financial gestures, but I can make small contributions - financial and in terms of donated goods. I'm not going to go into the specifics of what I'm doing as that is not the point of the post - it's not about me or how great I am for helping. I will quietly do what I can, when I can and I want to invite each of you to do the same.

The last few weeks I have spent a lot of time thinking about this. I have found myself feeling ashamed of my envy of material things, or financial freedom that other people have. We don't know what goes on in other people's lives so I need not concern myself with any of these superficial things. My conscience has been well and truly pricked. While I may find myself anxious towards the end of the month wondering how the heck we managed to go right through a paycheck without saving any of it - I am very grateful that there is a paycheck, and another one coming. Many people aren't so lucky. Yes, some people find themselves destitute through their own actions and addictions. Others have lost everything through a series of unhappy circumstances, beyond their control. My compassion for either group is the same. They are all people - individuals, couples, families. They are all some mother's child. They have hearts and souls just like you and me, and they-need-help!

I don't want this post to get preachy - but I do want each of you reading this to really think hard about how you can help. Even the smallest gesture may help just one person for just one day - think about it.

Think about it while you're at the Mall stocking up on Christmas, or other Holiday gifts. Think about it when you're talking to your children. Think about it when you're planning your holiday menus, baking your holiday cookies.

Actually - don't just think about it, reach out, and DO something. Do something now in this holiday season, and make it your New Year's Resolution to keep on doing something - I know I will.

Charlie

Today is my Grandfather's Anniversary. He died 16 years ago today, at the age of 92. He certainly lived to a 'ripe old age', as they say.

We never called him 'Granda', or 'Grandpa' or any other affectionate grandfatherly term. He claimed it made him sound old. All of his grandchildren called him by his name 'Charlie'.

I wish I had a photo to show you - but they're all in Ireland, and certainly not in digital format. He was a strapping and handsome man with a mane of pure white hair, brushed straight back from his face. Born not in the last century, but in the one before that, he started work at a young age for what was to become the biggest Bank in Northern Ireland. He worked his way up from errand boy, to Chief Inspector. He retired and was called out of retirement twice to lead projects, such was the Bank's respect for him and their acknowledgment of his experience and knowledge. Chief Inspector is a fairly high rank in the Bank, but his rise beyond this was no doubt capped by the fact that he was a Catholic in an environment where all directorships were held by Protestants. This was a product of the political atmosphere, that thankfully (although painfully), has changed to a large extent in Northern Ireland.

He worked for the Bank in a time when a job there was a job for life and for him it certainly was. He retired completely, I believe, well into his seventies. I worked for the same Bank, and although the times had certainly changed and it was no longer a 'work your way up from the bottom' kind of place, it gave me great pride to have been his Grand-daughter working there, and representing the third generation of my family to work for this company. As my own career advanced, I often found myself wondering 'what would Charlie think of me now?' Would he be proud that I had moved up in a relatively short space of time, or would he be shocked that I had done so since he left at a time when women had to leave when they got married, and when they rarely if ever worked on the counter in the branches? I like to think it would have been both, and hopefully a little more of the former than the latter.

But Charlie the Bank man isn't the man I remember. I remember him fondly as the man with the white hair, two pairs of black glasses, one for reading and one for television. The man who sat in a comfortable armchair in front of the fire, often in a zip up cardigan. With a steel comb in his pocket that he would give to us to 'fix his hair'. The man who would patiently let us comb his hair over and over, probably scraping his scalp raw in the process, and never saying a word.

He was very generous and our new Christmas and Easter outfits would come courtesy of him and our Nana. He would lavishly heap praise on us as we paraded our new threads in front of him, fashion show style. He also remembered for many years the praise I gave him for how dapper he looked at my Aunt's wedding, when I was ten years old.

He was an adventurous man and in his eighties flew to the USA with my Uncle and visited both coasts. We have film footage of him touring high above Alcatraz in a helicopter - thrilling for him to have done, and still thrilling for us to watch.

I've read a lot of blog posts recently about people who talk about their Grandparents whom they still see, or sadly whom they've only just lost and I feel happy for them that they have, or have had their Grandparents in their lives for so long. My husband's maternal Grandparents are still alive and very well at the ages of only 78 and 80. However, I feel completely jealous, too. I would love to talk to Charlie now, to Nana his wife, whom we lost 6 years before him. I'd love to know what they think of me living all the way over here in America! What they think of my children?

I still miss them, a lot. My Nana died before her time, from cancer and my mother was only two years older than I am now when that happened. Charlie in his declining years was 'doting' a little and was forgetful. He literally just wound down and passed away peacefully in his sleep, and for that I am very grateful.

I wipe away a few tears now and replace them instead with a broad smile in memory of a great, grandfather.

I love you, Charlie!

Destitute

He stands on the grassy verge, just outside the perimeter of the grocery store parking lot. Tall and skeletal in stature, his dirty clothes literally hanging on his bony frame.

His hair is long and matted, his beard equally so. What is visible of his face is weathered, leathered and brown.

He stands here in all weathers, in the light and in the dark. Sometimes he holds a card which I've never been able to read, but I already know that it says 'Homeless, please help, God Bless'.

When I see him, my stomach tightens, gripped with a mixture of confusing feelings. How did he get to be this way? And, what is my responsibility towards him?

I have never reached out to this man and for that I feel guilty, but my fear outweighs the feelings of guilt most days.

He is one of many panhandlers I see, in various situations, regularly at busy intersections. Some I want to cry for. Others I want to scream at to go look for a job because they look plenty healthy and fit to me. Others still I want to call the cops on because before my very eyes they straighten up from their half naked, bent over position, set down their sign which says 'please help, disabled Vet.',pull on a shirt, walk when they'd previously hobbled, to their bicycle and cycle off when their 'begging shift' is over.

I struggle with the question 'what am I supposed to do for these people?' Are we not taught that we should help those less fortunate than ourselves? But, this is America - and while drug and alcohol abuse is not unknown in Ireland - it's not as prevalent, nor as obvious as it sometimes is here. And so, afraid that these people could be hopped up on any combination of substances, or that any assistance I offer will be used to procure more of said substances, I keep my windows closed, my gaze straight ahead and I do nothing. I contribute to the collection each week at Mass, and that is the only way I have salved my conscience thus far, on the understanding that that donation will be used in some way to help those less fortunate.

The grocery store beggar makes me think much more than any other I've seen. Perhaps because it's not that far from our cosy home in our nice neighbourhood with the great golf club across the road. Maybe it's because I pass him in a big comfortable car with my well fed children safely cocooned in the back. I find myself wondering if he has, or had a family. Is he a victim of a series of unhappy circumstances that have led him to this? If he's brought this on himself? Is he an alcoholic, or a drug addict? If he had a job, a home, people who cared. He looks so lonely, beaten, pathetic and absolutely destitute.

I have been thinking of him almost constantly since yesterday afternoon when I saw him again. This time he was standing a little way away from his grocery store post, on another grassy verge. Surrounded by two Sherrif's cruisers, he was handcuffed, and a lady Deputy was donning latex gloves, presumably to search him. I don't know what he did. If he had an altercation with passersby? Was this part of their attempt to 'move him along'. Was he high on something?

All I know is that my stomach is again tight with those confusing and uncomfortable feelings. I am afraid to reach out to panhandlers. I don't know what kind of reaction I'll get, I don't want to feed an already destructive habit by helping fund it but I know I must do SOMETHING. And, I will - I just need to figure out how.

Another Anniversary!

This time of year is full of markers in our lives apparently.

Yesterday marked five years exactly since I came to the USA! When I arrived here I had a mental goal of 2, maybe 3 years before we'd move home to Ireland. Then I put a 5 year maximum on it. And here we are 5 years later, still here!

We both miss family, a lot. Thankfully they've been able to visit frequently, and we've made it back to Ireland a couple of times in the last 5 years. And, the wonders of the internet and webcams make this distance seem not so far.

With the global economy being the way it is, and as I've mentioned before the exchange rate being so far against us, it would literally cause us financial ruin to move back to Ireland right now. I doubt we could afford a cardboard box to live in - compared the security we have with our nice house here that's a move we can't make right now.

So even though we miss out on being close to family, and feel our kids are missing out, we do our very best to keep connections with family at home as strong as possible, and they do the same. There are also a lot worse places than Florida to live that's for sure.

I qualify for my citizenship soon. Two benefits of citizenship over my current Green Card status are that 1. I can vote (ahem, Miss Megan - don't let me get there before you!), and 2. I could work for the government. (I would definitely like to be in a position to vote for a better government, before I would consider working for it ha ha!)

A Letter to Heather

Dear Heather,

This week marks six years since you left.

Six years since D, your brother and my husband, had to get hold of your Mum, Dad, and Sisters late at night to tell them how you left.

Six years since D had to take you home, his heart breaking and burdened with the guilt he felt at not being able to protect you while you were in Florida. He still blames himself you know, that if he hadn’t been based in Florida, you would never have come here searching for something better for yourself.

Many times I think of you.

We met only on two occasions. Not enough time to really get to know each other. I do know though from my chats with D, and from what I saw on my visits to Florida when we did meet, that you were at times a troubled soul. Searching always for that which would make you happy. Looking for validation and approval from the wrong kinds of people. Putting on the mask of bravado, and displaying that ‘devil may care’ attitude for which so many had come to know you. Some of us could see past the mask, and know, that like all of us, you just wanted to love and to be loved, and that you had the same fierce sense of loyalty to your friends and family as the rest of your clan have.

In these six years I’ve come to know your family so well, but I feel like there is something missing. You were my husband’s sister, are my husband’s sister and you are gone.

We missed you at our wedding, so acutely aware of your absence. D and your family found it painful not to have you there to celebrate such a happy occasion with us. We had flowers in the church in your memory and I carried sprigs of heather in my bouquet, to have the ‘spirit’ of you there in some way.

I look at my children whom you’ve never met and I feel sad that they do not know you. I want to talk to you, to tell you about them. How Miss E resembles all of her paternal Aunts in her outgoing and headstrong nature, which pleases me and terrifies me all at the same time. I want to tell you about Baby J and his sweet nature. His smiles and his giggles and his cheeky expressions. I feel bad that my only way to talk to them about you is through a small number of photographs and very limited memories.

I think of my husband and the rest of your family and I get angry. I feel bitter that they’re cheated out of more memories with you. I get annoyed at you for making poor choices the night you died.

I want to scream at you not to be so stubborn. I want to plead with you like your friends did that night, not to go off with some drunken loser you’d just met. To beg you to wait until someone you knew would get you home safely. I want to ask you what in the hell you were thinking getting into a car with a drunk driver, on a night with what could possibly have been the worst rain seen in South Florida? I want to reach into that river and fight to get you out of that damn truck, to do what the drunken loser wouldn’t try to do because he was too busy saving his own hide. All because I don’t want you to be gone and because I don’t want D to have this pain and guilt that he has carried since he lost you, his baby sister.

These feelings of mine pale compared to what D feels, what your Mum and Dad feel, your Sisters, your Nieces and Nephew in Ireland, who knew you so well. Who love and miss you so much. I’ve seen D work his way through the major stages of grief, and then go right back to the start and work his way through them all over again. I’ve seen his grief bubble up at obvious times like birthdays and anniversaries, and at less predictable times in response to the tiniest reminders of you and my heart breaks for him. I do not know the depth of his hurt, but I do know that when I try to only imagine what it would be like to lose any of my siblings, a searing pain cuts right through me.

I see your Mum turn to God, and draw comfort from Him. I see your Dad withdrawn, and weary. He misses you, and lately he has said he wants to be where you are. I see your Sisters bottle up their grief, and their refusal to talk openly about you – something that saddens and frustrates your Mum. She has lost one baby, and she is watching her other babies struggle with this loss, too. She wants to help them but feels powerless to do so since they won’t talk to her.

While I feel like a fraud to say that I mourn for you, since I didn’t know you well, I do mourn. I mourn for not knowing you. I mourn for what could have been. I mourn for the fact that you never knew the joy of being a wife and a mother – the two things your Mum says you wanted most in life. I mourn that my children will never know you, and that D will never have the pleasure of seeing them interact with you.

I trust and pray that your family and my D can know a time when the raw pain of losing you eases a little bit more. That they can hold on to their happiest memories of you and in them find comfort.

I also trust and pray that you are in a better place now, Heather. That you now know a love beyond your imagination and that you are with us in a very special way.

Love from

Annie

Ten Years

Ten years ago today something happened that tipped my world upside down.

Something that was to open my eyes, my experiences, my heart, my love.

I came to America for the first time, arriving to join other family members for my cousin's wedding. I got to experience the closest thing to tropical paradise I'd ever seen when we stayed in the islands of Sanibel and Captiva in the Gulf of Mexico, where the wedding took place.

I sat on white shell beaches, watching sandpipers dot in and out of the foamy surf. I marveled at pelicans diving for their lunch a little way offshore. I swam in warm green waters and felt tiny fish brush against my ankles. I felt like I was on a travel show and 'Wildlife on One', all rolled into one.

Among white egrets, and lush hibiscus, the Bride and Groom finished all those last minute preparations. We gathered in the small white church and watched them celebrate their love, and join their lives. Little did I know sitting there in that church, that two days later I was to meet my own future husband, the day before I flew back to Ireland.

Who would have believed that this Irish guy whom my cousins counted among their very good friends, who wasn't at the wedding due to previous boozing with his buddies Gaelic Football commitments in San Fransisco, would come into my life and change it, completely?

My practical, rational side dictated that the odds of ever seeing this man again, having met him the night before my vacation ended were negligible. My heart and my gut however told me something different. As I looked out of the airplane window into the dark, watching the grid-like pattern of the street lit city of Miami grow smaller as the plane climbed, I knew something was different and I wondered had I just met someone important. Pipe dreams? Delusions? Maybe - but I am living proof that some dreams can come true.

Through our unconventional, separated by 4000 miles and the Atlantic Ocean, courtship, we had many phone calls when we chatted about all the usual getting-to-know-you stuff. We engaged in frivolous chatter, and serious discussions where we'd be the ones to set the world to rights. I had many more trips to Florida to visit him, and he came home to Ireland several times, too. Many times I'd ask myself 'where is this going?' and once we did try to end it, both agreeing that living a half a world apart wasn't exactly conducive to a thriving relationship. I did at one point try make my peace with the fact that we were not 'meant to be' and however much that hurt I stopped calling him. He continued to keep in touch with me however, and so we hovered for a while in a limbo of not moving forward and not breaking off completely either. Then he blessedly survived a very serious accident, and his attitude to 'us' took on a more serious and determined slant. Knowing that he could have died in that accident also made me realise that deep down where I didn't even want to admit it to myself, I really, really loved this guy. He's the first and only man I've ever loved, and will be the only man I will ever love.

Five years after meeting him, I moved to Florida to be with him - five months after our engagement. We got engaged while I was on vacation here, and I flew back to Ireland alone, two days later - I like to keep running themes in my life like that.

We are so different in lots of ways. I am college educated, my husband is more of a graduate of the school of life kind of guy. He is an extrovert, and I am more reserved. He is a risk taker, I am not! (He's a good housekeeper, I am not, but he's taught me a lot and I'm getting better ha ha!). We are the same in many ways. Our values and family upbringings are very similar. Our morals, dedication to our families and attitudes to our own little family and parenting are virtually the same.

Here we are 10 years, a transatlantic courtship, a wedding and two babies later. I still miss home, but I can truthfully say that I am very happy. I am up to my ears in Fisher Price, afraid of the outcome of my son's medical tests, and today dealing with our first kiddie puking experience if you can believe it since Miss E was born nearly 3 years ago, but I am happy.

Here's to meeting you 10 years ago D, I love you and am so glad you happened to me!

Stress is good for my house.

I have been tackling all manner of housekeeping duties in recent days, and the result is:

• A house that is clean and tidy, in every room, and every closet.

• Home baked muffins and bread (two french loaves going in the oven this morning).

• Wholesome meals from scratch breakfast, lunch and dinner (no frozen or pre prepared junk here!)

Anyone who really knows me will know that while I can keep a house reasonably tidy, I am by no means fanatical about it and, a) it doesn't last long, and b) it will be either a clean house or the cooking - not usually concurrently.

All this in the name of keeping myself so busy that I don't have time to worry about Baby J. It works to an extent, but you know I can't help having those fleeting moments of worry (okay, sometimes not so fleeting). I flip-flop from focusing on how well his understanding of language is developing, his babbling and his obvious ability to hear, and focusing on his 'issue' as something that may be minor, to panicking that it is not something minor.

We have seen the ENT specialist, for all of 10 mins, only enough time for him to scan the audiology reports and concur that there is cause for concern and for him to order CT scans and blood tests.

So, more waiting. More uncertainty. More fear.

We go next week to the Children's hospital for these tests.

I do oddly feel more settled about my ramblings on whether or not to return to work, or to move house. God has a way of bringing what's important in life into sharp focus and suddenly all those trivial things mean nothing. I know the best place for me is to be at home with my kids right now, and I can't imagine the additional stress of having to take Baby J to see all his 'Ologists' while working at the same time! The aesthetics of our house, or in fact where we make our home, seem so unimportant now, too.

To those of you whom have asked for updates - that's where we are, no further on really, just more waiting. But hey, at least my house is clean!