But the one little duck, with the feather on his back...

... man, that duck can bake.

Tomorrow is my last day of work before this wee one arrives. My co-workers said an early farewell today; a smart move, since it's day to day lately on whether I'll be there at all. My feet have been swelling up every afternoon, and I've been contracting like crazy.

To say goodbye, Shae volunteered to bake a cake. Shae is the resident foodie at the office, a very funny guy, the general bane of my existence (it's like having my brother in the next cublicle sometimes), and a good work friend.

Now, a normal layer cake with "We'll miss you!" or "Congratulations!" on it would be beneath the dignity of our intrepid baker. Banal pastry would not do. Instead, Shae went to his favourite cake store (that phrase says everything, doesn't it?) and rented a 3-D ducky cake pan.

The results were amazing and adorable.

I feel loved.

Happy Feast Day, Saint Gianna!

Saint Gianna Beretta Molla, mother of four, obstetrician and pediatrician when most women did not go to university or hold professional careers (especially mothers!), loving wife, fellow HGer, brave and tenacious woman willing to risk her life for her child, faithful follower of our Lord Jesus, pray for us!

Another failed mommy badge

The Hubby left this morning for a month-long sail, after being away the week before. He felt rotten about missing Hallowe'en, but he was comforted by the fact that he managed to make it to Big I.'s father-child pumpkin-carving party last night.

Big I. has an absolutely wonderful kindergarten teacher. This same teacher taught A. two years ago, and she is a gem. Hallowe'en is a big time in her class; besides the pumpkin-carving party, she hosts a "Halowe'en Howl" for parents to attend, and then a class party.

The Howl was today, and it is a chance for the children to perfom some Hallowe'en songs for their mommies, daddies and the occasional grandparent. I. was very excited about it, and came home earlier this week clutching a handmade invitation for me. I looked into his sweet little face and had to say, "I'm so sorry, honey, but I can't go."

Work has been insane. Completely, utterly and absolutely insane. We seem to be inundated right now, and everyone is working flat out. Plus, several of my coworkers have been sick, and several more had bought tickets to the U2 concert in Vancouver. The office was half empty today, so the rest of us were running around, madly trying to do the work of two people at once. The whole week has been like this, so I knew there was no way I could miss most of a morning at work.

I work downtown, but our PMQ is about a 30-minute drive west of the city's core -- more like an hour at rush hour. To get to his Howl, I would have had to leave work at 10 a.m. to make it to the school, sit through the 30-minute party, then head immediately back to work, arriving back around noon (and that's with the van, not by bus.) Two hours to make a half hour party. I knew it just wasn't possible.

He was disappointed, but seemed to perk up when I suggested he invite V., the nanny, and his sister N. V., my saving grace in my working-parent hell, took meticulous video of the entire thing, which I sat down and watched in full just now. By the end, I was sobbing.

Big I., my boisterous, funny and fun-loving guy, just stands there during all the songs. No singing, no actions, no jumping and clapping. He actually turns his back on the teacher for several minutes and just stands there  with his head hanging down and his lip out. He missed me so much he didn't even want to participate.

When I got home, he told me he has enjoyed the Howl, but he also pointed out, "C.'s mommy was there. Her mommy made it to the Howl." C.'s mom is an at-home mother, you see.

My friend Karan invented the Failed Mommies Club awhile ago, for those mothers who just don't make the mommy grade nowadays (and so said mommies can get together now and then and drink wine.) I think I earned another Failed Mommy badge today for:

1. missing my son's Hallowe'en school event;
2. sending the nanny with a videocamera instead (and even having a nanny in the first place -- tut, tut!);
3. doing it on the day his father sailed for a month;
4. working a demanding career downtown instead of a mom job or (as the much smarter mommies do) keeping the demanding career but working from home; and
5. working so far from home that these sorts of events are sometimes impossible.

Never mind the homework I do with A. every night, or the fact that tonight I cooked a healthy meal, cleaned up, baked cookies with the kids for the actual Hallowe'en party tomorrow, made A. get a shower, made lunches and put all three kids to bed alone. No matter how super a mother you are, you are always a failure when you break your child's heart.

Who's on top?

On my very first day at CBC Radio, my manager sat me down at a table with a piece of paper and a pen between us. P. drew a triangle on the paper; he drew a little circle on the top and a bunch of little circles on the bottom. He then drew some lines horizontally through the triangle.

"This is the CBC," he said. "The circle here is the president of the corporation. These circles down here are our listeners and viewers. In between are the vice-presidents, directors, managers and staff."

I nodded. It seemed like a pretty routine corporate structure to me.

"This is the way some people see it," he said, showing me the graph with the president on top.

Then he turned the paper so the viewers and listeners were up top, and the president at the bottom.

"This is how it really is," he said. "These people who listen to us, who watch us, they are the boss. They are the reason we are here. They are the reason we produce shows and run the news and try to make them laugh from time to time.

"We're here to serve them, to give them what they need, to tell them stories they need to hear. Never forget that, and you'll do all right."

Over my years at Mother Corp., I tried to remember P.'s advice. I tried to tell stories my real bosses needed to hear. Because of that, I was lucky to do some fun, intriguing and (I think) important work. I often covered stories people outside the North would think unimportant -- but hey, my bosses were Northerners, and at least half of them lived in small Aboriginal communities.


With all of the problems at the CBC lately (the enormous budget shortfall, the passive-aggressive statements from the federal minister responsible, the anxiety and panic amongst the staff as rumours of 600 to 1200 lay-offs float about), I keep remembering that Sunday morning in Yellowknife, and the look in P.'s eyes as he showed me that graph.


That's what is the root of the problems at the CBC, really. Sometime in the past ten years (or longer), the upper levels forgot they are actually the lower levels. They forgot about the real bosses. And oh boy, it showed

They chased after potential listeners/viewers, and ideal listeners/viewers, and hip ones and young ones and ones who dig it when you use swear words on the air. They worried about being contemporary and trendy. They Stromboed the news, rather than just The Hour.

And you know what happened? Some of the original bosses quit. Especially the television bosses, the elusive viewers. A lot of them quit. They went over to CTV and Global, where they weren't the boss, but at least they weren't being condescended to death.

Then the lower levels forgot the middle levels are the ones who keep the bosses around, who make radio and television worth listening to and watching. They tried to make us all expendable, contractors with no job security and no defense against being fired on a whim. At the same time, the amount of managers (who do not produce stuff for your eyes and ears) increased dramatically. They locked out the staff and pissed off a lot of the real bosses. Some of them never came back after the lock-out.

And now we are in a recession, and revenue is down, because why spend money on ads on a network that is losing its viewers hand over fist?

I don't know how to solve this crisis. But I do know if the CBC is going to continue to exist in some semblance of what was meant to be, the guys at the bottom need to wise up and remember the guys at the top.

A day as a solo mother

The Hubby sailed to Alaska on Tuesday morning, so I am alone with the kids and a temporary live-out nanny for the month. (for those of you who don't know me in real life, we have had child care hell the past few months. I can't get into it here for many reasons, including legal ones.)

People often say, "I don't know how you do it." Well, let me tell you! Here's what happened today.

5:30 am: Alarm goes off so I can get up and exercise. Toddler N. wakes up at the sound, demanding baba. I'll just nurse her for a few minutes in my bed and then sneak downstairs to do my Pilates....

6:55 am: Dang, dang, dang.

7:00 am: Shower, dress and blow dry.

7:20 am: Head to the kitchen, empty dishwasher, plug in kettle for children's oatmeal.

7:40 am: Go and wake sleepy heads. Convince boys to get dressed ("No, Big I., your penis is not supposed to stick out of the underwear hole. Put it back in. Now.")

7:45 am: Change Toddler N.'s diaper, convince her to sit still so I can put her hair in a ponytail. Give up trying to put her in shorts and cede to her demand for a "pwincess dwess."

7:50 am: Breakfast for the kids while I desperately brush teeth and throw on makeup.

7:55 am: Nanny arrives on time, like clockwork. Realize we have no bread.

8:00 am: Tear out of the driveway in minivan to the corner store for bread, head back home, drop off bread. Kiss oatmeal-eating children. Deal with last-minute Big I. tantrum. Run out door at 8:15 am.

8:38 am: Arrive at work after taking every shortcut I can think of. Still have not eaten breakfast.

9:45 am: Sneak down to the Starbucks for a low-calorie, high-fibre smoothie (4 Weight Watchers Points.) Ask for a shot of espresso in smoothie (o WW points.) Pick up cup by lid and drop it on floor.

9:50 am: Starbucks barista remakes smoothie (with double shot now) for free while I sponge smoothie off myself and another 'Bucks worker mops the floor.

10:00 am: Think about lunchtime. Continue writing news releases.

noon: Go out to lunch with office staff, have a salad (yeah me, on diet!) and have a great time. Also drink a cosmo (bad girl, alcohol at noon.)

4:40 pm: After quiet day at office, run like mad thing toward parking garage. Wish I was riding my bike but takes too long.

5:15 pm: Arrive at home, receive hugs, kisses and nanny debrief.

5:30: Start cooking supper while trying to load washer and listen to kids talk about their day.

6 pm: Supper of low-fat burgers and veggies with dip. Kids actually eat everything served, including vegetables. Sit in stunned silence.

6:45 pm: After kitchen clean-up, brave the grocery store with all three kids. "I., don't sit on the bread. A., come back here and stop flapping your arms and head around [Someone is going to think there's something wrong with him, heck sometimes I wonder.] N., Bella [her doll] does not need her own cookie; share yours. I., you need to pee again???")

7:45 pm: Arrive home, chat with neighbours, put away groceries. Catch N. eating cookies out of one of the bags, shrug and let her.

8:25 pm: Clean-up of bedrooms and living room; kids actually help!

8:35 pm: Bedlunch.

8:45 pm: Send them upstairs to brush teeth while I prise Cheerios off the floor. Wonder why cereal bonds with hardwood on contact.

8:55 pm: Find kids brushing teeth instead of fighting as expected. Hug them all, help them finish.

9 pm: A full hour after bedtime, put the boys in bed, tell story about Daddy sailing, say prayers, turn out light, turn on music.

9:15 pm: Prepare for Toddler N.'s bedtime showdown, and am shocked when she asks for baba. She falls asleep nursing, an almost unheard-of occurrence lately.

9:30 pm: Sink into office chair and drink Coke Zero.

So there you have it, an easy day when Hubby is sailing. You don't want to know about the ones when I end the day sobbing and begging the two-year-old to go to sleep. Feel free to send wine, though.

On crises and desert times

When the Hubby and I planned our escape from the Great White North, we expected life to change, and change a great deal. What we didn't expect from our first year of southern living was a year full of illness, intense stress, disillusionment and crises of faith. But that's what we got.

The kids were hospitalized twice.

I couldn't get a job in journalism to save my life, despite eight years with the Mother Corp. and the statue in the living room.

My grandmother almost died, and I had to take a trip home I couldn't afford, at Christmastime, paid for by my mother-in-law (bless you, N.) so I could say good-bye. Thank God she lived.

I took a job doing something I always said I'd never do, simply to pay our student loans. We went through three sitters in five months. We are still waiting for our permanent nanny, five months later. (For new readers: a live-in nanny is a lot cheaper than day care when you have three kids.)

I had the worst Valentines Day, birthday, Easter and Mother's Day of my life.

As a family, we have struggled to attend Mass, and I have struggled with my prayer life and my faith. I feel very far from God lately, and I know I'm the one who put the distance there.

As a consequence of all this, my marriage has suffered. Nothing terribly serious, but something we need to work on.

There are many bright spots in all this.

A. has learned to ride a bike with no training wheels. His four front teeth have all fallen out, and his adult teeth are coming in nicely. He can read, which forever amazes me.

Big I. is no longer Little. He is a brown, sturdy, upright little man who has an incredible imagination and a lively wit.

Toddler N. is almost two, has about 150 words and is the most stubborn child on the planet. Her head is a mass of strawberry blonde curls. She loves to sing.

The Hubby 's training is going well and he is enjoying life in the military. He still has that zany sense of humour, and is well-liked at his latest assignment.

I like my co-workers very much and can live with the work I'm doing, but I know I am not doing what I am meant to do in life. To quote Stevie Cameron: "All I have ever been, all I have ever wanted to be, is a reporter." So I continue with this work because it pays the bills, and dream of a time when I might steal a few hours here and there to sell the odd article, to build my reputation here and get away from the Dark Side.

I have also been thinking about my other passion, health, and wondering if I have a future there, wondering how old is too old for medical school. I can't even think of going until the kids are all in high school or beyond, so perhaps it will never be anything more than a dream. But I know I could do it; I was always a straight-A student, and nothing can gross me out too much anymore, not after all the IV needles and vomit I've endured. I might puke, but I wouldn't pass out.

My parents are coming to visit this week. My dad hasn't seen the boys since Isaac was a baby. He and the kids have been plotting days filled with ice cream and beaches and parks.

So I sit, halfway through 2008, and ask myself to consider my blessings rather than dwelling on all these hard times. This is what I come up with:

1. The kids are healthy and whole.
2. My husband loves me and I love him.
3. My parents, in-laws and grandparents are well.
4. My friend E. had her first son (yaaaayyy) and my friend S. is expecting her first daughter any day.
5. I've only gained back 10 pounds of the 30 I'd lost since I switched from stroller-pushing to a desk job, and I've maintained that weight for five very hard months. (Hey, you can't know how incredibly happy I am to still be in single digit sizes!)
6. My faith is based on logic rather than feelings (or I don't think I'd have any left!)
7. A house, food, clothing and beer in the fridge.

Day One: A new solo adventure

The Hubby left this morning for his first sail, a ten-day trip around Vancouver Island. He packed yesterday afternoon, alternately excited and worried, while I desperately tried to get the house in some kind of order. I won't have his help for the next two weeks, so I can't just leave supper and clean up to him in the late afternoons.

The fact he'll be gone for awhile made me think about how far we've come in a month on the whole division of labour in the home front. My husband is not a sexist, but he does hate housework, and he will take whatever action necessary to only do what absolutely must be done around here. What ends up happening is I pick up the slack, so he has had a false impression of how much must be done to keep a place borderline clean.

But now I am working, and he is the first adult in the door most evenings. He is learning dishes left in the sink or crumbs left on the floor in the morning metastasize into a full-out disaster in the eight hours we're away from the house each day.

"Can you believe the mess on the floor?" he'll grumble, fetching the broom. "That was never there before!"

No, honey, it wasn't. That's because I was here cleaning it up.

He cleaned the bathroom this weekend without reminding (i.e. nagging.) He just did it!

I am appreciative to him learning to haul his own weight. But now I am hauling it myself for a little while, plus working full-time.

I know I can handle the time with the kids, no sweat. Ten days is nothing compared to five months. But can I handle the housework and the job? We'll see.

As for the rest of life, things are still a bit insane here. A. is struggling with day care. He is angry a lot of the time, has developed a saucy mouth and has hit other children from time to time. All of this leads to time-outs and groundings, of course, but also lots of time with my big boy just sitting in my lap. He often says he wishes I wasn't working. It breaks my heart, but I need to work, both for the money and for my sanity.

Little I. is a bit clingy but is adjusting well to the new sitter. Toddler N. is very happy at K.'s place. That's great, but the child should have been named Typhoid Mary, because this is the third time she's been sick this month. First the hospitalization, then a head cold, then she got food poisoning this weekend from a supper out. At the hospital, the doctor discovered she also has an ear infection. We two are home today so she can start recovering.

The boys also caught that cold, and Little I. just finished a round of antibiotics for an ear infection. Since I started my new job six weeks ago, I have missed 4.5 days due to child illness. I'm starting to understand why some bosses are reluctant to hire mothers of young children. My boss has been great, but I still worry about the impression I'm making.

Off to catch a quick nap with the girlie.

The job and the babysitter

The job is great. I enjoy it. I like my co-workers. I like my boss. It's awesome to be working again.

I do miss the children, but not in the way I did when I returned to work before. I think about them often during the day, but I no longer feel like running out the office door to the day care centre and scooping them up at 11 in the morning.

I'm glad to be away from them for awhile each day. I'm even happier to see them when I get home.

There is one enormous wrinkle though, so enormous it qualifies as a fold. I am having massive problems with my child care.

Our live-in nanny is coming sometime in late April through May. She is currently working in Hong Kong, and that's just how long it takes to get the immigration paperwork done through the Live-in Caregiver Program.

I had one week to find temporary child care. I thought I found it another military mom here in the PMQs.

The kids were there less than two weeks when she quit. I'm trying very hard not to take it personally, since she is pregnant and bailed because she is concerned about her health. Her baby comes first. I support that. But she's left me in a terrible situation.

She quit on Thursday. Tomorrow is her last day with the kids. I had 4 days to find child care.

Hubby and I managed to do it. Toddler N. is going to be cared for by my best PMQ friend who runs a day home. The boys are going to another day home in the Qs, at least for now. We may move them to a day care centre and the day home is cool with that.

If this doesn't work out, I will lose my job. I'm freaking.

Plus, all these changes are very hard on my kids, especially A. He has been moody and lashing out at Little I. I. is a terrible tease and A. just can't handle that this week.

There really is no winning. I stay home and go batty. I go to work and worry about the kids' child care.

There is no perfect way to mother, it seems. I'm screwing up both choices.