The Amazing Baby N. performs her latest stunt!

M4 W2 D6: Hubby graduates. I scrub floors.

Acting Sub-Lieutenant Hubby called last night, overflowing with good humour and a few drinks, to fill me in on the plans for today, Graduation Day. We had a few laughs, wondered if he'd ever get his hands on his ticket to Esquimalt and eagerly discussed the soonest date we would all be together again.

I told him I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments. I am always proud to be my husband's wife, but that pride shone a little more brightly last night and today.

Tonight, though, I had the inevitable come-down. Little I. was being a B-R-A-T at bedtime, making messes and trying to keep his brother awake. When I finally settled him to bed, I started in on housework, as always.

And then it hit me: here I am, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while my husband celebrates one of the most significant accomplishments of his life. I can't be there. I can't even talk to him on the phone unless he finds a moment to call (unlikely since he will be entertaining his mother, sister and future step-father after the graduation.) I don't even know when I will see my husband again.

It's cruel, this uncertainty. The people around me expect me to be happy and excited and say things like, "Almost done!" But who knows if I'm almost done? I don't. Neither does the Hubby. All we know is he flies to Esquimalt tomorrow to start his new career, without wife or children.

About other people's expectations: I honestly wish they'd think them through before sharing them with me. The people who expect me to be miserable all the time tick me off just as much as the people who expect me to be happy. They foist their own fears and beliefs and foibles on me. I wish some of these people would just ask me, "How are you doing? How do you feel about that?"

My good friends and family do, thank goodness.

There is a woman I frequently bump into who always says or does the wrong thing with me. She has a background with military life. I try to be nice, since I am trying to follow Jesus, and that means looking for Him in every person I ever meet. But I wanted to rip her face off the day she asked me when Hubby was done, then smugly announced it would be harder when he came home than it is now.

Why did she say that? I understand reintegration is difficult for families. Heck, the MFRC offers reintegration sessions for spouses, it's that stressful. I expect bumps. But HARDER THAN NOW? We may argue when he returns, but when the Hubby is back I will be able to shower with the door shut, eat my food before it is stone cold and sleep in until 7:30 on weekends. I will go grocery shopping alone from time to time. I will have someone else to step in at bedtime when I'm about to lose it.

I can think of a lot of things that would be harder than now: flood, fire, tsunami, cancer, another HG pregnancy, a death in the family. Having my husband come home does not tip high on my freak-o-meter.

Some people are only happy when they are making others miserable.

Okay, rant over.

Once again, CONGRATULATIONS HUBBY!!!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!

Little Miss Upright!

Oh, Baby N., please stop growing. I can't have another baby after you (unless we adopt) and I am sooo not ready for you to become a toddler!

Your father is not going to recognize you.

M4 W2 D2: Acting Sub-Lieutenant's wife!

The Hubby called yesterday. He has passed Basic Officer Training. On Thursday, April 26, he will graduate and take the rank of acting sub-lieutenant.

Congrats, honey! I'm so proud of this accomplishment. I know it was probably the hardest thing you've ever done. Way to go.

M4 W2 D5: The me underneath

I was having a laundry crisis this morning, something that now happens with regularity since I am too fat for my skinny jeans, but too thin for all my other pants. I finally located a pair of pants that stay up with the aid of a belt but don't look like clown trousers.

I started searching for a clean shirt, soon realizing all I had clean were sweaters too warm for the weather. I opened my closet and started digging. All I could find was a "peek-a-boo" blouse: a blouse that I can button up, but which gapes between the buttonholes at the bust.

I sighed and put it on. Another frump day, I thought. Then I looked in the mirror.

The blouse no longer gaped at the bust. In fact, it fit perfectly.

Losing weight has been strange. When I look in the mirror undressed, I see very little difference. But my clothes tell a different story. My clothes say I AM 10 per cent lighter than I was 7 weeks ago.

16.5 lbs gone. 16.5 lbs to go.

M4 W1 D6: Beyond three months

I have now been alone with my kidlets for more than three. stinking. months.

THREE CALENDAR MONTHS! (Bangs head on keyboard)

Ok, ok, I'm ok now.

Mom and dad, don't read this part: I haven't had sex in three months! I want my husband back!

Lots has happened lately, so I'll give you a list:

• Spring has finally come to Yellowknife. The boys and I have been wearing our funky rubber boots all over town.
• Baby N. has graduated to a rear-facing large car seat, and is out of the baby bucket. Sigh.
• My darling father-in-law called the other day and offered to pay the cost of sending the children and I to the Hubby's graduation. I soooo want to go, but can't imagine surviving the trip. Plus, Hubby flies out to Esquimalt the very next day. So not worth it. But B., that was such an incredibly kind offer! You are so thoughtful.
• A. has discovered the wonders of big, fancy words. I love to hear him say "gigantic" and "discovery". I did that as a kid. Anyone remember "hilarious"?
• I have lost 15 lbs on Weight Watchers. Hooray! 15 to go.
• Baby N. is crawling well and is now pulling up on her knees. Video coming soon.

Happy Easter!

Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb;
and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet.
They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him."
Saying this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus.
Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away."
Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rab-bo'ni!" (which means Teacher).
Jesus said to her, "Do not hold me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brethren and say to them, I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God."
Mary Magdalene went and said to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Alleluia! A happy and blessed Easter to you all. (Trying really hard to not devour my entire bunny!)

Beebzilla returns!

M4 W1 D1: Give it to Little I., he'll eat anything!

I can't believe I just typed month 4 up there. Whoa.

Anyway, on with the show...

Little I. is an adventurous eater. This we've known for a long time. But I have to admit I was surprised when he insisted on having an entire dynamite roll (that's a type of sushi with egg and shrimp) at supper tonight. That's what I was having, and it seemed more interesting than his meal.

For his reaction, see the picture above. "Nummy," he exclaimed.

M3 W4 D3: There can be no greater love....

I'm on my way out of my little dark night. March break has ended, our routine has returned, and Easter is coming.

I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)

Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it.

I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.

Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.

Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.

Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.

I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.

My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.

I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.

There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.

I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.

Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.

I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.

"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13

May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.

Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.

Baby N. meets the wonderful teething biscuit

M3 W4 D1: Spoke too soon

The Hubby called last night. And the news is not great.

His posting is restricted. That means he goes to Esquimalt alone on April 27th. He will then meet with his commanding officer and start to work out the family's move.

That means I will be alone in Yellowknife for even longer than originally expected.

At first, I was nonchalant. Heck, what's another few weeks?

Then it started to sink in. I have been operating with an attainable goal. That goal is now out the window.

I've been a mess ever since. I had a screaming, bawling breakdown in the front porch today as I tried to chivvy Little I. into mittens. I just can't DO this anymore. I can't, I can't.

And yet I have to, so I will. There is no way out now. I have to keep going. Necessity is my only motivation now.

In more amusing news.... I took the boys to a movie today: Meet the Robinsons. It was rated G and looked pleasant.

The boys were terrified after the first ten minutes. Little I. was shaking. A. was almost yelling, "Let's go home!!!!!"

We sat in the lobby and finished our treats. The boys seemed to enjoy the outing based on the fact they ate popcorn and M&M's in public.

Congrats to my best friend E. on finishing her PhD thesis and handing it in yesterday. Hooray and way to go!

M3 W3 D3: I will never again see the midnight sun

The Hubby called this afternoon, bursting with excitement. He has received his posting message.

The posting message is the official information you get when the military posts a member to a location (ie. when you move). You can do absolutely nothing before you get that posting message -- can't book the movers or the school or your recreation passes. And you especially can't get on the waiting list for married quarters.

Once you get your posting message, things tend to move quickly.

The Hubby has been posted with DFE -- dependents, furniture and effects. So me, the kids and all our stuff. And the posting is happening as soon as he graduates from basic officer training on April 26th.

He will come home, help me pack, and drive us to our new home in Victoria.

I will be in Yellowknife for about six more weeks.

Six weeks to say good-bye to seven and a half years. To friends and people who are practically family. To wrap up my job at Mother Corp and make sure they give me my superannuation. To get all our stuff packed, our extra stuff garage-saled, our house on the market. To gather up the medical records and immunization records for myself and the children.

Six weeks to set up our new life in Victoria. To get on the married quarters list and get a house. To choose a school for A. To move our bank accounts, our mailing address (especially with EI and the federal child care payments) and find out about moving our health care cards. To get Little I. on a pre-school waiting list.

Six weeks to say good-bye to the place where I had all my children, where I began my career as a journalist, to the professional contacts I've made and the reporters I've worked with.

I've waited for this day since last summer; however, I now feel as if I don't have nearly enough time to do everything I need to do.

All of a sudden, I don't want to go. I can't bear the thought of leaving this place. I will never see the midnight sun again. I will be gone before the nights turn into a long sunset, before the time when I hang one last load of clothes on the line to dry in the sunshine while I sleep.

No, it can't be.

And yet... a small part of my old self, the wanderer and adventurer, is still inside. And she is saying, "On to a new home, to a place I've never been and never seen with my own eyes! On to new people and stories and challenges! Woooo-peeeee!"

M3 W3 D2: Random weekend musings

• I took A. and Little I. to Caribou Carnival this weekend, and forgot my camera. But it was all right, since: a. Little I. slept in the Chariot the entire time, waking only for cotton candy; b. there was NOTHING to do for kids this year (no children's area); and c. I was much too busy eating le tire d'erable (maple sugar taffy) to take pictures.
• My fourth weigh-in for Weight Watchers is tomorrow. My last weigh-in was 152 lbs. That's 11 pounds gone. But I had an extremely bad WW week, so I'm simply hoping I maintain my weight. Having sick kids pushed me right back into some of my old eating habits. I'm just gonna dust myself off and keep trying.
• I have a confession. I have been secretly reading a blog of another Yellowknife mom for quite some time. I just wanted to say, Other Mom, that I know you read here because you've linked to me (thanks!), and I think you're a funny and perceptive writer. I think we share the same sense of humour. We should do coffee sometime, if we can find some time away from our combo of six kids. More mom friends are good.
• My friend E.'s grandmother fell and broke some bones. Praying types, get out those rosaries! Thanks.

M3 W2 D7: Emerging

Sorry about the radio silence here. It took FOREVER and a trip to the hospital to get Little I. more or less back to normal. He had a "para-influenza" with delusions of grandeur, and got a bit dehydrated for awhile. He's fine, although he sounds like a barking seal. (Yum, muktuk.)

Anyway, things are settling in here. Still have a week of March Break, though.

Caribou Carnival started today; the fireworks are popping outside as I type, but I'm also nursing a cranky baby, so I'm stuck. I'm taking the boys to the ice tomorrow, so I'll post pics then. Yum, tire d'erable!

As for housework, the kitchen, floor, fridge, bathroom and laundry are done; still trying to get the polishing, Windexing, dusting, vacuuming and fish tanks done.

By the way, if you're the praying type, please remember my friend Brooke in yours. She is 22 weeks pregnant, has HG, and is in the ICU with a blood infection (sepsis). Her baby's name is Gabbey. St. Gianna and St. Gerard, pray for Brooke and Gabbey. Lord Jesus, give Brooke strength and please bring them through this. Amen.

Idling like an economy car

Ah, sitting up is a breeze!

Mr. Sickie Bum

Can you tell they're related?

M3 W2 D3: Welcome to puke city

Little I. is sick with a fever, vomiting and the most tenacious case of the whines I have ever encountered.

"Buuuuuttttttt it'sssss miinnnnnneeeeee! I want iiiiiiiit!"

"Nooooooo, I want to put on my snowsuiiiiiiit!" (followed by laying on the floor and refusing to do anything, then screams of rage when Mom puts on the suit.)

Multiply this by oh, 50 million times, and that was my day.

The baby is also feeling unwell and clingy, so by the end of the evening I was so fed up I was cursing under my breath and wishing to high heaven I had never given birth to any of them. I had two crying jags today; I haven't cried from exhaustion and frustration in a long time.

A. was a trooper, though. He distracted his siblings as much as he could, making them laugh every once in a while, and helping me in countless little ways. That boy really does have a compassionate heart. He put his arms around me at one point, looked in my eyes and said, "Tomorrow will be better, Mom."

Well, maybe I'm just wishing I'd stopped after A.

One of the reasons I'm feeling this way, of course, is the housework. I have a hard time keeping up on the best of days; add two sick children to the mix and it's darn near impossible. (Warning to HGers: GROSSMENT) My fridge smells like something is rotting, although I can't find it. My kitchen floor is sticky and grimy. My living room is full of clean, unfolded laundry. And my bathroom WAS a toothpasty, smelly mess until an hour ago. I scrubbed it out as soon as I got all the kids to bed. END GROSSMENT

I also managed to start the washer and dryer, wash the dishes and start the dishwasher tonight. Tomorrow night I'll scrub the fridge, the kitchen floor and clean the little appliances in the kitchen. Wednesday night is dusting and polishing. Day times will be laundry folding and vacuuming. By Friday the place should be clean enough to allow visitors.

A. spent yesterday afternoon and this afternoon at friends' houses (it's March break here, so no playschool for TWO. ENDLESS. WEEKS!) I'm hoping he can go out and have fun tomorrow, too, while the siblings recover.

Five weeks and 5 days to go.