July Crazies

I was just texting with my husband who is in Winnipeg opening a show he directed and I co-wrote.  He told me that he heard from a very mystical and hilariously wise acquaintance that July is the most tumultuous month.  I must agree.

Every July seems to bring with it the big old crazies of every manner - people, circumstances, weather.

Last July 17th I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming through my vents.  My car was on fire.  I made it home and then the local volunteer fire brigade spent a couple of hours in my back yard putting out the flames, cutting the wires, and generally making a massive, heroic mess of the place, and the car, while tourists and locals offered support and took pictures.  That same night a rogue tourist was seen trying to steal the same car.  By the time he decided to attempt this grand theft auto the car had a melted dash, a scorched and cracked windshield, cut wires and was flooded with water and that fire fighting foam that was now ashy grey muck.  Poor guy.  Talk about picking the wrong mark (he eventually gave up and ended up stealing a different vehicle and after a joyride he ditched the stolen truck in the local lake).  J was out of town at the time, so I had to deal with the whole fire situation, plus the kids, by myself.  I called my boss at the Theatre to cancel my solo show for the next morning (the 18th) as I had been advised that the amount of smoke I had inhaled might make me hoarse.

Yesterday, July 17th, the one year anniversary of the car fire, started out so well.  I had a great morning show.  I was conserving energy because, as an experiment, I had decided to offer both of my solo shows to whomever from the Site wanted to attend (it can be hard for people to make it to other performers' shows as we are all so intensely engaged in our own schedules, so I decided to offer evening shows just to let anyone who might want to see them, see them).

We had a company meeting scheduled for five o'clock, so I had asked MIL earlier if she could watch the girls while I went out to the Site for about three hours for meeting and shows.  Although I am not entirely comfortable with her watching the girls, she loves to do it, the girls love her, and as long as I set firm ground rules it usually goes well save for the inevitable mess I have waiting for me when I get home.

So, yesterday afternoon I reminded MIL that she was to watch the girls in two hours.  About an hour later she came up the stairs in a T-shirt style night gown.  She seemed to be in a cheerful mood and told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone.  I said I had made some pork curry, and advised her to feed it to the girls in about an hour.  She agreed.  About a minute later she looked at me and asked: "have they eaten dinner?"  I said that we'd just talked about this.  Then she told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone.  Hmmmm.

MIL has dementia, but at this point she has lots of really good days interspersed with some horrible rage and depression episodes.  This had seemed like a good day, but now I wasn't so sure.

I asked her how she was feeling and she said: "woozy".  She said she didn't think she should watch the girls.  She has NEVER said this before.

I tried to call my fabulous friend who watches the girls a few times a week to see if she could pinch hit, but she wasn't available.  I called a local girl and asked if she could come right over to babysit.  She could.  I suggested to MIL that she go downstairs and go to sleep.  It has been very hot here, so I assumed she had taken too much sun.

I raced out to the Site.  In the midst of the company meeting the phone rang and it was the above mentioned fab friend who very calmly told me that MIL had gone over to the store (local hang out, right next door to our place) and said she wasn't feeling right.  They called 911.  It was too late to cancel the shows...or was it?  I could hear people rattling the theatre doors as I stood on stage and called the hospital.  MIL was still in the ambulance, so I explained that she was on her way, that she was heavily medicated, that I didn't know if she's taken her proper doses for the day, etc. etc.  I called back a bit later and was able to talk to MIL who was now in the waiting room.  She was teary, confused, complaining of backache and stress.  I somehow got through the show, but this is a show I know very well, so I basically did the performance while thinking about what to do next.

After the show I told the lovely folks who'd shown up (it was sweltering and there was a competing concert, so a modest but lovely little group) that I had to get in to the hospital.  I asked my dear friend who was running the lights to let the people who had come for the second show to know that I just couldn't do it at that time.

I went to the dressing room and called the hospital.  The man said that she had been discharged and was waiting for me.  I explained that MIL has dementia, that it would take me the better part of two hours to get home and arrange it all and then get to town, and asked him to make sure she was not abandoned in the waiting  room.  I raced home, and on the way saw the ambulance attendants pulling into the ambulance station.  I stopped and asked them what was happening.  Of course, due to confidentiality they could only hint about it, but one of them said I'd be wise to make sure I told the hospital "my side of the story."  Once again: hmmmmm.

You see...it seems that with MIL's particular kind of dementia there must one one big villain character in her personal movie.  It used to be her ex, then it was her ex-tenant, and now it is very much ME.  I am, in her mind, the worst person who has ever existed.  For the past two years I have helped her deal with her massive financial mess.  I have started the process of getting her help for her mental health.  I have fielded phone call after phone call from her ex, from people who are suing her, from people who are charging her with assault, but all she can see is that I am short with her for destroying the house ("who CARES if it's messy?" she pleads, incredulously, as I beg her to just TRY to stop letting her dog poo and pee in the house, and I beg her not to disassemble any more major appliances which she cannot put back together again).  And she demonizes me daily to anyone who will listen.  Now, I concede that we are not one big happy, but when we bought this place we were very clear and all agreed that J and I needed our own personal space and that we would respect her privacy if she respected ours back.  But as soon as she moved in she was offended if we had a dinner or watched a film without her, and would have an adolescent-like snit wherein she would play wounded and confused by the mean girl upstairs.  It's been brutal.  Brutal.  And I also concede that I have lost my patience with her on more than one occasion, but this is usually when she has done something so amazingly bizarre to me that I just can't believe it.  So I could see that she had clearly trashed me to the ambulance attendants, both of whom are friends of mine.  I felt sick.

I raced home and explained to the teenage sitter that she would have to walk home (all of five minutes) as I had to deal with an emergency ("But it's SO hot!") Mrrrrr.

I called my fab friend to see if she could come over and stay with the girls while I ran into town but unbeknownst to both of us her little two year old had turned off the ringer on the phone so she didn't get the message until I'd already got the girls and MIL's dog in the car and headed off.

When I got to the hospital the staff was overly cheerful and I knew right away that they had been treated to a few hours of horror stories about me.  Oh joy.

I chatted with the doctor, explained the situation, and he told me that MIL has a bladder infection and any infection will cause extremes in dementia episodes.  He gave me a prescription.  As it was now dark, the kids were hyper I decided I should rent us all a room for the night.  One of the nurses called a nearby place to see if they took pets, and off we went to a nice hotel where I called my producer to ask permission to cancel my morning show just like last year's July 18th show (insert ominous chord).

This morning MIL and I had a very long talk about her continued need to villainize me.  I accepted the places where I am culpable, and I reinforced what I have always told her: that she is a very good grandmother.  She is.  I think, and hope, that we made a little progress.

We had a nice day in town shopping, although it was funny to see MIL walking around in her night gown (we had no changes of clothes with us).

On our drive home we noticed an ambulance and rows of cars facing in either direction on the highway.  I hoped it wasn't something to do with one of my friends.  This highway is travelled by either tourists or someone we know.  As we got closer we could see a tiny black bear cub lying on the road.  It had clearly been hit by a car, but was still alive and in distress.  People were bringing the little animal water in bottles, and a whole brigade was focused on helping.  It was a lovely, heartbreaking, and completely crazy thing to see.

So it seems July really is the oddest month.

Hey July. Wtf is up with you?

Gotta Give

J and I have managed to organise our lives so that, right now, in this moment, we have everything we've ever wanted.  We have a home, two beautiful children, we live in the mountains, we have good jobs, and yet, we are still a fraction away from nirvana as there is one HUGE impediment to our complete happiness, and that is the fact that it all comes at a cost.

We have become sought after artists - and the trade off for this is no days off.  We have beautiful children - yet we feel we are not there for them enough.  We have a home we love - yet we are too busy to keep up with yard work, etc.  I have my long dreamed of sanctuary and I never feel at peace here because my ailing, extremely messy to the point of filthy, mother in law makes me so ill at ease that I can never relax in my own home and I can no longer even bear to go down to the lower floor of the house as it breaks my heart to see what she's done to the place.  We have a wonderful marriage, yet we see one another so rarely that when we do we need to use the time to get stuff done rather than have any quality time together.

We are busy morning, noon and night.  At our worst we resent one another for not being there to support and are competitive about who has the tougher lot.  At our best we remember to be grateful because this is what we wished for.  

I have, as a result of all this, determined that once the busy summer season is over, I am taking on nothing new.  I have decided not to start PhD studies, for now.  I have decided to spend the Fall and Winter being with my daughters, creating art that I can do on my own, really and truly moving in to this house, dealing with the mom in law situation, and trying to just be.  It sounds creepily New Age-y, which I hate, but I think we are truly at the "something's gotta give" place and I am more than happy to be the one to give in and say: "enough."

I'd like to write more now, but the truth is I need to rush off to another rehearsal (this after a full day of work) and J is out of town directing a show.  The girls are at me to play with them and I have no energy left. Yep, something's gotta give.

Bugs and Other News

So summer has descended upon our little mountain town.  June was all rain, July is hot and sweaty and BUGGY.

Living on top of a mountain is a joy, but it comes at a price.  And that price is this: every single thing is intense.  If it is hot, it is boiling and dusty and if it is cold it is torrential rain, hail, snow, lightening, thunder.  And if it is any combination of hot and cold the bugs come out and they are crazy bad this year.  July is all about no-see-ums and mosquitoes.  No-see-ums are sent to earth by Lucifer himself.  These tiny black demons can get through any minuscule crack, and screens are no match.  In August the black flies will join the party.

Other than the bugs, life is grand here in our town.  I am in three shows at the Theatre in the Site.  Two of the  shows are my solo pieces, and I am also in the evening show that we do on weekends.  Rehearsal was intense (naturally) but now that the shows are up and running I am having a blast.  I work with a fantastic company.  We honestly all get along and I look forward to seeing my co-workers every day.

The girls are thriving and the wonderful friend we have engaged to babysit them three days a week is fabulous.

So, life is good.  Except for the bugs. Which is why I have sucked at blogging lately.  When life is good there is no need to talk about it, I guess.

Proust Me

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Having time off with nothing to do and nothing weighing on my mind, while eqipped with art supplies, the internet and some good dvds.

2. What is your greatest fear?

That my kids will be harmed or hurt.

3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Anxiety and meanness.

4. What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Inability to recognize and appreciate irony.

5. Which living person do you most admire?

My husband.

6. What is your greatest extravagance?

The internet.

7. What is your current state of mind?

Simultaneously relaxed and anxious.

8. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

They're all overrated.

9. On what occasion do you lie?

When it serves me.

10. What do you most dislike about your appearance?

Double chin.

11. Which living person do you most despise?

Any homophobe.

12. What is the quality you most like in a man?

Wit.

13. What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Wit.

14. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

Fuck.

15. What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Art.

16. When and where were you happiest?

In 2000, standing on a mountain with the man I would marry.

17. Which talent would you most like to have?

I wish I was a better singer.

18. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I would be naturally thin.

19. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I have been true to myself as an artist.

20. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

A less neurotic version of me.

21. Where would you most like to live?

I would like to be a person with a good, comfortable home in several places.

22. What is your most treasured possession?

My jewelry.

23. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Worry.

24. What is your favorite occupation?

Writer.

25. What is your most marked characteristic?

Physically: hair.  Other: I think I'm funny.

26. What do you most value in your friends?

The ability to get the joke, and to give it back.

27. Who are your favorite writers?

Anita Brookner, Maya Angelou, JK Rowling.

28. Who is your hero of fiction?

Harry Potter.

29. Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Well, I guess I have to say Queen Victoria.

30. Who are your heroes in real life?

My husband and children, my uncle, my sisters.

31. What are your favorite names?

The ones I gave my daughters.

32. What is it that you most dislike?

Regret and anxiety.

33. What is your greatest regret?

That it took me so long to understand myself, and that I spent so much time and energy on self-loathing.

34. How would you like to die?

Satisfied.

35. What is your motto?

As long as it's funny.

Tonsils, Moose, Payphones and A-holes

So O fell seriously ill a couple of weeks ago.

Two evenings before I was to go back to work for the season O started to throw up.  I do not have particularly throw uppy kids, so I took note.  Also, I cleaned up.  A lot.

By the next morning she was still puking and was visibly ailing.  She seemed to be getting sicker by the second, so I called my town doctor and got an appointment.

Here is yet another thing about twins: when one is very sick the other will grow the same amount of annoying in an attempt to steal away some of the attention.  So Z decided, as I was struggling to get them ready for town, that she needed to pee.  I put her on the toilet and she sat there.  FOR AN HOUR.  She did not pee, but whenever I would try to get her to stand she would howl that she needed to pee.  Finally I lost it and pulled her off the loo to screaming protests.  Meanwhile, O was turning grey and I was making great, wailing statements like: "I am going to kill myself if you don't shut up and you don't get better!"

We made it to town, saw the doc, and got our diagnosis.  Severe tonsillitis.  I was given a prescription and headed to the drug store to have it filled.  At the drug store the lady informed me that it would be a minimum of 90 minutes before I could have the meds.  Ugh.  I would have to kill an hour and a half dragging a sick kid and an annoying kid all over town.  I also needed to call J to tell him what was going on, and I wanted to call work to put off my start date as I knew O was going to need me for the next few days.  I went off in search of a payphone.  As we live in a town with no cell access, I am one of the few people in the first world with no cell phone.

I went to the three locations where I know there to be pay telephones, and every single phone, I learned, has recently been removed.  So now I am dragging sicky and annoying-y all over a town that only believes in cell phones.  And I don't have one.  So I get a brilliant idea.  I will check into a hotel.  That way I can use the phone, put my baby down for an hour, then go get the prescription filled, then come back and spend the night in town monitoring my baby.

The first place I go claims to only have their luxury suite available for 300 bucks a night.  I ask if she will come down in cost.  She offers to come down by about 10 bucks.  I explain that my kid is sick, and I need to use a phone.  She tells me there are payphones in the three places I have just looked.  I go to another place and the man says he will check to see if he has any rooms and leaves me there waiting.  After 20 minutes he hasn't come back to the desk. O starts to dry heave, so I get her out of there before she yarks on the lobby carpet.

I give up on the hotel idea and take the girls to Dairy Queen.  I give O some Gravol and Tylenol and then watch her puke into a bag of fries.  I take the girls to Safeway so we can use the loo, and O pukes all over the floor.  I go to the drug store (Shopper's, for the record) and hope that the prescription is ready early.  IT IS!  But the lady says our extended coverage has been denied due to "discrepancy in surname".  Huh?  J has one surname, I have another, and the girls have another still, but we have never had this affect our coverage.  I ask to use the phone so I can call to clear up the problem: "Sorry, we don't have a phone for public use."  I explain that I have a very sick child, no cell, no payphones in town, and I live an hour away.  She is not moved by my plight.

I get the kids in the car and drive home.  When I get home I call our medical plan and find out the lady who would not let me use the phone keyed in the wrong number for our card.  It was entirely her fault that I had to pay the full amount.  I can send in for reimbursement, but I will do so with that woman's nasty face held firmly in my mind.

O gets sicker and sicker over the next few days, and then gets better.  And then Z throws up.  So on my first day off of the season I head back in to see the doctor.  Unlike her sister, Z does not have tonsillitis!  She just randomly puked, nothing to worry about.  With light hearts we grocery shop and then head out of town.

I turn on to the long highway that climbs up the mountain and takes us home.  A few minutes later I notice the "Service Engine Soon" light has not only come on, but is also flashing at me with horrible urgency.  I immediately begin to weigh the pros and cons of turning back or going on.  My mechanic is at home, so if I turn back...where will I take the car?  Am I wrecking the engine by trying to push on?  I hit the next big hill and watch the speedometer drop from 100 to 20kph in about 30 seconds.  Oh joy.  I now estimate that I am eqi-distance from the town I just left and the ski hill that is about 20 minutes outside of our town.  There will be someone at the ski hill as it is summer digs to miners and there are houses around its perimeter.  I will go there.

Just as I decide to keep pushing for the ski hill I take another glance down at the sinister flashing light.  Then I look back up.  To my horror, in the few seconds it took me to look down  and then back up a cow moose and a calf have wandered on to the road and are standing about 15 feet straight ahead of me.  I drive a very small car that would be obliterated by a moose collision.  I stand on the brake.  Literally.  I am standing while driving.  Tires squeal causing the moose to look back just in time to see me and then dash off the road.  It's hoof is inches from the hood of the car as it jumps away.  The calf, disoriented, runs along beside us for about 45 seconds as I try to get going again. We somehow avoid the impact that would've caused the death of all of us - moose and humans.

Shaking, I press on.

Damn.  I'd forgotten about that one big, steep incline right before the ski hill.  A large truck is behind me as I slow down, down, down.  I pull to the shoulder that hovers precariously above a perilous drop to let the truck by, but I don't dare stop as I would never get going again on this hill.  The truck blows by me without bothering to see why I am going 10K up the hill and not stopping on a death drop shoulder.

I make it to the ski hill, croak to a stop, and am lent a phone by a nice guy who turns out to be a friend of friends.  A couple of hours, a tow truck and a rescue in a borrowed van by J later, we are home.

The next day we find out the car problem was a loose wire - small repair but my mechanic is amazed I made it as far as I did with a vehicle that was basically driving with no connection to the ignition.

Aside from madly rehearsing two new shows that open in week, life is kind of back to normal again now.

So that was my past two weeks.  Thanks for tuning in.

Taking Bullets

I just did not understand any of it before they existed.

I have a niece and a nephew, and they were the first to redefine love for me.  When  I met my nephew, and then my niece, I understood that a child can make you feel so protective you'd throw yourself in front of a bus if it took them out of harm's way.  Then I had my own kids.  Two at once.  Twins.  And now I even more fully understand how big this really is, this giant, all consuming thing called loving a child.  Before they were born I hadn't ever felt like I would gladly take a bullet for anyone. I would do anything, any thing, any damn thing, for my kids.

When the girls were about six months old J and I took them for a initial meeting at a health clinic we'd been trying to get into since they were born. We each had a glowing, healthy baby sleeping on our chests as we walked into the waiting room of the clinic.  And there we met another mother and her daughter.  The girl was probably five or six years old, strapped to a rolling stretcher, and her mom had to suction the saliva out of her mouth every few minutes to keep her from choking.  In situations like this the question is immediate and inevitable: "Why?"  Why did that mom have this enormous challenge handed to her, when I got not one, but two healthy children?  How does she cope all day, this mother?  The answer to that is pretty clear - she copes because this is her baby, and she would do anything, any thing, any damn thing.

Now that I am a parent I cannot bear hearing about any child suffering.  I immediately project the suffering on to my own babies and the mother becomes myself.  I cannot watch any film that deals with the death of a child, or cruelty toward children, without feeling my centre of gravity shift.

When O was about a year and a half old her hair grew and hung in her eyes and she'd freak out if I tried to clip it back.  Everywhere I went people commented on how she needed to have her bangs trimmed.  J asked "Why don't we just cut her hair?"  I said "I don't want to change her."  I never would have understood that feeling before she existed.  Its just hair.  But it was the first hair of her life, and she was and is so perfect.  The thought of altering the miracle that was changing and morphing before my very eyes seemed like blasphemy.

I once knew a couple who found a house they loved, but they did not buy it.  They did not buy the house because the master bedroom was on a different floor from the childrens' rooms.  "So what?"  thought childless I.  Now I SO get it.  I could never... I can't even let them sleep in a different room from me yet.

At least once a day I allow myself to indulge in thinking about what it was like before.  Leaving the house was so easy.  Taking a hot bath all by myself was almost always possible.  I used to do my hair and put together an outfit.  I miss that old life a lot.  But it is not my life any longer.  My new life does not find me at its centre.  This new life is all about two little kids who turned everything, every thing, every damn thing upside down.  My new life is all about taking bullets for them every day.  And as much as I loathe it sometimes, I love it almost all the time.

I understand that now that they exist.

Stupid Life

Up in the middle of the night having a full on anxiety episode because I head back to work next week, and dammit, as much as they aggravate me, I just do not want to leave my kids.

O is in a screamy phase, and Z is in a NO phase again.  At the end of every day I am frustrated, angry and exhausted and long for grown up conversation.  I complain about how hard it is.  I whine to my husband about how tired I am.

But as I stare reality in the face - that in a week I will go back to work (even if it only for a few hours a day, and it is only for two and a half months) I almost can't bear the idea of being away from them. 

I miss my babies already and I haven't even started my job yet.

Stupid life.

Stupid.