An explanation

I owe my blog friends an apology for pulling a disappearing act. I just walked out without a word and that's not fair to the dear friends I've made over the months I've had my blog up & running (in particular one special friend - Martha). I kind of feel like the prodigal daughter. But I do owe people an explanation.

These last few months were a bit overwhelming for me. Adapting to a new position at work. My husband's problems with his timetable at school which interfered with our family life (that really took a toll on me). My problems with fibrocystic breast disease and an overload of breast cancer awareness campaigns in the media which freaked me out completely. The age factor. I know! I know! 40 is not the end of the world. And OK, I still think I don't look too bad considering, but it's a number that takes some getting used to. And then there's that bitch - infertility! Not my own, that's over and done with, but all the wonderful people I deal with on a daily basis through my volunteer work. I never thought I could ever feel so much rage about something like I do about this painful disease that eats away inside you. I feel even angrier now about infertility than when I was dealing with my own struggle.

So, dear friends, I got tired. There was too much going on in my life and my brain was close to burnout. I needed some quiet time away from a lot of things. I guess the tip of the iceberg was the day I discovered a colleague from work was reading my blog. Why would that bother me? My life is an open book, perhaps too open. Everything that I talk or rant about here, I do the same at work. I'm constantly talking about my volunteer work at school. But this particular person is the kind that always shows no interest. When I mention all the progress we've made in the association and all the wonderful accomplishments in such a short period she always looks incredibly bored. The same when I talk about my worries about some of my health problems. It really rubbed me the wrong way that she was following these things through me blog, but showing no interest face-to-face. Is it too much to give someone a word of comfort or share in their joy?

So, for all the reasons above I took a break. I'm feeling much better now and bit more in control of my life. This breast thing still completely freaks me out and haven't had the courage to get it checked out this year. I promised myself that would be the very first thing over the Xmas holidays.

If any of you are still out there, once again, my deepest apologies. Martha, you are the sweetest, most beautiful person I know. Alicia, you make me laugh like crazy! Although absent in my own, I've been following both your blogs regularly. Just didn't drop comments. How so very rude of me. I'm very sorry. It feels good to be back! Let's rock n' roll!

PS: The little guy is more gorgeous than ever. The big guy is still the world's worst cook.

Grading Motherhood

Motherhood - The Journey

Adetoye Adewole Adedipe

While going through my daily read of posts on the discussion board of my association, one in particular stood out. It was someone going on about how women who endured fertility treatments were much better mothers. Now, that remark got me thinking here. Does that mean that those "poor" fertile women out there don't make good moms? How I pity them. So let's get this straight, to be a grade "A" mom you have to go through fertility treatments, endless ultrassounds, survive 2-week waits and pee on a stick every month. That's what determines how good a mom you really are. Well, given the fact that I went through that for 12 years, I guess you could give me an "A+". And if you throw in my miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies, will that entitle me to an "A++"? I have to say these remarks about infertility survivors being better moms really rub me the wrong way.

It reminds of the time when I went for my last check-up at the hospital just before giving birth to the little guy. I overheard two women discussing natural labour vs caesarian. They both agreed that you weren't truly a mother, not in the whole sense of the word, if you didn't go through labour pains. Well, excuse me...what about not having sex to conceive? Did that mean I wasn't even eligible to become a mother? God forbid a woman should even think of conceiving without the pleasures of sex! Now, that's sinful!

Anyhow, back to the post. That's not the first time I've come across women grading motherhood based on the journey it took to get there. Well, I beg to differ. I don't think I'm any better or any worse than other mothers. To be honest I probably don't even deserve the "A" grade, given the fact that I went straight back to work once maternity leave was over, when I could have easily have become a stay-at-home mom. But towards the end of my leave I had ants in my pants, ready to go back to the hustle & bustle of working life. So, I guess that takes me down to a "B". And what about all those times I just couldn't take all the crying and having to deal with a colicky baby, so I'd drop him off at my mother-in-law's so I could have a few hours of peace & quiet to myself, or head out to the hairdresser's so I could finally look at myself in the mirror without getting a fright. So, now down to a "C". And the other day, instead of following those child rearing theories that are supposed to make a top-notch parent out of you, I actually bribed my son into getting a haircut. Yup! We're talking cash. Shit! I've failed! I am an absolute failure as a mom! Moi, who went through infertility treatments. I'm a disgrace to my kind.

Now, getting a little bit more serious here. Wanting to have a child and enduring fertility treatments to get there has no impact on our outcome as mothers. The problem with infertility is that the side effects extend into motherhood with a little more anxiety at the beginning and less self-confidence. Plus it just took a little longer to get there and few more tears along the way. But I don't want another label. Infertility was enough for me! The only label you'll ever seeing me wearing is one saying "I'm the little guy's mom". And that's good enough for me.

Present /Infant
Ani DiFranco

Lately I've been glaring into mirrors
Picking myself apart
You'd think at my age I'd of thought
of something better to do
Than making insecurity into a full-time job
Making insecurity into art
And I fear my life will be over
and I will have never lived unfettered
Always glaring into mirrors
Mad I don't look better

But now here is this tiny baby
and they say she looks just like me
and she is smiling at me
with that present infant glee
and yes I will defend
To the ends of the earth
Her perfect right to be

So I'm beginning to see some problems
with the ongoing work of my mind
And I've got myself a new mantra
It says: "don't forget to have a good time"
Don't let the sellers of stuff power enough
to rob you of your grace
Love is all over the place

There's nothing wrong with your face
Love is all over the place
There's nothing wrong with your face

lately I've been glaring into mirrors
picking myself apart

September Survivor

I think I made it and lived to tell. September was certainly a month in hell for me. Left a few scars, but I survived. The new school year officially kicks off tomorrow and, unfortunately, I'll be teaching Saturday morning during the first semestre. But I'm happy with my new timetable and when I settle into the new routine, things will be (almost) back to normal, or at least I hope (knock on wood). A very busy week with workshops at school, level testings, staff meetings, workshops...and that was just work. Then there was the board meeting of the Fertility Association where I do volunteer work, with new ideas bubbling up all the time. Have I mentioned the incredible team I work with? And finally the little guy & big guy that need me around, too. Lots of balls to juggle in my life! I hope to be back to my blog "full-time" next week. Miss you all.

Hanging on

Chaos has taken over my life in the last couple of weeks. But surprise, surprise I'm still hanging in there. Still trying to get used to my new position at school and busy as bee planning lessons for my one-to-one students. The problem with teaching students who seek English for specific purposes is that it entails a lot of reading and researching on my behalf, ie. business, media, etc. But I've never been known to turn my back to a challenge and, to be honest, I actually get a kick out of working under pressure. Induction week at school is just round the corner, so that means an extra workload with workshops to put together. Still not sure I made the right decision accepting this promotion, but I guess it's too early on to come to any conclusions. Gotta give it some more time I guess.

I had a very interesting experience yesterday. The board of my infertility association got together for a brainstorming session and it was creativity in action. What wonderful, caring people I work with. I feel so priviliged to be a part of this amazing team, better known as the A- Team.

The little guy had a wonderful start to the school year and is having a blast at school. As a mother, I couldn't ask for better. He loves school and has so much fun with his mates. I love hearing all about it when I pick him up. Man, he's growing up fast! How do you keep them your little guys forever?

And next week I'm back to a full teaching schedule, which means back to the old routine of lesson planning & teaching, together with new responsabilities. And not forgetting running around to pick up the little guy from school, letting him hang around my workplace till dad comes to pick him up to take him home cuz I'm still teaching at that time. Then running home so dad can go to teach night classes. It's a bit scary, but I think we'll manage.

Missed out on ICLW this month with all this chaos in my life, but will hopefully make up for that next month as "Iron Commenter". My apologies to all of the wonderful people who dropped a lovely comment on my blog and didn't get one in return. I feel like a bitch, but I promise to make up for that too.

Sleeping Beauty

This month has been completely crazy. It has never been so hard going back to work after the holidays like this year. Age, perhaps? Oh no, here she goes again. Speaking of age, my son made a mistake at school today and told his classmates I was 49 instead of 39! Can you believe it? I'll ignore spelling mistakes. Who cares about multiplication! Bad grade, no problem! But never, and I mean never, get your mom's age wrong. And if you do, make sure you knock a few years off.

So back to me being tired. Forget tired, I am absolutely knackered! All day long I have visions of my bed and I daydream of snoring away. I really need to get my act together and recover some of the excess energy I used to have because it's not a pretty picture right now. I need a crash course in time management. Between work, family and volunteer work, I'm having a hard time finding quiet time for myself. Today I made myself go shopping. Just few months ago it was the other way round, I had to keep myself far away from malls and shops. Although it felt quite good going on a shopping spree, it was so rushed that I really didn't enjoy it like in the good old days.

And I'm just about to embark on the ICLW marathon. I don't think my dream of becoming the iron commentor will ever come true, at least certainly not this month by the look of things.

Off I go!

Under the weather...

What a great way to spend the weekend. And aren't I lucky being married to the world's lousiest cook? I want my mommy!

Oops! I did it again

I spend my life telling my students to read or listen carefully to instructions. But do I do it myself? Course not. That's why I'm always apologising for screwing things up. I'm the one who always hands in the messiest forms because I've only just read instructions after filling in the bloody thing. Grrrr!

There I was so excited, commenting away on the IComLeavWe blogs. Each time I went back to get another blog I'd read one extra bit of the instructions. Shit! First strike: adding my blog, I forgot to mention the name and add the http. Second strike: the last day for commenting was the 28th. Dahhh! Third strike: adding the July widget to my blog when it was already over.

Sorry, folks! I promise to get it right next month. I'm just the new kid on the block!

Neither here nor there

I'm on a roll here trying to clarify some things on my blog. So, after a (painful) dip into my infertility story, it's time to set the record staight as to my whereabouts on the globe.

I'm a true Torontonian, having grown up in a Brockton Village neibourhood before moving out to the surburbs. But my heart is in the Rideau Canal, not far from Brockville & Thousand Islands, where I spent my summers as a kid with sweet Uncle Joe & mad Uncle Armie, travelling up & down the Saint Lawrence River. I guess you can say I'm a mix of city girl and country bumpkin.

Here in Portugal I met the love of my life and my partner in crime on the long road to fertility. We've been married for nearly 19 years (holy shit!) and are the proud (& wacky) parents of a 7 year-old future Brad Pitt-look-a-like IVF little boy (bet you can't say that in one breath - love those noun phrases).

And just to add to the cultural cauldron, I'm an EFL teacher in a British school, with colleagues from English-speaking countries around the globe. We have Canadians, English (keep away from them when football's on), Irish, Scottish, South Africans, Americans, Australians, etc. You can just imagine all the fun when it's the World Cup.

Portugal is a great country to live in for many reasons (although the Portuguese don't always seem to think so) with lots of expat communities seeking the best this country has to offer. One being that it treats foreigners better than its own. But I do occasionally get homesick and, through this blog, I've learnt that more than missing home, I miss the happy places from my past. So, at the beginning of each week you get a blast from my past as I take a walk down memory lane with Monday Memory.

Cool Mama

The other day my son caught me wearing an apron and he was in absolute shock. The little guy actually had the nerve to say, "Wow, mom, you look really cool. You look like a real woman!" Excuse me? What the f***! Where in the world did he get this idea that women wear aprons. Surely not from home! Doesn't mean I don't do my share of domestic tasks, actually I do more than my share. I just don't like aprons. I prefer changing into some scruffy jeans and old faded t-shirt when I get home to tackle the kitchen.

This is not the first time that he's tried to cocoon me into a more stereotypical role. He used to drive me crazy because I don't wear a wedding band. I stopped wearing my ring ages & ages ago. Shortly after getting married my husband told me he was going to stop wearing his cuz he doesn't like jewellery. Cool, I said, then I'll stop wearing mine. It was quite liberating, in fact. I got a real kick out of the reaction I'd get from people for not wearing a wedding ring. My mother-in-law, for one. It was ok that my husband wasn't wearing his. After all he's a guy. I was the big "sinner". Later on, when I started fertility treatments at the hospital, because it was through NHS, I was so afraid they wouldn't believe I was married and might somehow refuse me treatment, so I went back to wearing it. I know this sounds stupid! But I wouldn't jeopardise any chance of getting pregnant and there were times when I got a little (ok, quite a bit) paranoid about things. The ring came right off when I did finally get pregnant.

So, when my little guy was around 3 or 4 he started giving me the third degree. But he was too young to understand that his mom was just a mild rebel at heart. He doesn't bother me any more now, except on the few occasions when he says he's going to buy me a ring when he grows up. One day he'll see that being a little unconventional is what sets us apart.

Rings and aprons? No, thank you. Not for me! I don't need those things to be one cool mama!

Just like that

All day long I've been thinking about a post I read on a friend's blog. Just like me, she was lucky to experience the thrills of motherhood through IVF, after long years battling against our arch enemy - infertility! I think she's hitting what I call the "troublesome twos". Not in baby terms here, though. It's that post-successful-IVF phase, when you've settled comfortably into your new roll as a mom, but you start getting that itch that drives you crazy - you want to experience it all over again. Oh yes, I remember it well. But at the same time there's a little voice nagging at the back of your head, telling you that success is not guaranteed the next time round. So you find yourself at a crossroads. You either ignore that little voice and tell it to get lost, or you quit while you're ahead.

Now, I took the latter. Not because I'm an incredible source of wisdom. No siree! This chick here just got cold feet. For me, conquering infertility meant the doors were wide open to that world I had always dreamt of. The fertile world that everyone was going on about. Where people have sex if they want to have babies. Hurray! And if you're really lucky, you might forget your pill once and get knocked up. Yippee! Or better still, you might be so fertile that you take one look at your partner and...a drum roll...you're pregnant. Pretty amazing, eh? So after having had a baby, even though there's infertility looming in the background, people tell me to be careful, lots of women get pregnant like that (snap of the fingers) once they've had a baby. "Like that?" I ask. "Just like that!" (snap of the fingers) Wow! Awesome!

I know what you're thinking. If you're a little skeptical about the look and snap of the fingers, don't worry. So am I. Especially in my case - no tubes! And even if you tell these fertile people that your fallopian tubes had to be removed, they won't listen. "So-and-so got pregnant and I heard she didn't have tubes", they say. "Really? And was it just like that?" I ask. "You betcha," they say. So, I like going along with the whole charade. It makes me feel super-duper fertile. I take the piss out of people. And it's a barrel of laughs along the way.

So, you see, I like the illusion of belonging to a world that I know is not my own. Going through IVF again would mean facing up to the bitter reality that no look, pill slip, or snap of the finger would do it for me. I'd be lucky if I managed to get my ovaries producing a couple of good eggs. My son was the luck of the draw and quitting while I'm ahead, is my way of calling the shots now. My days of docs, labs, shots & meds are long gone! It's goodbye and good riddance!

Home Alone

My guys are out for a couple of hours and I have the house to myself. The little guy wanted an ice cream sundae, so big guy took him into town. And a word of caution from me before they left...."take your time!"

Although I don't admit it to them, I always get an uneasy feeling when they're not around. Seems the house becomes incredibly big and quiet. Now that's not something you get a lot of around here - peace & quiet. So, I'm ready to quick off the heels, hit the couch and get out yesterday's paper (cuz forgot to read it & don't want to let it go to waste). I might even turn on the TV, that's if my guys haven't hidden the remotes. They have a habit of hiding them from each other.

Bet you any money that once I'm settled comfortably on the sofa I'll get bored stiff. So, if I'm not back soon with another blog post, that means peace & quiet isn't so bad after all. Or could also mean that this old lady has fallen asleep while watching TV.

Sorry, folks, what a sad excuse for a post!

Don't mess with Major Mom!

Ok, I had a bad night's sleep. Went to bed really late last night cuz I wanted to finish off a translation so it wouldn't be looming over my head throughout the weekend. Thought I could sleep in a bit today, but I thought wrong. With my parents over for a few days, forget what I want to do. It's all about HER! The Commander-in-chief! Major MOM.

At 6:30 in the morning she walks into my bedroom, without knocking I might add, saying that I have to get up immediately to run some errands with her. WTF (*), I thought. Am I back at summer camp? Had it been anybody else attempting a stunt like this, I would have knocked them over the head with the bedside lamp! But you don't mess with mom. You can probably get away with it when you're 4, but certainly not when you're (nearly) 40. So, I practically jumped to my feet to salute her.

I sometimes find myself wondering about all that power that moms exert, in an almost military fashion. Just observe a grown man when he's around his mom. He turns into a little puppy, begging for a bone. Does he challenge Major Mom? Absolutely not! He fears for his life. I wonder if that's part of the appeal that draws us to motherhood.

I'm a bit of a Major Mom at home, as well. I confess! I'm well aware of that. I try really hard to be one of those laid-back moms that doesn't fuss over every little thing, but sometimes it's stronger than me. For one, it's schedules and routines. It's military punctuality that I instill here at home. Sometimes my husband tells me to chill out a little. He says "Just relax! It won't kill him if he's a few minutes late for school." And I try to do just that, but then I get this uneasiness building up inside, the clock tick-tocking away and I can't control myself. I go into military mode, shouting "Hurry up! Get those sock on! Brush your teeth! Swallow down your breakfast! March down those stairs! Hup two three four!".

So, I just figured it out! We will do anything it takes, even enduring the pain of fertility treatments, because we want to be Major Mom!

(*) What the fuck!

What are little boys made of?

"Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails

That's what little boys are made of!"

Mother Goose Rhymes

Little boys are odd creatures. They are at their happiest when covered in soot, from head to toe, with grime collecting under their nails, snotty noses, easily wiped on their forearms, and personalised finger-printed t-shirts. Being the mom of a (nearly) seven-year old has certainly been quite a learning experience.

Now I understand where that old saying comes from: "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". Part of the growing-up process involves the development of their olfactory senses (at a very early stage). Yesterday we decided to try out our new fancy-schmancy gas barbeque. I had some spare ribs and chicken on the grill & last minute decided to throw in some sausages (the little guy's favourite). Meanwhile, my son was leaning over on the fence, chatting away to his 2 pals from across the street.

One of the boys called out "What's that smell?".

My son answered "Oh it's just my mom testing out her new barbeque".

"What's she cooking? Smells good."

He came running over to check & went back to fill him in on his findings.

To which the little boy replied sadly, "Gosh, you're lucky. We're going to have fish."

I was listening in to the conversation and, at this point, decided to step in and told my son to invite his little friends over. In the meantime, I decided to throw in some fries as I'm quite familiar with the size of little boy's tummies. I gave them a plate of sausages and, had just turned my back for a second, when I noticed that they had gobbled them all down. Wow! Hummm! Would there be enough food at this pace? Luckily, I remembered I still had some brownies in the fridge, which would do just fine for dessert. Don't even ask me what those three little boys looked like after getting their hands on some barbequed meat. FILTHY!

Today I took my son to school with me. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to take him to work with me thoughout July. It's nice to have him around, but so difficult to keep him entertained while I'm working. Also, it's hard making him aware that his behaviour has to be different in my work space. It's not like being at home. So, I tell him that he just has to regard me as a teacher when he's at school with me. Well, I was in the middle of a class today and had left him in the computer room playing some games. All of sudden he came storming into my classroom and shouted "Sorry, teacher mom! I can't hold it any longer... can I go pee?" The class just burst out laughing, but I was all flustered as I ushered him out the door, reminding him that he doesn't have to ask permission to perform his basic bodily functions. JUST GO!

Boys will be boys, they say! And I do so love my little boy!

My Visual DNA

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IVF Me

Here we go...my South Park avatar. Look how cute I am! Got my meds in the knapsack and hormone shot in my hand. It's IVF me!

NB: It's that silly season. Looks like I haven't got anything better to do with my time. Actually I do, but not in the mood for anything other silliness.

Monday Memory

There's definitely something wrong when you've got me posting Janis Joplin & Joni Mitchell one after the other. A bit of nostalgia? Perhaps age kicking in? Well, I can tell you it certainly hasn't been an easy week. And I take refuge in memories - my safe haven in troubled times.

I love Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi. To be honest, I love all her music. And a true Canuck! There are many other covers of this song, the most recent one being by Counting Crows, I think. But you just can't beat the original.

"I wrote 'Big Yellow Taxi' on my first trip to Hawaii. I took a taxi to the hotel and when I woke up the next morning, I threw back the curtains and saw these beautiful green mountains in the distance. Then, I looked down and there was a parking lot as far as the eye could see, and it broke my heart... this blight on paradise. That's when I sat down and wrote the song."

http://archive.southcoasttoday.com/daily/12-96/12-07-96/b01ae065.htm

Friday Flower

Evening primrose is a native American wildflower, named for the late afternoon opening of its delicate flowers. Its seeds are considered the best natural source of cis-gamma-linolenic acid (GLA). Evening primrose oil (EPO) has become a medically accepted treatment for fibrocystic breast disease in the United States and Europe. It is commonly used for PMS and symptoms of menopause. Evening primrose oil is widely used in Europe for diabetic neuropathy, cyclic mastitis, and eczema.

This is my new hope to deal with the discomfort of fibrocystic breast disease that has come to haunt me once my infertility struggle came to an end.

Dead ends, new beginnings

Ten years ago today, I thought I had reached the end of a dead-end street. Little did I know that there was a new road ahead. It was just the beginning.

After three pregnancy losses, so many surgeries, endless treatments, countless disapointments, heartbreak & pain, I thought luck had finally come knocking at my door. A pregnancy. Unannounced. Unexpected. And just as one opens the shutters in the morning to let in the first rays of sun, I, too, opened my heart to this miracle of life.

What at first appeared to be a dream come true, turned out to be my worst nightmare. Another ectopic pregnancy. The loss of my second tube. The end of a dream.

Waking up from the surgery was entering the depths of hell. For a brief moment I didn't want to live. I was surrounded by my loved ones, whispering words of comfort, when all I wanted to do was shout to the world "Please let me go."

But what we sometimes believe to be dead-ends, are nothing less than beginnings.

So, ten years later I celebrate the end of a road and the beginning of a new one.

Do not disturb

With exam season just round the corner and a million reports to write, time may be lacking for the things I really enjoy (liking bitching about my age). However, I will try to keep my regular features going.

Though, knowing me, this is probably just a bunch of bullshit. The more things I have to do, the more I try to escape from them.

Rain

I just can't take this anymore. Just checked the forecast for the next couple of days and it's rain, rain, rain. I am utterly depressed, with bouts of seasonal affective disorder & risking becoming a very violent person if the sun doesn't come out soon. I'm more than ready to put away the wellies and get out my sandals. I've cancelled pedicures twice because I'm not going to waste money if I can't show off my toe nails. "Rain, rain go away, come back another day. Little Johnny wants to play."

The only good thing about rain that occurs to me is this amazing song "Chuva/Rain", in Mariza's mesmerizing voice.

With the English translation of the lyrics:

Chuva (Rain)

Things that are ugly in life

Leave us with no longings,

It's only memories

That make us cry or smile.

There are people who remain a part of us

And become a part of our own story

While there are others

Whose names we hardly remember.

Feelings are which give life

To the nostalgia I carry

Of the one I held close and then somehow lost.

The rain wets my body

So cold and so tired

The many streets in the city

Each one I have wandered

With the tears of a lost child

Echoed back from the city,

The fire of love quickly put out

In the rain.

The rain listened and whispered

My secret to the city

And now when it taps on my window

It still brings back the nostalgia.