here in my head

There’s been so much I’ve wanted to blog about this last week, but there’s been so little time. I have no idea how the time flies and how at one point in my life I managed to work full time and go to university full time and still, STILL, have time to blog. And watch TV. And sleep. I was clearly a superhero…

But now, apparently, it’s a miracle that I manage to squeeze in my half-hour viewing of the Office every week (and sometimes, I’m doing that late at night on my laptop because Thursday at 9 p.m. is just not convenient) and get to the blog once a week. And instead of writing about things that catch my interest, things like Margaret Wente’s column where she stated that women don’t blog or the show we saw at the NAC last week, you get this…Because by now it’s all been discussed…

Last week was Spring Break, which means nothing to childless types like Mike and me, except that the traffic on Mike’s commute to work was even lighter than usual, and my strength-training classes were cancelled. Which meant that instead of taking the bus one hour across town post work on Wednesday, I got to go out with some coworkers to hit a bar in the market for St. Patrick’s Day. And, for the first time in my life, had green beer (well, cider, due to the whole no-gluten thing. Stupid gluten…) Thursday night was date night, thanks to the NAC and DaniGirl. The NAC gave Dani two tickets to their Pop’s concert Mysteroso to give away on her blog. And I was the lucky winner. It was a fun night out, not least of all because I finally got to meet Dani in real life. The show was fun – I’m a sucker for illusions. It wasn’t a show we’d normally have chosen, but we enjoyed it none-the-less and on the walk home Mike suggested we should look into shows at the NAC more often – especially since it’s now just a 15 minute walk home rather than a 40 minute drive. On Friday, we got our new granite kitchen countertops installed and I am in love. They are so pretty. I feel very old now, getting so excited about granite, but I’ll get over it. Now if only the restoration company could come and finish off the rest of the kitchen and then we’d be done… That would be nice. Living in half-finished renos for months now has been stressful, to say the least. It will be good to have everything back to rights and then maybe, just maybe, we can proceed to unpacking the remaining boxes. Six months after we moved in. What a concept.

Yeah, I’m bored reading that too.

I’ve been struggling ever since giving up the old blog and starting this new one on what I want to get out of blogging. What do I want this blog to be? Do I even want to blog? I keep coming back to it, so yes, I do think that I want to be blogging. But do I want this to be more than just a rehash of the minor day-to-day goings on in my world? And if so, what do I want to write about? And how do I ensure that I carve space out in my life to make blogging happen? I don’t expect anyone to have the answers, when I don’t myself. But these are the things that go around in my head as I sit down to write. And when I’m rushing around thinking “hey, I’d really like to blog about that” but then never get (or take) the time. Maybe blogging about the mundane once a week fills a need and that’s how it will continue, but somehow I really think I’d like this to be more than that. Either that or not do it at all.

The weather outside of late has been amazing. Warm, sunny, positively springlike. Not at all like March. Exactly as I would like every March to be… As a result I’ve been spending a lot of time outside, which has had an amazing affect on my mood. Walking is an excellent balm for the soul – I don’t know why I seem to have trouble remembering that…

Today’s walk gave me the chance to explore a new area near my neighbourhood I hadn’t discovered before – this little touch of paradise tucked away in the middle of the city. I never knew these little offshoot creeks from the river existed, these quaint wooden bridges passing over. Picturesque parks. Bliss. Peace.

I will never regret moving downtown. This is the life I hoped for, the lifestyle I wanted.

I wish I had more talent in interior design. I wish I was better at picking paint colours and visualizing what a little paint chip will look like when it’s fully on my wall. I wish granite countertops weren’t so expensive. I wish Mike and I had more similar tastes so it didn’t take so long for us to come to a consensus on what we want for the house. I wish renovations didn’t cause so much dust, and didn’t take so long. I really wish my contractor was actually a fairy godmother and could just wave a magic wand and make my house perfect again. I wish our pipes hadn’t leaked. I wish my kitchen wasn’t torn apart making cooking difficult. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I know that once this is done, we will be even happier with the kitchen than we were when we first bought this place. I know that once this is complete, it will be worth it. I know that once this is done, I will have a space that is my own, not just inherited from someone else’s tastes. I know that once this is done, we will have shiny black granite countertops. We will have the simple, crisp, white subway tile back-splash I love so much. I know that once this is done, and my house is once again in order, I will not feel so much in upheaval. I know that this will not last forever. I know that it will be done soon. I know that it will be worth it. I know, I know, I know.

But still. It would be grand if it didn’t have to be torn down to be built back up. It would be grand if we didn’t have to have chaos in order to have peace. And it would have been good had we not picked such a stupid colour for our dining room wall…

What a wild week it’s been – it’s as if every aspect of my life was conspiring to make me as busy as I ever have been. Work has been insanely busy, which is wonderful in some ways, because being busy is far preferred to being bored, but is also exhausting. And the renovations to repair the damage from the leak last month have begun so my kitchen (my beautiful, dream kitchen) is being ripped apart. Every day it’s something new that needs to be done. In the end it will be fine, with new refinements that allow us to make it our own, rather than just what it was when we bought it (which was still pretty spectacular). It’s just the process of getting there that is not fun. The physical upheaval causes psychological upheaval – chaos in my living space is not conducive to peace in my head. And my social life exploded this week as well – Mike picked me up from the train station last Sunday with just enough time to run my bags home, pat the cats hello, and then rush out again for a Superbowl party we’d promised we’d attend. Monday night was my strength training class, which ran late, so I wasn’t home until after 8 p.m. Tuesday night was a haircut and then dinner out and errands to run while Mike went to volleyball. Wednesday was another strength training class which, once again, ran late. And also saw me committing to walk the half-marathon in May with a couple women from my class who have never walked one and wanted to. So now I’m dusting off the training plan and trying to find time to fit in long walks again… Thursday is our ski lesson night, so it was home from work for a quick change and then run to the hill. And Friday we were off to Mt. Tremblant for the weekend with three of our closest friends.

Tremblant was wonderful and busy and exhausting. I finally made it to the top of the mountain and attempted to make it down by ski. I was not successful. I made it half-way down, but not without stress and tears – I am not ready, or I do not have the confidence to ski some of the even moderate steepness of the ‘easy’ slopes, despite my best efforts. Skiing triggers some of my deepest seated fears – heights, speed, injury, pain, failure, etc., etc., etc… I keep trying because I have moments of understanding what it is that makes this a much-loved sport of many, including my husband. I have moments where the fear subsides and the thrill of the (timid, tepid) speed takes over, but those are few and far between. I want to enjoy this sport. I want to have a winter activity I enjoy. But I also have to wonder how many times I will put myself through this? How long do I keep trying, keep giving myself panic attacks, before I say “Enough. I have tried enough. This is not for me”? I have three weeks of lessons left, lessons I intend to finish. And then, from there, we’ll see.

All in all things have been fantastic, even if they have been stressful. We’re out living our life if nothing else. And how can we complain about that?!

I head home tomorrow, which yay! Because I miss Mike like crazy. And the cats. And my own bed. But also boo, because it means that I have to leave my beautiful niece. There have been times this week when I have been homesick, when I have been frustrated, when I have been sad or angry or confused. But those times have never been when I’m with her. She is one of the happiest kids in the world, full of smiles, giggles, and unabandoned joy. Sure, there have been some tears, but they never last long, and usually are because she is hungry or tired. One-year-olds can’t help but be in the moment, and by virtue of being wrapped up in her every action, her every giggle (and let me tell you there is no better giggle than hers), her every smile, her every new word, I can’t help but be in the moment when I’m with her. With her, I wasn’t seeking out the computer for distraction. I wasn’t worrying about what waits in store for me at work on Monday. I wasn’t thinking about whether we’ll ever have a baby of our own, and why haven’t we had one yet, and what happens if we can’t and all those other thoughts that roll around my head these days. I wasn’t anywhere but there, in the moment with her. The challenge in leaving tomorrow is how to keep that sense of being in the moment and take it with me, even though I won’t have her with me, reminding me with her smile.

What I will also miss? How she whispers “App-ple” and “Haaat” when we read her ABC book. How she “woof”s everytime she sees a dog – real, picture or stuffed toy. How she imitates me everytime I cough. How she’ll bring me a book and then raise her arms up and say “up” so I’ll lift her on my lap to read. How she tries to imitate me when I sing. How she will hit the button on her toy until it plays “if you’re happy and you know it” and then claps along. How she starts shouting “Hi! Hi! Hi!” as soon as she hears her daddy come home from work. How she snuggles and cuddles into you when you take her up for her nap, or pick her up from her nap. And most of all, I will miss how she dances whenever she hears music.

In a few short hours I’ll be on the train making my way to Toronto to celebrate the first birthday of my niece. And then I get to stay for the rest of the week and play with her. I know, you’re jealous. Sure, I could have used one week of my vacation to go somewhere warm and exotic and relaxing and full of sun (which, now that I think of it, I really should have done, what with the incredibly cold temperatures we’re getting today…) but honestly, I don’t think anything warms me quite as much as this little girl’s smile.

Halloween Claire

See, isn’t she gorgeous? And no, I’m not biased…

Anyway, as I will be devoting much of my time in the next week to trying to entice giggles and smiles from a soon-to-be one-year-old (tomorrow!), I don’t anticipate spending much time in the land of the interweb. So in case you don’t hear from me for a while, you’ll know where I am. Overdosing on cuteness. It will be grand.

You’ve been in my dreams lately. You’ve grown from two lines on a stick, to waving at me via ultrasound, and yet you’re still just a dream. I’ve seen your face, your tiny thumb in your mouth. I long for you to be real. I can’t tell you how my heart soars when I’m dreaming of you, and how it sinks when I wake up and I realize that no, you’re not yet true, except in my head and my heart. How bittersweet it is to wake feeling both disappointment and hope. I have to believe these dreams will, someday, be reality. That you will really come to us when the time is right. Even if I want to make that time now, I will try to be patient. I will try to trust. I will continue to hope, each month, that this is the time you decide to make your way to me. And until you do, I’ll keep looking for you when I close my eyes.

Today was apparently the the most depressing day of the year, and, I don’t know how it was for you, but here it certainly lived up to it’s moniker. I awoke from a night of tossing and turning and very little sleep to dark grey clouds and absolute pouring rain. Which would have been fine, aside from the fact that it’s JANUARY and I live in Ottawa and therefore I shouldn’t be waking up to temperatures eight degrees above zero and massive amounts of rain. And because it is January and I live in Ottawa, I will awake to a skating rink tomorrow as temperatures cool and all that lovely rain that pooled over sidewalks and walkways (and the ski hill – I’m already dreading Thursday’s lesson) will freeze. Remind me again why I live in Ottawa…

So, the rain, on top of very little sleep, a stressful weekend, and unsettling dreams made for one very cranky Suze today. Luckily a long meander home after the rain had stopped and the sun had come out just in time to make the sky pretty as it set helped to put me in a slightly better mood. I can’t tell you how much I love that I can walk to work. How much I love that my walk home takes me through the Byward Market. How much I love my neighbourhood. How much I love that our lifestyle has shifted to one where the car remains parked much of the time and we walk to get the groceries we need, or to go to the movies or to our favourite Indian food place.

Despite the stressors of the last few weeks, I am all-in-all content. Happy.

On a completely separate note, this past Saturday night was date night. We went for dinner and a movie – Up in the Air. And I realized that I have had a crush on George Clooney since I was nine years old and he was on Facts of Life. Sure Mackenzie Astin would have been more age-appropriate, but it was George. Always George. I’m still crushing now. That’s 25 years of crush, people. 25 years. One hell of a crush commitment… I’m sure if he knew he’d care not a whit…

I’m getting tired of having strange men in my house putting holes in my walls. First we had the electricians who tore my house apart for two weeks, taking out all the old, uninsurable knob and tube wiring from the entire house and replacing it with new, up-to-date, yes-we’ll-give-you-homeowners-insurance wiring, leaving many, many holes in almost every room in my beautiful, new-to-me home. Then it was the idiot workmen sent to us by the company where we bought the in-wall speakers Mike so desperately craved. Who cut holes without measuring and tried to force the speakers into spots where they clearly wouldn’t fit. Two new workmen and four upgraded speakers later, the company made up for the initial blundering fools, but we still had much patching to fix the original mistakes. Then there were the weeks of dusting up the never-ending construction silt that settled on every available surface and clogged my sinuses. But really, it was a small price to pay for up-to-code electricity and delicious sound on the main floor.

And then we come to last night, when Mike, trying hard to hide the tremor of slight panic in his voice with little success, called up from the basement: “Um, honey. We have a leak…”

It turns out that Ottawa has some very good, very friendly, plumbers that will come to your house at 10:30 p.m. to check out why, all of a sudden, you have water dripping from the ceiling in your basement. And will scare you silly with words like “full pipe replacement” and “this looks like it’s been happening for a while” and “how long have you owned this house? Three months? Yikes.” Luckily, in the fresh light of day, when another plumber had the chance to really take a close look at what was going on (by punching new, big, fancy holes in my recently patched walls, and a few new holes in my previously untouched kitchen ceiling…) it was not a full pipe replacement that was needed, no, but rather just the replacement of the part that connects the tub drain to the main drain pipe. That was what had malfunctioned. But, while the “full pipe replacement” words turned out to be wrong, sadly the “this looks like it’s been happening for a while” words were confirmed. It looks like more holes will have to be made, once more. Whole walls may need to be replaced, in fact.

I guess I can be glad we didn’t get around to painting yet. Ah yes, the brightside…

In other news, I have discovered Vodka Gimlets. This couldn’t have happened at a better time.

See – this is why I gave up resolutions. Even non-resolutions set me up to fail…it’s been almost a week since my last confession post. What can I say…I have been entirely bloggy uninspired. I’m trying to remember what I used to blog about, way back when I was blogging nearly every day. I’ll cut myself some slack, ease my self back into this blogging business…

I’m trying not to live in the past, but to be really present with where I am now, and yet I can’t help missing the holidays. Not having to do the 9-5 thing was a boon for my creativity. Having time to breathe was nice. But instead we are in the new year where I have, once again, booked myself full of activities in the evenings. Monday and Wednesday I have my strength training class for 1.5 hours. Which would be fine, not that invasive to my personal time, if it wasn’t for the 2.5 hours I have to endure on city buses to get to my class and back. I moved downtown so I could give up OC Transpo, and then I go and sign up for a course offered only a gym half way across town. Because I’m smart like that…

Thursday nights is skiing. Once again, I am braving my fear of heights, my fear of loss of control, my fear of sliding, and my fear of hurting myself and am putting sticks on my feet and sending myself down a mountain (okay, fine, not a mountain. Would you accept a really big hill?) I’m hoping to recapture some of the excitement I felt at the end of last year’s lessons without going through the crippling panic of the first seven weeks of lessons. First lesson is Thursday. Apparently I never learn. Or I’m a glutton for punishment. Or I’m still convinced that doing things that scare me is really the way to grow. Either way, wish me luck.

Oh, and if you could pass along a few blogging ideas as well, that would be swell too…