I’m on a very slow computer in our resort, normally reserved for teenagers checking Facebook.  Okay, so I already checked Facebook, what of it?

Anyway, we came back to where we went last year because they have 6 hours of children’s program a day (including infants) and they cook some pretty good food (especially dinners, proper restaurant decent 3 course generous meals) and we needed to get away for a little bit together. And so we’re here for a long weekend this time.

Jesus.  It just took me 10 minutes to get this on here.  I don’t miss dial up.  I gotta get home to my proper internet.  Tomorrow!  Gotta go get Oliver from program now.  Callum and Mark are napping together.

I was at the grocery store the other day, and as usual, I had my coupons lined up with the relevant purchases to make it easier for the cashier (they’ve told me they prefer this rather than getting them at the end).

“Hmm,” she says to me, “you like coupons, don’t you?”

YES, THANKS.  I don’t see any problem with saving a bit of money on my purchases, thanks very much lady.  I am sorry this is such a hassle for you today.  Anyway, we ran into a bit of a problem with a $10 coupon I had for a Gillette Fusion razor for Mark.  It was on sale for $8.99 so I was expecting to get it free.  She couldn’t get it to scan properly.  She calls someone, and they tell her that I haven’t spent enough money to use it.  I start protesting, as it’s a manufacturers coupon with no restrictions printed on it, so I end up at customer service, complaining – and they had no problem honouring it.

Mark needs razors – why not get him a free one?  Coupons save me money on stuff I’d buy anyway (like diapers, or Yo Baby yogurts, or 30% off clothes at H&M or Children’s Place) or stuff I might like to try (companies often provide coupons to promote new products).  I won’t buy something with a coupon if I don’t care about the name brand and the store brand/no name is cheaper (this applies to much of my shopping cart – but there are a few things where I do prefer the name brand).  I don’t have much brand loyalty, so I can be flexible enough to make them work for me.

There’s a coupon book that is used as a fund raising tool – my mother’s school, where she works, sells them.  So I have one that we got for Christmas.  And we have used it a number of times – to discover local restaurants (we found a great Italian place, had a wonderful meal, and it was like half the price it would have been) or buy-one-get-one-free on Ben and Jerry’s ice cream cones or whatever.

As my mother’s summer off of work is coming to an end, I decided that yesterday I’d pack up the kids and head to my parents’ house in Oshawa to visit, and we’d go to the zoo there as a treat.  Because I had a coupon.

Zoos are expensive.  Well, at least the Toronto Zoo and Bowmanville Zoos are, on a normal day (you know, without a coupon or a discount of some kind!)  So I was interested to see what it was like, and get my 50% off, thanks very much.

My review of the Oshawa Zoo – it sucked.  Don’t waste your time or your money.  Closer to our home, there’s a farm/petting zoo that Oliver loves.   They have loads of different animals, exotic birds, they ask that you bring veggies and bread to feed them, there’s a hand washing station, and it’s FREE.  Yes, FREE.  They ask for donations, and they charge for pony rides.

The Oshawa Zoo had almost the same kinds of animals as the farm, but for a couple of lemurs and a monkey.  They want you to feed their animals too, but don’t provide hand sanitizer or hand washing.  They actually charged me for Callum’s entry – yes, a baby – which I was so surprised by I didn’t manage to argue about.   So if I hadn’t had my coupon, it would have been a $26 visit.  $13 was bad enough.

A lesson in coupons.  I’m still clipping them, though.  Times are tough, money’s short, blah blah blah…

So we have about the hairiest, highest shedding animals ever – some sort of Persian cat and a Golden Retriever.  Basically if you come into my house,  you will leave with pet fur on you, no doubt.  Basically my children are growing up on a diet that has dog hair as one of the major food groups.

So I was interested to read some very positive unsolicited reviews of a brush thingie called the Furminator on Dooce and All & Sundry.  And then today I went to PetSmart and thought, jesus, that thing better be worth the price.  [Be smarter than me and check Ebay first, please.]  And thought, what the hell, I’ll give it to Mark as a ‘welcome home’ present – now go brush the damn cat, please.

Anyway, I brought it home and used it on Piper and within 5 minutes the entire room, my clothing, Oliver, everything was covered in enough hair to make a whole other dog.  I don’t have the camera, I wish I did, but basically this photo is VERY accurate.  Five minutes was about all I could do as Piper hates being brushed.  And I was starting to itch.  And there was about a cat’s worth of hair on my jeans.  And it took me 15 minutes to vacuum it all up.

So here’s another blog plugging the Furminator (except, of course, I have about 789,956,732 less readers than Linda or Heather, and who the hell cares about what I have to say) – and my recommendation is to use it naked, and in a small uncarpeted room with the door shut.  Or outside, if you live in the middle of nowhere and you won’t get fur tumbleweeds in your neighbours’ yard – but still naked.  Unfortunately trying to vacuum my clothing didn’t work out so well.

She already looks thinner, she’s lost so much sheddy undercoat (hmm, does this work on humans?).  I will attack her again soon.  I may even be really ambitious and give her a bath this week.

Not only is the kitchen clean, but I’ve kept it clean.  That’s just unheard of around here.

I’ve caught up on laundry.

I’ve put recycling and garbage in the garage where it should be.

I’ve paid attention to the dog and the cat (the cat, begrudgingly, needs medicine right now, horrible thing).

I’m learning, not surprisingly, that life would be easier with one kid.  Not better.  Easier.

Or is it the absence of the husband that is making the difference??  Ha ha.

Actually, it’s mainly giving me hope that when they are both older, there will be more time to breathe.  I’ve been able to do stuff like read the newspaper the day it arrives, get on the computer not just during naptime, shower, tidy, whatever – just because I wanted to.  I’ve forgotten what that was like.  I know, I know, I know it’s going to get better.  It’s hard to see past the end of a regular day, though.  So now I’ve experienced life as it might be when Callum is 2.5 and Oliver is 4.5 and things could be pretty cool around here.

Mark’s maternal grandmother died when Oliver was 9 months old, shy a day.

Mark’s paternal grandmother died when Callum was 9 months old, shy a day.

Weird, eh?

It’s only a few weeks (okay, 7) until I go back to work.  I’m looking forward to it for myself, truly I am.  But this time it’s a lot more bittersweet than last time (god, I was so ready last time) since I don’t think Callum is very ready for full time daycare.

So he’s starting full time daycare a few weeks earlier than Oliver started part time daycare, but he just seems so much younger. I know that I have enjoyed his babyhood more than I enjoyed Oliver’s, and I was just desperate for Oliver to grow up really, but Callum really does seem like more of a baby than Oliver did.  I haven’t taught him to put himself to sleep yet.  He can’t hold his bottle yet.  He’s a little ball of baby needs.

And, he’s a mom addict.  Oliver seriously could have smiled at someone at the grocery store, had them smile back at him, had them take him home, and he would have loved them forever.  Mummy who?  He was always a flirt with strangers and never had any issue being left with relatives or starting daycare.  God, he loved daycare when he first started it (I think he actually likes it less now, and is probably more attached to us now than he used to be).

Callum, on the other hand, is not at all Mr. Independent.  He’s Mr. Clingy.  He sees me and sighs this big sigh full of mummy love.  He has sometimes refused to drink milk, eat food or settle to sleep for other people.  I mean, it’s lovely, but I am not used to it!  And it makes doing things without him much more difficult.  The division of labour in this house, since he was born, has also fostered this.  I’m in charge of the baby, and when he’s home and available, Mark is in charge of Oliver.  This is so strongly ingrained that when Mark picked up Callum to go and change him the other day, Oliver gave us his over-the-top shocked as hell face (mouth and eyes wide open) and said ‘No!  Callum is Mummy’s!’ – like Mark was stealing him away from me.

My mother has summers off of work, and so as we’re spending more time with her lately, I’m trying to leave Callum with her more often.  And then we were presented with the biggest opportunity of all to alleviate the cling factor.  Mark is, last minute, going to England for a week on Saturday so that he can attend his grandmother’s funeral with his family.  And he’s taking Callum.

My first instinct was no, but he’s reassured me with his confidence that he will be fine taking care of him, and he’s not worried about it at all, thank you very much.  And me?  Oh boy, I am going to be spoiled for a week.  Oliver and I are planning lots of adventures.  I can get stuff done around the house (or at least I’d better get stuff done!) and I have THREE DAYS child free while he’s at daycare.  I already have a plan to see friends in Toronto for lunch one of those days.  What a luxury – a week of mat leave and no baby.

But I am really going to miss that loved-up face:

Or rather, why 08/08/08 turns out to be not a very lucky day for me at all.

We just found out Mark’s grandmother, his last remaining grandparent, his father’s mother, Oliver’s ‘Nanny’,  died today.  (Consolation prize: she was 97, she died peacefully in her sleep, we don’t have to visit the nursing home anymore, we just saw her when we visited the UK last month).

Callum seemed extra sick yesterday.  I spent most of the day at my parent’s house and I knew that my doctor’s office is closed for holidays, so I was thinking about taking him to a walk-in clinic today.  Except he coughed his lungs out, choking, the ENTIRE journey home (1 hr 15 mins), including while sleeping.  I came in, Mark put Oliver to bed, I had a shower, and then I took Callum to the hospital.  Eventually, 2am, we could go home with a prescription.  Yet again, ‘I don’t really hear anything in his chest, but there might be a shadow on this chest x-ray but I am not really sure so here are some antibiotics’ (third time that’s been said to me).

Came home, put him to bed, hoped he would sleep (he did a bit but kept fussing with the cough) but I didn’t sleep a lot.  Because I had another appointment to worry about this morning.

While we were in England, we sort of realized how much Oliver was sweating while he was sleeping.  Like leaving giant circles of sweat on his pillow and in his bed, even while napping on the airplane.  I sort of thought it was weird since it didn’t seem that hot.  And then I started thinking about random other symptoms and illnesses he has or has had.  And then I got a little worried.

My list:

• night sweats
• nosebleeds
• bruises easily
• unexplained rashes
• fever with sometimes no apparent cause
• irritability (yeah, I know, he’s 2.5 years old, the dictionary definition of irritable, what do I expect)

Do I need to spell it out?  You parental types will get it.  C-A-N-C-E-R.  L-E-U-K-E-M-I-A.   Fully aware that all of the above can be easily explained by many other things and not freaking out by Googling these symptoms too much, we rationally decided that it warranted investigation.  Which is when I discovered my doctor conveniently decided to go on holiday for 2 weeks or so (okay, I’m so kidding, the woman totally deserves a vacation, can I come?).  We got a referral to a pediatrician from a walk-in clinic.  The appointment was this morning.

The doctor was great.  He was thorough.  And he listened.  And fantastic!  He found another symptom!

Oliver has petechiae.  I’m stealing an explanation from the internet:  pinpoint-sized red dots under the surface of the skin – red because they contain blood that has leaked from tiny blood vessels (capillaries) into the skin.  A low platelet count (thrombocytopenia) is a common cause of petechiae. Platelets play an important role in blood clotting.

And then Mr. Peds said he looks really healthy, and the petechiae are the only minor concern he has – but only if they spread.  He suspects they might be there from Oliver scratching his torso when he’s had execema/dry winter skin.  And then!  He found ringworm on his leg!! Good god, I really can’t take all of this.  We’re now harvesting skin fungus.  I’m just relieved it’s not actually a WORM in his skin (I just learned that, thanks Wikipedia!).

And then we had McDonalds for lunch and it tasted like crap (because it always does) and then I doubled over with cramps and then we came home to news of Mark’s Nan and then I collapsed because today is just too much.  Or rather, that’s what I am going to do right now.  After I eat some cake and drink 2 bottles of wine.  Okay, maybe I’ll just have tea.

Aw crap, I just remembered that Callum projectile vomitted up his antibiotics and his lunch and his milk all over the high chair so I’d better deal with that instead.  THANKS, TODAY.  Today has defeated me.

• Third wedding anniversary today.  Three years of marital strife what the hell was I thinking wedded bliss.
• Callum has one of his top teeth coming through and I don’t remember Oliver’s teething sucking this much.  Must read archives and see if I’ve conveniently forgotten.  He’s in loads of pain, barely eating solids, has a nice little cold (his coughing at the grocery store today caused lots of people to give me nasty looks – what, like he can’t leave the house?!) and he’s been waking up and fussing more than normal at night.  Except last night he didn’t stir from 10pm to 6:30am which was a nice change from the last few days.
• I am on a very tight budget until I go back to work in 2 months’ time.  My income is about 50% of what it is normally.  But THE SALES.  I keep finding THE BARGAINS.  And I really seriously can not stop myself.  PJ’s for Oliver for $3!!  Cute Steve Madden shoes (in brown) for $50 (okay, not that much of a deal).  I am going to start making myself stay home, clean, use the Wii Fit, and blog.  MUST NOT SHOP / LEAVE THE HOUSE.  None of us really need clothes right now.  Or shoes.  We are well stocked.  I need to turn on some switch in my head that can resist the 50% off sticker.

When I was growing up, near Vancouver and outside of Toronto, there was never anyone else in my class named Emma – never anyone in the same school.  We had spent two years in South Korea where I went to a British school, and there were so many Emma’s that I had to be Emma B., so I knew that somewhere, there were others like me!  And, whenever we went anywhere in Canada that you could buy items with your name printed on them (e.g. pens, stationary, stickers, etc.), they never had my name.  Except if we went to England.

It’s one of those things about childhood that stays with you, and your parents really can’t win-suppose they had named me Jennifer.  I would have been one of many, and that probably would have bugged me.  Instead, it bugged me that I was the only Emma.

So these are the things you think about when you have your own children – and I just repeated history.  Both of my sons (one born in England, one born in Canada, both being raised in Canada) have names that are very common in England and barely exist in Canada.  I mean, people don’t really know how to pronounce Callum or even know what I am saying when they ask me his name.  It was seriously freaking to be shopping in Milton Keynes (England) a couple of weeks ago and hear a few mums call for their own Callums.  I think Oliver might be on the rise here; it’s not quite as unheard of as it was a couple of years ago.

Both of them have middle names reflecting male family members on both sides.  Oliver’s first name, it turns out, is also a very common family name on the paternal side.  But Callum just came out of nowhere – as pretty much the only name that Mark and I could sort of agree on.

But again, if they want anything with their name on it, either I have to make it, or we buy it in England.  Or people from England give it to them.  (Sorry, I meant if I want it, they could care less right now!)

Several people I know, including one of my cousins, have had sons in the last week or two, all with names that we considered for either one or both children. Mathew.  Rhys. Liam. Benjamin. All good names. It’s so hard to know what is right, when you consider the future of your child. Is he going to get beaten up in the playground for having a name that they can really turn in to something terrible? (not going to post what we worry Oliver will be called!)

Very bravely, Catwoman is actually having a contest to name her unborn son.  I think I am too chicken to enter.  It’s hard enough to decide on your own offspring.  I don’t want to gamble with someone else’s future!