I went to Scotland and all I got was this lousy epiphany

Recently, I enjoyed a two week vacation in Scotland. With my mother.

And now you have the same squinchy face that people get when I tell them that.  The crinkled forehead that says you're trying to decide between deluded and completely fucking insane.

But, really, it was great. In fact, it was my idea. Oh, sure, there was one day, about 5 days in, where my mom snarked at some Germans in the B&B because they didn't make small talk at breakfast and in fact excluded us from their conversation by speaking German, and later she huffed and rolled her eyes at some blokes who brought a 6-pack of beer onto the train and proceeded to enjoy it, at which point I thought, holy shit, when did my Mom become a crabby old lady? But that was the same day that I snapped at her for pronouncing "Perth" in a Scottish accent, "Pairrrrth", which wouldn't be so bad except it was the only word she pronounced in a Scottish accent, and managed to do so about 20 times within 5 minutes, and if you are going to do a Scottish accent then do the whole fucking Scottish accent, at which point I'm sure she thought, holy shit, when did my daughter become a crabby old lady?

After that we went back to the B&B and had naps and from then on, at least if we were crabby old ladies we were pretty much crabby about the same thing.

At one point my Mom asked, "What will you remember about this? What will stand out?"

Lots of things, but in particular a trip we took to Lunga, where hundreds (possibly thousands) of puffins were nesting. You could stand 8 or 9 feet away from them and all they would do was give you a worried look, which I'm pretty sure is just the default look for puffins.

Puffins are nice and all but we were on Lunga for 2 hours, and that's a long time to stare at birds. So at after about half an hour I wandered off around the side of the island. Lunga was inhabited once, hundreds of years ago, and I poked about inspecting the ruins of the stone crofts and taking some pictures. 

I kept walking around the island, away from the puffins and the group of people. A rabbit spotted me and thrashed away through the heather. A bee the size of my palm droned by, interested only in the swathes of bluebells that were carpeting the island.

I followed a path and found myself, suddenly, in a small valley. I could no longer hear human voices, and the ocean was far away and down a cliff. The wind died, and I stopped walking. Complete and utter silence crushed down.

I panicked, almost. You are never that far away from some kind of sound or movement. You don't realize the constant humming, murmuring, clicking, rumbling, whooshing, going on until it's gone. It was like the world ended and I didn't get the memo.

Then another bee bumbled past and the undergrowth rustled and the panic lifted off my chest. But it continued to be so still, so muted, that I stood there for a good five minutes just being. I realized at some point I had started crying.

I kept following the path, around the island until I reached a small sign that said "paths may be hazardous, visitors proceed at own risk". Twenty feet past that was a sheer cliff that plunged into the sea. Just a bit hazardous.

So I turned around, and near the small valley I met my Mom, who had tired of puffins as well and followed the same path. We sat down on the springy grass and had a lunch of oat cakes and mandarins. The sun warmed our companionable silence. 

"I could die here," my Mom said, "In perfect happiness."

I felt the same way, but instead I made a sarcastic comment about how much of a pain it would be to get her body back to Canada, because I talk all the time, I never really stop, but when it comes to saying anything that might cut my heart, I have no words.

I'm as silent as that valley.

The family that buys nerdy presents together...

(I bought Xander's from primobambino on etsy, and hubby bought the one I'm wearing a while ago thinking it was actually a blanket. Imagine our delight when we discovered it was actually a cape. OMG! WHAT FUN!)

(Hubby would like to point out that Xander's cape sports the movie logo, while mine has the original comic book and TV series logo.)

(We are beyond geeky at this point. It's okay to point and laugh.)


Five years ago today, all of my friends - even Politika, who lives on the coast - pulled up at my house in a limo. A "well stocked with booze" limo. I had spent the day shopping, I was sporting a new haircut, wearing new clothes. Nice, expensive clothes, without food or snot or tears on them.

(Clothes I no longer fit into)

The limo took us out for an expensive dinner, we dined and drank and laughed. Then it took us to every bar or lounge where we knew the bartender, which was...every bar or lounge. We celebrated and were celebrated, we charmed and acquired people in our limo and had shooters named in our honour. We were freaking rock stars.

We ended up at a club where we danced all night and closed the place down. At one point I pressed my face into the chest of the man who would one day become the father of my child, and moaned drunkenly and melodramatically, "I'm not going to make it!"

I spent the next day in bed, and didn't emerge until 4pm. That legendary evening was hailed thereafter as "The Day My Friends Tried To Kill Me With Alcohol".

Today, this year, I blissfully slept in until the unheard-of hour of 8am. I dozed and listened to the murmur of voices, tiny feet dancing, toddler giggles.

I got out of bed and the three-foot-tall light of my life ran up to me with a small box. He tripped away, laughing, as I opened it. And then the six-foot-tall light of my life, who had followed his son, asked me to marry him.

I said, y'know, I'd think about it.

We had breakfast and I went to the gym. I had a nap. I went out for lunch with my best friend and my favorite short person, then played in the garden for the afternoon. We had a great dinner, a glass of wine.


(I'm just fucking with you. Of course I said YES. Duh.)

Probably the one and only post where I talk about my uterus. You've been warned.

I've been a little distracted lately, not really blogging angst but I'm having a hard time coming up with things to post. Mostly because I'm thinking about just this ONE thing.

I've had some issues with the, uh, plumbing for a few months. Things are not, shall we say, regular.

Oh, fuck it. I haven't had a period since January. There.

(Apologies to my two male readers. Hi Captain! Hi Cameron! You're allowed to go watch the game now, have a beer and ignore the rest of this post. Although, you're both parents so you must have SOME idea of how this works).

I've also had some weird hot flashes and various other goings-on, so at my physical this week I mentioned all this to my doctor. And she decided to test me for a) premature menopause and b) polycystic ovarian syndrome.

Yeah. Sounds fun, right? Both of those present problems, should I ever want to provide my son with a sibling.

I said, "Um," and my doctor said (in an annoyingly cheerful, I'm-done-having-all-my-children kind of way) "Good thing you guys are done, right? Aren't you done?"

And in that instant, months of waffling and humming and gawd-do-I-never-want-to-be-pregnant-again turned into OMG I TOTALLY WANT ANOTHER BABY YOU CAN'T TELL ME I CAN'T XANDER NEEDS A LITTLE BROTHER WAAAAAHHHH!!

I managed to not say that though. I said, weakly, "Um, we weren't sure." But I sure as hell am now.

I cried in the car and then went home and hugged the son I'm lucky enough to have already fiercely, and then I presented my case to Paul. He's been spending the same months voicing vague arguments such as, "Can we afford another one?", and "Ah...hm. I don't know. We just started getting some sleep."

I cried on his shoulder about my potential barrenness, and sudden and overwhelming urge to have another baby and he said, "Sure, let's have another one."

"Really? But you never seem like you think it's a good idea."

"I've been talking myself into it for a few months," he replied. "You're just never there for the conversations."

Hm. Well, then. Whatever the testing verdict comes back as, I guess we're giving this a shot. So to speak.

Spare a Minute?

(Edit: The info on J's site has been taken down at the request of their DCFS office, as they unknowingly broke confidentiality by posting some of their story. They are still allowed to take donations for the lawyer, and have already raised enough to pay for their first visit next week!)

This blog is mostly for a laugh. It's a game. Now that I don't have as much time to play my beloved MMOs, I make up for it by blogging.

Back when I was playing MMOs, I made a lot of internet 'friends'. I 'knew' people in Florida, Washington, exotic Ohio (heh). Some of them I even keep in touch with now, on Facebook and Twitter. I may not have ever met them in real life, but I still consider them friends. WITHOUT the quotation marks.

One of them has asked for help, so I'm helping by blogging. He needs to keep his family together. You can read his story here. If you have a spare dollar or two, you can help out here, or if you have a blog, please blog or Twitter about his family's need.

I try to keep this joint light and entertaining, and save the lecturing for my other blog. But this time it's important, so if you can help, I'd really appreciate it.

"Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."