Post-vacation dark thoughts

I enjoy riding the commuter train most of the time. It’s quiet and smooth and the temperature is well regulated, unlike buses. It’s also the only time I spend just sitting and thinking. Life is too busy for quiet thinking time lately.

I have a lot on my mind tonight, most of it a little morbid and unsettling. My trip to Las Vegas, which I’ll talk about later, triggered some unhappy thoughts and unsubstantiated worries about how it would feel if something happened to Lyra or Adam or both while I was away, or how they would have to cope if anything happened to me. Either concept breaks my heart and makes my stomach flip with an instinctive anxiety that I know is irrational. If something happened, I suppose we would cope with it, because that’s what we do. But it hurts every time I think of it.

Now, that doesn’t mean my whole vacation was spent worried and anxious – I had a lot of fun. But these random bouts of fear hit me occasionally in my day-to-day life more often than I want to admit. Maybe it’s a normal part of being a mother – this isn’t something I remember being a problem for me before I had Lyra. I don’t really know.

What I can say with some certainty is that there are things happening around me in the lives of friends that are making me more aware of these fears, and perhaps making me feel the anxiety more deeply than I normally would, and the idea of anything happening to Lyra, Adam or me terrifies me.

But no one can see the future, so I bury the random fears and get on with living my life. I guess that’s what we all do… keep on living and deal with things as they happen. Some days it’s easier than others.

Another day, another brain dump

Saw an old Toronto friend tonight – we drank coffee and rambled about the state of the world, and where we are now. I seem to be going out a lot lately after work, and it’s a bit exhausting, but I think I need it for sanity at the moment. Still, I’m not doing enough fun things for me lately, and I’m definitely not getting enough exercise. I don’t know how to fix it yet, though… I have a lot of trouble motivating myself, and even more trouble asking other people to help me out with it. I think if I’m answerable to someone else, it helps a lot.

I’m just not great at using a long term reward as motivation.

Drawing a blank

I’m on the commuter train about to head home, and bored because I have no book and no Nintendo ds to keep me entertained. This is how I ended up here in this phone lj client rambling at a blank screen, correcting phone typos as I go. I’m sure to miss some… Sorry.

In nine days I’m taking a vacation for three nights with a friend. We’re flying to las vegas for three nights, which should be lots of fun. It will also be my first overnight trip away from Lyra since she was born, which will be very strange for me, Adam and Lyra as group.

I’m both looking forward to it and nervous about it at the same time. But hey… Three nights in Vegas!

Moving day

We’re moving. It’s been nearly five years since we moved into this place – that’s the second longest amount of time I’ve lived anywhere in my entire life (the record is seven years, if you’re curious). I can remember a time when I moved every six to eighteen months.

I love moving. I don’t mean the process – the packing, the loading and unloading of trucks, the transferring of utilities and services, and all the expenses that come along with it is all basically annoying but necessary. What I love is being somewhere new; arranging furniture and rooms, discovering great places in the new neighbourhood, and the feeling of adventure that comes with being somewhere unfamiliar.

This apartment, though, has been the home of a lot of firsts. Lyra’s life so far has been lived in this place, so every single one of her firsts is connected to this home. This was the first place Adam and I lived for longer than a year (we had a lot of apartments that lasted one year or less). It’s the first view we’ve ever had, and we will miss that view – although new condos are being built as we speak that will change that view for whomever moves in when we go. We lived here long enough to get to know the best restaurants, coffee shops, grocery stores, laundromats, parks, hiking and mountain bike trails. We know all the shortcuts and the transit schedules.

This is the first place we’ve been long enough to really be able to say it’s home.

So we’ve been getting ready to move to Port Moody. It’s not that far away, but it’s another city suburb of Vancouver. We have a lot of reasons for choosing Port Moody – it’s close to family and friends, it’s close to great mountain bike & hiking trails, it’s still transit accessible for both of our workplaces, and it’s a considerably less expensive neighbourhood to live in. Daycare costs are dropping by nearly half, and we’re moving into a 3 bedroom townhouse that’s only 100$ more a month than our 1.5 bedroom apartment. There are friends we’ll miss in North Van, but we’re really not that far away – it’s not like we’re moving to Ontario. There are more positives to this move than there are negatives (and I’ve weighed them over many times).

There are things I’ll miss, but I’m ready to move on.

Photo a day project: August 2006

The Lions of Vancouver

Pre-dawn snow

storm-sky

The older I get, the faster time moves

Maybe it’s a matter of perspective – the longer I’m alive, it seems, the faster time goes by. I remember summers seeming infinitely long when I was little. Now that I’m in my thirties, it seems to me that the season is rushing past before I can even get outside to enjoy it. I suppose it didn’t help that June was so miserable, cold and rainy this year that it felt like a Vancouver February, but I don’t think that’s entirely it. As far as I can tell, as I get older I gain a sense of time perspective that I didn’t have as a child. When you’re only seven years old, a year is a very, very long time. When you reach 27 it seems a lot shorter because you’ve had so many more of them to live through.

It makes me wonder if I’ll feel like a year is a day, if I manage to live to 90.

Time really is relative, and our perception of it is the only thing that matters.

On top of all this revelation that I’m not a kid anymore is the shock that hits my system when I look at Lyra. She turned two years old last month. I can’t remember what she looked like as a newborn – my perception of who she is is based entirely on what she looks like now. If I look at pictures I can see it, but seeing her grow every day removes the feeling that time is passing and she’s changing. Every so often it hits me, though: I see her lying in her bed and taking up way more of it than I remember; I watch her playing on a slide or copying other girls she sees on monkey bars; or she comes out with a fully formed sentence instead of toddler-speak; she’s not a baby anymore. Everyone who’s had kids tells you it goes fast, and it does. It really, truly does.

I remember this face:

Lyra the Elephant

But when I think about my little girl I don’t see that face… I see this one:

Lyra's birthday weekend

Give it a few more months, and that won’t be the face in my mind anymore either.

Time ticks away merrily, and I don’t notice till it’s passed. I’m okay with that, but it’s always a surprise somehow when I notice how much Lyra has changed. Gradual change just can’t be observed when you’re watching every possible second. It’s easier, I think, to notice the changes when you’re not so close.

But let’s be honest… I wouldn’t miss this for anything.

Starting something new

Enjoying summer
Get outside!
There isn’t much to see here yet. It’s summer, and there’s too much to do outside to find time to sit at a computer and write. There will be more to come.

Today, however, I am going to go outside and enjoy the sunlight. I hope you are too.

The end of a kind of era

This has been a tough week for us.

It is my sad duty to report that Dayle’s long and infamous life has come to an unfortunate conclusion. Early this week, he showed some strange symptoms – he couldn’t breathe properly, and he was extremely distressed. In a day’s time he had deteriorated severely. After a night at the veterinary hospital, we came to the conclusion (with the vet’s support) that it was time to let him go. There was no coming back from his condition.

By now Dayle has probably made himself comfortable in his new kingdom, with new slaves to plot the ultimate demise of. Captain America seems a little deflated, and Sera has been cautiously sitting in all the places that Dayle used to chase her away from. She seems to wonder why he’s not there.

Lyra always considered both Dayle and Sera as the same cat, I think. She’s always called Dayle by his name, and Sera Dayle. Not all cats are Dayle to Lyra… just our cats. In that sense, he’s still around in a very weird way.

The apartment feels emptier without his huge personality and presence. It’s strange not have heard him singing, or felt him jumping on our heads in bed at night. It will get easier, but for now there is a huge hole in our lives. We miss our ex-pharaoh demon asshole cat. We’ll be telling tales of his escapades for years to come.

The last photo of Dayle I took:

Dayle is sick. I am sad.

Dayle in his prime:

Photo a day project: April 2006

Sera & Dayle Napping

Photo a day project: January 2006

Phone writing… a new skill to cultivate

First, on the mood/health side of things, Lyra was only up once last night, so hurray for sleep. Unfortunately I still feel like I’m coming down with a cold so boo for that.

We’re under a storm and wind warning right now, so my transit decision rests on whether I think a tree will fall on the Stanley park causeway. At this point I am leaning towards taking the seabus just to be on the safe side. Less likely to be delayed than the bus.

You know, I have never called my livejournal a blog… I just don’t feel like it is one. It really is a journal in the end. That’s part of why I don’t write in it so much anymore: not because I don’t want to, but because I felt like I needed a proper hook and theme and concept, like a blog.

It isn’t one, and I need to stop thinking of it like that.

I really enjoy writing about my life. I like journalling. I m not trying to be an expert or specialist in anything through this medium, and I think I’m OK with that.

It’s not like anyone else has to read it anyway.

It’s all about me. No, really. This is the part where I complain a lot.

I feel crappy. I’m tired and I want to complain about it. I might be catching something after the past multiple days of not sleeping well and taking care of a sick, cranky toddler. Maybe I’m just exhausted and run down.

I haven’t managed to get out mountain biking for weeks, which may be my own fault, but that’s not the point. I haven’t been riding to work, which is also my own fault. I have many reasons not to ride either bike which I won’t get in to right now. That’s still not the point.

I feel crappy and I want someone to give me a day where it’s actually, really all about me. I want a fancy retreat to a winery on an island, and a day of extra-special pampering, and to sleep all night long (oh, the decadence of sleep!) I want to have a ridiculously lavish meal created in my honour and to my taste.

My burnout level is high. My brain is beginning to suffer for it. Poor brain.