Tonight, I’m going back to my midwifery practice for the first time in over a year.  I’ll be their guest speaker at their monthly homebirth night, and I’ll be speaking to pregnant women who are want to learn more about giving birth at home about my experience and perceptions.  I’m so excited about this!  I feel so lucky that I was able to have the birth experience I hoped for.  I was so nervous about it for a long, long time, though, so hesitant to accept the thought of having a homebirth, and it was a night session like this very one, in January  2009, that settled my mind about it.

If you’re interested, here’s my take on the homebirth meeting we attended: Home Birth Night

Here are my thoughts on the hospital tour we attended: Maternity Ward Tour

Here’s the story of Maia’s birth: The Birth Story

One thing I’ve loved about LOST, and I’d bet I’m not alone in this, is that it lets the characters fail.  There are no elegant solutions, no fail-safe answers; our characters are human, flawed, and they don’t always make the right decisions.  Yet in the end, regardless of what they’ve done right or wrong, they find redemption.

I don’t need my plots in tv shows, movies, and books to be neatly resolved and tied up with a bow.  I don’t need every loose end to be tied. I don’t need everything to be explained.  In fact, I don’t like it.  Do I know everything about the world I live in?  No.  At the end of my life, my finale, will all of my experiences in life come together into a coherent whole that I can look at and say “everything I ever worried about is perfectly resolved”?  No.  That’s life.  We not only don’t have all the answers, but we never will.

For six seasons, the writers of LOST haven’t provided concise answers.  I don’t understand why anyone would think that the finale would offer such a thing.  To me, the finale provided an emotionally and mentally satisfying resolution to the main story arc I’ve followed for six seasons.

Now, let me be honest: I’m not thrilled with the whole “well of light” thing.  I think it’s a weak ass premise for all these people to have been on the Island experiencing all the things they did.  I’m also kind of eye-rolling at what the Sideways world ended up being (although I think that, ultimately, it makes sense).  That said, I’m looking forward to (someday — hopefully soon!) rewatching the entire series and trying to apply the things I’ve learned about the characters and the Island in season 6 to the overall story arc.  I won’t lie, though, I think that while the creators/writers may have had an idea that they wanted the Island to represent something like a chess game between Good and Evil, a lot of the specifics were hammered out as they went along.

I’m okay with that creative process, and I understand it’s how some people work best. I’m a writer, and that’s how I work best.  I’m working on a novel right now whose premise is “magic is fucked up and needs to be fixed”, and while I have an answer to that problem in mind, I’m making up the details as I go along. If this storyline becomes a series (which, uh, it’s planned to be), then yeah, there will be some dangling plots along the way, and some characters whose motivations might never be known.  That’s simply the way things go in a sprawling, epic story (you know, just like in life).

Like I said on Twitter last night, I wonder if my satisfaction with Lost’s finale stems from my avid love of fantasy fiction, where suspension of disbelief is a must and accepting the possible (or sometimes downright ridiculous) is simply a part of enjoying the story.  Lost has been, all along, character-driven.  Watch season one again.  Heck, just watch the pilot.  It’s all about these characters, and the evolution they’ve gone through over the course of six seasons was deeply satisfying to me.

Also, the fact that, for once in her life, Kate didn’t follow someone into the jungle and get herself captured was brilliant.  Actually, this was a great episode for Kate and I’m so thrilled that she finally was the strong, smart, vulnerable, loving woman that she should have been all along.

The moments that hit me hardest:
- When Kate looked at Jack as they stood up on top of that cliff with fear, love, acceptance, and that crazy hope against the inevitable that I was experiencing as a viewer.
- Kate’s epiphany being triggered by Claire.
- Claire hugging Aaron close and sobbing his name.  Finally.  FINALLY.
- Claire and Charlie.  Oh my god. (I should note that I started watching Lost while pregnant, and identified in a lot of ways with Claire, so every scene with her is a favourite.)
- Jin and Sun sobbing together in the ultrasound room, knowing what had happened to them on the Island, yet so incredibly happy to be together now.
- Vincent at the end.
- Locke greeting Jack in the church.  Locke being Locke again.

I don’t need everything answered.  I like to be left wondering, wanting, and imagining.  What I need is for the characters I’ve loved for six seasons to have emotional resolution, which they did.  And that’s why LOST’s finale was, to me, phenomenal.

I know she won’t.

Today, as she shovelled Cheerios into her mouth, I put my coffee down on the table beside her.  As usual, she stopped to look at it, and although she’s learned not to put her fingers in it, she likes to lean close and hold her hand over the top to feel the steam rising.  Today, I tried to show her how to sniff and breathe in the smell, leaving her laughing at Mama’s wrinkled nose and exclamations of “MMMM, COFFEE!”

She won’t remember these days.

But there’s something profoundly comforting in knowing that the aroma of hazelnut creamer will remind her of comfort, and home, and me, many many years into the future.

Which scents bring memories back for you?

It’s kind of amazing at the same time that it’s terrifying.  I mean, what am I going to do with this little person all the time? She’s so demanding!  She needs so much attention and yet she’s independent.  She doesn’t want me to do things for her, but she wants me to encourage her to do those things.  And I have to TEACH her stuff. Constantly.  It’s exhausting.

But there are so many sweet moments that I get to share with her now, and maybe even ones that I hog to myself.  Like morning kisses.

She leans in and gives me little kisses, then just pushes her mouth to mine while saying “Mmmmmmm!”  I stare down at her with my eyes crossed, her dark shining eyes all I can see, until I get dizzy… and when I pull away, she laughs and laughs.

We do this every morning now.  And sometimes in the afternoon, too.

Especially after I share my Starbucks with her.

I’m guest posting over at Exuberance Beauty’s blog today as part of their Exuberant Motherhood week!  Check out my post, “A Gift to Myself“.

provided by firemen…

and brunch (with mimosas!)…

served by firemen.

Those funds would be put towards rescuing puppies.

Or buying some shirts for these firemen.

But I think I’d rather my money went towards the puppies.

How about you?

–

When the flat of the wooden blade slapped against her thigh, Siari Eodaisti knew she had won.  Irothy never really did understand how to make an attack against the lower body without overextending himself, and she took full advantage of that knowledge, lunging forward.  Before he had even begun to retract his blade, she held one of her practice daggers along the length of his jaw and the other at the shoulder joint of his sword arm, and Irothy’s startled gaze met hers for only a moment before his expression smoothed into an insouciant grin.

“I hope I bruised you,” he said, dropping the tip of his weapon to the ground.  “You’re too bloody fast.”

With a laugh, she lowered her weapons as well.  “Being ‘too bloody fast’ is my job, after all.”  Standing this close to one another, she could smell the sweat mingled with the dirt raised by their feet on him, musky and sweet.  Damp tendrils of hair clung to his forehead, and she could feel them on hers as well; she stepped back, swiping them away with her forearm.   “Besides, you still forget to keep your weight balanced when you swing for your opponent’s legs.”

He eyed her.  “I need a drink,” he turned away, towards the cups of water waiting for them on a table in the shade of on overhanging roof nearby, “but then, another round.”

“If you wish,” she agreed, following.  Sheathing the daggers on her belt, she wondered what had gotten into him.  Although Irothy enjoyed dueling with her, in all of their years practicing together he never wanted to continue for this long, and certainly not when she beat him handily time after time.  He kept making the same error, she kept chastising him, and he kept insisting they fight again.

There could not be a day better suited to being outdoors, however, so perhaps that motivated him.  Signs of spring penetrating the chill of winter had been teasing them for weeks, and finally today the cloud cover disappeared, letting the sun shine forth and steal the last hints of icy dampness from the ground.  Light breezes that cooled their sweat-speckled skin just enough for comfort swept in from the east, off the grasslands.  The estate showed signs of awakening, as well, and all around them the servants wandered to and fro, working casually, taking the time to stop and speak with one another.  Irothy had grown up with them all and treated them kindly, never making them feel as if they were less than human, and they kept the estate in pristine condition.

Siari folded her legs beneath her as she settled down onto one of the wicker chairs set at the table.  “So tell me, what’s on your mind?  You’re not being yourself.”

She expected him to dilly-dally and step around the question, but instead he took a gulp of water before answering simply, “Spring is coming.”

“So it is.  What of it?”

He placed the cup on the table, both hands wrapped around it.  “I’m getting married this summer.”

Despite herself, she felt a tightness in her chest and a stab of jealousy in her stomach.  “Yes, you are.”  She raised her cup to her lips, looking away from him and watching a pair of stablehands currying a horse on the other side of the practice yard.

His voice dropped low. “Dariaine will be in the city soon.  Will you accompany me to visit her next week?”

“Of course,” she answered.  He sounded like a love-sick puppy. “Of course I will.”

Dariaine Enveri, so far as Siari could tell, cared for little outside of her reputation, her religion, and her future husband.  The noblewoman certainly did not care for Irothy’s childhood friend, companion, and bodyguard, and made no secret of her unwilling tolerance of Siari’s presence any time they were around one another.

Across the yard, the horse tossed his head rebelliously, snorting in the clean, crisp springtime air.  “Perhaps we could go for a ride later, Irothy,” she suggested. “The horses could use the exercise.”

“Do you think a horse would make a fine wedding gift for her?”

Siari’s grip tensed further, her fingertips turning white. “She’ll certainly make use of one when she comes to live here, so yes.”

“Perhaps a gray one.  Or should she have white? A lady ought to have a white horse, don’t you think?”

When had he become so infernally obsessed with Dariaine?  “Any horse will do.”  She stood, slamming the cup down on the table hard enough that some of the water sloshed up over the side and across her hand.  “Are you rested?  I believe I owe you another humbling.”

Irothy glanced over at her.  “Is something wrong?”

Men. At least he’d be someone else’s problem soon enough.  “Nothing at all.” She forced a smile to her lips.  “I’m happy that you’re happy, Irothy.  I just wish it were with someone who enjoys my company.”

“Well,” he said, sauntering to the center of the yard with her, “regardless of how you she feels about you, you aren’t going anywhere.  And who knows, perhaps she has a handsome cousin or somesuch that you can fall for.”

“I could certainly use the company of someone easy on my eyes.”  She ducked beneath the playful slap he aimed at her shoulder and jabbed her elbow into his side, just as he locked his arm around her neck and tugged her against his body.  With a squeal, she struggled against him, trying to leverage her weight to throw him off-balance, but he held her too close.  When it came to purely physical contests, he always had the advantage.  His musky scent filled her nostrils.  “Hopefully he smells better, too.”

Irothy scoffed, tightening his choke hold on her.  “I’m insulted. Maybe I’ll just hold you here until” – he grunted as she batted at him with her fists – “you apologize.  Profusely.”

The first thing we did was go for a walk in the warmth.  This walk started with all of us in sweatshirts and jeans, but within half a block the sunshine reminded us that this ain’t Canada, folks!

Aside from taking walks, we were able to go in Grandma’s swimming pool.  Maia wasn’t really too sure about it at first:

But she sure as hell looked adorable, right?

Once we got her into the water and began pushing her little floaty around, she realized this was kind of fun!

Another day, we went to the Sarasota Jungle Gardens.  This was a fun little place with lots of birds, bugs, and reptiles to see.  Most of their animals are donated by pet owners who can no longer take care of their exotic animals, not realizing the time and money commitment necessary. There are (paved) trails winding through tropical foliage, with occasional placards to let you know what type of plant you’re looking at and where it’s from.  This was my favourite plant there, although, of course, it didn’t have a placard.

One of the best features of the Gardens was the flamingo park, a wide-open area with a small pond nearby and something like 40 flamingos wandering around.  And those birds are fearless.  Fortunately, so is Maia (until one of them actually pushed her away from a kibble she was standing on, at which point I’m not sure she actually became scared of them so much as REALLY ANGRY).

And, of course, what fun would a jungle garden be without the opportunity for a touristy snapshot of a daddy feeding his baby to an alligator?

On this vacation, Maia lost a huge advantage over us.  We realized, finally, that she understands a lot of what we say.  We realized that she learns very quickly, and when she’s interested in what we have to say, she listens well.  For example, in Florida, she learned the words “bird”, “cat”, and “squirrel” — all of which are creatures she decided she loved quite a lot.  Her love of “bird” was our main reason for going to the Jungle Gardens in fact, and also our motivation behind eating lunch another day overlooking the water:

Bird watching is a hobby she takes very seriously.

All too soon, though, it was time for a different type of bird, one that flies thirty-nine thousand feet in the sky…

Take-off was terrifying.  The wind hit us hard, and the plane trembled and quaked as it rose into the air, tilting dangerously far to the left when we were several hundred feet off the ground. As I was nursing Maia and didn’t want to startle her, I remained silent, my palms sweaty against her.  Throughout the flight, we kept hitting turbulence, and Chris didn’t help because he sat there beside me cracking LOST jokes.  (“Oh, at least we’re in the front half of the plane, that’s where all the people who lived were sitting!”) The turbulence was especially bad during landing — although Maia didn’t think so.  Maia thought it was hilarious, and it was hard to remain fearful while listening to her giggling.

I have to admit, I feel like I’m writing clunky words, words that are thudding down into my blog and just lying there — I don’t feel like I’m actually blogging insomuch as recording events in the most boring way possible.  It’s not a good feeling, but at the same time, if I just sit on my hands and let this site languish, what use would that be?

But we did have an awesome trip.

And I’ll write more about it sometime soon.

I had only one response: “Where the hell did our day go so wrong?!”

—

Wednesday promised to be a gorgeous day.  To celebrate the balmy beginnings of spring, Chris looked up some fun, cheap activities for us.  We decided to go to a local maple festival, where citizens of the First Nations would demonstrate historical techniques for making maple syrup, followed by an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.  People, I love pancakes; I always request them for breakfast on my special days, so you can imagine how enthusiastically I supported this idea.

Across the street from the conservation area we’d be at stands a racetrack, where some of the season’s earliest races would be taking place.  So, we figured, after stuffing ourselves full of pancakes and letting Maia run some energy off, we’d go visit the racetrack and watch the horses warm up.

Great plan, right?

10am, we’re all bundled up and in the car, driving down the highway with the windows cracked to let in the fresh air.  Maia’s babbling away in the back seat trying to figure out how to take off her shoes, while Chris holds my hand in the front seat.  It’s awesome.  I’m happy.

We get to the conservation area just as we’re all starting to get pretty hungry.  There’s no one at the gatehouse and it’s an $8 fee to get in.  There are no signs anywhere indicating which way to go to find the maple festival, but we dutifully drive down each muddy, uneven road, through endless stretches of boring brown grass, looking for where the festivities might be happening.  We come across some run-down old shacks, a few canoes mounted crookedly on a tall rack, and several large, empty parking lots.

There are no people anywhere, and certainly no people making maple syrup.  “There’s gotta be someone to talk to at the gatehouse,” Chris says.  I tell him there wasn’t, but we check anyhow.

We are, apparently, the only people in the entire conservation area.  Cursing and swearing about spending $8 to drive through some shitty wannabe park, with Maia getting increasingly antsy in her carseat, we leave.  There’s a sign halfway up the driveway to the road — it has a hand-drawn map mounted to it with a few roads sketched on, and a large dot that proclaims MAPLE FESTIVAL.  Judging by the scale of the drawing, the festival is approximately the size of a small city and is a vague number of kilometres down the road.  We exchange a glance and continue driving.

10 minutes later, I suggest we turn around.  Chris is all too happy to say fuck you, maple festival and all-you-can-eat pancakes. He says we’re going to check if the racetrack has food.

My heart cringes.  Still, I know he’s hungry, and I’m definitely hungry, so I agree.  I’m pretty sure this place is going to be shoddy inside and I only wanted to be out with the horses, but we do need to eat, after all, if you can call the plastic, fried bullshit I’m expecting to see there “food”.

We reach the racetrack.  It looks shady as hell.  There are signs everywhere with fonts that haven’t been used non-ironically since the 60s promoting their nickel slot machines, lots of flashing orange lights mounted on the building, and the parking lot is full of very old women toting massive purses.  Old men standing on the curbside and smoking cigarettes eye us as we drive by.

Very carefully, I say to Chris, “I feel as if this may not be an appropriate place for us to bring our child.”

He’s craning his neck, looking for the paddocks.  “Where the fuck are the horses?”

There’s not a four-legged creature in sight.

We leave.

“Let’s go to Tim Horton’s,” he says, “there’s gotta be one up the road somewhere, eventually.”

I’m determined not to give in.  “Let’s just stop at the first mom & pop restaurant we see.  I bet we can get a huge breakfast for like 5 bucks.”

“I just wanna go to Timmy’s,” he insists.

“Live a little!” I elbow him. “Just stop at the first  restaurant we see.”

This is the first restaurant we see:

Right.  This looks totally reasonable.

I’m hoping it’s like Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. I’m hoping this is a hidden gem.  I’m envisioning a cozy little place with booths and an older waitress with curly hair who coos over our cute little kid.  There’s a minivan parked near us, so I assume there’ll be another family inside, right?

Right?

WRONG.

It’s not a Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives type place.  There are no surprises here, just a simple laminated menu with breakfasts and sandwiches.  There’s a mean-looking older waitress with a bob who barely glances at Maia before muttering in a heavy Italian accent, “Do you want a drink?”  There are two pairs of rough-looking men eyeballing us — me with my sparkly silver ballet flats, Chris in a golf shirt, Maia in a pink Adidas hoodie — and we feel pretty damned out of place.

Chris ends up getting a cheeseburger, and I get an omelette, and Maia has some salad.

Not really, of course.  She got her pick of food off our plates, which included a piece of my egg that she tossed under the table and ended up in my shoe.  Because really, is there a more appropriate representation of plans gone awry than ending up with egg on your foot?!

—

What about you?  Tell me about some of your days like this one!

We were all so ecstatic to be outside that it was almost laughable.   The dogs ran in circles as if they were trying to wear themselves out.

I was most excited about getting Maia back into a swing, because she kind of loves them.

The best thing about the swingset was her giggling and ESPECIALLY her little kicky feet:

I also made Chris get a picture of Maia and I together because honestly, we just don’t have enough of those.

I can’t wait for real spring and summer to get here.  We are going to have a blast together!