After nine married years together, five years of dating, and two years of being friends . . . I have picked up a few useful "DO's" and "DON'Ts" to live peacably with Brad.
“DO’s and DON’Ts” I Have Learned About Brad Over the Past 9 Years:
DO make sure that 24 is taping every Monday night and make sure it is on HD.
DON’T accidentally record any sporting event in another language . . . even if it is in HD.
DO pick up his socks and launder them, otherwise, he will be running around barefoot (or stealing the kids’ socks).
DON’T forget to get his work clothes ready for the week. While he is capable of using many complex machines and doing many amazing things (like catching babies and such), the laundry machine intimidates him.
DO let him take vacations regularly (as in every 3 months or so). Vacations are to Brad as water is to plants.
DON’T try to buy him any surprise presents. They will likely be the wrong size, wrong colour, or the wrong price if they are electrical . . . and all will be returned.
DO enjoy upscale dining and hotels with Brad. Nothing short of 4 stars will suffice.
DON’T ever pay full price for anything. If you can’t get the deal, let Brad go in and negotiate for you. He is the master of negotiations.
DO listen to his stories. Even if you know them word for word, he will still make them interesting.
DON’T let Brad go into Costco unsupervised . . . unless you want him to bring home every food item that they are sampling . . . in bulk.
DO let him sleep in as often as possible. He works really hard and requires lots of sleep.
DON’T get in his way if he is working on fixing something or finding something. He will not rest until it is done/found.
DO let him win in air hockey and paper, rock, scissors. Otherwise he may never play again.
DON’T forget to show appreciation for all the wonderful things he does. Because, really, he is a fantastic man who is very talented.
And, without further ado, I'll head onto the mushy part . . . in celebration of the "Big 9":
Top 9 Qualities That I Love About Brad
9. Generous: both with time and money.
8. Courageous. He’ll enter into uncomfortable situations while exuding confidence. He’ll drive through crazy snow storms to get to work and back to home. He will even swim with sharks.
7. Fun-loving. If there is anything fun going on in our family, he is probably behind it.
6. Athletic. There isn’t a sport that he can’t hold his own in . . . but he will never be as good as me in skiing.
5. Heroic. He’ll rescue me in crazy snow storms. He’ll go to bat for me with traffic tickets. He will even come through at the last minute of a move, when I am done with packing and there are still rooms of junk to be packed away.
4. Hardworking. Few can really appreciate how many long days he clocks just so I am to be able to stay home with our kids.
3. Gift of the Gab. Negotiations are a piece of cake, even fighting cops in court in my behalf. Everybody likes him upon talking to him and that opens doors to lots of friends, and lots of business opportunities. Not to mention, he is just plain fun to talk to! He has lots of interesting stories to share.
2. Handsome . . . even with the few grays that the kids have given him.
1. Everything. How could I possibly put everything I love about Brad in a list of only 9 qualities?
Happy Anniversary!
April 29, 2010
April 8, 2010
Puh-eenk.
Bubbalicious pink.
It's not what I had intended.
I went to the paint store, paint chip in hand. It was a lovely, soft liliac.
Perfect for a sweet girls' bathroom, and probably nice enough to stay up should we ever decide to sell.
It was, Purple.
Not Pink.
Apparently, purple was the wrong choice. Avery made her demands known. And since I hadn't let her choose her room colour, I thought I could do the bathroom pink . . . it is small after all. It would be cheap to repaint. And since it's small, it shouldn't take up much time to paint at all.
(Chuckle.) I soon discovered that while a bathroom may be small, they are under no circumstances easy to paint. The paint runs off the other paint on the wall and there is a heck of a lot of taping and painting in crazy positions!
And as I studied the bright, hubba-bubba pink that dizzied me, I began regretting my decision quickly.
Now, I didn't choose the fuschia that Avery requested, but I didn't pick the absolute lightest pink on the paint card either.
The colour was Pink Taffy. I should have known.
It looked nice on the chip, but here, it was really . . . PINK.
It was too late at night to run out and buy another can of white to cover up the peptobismal explosion so I went to bed thinking I could at least try some white towels and maybe some white artwork in there too to help cut the sweetness.
Fortunately when I awoke the next morning, the colour had settled some and while it will never be mistaken for any colour other than PINK, I think I can live with it. Especially with some white towels and artwork.
(Sorry the photos don't do it much justice. It does look pretty nice in person . . . if you aren't adverse to pink that is!)
Falling Off The Wagon
My name is Melanie.
And I'm a paint-aholic.
There.
I've said it.
All I wanted to do was get a quart of paint to try out an accent wall in our foyer/main hall . . . to 1) see if I even liked the colour and idea of an accent wall before we hired a professional to paint our main floor and 2) have a durable paint on a high traffic area . . . you know for sticky hands and sticky toy bugs that "need" to be stuck on my walls.
Oh, and since I was at the paint store, I might as well pick up a quart for Avery's bathroom. (Since I had to paint over the new drywall, I may as well paint the rest of the walls and paint them a colour we wanted.)
I walked in with a fist full of cash and walked out with a few coins. And a gallon of blue paint for my office, a quart for Avery's bathroom, and only a wall swatch for our hallway.
That evening I found myself compelled to tape up the bathroom and began painting it the next day.
Because, well, you know. After having a baby and looking after 3 other kids . . . I have oodles of free time. It's not as though I have piles of laundry and dishes to do or anything.
I guess paint is an out for me. It is something that I can do to feel like we are making our "boxed" house, a home.
Or, maybe it's supressed decorating desires stemming from years of living with the same builder's paint colour.
Either way, I am adicted. I'm sure my office will be done by the end of the weekend. Maybe sooner if I don't get guilted into folding laundry. :)
April 6, 2010
My Heart in Someone's Hands
I paced the room on Saturday morning.
I found some laundry to do. I got the kids dressed. I looked for any kind of chore I could do . . . even if I normally disliked it . . . just to keep my mind focused on something else.
But keeping my mind on something else wasn't enough.
My heart had stopped and was on the verge of heartbreak and I needed something to keep it intact.
Hope? It seemed like such a hopeless situation.
But there I stood, as though I were in the waiting room of a hospital, waiting to hear the latest news of a loved one in a life-threatening surgery.
"Any luck?" I called out to Brad in the office.
I tried hard to stay positive. And desperately tried to hope for the best.
Because the worst . . . oh, the worst would be--catastrophic.
Granted, my family was all safe and healthy. Yes, that was good. So, perhaps I was being a little melodramatic.
Yet at the same time, we were hanging on to our memories by a thin thread.
A very thin, fragile thread.
My computer files had been building up for quite some time now. I had been meaning to back things up, but wanted to finish (or start rather) Avery's baby book, and do our yearly book of memories. (Original files are far better quality than back up files.)
Obviously, with the move and baby, I just haven't gotten around to it.
And then . . . much like Black Friday, Gloomy Saturday morning came without notice and hit hard.
My computer crashed.
Not just my one hard drive that had all of Avery's first two undocumented years and Liv's newborn pictures, but the other drive as well that had every file from the beginning of our marriage.
Surely there is a way to extract the information from the drives. I kept telling myself that somewhere someone must know how to do it.
Currently my heart sits upon our baby grand getting ready to be mailed out to a stranger in hopes of salvaging everything.
And I am sitting here, trying to focus on anything else. Trying to find a way to have hope while I wait for the surgeons final diagnosis.
I found some laundry to do. I got the kids dressed. I looked for any kind of chore I could do . . . even if I normally disliked it . . . just to keep my mind focused on something else.
But keeping my mind on something else wasn't enough.
My heart had stopped and was on the verge of heartbreak and I needed something to keep it intact.
Hope? It seemed like such a hopeless situation.
But there I stood, as though I were in the waiting room of a hospital, waiting to hear the latest news of a loved one in a life-threatening surgery.
"Any luck?" I called out to Brad in the office.
I tried hard to stay positive. And desperately tried to hope for the best.
Because the worst . . . oh, the worst would be--catastrophic.
Granted, my family was all safe and healthy. Yes, that was good. So, perhaps I was being a little melodramatic.
Yet at the same time, we were hanging on to our memories by a thin thread.
A very thin, fragile thread.
My computer files had been building up for quite some time now. I had been meaning to back things up, but wanted to finish (or start rather) Avery's baby book, and do our yearly book of memories. (Original files are far better quality than back up files.)
Obviously, with the move and baby, I just haven't gotten around to it.
And then . . . much like Black Friday, Gloomy Saturday morning came without notice and hit hard.
My computer crashed.
Not just my one hard drive that had all of Avery's first two undocumented years and Liv's newborn pictures, but the other drive as well that had every file from the beginning of our marriage.
Surely there is a way to extract the information from the drives. I kept telling myself that somewhere someone must know how to do it.
Currently my heart sits upon our baby grand getting ready to be mailed out to a stranger in hopes of salvaging everything.
And I am sitting here, trying to focus on anything else. Trying to find a way to have hope while I wait for the surgeons final diagnosis.
April 1, 2010
Growing by Leaps and Bounds
At Liv's two week appointment it was noted that she was at the very bottom of the "acceptable" weight gain limit.
She must have had her ears open, because for the two days immediately following, she nursed every hour.
On her four week appointment, the midwives were expecting the average weight gain of about 7 ounces.
Liv's weight gain?
24 ounces.
She went from needing her premie clothing rolled up to filling out her 0-3 month clothing nicely, virtually overnight.
Though I am glad that she is thriving, I hope her break-neck speed growth will slow down and keep her a baby for a while longer. I was really enjoying having such a tiny baby for once!
She must have had her ears open, because for the two days immediately following, she nursed every hour.
On her four week appointment, the midwives were expecting the average weight gain of about 7 ounces.
Liv's weight gain?
24 ounces.
She went from needing her premie clothing rolled up to filling out her 0-3 month clothing nicely, virtually overnight.
Though I am glad that she is thriving, I hope her break-neck speed growth will slow down and keep her a baby for a while longer. I was really enjoying having such a tiny baby for once!
A Tom Boy
It was bound to happen, with two older brothers.
Avery is known to play Bakugans with Jackson on a regular basis . . .and he has even convinced her that she needs robotallion for her birthday.
Rough housing is second nature to her, as is knowing all the transformers names by heart.
But I was still shocked to have her run into my room this morning with the end of a light sabre, shouting:
"This is my sword. I will kill you!"
"Oh, Avery, it's not nice to kill people. That makes me sad."
"Don't worry, mom, it won't hurt. I be gentle."
Maybe Liv will bring in the peace that we are yearning for after "three" boys.
Avery is known to play Bakugans with Jackson on a regular basis . . .and he has even convinced her that she needs robotallion for her birthday.
Rough housing is second nature to her, as is knowing all the transformers names by heart.
But I was still shocked to have her run into my room this morning with the end of a light sabre, shouting:
"This is my sword. I will kill you!"
"Oh, Avery, it's not nice to kill people. That makes me sad."
"Don't worry, mom, it won't hurt. I be gentle."
Maybe Liv will bring in the peace that we are yearning for after "three" boys.
March 30, 2010
A Good Day. Until . . .
Brad was working on Saturday and I had to run an errand that was a good 40 minutes away.
The kids were going batty, cooped up in the house all winter. (It's been even worse this winter from those in the past because we don't have a yard for them to even venture outside every so often.)
Solution? Pile them in the car (where they are strapped in and can't destroy my house), run the errand and reward them with a lunch at Mc Donald's and let them play on the indoor playground.
It sounded pretty good. Maybe a teensy bit hard with an unpredictable newborn, but much better than staying at home going crazy.
Everything went as planned. The errand was run with minimal whining and we arrived safely at Micky D's. Liv was still sleeping and rather than wake her to feed her before going in, the kids pleaded that we just take our chances that we can eat and play before she woke up.
The minute we entered into Mc Donald's my four kids quickly dwindled to one (the one strapped snugly in her car seat). The rest ran off in all directions in a crowded restaurant, trying to find the playground and pick out toys for their happy meals.
After some yelling, and a lot of effort rounding up the troops . . . all while ordering and rocking a newborn . . . we were all together at the table. As I was not born an octopus, I had run out of hands to carry all the meals, toys, drinks, baby, and kids so I had stuffed my pockets with napkins, toys, and my wallet. I was even tempted to squeeze the ketchup in there too, but reconsidered the thought very quickly. ;)
We ate and watched Liv begin to stir towards the end of the meal. I thought that staying any longer was pushing our luck and I was not about to nurse a baby in Mc Donald's while trying to keep my eye on three other crazy bodies. So with much reluctance we headed out the door to the car.
We began to drive home and about half way Liv was screaming so hard for food I knew I had to pull over at some random place on a country road to feed her. After her lunch, we continued hom and I had considered it a successful day. I had taken all four kids out to eat on my own and had all of them back at home. In one piece.
It felt good . . . until I realized that my wallet was missing.
The wallet that had everyone's health insurance, social security cards, birth certificates, my license, and all those bank cards and credit cards. To make matters worse, I hadn't updated my information on my ID's since our move so should anyone have found my wallet, realized that there wasn't any cash in it, and wanted to return it, couldn't.
Frantic, I searched the floor of the car. I searched the front seat. Had it fallen out when we stopped randomly on the road? How on earth would I find that spot again?
Worse, what if it had fallen out in Mc Donald's? In the parking lot, or the restaurant? With all the commotion, it would have be easy for someone to have pick-pocketed me and I not have noticed.
My heart sunk as the guy from Mc Donald's told me that no one had returned a wallet at all.
I searched the car once more, hoping for the best, but no luck.
So, I loaded everyone up again and off we went to find the random spot on the road. I was pretty nervous about driving without a license, but thought I had a good case should I be pulled over. I felt really "light" though, like I was missing something so very important and heavy.
Even though we went back on the same roads, we couldn't find it the spot where we had stopped. We had back tracked all the way to Mc Donald's and I searched the parking lot and the restaurant. I asked again.
No luck.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I returned to the car, praying that I would find it some where, or at least at the side of the road . . . if I could ever find that spot again.
Wouldn't you know it, but as I opened the door I found a silver rectangle wedged between the drivers seat and the seat belt holder.
Thank goodness!
The kids were going batty, cooped up in the house all winter. (It's been even worse this winter from those in the past because we don't have a yard for them to even venture outside every so often.)
Solution? Pile them in the car (where they are strapped in and can't destroy my house), run the errand and reward them with a lunch at Mc Donald's and let them play on the indoor playground.
It sounded pretty good. Maybe a teensy bit hard with an unpredictable newborn, but much better than staying at home going crazy.
Everything went as planned. The errand was run with minimal whining and we arrived safely at Micky D's. Liv was still sleeping and rather than wake her to feed her before going in, the kids pleaded that we just take our chances that we can eat and play before she woke up.
The minute we entered into Mc Donald's my four kids quickly dwindled to one (the one strapped snugly in her car seat). The rest ran off in all directions in a crowded restaurant, trying to find the playground and pick out toys for their happy meals.
After some yelling, and a lot of effort rounding up the troops . . . all while ordering and rocking a newborn . . . we were all together at the table. As I was not born an octopus, I had run out of hands to carry all the meals, toys, drinks, baby, and kids so I had stuffed my pockets with napkins, toys, and my wallet. I was even tempted to squeeze the ketchup in there too, but reconsidered the thought very quickly. ;)
We ate and watched Liv begin to stir towards the end of the meal. I thought that staying any longer was pushing our luck and I was not about to nurse a baby in Mc Donald's while trying to keep my eye on three other crazy bodies. So with much reluctance we headed out the door to the car.
We began to drive home and about half way Liv was screaming so hard for food I knew I had to pull over at some random place on a country road to feed her. After her lunch, we continued hom and I had considered it a successful day. I had taken all four kids out to eat on my own and had all of them back at home. In one piece.
It felt good . . . until I realized that my wallet was missing.
The wallet that had everyone's health insurance, social security cards, birth certificates, my license, and all those bank cards and credit cards. To make matters worse, I hadn't updated my information on my ID's since our move so should anyone have found my wallet, realized that there wasn't any cash in it, and wanted to return it, couldn't.
Frantic, I searched the floor of the car. I searched the front seat. Had it fallen out when we stopped randomly on the road? How on earth would I find that spot again?
Worse, what if it had fallen out in Mc Donald's? In the parking lot, or the restaurant? With all the commotion, it would have be easy for someone to have pick-pocketed me and I not have noticed.
My heart sunk as the guy from Mc Donald's told me that no one had returned a wallet at all.
I searched the car once more, hoping for the best, but no luck.
So, I loaded everyone up again and off we went to find the random spot on the road. I was pretty nervous about driving without a license, but thought I had a good case should I be pulled over. I felt really "light" though, like I was missing something so very important and heavy.
Even though we went back on the same roads, we couldn't find it the spot where we had stopped. We had back tracked all the way to Mc Donald's and I searched the parking lot and the restaurant. I asked again.
No luck.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I returned to the car, praying that I would find it some where, or at least at the side of the road . . . if I could ever find that spot again.
Wouldn't you know it, but as I opened the door I found a silver rectangle wedged between the drivers seat and the seat belt holder.
Thank goodness!
I'm Mad . . . But SHOULD Be Grateful?
I'm mad.
So mad.
Like pound my head against a wall mad.
But apparently, I should be grateful. At least according to the cop.
I think back and wish I had made one critical decision a little differently. Why, oh why, did I not turn left instead of head straight into town?
I had been driving the speed limit the entire way in, much to the dismay of the drivers behind me, riding my tail . . . and then later flying past me. I figured that maybe I did need to speed up just a little. I mean, really, did I have to go the exact speed limit? No one gets pulled over for doing 10 over.
So, I sped up. The rest of the traffic was still flying by me. One would think that I would be safe and that my little infraction was nothing compared to the rest of the drivers. And, one might even reason that a cop could only pull one of us over, and most likely that would be the speed demon in front of the rest of the speedsters.
One would think.
Yes, it's true that one cop can only pull over one car. However, what happens when five cops get together and ambush and entire highway of drivers minutes after the speed limit dropped 20 km/hr?
You get people like me, who rarely ever speed, and could even argue that they weren't speeding knowingly at this point since the traffic was going far faster . . . and being in the left lane, I couldn't see the signs with the other cars in the way.
Me and the elderly speed demons. (Really, when you are pulling old people over who are barely speeding, you are really reaching.)
Seriously, my heinous traffic crimes include "speeding" while traveling down a mountain in Montana (because I didn't want to ride my brakes all the way down), running the occassional amber light, and traveling to the bus stop with out seat belts on. (I should preface this by saying that the bus stop is basically beside our house, on an undeveloped, closed road.)
The officer was nice, making small talk about how old my two kids were and that he would try to see what he could do to reduce my ticket. (I think maybe it was guilt for being involved in such a traffic masacre.) Then he took my identification and went away for a long time. He left me with a screaming newborn who I had to listen to for a good 10 minutes.
He returned and said that he had gunned me at 24 over the speed limit and that my registration sticker had expired (20 days ago) and was going to forget about the speeding ticket and just make me pay the $110 for the registration.
I tried to explain that we had just barely moved and it must have gotten lost in the mail . . . and with the baby . . . etc, etc. But he became a little more upset that I was not jumping up and down for the "favour" he had just done me and that I should be grateful.
So, I will try to find something to be grateful for.
1. The sun is shining today.
2. I didn't get any demerit points.
3. I didn't get the speeding ticket on top of the registration ticket . . . or have him look at the brake lights or car seats. Or make any mention that I still need to update my driver's license.
4. Avery didn't get run over when she ran off from the car while I was getting Liv out for our midwives appointment.
5. I think that's all the gratitude I have today. I'm still mad.
Mad that I didn't turn left.
Mad that I even fell to peer pressure from the other drivers.
Mad.
So mad.
Like pound my head against a wall mad.
But apparently, I should be grateful. At least according to the cop.
I think back and wish I had made one critical decision a little differently. Why, oh why, did I not turn left instead of head straight into town?
I had been driving the speed limit the entire way in, much to the dismay of the drivers behind me, riding my tail . . . and then later flying past me. I figured that maybe I did need to speed up just a little. I mean, really, did I have to go the exact speed limit? No one gets pulled over for doing 10 over.
So, I sped up. The rest of the traffic was still flying by me. One would think that I would be safe and that my little infraction was nothing compared to the rest of the drivers. And, one might even reason that a cop could only pull one of us over, and most likely that would be the speed demon in front of the rest of the speedsters.
One would think.
Yes, it's true that one cop can only pull over one car. However, what happens when five cops get together and ambush and entire highway of drivers minutes after the speed limit dropped 20 km/hr?
You get people like me, who rarely ever speed, and could even argue that they weren't speeding knowingly at this point since the traffic was going far faster . . . and being in the left lane, I couldn't see the signs with the other cars in the way.
Me and the elderly speed demons. (Really, when you are pulling old people over who are barely speeding, you are really reaching.)
Seriously, my heinous traffic crimes include "speeding" while traveling down a mountain in Montana (because I didn't want to ride my brakes all the way down), running the occassional amber light, and traveling to the bus stop with out seat belts on. (I should preface this by saying that the bus stop is basically beside our house, on an undeveloped, closed road.)
The officer was nice, making small talk about how old my two kids were and that he would try to see what he could do to reduce my ticket. (I think maybe it was guilt for being involved in such a traffic masacre.) Then he took my identification and went away for a long time. He left me with a screaming newborn who I had to listen to for a good 10 minutes.
He returned and said that he had gunned me at 24 over the speed limit and that my registration sticker had expired (20 days ago) and was going to forget about the speeding ticket and just make me pay the $110 for the registration.
I tried to explain that we had just barely moved and it must have gotten lost in the mail . . . and with the baby . . . etc, etc. But he became a little more upset that I was not jumping up and down for the "favour" he had just done me and that I should be grateful.
So, I will try to find something to be grateful for.
1. The sun is shining today.
2. I didn't get any demerit points.
3. I didn't get the speeding ticket on top of the registration ticket . . . or have him look at the brake lights or car seats. Or make any mention that I still need to update my driver's license.
4. Avery didn't get run over when she ran off from the car while I was getting Liv out for our midwives appointment.
5. I think that's all the gratitude I have today. I'm still mad.
Mad that I didn't turn left.
Mad that I even fell to peer pressure from the other drivers.
Mad.
March 24, 2010
What's in a Name?
The name game.
It's always easier to think up fantastic names for your babies before you actually need one.
It's even easier to do it before you are married and have to run your list by someone else.
The list gets pretty short after both partners have crossed off their old flames' names, kids who were nerds, or people they just didn't like.
We were pretty lucky with Jayden. Both of his names were well liked by us both, it was just a matter of whether he looked like a "Jayden" or a "Blake" when he popped out.
For Jackson, it was a lot tougher. Do we name him after family? Do we use a name even if family doesn't like it? Can we even agree on another boy's name to begin with? And what about what he looks like?
Originally, he was Gavin. Until some family totally shot the name down upon the call from the hospital.
Jackson was chosen because it followed a family name when shortened, but offered a longer version for formality . . . and incase our "tough Jack" might soften up a bit to warrant "Jackson." (Poor logic, I know. Because he is still the loud, high-intensity child that he was the minute he was born, but somehow Jackson has stuck.)
Avery was a choice between Avery and Ava and given the surge in popularity, and the ability to shorten it to Ava, Avery was chosen and easily stuck with. (Even if the "Ava" short-form fell flat.)
I knew that we'd have trouble with this one. Ever since Jackson, we have been mulling over boys' names to be prepared. It seemed we never had trouble with girls' names, only boys'. I also knew that since we had a solid boy's name, we were going to have a little girl . . . whom we could not decide on a name for at all.
And, voila! A little girl emerged.
As the only baby we didn't find out gender with, we had gotten so accustomed to calling it "it," "he or she," or just "the baby," we didnt' even realize that we could find out and solve the mystery when she was born. For a whole 15 minutes we were calling her "he," "she," "the baby."
So it is only natural that it has carried over into her name.
"Baby" has been more familiar to us than any other name.
However, the Canadian governement requires all the forms to be in before the month in . . . and some even had to be in a week or so after birth.
So, we went with the name that Brad really liked, Addison, and the name that I really liked, Liv, and there it was.
And we still called her "she" and "baby" almost most of the time. (Well, everyone except Avery who could not stop saying "baby Asson" all day long for the past month.)
Until . . . one day when Brad came home and asked if I wanted to change it to Liv.
Did I want to change it? Yes, I liked Liv much better. (Not that I didn't like Addison, but I just didn't like any of the short forms that she'd be called.) My one reservation with Liv was that it made a better second name than a first name . . . but maybe that doesn't matter?
So, we are trying to change her name in our house. Jackson is 100% on board, Jayden has reservations, and Avery is obviously having trouble. Baby "Asson" will always be "Asson" to her, or so it seems at this point.
I think Liv suits her more . . . now it is just a matter of deciding whether to change her official records to read: Liv Addison Templeman instead of Addison Liv Templeman. Avoiding the confusion in the future that anyone named their second name faces might be worth the hassle now, and the $50. And so what if Addison Liv rolls off the tongue a little easier . . . how many times will her full name be said anyway??
It's always easier to think up fantastic names for your babies before you actually need one.
It's even easier to do it before you are married and have to run your list by someone else.
The list gets pretty short after both partners have crossed off their old flames' names, kids who were nerds, or people they just didn't like.
We were pretty lucky with Jayden. Both of his names were well liked by us both, it was just a matter of whether he looked like a "Jayden" or a "Blake" when he popped out.
For Jackson, it was a lot tougher. Do we name him after family? Do we use a name even if family doesn't like it? Can we even agree on another boy's name to begin with? And what about what he looks like?
Originally, he was Gavin. Until some family totally shot the name down upon the call from the hospital.
Jackson was chosen because it followed a family name when shortened, but offered a longer version for formality . . . and incase our "tough Jack" might soften up a bit to warrant "Jackson." (Poor logic, I know. Because he is still the loud, high-intensity child that he was the minute he was born, but somehow Jackson has stuck.)
Avery was a choice between Avery and Ava and given the surge in popularity, and the ability to shorten it to Ava, Avery was chosen and easily stuck with. (Even if the "Ava" short-form fell flat.)
I knew that we'd have trouble with this one. Ever since Jackson, we have been mulling over boys' names to be prepared. It seemed we never had trouble with girls' names, only boys'. I also knew that since we had a solid boy's name, we were going to have a little girl . . . whom we could not decide on a name for at all.
And, voila! A little girl emerged.
As the only baby we didn't find out gender with, we had gotten so accustomed to calling it "it," "he or she," or just "the baby," we didnt' even realize that we could find out and solve the mystery when she was born. For a whole 15 minutes we were calling her "he," "she," "the baby."
So it is only natural that it has carried over into her name.
"Baby" has been more familiar to us than any other name.
However, the Canadian governement requires all the forms to be in before the month in . . . and some even had to be in a week or so after birth.
So, we went with the name that Brad really liked, Addison, and the name that I really liked, Liv, and there it was.
And we still called her "she" and "baby" almost most of the time. (Well, everyone except Avery who could not stop saying "baby Asson" all day long for the past month.)
Until . . . one day when Brad came home and asked if I wanted to change it to Liv.
Did I want to change it? Yes, I liked Liv much better. (Not that I didn't like Addison, but I just didn't like any of the short forms that she'd be called.) My one reservation with Liv was that it made a better second name than a first name . . . but maybe that doesn't matter?
So, we are trying to change her name in our house. Jackson is 100% on board, Jayden has reservations, and Avery is obviously having trouble. Baby "Asson" will always be "Asson" to her, or so it seems at this point.
I think Liv suits her more . . . now it is just a matter of deciding whether to change her official records to read: Liv Addison Templeman instead of Addison Liv Templeman. Avoiding the confusion in the future that anyone named their second name faces might be worth the hassle now, and the $50. And so what if Addison Liv rolls off the tongue a little easier . . . how many times will her full name be said anyway??
Introducing . . .
The newest member of our family, Liv!
Here is her birth announcement!
(Details: With love we introduceAddison Liv Templeman
born Saturday, February 27th, 2010*
at 8:43 am**
weighing 6 lbs, 2 oz***
Melanie, Brad, Jayden, Jackson, and Avery
*Apparently someone really wanted to catch the US/Canada gold medal hockey match so she made her debut early.
** Time is approximate, according to when Ted glanced at the clock during delivery.
***Some lady was extremely grateful for a 6 pounder (after two nine pounders), particularly since there wasn't any medical personnel on the scene . . . except for a dentist and the voice of a L&D nurse.
Details: Delivered by Dr. Dad and Aunt Megan, RN
(Mom did a little bit of work too!)
Little Livvie
Since the addition of Livvie, our lives have been a teensy bit busy. ;) So, I appologize for these portraits coming up so late.
March 6, 2010
One Week
In one week, I:
Said "hello" to the world outside mom's tummy.
Learned how to eat . . . and use my digestive system. (Actually, I am still learning how to use it . . . and keep in under control!)
Met my family. Mom's definitely a good person to know . . . Dad seems pretty nice too. I'm a little undecided about the other three kids . . . in spite of all the toys they throw on me and all the hugging and squeezing they do.
Took my first bath. I hope it was my last. I really do not like to get wet. Not even with lotion.
Had three photoshoots. Something tells me I should get used to the camera pointed at me.
Slept. A lot!
Ate. A lot!
Blissfully went into milk comas several times a day.
Went on my first shopping trip to the mall with mom. She was pretty unsuccessful trying to find clothing for herself. (It seems that having a baby a week before still leaves you as big as you were before the delivery . . . only instead of having a bulge in your tummy, it's in your arms. All the other fat is still where you left it.) We had a little more luck for me . . . at least for clothing that I will fit into in a few weeks. Nothing was on the shelves for me to wear in the meantime. I am pretty tiny.
Got interviewed by a local reporter. (Okay, so maybe Dad had to do most of the talking for me.)
Made mom and dad fall helplessly in love with me. And in newborns in general.
It's been a busy week.
February 28, 2010
A Labour of Love: A Most Miraculous Birth Story
A quick labour.
A snow storm.
A new, hard to find development.
These all added up for a very crazy birth story.
On February 27th, our newest daughter came to meet us, in the most intimate of circumstances.
**I will have to add a disclaimer: there may be details in this story (and possibly photos when I get around to them) that may be too much information for most people reading this blog.
However, if you are a medical enthusiast, keep reading.
A Labour of Love: Part One, The Wait
Jayden came 2 weeks early with a gush of water that soaked my king sized bed.
Jackson came around the due date, but contractions (though they were 1-2 minutes apart right off the bat) felt more like a runner’s stitch on one side. Then he barreled down the birth canal in under 3 hours.
Avery had the most normal labour, but came “officially” a week late and narrowly missed induction by 6 hours. Her timing of 2 am made whisking the boys away a little traumatic.
So, it is no wonder that for the last 4-6 weeks of pregnancy, I am a stress case. Never knowing if I can leave home, or even go to the bathroom without popping a baby out can really drive an already hormonally crazy pregnant lady to insanity. Add to that the fact that I get some hard contractions that run 2-4 minutes apart for an hour every couple of days and have my body splitting apart and in agony and you’ve got one stressed momma.
This time around, I was a little more relaxed. Remembering back to the traumatic pain of delivering a 9lbs baby with a very large head last time, and the horrible pain and agony of carrying Jackson around those last few weeks, I was really hoping for another “sneaker” baby like Jayden.
I wished my water would break. I wished I’d have high blood pressure . . . or anything else that would indicate the need for an early induction. I even kept track of storm systems and remained hopeful that something might trigger an early birth.
“I just don’t want to go to my due date and push out another 9 lbs baby.” I confessed to my midwife last Thursday. “But, it seems as though I am too healthy and compared to the other babies, though I’m now in enough pain, I’m not hormonal enough to think it might be happening soon.”
I hobbled off to lay like a beached whale in bed for a few days and tried to make the most of the last few weeks with my three kids.
Jackson came around the due date, but contractions (though they were 1-2 minutes apart right off the bat) felt more like a runner’s stitch on one side. Then he barreled down the birth canal in under 3 hours.
Avery had the most normal labour, but came “officially” a week late and narrowly missed induction by 6 hours. Her timing of 2 am made whisking the boys away a little traumatic.
So, it is no wonder that for the last 4-6 weeks of pregnancy, I am a stress case. Never knowing if I can leave home, or even go to the bathroom without popping a baby out can really drive an already hormonally crazy pregnant lady to insanity. Add to that the fact that I get some hard contractions that run 2-4 minutes apart for an hour every couple of days and have my body splitting apart and in agony and you’ve got one stressed momma.
This time around, I was a little more relaxed. Remembering back to the traumatic pain of delivering a 9lbs baby with a very large head last time, and the horrible pain and agony of carrying Jackson around those last few weeks, I was really hoping for another “sneaker” baby like Jayden.
I wished my water would break. I wished I’d have high blood pressure . . . or anything else that would indicate the need for an early induction. I even kept track of storm systems and remained hopeful that something might trigger an early birth.
“I just don’t want to go to my due date and push out another 9 lbs baby.” I confessed to my midwife last Thursday. “But, it seems as though I am too healthy and compared to the other babies, though I’m now in enough pain, I’m not hormonal enough to think it might be happening soon.”
I hobbled off to lay like a beached whale in bed for a few days and tried to make the most of the last few weeks with my three kids.
A Labour of Love: Part Two, Is This It?
You would think that by the time you had your fourth baby you could decipher when you are going into labour.
Well, perhaps it would be easier if you didn’t have strong contractions through out the few weeks before delivery.
Jackson and Avery both followed a similar pattern. Intense pain of some kind, happening about every 1-2 minutes and the loss of the plug about an hour in were sure signs that all things were a “go.”
However, it also gave me about an hour to get child care, get myself to a safe place, ready to deliver a baby before I became completely incapacitated.
This time around, contractions started about 6-8 minutes apart, then came to 3 minutes apart and lasting about 60 seconds. They spaced out to 5 minutes and then 4 minutes. I watched for about an hour.
The timing was definitely off. There was no plug. However, when the contractions came, they definitely made me take notice.
I went to wake Brad up at 7 am and suggested that we skip going skiing but rather have his parents come grab the kids because I think that the baby was coming.
On the phone with the midwife, I was unsure. Labour seemed to be taking longer than usual, it was not characteristic, and as I easily breezed through talking through contractions that now were fainter and farther apart, I was really regretting calling anyone for this “false alarm.”
As time wore on, and I began getting the room ready for a home birth and Brad loaded the kids up, it became very apparent that yes, this was it. Certainly Brad saw the urgency as he came to check on me and found me keeled over on the floor, chewing on a wet face cloth.
Well, perhaps it would be easier if you didn’t have strong contractions through out the few weeks before delivery.
Jackson and Avery both followed a similar pattern. Intense pain of some kind, happening about every 1-2 minutes and the loss of the plug about an hour in were sure signs that all things were a “go.”
However, it also gave me about an hour to get child care, get myself to a safe place, ready to deliver a baby before I became completely incapacitated.
This time around, contractions started about 6-8 minutes apart, then came to 3 minutes apart and lasting about 60 seconds. They spaced out to 5 minutes and then 4 minutes. I watched for about an hour.
The timing was definitely off. There was no plug. However, when the contractions came, they definitely made me take notice.
I went to wake Brad up at 7 am and suggested that we skip going skiing but rather have his parents come grab the kids because I think that the baby was coming.
On the phone with the midwife, I was unsure. Labour seemed to be taking longer than usual, it was not characteristic, and as I easily breezed through talking through contractions that now were fainter and farther apart, I was really regretting calling anyone for this “false alarm.”
As time wore on, and I began getting the room ready for a home birth and Brad loaded the kids up, it became very apparent that yes, this was it. Certainly Brad saw the urgency as he came to check on me and found me keeled over on the floor, chewing on a wet face cloth.
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