The "Mercenaries"

Dear Jacqui,

Once upon a time, there was a magnificent person named "Jan" who was having a "less than magnificent" day...

Her (not quite a) baby had been up several times in the night and her toddler had gotten up at 5:07 AM.

For the day.

Did I mention Jan was also battling fatigue and nausea from the inconvenience of having a third child?

After enjoying a little morning conversation with her far away friend "Mackie", she hung up the phone with the intention of getting her littles ready to go swimming.  Her strategy was simple... take them out to hopefully make them as tired as she was to ensure a quiet afternoon.

Not entirely at all successful.

While getting the (not quite a) baby ready for swimming, he puked.

Great.

Swimming was cancelled and Jan swiftly rerouted to "plan B"... lay on the couch, liberal use of the tv, feel bad for herself.


Imagine Jan's surprise at 11 AM when two men showed up on her doorstep and refused to leave... continually ringing the door bell.

I bet you know who this is...

The Jehovah Witnesses.  Back again.

Jan opened the door a smudge, careful to conceal her own body odour and the (mostly naked) toddler behind her and with a polite smile explained that they were a little "under the weather" but that they should "all come back now, ya hear?"

Happy that was over, Jan slunk back into the house and "whipped up" a lunch delicacy consisting of fruit leather, crackers & cheese.  Fine dining at it's best.

Knowing that this day would never end, yet hoping it would, Jan decided to put the (not quite a) baby down for an early rest.

Jan lay down on the couch and closed her eyes hoping that sleep would soon consume her body.

Scratching and rustling noises begin.  Signalling to her (mostly naked) toddler that "Mommy" was sleeping, she shut her eyes tighter.

Scratch, Rustle, THUMP.

Realizing that the toddler wasn't moving and remembering the mouse-that-coulda-been a-rat that took up residence in the garage (until being axe murdered by Mr. Magnificent) Jan shot up and tried to bravely follow the source of the noise.


Her worst nightmare ensued.

One dead and one not-so-dead something in the fireplace.

She let out a (very brave) bloody curdling scream.


Feeling conflicted if she should call 911 or her husband, she called the neighbour... and then her husband... and then 911.  (Okay, maybe not 911... but she did consider it)

Despite the fact that the (mostly naked) toddler was completely glued to the tv screen, all the excitement wakes the (not quite a) baby up.  And he poops.

Jan heroically blocks up the fireplace and heads to the bedroom to fight whatever monsters await her in the (not quite a) baby's diaper.


It seems as though the morning's puking had represented itself in a new form.

Jan (not so heroically) makes a run for the toilet.


While in the bathroom, incessant knocking starts on the front door.  "Moooom!"  Calls (mostly naked) toddler from the front window.  "It's two men at da door and dere knocking for you!"

Convinced it is those darn "Jehovah Witnesses" coming back to further torture "stinky barf Mom"... AKA "Jan"... she whips open the door exposing her stinky wretched self, house, crying (not quite a) baby and (mostly naked) toddler.  (Perhaps with the intention to give them a little piece of her mind... "Hello?!  By "later" I meant like "in a year".... not like "2 hours!")

Do you know who it is?!

Oh no you didn'!!


That's right "Mackie"... your two little friends brought by your little message.

So Jan did what any other "Mormoniest Non-Mormon" you'd ever met would do... she invited them to come in...

... another time.  (Perhaps one when they were all dressed and had brushed their teeth... and maybe even the kids were sleeping!)

Love, Jen

P.S.  You ARE reading this right... The Missionaries you sent in lieu of the Witnesses did indeed come on the same day the Witnesses came back!  Eek!

P.P.S  & We're still friends... for now.  (dun, dun, DUN!)

The Golden Years

                        Dear Jen,

I've been thinking a lot about these guys lately:

My old college buddies! I actually started thinking of them a few days before Alex (tall one on the left) sent me a message online, but that message got me to thinking even more. Perhaps it's because his purpose was in hoping that my connections in Edmonton could hook him up with a place for a couple months while he did a show at the Citadel (come to think of it, if you happen to know anyone who could room him [for pay] for March and April let me know)! I said to him, "How do you MANAGE these things?" But of course I know how he manages these things:

He actively pursues these things. Now of course he and I do bear some fundamental differences which would still stunt me in the theatrical field even if I wasn't married and child-rearing. For one, I am a woman. It's just a fact that there is more competition out there for female actors--not that I'm intimidated! The other is that he doesn't have the same strict moral standards I have when it comes to selecting worthy performance material. That would be my biggest brick wall for sure, if I were trying to make it as an actor. And also, he travels a lot, and I'm not sure I would enjoy that as a long-term arrangement.

Still, sometimes when I see his seeming constant success, I suffer a moment of envy. But you know, because of all those things listed above and also because I know I have lots of time to pursue these interests in the future, and because I know that life could never provide me with the fulfillment this life does, that envy isn't what gets me. No, the reminder of my college friends, and my college teachers, and my college classes--that's what gets me.

We had a small class in college--only ten graduated third year. But these two always stand out for me--Matt and Alex--because of the intellectual connection I felt with them. I have not yet made friends whom I could goof around with, and banter with, and be creative with, and improvise with, in the same electrically satisfying way I could with these two. I have no clue if I meant to them what they meant to me. But the thrill of creation is indescribable and incomparable, and I experienced it ALL. THE. TIME. when we hung out or did classes together. They just matched me intellectually and creatively, brain for brain--and they were as passionate about acting as I was.

So I've been thinking about some of that stuff: about the movement class projects Matt and I did together (teacher always partnered us); about the Commedia Dell'arte and dramatic mask work; about the contact improv classes; about the powerful scene from The Seagull between Arkadina and Trigorin that Alex and I tuned into; about the Risk nights at Alex's where we danced to Dr. Worm and played the ridiculous and invented game, "Central Room Standing"; about our Voice class production of "The Fantasticks" where I got to sing the opening song "Try to Remember" (incidentally, Brad and Evelyn brought home a porcelain doll on Saturday which winds up to play that song--talk about reminders); about the strange and hilarious play I put together for Cabaret one year with Kelly and Chris Moore; about everything. And I've got to tell you--it's kind of bumming me out.

When I was in college, I had the incredible foresight to realize that those three years in all likelihood would be my "Golden Years". "It is unlikely," thought I, "that I will ever again have this much concentrated fun in my life. Probably I will have much more excellent and meaningful experiences. But never this many for this long." And so far, my prediction has proved right. I love so many things about my life and who I am and what I have to look forward to. But I long yet for that level of creative and intellectual fulfillment. Community theatre usually doesn't cut it at all, and at best only scratches the surface--satisfying momentarily a much deeper itch. One day I hope to find a group of people. Perhaps in an improv club; or a masks workshop; or perhaps if I can manage to stick around one place long enough I'll slowly accumulate enough people to make my own little club of actor geeks like me who I once again feel match me in that most satisfying way.

In the meantime, I sigh, take another long look at that photo, then try to put it out of mind while I plug along in the Scoship.

Delivering your uplifting message of the day,

Love,

Jacqui.

More Names...

Dear Jacqui,

Might I expand on Evelyn's suggestion and propose "theme" names?  I am thinking "Pinky" & (the) "Brain" or "Flower" & "Thumper"...  I'll let you pick who is who considering you will inevitably give birth before me.

Though Zach is pretty insistent that we will be calling the baby "Coco".  Pretty good suggestion to me if we are planning the baby to actually be a puppy or a stripper.  Time will tell.

Love, Jen

Baby Names

Dear Jen,

I was just showing Evelyn your most recent blog post, and she suggested, "Let's name the baby in her belly."

"Alright," I said, "What's the baby's name?"

The answer?

Pinky.

Don't worry. It'll grow on you. I'm stuck with Flower for mine, so...they'll match--especially if they turn out to be boys.

Love,

Jacqui

Big Baby

Dear Jen,

Today was a big day, because I finally did it: weaned Gavin. I mean, I had considered him more or less weaned for the past few months--he doesn't eat at all throughout the day...generally. Okay lately I've been slipping a little when I'm really tired and he's really cranky and he's searching around in my shirt with this pathetic wimper--you know how it goes (or maybe I'm the only sucker here).

But I've known for a while that I need to just cancel the whole nursing thing altogether, especially since I am more than convinced that at this point he is getting nothing more from the experience than the comfort of being close to mommy and sucking on something. Here's how I know (TMI?): pancakes. You can't get milk out of pancakes.

Anyway, so I'd been thinking about it, worrying about it--knowing that with the impending birth of a baby that will actually rely on my milk for survival, I would have to get him to kick the habit soon-ish, but certain that my little momma's boy would put up a big fight and make me feel like I was abandonning him.

Side note. I've realized something: Evelyn has never been much of a jealous child when it came to Gavin. He on the other hand has become very much so since he gained awareness. Evelyn's sitting on my lap? He will drop everything to run over whining to me and crawling all over me, pushing her right off if he can manage it. I'm holding Evelyn? Instant break-down. Here's my theory on the matter: Evelyn is secure in her position in life because she had a full two years and two months of parental affection all to herself. Gavin, however, has always had to share, from the moment he was born. But it's all fine now because at the end of the day, he's still the baby. If I can only carry one child, guess who always gets the privilege?

But what happens when baby number three comes along? Suddenly Gavin has lost the only advantage he has against his siblings. Is this where "middle child syndrome" starts?

Interesting thought.

Back to the issue at hand, though. Alright I think I baby Gavin just a little. Maybe I feel bad for him--maybe I connect with him because I, too, am the second child. Or maybe I just got soft with this one. Seriously, I forgot everything I did with Evelyn. It was like having a first baby all over again. Anyway, so here we are, Gavin is 16 months old, still nursing to sleep for nap and bedtime, and it suddenly occurs to me that it's time to end it. Actually it was on my Christmas trip to Ottawa--probably from my mother's influence--that I resolved to completely wean him when we got back. I realized that now isn't any worse a time than some undertermined future moment, so may as well. I gave him a few days of grace upon returning from our trip, to get back into routine, but today I thought, "This is it. Today is the day. You will not be fed to sleep."

Know how it went?

Easy.

Sometimes I worry about nothing. Nap time was a snap, but I knew it would be, because if you wait long enough they're so tired they'll fall asleep instantly anyway. The real test was bedtime, because I wasn't prepared to let him wander around till 9:00 just so I didn't have to deal with any protests. I laid his blanket out on his bed, wrapped it gently around him (at which point he whined a little when he realized what I was up to), rocked him for about one minute until his eyes had been closed for a bit, then laid him down. Predictably, he instantly burst into offended tears. But I calmly walked down to my living room, looked at the clock, turned on the radio, and sat on the couch to wait. After five minutes he stopped, started up again at the ten minute mark, and was out by fifteen.

That was it.

So...yeah. Gavin's weaned. And...it was ridiculously easy. There's a clear message here:

It was time.

I guess this means my baby is officially not a baby...

Love,

Jacqui