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A Traci/Jerry comfort fic.
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Disclaimer: Don't own Rookie Blue.
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A/N: To be honest, I kind of hate myself for writing this fic, but I can't really think of anything else to do right now, and writing keeps me calm. I just got a phone call from my mom telling me that my thirteen-year old brother tried to kill himself, and now I'm stuck here waiting for her to pick me up so we can go see him. I have some feelings to vent, so here it is.
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Traci Barber-Nash barreled her way through the hospital, seeking the nurses' station she'd been directed to. Her husband was racing along behind her, gripping her hand tightly, trying to let her know silently that he wasn't going to leave her side.
They finally reached the desk, and Traci slapped her hand down on the counter when she stopped. "My son!" she almost shouted at the nearest nurse-looking person. "My son was brought in almost an hour ago. Where is he?"
The nurse couldn't have missed her anxiety and worry if she tried, and put on her most passively-assuring face. "What's your son's name?"
"Leo. Leo Nash. Please, tell me where he is?"
The woman behind the desk typed into the computer, reading silently for a second before looking up at two worried faces in front of her. "He's in the children's ward, room 214 -"
She stopped when Traci turned immediately in that direction.
"The doctor will want to see you!" the nurse called out to her, accepting a short wave from the husband before he followed.
Traci ignored the woman, rushing to the children's ward and searching for the room number she needed. She was out of breath when she finally made it to the room, and gasped at what she saw when she looked inside.
Twelve-year old Leo was hooked up to an IV drip, with various cords running from his body to the machine, and telltale white bandages wrapped around his wrists.
Traci gripped her belly in shock, a whimper escaping from her mouth.
"He's okay," Jerry told her, breaking through the din of her motherly heartbreak. "He's okay, Trace."
Traci walked into the room, moving to her son's side and gripping his hand with one of hers, while her other hand came up to settle over his forehead. She felt Jerry step in behind her, his hand squeezing her shoulder; his attempt at comfort. "I don't understand ... he was happy. I thought he was happy."
Jerry didn't know what to say to that, so he just moved even closer to her, pressing a kiss down on her other shoulder.
They watched over the sleeping boy for a few minutes, before someone cleared their throat behind them, causing them to turn.
"Mr. and Mrs. Nash?" the doctor inquired.
"Sort of," Traci commented offhand, her eyes still stuck to her son.
Jerry caught the look on the doctor's face, stepping in to explain. "I'm Jerry Barber, Leo is my stepson. Traci is Leo's mother."
The doctor nodded in understanding, walking into the room. "Your son suffered a lot of blood loss, but he's recovering well. He'll need to stay at least two nights before I'm comfortable with him leaving. And he'll need to talk to a Crisis Worker."
"What happened?" Traci needed to know. "Why did he ...? The school called, but all they said was that he was here, and he tried ..." She couldn't finish.
"From what I understand, Leo found a broken piece of glass, went into the boy's bathroom, and cut a small gash across each of his wrists."
A pained sob escaped Traci's lips, her body lowering to drop her forehead against Leo's.
"He's stable, but we'll continue monitoring him through the night. If you have any questions, feel free to page me. I'm on shift until 6:00 am." The doctor waited a moment to see if they had any further questions, and then departed from the room.
Jerry moved back to his wife's side, rubbing his hand in soothing circles on her back.
...
It was closing in on nine o'clock pm when Leo began to stir.
Traci sat up immediately, brushing a hand over her son's face. "Leo?"
The boy blinked several times, groggy and weak. "Mom?"
Traci breathed a sigh of relief, that was quickly replaced by anger. "What were you thinking?"
Leo frowned sadly, unable to meet his mother's eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Traci shook her head. "Why would you try to ... kill yourself? Aren't you happy? I thought we were happy."
Leo shrugged. "I don't know."
Traci brought a shaky hand to Leo's smaller one, holding it tightly in her grasp. "What were supposed to do without you, huh? What about your baby sister? Do you think she'd want to grow up not knowing her brother?"
Leo's face fell even further at that, looking over at his mother's enlarged stomach. "You would've gotten on fine."
Traci's eyes widened. "What?"
Leo sighed, glancing at Jerry before explaining, "You're starting your own family now. You'll have a new baby, and she's both of yours ... you won't need me anymore. I'll just get in the way."
Traci couldn't speak, she was so astounded. She couldn't believe her son thought that.
Jerry came around the bed, stopping on Leo's other side. He brought one strong hand to Leo's shoulder, rocking it a bit. "Buddy, you know I love you. You're just as much my son as Beth will be my daughter. We love you both the same."
Leo didn't look convinced.
Jerry sighed, leaning over so that his face was close to Leo's. "You know what your mom asked me before we got married?"
Leo looked into Jerry's eyes, shaking his head. "No."
Jerry glanced at Traci for approval, and when she nodded, he continued. "Your mom was worried that I only loved her, and not you. So, she asked me a question. There I was, down on one knee, ring in my hand, waiting for her to answer my question, and she said, 'What if the house was on fire?' Now, I looked at her like she was completely nuts, and she went on, 'Jer, what if the house was on fire. Me and Leo were both trapped in different parts of the house, and you could only save one of us. Who would you save?'" Jerry fixed Leo with a serious look, his gaze unwavering. "You know what my answer was?"
Leo shook his head again, absorbed in his step-dad's story.
"I said, 'I'd get Leo out of the house, and yell at you to get your ass in gear and meet us outside.' She laughed, and told me that she'd love to marry me."
Leo's eyebrows furrowed into a confused expression, trying to understand the moral of the story.
"What that means, Leo, is that you mean the world to me, even though you're not one-hundred percent my biological child. I would walk through fire for you - your mom would too - and there is nothing you could do to make us love you any less," Jerry informed him.
Leo's lips pursed together, trying to stop himself from crying.
"He means it, Kiddo," Traci confirmed. "This new baby is going to bring us all so much happiness, and I know that you're going to be an awesome big brother. But, how about we make a deal?"
Leo blinked the wetness out of his eyes, meeting his mom's eyes at last. "What kind of deal?"
"Well, how about after the baby's born, we'll have a special day every week, just for you and Jerry, and you two can go and do whatever you want. You'll have the whole day to yourself. Does that sound like a plan?"
Leo considered that. "You won't be mad at me?"
Traci coughed out a laugh, wiping her own tears from her eyes. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far right now, mister. But, I think we'll manage. You gotta promise me something, though."
Leo nodded. "Anything."
"You can never do anything like this again," she stated seriously, her eyes hard and determined. "I don't ever want to get a call from anyone telling me that you've hurt yourself."
Leo nodded, ashamed at the disappointment in his mother's eyes. "Promise. I'm sorry, Mom ... Dad." His eyes flickered to Jerry after he said, waiting for a reaction.
Jerry grinned despite himself. "That's the first time you've called me that."
Leo nodded, unable to say anything more.
"Thanks, buddy. You know I love you." Jerry ruffled the young boy's hair.
Leo smiled back. "I love you, too ... Dad."
Traci was crying different tears now, brushing a hand over her son's cheek. She halted after a second, her body going rigid. She looked down at her belly with a smile. "The baby kicked."
Jerry came back around the bed, placing a hand on Traci's stomach. After a few seconds, he felt the little bomp of the baby girl's feet. "Leo, give me your hand."
Leo slowly reached his hand up, staring at his mother's stomach with uncertain eyes.
Jerry took Leo's hand, placing it on Traci's stomach and holding it there.
"I don't feel anything," the boy stated sadly.
"Just wait," Traci whispered, looking down at her stomach, and the three hands that covered it.
Four Mississippi’s later, a big kick came.
"Wow!" Leo gasped, shocked at the feeling.
"That's your sister," Traci commented with a grin. She would give her son a hell of a lecture later, and probably end up crying on Jerry's shoulder while Leo was sleeping ... but right now, she just wanted to enjoy this moment. Standing there, with her husband and son holding onto her pregnant belly, while her little girl kicked hope into their lives.
They would make it ... everything would be okay. It had to be.
...
The end.
Let me know what you think. Thanks for bearing with me.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Late 'Osama bin Laden'
Breathe in … Breathe out. Osama bin Laden is dead.
"Tonight I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of Al-Qaeda and a terrorist who's responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children." - Barack Obama.
Nearly 10 years ago, the entire world as we knew it changed: the World Trade Center was destroyed - an attack masterminded by Osama bin Laden. On the morning of September 11, 2001, Al-Qaeda-affiliated hijackers flew two 767 jets into the complex, one into each tower, in a coordinated terrorist attack. After burning for 56 minutes, the South Tower collapsed, followed a half-hour later by the North Tower, with the attacks on the World Trade Center resulting in 2,752 deaths.
Certainly his crimes go beyond the 9/11 attacks:
- He was involved in the December 29, 1992 bombing of the Gold Mihor Hotel in Aden. Two people were killed.
- He and three others are believed to have killed 2 German citizens in Libya on March 10, 1994.
- He funded the Luxor massacre of November 17, 1997. Sixty-two civilians were killed.
- He is linked to the August 7, 1998 US Embassy bombings, where hundreds of people were killed by suicide bombers.
- He co-signed a “fatwa” (Islamic decree) with Ayman al-Zawahiri in the name of the “World Islamic Front for Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders”, which declared the killing of North Americans and their allies as an “individual duty for every Muslim”. He labeled North Americans as “easy targets”.
- In 2004, he claimed responsibility for the September 11, 2001 attacks on the United States.
In his 2008 campaign, Obama repeatedly vowed: “We will kill Osama bin Laden.”
On May 1, 2011, the complex where he was hiding was infiltrated by a small group of American “special forces” soldiers. Osama bin Laden resisted the attack, and was killed along with three other men in a fire-fight. Thankfully, none of the American soldiers were killed.
Yes, one of the world’s most wanted men is now dead. Many people across the world celebrate his death. Is it our place to celebrate it? That’s not for me to dictate. You can’t help how you feel about the death of a terrorist and mass murderer. I’ll tell you how I feel: relieved. Safe. Secure. … And worried. Yes, I will sleep soundly tonight knowing that the man responsible for countless murders can no longer harm a single soul on this planet. But, there is also a heavy burden on my heart, because I don’t know what tomorrow, or the next day will bring, as a result of his death. Will al-Qaeda strike back? Will his second-in-command, Ayman al-Zawahiri, simply replace him as the world’s most-feared, and most-wanted man? I don’t have the answers to these questions.
What I have is this: Terrorism will never stop. This is a reality that I accept. There will always be conflicting super-powers, there will always be religious fanatics, there will always be clashing beliefs and values that spark the flame of war. But on May 1, 2011, the world got to breathe a sigh of relief. On May 1, 2011, Barack Obama, President of the United States, fulfilled his promise to the American people - and the world - that he would put an end to Osama bin Laden’s tyranny and mass-murder.
Breathe in, Breathe out. Sleep safe tonight. He cannot hurt you anymore.
"Tonight I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of Al-Qaeda and a terrorist who's responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children." - Barack Obama.
Nearly 10 years ago, the entire world as we knew it changed: the World Trade Center was destroyed - an attack masterminded by Osama bin Laden. On the morning of September 11, 2001, Al-Qaeda-affiliated hijackers flew two 767 jets into the complex, one into each tower, in a coordinated terrorist attack. After burning for 56 minutes, the South Tower collapsed, followed a half-hour later by the North Tower, with the attacks on the World Trade Center resulting in 2,752 deaths.
Certainly his crimes go beyond the 9/11 attacks:
- He was involved in the December 29, 1992 bombing of the Gold Mihor Hotel in Aden. Two people were killed.
- He and three others are believed to have killed 2 German citizens in Libya on March 10, 1994.
- He funded the Luxor massacre of November 17, 1997. Sixty-two civilians were killed.
- He is linked to the August 7, 1998 US Embassy bombings, where hundreds of people were killed by suicide bombers.
- He co-signed a “fatwa” (Islamic decree) with Ayman al-Zawahiri in the name of the “World Islamic Front for Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders”, which declared the killing of North Americans and their allies as an “individual duty for every Muslim”. He labeled North Americans as “easy targets”.
- In 2004, he claimed responsibility for the September 11, 2001 attacks on the United States.
In his 2008 campaign, Obama repeatedly vowed: “We will kill Osama bin Laden.”
On May 1, 2011, the complex where he was hiding was infiltrated by a small group of American “special forces” soldiers. Osama bin Laden resisted the attack, and was killed along with three other men in a fire-fight. Thankfully, none of the American soldiers were killed.
Yes, one of the world’s most wanted men is now dead. Many people across the world celebrate his death. Is it our place to celebrate it? That’s not for me to dictate. You can’t help how you feel about the death of a terrorist and mass murderer. I’ll tell you how I feel: relieved. Safe. Secure. … And worried. Yes, I will sleep soundly tonight knowing that the man responsible for countless murders can no longer harm a single soul on this planet. But, there is also a heavy burden on my heart, because I don’t know what tomorrow, or the next day will bring, as a result of his death. Will al-Qaeda strike back? Will his second-in-command, Ayman al-Zawahiri, simply replace him as the world’s most-feared, and most-wanted man? I don’t have the answers to these questions.
What I have is this: Terrorism will never stop. This is a reality that I accept. There will always be conflicting super-powers, there will always be religious fanatics, there will always be clashing beliefs and values that spark the flame of war. But on May 1, 2011, the world got to breathe a sigh of relief. On May 1, 2011, Barack Obama, President of the United States, fulfilled his promise to the American people - and the world - that he would put an end to Osama bin Laden’s tyranny and mass-murder.
Breathe in, Breathe out. Sleep safe tonight. He cannot hurt you anymore.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
My Super-Dog … or, the Luckiest S.O.B. on the Planet.
My family and I went for a two-night stay over in Calgary to visit my brother, and have some relaxing time in the hotel. The visit with my brother was fun - the first time I got to see him in over a month. We went shopping, picked up some KFC, went down by the river and enjoyed a windy but pleasant lunch, then drove back to the hotel for some swimming. The visit was nice. The hotel stay? Not entirely. First, we had to downsize our room because the one we booked had no fridge to put our Easter leftovers in, nor a microwave to heat them up. Then, my mother nearly broke her foot on a loose step in the hot-tub, and walked around with a painful, swollen foot the entire trip. Finally, when we got to check out, not only has management provided no concession for my mother’s injury - or even the hint of a sincere apology - they’ve denied us the medical rate for our room, and charged us for two nights of having a dog in our room. We didn’t bring my dog.
We should have, though. This is where my story really begins.
We were gone for two days, arranging for our neighbor to feed, water, and otherwise take care of my dog while we’re away. She’s done it before, we trust her. Copper likes her. All good, right? Wrong.
Apparently we’ve gone away to Calgary too much lately, and I’ve been staying in Red Deer too much lately, and my dog is just downright pissed off at us.
He ate: 1 loaf of bread, 1 bag of Lays Original chips, an entire box of unopened Pot of Gold chocolates that my mother got for Easter, an undeterrmined amount of Instant Coffee, an undetermined amount of Jelly Beans that were hidden in the eggs the kids didn’t find at Easter, and my brother’s Sea Monkeys & their food.
He tore up: garbage, papers in my room, coasters, the lid to the cookie jar that the Instant Coffee was in, and one of my Western Pizza cups that I collect. He also knocked over various items from the counter, and one of our upstairs bookcases.
Yeah … he’s in the proverbial doghouse.
It’s not like it’s a secret that my dog is a garbage-guts, though. When we first got him, he ate everything. I do not exaggerate. He ate anything that was left out on the counter: meat, butter, bread, candy, chocolate … whatever there was. He would take scraps of plastic, paper, and garbage outside and chew it up in the yard. He made off with my Resident Evil movie, and chewed up the case. He’s the first dog that actually enabled me to say honestly that, “my dog ate my homework”. He’s eaten our satellite remote, my hair dye, a few unfortunate stuffed animals - the only thing that has ever made him sick is Chinese food. That was a decidedly NOT FUN experience, one that was never repeated. He’s eaten chocolate, candy, and other table scraps, and it’s never made him sick. But, he’s never eaten and ENTIRE box of chocolates, and he’s never eaten chocolate that wasn’t given to him by one of us.
He is lucky to be alive. And not just because he chewed up part of my cup collection … though, if it were one of my Coca Cola cups, it might be a different story. J
Honestly, though, I love my dog. I love him more than anything, and I freely admit this. I am sure that it bothers several family members, but it is the truth. I love animals more than humans, and I always will. I love Copper, I want him to live for many, many years.
My first dog, George, died when he was eight, on August 22, from cancer. My mom left home claiming to be taking him for an appointment, and came home without him. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. My second dog, Sylvia, died when she was three, on March 18. She woke up paralyzed on the lower part of her body, from a calcified disc in her back. I had to make the choice to not let her suffer any longer. My mom’s dog, Jack, died when he was sixteen. He had a heart murmur, cataracts, arthritis, and finally died in my arms from a stroke at 5:30 in the morning on November 30.
Copper’s birthday is in July. He will be seven years old. He’s already beaten the 3-year mark, I want him to beat the 8-year mark. I’d love him to beat the 16-year mark. More than that, I want him to be healthy. I want him to live a long, full life, with as little pain as possible. He will be my last dog for a very long time. I don’t want him to suffer through old age, like Jack did, but I want him to live a long, long life.
My dog is a medical marvel. He’s eaten chocolate, which is supposed to be like poison for dogs. He’s eaten a full bottle of hair dye, and the conditioner that came along with it, which should have killed him. He’s eaten paper, plastic, garbage, cardboard, and various human foods. He’s eaten the equivalent of 12-14 days worth of dog food in one sitting when he snuck into the room where we kept his food. He is not a fat dog, nor do we force this food on him - he gets into it all by himself. As of yet, he has survived.
Does that mean I’ll let the box of chocolates, Instant Coffee, or Sea Monkeys sit on the counter when we go out anymore? Nope.
We should have, though. This is where my story really begins.
We were gone for two days, arranging for our neighbor to feed, water, and otherwise take care of my dog while we’re away. She’s done it before, we trust her. Copper likes her. All good, right? Wrong.
Apparently we’ve gone away to Calgary too much lately, and I’ve been staying in Red Deer too much lately, and my dog is just downright pissed off at us.
He ate: 1 loaf of bread, 1 bag of Lays Original chips, an entire box of unopened Pot of Gold chocolates that my mother got for Easter, an undeterrmined amount of Instant Coffee, an undetermined amount of Jelly Beans that were hidden in the eggs the kids didn’t find at Easter, and my brother’s Sea Monkeys & their food.
He tore up: garbage, papers in my room, coasters, the lid to the cookie jar that the Instant Coffee was in, and one of my Western Pizza cups that I collect. He also knocked over various items from the counter, and one of our upstairs bookcases.
Yeah … he’s in the proverbial doghouse.
It’s not like it’s a secret that my dog is a garbage-guts, though. When we first got him, he ate everything. I do not exaggerate. He ate anything that was left out on the counter: meat, butter, bread, candy, chocolate … whatever there was. He would take scraps of plastic, paper, and garbage outside and chew it up in the yard. He made off with my Resident Evil movie, and chewed up the case. He’s the first dog that actually enabled me to say honestly that, “my dog ate my homework”. He’s eaten our satellite remote, my hair dye, a few unfortunate stuffed animals - the only thing that has ever made him sick is Chinese food. That was a decidedly NOT FUN experience, one that was never repeated. He’s eaten chocolate, candy, and other table scraps, and it’s never made him sick. But, he’s never eaten and ENTIRE box of chocolates, and he’s never eaten chocolate that wasn’t given to him by one of us.
He is lucky to be alive. And not just because he chewed up part of my cup collection … though, if it were one of my Coca Cola cups, it might be a different story. J
Honestly, though, I love my dog. I love him more than anything, and I freely admit this. I am sure that it bothers several family members, but it is the truth. I love animals more than humans, and I always will. I love Copper, I want him to live for many, many years.
My first dog, George, died when he was eight, on August 22, from cancer. My mom left home claiming to be taking him for an appointment, and came home without him. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. My second dog, Sylvia, died when she was three, on March 18. She woke up paralyzed on the lower part of her body, from a calcified disc in her back. I had to make the choice to not let her suffer any longer. My mom’s dog, Jack, died when he was sixteen. He had a heart murmur, cataracts, arthritis, and finally died in my arms from a stroke at 5:30 in the morning on November 30.
Copper’s birthday is in July. He will be seven years old. He’s already beaten the 3-year mark, I want him to beat the 8-year mark. I’d love him to beat the 16-year mark. More than that, I want him to be healthy. I want him to live a long, full life, with as little pain as possible. He will be my last dog for a very long time. I don’t want him to suffer through old age, like Jack did, but I want him to live a long, long life.
My dog is a medical marvel. He’s eaten chocolate, which is supposed to be like poison for dogs. He’s eaten a full bottle of hair dye, and the conditioner that came along with it, which should have killed him. He’s eaten paper, plastic, garbage, cardboard, and various human foods. He’s eaten the equivalent of 12-14 days worth of dog food in one sitting when he snuck into the room where we kept his food. He is not a fat dog, nor do we force this food on him - he gets into it all by himself. As of yet, he has survived.
Does that mean I’ll let the box of chocolates, Instant Coffee, or Sea Monkeys sit on the counter when we go out anymore? Nope.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
End of Year 2
Another year gone. When I started this whole college thing, I wasn’t too excited about it. Because, really, my options were: get a job, or go to school. Because I hated my last job, I opted for higher education. My thinking: part time school, a couple classes a week, how bad could it be?
My answer: it was pretty okay. Deferring my practicum the first semester wasn’t exactly my brightest choice, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn't have gotten the chance to do a practicum at Tiny Treasures in the spring. That was fun. that was the semester that I finally started to love school again.
Don’t get my wrong, I’m not one of those people who hates school, doesn’t see the point in it, and never did well in school. I used to love school. When I was a kid, I was almost always the first one to catch on to reading, writing, and math. I loved it - I would always win when we played “Around the World Math” in grade 3. I wrote my first story in grade 1, and absolutely fell in love with writing. Then we moved, and my marks dropped from almost-honor-roll, down to 30s. Innisfail was not a happy place for me. Four months later, we moved again, and they went back up to 60s and 70s. That was okay for me. I didn’t put a whole lot of effort into school after that - maybe because I was resigned to having to pack up and move again at the drop of a hat, maybe because from my last experience, the teachers weren’t too interested in teaching. I mean, my high school math teacher - while entertaining in her own right - cared more about shopping online for shoes and vintage Fraggles than actually teaching me the specifics of domain and range. I stopped putting an effort into math, and the other courses that weren’t as fun, and put all my energy into the classes that I did love: English, Psychology, Social, and Band. Those were my best classes in high school. My English teacher was and still is my favorite teacher. Psychology was easily my best class, even though my teacher didn’t have a clue. Social was fun, because I love learning about history, and in Band, I got to jam out with my friends.
Then we graduated, and went our separate ways, and life just sort of went on. I got heavy into writing, and quit my less-than-stellar job because I was getting sick too much. After far too much time spent vegging on the couch, watching TV and reading/writing fanfics, it was finally time to make that life-altering choice: job, or school.
School it was. That was only one half of the choice, though. Okay, going to school - but what will I take in school. My first choice was Psychology. I want a degree in Criminal Psychology. The catch? I need Pure Math 30, because there’s a statistics course in the degree course. Of course there is. Remember that impressive math teacher I had in school? Sigh … okay, Psychology was out for a while. Next, was Social Work. Well, I’d had way too much experience with the inner working of social services and foster care, so I wasn’t too eager to become one of “them”.
After some more perusing of the available courses at RDC, I came across Early Learning and Child Care. It wasn’t what I’d imagined myself doing, but I thought I’d give it a try. It was only a two-year course, so I thought I’d give it a try. End result: I’m now a Level 2 Child Care Provider, and I’m loving every minute of it.
Tomorrow I’ll write my last 2 exams of the semester, and so will end my second year of college. I’m finished with my third practicum, and have already made plans to go back and volunteer once my exams are over.
This has been a busy year for me. When I wasn’t in school, I was in practicum, and when I wasn’t in practicum, I was finishing assignments and preparing activities for practicum. I’ve missed over half of my shows this year, my puppy has spent more time with my mother than he has with me, my hours of sleep have been next to non-existent, and it’s a debate every morning whether I really want to put the effort in shaving my legs, or just throw on pants instead of shorts. I chopped off all my hair because I was sick of the winter frizz-ball it becomes, and have fallen madly in love with our foster children. I got to reconnect with my friends from high school, dealt with my youngest brother’s issues and saying goodbye to him, spend oodles of time with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and finished writing my first novel. I’ve bounced back and forth from Red Deer, to Sylvan, to Edmonton, and back, spending maybe 1/3 of the time in my own bed.
So, 2 exams tomorrow and then I’m officially done for the year. What am I going to do? SLEEP! SLEEP! And then? … SLEEP! Spend time with my dog, have movie/TV show marathons with my sister-in-law, hang out with my niece, and … oh, yeah: SLEEP!
My answer: it was pretty okay. Deferring my practicum the first semester wasn’t exactly my brightest choice, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn't have gotten the chance to do a practicum at Tiny Treasures in the spring. That was fun. that was the semester that I finally started to love school again.
Don’t get my wrong, I’m not one of those people who hates school, doesn’t see the point in it, and never did well in school. I used to love school. When I was a kid, I was almost always the first one to catch on to reading, writing, and math. I loved it - I would always win when we played “Around the World Math” in grade 3. I wrote my first story in grade 1, and absolutely fell in love with writing. Then we moved, and my marks dropped from almost-honor-roll, down to 30s. Innisfail was not a happy place for me. Four months later, we moved again, and they went back up to 60s and 70s. That was okay for me. I didn’t put a whole lot of effort into school after that - maybe because I was resigned to having to pack up and move again at the drop of a hat, maybe because from my last experience, the teachers weren’t too interested in teaching. I mean, my high school math teacher - while entertaining in her own right - cared more about shopping online for shoes and vintage Fraggles than actually teaching me the specifics of domain and range. I stopped putting an effort into math, and the other courses that weren’t as fun, and put all my energy into the classes that I did love: English, Psychology, Social, and Band. Those were my best classes in high school. My English teacher was and still is my favorite teacher. Psychology was easily my best class, even though my teacher didn’t have a clue. Social was fun, because I love learning about history, and in Band, I got to jam out with my friends.
Then we graduated, and went our separate ways, and life just sort of went on. I got heavy into writing, and quit my less-than-stellar job because I was getting sick too much. After far too much time spent vegging on the couch, watching TV and reading/writing fanfics, it was finally time to make that life-altering choice: job, or school.
School it was. That was only one half of the choice, though. Okay, going to school - but what will I take in school. My first choice was Psychology. I want a degree in Criminal Psychology. The catch? I need Pure Math 30, because there’s a statistics course in the degree course. Of course there is. Remember that impressive math teacher I had in school? Sigh … okay, Psychology was out for a while. Next, was Social Work. Well, I’d had way too much experience with the inner working of social services and foster care, so I wasn’t too eager to become one of “them”.
After some more perusing of the available courses at RDC, I came across Early Learning and Child Care. It wasn’t what I’d imagined myself doing, but I thought I’d give it a try. It was only a two-year course, so I thought I’d give it a try. End result: I’m now a Level 2 Child Care Provider, and I’m loving every minute of it.
Tomorrow I’ll write my last 2 exams of the semester, and so will end my second year of college. I’m finished with my third practicum, and have already made plans to go back and volunteer once my exams are over.
This has been a busy year for me. When I wasn’t in school, I was in practicum, and when I wasn’t in practicum, I was finishing assignments and preparing activities for practicum. I’ve missed over half of my shows this year, my puppy has spent more time with my mother than he has with me, my hours of sleep have been next to non-existent, and it’s a debate every morning whether I really want to put the effort in shaving my legs, or just throw on pants instead of shorts. I chopped off all my hair because I was sick of the winter frizz-ball it becomes, and have fallen madly in love with our foster children. I got to reconnect with my friends from high school, dealt with my youngest brother’s issues and saying goodbye to him, spend oodles of time with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and finished writing my first novel. I’ve bounced back and forth from Red Deer, to Sylvan, to Edmonton, and back, spending maybe 1/3 of the time in my own bed.
So, 2 exams tomorrow and then I’m officially done for the year. What am I going to do? SLEEP! SLEEP! And then? … SLEEP! Spend time with my dog, have movie/TV show marathons with my sister-in-law, hang out with my niece, and … oh, yeah: SLEEP!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thankful For My Childhood Experiences
To everyone who gets pissed at their parents when they discover that the "Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy," and "Santa" aren't "real", I have this to say to you:
They've bought at least one extra present for each one of you at every Christmas, often more expensive and extravagant than the ones they took credit for. They filled your stockings with treats and toys, trying hard not to make any noise so that the magic of Christmas wouldn't be ruined for you. They've rearranged their schedules to buy your "Santa" presents when you wouldn't be there to see it, and then went to extreme measures to hide them so the surprise wouldn't be ruined. They helped you write letters to "Santa", and helped you read the reply that you got, cuddling you in their arms while you smiled with glee. They let you wake them up extra early to see what “Santa” brought everyone. They lied and hid and did whatever they could so that you could stay an innocent kid for just a little while longer.
They helped you seal up your teeth in little white envelopes, or small tooth containers, so that you could place them under your bed for the tooth fairy to come. They’ve dug into their own wallets for every single tooth that you lost, giving you money and letting a small, tutu-toting fairy take credit for it. They’ve undergone the chilling fear of trading that tooth for money, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up and catch them.
They bought chocolate, candy, toy bunnies, and other Easter presents, stayed up late to make sure that you were asleep before laying them out for you, and then let you wake them up early so they could see what the “Easter Bunny” brought everyone.
Quit bitching about your parents trying to let you enjoy your childhood - be thankful that they went to the lengths that they did for your enjoyment.
“Santa”, the “Easter Bunny”, and the “Tooth Fairly” ARE REAL. They are the mother and/or father who thanklessly did all of the above, and did everything that s/he could to keep the credit off of her/him.
They've bought at least one extra present for each one of you at every Christmas, often more expensive and extravagant than the ones they took credit for. They filled your stockings with treats and toys, trying hard not to make any noise so that the magic of Christmas wouldn't be ruined for you. They've rearranged their schedules to buy your "Santa" presents when you wouldn't be there to see it, and then went to extreme measures to hide them so the surprise wouldn't be ruined. They helped you write letters to "Santa", and helped you read the reply that you got, cuddling you in their arms while you smiled with glee. They let you wake them up extra early to see what “Santa” brought everyone. They lied and hid and did whatever they could so that you could stay an innocent kid for just a little while longer.
They helped you seal up your teeth in little white envelopes, or small tooth containers, so that you could place them under your bed for the tooth fairy to come. They’ve dug into their own wallets for every single tooth that you lost, giving you money and letting a small, tutu-toting fairy take credit for it. They’ve undergone the chilling fear of trading that tooth for money, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up and catch them.
They bought chocolate, candy, toy bunnies, and other Easter presents, stayed up late to make sure that you were asleep before laying them out for you, and then let you wake them up early so they could see what the “Easter Bunny” brought everyone.
Quit bitching about your parents trying to let you enjoy your childhood - be thankful that they went to the lengths that they did for your enjoyment.
“Santa”, the “Easter Bunny”, and the “Tooth Fairly” ARE REAL. They are the mother and/or father who thanklessly did all of the above, and did everything that s/he could to keep the credit off of her/him.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Driving 101
Let me preface this blog by informing you that I do not have a driver’s license. I do not have a learner’s permit, nor a desire to acquire one.
Why, you might ask?
Well, the first and foremost explanation is that there is not even a shadow of a doubt in my ever-whirring mind that I would have road-rage. People annoy me, this is no secret. So, imagine putting me behind the wheel of a speeding, metal hunk of devastating weaponry, with such annoying people in my sights … it would not end well for them. It would be quite costly for me.
That being said, while I do not possess the legal or physical ability to drive an automobile, I am not shy about putting my two cents in to those who “can” drive.
I will demonstrate the stupidity of some of the drivers that I have seen endangering the streets with their dangerous actions.
1) While driving along the highway to Red Deer, we passed a person who was texting on their slide-phone. You know, the ones with those handy keyboards that come out so you can type on it like a real keyboard? Makes texting SO MUCH FASTER! Also makes idiots think that they can text with both hands wherever they want to, even behind the wheel. I can only assume that she was using her knees to steady the steering wheel, and had the speed set to cruise control. Smart? No. Would I want to run her moronic ass off the road if I possessed my own vehicle? Yes.
2) On the same day, while traveling the streets of Red Deer on our way to drop me off at the college, my mother let out a loud statement of shock and amused annoyance: “Oh my god, that woman is curling her eyelashes and driving!” … Yes, she was. After we changed lanes, I got a nice, close-up view of this ‘genius’. She was in fact curling her eyelashes with one hand, while the other pretended to steer. The car pulled ahead of us, and the next time we pulled up beside her, she had her glasses back on, and her passenger was curling her eyelashes. … Did you catch that? She put her GLASSES BACK ON. Let’s examine that statement in its entirety, shall we? This woman, who presumably requires glasses so that she can see - to drive! - took off her glasses while she was driving. Then, after effectively blinding herself, she took out a metal, cosmetic weapon and put it against her eye.
Let’s examine the steps for using an eyelash curler, shall we?
1: Apply eye shadow and eyeliner, allowing it to dry before curling your lashes. Mascara is always applied after curling the lashes to avoid lash breakage and smearing.
2:Ensure that your lashes are clean and dry.
3: Open the curler and place your upper lashes inside its mouth. Close your eye slightly, then open it; all of the lashes should move into the curler's mouth. Always hold the eyelash curler so that the mouth is parallel to your lashes.
4: Move the curler closer to the eye until the tool comes to the base of the lashes, but not over the skin of the eyelid.
5: Keep the eye open and slowly close the curler. Your eyelashes should fan out evenly across the upper bar. If at any time you feel pinching, readjust the curler.
6: Hold the closed curler for a slow count of five, keeping your hand and face steady. Repeat for additional volume.
7: Repeat with the other eye.
While I’m sure this would make a vain person’s eyelashes look just fantastic, is this an appropriate activity to do while driving? … NO!!!!
If talking on a hand-held device is illegal to do while driving, how in the hell is curling your eyelashes acceptable? It’s not. You want to kill yourself, do it in a manner that will not take innocent casualties with you.
Driving is not some nuisance that keeps you from getting all your “important” things done, it is something that requires your full and uninterrupted attention.
With idiot drivers like this on the road, why the hell would I ever want to get a license?
Why, you might ask?
Well, the first and foremost explanation is that there is not even a shadow of a doubt in my ever-whirring mind that I would have road-rage. People annoy me, this is no secret. So, imagine putting me behind the wheel of a speeding, metal hunk of devastating weaponry, with such annoying people in my sights … it would not end well for them. It would be quite costly for me.
That being said, while I do not possess the legal or physical ability to drive an automobile, I am not shy about putting my two cents in to those who “can” drive.
I will demonstrate the stupidity of some of the drivers that I have seen endangering the streets with their dangerous actions.
1) While driving along the highway to Red Deer, we passed a person who was texting on their slide-phone. You know, the ones with those handy keyboards that come out so you can type on it like a real keyboard? Makes texting SO MUCH FASTER! Also makes idiots think that they can text with both hands wherever they want to, even behind the wheel. I can only assume that she was using her knees to steady the steering wheel, and had the speed set to cruise control. Smart? No. Would I want to run her moronic ass off the road if I possessed my own vehicle? Yes.
2) On the same day, while traveling the streets of Red Deer on our way to drop me off at the college, my mother let out a loud statement of shock and amused annoyance: “Oh my god, that woman is curling her eyelashes and driving!” … Yes, she was. After we changed lanes, I got a nice, close-up view of this ‘genius’. She was in fact curling her eyelashes with one hand, while the other pretended to steer. The car pulled ahead of us, and the next time we pulled up beside her, she had her glasses back on, and her passenger was curling her eyelashes. … Did you catch that? She put her GLASSES BACK ON. Let’s examine that statement in its entirety, shall we? This woman, who presumably requires glasses so that she can see - to drive! - took off her glasses while she was driving. Then, after effectively blinding herself, she took out a metal, cosmetic weapon and put it against her eye.
Let’s examine the steps for using an eyelash curler, shall we?
1: Apply eye shadow and eyeliner, allowing it to dry before curling your lashes. Mascara is always applied after curling the lashes to avoid lash breakage and smearing.
2:Ensure that your lashes are clean and dry.
3: Open the curler and place your upper lashes inside its mouth. Close your eye slightly, then open it; all of the lashes should move into the curler's mouth. Always hold the eyelash curler so that the mouth is parallel to your lashes.
4: Move the curler closer to the eye until the tool comes to the base of the lashes, but not over the skin of the eyelid.
5: Keep the eye open and slowly close the curler. Your eyelashes should fan out evenly across the upper bar. If at any time you feel pinching, readjust the curler.
6: Hold the closed curler for a slow count of five, keeping your hand and face steady. Repeat for additional volume.
7: Repeat with the other eye.
While I’m sure this would make a vain person’s eyelashes look just fantastic, is this an appropriate activity to do while driving? … NO!!!!
If talking on a hand-held device is illegal to do while driving, how in the hell is curling your eyelashes acceptable? It’s not. You want to kill yourself, do it in a manner that will not take innocent casualties with you.
Driving is not some nuisance that keeps you from getting all your “important” things done, it is something that requires your full and uninterrupted attention.
With idiot drivers like this on the road, why the hell would I ever want to get a license?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Domestic Violence - Don't Be Silent
I have never been in an abusive relationship. I was never bullied or picked on, never got into a fight that I lost. I don’t know what it feels like to be a victim.
Sadly, not everyone can make that statement truthfully. Every day, countless women and children are abused by their husbands, boyfriends, and fathers. Every day, somewhere in the world, a man comes home and beats his wife because he had a bad day. Every day, somewhere in the world, a child is being beaten by their parent because life just wasn’t what they thought it would be. Abusers can come up with an endless list of excuses for why they are beating on their chosen victims.
Not all abuse is so easily visible as a physical beating. Other forms of abuse - emotional, psychological, financial, sexual, and verbal abuse - happen every day. There is no one form of abuse that is worse than the other; they are all equally terrifying and unforgettable.
Too many women and children’s lives are ended due to domestic violence.
But, would it surprise you to know that women and children are not the only victims of domestic abuse? Would it shock you to know that there is only one men’s shelter in Alberta? It shocks me - not because it surprises me that men are abused, but because 1 shelter is not nearly enough for one province. Men are just as susceptible to domestic violence, but for whatever reasons - pride, embarrassment, fear - more men fail to report domestic violence and abuse than women do.
Will this blog make a difference in those statistics? No. Will this blog stop domestic violence? No. But the more people speak up about it, the more people will know about it. The more people who know about it, the more people will see that it needs to stop.
If you know someone who is in an abusive relationship, offer them a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. Give them hope and sanctuary, if they so desire it. If you know a child who is suffering abuse, it is your DUTY to report it. It will never benefit a child to remain silent because you don’t want to stick your nose in, or risk losing a friend if you report them.
Domestic Violence ruins lives. Don’t let your silence support that atrocity.
Sadly, not everyone can make that statement truthfully. Every day, countless women and children are abused by their husbands, boyfriends, and fathers. Every day, somewhere in the world, a man comes home and beats his wife because he had a bad day. Every day, somewhere in the world, a child is being beaten by their parent because life just wasn’t what they thought it would be. Abusers can come up with an endless list of excuses for why they are beating on their chosen victims.
Not all abuse is so easily visible as a physical beating. Other forms of abuse - emotional, psychological, financial, sexual, and verbal abuse - happen every day. There is no one form of abuse that is worse than the other; they are all equally terrifying and unforgettable.
Too many women and children’s lives are ended due to domestic violence.
But, would it surprise you to know that women and children are not the only victims of domestic abuse? Would it shock you to know that there is only one men’s shelter in Alberta? It shocks me - not because it surprises me that men are abused, but because 1 shelter is not nearly enough for one province. Men are just as susceptible to domestic violence, but for whatever reasons - pride, embarrassment, fear - more men fail to report domestic violence and abuse than women do.
Will this blog make a difference in those statistics? No. Will this blog stop domestic violence? No. But the more people speak up about it, the more people will know about it. The more people who know about it, the more people will see that it needs to stop.
If you know someone who is in an abusive relationship, offer them a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. Give them hope and sanctuary, if they so desire it. If you know a child who is suffering abuse, it is your DUTY to report it. It will never benefit a child to remain silent because you don’t want to stick your nose in, or risk losing a friend if you report them.
Domestic Violence ruins lives. Don’t let your silence support that atrocity.
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