Hello, is this thing on?

I have been away from the internet more in the past week than i have been in thirteen years. In october 1996 i joined a group of online, early adopter moms, who were expecting babies in june1997. That group changed my life. I became an internet geek through and through. Back then it was really difficult to explain how i had "online" friends. Now, so many years later, that has not changed so much, except i don't feel awkward about it. I have these amazing friends who i hope to see once a year, but our bond is tight as tight can be.

Anyway, i have missed you. For the first time i have been too overwhelmed to connect. I have had to have faith that you are still there. That you will be there when i return. Raw and drained.

And so, in a lack of dénouement, i am here. I am living in a lovely place and i am feeling happy and positive. Life has given me a beautiful home to live in while my dream home is rebuilt. I plan on making a video of this home and my burnt home as soon as i have a minute. But, in the background i hear that pesky insurance adjuster calling my name.

Thanks for everything internet, i love you.

This has been the hardest week of my life. Trying so hard to keep it together. To do everything that needs to get done. To sound like i know what i am talking about.

And it is everything in the midst of everything. It is busy enough already. I walk in the restaurant completely drained. I haven't slept in a week. I haven't had a decent meal. I keep pushing. I think i have aged 100 years.

I will now be old and wise.

The only thing i hadn't thought of was being angry. And someone asked me today if i was angry. And i said "no, not at all."

And then it pounced on me.

I am angry.

That is what has been eating at me. I am fucking pissed off. How could this have happened. My children screaming at me and then bursting in tears. Asking me why. "WHY" They want their home. The home we worked on. Shitty-ass oldness and all.

They were furious when they found out bedroom floors would be brand new, not plywood they could paint. We don't want the new modern house in our old house shell. We want the dream we started to build.

We don't see the silver lining.

We see dreams lost.

We see someone else's home that we have to move into. We see all our lovely things going into storage for six months or more. We see another delay on being the family we want to be.

So, my new house caught fire last night and there is extensive, huge, damage. Insurance is good and we will be fine.

I am a little devastated and, at the same time, frantically trying to find a place to live by next friday. I still have to move somewhere.

I am fried, burnt out. The fire started on the roof. A spark from a tool to insulation that smoldered until it burst into flame at three o'clock this morning. Water damage is crazy. The entire house needs to be gutted and the upper floor completely re-done. I will not pass the threshold for six months or more on my, what will one day -be again, beautiful home.

Thankfully, we were not moved in and we and all our precious things are fine.

So, you'll have to listen to me now, or go figure out who "wwbhjd" is.

Anyway, i curse like a sailor in my personal emails and letters. We swear like you wouldn't believe, in the kitchen, behind the scenes, at work. I never, except in times of extreme pain, swear in front of my kids. They already have one parent who does that, illustrated by parker chanting in the living room this morning "mommy is a fuckhead" over and over because i wanted to sleep for a few more minutes.

But, this home renovation on a shredded shoe-string waitress budget? It is kicking the shit out of me. For the first time ever i am cheaping out on tipping bussers. I am all "five bucks is enough right? right? the babysitter is going to be ninety and after tipping out the kitchen and the those fucking airhead bussers i am barely breaking even. Right. Five bucks it is."

The secret though, to making the stone cold cash, is to treat the bussers well because then they work twice as hard for you and then, in the end, you are way ahead.

But every dollar that passes through my hand now, every single dollar, it kills me if it's not going towards those renovations that will cost twice as much and take twice as long. That's the rule right?

But, i don't have twice as much and only eight more days.

A little crazy around here right now. One house needing to be packed up and made pretty for the next tenants, one house purchased needing much work and spiffying up. When i say old i mean something more like, nobody has done anything to this house in 50 years except a sloppy coat of paint. Everything needs fixing, or changing, or painting.

One day at a time. One thing at a time. It is the most stressful, yet rewarding thing i have ever done. I have been painting in the day and working in the night. My back is killing me. But, i move in next friday. I just have to make it till then and paint as much as possible before then.

In the meantime, i may only post photos. Like that one up there of my toby ripping nails out of old shingles as they are tossed off the roof.

One of the few good things i can say about having shared custody of the children is the time it gives you. Time that, on occasion, is not filled with a yearning to see them.

Yesterday found me in the company of good friends, good food and floor tickets to see Kings of Leon in vancouver. I had a really good time in a whirlwind 24 hour trip. The show was good and loud and very rock and roll. And loud.

Today found me digging around in the dirt under my house searching for hidden treasures. The kids and i have met most of the neighbours already. Parkers little buddy from kindergarten lives right across the alley and the kids spent most of afternoon running between the houses, giddy with anticipation for the day we finally move in. A painful wait of eleven days while floors are torn up, foundations are poured and a beautiful eggplant coloured roof is put on.

Magical days.

i have been thinking about these old houses and why i love them so. i think it is a desire to adopt a history that is not mine. these lives lived in them. happiness and sorrow all bound in horsehair and hay insulation. the struggles and the stories. the children raised, the families built.

my favourite house with you, the one with the best, most intimate memories is cook street, an old home. i remember every day we spent there. those were our golden moments, i hold them close to my heart.

1. rainfall giving me a few days off from watering the garden.

2. old diners in old towns with old staff and old customers.

3. entire days of children in good moods.

4. the giant zucchini we are growing in hopes of winning a ribbon at the Fair.

5. snake charmers and bearded ladies.

As i sit here a mother deer and her little baby nibble on my greens just outside the window, they are both beautiful and gracious and gimpy and clumsy. A getting to know. A learning to nurture and mother.

My youngest daughter has life-threatening allergies. In many ways, after eight years, it's not that big a deal. It is part of our daily lives, but we are all used to it. We are cautious, but carefree. We have our own set of rules and boundaries that keep her safe.

Last night i went out for dinner and then went to watch some friends rehearse their songs. It was fun and carefree. I was thinking, wistfully, off and on about the kids and missing them as i do when they are not with me. Feeling slightly off, like being in the wrong place, or the right place without your clothes. I thought i was having anxiety because my chest kept getting tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe. I headed for home thinking i could use the puffer and take some holy basil and feel better.

The thing was, i didn't feel better. I kept feeling worse and a peek in the mirror returned upon me a face stricken with bright red welts. Welts that ran down my neck and arms. Definitely not a panic attack. Allergy! The thing is i am totally prepared for this situation with my daughter, but not myself. At this time panic set in for real. Like the high maintenance machine that i am, my body has found another way to befuddle and amuse me in a way that is totally not funny.

So long story short an epipen was injected in my thigh and i got better. I just need to find out why that happened and what the hell i am allergic to. Oh, and purchase more epipens.

Stress has been eating at me. Eating away my insides. When i think of all the things i have to do, my giant to-do list that sits unchecked day after day. I am paralyzed into nothingness. Phone calls not dialed, not returned. The daunting inbox.

When i flip open my notebook, see all i have to do my bowels turn and i find myself running for the bathroom and then lay spent on my bed. Picking up a book to escape in instead of that damn list.

The kids bounce in and out of my room. What are we doing, where are we going, what should we do?

And again we escape on fun adventures. Days in the city, in the movies, at music festivals. Late night skinny dips in the lake.

And that list sits there. Goes unchecked.

The other night i just simply broke down. Tears flowed. I cried in my friends arms. I can't do this. A simple "yes you can." Yes i can.

And we danced in the kitchen to loud music, singing as loud as we could. I crashed in a heap in bed. I woke. I woke and knew i could do it.