In Sickness and in Health: DID I REALLY SAY THAT???

At the mature, experienced and worldly age of 24, I signed, quite naively, a binding contract. For Better or for Worse (how bad can it get)?  For Richer, for Poorer (we were DINKS; Double Income No Kids, no problem there) and In Sickness and in Health (well we were invincible).

Well, guess what.  We aren't invincible anymore.

I have just begun to fulfill this promise once again as My Beloved has just endured ankle surgery. Derek has literally struggled to walk for the past year with "Achilles Tendonopathy". This has been aggravated because of a "deformity", evidenced by (and please excuse the medical jargon),  a "hideous bony thing" on the back of his left foot.  This has now been sawed off  by a power tool in the hands of  a carpenter in surgeon scrubs and Crocs.

Hallmark thinks of Everything

With good physiotherapy and good luck, this surgery will renew Derek's ability to walk without a shuffle or a limp.  He should stop cringing in pain and will hopefully continue to pursue his passion for Modern Dance . I must admit over the past year,  he has actually been quite a trooper.

We arrived last week at the hospital and the place worked like a well oiled machine.  Derek was identified, gowned and LEFT leg marked.  He was warned not to ask them to do the "right one". English can be a dangerous language.  Somehow this "minor" surgical procedure was predicted to be "Day Surgery".  I am still a bit stunned at the ability our healthcare system has to catch and release.  I feel we (I) was fortunate in that the anesthetic took longer than anticipated to wear off.  The lovely nurses in Day Surgery finally decided, that despite how charming my husband was, they must turn out the lights and go home. Derek had to leave.  It was closing time. This is not a new scenario for My Beloved.

Such high maintenance

Derek, with Bridget in tow, was then transported to a hospital room to wait it out. He had been deemed "free to go" as soon as the freezing was gone and he could stand.  Well, by 9pm I am looking at a bleary-eyed 200+ lb man, uncomfortable, dopey and somewhat off balance.  Again, nothing new for my husband.

He was then invited to spend the night.




Although this day was not ALL ABOUT ME, I was exhausted and retreated to my father-in-law's home where I was welcomed with a warm hug, a cup of tea and my slippers. I returned bright-eyed in the morning to

Thanks to Dr Kim T.

collect my patient.  We continued on to work out the kinks as this story moves from hospital to home.  We were greeted by Bridget on our arrival at 23 Dean Road.  She, a willing neighbour, Derek and I hoisted him up the front porch where we found an unexpected prescription from the local apothecary to aid in his recovery.

In Every Bar in Ireland

When people hear that my husband will be convalescing for a number of months there is a lot of head nodding and commiserating. There are knowing glances from other women as men are not always given credit as easy patients.  Everyone seems to have experienced a similar situation and provide lots of sympathy and advice. We all understand that there will be crutches and casts and as Derek has

Wow.  They look scary from here.

been warned, a lot of pain.

Our home is poorly designed for anyone with mobility "issues".  There have been few "near misses".  There was the "Basement Stair Scare", the "Shower Scene" and the "Roll in the Grass".  He was not physically injured to any great degree, but somewhat shaken and embarrassed, I imagine that the neighbours are wondering about the Flying F bombs. On Day 1, when Derek finally made his way slowly to the top of the stairs. he fell into bed, completely spent and exhausted. I gave him a sandwich and the TV remote and told him to text me in 6 weeks.

 BaHaHaHa

Poor Derek.

Poor poor Derek.

Knowing that this surgery was imminent, during the past 6 weeks, as My Beloved  waited to "go under the knife", we have tried to think of everything we could do in preparation for his long winter's nap. Final grass cutting and yard work is done, firewood is stacked, motorcycle is stored and snow tires are on, salt is in the water softener, hand rails installed and snow blower ready. Derek has also been actively trying to anticipate my needs while he is convalescing. He considers it "paying it forward".  Over the past few months, he has focused on performing anything that qualifies as a pet peeve of mine.  There are many.  He has done more than his share of dishes.  He has done groceries.  He filled my car with gas..  He is a smart man, but all I really want is for him to be safe and strong and healthy.   And I want a Roots purse.   

Appropriate eh?

Early in our marriage, we adopted roles that would be considered fairly gender stereotypical.  We have drifted into and out of these early defined roles as needed,while Derek traveled and while I worked midnight shifts.  Moving into each other's territories served to  keep the boat afloat,  but generally we liked to stick to our strengths and preferences. I basically look after all aspects of feeding our family. Derek cleans a kitchen like no one else. I create the "to do" list.  Derek takes it and runs.  He is a combination of MacGyver and Mr Fixit.  I prefer not to clean the bathroom and he has not yet located the laundry room.  Our roles have been nicely defined over the years.

 Now with Derek out of commission, I have been thrust into a world with jobs I do not like.  It's not that I am in anyway incapable, I just do not "do" any kind of snow removal. I have no interest in anything garbage-related.  I tend to let dishes pile up until Derek does them.  It takes a village for me to change a light bulb. I am a self-proclaimed princess.  So now , instead of my tiara, I am wearing a nurse's cap and  a whole bunch of different hats.  I don't really like many of them.

As Is This

This recent stint at care-giving is not our first rodeo. This "In Sickness and in Health" thing has cropped up a few times so far in our marriage.  I have done my fair share of convalescing.  The most comparable example on my mind is a break to the (again, excuse the jargon)  shin bone, which as we all know is connected to the ankle bone. After a rather heroic sporting maneuvre at 3rd base, I was taken out by a pair of sliding cleats. The rest is history.  You could view it on YouTube, if YouTube was around in 1993.

For this unexpected turn of events, we had no warning and certainly no prep time.  There was no pre-accident vacuuming. The windows were unwashed. Our dirty Laundry was piled high and grew a bit moldy. I am not even sure whether I was wearing clean underwear. We had 2 little kids and we were thrown into this "nightmare" in shock.  After a stint in the hospital, when another carpenter in surgeon's scrubs and Crocs, bolted and screwed my bones back together, Derek and our 2 wee children welcomed me home.  No one knew how to pull this off.  I was the Mommy. Mommies don't break their leg.  We pulled together.  Kevin learned to climb out of his high chair.   We crawled up the stairs together and had our nap. Katelyn became skilled at moving toys out of my path before Jr Kindergarten and keeping her brother from jumping on me. 

Fortunately we had a village as well. Our friends were around. My sisters were wonderful. My mother was priceless. 

Look Who Grew Up.  Look Who Grew Old

The fallout from this accident seemed insurmountable  Looking back now, this time seems like a blip on a screen.  It was actually a very important learning experience that benefited our marriage and our changed our child-rearing practices for the better.  I was a young mom and felt I had it all together when it came to "my" children. I was forced to relinquish control and Derek stepped up to assume responsibilities, some of which were not really in his repertoire. He held the reins, with "our" children in the cart, buckled into their dualing car seats.  I learned to bite my tongue and watch. I came to appreciate that dill pickles and chocolate milk could count as lunch. I had to admit that every night does not have to be bath night. Derek learned what it meant to "pre-soak" and that noses don't wipe themselves.

When I look at the photo above
 (only photo of me with a cast, no selfies in 1993 either), it provides perspective.  As I role my eyes when Derek asks me to "put the kettle on"  or "please bring me the salt", I catch myself.   I may be Chief Cook and Bottle Washer now but I really only cook for 2 and there are no bottles to wash. There are no sippy cups to fill. I am not reading Robert Munsch to anyone.  No one is asking to do crafts.  There is no chocolate pudding on the wall.

classics

For You Kev

  In fact, the children Derek cared for during my convalescence, are the same kids that are now on my team. The O'Rourke wee ones come back and forth from Toronto.  Bridget is Ms Fixit. She has her Dad's knack. She is in charge of assembly and repairs. Kevin is able bodied. He can leap tall buildings in a single bound. He is my brawn.  Katelyn as the eldest is the logistics coordinator. She sees the big picture. She has banned me from helping her Dad up the stairs. If he goes down, we both go down. Kate is a smart girl. She has no desire to become Chief Cook. My role here is small. I am looking after the family blog. I also stock the bar fridge and make tea.

In Sickness and in Health is rarely pretty, but this time we are fortunate. This time our challenges are surmountable.  Sometimes we are not that lucky. Derek's sick foot will heal, his second foot will also mend and this too shall pass.

Derek may be "only" a man.  He has become unwillingly dependent upon me.  He is not happy about this either.  My motto has always been, "you wash my hair and I'll wash yours" and my fondest memory is Derek washing my hair when I was too unwell to do this myself.  So  I will fluff his pillow,  prop up his leg and warm his toes.  I have seen both sides of the fence.  I have a soft spot this time because thinking back when I arrived home to convalesce, I recall that on 3 of the occasions, I brought along a baby.  

How Can I Deny Him a Cup of Tea

Mental Illness Awareness Week - What Colour Rope are You Carrying?

 I recently saw that this is Mental Illness Awareness Week.  Everyone has a vulnerability.  Everyone has a cause.  Access and Awareness for the treatment of Mental Illness motivates me.  I would like  to participate, but at this late date, I can only dream.

I am picturing my version of a Walk-a-Thon to support access and research for Mental Illness.  I am not sure in  what colour everyone has chosen to dress. There are men and women here.  Both bathrooms are being used equally.  Some of the group is very enthusiastic.  Some are not so excited. Everyone here is holding on to a rope and walking with their group. There are ropes of many colours.

There is a long rope held by the survivors, those of us that have been in the cuckoo's nest, afflicted

with mental illness.  This group has been blessed with the access to appropriate medical treatments and psychological strategies that allow us to no longer be marginalized.  These are the people you might not have expected to be here, up on the stage, telling their story because they just seem so "normal".  They are up there, trying to break the stigma. They are not comfortable as they know that they will be judged, but there they stand, owning their story. Some of us aren't ready yet but hope to be there one day.  We still have 1 foot in the closet.

There are the amazing people who support those who struggle with mental illness.  The nurses, doctors, many different healthcare professionals with varying backgrounds all trying to find the right mix of medication and  support that will address the very individual needs of each of their clients.  There are the educators who work with our children to assure their success.  These people have chosen to work in a field that does not appeal to many.  This group advocates and supports and they have made this walk possible.


We hope there are policy makers.  The longer the rope the better.  People who can use the funds raised today to improve access for all individuals.  The 'higher-ups" need to see all the

people here today.  They need to come to understand the prevalence and the large spectrum and overlaps of mental illnesses and the frustrating and unfair gaps in care. Maybe this walk will open a few of their eyes.


Families and friends are out in droves.  They are walking to raise money and awareness

for better access for their loved ones and more research.  Each walking for someone in their life or someone they have lost.

Parents of young children, who themselves may have struggled for years, are walking for their "problem" child.  Some of these kids are here too.  Some hold the rope very tightly.  The "hyper" ones run ahead.  The "slow" ones lag behind and there are those kids who just flat out refuse to hold the rope.  The parents are hoping this walk will help to make their child's world more aware and accepting and perhaps realize that an accurate diagnosis and treatment can make this child's life better than theirs has been.

There is a relatively new group to the walk  They are here because awareness is developing and young adults are showing up now with a stronger sense of comfort at this Walk.  Their parents and supporters are holding the rope with them, despite how overwhelmed they feel.  Many are deemed "helicopter parents" by those who don't understand that advocacy cannot always be done by the individual at risk.

Another large group is holding strong to their rope. It keeps them all together and makes them feel safe. These participants are those who strive every day with difficulty to maintain balance, seeking to manage their symptoms.  They know that mental health is not just the absence of disease. Some of them succeed at  times and then later may again struggle with their demons.  They understand there is no cure, just good management.  They are aware of their triggers and have developed strategies over a long difficult time.  They know the benefits of mental health days, exercise, proper diet and sometimes medication.  They try to remember in the dark times, that with the support of understanding friends and family, they can keep moving, 2 steps forward, 1 step back.  These are the people who really struggled to get to the Walk today.

Now, there are a lot of people who are not at the Walk today.   Many people wanted to be here holding on to a rope.   This is a group that no matter what their intention was yesterday, just couldn't get out of bed.  Some of these people may have finally gotten up, but were so overcome with the "what if's" of what the day might bring that they could not go.  Some couldn't get out the door.  They haven't been out in years.  Some didn't come because there were voices from the TV warning them to stay home.  Some were not physically well enough to come, their body weight, too high or too low, made it impossible to walk this far.  There were others who couldn't come today either, as they are a slave to their addictions.

There is another group that is absent today. They couldn't come to this Walk because they are hospitalized at this time. A team of healthcare providers is working very hard to stabilize them so they can participate next year.  Some are in the hospital willingly because they understand the risks associated with their disease.  They may have lost someone and seek the treatment that is not available to all.  There are those who do not choose to be admitted, but they are safe.  They are off the cliff.

Another bunch of people might have been somewhat unwelcome here today.  Their rope is all musty and doesn't smell very good.  Perhaps they aren't here because they have no shoes.  We all know them, but we may not have graciously welcomed them. It reminds many that each person, but for the support and access we take for granted, might have been us.

Today's Walk is just a snapshot. Many of us have held different ropes at different times.  We nod at each other to show understanding and support.  There are so many symptoms, diseases and over lap that I can't hope to include all the ropes. The diagnosis and treatment of mental illness is vast, complicated and ever changing.

I will however make note of a large, but perhaps shrinking rope lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up.  This group isn't on the Walk today.  They really saw no reason to come.  Some may be blessed to have family and friends who are emotionally healthy all the time.  I find this hard to believe though. It is unclear to some people just what the point was to this Walk.  They are not participating perhaps because they feel that everyone has problems and just need to deal with them.  Maybe all the walkers could just cheer up, stop worrying and realize that everyone has bad days.  They feel they could provide an insight into parenting the "problem" child with tough love.  They could try to give everyone a good shake. Is there really a problem.  If symptoms can't be measured, like

blood pressure, if a stethoscope can't hear it, if some doctors don't even see it, then wouldn't money be better spent on real illnesses with real symptoms.  Perhaps as this group becomes more enlightened, the stigma will continue to disappear.  Perhaps they will grab on to a rope one day when their heads emerge from the sand.

Well I see there are a lot of people on this Walk. It would certainly be an interesting group. These are the nicest people in the world.  There is ever a dull moment with us nut balls.   It would be long day of mixed emotions.  With any luck at all the sun would shine on this day.  A dark and rainy day for this Walk would just be cruel.

Me Again!!

Well Hi:

Some of you know that I have conspicuously absent for a while.  Now I am back with a vengeance.  I started a blog post that ran into 2.  So this story is followed by a related gab session.  Take your time. 

Over the past few months, I have been embarrassingly lucky.  Our hospital raises funds by employee fundraising.  We have a 50/50  draw and I have won, TWICE.  People congratulate me, but I think they are rolling their eyes, understandably.  My windfall has been used for very frivolous purchases.  We now have a new washer/dryer and sadly that makes me happy.  Oh and it also paid to get my car out of the pound, when it was towed from a nearby parking lot.  So I guess I am not all that lucky all the time. 

This windfall has made me think more deeply about the role of fundraising.  Instead of just taking the money and running, I have felt I would like to give back a bit.  There are so many worthy causes.  It can be hard to decide where I would focus my efforts.  I have done a couple of Walk-a-thons.  It is a nice way to spend a day, walking with friends and breathing in the excitement.  The downside is that I must hit my friends and family for donations.  I have trouble selling a raffle ticket, but I am embracing this new passion.  "Me Again" It starts with the odd Facebook request.  Then the personal emails start.  "Oh God, here she goes.  She is at it again."  My supporters now actually pay me to get off my butt.  I find though that after a few walks, my coworkers try not to make eye contact and I am no longer invited to parties in case I show up with an agenda and a rope.

It seems weird to me that at this stage of my life, I have embraced fundraising.  There was a time, as many of you know or remember, that as a parent of a school-aged child, a great deal of effort was supposed to be spent raising money for many worthy causes.  The problem was that hitting up friends and family to sponsor my children was very uncomfortable, partly due to the frequency of events when one has 3 children.  I just accepted, after a while, that I could not compete with the families who seemed to raise tons of money through the sale of the item of the week.  They put us to shame.   My children often seemed disappointed in my lackadaisical attitude. I spent many hours of their childhood feeling badly about our lack of support, while I read Chatelaine and ate apples and boxes  of chocolate covered almonds. 

I remember vividly, Kate at about 6 years old, trying desperately to carry a huge boom box home,

after her fundraising dance-a- thon.  She was so excited to be the winner of such a great prize.  She didn't even listen to music yet, but she knew this was something special.  This was an early glimpse of the benefits of fundraising.

 My recent experience with fundraising was the CIBC Run for the Cure.  Some of you sponsored me and I thank you for your generosity.  I felt I was paid well to walk for 5 km.  My weekend included a dinner out with my girls and breakfast with my son after the walk.  Breakfast included a mimosa and the afternoon was just
one big nap.  I mean really,  I may appear altruistic, but really, I just loved the outing.

 The atmosphere at the run/walk was mind-blowing.  So many people.  So much pink.  Without judgment I note that the majority of participants were women, but there were a significant number of men dressed in rosy boas. However, I still plan to lobby for an open door policy on the men's washrooms.  There were young and old alike.  Many breast cancer survivors were gratefully participating. Everyone was walking for someone. There was excitement, joy and sadness all rolled up into a glorious Sunday morning with sun shining and just enough of a breeze so I didn't even break a sweat.  It was a great day.  What's next?  Where do I sign up?



At this point though, it may be time to hang up my Go Walk sneakers for a bit. I will take my turn and give support to friends and families and their worthy causes.  We all have vulnerabilities.  We all have our causes. We all hold some kind of rope.  Supporting each other in our particular struggles is what opens our eyes to the plight of others.  We get to walk a day in another's shoes.  I will continue to train for next year.  I need to keep in shape.  I may just pull out the old boom box and hold my own personal dance-a -thon in my kitchen while gorging on Girl Guide cookies.  Never let it be said I didn't do my part.

Bell Let's Talk is SCREAMING IN MY EAR.

I have a strong appreciation of the importance of supporting causes about which we feel passionate. We all have our vulnerabilities. We all have our "stuff".  Raising awareness of the prevalence of Mental  Illness and fighting the stigma associated with it, speaks to me. Actually today Bell Let's Talk is SCREAMING IN MY EAR. I thought I would repost my vision of Let's Walk and Talk.

 I am picturing my version of a Walk-a-Thon to support access and research for Mental Illness. There are men and women here. Some of the group is very enthusiastic.  Some are not so excited. Everyone here is holding on to a rope and walking with their group. There are ropes of many colours.

There is a long rope held by the survivors, those of us that have been in the cuckoo's nest, afflicted

with mental illness.  This group has been blessed with the access to appropriate medical treatments and psychological strategies that allow us to no longer be marginalized.  These are the people you might not have expected to be here, up on the stage, telling their story because they just seem so "normal".  They are up there, trying to break the stigma. They are not comfortable as they know that they will be judged, but there they stand, owning their story. Some of us aren't ready yet but hope to be there one day.  We still have 1 foot in the closet. 

There are the amazing people who support those who struggle with mental illness.  The nurses, doctors, many different healthcare professionals with varying backgrounds all trying to find the right mix of medication and  support that will address the very individual needs of each of their clients.  There are the educators who work with our children to assure their success.  These people have chosen to work in a field that does not appeal to many.  This group advocates and supports and they have made this walk possible.


We hope there are policy makers.  The longer the rope the better.  People who can use the funds raised today to improve access for all individuals.  The 'higher-ups" need to see all the

people here today.  They need to come to understand the prevalence and the large spectrum and overlaps of mental illnesses and the frustrating and unfair gaps in care. Maybe this walk will open a few of their eyes.


Families and friends are out in droves.  They are walking to raise money and awareness

for better access for their loved ones and more research.  Each walking for someone in their life or someone they have lost.

Parents of young children, who themselves may have struggled for years, are walking for their "problem" child.  Some of these kids are here too.  Some hold the rope very tightly.  The "hyper" ones run ahead.  The "slow" ones lag behind and there are those kids who just flat out refuse to hold the rope.  The parents are hoping this walk will help to make their child's world more aware and accepting and perhaps realize that an accurate diagnosis and treatment can make this child's life better than theirs has been.

There is a relatively new group to the walk  They are here because awareness is developing and young adults are showing up now with a stronger sense of comfort at this Walk.  Their parents and supporters are holding the rope with them, despite how overwhelmed they feel.  Many are deemed "helicopter parents" by those who don't understand that advocacy cannot always be done by the individual at risk.

Another large group is holding strong to their rope. It keeps them all together and makes them feel safe. These participants are those who strive every day with difficulty to maintain balance, seeking to manage their symptoms.  They know that mental health is not just the absence of disease. Some of them succeed at  times and then later may again struggle with their demons.  They understand there is no cure, just good management.  They are aware of their triggers and have developed strategies over a long difficult time.  They know the benefits of mental health days, exercise, proper diet and sometimes medication.  They try to remember in the dark times, that with the support of understanding friends and family, they can keep moving, 2 steps forward, 1 step back.  These are the people who really struggled to get to the Walk today.

Now, there are a lot of people who are not at the Walk today.   Many people wanted to be here holding on to a rope.   This is a group that no matter what their intention was yesterday, just couldn't get out of bed.  Some of these people may have finally gotten up, but were so overcome with the "what if's" of what the day might bring that they could not go.  Some couldn't get out the door.  They haven't been out in years.  Some didn't come because there were voices from the TV warning them to stay home.  Some were not physically well enough to come, their body weight, too high or too low, made it impossible to walk this far.  There were others who couldn't come today either, as they are a slave to their addictions. 

There is another group that is absent today. They couldn't come to this Walk because they are hospitalized at this time. A team of healthcare providers is working very hard to stabilize them so they can participate next year.  Some are in the hospital willingly because they understand the risks associated with their disease.  They may have lost someone and seek the treatment that is not available to all.  There are those who do not choose to be admitted, but they are safe.  They are off the cliff.

Another bunch of people might have been somewhat unwelcome here today.  Their rope is all musty and doesn't smell very good.  Perhaps they aren't here because they have no shoes.  We all know them, but we may not have graciously welcomed them. It reminds many that each person, but for the support and access we take for granted, might have been us.

Today's Walk is just a snapshot. Many of us have held different ropes at different times.  We nod at each other to show understanding and support.  There are so many symptoms, diseases and over lap that I can't hope to include all the ropes. The diagnosis and treatment of mental illness is vast, complicated and ever changing.

I will however make note of a large, but perhaps shrinking rope lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up.  This group isn't on the Walk today.  They really saw no reason to come.  Some may be blessed to have family and friends who are emotionally healthy all the time.  I find this hard to believe though. It is unclear to some people just what the point was to this Walk.  They are not participating perhaps because they feel that everyone has problems and just need to deal with them.  Maybe all the walkers could just cheer up, stop worrying so much, relax and think positively.  Some in this group might feel they could provide an insight into parenting the "problem" child with tough love.  They could try to give everyone a good shake. Is there really a problem.  If symptoms can't be measured.  If a blood pressure cuff can't read it,

 if a stethoscope can't hear it, if some doctors don't even see it, then wouldn't money be better spent on real illnesses with real symptoms.  Perhaps as this group becomes more enlightened, the stigma will continue to disappear.  Perhaps they will grab on to a rope one day when their heads emerge from the sand.

Well I see there are a lot of people on this Walk. It would certainly be an interesting group. These are the nicest people in the world.  There is ever a dull moment with us nut balls.   It would be long day of mixed emotions.  With any luck at all the sun would shine on this day.  Could it be a dark and rainy day for this Walk?  I can't believe Mother Nature could ever be so cruel. 

THE SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING AUNTS

Alright, I will come clean now.  I have been hiding the truth. I was in Jamaica last

week.  I failed to mention to many that I would be going away south, yet again this winter. I appreciate that most people wish me well but the "have a great trip" is starting to have an edge to it and frankly I can't blame anyone. I certainly don't "need a holiday".  I don't "deserve a vacation".  I am not overwhelmed with our Mulmur winter. However when friends remember that I am going away with the my sisters and our beloved mother, their tone usually changes. I may not "need" the sun, but I so "need" the company.

Julie, Karen, our Dad, our Mom, Terry and me

This past week I was hiding in Jamaica as 1 of the 4 Wells Women and our matriarch, Pierrette. This has been our 8th time that our mother has treated her 4 daughters to a decadent trip south, the likes of which we could not take otherwise. Each year we celebrate, together, our father's birthday. We have missed our Dad but honestly if we had made a trip like this when he was alive, Bill Wells would have waved goodbye, wished us well and would have relaxed for the week glad to spend his birthday with his "peace and quiet". He was a man of few words. It may be said though, that with 5 women in the house, he had just given up.

Many have said, countless times, that our Dad was "cursed" with 4 young daughters. They warned him about the teenage years.  They warned him about the promiscuity for which he should prepare himself.  Our father was a calm man and merely relayed that he had had each of us spayed at age 10.

Starting in 1959, each baby girl arriving at 314 Mill street became a new part of a growing coven.  Julie was my parent's first kick at the can.  Sure, they made their mistakes. Sure she spoke French to her friends until they refused to speak to her. She figured this out quickly and then she in turn refused to speak French to my mother. Problem solved.

Terry, Janet, Karen, Julie

I was the second of  4. November in 1961 I became my sister Julie's play toy, a little sister to love and to terrorize. Two years after my birth, in December 1963, came Terry. At 5 lbs she was too small to play very well. She was a fussy baby, we hear.   With this in mind, much to our shock the 3 Wells girls became 4 with Baby Karen the following November. I think Terry and Karen might be called Irish twins with less than 12 months between them. All these babies in late fall begs the question just what the heck was going with our parents in late winter. However I would rather stick pins in my eyes than contemplate this.

My sisters were my first friends. As wee ones, we shared beds and bath water. As kids we shared                                                                     toys

and ski trips.  We played baseball and Bingo. Then eventually as 4 teenage girls we shared clothes and curling irons. It was a house full of tight jeans and platform shoes. We looked alike. We talked alike. Apparently we even had "the same bums". I answered to each of their names as it was not unusual to be mistaken for one another.

 My sisters were my first adversaries. From my sisters I learned to fight. I am not just talking about pillow fights. I am not talking arguments and resolution.  I am not even referring to cat fights. I mean all out bash your sister when she comes out of the bathroom after plucking her eyebrows for too long. Or the famous punch your sister in the throat for wearing a sweater and "stretching it completely out of shape".  Hormones raged. There were arguments over the car, unrelayed phone messages,  boys.  It was not unusual for a Mister to come between me and my Sister.  There were no apologies at 314 Mill Street.  I like to think we had each other's back, but our mother swore we would kill each other.

So now here we are as grown women. We no longer look alike to any great degree. This may be as

we no longer curl the front of our hair. We may sound alike and as far as our butts, well I don't think anyone has really checked in the past 20 years.

 Over the years though, we came to a cease fire and we started to share our experiences. We became mothers. We became aunties. Between us we gave birth to 11 babies in 10 years. Surprisingly some of them are boys. We tried to give each other advice on parenting. We tried to sound confidant and experienced, but it was eventually with a sister that one could admit to know absolutely nothing about feeding this new baby; this toddler who never slept; this boy running around with boots on the wrong feet. Sisters understand when houses are a mess and all you really want in life is a nap. We understand when nephews are wildly jumping on the couch. We understand when nieces shorts are just "too short". Sisters understand that each child has different challenges. We learned over the years, not to judge
 and to "never say never".

".

We became better mothers by watching each other.

Gathered around the Radio listening to nephew Darrell Evans

Now, as we have all reached the 50 year old milestone (welcome Karen) we no longer pretend to know anything. We willingly admit that we are flying by the seat of our pants as we navigate teenage and 20-something year old children. We talk about joys and we can talk about our struggles. We can talk candidly about marriage. We are all still trying to establish some kind balance between work and home. We can talk about what we see in store for the next 5 years. As we have reached what I am sure we felt, at some point' was "really old" we each have some 50 years of experiences to share and now we do.

I think it is for this reason that we "need this

The Kids

 holiday" and we appreciate, more than she
 knows, the opportunity my mother has
given us to really catch up.  Each year has had new challenges we need to discuss.
We eat a surprisingly large amount of food and drink beer before noon. We sleep a lot. We walk a bit and lie around chatting.  I try to read, but talk instead. The subjects have changed over the past 8 years. Lives have changed. Even the butts have changed. However something's never change.
Sometimes you just have to talk to your sister.