Noah’s First Food Adventure from Chantelle Finley on Vimeo.

I miss camp. I wrote this story in 2001, the last year I worked full-time for the Boys and Girls Club. I’m not a very sophisticated writer, but it tells the story I was going for.

I had died. Well, I wasn’t exactly sure of that, but I was unable to open my eyes and my body was no longer obeying my commands to move. This, I figured, was a sure sign that I was no longer among the living. I couldn’t recall why I had died though. I remembered being at camp leading a group of children in a game with my co-counselor Mike, and then – nothing. I was a bit perplexed at this point about what I was to do next as I had never died before and I was a little unsure how to proceed. There was certainly not a sign saying “heaven this way.” Was I supposed to wait here for someone? Was I supposed to find my way on my own? Or was this it, this black void was all there was after life?

It was while I was contemplating my options that I became aware of a small sound, barely noticeable even though the silence in this strange place was overwhelming. It was odd to hear, the only sensory stimulation present in the void. But it was getting louder, that much was certain. After a few seconds it was resolved enough for me to determine that the sound was that of a child crying. Now, any parent, teacher or camp counselor will tell you that there are not many things that will bring you back to earth faster than the sound of a crying child, so I focused and decided that the sound was coming from somewhere near my left ear. I tried to tilt my head to discern the source and to my surprise my muscles complied. Next, I tried opening my eyes and after a few false tries and some feverent blinking I could see the fuzzy, blurry face of Mike looming over me with a look of concern. “Ah!” he said, he face relaxing with obvious relief, “You’re back! See I told you she would be fine, Dylan,” but it was obvious from the look I had caught on his face as I was opening my eyes that he had been more worried about my condition than he let on to the ten year old crouching beside me.

“I-I-I-I-I’mm sooooo ssssorry!” sobbed Dylan, curling himself into a ball at my side. “I didn’t mean to!” I could see he was upset and despite his claim that he was the one responsible for my untimely demise, I hugged him and we calmed him down, ensuring him he wasn’t in trouble and it was all okay. However, as Dylan could barely talk from crying, I couldn’t get him explain just what HAD happened, how I came to be decked out on the ground, and why he was so upset about it.

“What happened?” I asked Mike quietly once we had Dylan feeling better. I could feel a large bump forming on the top of my head that had started throbbing and as Mike started to answer it all came back; the game, the bump, the mini wooden bat thrown hastily at Dylan’s feet, and the reason for my almost-death. As I struggled in a futile attempt to stand up Mike’s face split into a huge smile and he turned to look at Dylan. With a note of discernible pride in his voice Mike answered, “Dylan just hit his first home run.”

We received a lot of gifts when Noah was born. Beautiful blankets, adorable sleepers, lots of books. We treasured each one.

Brian and June (and Zoey) DeWagner gave us a gift that I will never forget. Brian, a gifted writer, wrote a post about Noah. He took the things I like about myself, the things I treasure about Adam and distilled them into a picture of Noah when he grows up.

If he turns out half this cool, I will be one happy Mom. Thanks, guys.

There isn’t really anything left unsaid; our relationship was uncomplicated. Every year I made you your own container of Skunkie Joes and you rescued a few of Aunty Linda’s deviled eggs from my Dad’s greedy grasp in return. You heckled every boyfriend I ever had and I heckled every joke you ever made. You were protective, but I know that for all my complaining, I would never have ended up with someone who didn’t pass your tests.

I don’t know anything about where you are right now and I don’t know what I believe in about all that anyway. I don’t even know where you were before you died, but I know it was someplace dark and lonely and I wish we could have pulled you back. Or just sat with you. It might still have been dark, but at least then you would not have been alone.

This for you, JP. Remember to go light on the cocoa and heavy on the vanilla and you’ll be fine.

Christmas Skunkie Joes

• 4 cups sugar
• 1 cup butter
• 3 level tbsp cocoa
• 1 cup milk
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 6 cups rolled oats
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 cups coconut

1. Bring sugar, butter, cocoa, milk & vanilla to a boil and boil for 1 minute.
2. Remove from heat and stir in oats, coconut and salt.
3. Drop by spoonfuls on wax paper. If the mix is too watery, let it stand in the pot until it cools a bit and is firm enough to stick together when dropped on wax paper. Let stand at room temp until firm.
4. Store in an airtight container or freeze to preserve longer.

Me: “Did you get them?”

Adam: “Yup.”

Me: “Did you get the right kind? The ones for ba —”

Adam: “Saline rinse, drop form, unmedicated, mild solution,  recommended for occasional nasal congestion. And there’s a picture of a baby on it.”

Me: “Oh. Well, good.”

I’ve started this post about 12 times, but I’m finding it hard to describe what’s going on using regular words. I need better words. I thought about making up my own words, but then someone pointed out that ALL words are made up words and I was so busy thinking about that idea that I forgot that I was supposed to be writing about the thing I didn’t have words for in the first place. But it’s a good story with a happy ending, so I’ll try to tell it with my inadequate vocabulary nonetheless.

On Monday, October 19th, I was 35 weeks and 4 days pregnant, and after a difficult pregnancy and over a month of bed rest I was ready for the pregnancy to be over. Apparently, so was Junior. Exactly half an hour after I had made up the crib as the finishing touch on his nursery I felt my water break. Of course. I should have known he’d be early; he’s a Finley.

Less than an hour after I arrived at the hospital (followed closely by Adam after an 80$ cab ride from downtown Toronto) I was being prepped for surgery. The baby was transverse breech and a c-section was the only safe way to deliver him, but it was all happening so fast that there wasn’t time for me to get nervous about my very first surgery. A few key phone calls (“Mom! It’s time!”) and one spinal anesthesia injection later, it was go time.

Adam did get to come in to the OR with me, but I don’t remember too many other details of the surgery. I was awake through the whole thing and I do remember the awful tugging pressure and the shadows through the paper barrier of the two doctors pushing and pulling and coaxing the little one out. I also remember squeezing Adam’s hand for the ridiculously long second it took for our son to take his first breath. Thankfully, he was just as shocked by his early birth as we were, and after a few seconds he voiced his discontent with a nice healthy wail. He was held up for me to see and I was a little too overwhelmed for eloquent speech at the time, so I just said “Oh! He’s cute!” The nurse laughed at me and said I sounded surprised about that but it was really the only thing that came to mind.

Then the nurse asked us if we wanted to take a picture of him while he was “brand new” and it was then that Adam and I both realized neither of us had brought a camera, which is rather ironic since Adam is a photographer and I dabble in it for a hobby. He snapped a few pictures on his iPhone before Noah was taken away to the nursery and he had them up on Facebook before I was even out of surgery.

Despite being almost 5 weeks early, Noah Joseph Finley was born a healthy 5lbs, 11oz and only had to spend three nights in the special care nursery at Credit Valley Hospital because he was premature. Once he was born I don’t remember the rest of the surgery to close my incision, or even the hours in recovery before I could move enough to go see Noah in the nursery. I do remember holding him for the first time. I’ll never forget that.

Noah has had no problems from being a preemie (unless you count being ridiculously tiny and cute a problem). He is a very well-tempered child, sleeping nicely between feedings at night and quietly observing everything when he is awake during the day. And he is almost an exact replica of his father – so much so that not one person who has met him has failed to comment on it.

He’s perfect. We’re so happy. We’ve been waiting for you for a long time, little one.

Adam and I attended Mark and Kellie Goodman’s wedding a few weeks ago and I heard one of the greatest wedding tributes ever, spoken by best man Kory Peters:

You two are like two pieces of 8-nubbed Lego; you fit together perfectly and now that you’re together, nothing but a butter-knife can get you apart again.

Check here for Adam’s pictures of the big day.

Those of you who follow me on twitter or facebook may already know, but this little break in the blog was due to a very time consuming life changing situation in our lives recently. After  two false starts it looks like we have finally gotten the recipe right, because we are expecting our first child, a little boy, in November of this year.

It was terrifying at first. Each ultrasound was preceded by such anxiety that I would be physically sick. I was so afraid of going in and finding out we had lost this one too. But slowly, gradually, we have allowed ourselves to hope and then believe that this one is different and now, at 24 weeks, we are preparing ourselves for a baby, not a loss.

I plan on posting more often now that the fear I felt will not be tainting my words and I am allowing myself to relax. We have painted the baby’s room already and I am working on numerous projects to decorate it with (he’s gonna need a bigger room) which I will be happily sharing with you all as well.

I have found that I love being pregnant and each twinge, pain or discomfort only reminds me that there is a healthy baby in there and so I am thankful for all of it. Plus, it’s really cool – being pregnant affects every inch of your body in weird ways and it’s fascinating to experience.

Here’s the little peanut’s second sonogram, at 13 weeks. He wouldn’t turn and give us a nice profile pic so he looks like a little alien just floating there. The second shot she got his face in plane, but there he looks even MORE like a little alien and more than a little scary.  But he’s OUR little scary alien and we love him.

“Yes,” he replied lazily.

“Why?” I asked, dreaming of romantic replies such as “because I love you,” or “because you’re beautiful.”

“You’re in my direct line of sight.” He stated simply.

Me: “I was going to ask you a question, but I forget what it was.”

Adam: “My anwer would have been ‘green.’ Or possibly ‘cookies.’”