Toygate!

In true Meanie fashion, Edie has been in tears pretty much every morning this week because she wants to wear either a gown, tiara or carry a wand (or do all three at the same time) and we have said No! At the beginning of the school year, a letter was sent home, respectively asking parents to refrain from sending kids to school with toys/costumes. I totally get this, I can see the problems it could potentially cause (seriously, how many princesses can one JK class handle? How many lightsabers can be wielded until someone loses an eye (or at least until someone is lightly tapped by one, takes it the wrong way, and cries as if they have been stabbed by the most jagged of knives ever).

So, yesterday was no exception. And I was lucky enough to have the morning shift (gawd I hate the morning shift and long for my cubicle, coffee and silence). With Edie by hand (still teary from being banned of all things sparkly and ethereal), we walked into the daycare and lo and behold, did I not count 1, not 2, but 3 members of royalty happily having a most royal tea party. There was no mistaking that we were in presence of royalty, there were tiaras and sparkly dresses present – what more proof do you need? Edie’s eyeslashes must have grown an inch, and her tear ducts ramped up production needs as soon as she saw her peers in all their splendour. How could I deny her royal roots when her friends were allowed?

How indeed. I spoke with the daycare leader and asked her straight up what the fuck is the rule here because we certainly don’t need the drama at home if Edie is indeed allowed to express herself (I didn’t use the f-word, just in my imagination I did, all Goodfellas-like). The leader agreed with me and said she would speak with the other parents. And so, when I picked up my little charges yesterday, and hung out and talked with other parents while the kids played, there is no denying that I have officially caused Toygate 2010 at the school (Ihave not confessed my role in Toygate yet, I'm playing it cool).

Oops. But seriously, what would you do? Tell Edie to suck it up buttercup or do what I did and try and get down to the bottom of things?

Just a quickie to make you feel better about yourself on this fine morning….


Feeling a little bloated and frumpy this morning I put on my bestest skinny black jeans, super-fun ipod listening penguin belt and flattering black top (loose and tight in all the right places). Instantly I felt better, confident, ready to open a can of whoop on the day.

Fast forward to 11:30 a.m. I have yogurt dribbles down my shirt, hommus smeared on my jeans and when I went to the bathroom I had a crumb (chocolate, of course) on my cheek.

Ever have a day (morning) like that? so long confidence, hello safety of sun- deprived cubicle.

I am working this week, highly resentful and full of guilt. It is March Break here and while some kids are lucky enough to be sleeping in and going on fun trips (even if just a road trip) my poor kids are being schlepped to daycare for the whole day. It just isn’t an option to take time off work right now, fiscal year end, stakeholder review bleahdeeboringbleah, so the children suffer. I do have Friday off, however, this is the “funnest” day at daycare because, wait for it, wait for it, it’s pyjama day, movie day, and the government stipulated rest time of 1 hour is ignored! Hoorah! The girls want to go to daycare that day just to be able to give mandatory rest time a big fuck you (ahem, my words, not theirs, I hope!)

This brings me to a New York Story. I was staying in the Tribeca/SoHo area, lots of young families around and a couple of parks/schools nearby. My first afternoon there I found my Starbucks, found a park, and positioned myself for some hardcore people watching. Did I spot celebrities frolicking at the park with their young ones? Nope. Was I witness to a crime scene being filmed for Law and Order? Nope. Did I have to fight off talent/modelling agents, telling them I’m just not interested in fame and fortune? Yes, but that’s a given (juuuuuussssssttttt kidding). What I witnessed was the high ratio of little white children to little non-white women. The park was at capacity with nannies and their charges. I started talking to some of the nannies, asking about their jobs and their hours. They laughed at me when I asked what time the parents get home from work and relieve them of their duties. As clichéd as it sounds, the mothers of some of these children did not work. They were just busy with other things (insert nannies eye rolls here). Literally. Shopping, lunching, excercising, committee work, etc. etc.

I don’t consider myself a judgy person, but I can’t help but judge this. I guess I feel pretty raw right now, wishing I could be at home with the kids instead of working period. And these women obviously have the means to be at home, and choose not to. I totally get needing a day/few hours/minutes to yourself, but to engage someone else to look after your children on a full-time basis (some of these nannies see the children wake up and put them to bed) just kills me. I can see an argument against me, asking why I don’t insist on downsizing everything in our lives, but that just isn’t realistic right now, and I do feel the need keep up my “skills” in the workplace because you never know what the future holds – it’s a security thing for me.

Oh, and you should have seen how pimped out these NY strollers are. Probably more expensive than my mini-van!

I WILL blog about New York, I'm just a short snippet kinda girl and there is so much to say so I am going to wait until I have the energy to write all about it.

I am going to document what I bought though:

1) Pair of clogs (ummm, hellloooo, they are in alllll the magazines right now)

2) Adorable top that I want to look good on me, but doesn't because my boobs are too big, but if I wear three sports bras and strap 'em down it could potentially look like it's supposed to look.

3) Jeans. Jeans that make my legs look like they go on for miles and miles. Paired with les clogs and strapped down boobs-shirt, ooo-la-la.

4) Suit jacket. Made of sweatshirt material, lined with silk. It's freaking nirvana! I'm wearing sweats to work, but no one can protest because it has a fancy silk lining! Take that Mr. Man!

5) Balloon boats, fake poop and some other stuff (for my hyuk hyuk side).

6) Jeans that are more casual, but make me feel like I might look a little like Jennifer Aniston on a fat day, so that's good for me.

7) Fun things you can only buy in american grocery/drug stores like odd flavoured chips and stuff.

8) Marlboro (Lights, I'm just a little bad ass, and only about once a month).

9) An orange purse. You might want to lick it next time you see me. I might let you.

Okay, that's all I can remember, but I haven't blogged in ages and will use this post as a place holder.

Move over Corey.

Okay, you’ve heard of Bryan Adams, right? Well, when I was growing up, when Brian Adams was on the charts, so was Corey Hart. In my mind, we had to pick sides; we had to decide which one we liked. My little fist sized heart belonged to Corey Hart. Never Surrender made me cry, Boy in Box made me rock out (gawd, how embarrassing). I was that girl at his concert, booing Katrina and Waves off stage to make room for the Hart Attack (sorry Katrina, Walking on Sunshine really is a nice happy song!) I was also that girl who sobbed from the moment Corey walked on stage, prrrrrety sure he was singing to me (there was eye contact, I’m sure. And of course he would seek me out in the audience, what 20 something rock-star wouldn’t be looking for pre-pubescent pimply girl in rugby pants, sneakers and a paisley patterned sweatshirt? I mean come on!) And you can just imagine how I imploded when he threw a ball into the audience and I touched it. Sit with that for a moment, will you? I touched something Corey Hart touched. Girls around me touched my hand, the one that touched the ball, and cried because they had touched something that had touched something that Corey Hart had touched. It should be pretty clear now that there was NO time for Bryan Adams.

I recently picked up a record at Value Village by Bryan Adams called Reckless. I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying it! It is pretty awesome. I have called up other Bryan Adam’s songs on the ‘puter and I’m really digging them! Of course there is some cheese that I just can’t stomach, and I definitely favour his early stuff over what he has produced in later years. His early stuff is the stuff I missed out on when I was worshipping the almighty spikey haired, sweaty Cory Hart. This is probably for the best. I’m not sure my pre-adolescent psyche could have handled two loves like that.

As an aside, I wonder, at 11 years old, what I was hoping for if Corey Hart had invited me back stage? Some intense hand-holding? Cuddling on the couch while watching Degrassi Junior High? I wasn’t yet even close to having any knowledge of what could transpire between man and woman (ahem).

Ahhhh innocence.

Who set your heart aflutter when you were still drinking milk at bedtime?

(I just know some people are going to make fun of for this confession!)

Start Spreading the News…..

On Thursday morning I am going to scrape the playdoh from my fingernails, hang up my bus pass and work pass, jot down a few instructions and make some meals and stick-em in the freezer, trade in my sensible work clothes for something a little funkier and hop on a plane.

This is not an “I wish scenario” this is the honest to goodness bees knees truth.
I did something really good in a past life to have this coming weekend bestowed on me. I think Edie waved her little fairy wand and wished to have her meanoldmommy banished for a few days. And banished I am, banished for 4 days and 3 nights to New York freaking City. Oh, it gets better. My fancy girlfriend’s husband keeps an apartment in SoHo. The fancy girlfriend’s husband and my Jo conspired to send us worn out frauleins to the city that never sleeps to hang out, giggle, shop, go see a show, eat and hit every Starbucks we can. We only have one thing scheduled - that is to go see Jersey Boys on Saturday night – beyond that we are up for anything.

Have you been to NYC? What is a must-do experience in your opinion? I’ve been before, but only with kids in tow. Send your ideas – I’m keeping a list of things to do (including knowing where all the cushy bathrooms on our walking route for the inevitable pee-breaks).

This week was kind of the shits for me. Because I am smart and work a four-day work week, my week is now over. Because I am striving to be a half glass full kinda gal (it can be a half glass of hard liquor, right?) I am going to highlight the positive:

Things that made me smile this week:

Grace, looking at me accusingly
“Mommy, you laugh a lot”.

Edie explaining a picture that she drew to me of a box with lots of colourful blobs around it. Turns out it is a prototype (my word, not hers) of a butterfly machine she wants to make so she can crank out butterflies on a whim.

So many pretty shiny medals!

Sitting in massive over-stuffed chairs at Zoe’s (tucked to the left of the lobby at the Chateau Laurier) with some super-funny ex-colleagues, sipping on a whiskey sour and eating fancy cheese.

My mom talking about “the email” like she owns it.

Edie skiing and being all like “whatever” when she made it down the hill herself without falling/losing control.

Hearing one of Gracie’s friends saying “that’s so random” TOTALLY out of context.

Friends who are happy (I’m typing at you Mr. Friendly Neighbourhood Curator!)

Here’s to next week being better, and Go Canada Go!

(I need some of those Olympic mitts to bring to a friend in the States next week, if anyone has a lead, please let me know where I can get them).

You know what drives me crazy? Songs that have sirens in them when I’m driving. I always look the fool checking my side mirrors, rear view mirror, craning my neck to look beyond the front window and use my x-ray vision to look past the stoooopid van with no windows that is inevitably in front of me therefore totally obscuring my vision completely of anything 10 feet in front of me. I also have the girls turn off all DS’s and Leapster components so I can figure out where the siren is coming from. In split seconds I plan my good-citizen route as to where to pull over on the road in order to allow the emergency vehicle to pass and go save a life (all the while imagining the firemen/policmen/ambulance driver giving me a thumbs up for being so cooperative and then saying to each other “wow, why can’t all drivers be like her, and did you see how beautiful and poised she was? Whoever married her is a lucky man”.
And when I finally turn off the stereo to better detect where the siren is coming from, I realize that the siren was coming from my Run DMC CD.

D’oh.

And Now for Edie....

My little Edie Bikini, you are turning 5 tomorrow! I guess it’s time to stop treating you like my little baby (never!)

A few little things I want to keep in my Edie Archives forever:


I love how you tell me you love me before you go to bed, and you say love so many times that you run out of breath and heave a big sigh at the end, like you are completely spent.

I love the way you will exclaim that something is the most specialist thing to have ever been bestowed on to you, and then you offer to share it with whoever is in the room. It kills me, it is so sweet.

The way you look at me when you say you hate something, because you know I hate the word hate (hypocrite, I know) – that look shows me you will test the waters with me ten-fold in the future.

Okay, this actually drives me crazy, but I suspect it will be endearing one day. You are a messy child. The messiest little girl ever. You spill everything, you knock things down, your markers roll off the table constantly, your face is always covered in something, your always touching me with your grubby little hands, and you do all this with a tiara and princess dress on.

I love the way you call your stuffed dog Puppy Puppy Puff Puff, and you give him to me to sleep with because you feel badly that I don't have a stuffie. I love finding him on our bed.

I love that you call Lambey's fluffiest bits "The Soft".

I love that you don't walk, you hop, and I super-love that this past week even you noticed that you don't walk anywhere when you asked me if I noticed that you hop instead of walk.

I love how when you are sleeping, you look like you are hard at work, recharging your batteries.

What freaks me out is that I was such an insecure first-time Mom with Gracie, thinking that I was doing everything wrong, that I actually said out loud that I wouldn't have another child. Even when pregnant I was filled with doubt that I could do it all over again. My little girl, you've made it as easy as pie.

Love you to the stars Edie.

For Grace....

And so my dear, you turn 8 tomorrow, and your old, cliched mom just can’t believe how quickly time has passed.

Here are just a few things about you that I want to hold forever in my memory:


-Your thoughtfulness. I love love love, when posed a question that requires some thinking, the way you shift your gaze to the side, as if to block out all other stimulation, so you can give the question your full attention.

-Your interaction with Edie. While it hasn’t always been a bed of roses, this past year you have really grown into your role as big sister by reading to Edie, helping her with her “homework” and letting her tag along when you have a friend over. You still bug the crap out of her and tease her relentlessly, but the good and the bad is more balanced now.

-Your obsessive compulsiveness. Okay, I know I shouldn’t love this, but I appreciate how you need everything in order before you go to bed, with nothing on the floor and things tidied up on your desk and dresser.

-Your sense of style. Girlfriend, while your friends have been sucked into the vortex of all things sparkly, Hannah Montana-ey, Camp Rock-ey and Bratz-ey, you still like to cruise around in your velvet leisure suits. Awesome. This isn’t really new this year, but I love that you are true to your style.

-Your MP3 player! I took a chance and loaded it up with songs I feel are important to anyone just starting to listen to music, and am so tickled that you are partial to the Beach Boys, the Ramones and the Clash (I can’t put Social Distortion on there yet because he says fuck too much).

-Your diligence. You treat homework with respect, and for the most part enjoy the challenges you bring home. Except that time with the subtraction and addition patterns. That sucked.

-Your vulnerability. I don’t necessarily like being woken up at three in the morning, but I do love the confused little face that greets me when I go into your room. You don’t know what scares you, or why it scares you, it just does. And I love comforting you (and then waking your father to come lie with you because your bed is a single and mine is a king, so, y’know).

-Your attitude towards health. You are so aware of what is good for you and what isn’t. Your mantra is “healthy before junky”. You love candy, but you also know to balance things out.

-Your front crawl. God, you look so graceful doing it. I always looked like a baby giraffe going through heroin withdrawal when I did the front crawl. Likely still do. You just cut through the water.

-Your communication methods. You were so mad at me once this year that you stormed to your room and slammed your door. After a few minutes, something came flying out from under your door. It was a cartoon, frame by frame, outlining what a bitch I was being. I love that you used art as an outlet. I’m going to save that cartoon forever.

-I love that you still reach for my hand on our walks together. Those are tears of joy and love kiddo, nothing else.


These are a few things that stick out in my mind about you right now. There are a million more, and I wish I could tell you them all, pump you up with accolades for every day that you venture out into the real world. But you know what kid? You’re so awesome, you don’t need to hear it. The way you carry yourself, you unconsciously already know.

Love you to the moon.

Crap.
I have nothing to write about. I could tell you about the new wines my folks told me about that under $8 but that might bore you. I could tell you about my indulgent behaviour over the weekend, how I went to the Bytown to see a movie and then sat there when it was over and decided to stick around for the second feature, but that probably doesn't excite you (Tolstoy though man, pretty interesting cat). I could write about going to the canal on Saturday with Grace and a BOY, and Gracie being so pissed that she wasn't as good a skater as said BOY that I could see the steam coming out of her ears. And then tell you about the dinner with the BOY, by candlelight (is there any other way to eat chicken nuggets?) I could relay to you the divine conditions at the ski hill on Sunday that my hubbie and I enjoyed after we dropped the kids off for their lessons, but you don't want to hear how wonderful that one hour was, of not being hunched over a child, guiding them down the hill at a snails pace, and instead bombing and turning and feeling the mountain (now THAT was a long sentence). And you likely don't want to read about the trip to the canal today that I suspect was motivated by a chance meeting with a Beavertail (haha, nope, we were there purely for the fresh air and excercise).

Instead dear reader, I'm going to leave you with this, and let you decide if I'm the luckiest lady in the world or did something really, really tacky in a previous life.....

I’m kind of mad. Grace came home from Brownie’s last week a little upset because she said she didn’t shower enough. I probed a bit and apparently they were talking about personal hygiene and one of the things they said was that kids should bathe once a day. Maybe I’m going to get slapped here but this is certainly not how we role at our house. Particularly in the winter when they just don’t have the same opportunities to get dirty.

The kids used to get bathed daily when they were babes. But they were also a lot grosser then (poo, spit up) and it was also part of that all-important routine we had going on (bath, books, bed). Then they got older and all bowel functions were neatly deposited into the toilet and food remained in their stomachs. Now Edie has ridic dry skin, so unless she has rolled in jello and lint (don’t put anything past this kid) I try to limit her spa treatment to 2x a week. I still give her a little daily scrub to keep her clean, but her hair doesn’t get greasy yet, and she just doesn’t get all that dirty. Same with Grace. Gracie is our jock, she’ll sweat it out in the summer months playing soccer and doing track, but in the winter there just isn’t a whole lot opportunity to justify a bath everyday.

Personally, I tend to shower on a daily basis (not necessarily washing my hair each time) but I do roll around in jello and lint on a daily basis. Kidding, just checking to see if you were still reading. Okay, so I shower daily but I also have an unhealthy relationship with my treadmill that makes me sweat on a near-daily basis, so shower=good.

I resent this woman putting ideas into Gracie’s head about our society’s obsession with dictating our standards of clean. I have managed to talk her off the edge, but now I’m curious about other people’s habits – do you stir your kids in the porcelain cauldron on a daily basis?

Sometimes I get mocked for my internet addiction. But, here are a few good things the internet has done for me lately:

1) I copied this, recipe and later made it and the whole family ate it, and I felt like polishing my halo, because, y'know, lentils people, lentils is where it is at.

2) I turned MD for a few hours, diagnosing and arriving at the conclusion that Grace does not have pink eye (I would take off my stethoscope and smart glasses for more serious symptoms, don't worry).

3) I became Scorcese for a little bit and uploaded some home movies for friends and family to view on YouTube (whatevs, my Mom impresses easily - she thinks only I can do these things, therefore am a
computer AND filmmaking genius, why burst her bubble?)

4) I saved money by selecting a bunch of stuff online, proceeding to check out, and then not buying because for the masseeeve shipping expenses.

5) I burned some calories and dug up my old combat boots after watching this video.

6) I decided against this mascara and decided on this one instead after putting my smart glasses on and reading some reviews on this website.

7) I donated to Haiti.

8) I bust a gut watching this clip from the Golden Globes over and over and over again.

9) I sort translated some Norwegian stuff because I have a friend on Facebook who does her status updates in Norwegian, then all her Norwegian friends reply, and there are always lots of smiley faces and exclamation marks and my curiosity gets the better of me and I have to know what they are talking about!

10) I tried on different hairstyles from the 80's.

Being the multi-tasker (ADD) person I am, this all took place in about a 45 minute time span. I'm that good.

Oh man did I ever have a bad case of the Mondays.

First of all, it was Monday. I always find it hard to get back into the groove of things on Monday. The writing was on the wall at 7:00 a.m. at work when I knocked my coffee grains all over the common kitchen - do you know how hard it is to pick that shit up without a broom? And without a coffee in your system to deal with what just went down?

Work is, well challenging these days, and that Monday proved that challenging would be amped to shitshow. And I'll just leave it at that.

When I went to pick the girls up at daycare I was greeted not with hugs but rather a chorus of awwwws, what's for dinner and general crankiness (I guess kids can get the Mondays as well). Here's where it really gets high drama. Remember how mild it was last Monday? Well, the schoolyard had been cordoned off due to severe slushy conditions. Edie wanted to go play, and I said no. But I didn't say no quickly enough because she ran off into the slushy yonder, which was knee deep for her (yup, knee deep in icy slush) and she promptly lost a boot in it. Grace tried to help, but she also fell victim to the slush. I had to meander out there in my fancy work boots and rescue them. It felt like the last hour of the Titanic, only no cute Leo Dicaprio was helping me out. I had to carry Edie to the minivan, and Grace heroically carried both backpacks and Edie's sopping wet boot.

Could it get worse? You betcha! You know how your trunk allows you a certain amount of clearance so you don't smash your head on it when you stand up (too quickly due to mild rage)? Yeah, well mine decided not to go up all the way up for some reason and my head was punished for all the sins I have committed throughout my life.

So, into the safety of the car. Kids strapped in, check (Edie I suspect is mildly hypothermic at this point but I can easily distract her by shoving a Leapster in her hand....we call it a DS for 4 year olds, heh heh, she doesn't really get the difference yet). Anyhoooo, for all you mini-van drivers out there, did you pimp yours out with a "Magic Button"? The one that open and closes one of the back doors so you don't have to, god forbid, shut it yourself? We did, and loved it for years until the first week of January, when we had our car safetied, and the door was deemed unsafe (it was working fine for us), so we had to fork out much dollars to fix it. Yeah right, fix it. That Monday, when Grace pressed the Magic Button to seal us into our happy place, the door, shut. Then opened. Then shut again, then opened again. It took on a life of its own and seemed to be teasing me "Wanna go home, go ahead, oh! Hold On! Not yet! Now go, haha! Whoops! Not just yet little lady!" When I finally found the master switch and shut the beast of a door down, Grace started to cry a bit, worried that the door would open and expel her onto the road. Then Edie remembered that her foot was cold. Then I remembered that my head hurt and my feet were cold. I kept my tears in (I was close to the edge), reassured Grace (an emergency tootsie pop may have been involved) and drove off.

When we got home, I took a deep breath and ordered everyone out of their wet clothes and into some cozy jammies. Awesome. The worst part of the day was over. Time for bonding over a nice meal and cuddles on the couch. The girls scampered to their rooms and Edie called out to me. She needed help with her jammies. She lay on her bed, froggy style. I leaned over her to tickle her (god I’m an idiot). This kid loves a good tickle and reacts with her whole body. See where I’m going with this? One little poke in her armpit propelled her little tiny feet straight into my teeth up into my nose with the force of Hercules. I was okay, nothing broken, the chicklets felt a little tender, as did the nose, but no long-term damage.

It was at this point I let myself cry.

Who cleans up after you?

I love neat and tidy. I love organized and compartmentalized. Magazines like Style at Home, Dwell and Real Simple are like porn for me. And porn is fantasy, an escape from reality, something to daydream about. Because my house is nothing like the homes in these magazines. And that’s okay. I have kids who have developed a magic potion to multiply Polly Pocket accessories and make them go viral on our floors, in our closets, in our beds. I have a wonderful husband who has a very important collection of baseball caps (whatever) that live in the couch cushions, on my record player, the kitchen counter and the dining room table. And I’m not perfect. While I can never find a hair elastic when I need one, on any given day you can see them scattered under couches (getting humped by dustbunnies).

Weekends we do the big de-clutter. Jo calls them whirlwinds. Everything gets put back where it belongs. Children are placed in their rooms to put things away (which usually results in them taking more things out – on Saturday Edie re-discovered her bucket of 1000+ melt beads…..yayyyyy). And the house looks amazing.

But. Oh yes, there is a but. It lacks that pinesol smell. That one chemical smell I like because it means things have been scrubbed, sanitized, purified and cleaned. That smell has be lacking for a few weeks now as we have lost yet another cleaning service. I have gone through so many cleaning people throughout the years, after our last one left us (you know who you are) we have decided enough with it, we can do it on our own. Or can we? Growing up, I always had a cleaning lady. Her name was Doris. Her cleaning days were called Doris Day, haha, get it? So Doris came every Wednesday, she scrubbed and laundered, while I daydreamed and resented her for occupying the t.v. in the afternoon because she watched her soaps while she ironed. So I blame my childhood, which has resulted in me being so adverse to cleaning, and generally sucking at it.

And so, Jo and I are going to start doing it on our own. But cleaning a whole house at once is a daunting task. Our house isn’t big, but there seems to be a lot of space to clean. And so dear reader, I ask you, what is your strategy in cleaning? Do you tackle a room a day? Do you suck it up for 4 hours a week and just give ‘er? Or do you just fork out cold hard cash to someone to do it for you?

When you were a kid did you ever stick pantyhose on your head, flip it around and pretend it was long hair?

Did you ever fashion a paper clip into a retainer and stick it in your mouth and pretend you had orthodontics?

Did you ever convince yourself that your dolls and teddy bears actually did move out of the corner of your eye?

Sigh. While Grace was explaining the world of rhombus (rhombiis???) octogons, hectagons and some other gons during homework time, I was daydreaming about the above.

I looked hot with long (pantyhose) hair.

I’d never done a de-lurking thing before. I’m so glad I did – I’m not sure why it feels so good knowing that people are reading me, but it does! I’ve never been one who needs too much in the way of affirmation/accolades, but your comments made me feel really, really good. I have this great memory of my Nana, who would love nothing more than receive a letter from someone. When she received a letter, she would read it and reread it, relishing every word, read between the lines, and just really revel in the details of the letter. I feel that way – a keen appreciation for all the comments you left. Thank you.


This weekend I saw the damage that we have inflicted on Edie being the baby of the family. We decided this year is the year that the Meanie’s ski. All of us. Gracie is in her third year of skiing, and Edie in her first. Grace is in group lessons, Edie, being a 4-year old Mariah Carey, has been enrolled in private lessons. Last week was the first week, and there weren’t enough instructors, so Jo and I had to instruct Mariah ourselves. Little Miss Thing held on to our poles as we dragged her to the magic carpet to go up the bunny hill (god forbid she attempt to get here herself yo). We then helped her down the hill whatever way we could, pizza pie from the front, from the back. We employed hula hoops, ski poles, hand holding….you get the picture. So this week, there was an instructor, Carl (he’s French, how do you say Carl in French? Try it, it’s really hard). Carl is pretty much too cool for school. I fretted to him that Ms. Mariah had never skied on her own before. He was non-plussed. And so the lesson began. Carl said “Let’s go” to Edie and didn’t even offer a pole for her to hand on to! He made Mariah glide all the way to the Magic Carpet….and she did it! When Jo and I were on the chair lift, we looked down at the bunny hill to see what trick he was employing to help Edie ski down the hill. From the looks of things he said “and now you ski”. There she was, pizza pie-ing down the hill with no help at all! God only knows how many runs they did – once Jo and I saw that things were going well we scooted off and got a few runs in ourselves. At the end of the lesson, we picked up Edie. Carl said she did great and next week “we practice turns” and off he went. Jo and I looked at Edie, who morphed back into Mariah, held our her little hand and said “drag me”. And we did.

Who are you?

So this blog started off as way to stay in touch with family and friends from afar, who desperately needed information on my most exciting life as a public servant at large and servant to the under 10 set (and the over-40 set?) And they quickly bored of me and buggered off.

But there are a few out there who I know read me (Hi Alison! Hi Xup! Hi Hannah! Hi Nat! Hi Chantal (not strong in leaving comments, but you show me love on you reading list!)Hi Friendly Anonymous Curator (get yourself a blog), Hi Japanese Spammer (grrrr)!) and I love getting your comments, I really really do! But I'm curious who is else is out there reading, hanging on to every word I type?

It's Delurking Day, a day for those who don't normally comment to leave a comment and let bloggers know that you are reading - so please, let me know and tell me where you are from by leaving a comment! (Except for you robot spammer, you can go make robot love to someone else's blog).

Thanks!

(Ummmm, and if no one leaves a comment, Nat, Alison, Xup, FAC and Hannah, y'know, could you say hi so I can feel good about myself? Shanks.)


Son of a gun, this is good (at 2:05 he says fuck heh heh):

Make-em laugh…..

Awhile back over breakfast, I had too-quick conversation with the most knowledgeable Maven. I was complaining a little bit about Gracie’s explosive temper and uber-sensitive personality. Grace, though she has dead straight hair, reminds me of that poem by Henry Wadsworth Lonfellow (no I’m not that smart, I had to google it):

“There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.”


Okay, I could never call my child horrid, but when she is unhappy about something, girlfriend can lose her shit like no other.

So, I was s’plaining this to the Maven and she mentioned the book “The Explosive Child”. She summarized the book for me, basically stating we need to lighten up a bit, see the humour, learn to laugh. I’m sure the 200 or so pages of this book goes into more detail, but I took Maven’s little pearl of wisdom and we’ve been applying it.

A case study: Last night Grace lost it because she couldn’t draw a PERFECT three dimensional image of a box containing markers (her homework simply required her to find something shaped like a rectangle in our house and render it on paper. It is Grace who places high expectations on herself and insists on taking it to the next level). So. She freaked out, pushed markers aside, stomped, cried and couldn’t be calmed down. Then she started to turn on her sister. We sent her to her room to calm down. She screamed all the way there, and screamed a bit while in there. We don’t time her out anymore, we just give ask her to go to her room and let her be the judge as to when she should come out.

Now, the old Meanie and Jo would call it a time out, banter back and forth with her, making the situation worse and worse, causing it to last much longer. Now, we simply knock on her door and ask her if she wants to talk. If she does, great, we work it out. If she doesn’t, we wisely walk away. The old us might take away a privilege in the heat of the moment, which really makes it worse. The new us talk it out after the fact, when things have calmed down, when she is in a more reasonable state. Without boring you too much, last night she came out of her room, a little sheepish looking. She mentioned that she screamed so loud her throat hurt. I told her I thought the dogs down the street probably heard it. We smiled, we laughed, we called it a doozy. She went back to her homework, finished it without issue. Later on, I explained that she would have some money docked from her allowance (she said some unacceptable stuff to Edie, who really was just minding her business when the bomb went off). She accepted this (of course she protested, there is no cure for 7 year old).

What is interesting is that since applying this new tactic, she is exploding less frequently, and is recovering more quickly from her outbursts.

Rambling post – I have to get it written before I forget……


As I was drifting off to sleep last night (normally I don’t drift, it’s more of a thud) and a most random memory lurched me awake. About 20 years ago (!) when I was in my OAC year in high school (do OAC’s still exist?) I was a peer counsellor to, well, my peers. I was selected to be a peer counsellor by my own over zealous guidance counsellor. At the time it was one of those experimental programs that schools are always doing, and I was chosen, along with 2 others, to be a counsellor. My mom must have leaked to my guidance counsellor that I had been an extreme fuck-up in my early teens. I suspect she did this for two reasons: 1) because she was proud that I had come so far and 2) so he would see potential danger signs of me fucking up again. This was my fourth, and final high school. The high school I would graduate from.

I had a small group of friends. I did not seek out the spotlight and was content to keep my head down, work hard, and graduate with good grades.

So. I was asked to be a peer counsellor. I imagine my counsellor thought that because I had messed up early on and came out on top, maybe I could talk to other “kids” and help them. I took my job pretty seriously. I was laughed at/mocked by some kids when I brought them NA or AA literature. I even brought a couple of kids to NA meetings and helped ship one off to rehab. Some acted too cool for school when we had our “counselling” sessions, but from what I can remember, they always showed up for our after-school appointments.

What lurched me out of near slumber last night was a memory of a certain girl who was appointed to me. I was asked to counsel a just-turned 14 year-old girl who was pregnant. Looking back now, she was so young and soooo vulnerable. When we first started meeting, she was very early on in her pregnancy. Her parents still didn’t know, nor did her boyfriend. We discussed all the options – abortion, adoption, and keeping the baby. Keep in mind that I was just 17 or 18 years old at the time, and I was counselling this girl on life-changing decisions. I don’t remember giving my opinion, one way or another. Abortion wasn’t something she wanted to do. I was with her when she told her boyfriend (oh my God he was so young!). I counselled her on how to tell her parents (what the hell did I know about this stuff!) I was there for her when she told her parents (she was sent packing, but soon after took her back home). I was there for her all throughout her pregnancy (we usually met in the smoking area as we were both smokers). Then one day she was gone. I asked my guidance counsellor about her and he wasn’t allowed to tell me anything. I was so pissed off. I knew more about this girl than anyone else. These adults had placed a HUGE responsibility on me that I took seriously; to counsel this girl throughout a highly stressful situation, and I was shut out.

So I lay awake last night, wondering about that girl (I don’t even remember her name). Did she adopt? Did she keep her baby? Her baby would be about 19-20 years old now. She would be about 34. Huh. I haven’t thought about her for years and years and years.

Gift Card dilemma
Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! As usual, friends and family were generous beyond words, and there was so much love and warm fuzzies around me all Christmas season, I feel truly blessed. That being said, I was tempted to crush the myth of Santa Clause once or twice because “he” brought the girls the Wii, therefore they hold him in much higher esteem than they hold Jo and I. Oh well.

Family members were a little surprised that Grace is still a believer. It’s pretty standard for an almost 8 year to still believe, right?

On to today’s topic.

I wish my mind were as uncluttered as the girls. They received Gift Cards for Christmas. Each received an Old Navy g.c. and a Chapters g.c. In they marched to Chapters and Grace bought the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series (and read them ALL in a span of 5 days!) and Edie bought a paper-dog-complete-with-fairy-and-princess-costumes that she has been coveting (there was a day when I wondered to myself “Who buys this shit?” Now I know). At Old Navy, Grace bought some fleece stuff (a little affronted that Old Navy does not specialize in velvet) and Edie bought two sparkly tutu-like skirts (natch) in different colours. Done. Gift Cards spent. Onwards and upwards.

Me? I also received gift cards from Michaels (I’m crafty!) and Pier 1 (I oft get mocked at how much Pier 1 I have in my home). I also have a g.c. from LAST year for Holt Renfrew. I have issues with gift cards. I can’t seem to focus and decide what to buy with them. I literally get stressed out trying to decide what to purchase with them. I pick things up, put them down, break out into a sweat and return home empty handed. It’s like I’m scared that I will make the wrong decision. I’m scared new stock will come in and there will be something even better that I should have bought instead. I’m pretty much handing over my Pier 1 card to my brother to pick out some curtains for me. I have an idea as to what to get at Michaels, but the Holt Renfrew one is throwing me for a loop. It’s for $75, so I can either put it towards a nice something and pay a kajillion dollars to make up the difference, or I can buy some real nice beauty product.

There are a lot of beauty products to choose from. Any recommendations?

I hope all my 2010 problems are this tough.

Okay, don’t have anything in particular to write about, so I’ll throw out some random bits:

1) We have been doing the Christmas advent activity thing this year and lordy do the girls ever love it! I wrote out 24 activities for us to do each day leading up to Christmas, and by activity, I mean pretty simple, wholesome little tidbits such as making popcorn garland, writing our own Christmas book, making snowflakes for the window etc etc. In this day of DS games and a kajillion channels of children’s programming on television, I honestly thought this activity might lack the allure needed to keep Grace and Edie’s attention. Well, I couldn’t be more wrong. This is what the girls run to every morning, even before tucking into their chocolate advent calendar. They love seeing what little activity is in store for them on that given day. It warms the cockles of my Christmas-loving heart.

2) Parent-teacher interviews went well. Edie excels in “social arts” (read: she doesn’t shut up) and Grace is a sweet, considerate, positive addition to the class (!, ?, !)


3) I think it was on Facebook that I reached out and asked for book recommendations and someone suggested Anita Diamant. Soooo freaking good.

4) Thanks for the suggestions for songs to download for Grace. I downloaded a great collection, and would be lying if I said I didn’t cry a little when I listened to the gospel version of “This Little Light of Mine” I downloaded for her (that’s our special song). Am also wondering if “The Passenger” by Iggy Pop is entirely appropriate for a 7 year old.


5) The Christmas shopping is done, though online purchases have not yet arrived. Trying to stay zen-like about this but will blow a fucking gasket if they aren’t here by end of week!

6) Thursday is my last day of work for 2, two, deux, dos weeks. I am sooooo looking to this time.


7) Edie’s Christmas recital is tomorrow. Can’t wait to hear her belt out Jingle Crack, Jingle Crack, Jingle all the way (it will confirm all the other parents suspicions.

Errrr, yeah. That’s all I got.

I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping for the kids. I have one thing left for Gracie, and that is an MP3 player. I’m tickled that at 7 she is digging music, and I really want to help guide her in the right direction here. I am not going to fight the inevitable that she is going to listen to High School Musical and Miley Cyrus, but I figure I can also download a few tunes of my picking that she will likely enjoy as well. I do want to keep it pretty innocent though, and that is where I would like to ask for your help. What classics do you think would appeal to a 7 year old? She loves the beat of Police on My Back by the Clash, and she also likes some Ramones songs, so I’ll put a few on there. I’m pretty well versed in punk rock, but not so much in other genres. So, what do you think? Any songs by, say, the Beatles you might suggest? Or the Monkeys? I want to keep it light and fun and GOOD so hopefully we can help instill a love of music in her. Throw me a few titles! Maybe I’ll expand my own tastes a bit.

Rant.

I don`t watch American Idol, don`t care about it at all actually, never have. That being said I am so fired up about this Adam Lambert issue that is going on. I can’t believe the hypocrisy of, well, lots of people, cancelling interviews with him, refusing to air the clip from the American Music Awards that caused the furor.

Madonna and Brittany kissed. Everyone was titillated. Countless numbers of singers have been overtly sexual and suggestive on stage, on t.v., in their lyrics, with some raised eyebrows but mostly big fat whatevs from the masses. Miley Cyrus, a goddess amongst the pre-teens has recently been humping the stage and pole-dancing her way across North America on her tour – have you heard very many complaints? She's 17.

So let's face it. Adam is catching hell because he’s gay and people can’t handle it and are crying for the children etc etc. You know what folks? I am also totally against my kids seeing gay sexual acts simulated on stage. I’m also against them seeing any hetero sexual acts on stage. You can shelter them from this kind of stuff. Turn off the t.v., or don't let them watch grown-up shows. But don’t hide behind the excuse that it’s too graphic for public consumption. Get over yourself, think about why you are really upset and try opening your mind up a little bit.


Peace.

p.s. Good Morning America cancelled Lambert's appearance on their show, and guess who they replaced him with? Chris Brown. Yes, that guy who beat the shit out of his girlfriend Rihanna. A much, much better role model for America. What a wonderful message that is sending out. Sweet Jesus this makes me mad.

Today The Maven wrote about cutting down her sugar intake and that of the members of her household. This coincides with a similar stance in our household. I should mention that this is a household where a morning vitamin used to be considered a treat, we now dole out sugary items on a daily basis. I’m not sure how Grace and Edie weakened our stance on candy/junk, but there was a day that we were really quite the puritans when it came to refined foods. So, because my timing has never been logical, I am, like The Maven, re-assessing what the family eats, right before the Christmas season (did I mention that I am hosting a cookie exchange party next weekend and have to bake 10 dozen cookies, for which, in return, I will receive 10 dozen sugary/fattening baked goods? Like I said, my timing is stellar).

So, here is my question to you: how do you feel about Splenda/other sugar substitutes? We (Jo and I) cut out refined sugars (based on the GI diet-thinking) a few years ago. We both trimmed down considerably (he had more to lose than me and he lost a ton). I never felt comfortable giving the kids Splenda/sugar substitute, so they were excused from my GI baking. It’s the whole rats getting cancer thing. Jo did tons of research, and sugar substitute companies slam sugar companies, and sugar companies slam the substitutes. Who do you believe? A diabetic friend has relied on substitutes for much of her life and she is no worse for wear. What is your opinion? How do you feel about sugar substitutes, particularly when it comes to giving it to your kids? I’m super-curious to hear your thoughts on this.

Eeesh, while many bloggers I follow have been dedicated to blogging every day for the month of November, I find myself with little to say. Here are some random bits:

-I was home with Edie for the past few days, she had the Flu. My heart broke into a million pieces every time she hugged me at random and said how much she loved being at home with me.

-My heart also broke into a million pieces when Grace was sad because she felt she was being ignored due to Edie being sick.

-Lately Grace has the ability to make me so very mad and so very happy, all in a five minute time-frame. Is this normal? I would prefer happy all the time.

-Threw Jo a 40th birthday party last Friday – rented out a legion hall, about 80 people showed up, there was a live band, a blow up doll, and lots and lots to eat and drink. A success! 3hrs sleep and a little hangover, not so successful the next day.

-My best friend flew into town AGAIN for the party and stayed the weekend (her husband works for an airline, she takes planes like I take the bus).

-I’m reading a book right now that I don’t like. Since I switched jobs I don’t have the same access to books like I used to. I may have to revisit the Library, I wonder if I have become any more responsible over the years?

-I watched a movie over the weekend called Observe and Report, it has a scene in it that is way too close to being a drugging/rape scenario, and it is supposed to be funny. Watched it with my girlfriend who was drugged/raped and Jonas. A very awkward moment.

-I’m kind of broke. Not a we are not going to be able to eat this week broke, but a we have to pay for the windows/trip to Chicago/car/daycare/40th birthday party. Yikes, maybe we WON’T be able to eat this week!

-To make me less depressed, and to thank you for visiting my blog, here is a picture of me riding a mechanical bull in Chicago.

One night I lied to my parents about where I was going and how I was getting there. I lied and said the parents of a friend were driving me and said friend to a local mall when we were actually heading downtown. And we were planning on hitchhiking there. As we were walking out of town with our little 14 year-old cork-thumbs stuck up looking for a ride, a car pulled over. It was a familiar looking car, I knew it well because it was my dad’s car. While not too happy about finding his daughter hitchhiking, my dad obliged to taking us to our destination. I wasn’t a nice kid then, and he was just trying so hard to keep things calm and smooth. I lied about our destination, as I wasn’t really allowed to go downtown, and had him drop us off at the closest local mall where there were buses – we told him we were going to be hanging out there for a while and then my friend’s parents would be picking us up. When we were sure that my Dad was gone and wouldn’t see us, we hopped on a bus and went downtown.
We got into all kinds of trouble that night, and I ended up lost and disoriented. I ended up sleeping in a house that was being in the middle of being constructed with a bunch of other kids. I was an upper-middle class kid from the burbs, these kids were authentic street kids with nowhere to go. I never called my parents to let them know that I had no intention of coming that night.
The next morning, I awoke, freezing cold, and tired of this adventure. I decided to hitchhike home. I had long lost my partner in crime and decided to go it alone. A very sketchy guy picked me up. My spidey senses were tingling – this was wrong, all wrong. But I wanted to go home. I got in the car, told him where to take me. He said no problem. It was a straight road, with only one left-hand turn that would take me home. When we approached the turn, I gave him a heads up that the turn was coming. He smiled. He blew past the turn and kept on driving. I think he might have also put his hand on my knee, or I could be making that part up, I don’t remember. I get butterflies in my stomach if I have to cross a busy street, imagine what my stomach was doing at this particular moment. I knew what he was going to do, try and do. I knew in my gut what was going on and I was scared shitless. My body reacted and I puked. I threw-up all over his passenger seat. He pulled over, cursed a blue streak and kicked me out of the car. I walked the rest of the way home, crying, dry-heaving – upset about so many things.
When I got home, I wasn’t greeted with anger. I was greeted with that kind of silence that exists when something has gone very, very wrong and there are no words.
The radio was on, and they were reporting that they had found the body parts of one of Paul Bernardo/Karla Holmoka’s victims encased in cement.
For all my parents knew when I didn’t come home that night, something unspeakable had happened to me.
I still feel so guilty for putting them through that.

Put it on the Christmas list…..

As soon as the kids realized that there was television beyond Treehouse and TVO Kids, they were exposed to the world of commercials. And this time of year, as the Christmas machine kicks into high gear, the commercials become even more shiny, sparkly and appealing. Edie shouts at each commercial break “I want that!” She also dictated to my sister last week at Costco a list that would put the most efficient shopper to shame – she pretty much wanted everything she saw that was pink (I’m sure even the massive shrimp rings were pretty to her).

Grace has been quiet compared to her sister. She wants some more DS games and some Lego. That’s pretty much it. Oh, there’s one other thing – she thinks she might also like a foster child. She has seen pictures of children on the fridge’s of friends and family and is intrigued. She has seen one or two world vision ads on television. She is starting to understand that the things we take for granted (pencils, books) are a rarity for some children. And so, she would like a foster child for Christmas. Now, my issue with this is who to do it through? Who is reputable? How do you know the money is going where it is supposed to go? Jaded old me needs to know that what we give is going to who needs it. Do you have a foster child? Who do you go through?

I’m not sure Edie is ready for a foster child yet. She would likely be aghast that some children in the world don’t have pink tutus and tiaras and insist on sending the aforementioned in the mail.

Meanie’s Hallowe’en costumes, a random look back in time:

1) An arab (yes, my parents thought it would be a good idea to dress a 4-year old me up as an arab man, not sure where the inspiration came from that one)

2) A dice – this was actually pretty awesome in theory. My dad took a big box, painted it white, cut out some holes for my head and arms and glue some black dots on it. Where it wasn’t so awesome was when I wore it to school and couldn’t sit down because the box was too awkward, and I couldn’t take it off because I only had tights and a turtleneck on underneath. It was a long day.


3) A robot – again, my dad with a big box, spray painted silver. But wait, a trip to the hardware store was also made and that plastic coil-ey tubing was purchased for my arms and legs (you know the stuff you use to vent out from your clothes dryer) and was also spray painted silver. The garage was raided for bits of knobs and buttons for dials to be glued on. It rocked. I wore it to school convinced that I would win best costume, but some popular-with-the-teachers skank won instead for her oh so original raggedy ann costume. Whatevs. I knew I looked good.

4) A card. This was recycled from my figure skating days where my costume was a queen of hearts card. Hmmm, not sure why my parents didn’t put effort into things that year?

5) A punk rocker. Symbollic foreshadowing.

6) A hooker (cause yeah, it’s appropriate when you are 10 to dress up as someone who sells her body, Mom? Dad?)

7) Laurel of Laurel and Hardy. No idea what inspired this, but my girlfriend and I dressed up as the duo and got a lot of candy from the older folk.

8) A cop. Just a quick word to the wise – when under the influence, it is never a good idea to pull your toy gun on a real police officer. Just saying.

Well, I’m missing a few years here, but these are the ones that stick out for me. What was your best ever costume?

Reverse Bullying

Those of you have met Grace pretty much know that you don’t f*%$ with her. She has a keen sense of right and wrong, is a loyal friend, and stubborn as hell. Some of these traits, particularly in a 7 year old, can be a little, ummm, annoying, but without wanting to squish her spirit, we generally just try and guide her in the right direction, and more often than not, cross our fingers and throw back a shot of something strong until she moves out on her own.

Well, she came home the other day with a shiny Loonie and story to tell. When I asked her about said Loonie, she told me that a bunch of fourth graders were “bullying” her and her (very little) friend; they were telling them to get off the play structure, go away, called them babies, etc. So, was our little Gracie intimidated? Nope. She she throw punches? Nope. Did she cry and run to the teacher? No way. She demanded from the bullies a loonie in order for her and her friend to vacate the area. And they obliged. She reverse-bullied. I wonder if those 4th graders understand what had just happened to them.

Not sure if this is right or wrong, but I kind of admire her methods of extortion at such a tender age.

I had my hair piled high and my baby just looked so right…..

We went out last Saturday night for some dinner and dancing. I have a thing for 50’s and 60’s music and there was a band, Bruce and the Burgers playing at the Elmdale Tavern that I’ve been looking forward to for a long time. I’ve been to the Tavern a few times now, and the music is always great, the people watching fantastic, and I have to admit, for this particular show I was expecting some cool rockabilly types to be checking out the band.

When we walked into the bar we quickly realized we were the youngest couples there by about 20 years. Our friends who joined us shot me daggers as there are more used of the Elgin Street kind of thing – cheese music, cheese crowed. Whatevs, different strokes for different folks.

Well, how can you resist the sounds of the oldies? You can’t. And at first we watched in awe some of the ‘older’ couples doing the mashed potato and the twist. Then I couldn’t hold back anymore when they ripped into an awesome Beach Boys set. I even managed to get Jonas up dancing for a most romantic version of “In the Still of the Night” – it felt like we were in high school, a few decades in the past. It was amazing. Even our friends had a good time, though they did talk us into going to a bar more their speed afterwards, where we watched drunk types get thrown out and drunk boys kept petting my leopard skin jacket. Yeah, that’s a lot more fun than doing the Twist at the Elmdale.


****this is my 300th post! wow, i talk a lot***

A scent.

I’ve always loved the idea of having a fragrance that people associate with me. I’m sure you know people who always smell the same, or associate a smell with someone. I have wonderful memories of my mom and dad getting gussied up at night to go out, and my mom coming downstairs, all pretty and stuff and smelling so wonderfully of Coco Chanel. And my wonderful Nana, who also always smelled so delicious of her fragrance, I think it was Ysatis, by Yves St Laurent. She was a layering gal – she had the soap, the moisturizer, the talc and the perfume, all laid out for her to use. There was a also a woman at my old job who smells sooo good, but keeps it a secret as to what she is wearing, because her signature scent is so sacred to her, she doesn’t want people smelling like her.

Me? I can’t seem to commit to one fragrance. In the 80’s, people would have unfortunately associated Poison with me (public apology, I bathed in it, and I smoked, I smelled awful). When I turned 16 and turned my life around, I symbolically turned to Happy by Clinique, convinced that by wearing something that sounded and smelled so positive, it would have to infect me with good energy. At university, if you walked past me (and most of the other students there) you would get a whiff of patchouli and Pantene. After graduation, I went and worked for Club Monaco. It was the 90’s, cleanliness and minimalism reigned, and I once again turned to Clinique, this time wearing Aromatics Elixir – a very clean, crisp fragrance, which apparently also KILLS allergy sufferers as I was asked to not wear it to work because it irritated one co-worker so much.

When I entered the public service and started making some coin, I spoiled myself with Jo Malone fragrances, which I still love, but they are really a waste of money for me because the perfume seems to fall off of my skin and just does not stick at all.

My current love is Chanel no. 19, and I’ve been wearing this for a few years now. I love it, love walking into my closet and smelling it off of my clothes. I also love it when I go out and night and hug the girls goodbye and they take a big inhale and tell me how pretty I smell.

What’s your signature fragrance? How did you discover it?

What would you do?

So I go into work pretty early so I can leave pretty early. I started doing this to minimize the guilt I feel about the girls being in daycare; this way, Jo drops them off in the later morning, and I pick them up early afternoon. In nice weather this allows time for trips to the park, bike rides, etc etc.

They used to run to me, so happy to see me, peppering me with questions about the plans for the afternoon. Feeling like the The Best Mother In The World, I would look with pity at the moms and dads trying to pick up their kids from daycare who did not want to go home quite yet.

Recently there has been a shift, a change in the winds. It happened gradually, and I should have seen it coming. Last week, it happened. When I picked up Edie, she was engrossed in a tea party, dressed in full princess regalia, crooked tiara and all, pouring refreshments for her subjects. She saw me walk in. Did she run over, leap into my arms like she normally does? Nope. Did she walk over slightly reluctantly, then hug me, realizing how happy she was to see me? Nope. Did she even invite me over for a cup of freaking tea? No. She looked at me, I’m pretty sure she scowled a little bit, fixed her tiara and kept on a-pouring and told me she wasn’t ready to go yet.

I walked down to Gracie’s room at the daycare, looking for some love there. Let’s just say that jar of hodge podge, some pieces of fabric and a cardboard box hold more allure than I do these days.

So, what would you do – would you insist on tearing the girls away from their social time at day care to bond with you, or would you take 45 minutes for yourself to get dinner ready in peace, go for a run, or just run a few errands?

So I feel like having a good cry. I’m not really a person who cries easily, but the past few months have thrown a few things at me and I just really feel like letting it out. I can’t sit in the garden and eat worms and feel sorry for myself and cry. I need a good protagonist to get the tears flowing. This is where I appeal to you. What movies are the best tear-jerkers? What flicks will guarantee a sob? My plan is rent a recommended movie, send Jo out for the night (there is no need for him to witness this), put my jammies on, pour a glass of red, grab a bag of Lays Fries and Gravy potato chips (damn you Alison!) and let the waterworks begin.
Last time I did this was when I watched The Notebook. Gawd, I practically needed therapy after watching that, but man did I cry and it felt great. I also tried to get Jo to cut his hair and wear a cute little cap like Ryan Gosling and run to me the pouring rain…..
The only other time I remember REALLY sobbing was a more public affair, when I saw the English Patient in the theatres. I almost punched a woman in the bathroom afterwards who said the movie was boring and stoooopid. Crass souless bitch.
So, what are your recommendations to get my tears out?

What are your plans for Thanksgiving?

I’m heading up to the cottage (not really a cottage. It’s Jo’s parents home. It used to be their country home, but they have moved there permanently now). It’s beautiful. On the lake, colours galore, lots of places to hike, run around and play. My two brothers in law will be there with their wives, a two year old, and two buns in the oven. I know I will be badgered about having a third child. The way I see it, there will be more wine for me because my sisters in law will be off the bottle. HA! At the dinner table we will talk politics, debate and no one will really listen to each other. My MIL will try and engage everyone in a board game, while everyone secretly wants to retire to the couch and watch some boob tube while recovering from dinner. I will put the girls to bed way too late, and fight sleep myself as I cuddle with them in their beds.

We will then head to my parents house on Sunday, where my brother and sister will be, as well as Jo’s mom (she’s a single gal and my mom has taken to inviting her and including her in our family celebrations. I think that’s pretty cool). At my parents home I will be scrutinized for not eating The Turkey (still off meat, it’s been about 4 weeks now?!) We will tease each other without mercy about our quirks, mock my mother for buying a dishwasher and not trusting it enough to load it up and use it. We will loudly do dishes together, one person washing, two people drying, and one person putting things away. I will sneak out for a cigarette with my brother, my sister’s dog will be tortured by the girls, and my dad and Jo will sneak off and watch some kind of sport on t.v.

On Monday Edie will get to watch way too much t.v., Grace will get way too much face time with her DS, Jo and I will fart around until mid-morning before we pick an activity for the day. At some point we will get the box of Hallowe’en decorations out. The girls like to examine and contemplate the decorations before we commit to placing them semi-permanently in the house. I love it when they do this. They do it with our Christmas decorations as well. They get very quiet, quietly inspecting each item – what are they searching for, memories?

I love this time of year.

Problems and solutions (long, thinking out-loud post that is all about me)

Problems:

1) This summer was not the best for me. Weather wise, it was horrible (I’m the kind of gal who likes to walk outside and get hit by the heat/humidity). I feel like my bones never really dried out from the winter.

2) I also screwed up my holidays by taking two weeks off, but at separate times. I truly think you need two weeks off in a row to completely disconnect. I feel like I didn’t give my girls a real summer holiday. I was too involved with work (I would physically leave the building, but not mentally).


3) We made a huge decision, in a matter of 48 hours, to move away from Ottawa, across the country, but in the 11th hour, the opportunity was taken off the table. Which is probably a good thing, as

4) my dad was diagnosed with cancer at the same time as the opportunity to move was presented to us. It would have been very difficult to be that far away as he undergoes his chemo treatments, and so much of his illness is still a mystery to me. However,

5) I was excited for a change, to shake things up a bit, so I was a little disappointed the adventure was cancelled.

6) Gracie and her chronic night-anxiety (now treated by the amazing Thought Field Therapy) and Edie’s night waking left me feeling exhausted.


7) My allergies were so bad that I (used it as an excuse) stopped working out/running for two months.

8) I stayed up too late watching TV, using the excuse that it was the only time I had to myself. Oh, and my hot date would be a glass or two of wine and/or something junky to eat. Going to bed at 11:00-11:30, waking two to four times a night to comfort someone, then wake for good at 6:00 a.m. took its toll. A few weeks ago I was not in a good place, mentally or physically.

Solutions:

1) Not much I can do about the weather. Except get over it and accept that there’s nothing I can do about. I will also go (with some sunscreen on) to a tanning bed this winter if I feel the need for heat.

2) Jo and I have vowed to take two weeks off in a row next summer and leave town. No checking in with work etc. We are going to go back to Gloucester, Massachusetts, a place of great memories.

3) Well, we didn’t move, but I did take a new job across the river. Change is good, I think I will like this new job, and the people seem friendly, and the atmosphere is more relaxed and positive.

4) I developed a cure for cancer. Haha, just kidding. But I’m glad that I am able to be close by while my pops is going through all he is going through.

5) See 3.


6) Thought Field Therapy has been lifesaver. Leave a comment if you want more information. It’s crazy how effective it has been. This is a kid who would be so stressed at bedtime (heart racing etc) and wake several times a night totally freaked out by everything and not able to fall back to sleep. Now she peacefully falls asleep at night, and IF she wakes at night, with the tricks I have been taught, she falls right back to sleep. Edie, well, she still wakes up, but she is pretty easy to settle again, or she climbs into our bed and sleeps like the dead.

7) Uggh. The allergies. Well, I will get my treatments next year (missed them this year) and I started running again last week, and there is a gym at the new job, so I will definitely be taking advantage of that.


8) I’ve been trying really hard to go to bed between 9:30 and 10:00, and boy does it make a difference.

One of the biggest changes though comes on the heels of a suggestion of a girlfriend, I picked up a couple of books by Dr. Neal Barnard – a huge advocate of vegetarian based eating. I have ploughed through these books, and have completely turned around how I eat. I’ve been a somewhat uncomfortable meat eater my whole life, and now that I have eliminated it from diet (along with other changes) I have lost a few pounds, have more energy and feel better all around.

Well, that really was a self-indulgent post. Thanks for sticking around. If you have any amazing veggie recipes to pass on, please let me know. I love personal, tried and true recommendations. And I’m not scared of tofu.

An update from my girlfriend, who was raped 3 years ago. Her words are more powerful than mine.

It boggles my mind what some are jailed for, and what actions some walk away from, even with a guilty plea.

Again, fight for each other and stay safe.

Friends,


It's taken me a while to be able to write this without it turning into a screaming rant...

My mom and dad and Mr. Awesome came to Vancouver with me on August 17 to attend the sentencing of Fernando Manuel Alves. You may remember he pleaded guilty to one charge of sexual assault in order to have a second charge dropped.
I read my victim impact statement to the court. It was honest and it was painful and though I had to stop a few times to get my voice back or stop my shaking hands, I read it loud and clear. I am proud of that. The judge thanked me for it, and said he hoped one day I would be able to deal with the pain. Then he gave Alves a 9 month conditional sentence, which means no jail time.

... no jail time for sexual assault.

The judge apparently fell for the defence lawyer's "aw shucks, he's a good guy, just didn't realize that she was in no state to be able to give consent." I did not consent, nor would I EVER, to being drugged, leaving a bar through the back door with a disgusting individual, having my nose broken, body bloodied and bruised, and being violently raped. I am enraged, and horrified, and stunned.

The good news is that he IS registered on the Sex Offender's database for the next 20 years. So at least they'll be able to find him when he does it again, which he will.

It has been a long road, almost 3 years, and it's hard not to see this as a huge waste of time. Funny thing is, I did everything I was supposed to, everything I possibly could. It was the police, the Crown counsel, the legal system, and the judge that, in my view, failed horrendously to protect me and all other women out there.

I have found some comfort in the fact that many people are taking up the fight. There are numerous blogs on the internet about the injustice done, and many are writing to the Crown counsel to have the sentence appealed. If you search "Fernando Manuel Alves" you will find the story about the sentencing on CBC.ca, and links to dozens of blogs and comments about it - all thanks to my Special K, who originally wrote about it on her blog. At least the general public seems to understand the horror of our justice system.

We will carry on, as time marches inexorably forward, and time will pass. This chapter is over, and we can only go forward.

Thanks to you all for your support.

-Friend

Gaaack!

So, I told you all about my great new job, tralalala, life is good etc in my last post. I just realized today that I have had the exact same routine for approx. 4 years now and I am going to have to switch things up! Sometimes Meanie doesn’t like change. I’m of the if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it category.
For the past few years I have done the following:

1) alarm goes off at 5:50, I hit snooze until 6:15, at which time I take inventory of who is in my bed (the kiddies, people the kiddies!)

2) stumble to the shower, somehow manage to do all things required to make me beautiful while ½ asleep (let us remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder)

3) tip toe out of the house to avoid contact with said kiddies (I can’t handle guilt trips first thing in the morning about whhhhhyyyyyyy I have to work and whhhhyyyyyyy I can’t bring them to school).

4) After tiptoeing out of the house run like the dickens to my bus stop with 30 seconds to spare.

5) Usually sit in the same seat, on the same bus, nod to the same people every morning.

6) Sleep/read.

7) Get off bus one stop before work so I can get my venti bold black, at the same Starbucks, from the same server, every morning.

8) Walk to work, with intimate knowledge of the timing of the lights.

9) Arrive to office. Nod to the same early birds at the same time each morning.

10) Turn computer on, remove sneakers, put on one of the umpteen pairs of shoes I have stored in my office (pick me pick me! They all call out).

11) Type in pass word, pull breakfast from my lunch bag and eat the same thing I have been eating forever – a green smoothie and an energy bar from Trillium bakery. Only consume coffee once I have finished breakfast, by then it is the perfect

temperature.
12) Work away, work away, check a few blogs :)

13) 11:00 eat lunch while working.

14) 11:30 Get ready for The Walk (I try to walk for an hour each lunch hour)
15) Return to work when everyone else has gone to lunch (I’m a social butterfly, can’t you tell?)

16) 3:00 p.m. close up shop. Walk one bus stop further than the one closest to me. The one closest to me would require walking back a block, and I can only move forwards, not backwards. Does that make sense?

17) 3:30, grab car, do any quick errands I need to do before I pick up the girls, or pick up the girls, bring them to a park and run them before heading home.

18) Once home, homework is done while I make dinner.

19) Yell at kids to get ready for Brownies/Track/bathtime whatever is going on that evening.

20) 8:00 gather kiddies for bedtime, start off like Mary Poppins, end up like Genghis Kahn because of their bedtime shenanigans.

21) Say goodnight.

22) Go to the office, check email and, ummm, LaineyGossip.

23) Make lunches for the next day (always stressful).

24) Maybe watch a show/fold laundry.

25) Lay out clothes for the next day (I hate September for this – I always lay out something completely inappropriate for the unpredictable weather we are having).

26) Wash face, apply beauty products, pray they will work, brush teeth, floss if feeling ambitious, go to bed.

For my new job I have to take 2 busses to get there. This will add a 27 to my 26 steps of the day. This may require some therapy on my part. And there is no Starbucks where I am going. And I will be in a cubicle, not an office with a door. I may be limited in how many shoes I can bring with me.

Think of me Monday morning.

On to the next adventure.

I’m a public servant. I have been working for various government departments now for about 15 years. I’ve been so so so lucky to have had jobs (for the most part) that have actually interested me as well as provide me with a decent pay cheque, 2 fully paid maternity leaves, generous time off for vacation, illness, and tending to the family when they need some extra TLC. I’ve also had very liberal thinking bosses who have all acknowledged the all important work-life balance, and have been kind enough to have allowed me to work 3 day work weeks, 4 day work weeks, one day from home, and flex hours (all in different circumstances).

I know am lucky, and while I may sometimes complain about the goings on at my work, I have been never been ungrateful for the wonderful opportunities I have been given.

I have been with my current department for 10 years, and found myself a little bored, not too excited to get up in the morning and get to work. I always promised myself that I had to feel good about going to work and never be bored. As soon as I started feeling that way, it would be time to move on (I spent a year in a job that I just hated and it is the worst feeling in the world). I applied for job with another department, a bit of a long shot I thought at the time, and I was pleasantly surprised to be offered it. My new manager has also agreed to a 4-day work week. It sounds like a fun, exciting job, I will still be involved in working with material I find interesting, and will learning about something I know nothing about. Yay all around.

I have that September feeling, making all kinds of promises to myself (I will go to bed earlier and exercise at lunch time – there’s a gym at the new place!) And remember that September feeling of needing a new day timer and notebook, maybe even new back pack and some new clothes? I’m giddy with change.

Patrick Swayze was in one of my all time favourite films, The Outsiders. He played the father figure roll. I had forgotten about that all together (I was too preoccupied with Matt Dillon, oh Dally Winston, you made me forever fall in love with bad boys).

I also clearly remember in grade 7 or 8, watching Dirty Dancing with a girlfriend who lost her shit over Swayze – I mean tears and sobs over his-on screen passion. I didn’t get it at the time, but by pure coincidence, I watched the movie this past weekend, and I think I get what she was so worked up over. It is a pretty great movie.

I have never watched Ghost – I really don’t think I could. Just not my cup of tea. When it came out I remember thinking it was the cheesiest movie idea I’d ever heard of. And I can’t stomach Whoopi or Demi much.

What I also remember, and can’t help but laugh out loud whenever I picture it in my head, is the Chippendales skit on Saturday Night Live, featuring Swayze and Chris Farley (also RIP). That was genious, and kudos to Swayze for having a sense of humour.

Patrick Swayze - Chippendale
envoyé par tressage. -

Shoe installment #3 – Biker Boots



I have gone through 3 pairs of biker boots. I have never owned a motorcycle (though have dated a biker and a Vespa-boy), but I have always loved loved loved the look of biker boots. The love of this look goes back to one image. An image that I saw in Vogue when I was around 14 or 15 years old. It is a picture of Linda Evangelista, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans in a fantastic wash, and these incredible, black, motorcycle boots. She looked a beautiful she-male Marlon Brando. I have carried this image in my head for years. A perfect white-T is easy enough to find, as are jeans (well, those are getting more difficult to find), but the boots have proven to be much, much more difficult.

I have compromised over the years and bought boots that came close, but not quite close enough, to emulating the boots in Vogue. Friends near and far have been dragged into my search. My Montreal peeps knew that when I came to town, part of the trip would involve a likely unsuccessful hunt for “the Boots”. Edie’s former caregiver even called me from a Value-Village one afternoon , as excited as anything, letting me know that she had just picked me up pair of tags-still- on, black Harley Davidson boots, ½ a size too big than what I needed. I’ve actually worn these boots over the past few years, and they have become favourites, but they just weren’t perfect enough.

And then, while searching the Net for the illusive perfect boot, I found them. Without a doubt, these were them. I zoomed in and out on the image, looked at every angle possible (Zappo’s is amazing for that) clicked on my size, the colour I wanted and proceeded to the checkout.

SHRRRRRIIIIEEEEKKKKK!


Do not deliver to Canada!! WTF! And only 2 pairs left in this size!!!! What’s a girl to do? I called upon my trusty friend in Chicago, a fellow lover of shopping, who I knew would sympathize. And sure enough, within minutes of sending her an email, she had confirmed that they had been ordered, would be shipped to her husbands’ work and he would take care of sending them off to me. I have nice friends.

And so, here they are. I look nothing like Linda Evangelista, but I do like my boots.




*thanks CD for the pic!

Seigfried and Roy couldn’t have tamed these wild beasts.


Grace and Edie are on probation. As far as Jo and I are concerned, they are never allowed to go to a restaurant ever again. Well at least for a month. And in this month they must practice dinner etiquette. Pretend they are dining with royalty. Pretend their little asses are velcroed to their chairs (hmm, that is actually not a bad idea). The must politely say please and thank you and you are welcome for every little thing their hearts desire. They must respect their father and mothers conversation (as boring as it may be), and wait their turn to say whatever it is they so urgently need to express. And when expressing their thoughts, they must use a volume that is appropriate to the space, as in, if a freight train is not the in the near vicinity, it is appropriate to lower their decibels a few notches.

That’s not what went down last night yo.

As a celebration of back to school, and a celebration of a sunny day in September, we decided to dine out. On a patio. Where cold beer is available. I’m not sure where it all fell apart. Could have been when the girls whined and fought for the bench seat. Could have been when they refused to sit down. Could have been when they started fighting over crayons. Could have been when Edie wouldn’t stop asking where her food was. I do know, that by the time our drinks and food came, Jo and I were regretting our decision to dine out. I also know that when Jo took Edie’s straw away from her because he had asked her to stop blowing bubbles and she didn’t listen, Edie did not react well. There was a tantrum a-brewing, and other diners were being disturbed. The ultimatum was to stop crying or else she would have to go to the van. This resulted in further (loud) protests, so I picked Ms. Edie up, and walked her to the van. Did I mention I knocked over a pitcher of ice water on the next table in the process? Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh.

While sitting with the prisoner in the van, apparently Grace took this opportunity to bounce all over the bench, defying Jo’s order to sit down and eat her meal. A pretty picture, right?

Once Edie had waved the white flag and agreed to finish her meal quietly, I brought her out of the van. I also insisted that she apologize to the wait staff, to the table beside us, and to her father. She was mortified but I think it was an important lesson.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Not an “gee I’m enjoying my dinner” silence, but more of “if I hear one more word out you young ladies there will be trouble” kind of silence. Which is really too bad. It could have been a nice evening out.

And that is why the girls are on probation. They are not happy about it, but the Meanies are cracking down on this kind of behaviour. I don’t have the expectation of bringing them to a 5 star restaurant, but it would be nice to go to a casual diner and talk about our day.

To the people dining somewhere on Bank Street last night, again, my sincere apologies. We won’t be back for a month, 6 months, a year. Whatever it takes.

Please tell me you have similar horror stories, we aren’t the only ones who have been unsuccessful in socializing our children, right????? Honestly people, it’s like they were feral.