What's On My Mind

Art is in the Eye of the Beholder

2012-01-12T05:08:00.000-08:00

I’m considering getting a cleaning service. Again. I’ve had them before. It hasn’t gone well.

Two problems. One: something expensive went missing. And it’s not that I know for sure that someone took this item. To be honest, stuff goes missing around our house all the time, cleaning service or no. So it’s more that I will be suspicious if something goes missing again and I don’t like thinking that of someone.

Two: Stuff was never cleaned to my satisfaction. And trust me, I don’t have a high standard of cleanliness! If it looks clean, generally I’m happy. But I kept running into cobwebs right in my line of sight!

Cleaners cost money so I feel the need to justify my want of help around the house. I could tell you that now that I’m working again I don’t have time to clean. But that would be a lie. I could have time. I could forgo a bunch of pastimes that may seem trivial and unnecessary to many more mature people than I am. Things like reading, watching movies, playing Wii Just Dance with the kids (and, if we’re being honest, also without), surfing the Net, blogging, daydreaming, etc. etc. But the fact of the matter is, I’ve decided I want those things in my life and I will no longer feel guilty about it. The problem is, I also want clean toilets.

I had this conversation with myself about it the other day:

I’m cleaning the toilet. I really hate housework. But then I think, what would Eckhart Tolle say? Eckhart would remind me to do things in one of three mindsets: acceptance, enjoyment, bliss. And I agree with this. Some things must be done. Why do them and grumble? It doesn’t change the fact that they need to be done or that they are being done. So why invest negative energy?

In theory. And yet one hard to evoke while cleaning the toilet. Some people enjoy cleaning. My mother, for example. I think she said she finds it calming. In me, though, it provokes feelings of grandeur. Certainly I was put on this earth to do more than clean another person’s shit off of porcelain! I write! I am an artiste! Says who? Who says one task is better than the other? When I am done my task, there is a story! When my mother is done, there is a clean toilet. Mine is art. Art? Art is in the eye of the beholder. Some would call a clean toilet art. Some might compare what I spent 15 minutes writing with, well, shit.

The Tao of Pooh

2012-01-09T09:47:00.000-08:00

I am reading the Tao of Pooh.

I know, right? The atheist is reading a religious book. Is Taoism a religion? I’m not sure. What is Taoism? I can’t tell you. If I tell you, I have to kill you. No, I’m just joking! I can’t tell you because, such is the nature of the Tao. You can only try and point it out, catch glimpses of it. But as soon as you try and pin it down with a definition, it flutters away like a butterfly, or like this kite that is taking Pooh with it.

I understand it in the same way I understand existentialism. And that is, just barely. I was introduced to existentialism through reading Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot in grade ten English with Mrs. Kress. I caught glimpses of what it was then. And since, I have tried to understand it better. Or have tried pretending that I understand it better than I do in order to appear smarter than I am.

As I’m reading the Tao of Pooh I’m beginning to realize, I’m not an atheist! I’m a Taoist… whatever that is. And aren’t we all whatever we are, regardless of what we choose to call ourselves? Why are we calling ourselves anything? See? That’s a glimpse of the Tao right there for ya! I think…

God seems to be like this too. In the past few months I keep catching glimpses of what I think God is. Here are some examples:

When I thought I’d try something different and then received a fortune cookie that said “Your curious nature will take you somewhere special.”

When I stopped being head strong and decided to listen to hubby and therefore realized what he was saying was absolutely right. And then watched the light in his eyes shine when he saw that I Value His Opinion.

When I was wondering what book to read next and then this little red Tao of Pooh book came floating right in front of me. If I had read it four months ago I wouldn’t have heard it. But maybe four months ago it wouldn’t have called to me.

The Five Most Difficult Library Patrons

2012-01-09T04:30:00.000-08:00

Library patrons! Please do not misunderstand this list. Please do not go away from this thinking that your library staff doesn’t love you. We do! We are at your service and we do what we do (most of us, anyway) because we believe in the concept of shared knowledge, that information should be accessible to all, that media that sparks creativity is not a luxury but a necessity to make life worthwhile, indeed to make living in this crazy, mixed up world make sense.

But.

As in all relationships, sometimes you do things that annoy us. We understand. We’re not perfect either. But let me put you on alert: if you want your friendly neighbourhood library clerk to continue helping you out with a smile on her face, please steer away from doing any of the following…

1. Child in car. This is a parent, mom or dad, who rushes in and wants library staff to do something, whether it is checking him out at the desk instead of waiting in line to use the self check, waiving his fine, unlock his DVDs for him, anything like this but to just do it and do it faster, because he has left his child in the car. He doesn’t have time for your explanations. He doesn’t want to hear about how under normal circumstances he should be doing these things himself. He can’t discuss whether or not he brought back that express movie on time, he just knows he definitely did and he shouldn’t have that huge fine on his account. He wants library staff to cut him some slack because, aren’t we worried about his child he left in the car?? Here’s a tip: NEVER LEAVE YOUR YOUNG CHILD UNATTENDED IN A CAR!!! If you do so, you should go back and get her! She is your responsibility, not ours. As is unlocking your DVDs.

2. Picking up someone else’s holds. This happens all the time. If it’s happened to you, don’t worry, it’s happened to me too, before I started working at the library. If you are unfamiliar, this is what I’m talking about: Your husband places some holds on his account. He’s busy at work so he asks you if you can go in and pick them up for him. You do, only to discover that, unless he’s given you his card, you can’t get them.

If you are not too ticked off at this point, library staff will explain to you that this rule is for your own protection. We might even tell you about the woman who put a bunch of books on divorce on hold for herself and then her husband, who didn’t know what she was planning, came in and found out what she was up to by picking up her holds. And then she sued the library. And won.

The difficult patron, though, will not want to hear any of this. She will just be incredulous and then quickly fly into a murderous rage over staff having wasted her time and gas money by not allowing her to pick up her husband’s holds. She will want staff to call her husband, right now, and ask him, go on, ask him, if she has the authority to pick up his holds. (We don’t do that, by the way.)

Please, don’t kill the messenger! We are not out to make your life miserable! We generally try to avoid that. But being unable to pick up somebody else’s holds without his card is the library rule and it’s there for a reason. We would not be doing our job if we didn’t follow it.

3. Nobody told me. This person is usually a teenager. But not always. You’d be surprised. She comes stalking up to the desk with the air of being egregiously wronged. A seasoned staff member will be able to detect the general gist of the ensuing conversation before she’s even opened her mouth. And it is this: she just got a notice in the mail. The library has sent a collection agency after her. How dare they! Nobody told her she had to bring those Express DVDs and Wii games back on time! This is the first she’s heard about it. Why didn’t anyone tell her before now that she had these fines. And besides, she doesn’t even think she had those things. She doesn’t even own a Wii player. She’s never heard of that movie.

When you sign up for a library card, you are accepting responsibility for all the material on the card, for knowing when it is due and for bringing it back on time. We do everything we can to make it as easy as possible for you to remember when things are due. We offer to print you a receipt. Now you can even have your receipt emailed to you. You can check your account online. You can call us and we’ll check. You can come in whenever we are open and ask us all about it. But ultimately it is up to you. You’re a big girl. Time to learn responsibility!

4. That’s your job. This has actually only happened to me once. But I’m relatively new! This lady lamented the declining service of the library thanks to self check outs. The staff used to check her out and unlock her DVDs. And in some ways, I agree with her. I actually like checking people out, seeing what people are watching, chatting with people about what books are good, which ones they’d recommend, recommending some of my own. Less interaction with our patrons means less fun conversations. Sometimes this means we are only speaking to certain patrons when they have fines – and that’s no fun for anyone! But the idea behind it is that, by having self checkout, it frees up our time to help you do what we do best, things like finding material for you, recommending your next read, telling you how to start a book club or helping you start to use the e-reader you just got for Christmas. This is where we really shine! So we leave checking out to you. And besides, using self check is fun!

But when I told this lady this, in so many words, she insisted that no, unlocking DVDs should be MY job, not hers. That’s what I’m paid for: to unlock DVDs. Is it wrong that I was rather insulted at her insistence that I spent four years at university only to have a large part of my job description include sliding a bit of plastic along a magnet?

5. Johnny come lately. This patron comes in to pick up his twenty-five holds… at 8:59 p.m. He calmly walks over to the self check and begins to methodically unwrap each one. After he checks them out, if they are DVDs, he hands them to his three year old to unlock. When she has trouble he says to her, hm, it’s not working, maybe try it the other way around. If staff is so impertinent as to remind him that the library is now closed and he has to hurry along, he will look down his nose at the implication that he should be rushed by a city employee who, really, he pays for with his tax dollars.

Once the library is closed, staff is no longer paid. So if you are hanging around browsing the Express movies and checking out past that time, know that staff is now only there out of the goodness of our hearts. And we do have goodness in our hearts! But it runs thin at closing time. See 1 through 4, above.

From the Past

2012-01-08T08:20:00.000-08:00

I wrote this article for the English Wakayama Newsletter the year I was living in Japan, 1995. If you find, like I do, parts vaguely racist or at least politically incorrect, or feel incredulous that I seem to be suggesting they should not have taken prayer out of the school curriculum, all I can say is that I'm chalking it up to being young and not yet very well informed. But I like the general sentiment behind it and think it's still a topic worth considering. Also, as I prepare to visit Scotland this month, I think it is interesting how I was thinking of Scotland so many years ago...

Oxymoron: The Typical Canadian

About a month ago, in one of my English classes, the topic of my cultural background was brought into question. After a lengthy explanation, including several questionable drawings of my family tree by the JTE, one student piped up, "So your mother's Japanese and your father's Scottish?" (This was actually asked in Japanese, of course.)

"Yes," I replied.

"Well then you're not Canadian," he said accusingly, as if he had just realized that there was an imposter standing at the front of the class posing as a Canadian.

"Of course I am, I was born in Canada," I retorted, but the student looked skeptically back at me and remained unconvinced.

I felt rather defensive about this and mulled it over considerably afterward. I didn't have time in that class to explain to the students the history of Canada and how everybody in Canada, except perhaps the Native Indians, originated from somewhere else. However, I saw in the eyes of some of them that they were struggling to grasp the idea of who a Canadian is, to create an image of the typical Canadian in their minds. In an attempt to form this image, Japanese people occasionally ask questions like, "What is a typical Canadian dish?" or "Does everybody in Canada speak English and French?" I've had no simple answer to these questions, and so I've realized I also need to define "Canadian."

I have a vague recollection of learning about Canadian multiculturalism versus the United States' melting pot in junior high school. I don't remember any exact lessons but I know I came out with this general impression: Those evil, oppressive Americans force all their immigrants to give up their heritage and forget their traditions to become U.S. citizens, while we benign, forever accommodating Canadians allow each of our citizens to retain his own cultural identity hence forming a beautifu cultural mosaic... Yeah Canada! So yes, of course the Seikh RCMP can carry his kirpan and wear his turban as part of his uniform; and swearing on the bible is no longer necessary in a Canadian court; and naturally we shouldn't force all Canadian school children to say the Lord's prayer every morning in school - in fact, let's take those prayers out of the curriculum all together. Should we still sing the national anthem?

Of course I wouldn't be so morally arrogant as to claim to be able to determine whether these decisions on the part of the Canadian government were right or wrong. What I am asking is, with what kind of cultural identity is a Canadian left? It seems to me that the typical Canadian is someone who has an idea of the culture of her ancestors but who often has never been to the country where that culture originated and has no concrete culture of her own, being Canadian, to embrace.

Recall for a moment, Darren N's article in the October issue of WIN, "Welshmen - The Chosen Race." However arrogant and rampant with inaccurate generalizations this article may have been, one must recognize and admire one thing: The intense pride Mr. N has in Wales and being Welsh. He comes from a country with a distinct culture and long history. These are tangible facts to which he can refer to identify and define Wales.

Recently my father came to visit me here in Japan. The day he was leaving to go home we took the train together to Kansai Airport. On the way, we got on this topic of cultural identity and he began to talk about his home country, Scotland. He said to me, "Your Poppa used to say that in Scotland you can put your 'hond' down in any river and take a drink." I sat there with my father, whom I had never seen cry once in my life, and watched a tear come to his eye as he told me of his latest visit to Scotland. I tried to imagine him as he said he was, knelt down on the grassy banks of the misty Valley of Glencoe with his hand in the river, thinking of his father, and of Scotland, and of being Scottish. I looked out the window of the train over blue tiled rooves nestled among expanding mountains, and wondered if I would ever have emotions like that about anywhere in the world.

These days I'm making an effort to experience Japanese culture. I am attempting to learn the tea ceremony ("attempting" being the key word here). I am struggling with the Japanese language, and I am trying to find somewhere where I can learn "nichibu" (Japanese dancing). I realize now I do all of this in the desperate attempt to have something tangible to point to, to say, "This is me. This is who I am."

But the truth is clear. I am not Japanese, I can't even speak the language. I'm not Scottish, I couldn't point Edinburgh out to you on a map. I'm Canadian. I can sing you the entire Canadian national anthem, I can name all 10 provinces and 2 territories. But if asked about "The Typical Canadian," I'm afraid I'll still have no definitive answer.

Home Too Fast

2011-03-20T08:21:00.000-07:00

The last two weeks blew by in a flash! We had so much fun and packed in a ton. Of course, I didn't get a chance to blog about nearly as much stuff as I wanted, but when you've got a finite amount of time with the people you love it's hard to spend much of it in front of the computer. Here are some things I missed:

The kids got to have a spa in my parents atrium spa tub.

Against my better judgment, I did let my dad teach Max to shoot.

Yay for weapons. *Sigh* Watch him murder a tin can here.

A day at the beach in Glenelg.

The kids camped out for two nights in one of the back paddocks. Mum, hubby and I went out to see their camp and have a drink. Then we went back to the comfort of Tori Park while Dad and the kids braved the Aussie "outback."

And, to add another item to the list of Things I Let the Kids Do with BBD that Were Against my Better Judgment, Dad and Max built a go cart.

My dad says I need to relax and let kids be kids. I tried on this trip, I really did. But listen to how terrified I sound here. And here.(I know, no helmet. Please don't report me to CAS.)

It wasn't all scary. Sarah pets Will, the pony.

One of the best things was how much fun it was to see the kids with their little cousin, Sam. They just love him so much and really got to know him on this trip.

Plus, Sam waited for us to get there to start walking! See it here

He's such a cutie. Watch him eat dinner here and here.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, Sarah did sing the song for Fiona. But it happened spontaneously when we were at Cleland and I only got the end of it on my parents' camera and I didn't get a chance to upload the video before I left. You couldn't really hear much of it anyway because of the noise in the cafe where we were sitting having lunch. Aside from all that, it was really sweet. Sarah climbed up in Fiona's lap and started humming and Fiona asked, "Does that song have words to it?" and she just started singing it. The look on Fiona's face was priceless. I wish I could have captured it.

It's hard to believe it's been two weeks. And that we're home.

Now is usually the time when I set about moping around, feeling pretty sorry for myself. But I don't know, I don't feel like that this time. I think it's because, after two weeks of having the best time with my family while simultaneously watching the devastation in Japan unfold on the news, I feel pretty lucky. Lucky to live where I live, lucky to be able to travel all the way to Australia to visit them. And then there's just plain, old lucky to be alive. It makes you wonder what's happening in the universe to see such a catastrophe and then the subsequent fallout. You have to wonder what the ramifications will be in the years to come for the rest of the planet.

So I'm counting my blessings. It does suck to be away from my family but there is an upside. I'm sure if we lived close by and I saw them all the time family dinners, shopping trips, going for coffee, all the things I enjoyed so much the past two weeks would seem mundane. Maybe I wouldn't hug them lots and tell them how much I love them. Maybe I would take them for granted.

Don't get me wrong. It would be nice to see them all the time. To pop in, have spontaneous get togethers, Sunday dinner, the usual stuff. But that's not my reality. And instead of lamenting it, I'm going to start embracing it. Our family bonding isn't watered down. It's concentrated. All the fun you can have, everyday for two weeks. Boom. Done. What a blast.

And if you see your family all the time so that you don't often feel the need to hug them or tell them you love them, do it now.

You never know what the future holds.

With Bijou-bi

2011-03-16T19:18:00.001-07:00

If you were to overhear a conversation between my sister and me you might require an interpreter to decipher it. My sister has basically created her own weird language based on thirty odd years of mixing English, French, Japanese, Aussie colloquialisms, cockney rhyming slang, weird BBD sayings, short forms, inside jokes and combinations thereof. We also rarely if ever call each other by our first names. And to explain the origins of any of the names we do have for each other (Bijou-bi, Jimmy, O-face, Mon hubu, Natoyan, Poler, OASAMVBF, to name a few) would require more time and inclination than I'm sure anyone would want to invest.

We are sisters who have to pack years worth of bonding into short bursts of two weeks of mayhem. I'm sure anyone who lives away from loved ones can relate. And much like the way ordinary words like drink, dinner or party immediately become more fun when you insert the word birthday in front of them, so too do these occurrences when I add With Bijou.

Eating ramen.

Going for lunch.

Visiting a winery.

Having a coffee.

Going to zumba. [Photo removed by author due to embarrassment issues.]

Hanging Out

2011-03-16T03:22:00.000-07:00

It's weird, but one of the things I look forward to doing when I visit my parents is the laundry. I know. When you signed on for reading a travel blog of Australia you were hoping for something a little more exciting than household chores. But it's true. It's because here we hang the laundry out on a line.

I can't quite capture it in words. Of course it depends on the day, but generally the sun is warm and pleasant. The air is a glorious mix of fresh, country air, clean laundry and a faint hint of eucalyptus from the beautiful gum trees. There is a fig tree right beside the house. The view is of the rolling Adelaide hills. A cow might walk by in the neighbouring paddock. The clincher though is the cacophony of Aussie birdsong. The tweeting, cawing, warbling, chirping, laughing, twittering calls all mingle together to create a serenade I've only ever heard in this country. It's like nowhere else. To say it soothes my suburban soul is an understatement.

And then, when it's all hung out, there is the satisfaction of standing back and looking at this testimony to the fact that my family is here, on my parents' farm. I know it's silly. But seeing my family's clothing, from Sarah's little socks all the way up to hubby's Tshirts hanging there, blowing in the eucalyptus tinged air with the hills as backdrop, it's just... good.

It's really good.

It's going to be hard to leave.

Fun with Acrophobia

2011-03-12T15:24:00.001-08:00

I only realized the extent to which I'm afraid of heights a year and a half ago while atop Gaudi's Dr. Seuss like creation, La Sagrada Familia. We waited about two hours in line to go up that crazy ass building only to be tortured by a winding spiral staircase with no handrail on the way back down. One would have thought I'd learned my lesson and would henceforth steer clear of crazy structures requiring climbing. And I have. Until two days ago when I was faced with this:

So what, you're saying. Looks perfectly benign. Why is this crazy woman trying to vilify something as harmless as a smiling rocking horse? It's because this is Gumeracha, home of the Biggest Rocking Horse in the World!!!! Look again. See those little dots on the top of it's head? That's us!!! Why?? Why, I ask? Why would someone create this evil thing that children will want to climb thereby forcing their poor acrophobic parent to accompany them on the horrific journey? If I thought climbing down an insanely high structure was hellish, it was only because I hadn't thought to combine it with first watching my two precious babies climbing down an insanely high structure. Here we are going up:

I wish I could have stayed with my mum. This is more my speed.

If you ever find yourself in Gumeracha, South Australia, I would advise avoiding this insanity at all costs. And speaking of costs, I paid two dollars each for this nightmare. Oh, but it was worth it, they gave me this:

And then we went to their petting zoo which was an episode out of When Goats Attack. But that's another story...

2011-03-10T15:05:00.000-08:00

Like many suburban moms, I stress about my kids not getting enough vitamin D, spending too much time in front of the TV or playing DS. I wish there were less Wii and more we. So it really does my heart good to see the homemade, low tech, old school fun they've been having here. So far this week they've spent time:

1. Feeding Horses. Papa invites them out twice a day to go with him as he drives around the farm giving the horses their feed.

2. Going on a Treasure Hunt. I told you how some of my best memories were of the treasure hunt my aunt and uncle did for us. So my sister, because she's the best sister ever and awesome in general, put one together for Max and Sarah. Just look at the fun they're having here.

3. Playing Boggle. I so loved playing this game at my grandparents' house with my family when I was a kid. So full circle moment playing now with my kids. We were in fits of laughter over my dad constantly coming up with words we never heard of (e.g. "bene," a prayer or boon. Uh, of course Dad) or trying to pass off words the letters of which weren't actually connected. The surprise was Sarah who I didn't think would be able to play but who held her own with words like "reset" and "tuba."

4. Petting Koalas and Kangaroos. What trip to Australia would be complete without seeing the local flora and fauna?>

5. Building a Hay Fort. Do you remember how much fun it was to build a fort when you were a kid? My sister and I used to use blankets and TV trays. Snow in the winter. I never had anything as awesome as this:

They had been gone a long time and I was just starting to get worried, seeing as how they were out alone with my dad, aka Danger Man (cf. earlier post about how he nearly hit me with his car). But it was the most excited I've seen them so far when they raced in, breathlessly demanding I come out and see what they had made with Papa. They also carved walking sticks and my dad cheerily informed me I would have had a conniption if I had seen what they used to make them. I decided not to ruin it by asking further questions.

So next BBD (as Dad's also known; short for Big Bad Dad) says he's going to teach Max how to shoot tin cans. What do you think? Am I crazy for considering it?

F & F

2011-03-08T17:37:00.000-08:00

So I'll explain F&F. F&F are my cherished Aunt Fiona and Uncle Frank. When my sister and I were little and it was our family who was doing the Canada-Australia jaunt, Uncle Frank and Aunt Fiona were the highlights of our stay. They’re the kind of cool aunt and uncle who would do things like take us away on overnight trips in their camper van (that’s Aussie for trailer), hitting the local fairs and attractions and letting us sleep on the beach. Uncle Frank would create elaborate scavenger hunts with rhyming clues at each location and a prize for each player at the end. He even used his camcorder and editing skills to make a movie with us in it (this is starting to sound creepy, but it’s totally not!) complete with location shoots and trick cinematography. They are responsible for some of my most favourite childhood memories.

The little surprise I mentioned is about Fiona. Fiona is a gifted storyteller. She could recount a trip to the bank and have you at the edge of your seat. She is also an amazing singer. Sometimes at family gatherings we are able to talk her into giving us a song and the results are always mesmerizing. So it's always the best when I can get her to tell the story about her aunt living in England and then sing the accompanying song. The story goes that seven year old Fiona was sent on a trip from Scotland where she lived to England to visit her aunt. Her aunt, who was married to an Englishman and incredibly homesick for Scotland, taught Fiona this song so she could go home and sing it to her mother, Fiona’s grandmother. It’s a lovely, wistful little song, the theme of which I can certainly relate to, and it brings me to tears every time.

So what I’ve done, you see, is I’ve taught Sarah the song. I’m going to attempt to get Sarah to sing it for Fiona and I’m also going to attempt to get it on video. As you can see, there are a lot of variables. Starting with child performances. Sarah will sing it fine for me now, but who knows if she’ll do it in front of a bunch of people most of whom she hasn’t seen in a very long time. It’s a crap shoot. But I figure it’ll be fun to try. I’ll let you know how it goes…

And after about 30 hours travelling...

2011-03-07T19:27:00.000-08:00

...We're here!
I won't bore you with the gory details of the horror of sitting in the two middle seats of the middle aisle with a six year old for fourteen hours straight (packed plane meant we couldn't sit together), especially when the plane we were on didn't have the personal entertainment system on the back of each seat. I know Louis CK addressed our feeling of entitlement with regard to air travel (click here if you haven't seen it) and I tended to agree with him at the time,

but it didn't stop me from feeling completely incensed and ripped off when I boarded the plane and realized that I was going to have to survive that marathon flight without being able to sedate my child with the latest from the Disney channel. Luckily I spent a few hours loading up her iPod before we left.

We ended up having six hours to kill in Sydney so we visited the aquarium in Darling Harbour. It is such a fantastic aquarium with, among other things, glass tunnels that you can walk through while the fish swim all around you. But right now they also have a special Lego showcase on so there were these amazing statues and murals made entirely out of Lego! The kids loved it and I was pretty fascinated myself.

Of course as fun as that all was what we really wanted to do was just get to Adelaide. You know when you've been waiting for something for so long, anticipating and thinking about it for weeks and weeks and then when it happens it's a bit of a let down? Well this is completely not like that at all. I really wanted to get some shots of all the airport hugging and kissing and general mayhem but I was preoccupied to put it mildly. The gang was all there (minus Toddy. Somebody's gotta work!).

I don't know how to put into words how wonderful it is, when you've been away from your family for so long, to just do everyday things together.

This morning, after taking the kids out to pick mulberries from the garden, I chatted with Nat in her kitchen while I washed dishes and she cut vegetables. And it was awesome. So, so great. I continually remind myself to soak it all in.

But there are down sides too. Like how my dad almost hit me with the car this morning. I was out jogging and he was driving one way while looking another. As you do. But that's all in a day when you're hanging out with Big Al. And the key word is almost. All's well that ends well.

Heading Down Under...

2011-03-04T08:24:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I’ve decided to temporarily commandeer my List of 5 blog (I know, not much to commandeer these days) in an attempt to keep a travel blog for our family Australia trip. If you are asking yourself, why in the world do I care about a suburban family’s trip Down Under, I completely understand. I advise you to click away right now and find something more pertinent / entertaining. Perhaps the latest post on Muammar Gaddafi or um, say Charlie Sheen, since they both seem equally ubiquitous and, you know, bat shit.
But if you are interested in something a little more light hearted with a bit less civil unrest / porn star activity then stick around.

People often say to me that it must be difficult living so far away from your family. And most of the time it does. Most of the time it sucks in a big way. (Cue violins) In my adult life I have never experienced a spontaneous shopping trip with my beloved sister or popping round to my parents’ for Sunday dinner. (Okay, violins can stop now.) But this is the upside. All of my fun family goodness (as well as a little bit of inevitable family drama, I’m sure) squeezed into two weeks. Starting on Sunday with one of the perks of having loved ones far away: The Airport Pickup.

Let’s see. My mum and dad both visited in 2010 but I haven’t seen my sister in over a year. Hubby and the kids haven’t been to Oz in four years. They’ve never met their little nephew/cousin. When they see him at the airport in Adelaide it will be for the first time. I think they’re all coming to the airport, including the adored F&F. (More on them later.) In today’s “reality” TV world, perhaps it doesn’t compare to the partially manufactured drama of The Bachelor or whatever that Snookie show is, but in my little life, The Airport Pickup is all the drama I need or want.

And needless to say,

I. Can’t. Wait.

(Oh, btw, I’ve got a fun little surprise for one of the Fs that I want to tell you about later. Nothing big, just something I know she would get a kick out of. But it may or may not work out…)

5 tantrum tactics

2010-04-08T12:29:00.000-07:00

Some of you may be aware that we live with a diva. I’m not proud. I don’t know how two reasonably intelligent adults who both grew up in relatively normal households could breed a monster who looks remarkably like a cute, little five-year-old girl. But we have.

I justified it to myself by saying that many mothers of five-year-old girls have told me about their whining monsters. True. But if all of the other mothers jumped off a bridge… (Although, sometimes the diva makes me want to jump off a bridge.)

So we sought help. Professional help. I’m not ashamed. I’ll admit it. I don’t know if we were out of our depth or if we just needed someone to put it to us in straightforward terms. Regardless, we got advice. And one of the things we were instructed to do was to wait out a tantrum. Don’t get angry. Don’t threaten or cajole or plead. Simply ignore it.

Miss Diva tried many tactics to try and win over my attention with her negative behaviour. Here are five:

1. I’m hungry. “I’m hungry” quickly turned into “I’m starving” which soon was “I’m starving to death” and then “I’m going to die if I don’t get some food.” (This from the girl who turned her nose up at scrambled eggs a mere two minutes beforehand.) This tactic, by the way, came back at the end, (after “I wanna talk to Daddy” – see #5) with an “I’m starving like an animal who never, ever gets to eat” reprisal.

2. I need a tissue. Really, I thought “I have to go pee” would precede any other requests pertaining to bodily functions, the diva knowing how I usually jump at the mere mention of pee. What can I say? She surprised me. Or perhaps she was a little off her game this morning. You know, being on the verge of death due to starvation and all.

3. I need to throw this tissue in the garbage. Okay, I giggled a little at this one. Quietly, of course.

4. I need my teddy bear. Thirty seconds before this tactic she had started to quiet down to the point where I had my mouth open to tell her to come out (I was only waiting for ten seconds of silence) when the teddy bear whining started up. So close!

5. I wanna talk to Daddy. This one was my fault. At the thirty minute mark (Yes, I said thirty minutes. Of a tantrum.) I decided to give hubby a call. In a shift from the norm, it wasn’t to gripe however. It was just to give a cheerful update on the status of events, i.e. that the new sheriff was in town and she had started throwing people in the clink, uh, I mean, time out. Anyway, as soon as she heard the phone the “I wanna talk to Daddy” song started, complete with a chorus of “I wanna tell him all about how this happened.”

There were a couple more tactics. Worth mentioning are “I wanna go to my room,” and “I wanna go to school,” two places she normally is loathe to go. The whole thing lasted 55 minutes. Oh yes. Our little diva is nothing if not stubborn.

Hm. I wonder where she gets that from? Perhaps from her mother. Who lasted the 55 minutes. And did not give in. *Cue triumphant and thunderous applause*

Day one of the new sheriff in town: Mama 1. Diva 0.

5 impossible kid questions

2010-04-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

1. How high can you count? I have never been very good at math. If I had the time to sit around and just count, how high could I go? How many billions in a trillion? What comes after trillion? Is zillion a real number?

2. What’s this song all about, Mom? (Max, asking about “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers).

Me: Well, it’s about a guy who likes a girl but she likes another guy.
Max: Why does she like another guy?
Me: I don’t know. She just does.
Max: Why doesn’t he find another girl to like?
Me: He just likes her. He doesn’t want to find another one.
Max: Why is he in a cage?
Me: Ummmmmm …

3. Why does the sun follow us everywhere we go? I tried the “it’s really big,” “it’s not really following us” stuff. At three years old, this explanation does not satisfy. It’s big, it’s yellow, I’m looking out the car window and I can see it following me. Everywhere. Why does it do that?

4. Is it tomorrow today? Who knew existentialism would be something that came up in conversation with a five year old? Try answering this: “No, it’s tomorrow tomorrow,” and you’ll get: “Then will it be tomorrow?” So you may say: “No, then tomorrow will be tomorrow,” and after fifteen minutes I’m fairly certain you can reach enlightenment in much the same way as is possible after pondering the Zen koan, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”

5. What’s the opposite of peanut butter? Um, jam? No peanut butter? Bread?

5 things I’ve learned about life from going to the gym

2010-03-28T17:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a tough four months. I won’t bore you with all the gory details. I’ll just say that I’ve had the emotional wind knocked out of me more times than I care to think about.

Through it all I continued to work out. This is in stark contrast to the fair-weather work out style I normally have. Normally there’s an I-have-to-be-in-a-bikini-in-three-months panic that propels me into a frenzy of lunges, jumping jacks and bicep curls, which I then abandon the moment the weight has been lost and the bikini wearing has occurred.

But around this time last year I started going to a gym. And I found that keeping in shape on a regular basis is not only healthier physically but mentally as well.

And lucky for me that, when this emotional storm hit, I had this routine established. It turned out to be a life saver. When my heart hurt so badly it felt like it might burst, when my head spun from being unable to stop thinking about all the torment, for an hour I could go and transfer that pain into beneficial physical activity. And thanks to the wisdom of some awesome gym instructors, I started to notice that some of the principles of working out can be applied to facing many challenges in life. Here are five of them.

1. Moments of discomfort build strength.
As I’m lamenting the hurt in my heart while trying to focus on step class one day, I suddenly pick up on something Heather, the ultimate step class instructor, is saying: “Moments of discomfort help to build the heart’s strength. And we all want strong hearts.” Or when Tammy, strong and sensible Power instructor, says during the squat routine: “Get down, go to the bottom. Know you’re going to be there for a while. It’s not supposed to be easy but this is how we build strength.” Something shifts in my brain and I realize that there’s a reason why I’m going through this right now.

2. You’ve always got more than you think.
Often when we’re towards the end of Step class and I feel like I just can’t go on, just can’t summon the energy for one more move, Heather reminds us to “empty the tank.” “You’ve always got more than you think,” she says. And I recognize that, when I think positively, what I think I cannot endure becomes possible. I dig deep and somehow find that as-yet-untapped source.

3. It won’t last forever.
When we start on the intense cardio portion of Step class, I push myself hard and I start to wonder if I can keep it up. “It won’t be for long,” Heather says, “so while we’re here give it everything you’ve got.” My heart eases in the knowledge that, like this cardio burst, the pain can’t last forever. One day it’ll be a memory.

4. Open your heart.
After working and pushing myself beyond my perceived limits, Tammy leads the class in stretching. “Look up,” she says, “spread your arms wide and open your heart.” I need this reminder. Although I may be tired, I may want to lie down, curl up in a ball, shut everyone away, I understand the importance of standing, holding my head high, and not closing my broken heart. But to open it. Arms wide. Heart open.

5. Leave time for stillness.
Then the calm and wise Sue, yoga goddess, reminds us that there is a time to work to make our bodies stronger, and there’s a time for stillness. I lay in the darkened room on my mat and appreciate the quiet in my mind, sigh and feel my body let go, as my mind finally empties. Rejuvenation.

These days when I walk out of the gym it’s not just with the calm satisfaction of having physically pushed myself, but also with mental clarity. A sense of peace.

Moments of discomfort are for a reason. Don’t ignore them. Embrace them. They’ll make the heart stronger.

It won’t last long.

So I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.

5 annoying commercials

2009-03-11T09:37:00.000-07:00

1. Blinds to Go. “It’s as calming as my yoga class.” Am I the only one who thinks it’s ridiculous to compare blinds shopping, really any kind of shopping, to a yoga class? I realize I’m a freak of nature in that I’m a woman who hates shopping. I find all the decision making as far away from calming as you can get. But even if you love shopping, is it anything like a yoga class? Maybe this woman tries on an outfit and then does downward dog in the dressing room. Yes, this outfit looks good, but how would it look in warrior one…

2. Eharmony.ca. You know, hubby is a wonderful guy, we have a happy marriage and I would love for everyone to find love and live their lives in, well, in “harmony.” So I am not sure why I find it so reprehensible that some marketing a*holes are trying to sell this annoyingly smug couple as “real” people who found each other on a dating site. I have nothing against dating sites. I know perfectly nice, normal people who have found their matches this way. But these people. The guy doing yoga in the street. The two of them talking about setting up their own store, dancing at five in the morning “with mud and splatter paint.” Ugh. Go away. And by the way, maybe instead of painting you should spend a little time on pool maintenance. It looks like you’re sitting by a swamp.

3. Kleenex. “Touch, touch, touch, touch … feeeel.” I don’t know if this is annoying so much as it just doesn’t work. I don’t go around all day thinking of how I touch everything, and I really don’t need to be reminded. When I grab a tissue it’s usually because someone has just sneezed, has snot running down to her upper lip and is panicking, “Uh! Uh! Mommmmmaaaa!” At this crucial moment I’m really not thinking, “Feeeeeeel…..”.

4. BMO. Okay, the first time I saw this funny-looking blonde woman trying to translate investments as “investmentitos” and matching market fluctuations to the tone of her voice – “sometimes it’s up, sometimes it’s down,” – I kinda chuckled. But after the tenth time it was just annoying. Hm, maybe if I yell louder and put an O on the end of my words she’ll understand me. It’s pretty offensive, actually.

5. Bath Fitter. “Lover Boy! Isn’t it time we did something about the bathroom?”
Right, I saved the best for last. This one is so bad, it’s good. I mean hilarious. Agh! I don’t know where to start. Okay, first. I don’t know anyone who would actually use the term “Lover Boy.” Gross! Not allowed. Here are the only reasonable instances when you may need to utter these words: a) you’re talking about the eighties Canadian rock band or b) you’ve found yourself crawling across the floor with Patrick Swayze, lip syncing to “Love is Strange.” Otherwise, there’s no excuse. But what’s even more hilarious is this guy! If someone were to break the rule and call a man “Lover Boy,” this guy has got to be the antithesis to what these words would conjure in my head. I mean, check out his face as he’s pouring his coffee! It’s too much! And then he says, “I’m just as smart as she is. I called Bath Fitter.” Because it takes a mental giant to pick up a phone and press some buttons. Oh god. I just want to know who was doing the casting when they were putting this ad together. “Yeah, this Brad Pitt look alike is okay for Lover Boy, but where’s that guy who looks like Baba Booey and Millhouse’s love child?”

5 more Max quotes

2009-02-25T07:59:00.000-08:00

1. As we’re coming back from the public restrooms at the beach, running past other beach goers and screaming at the top of his lungs: “We’re back, Dad! Mom just had to poo.”

2. Sitting down to his dinner, watching the steam rise off his food: “This is really hot. Not like the pretty kind of hot but the other kind of hot.”

3. With a big smile after proclaiming he wanted salmon sushi for his birthday dinner: “Oh, yeah. That’s how Culps roll.”

4. Looking at me, after meeting his new babysitter for the first time: “I think you’re afraid she’s going to be dad’s new girlfriend.”

5. Waking me up on my birthday with a little baggie of coins from his piggy bank: “Happy birthday, Mom. Here’s 47 cents.”

5 things I routinely find under my couch cushions

2009-02-20T08:33:00.000-08:00

1. Cheerios. Once upon a time I was going to have a no-eating-in-front-of-the-TV rule. Then I decided I wanted to have SOME peace and quiet in the day.

2. Popcorn. And if the kids can do it, so can hubby and I after the kids go to bed.

3. Socks. I mentioned this in the laundry post. My question is: do they fall down there? Or is somebody stuffing them down…

4. Hot Wheels cars. I didn’t even think either of them played with these anymore.

5. ??? Something that’s flattened, darkened and dried out beyond all recognition. Is it a piece of dried fruit? Some kind of chocolate? Dare I … smell it to try and determine its origin?!

5 funny kid quotes

2009-02-02T06:48:00.000-08:00

My Facebook friends may be familiar with some of these...

1. Germs.
Me: Max, can I have a sip of your water?

Max: Shakes his head. I don’t like other people’s germs.

Me: Even your mummy’s? You used to live inside my body, you know…

Max: Yeah, but I forget what it tasted like.

2. The Letter P
Me: ...And what letter is this?

Sarah: P!

Me: And whose name starts with P? (Motioning towards myself...)

Sarah: Momma!

Me: Yes, but what's Momma's real name?

Sarah: Thinks for a moment and then... Babe!

3. Glowing. Sarah and I were reading this morning. She got to the last page of her book which depicted a cartoon firefly all lit up and underneath it read “I like to glow.”

Sarah read, “I like glow.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the “to.”

Not understanding that she just missed a word and thinking she read something wrong, Sarah started again, “I like to….. I like to….. I like to light up my bum!”

4. Birds and the bees. I decided a while ago that an open approach to this topic with my children is best. So when Max asked me the inevitable baby question a couple of years ago at about age five, I tackled it head on. The ensuing conversation was much less traumatic than I anticipated. In fact, not at all so. I answered his questions frankly and he took it all very much in stride. I gave myself a little pat on the back for being a mom of the millennium! Answering sex questions with honest, age-appropriate responses.

So later my mom was visiting. (You see where this is going?) She was here on her yearly visit from Australia. We were spending a lovely Saturday afternoon, Doug was relaxing with a cool drink, Max and Nana were doing a puzzle, I was – you guessed it – Facebooking as usual. Out of the blue, Max pipes up, “Daddy, did you stick your penis in Mommy’s vagina?” As hubby stammered, grappling with the appropriate response to this question in front of his mother-in-law, Max muttered, “That’s so ‘isgusting.”

5. Birds and the bees, continued. After the aforementioned big revelation in front of my mother, I thought we had the whole issue resolved … and then some. But apparently I was wrong.

About a week later I was making a cake. (I know, I sound wonderfully domestic and June Cleaver-like, don’t I? I won’t mention how Duncan Hines was involved.) After I was done mixing I let Max have the beater to lick. He was sitting at the kitchen table happily licking away when he pronounced, “I’m so glad to be alive!” (I know. The kid kills me. Where does he come up with this stuff??)

So I said, “Well Max, I’m so glad you’re alive too! What would I do without my guy?” To which he replied, “Yeah, aren’t you so glad you put your vagina on Daddy’s belly button?”

Um, yeah.

Share your funny kid quotes!!

Sarah cracks me up sometimes

2009-01-29T10:24:00.000-08:00

Check it out.

5 laundry mysteries, mishaps and frustrations

2009-01-26T07:57:00.000-08:00

1. The amount. Am I right? Those of you who have children and are in charge of the laundry in your house know what I mean. How does a family of four manage to generate enough laundry to keep me doing two or three loads every couple of days?? It just doesn’t add up, I tell you!

2. Pajamas. Because of my aforementioned frustration with the amount of laundry I’m constantly doing, I try and encourage the other members of the household to wear their pajamas more than once before they throw them in the laundry hamper. (And by laundry hamper, I mean floor.) I wear my pjs a few times before I wash them, why can’t they? I don’t think this is unreasonable. So anyway, one day back when my son was four and I started this battle to get him to put his pjs back in his dresser as opposed to leaving them strewn about his room or putting them in the hamper after just one wear, we had a bit of an incident. I was in my room puttering about and the kids were down the hall playing. Suddenly the two of them came over and started playing in my room. I asked them to go back and play in their rooms, to which Max replied, “We can’t Mom, it’s too smoky in there.” Oh, okay. Wait, what? Smoky?? I ran down the hall and, sure enough, his room was full of thick grey smoke. I tracked the source of all this smoke to his lamp. It was one of those tall floor standing lamps from Ikea I think, with basically a bowl on the top that houses the light bulb. You see, apparently folding up his pajamas and putting them back in his drawer was much more difficult for my son than throwing them up into his lamp where they sat smoldering against the light bulb. To this day he still leaves his pajamas lying around his room or I’ll find three pairs in his hamper after just three days since the last laundry cycle. But I’ve given up bugging him about it. Maybe this isn’t good parenting but at least my house hasn’t burnt down.

3. Tshirts. Hubby has a thing about Tshirts. He wears one under his dress shirt to work. Then he comes home and changes into another. Then he’ll have some work to do around the house or in the yard so he’ll put on another. Then he’ll be sweaty so he’ll have to get another. Then he has to have a fresh one to wear to bed (see #2 Pajamas, above). You may think at some point he would go back to one of his earlier shirts that wasn’t really dirty. But why would he go through the hassle of trying to find that shirt when he can just open the magic Tshirt drawer where shirts just magically appear all clean and folded again? I know, you’re thinking the amount of laundry mystery is maybe not such a mystery after all… .

4. The rogue sock. Everybody hates how there are always single socks left without their partners at the bottom of the laundry basket. Actually that doesn’t even bug me that much. What I find annoying is when I spend a day doing laundry, because maybe I’ve let it pile up a little more than usual (like an extra day) and I do loads and loads until it’s all done. Ah. The hampers are empty, there’s nothing on the floors, everything’s folded and in its place. Peace. Order. I go to sit down on the couch. Out of the corner of my eye I spy something dark coming out from between the couch cushions. I pull it out: a sock. Argh!!!

5. Me. Okay, okay. I can’t blame all the laundry frustrations on my family. The other day I pulled a load out of the dryer. I put it in the basket and set it down. Then I got sidetracked, I think maybe the phone rang or something. Afterwards I had one of those moments when I’m standing in the middle of my house thinking, Now what was I just doing? Oh yeah, laundry. I go back, grab a basket of clothes and start throwing it in the washer. As I’m doing it I’m wondering, why are these clothes warm? Yeah. I was rewashing the load I just pulled out of the dryer. Our clothes were extra clean that day!

5 times my kids have amazed me

2009-01-03T09:49:00.000-08:00

(I'm going to be posting new lists soon - I promise! In the meantime, here's another oldie from Facebook...)

1. Max’s hair. Like all new moms, when I was pregnant for the first time I thought a lot about what my baby would look like. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would he have my husband’s nose? Would she have my eyes? All the regular things. One thing I never gave any consideration was hair colour. Since I’m half Japanese with dark hair and my husband is Caucasian with dark hair I never even wondered about our baby’s hair. So when, after over twelve hours of active labour, the midwife plopped our son onto my deflated belly I was …. well, I was surprised! Red. Not strawberry blonde. Not auburn. Definitely, unequivocally red. And I love it. Five years later I still field the “Where does he get his hair?” questions. I have yet to come up with a witty retort to the inevitable milkman jokes. But that hair. I look at him and it’s like a daily reminder, a little sign saying “Life is full of fun surprises and little miracles.” Don’t take anything for granted. You just never know.

2. Sarah walks. My son was fairly average when it came to hitting milestones. He could hold his head up off the floor at three months, rolled over at four months, sat up at six months, and walked at about one year. So when our daughter started striking a sort of “downward dog” yoga pose at four months, I was pretty intrigued. And then she walked. She walked when she was eight months old. I know people who didn’t see it don’t believe me when I tell them now. I’m glad I have the little videos we took, otherwise I’d start doubting my own memory. People used to stop me in the mall. I guess we were an interesting site: me and this little, teeny, tiny baby, who looked like she should still be in a stroller, walking around. Now that I think about it, it’s no wonder that, nearly two years later, she still won’t sit in her stroller. No one’s holding her back!

3. The lock. Last year we sold our house. I could rant … but I won’t. This isn’t about that. This is about the lock we had on our front door. You know the kind: it’s a combination lock real estate agents use that has your front door key inside. Well, one day I pulled into the garage with the kids and realized that the last agent who showed our house locked the door into the house from the garage and I didn’t have a key. No need to panic, though. I called our agent and asked him for the combination to the lock that held the extra key. I got the key out but couldn’t seem to figure out how to replace it and close the panel. It wouldn’t stay shut. So there I am on the front stoop of our house, Sarah trying to dig in my flower planters, Max yammering away in the background as usual, and me on my cell trying to hear the agent explain how to work the lock. “Shhhh, Max!” I snapped. “I’m on the phone and I can’t hear!” After a few more unsuccessful attempts I told the agent to wait a moment while I put the phone down so I would have two hands available to contend with the lock. That’s when I realized what my four-year-old had been trying to tell me. “Mom! You’ve got it upside down!” Oh. I turned it around. Click. It went right in.

4. The pantry. Experts say you can’t expect children under the age of three to really understand the concept of sharing because at that age they haven’t yet developed the key emotion: empathy. So at just two years old, Sarah surprised me a few months ago when I was digging in my pantry. The pantry is a bit of a sore issue. Last year when we were going over kitchen specs with the builder, I wanted pantry shelves that would pull out. My husband thought it was something he could do himself, much more economically, with supplies from Home Depot. I’m still waiting. And smashing. Smashing bottles, unintentionally, that get pushed off the edge of shelves as I manically sift through trying to find the illusive item I need at that moment which is inevitably at the very back of the pantry. So it was after one such episode, as I was crouched in front of those shelves, on the brink of tearing my hair out, muttering “Where is it? Where the hell is it?” that I felt a chubby little two-year old arm around my neck. A soft, little voice said: “It okay, Momma. Don’t worry.” Suddenly paprika was just paprika again as I regained my composure in my little girl’s hug.

5. Max wakes up. All the moms whose kids started sleeping through the night at 6 weeks raise your hands. Okay, I don’t want to hear from you. Sorry. Not to be grumpy. It’s nothing personal. It’s just neither of my children are “sleepers.” Try going three years without more than four consecutive hours of sleep and you’ll be grumpy too. It’s made me very, shall we say, protective of my sleep. That’s why one night last year when Max woke up at about 2 a.m. to use our ensuite bathroom – He always uses ours. The main one is about three steps from his room but that’d be too easy. He walks right by it to come into our room every time. – I pretended to be asleep. He went in, peed, flushed, came out and stood by the end of our bed. Oh no! Why was he stopping? Eyes closed, I willed as hard as I could. Just keep going, Max. Don’t talk. Don’t ask for a glass of water. Just keep going. I really didn’t want to spend the next hour convincing him to go back to bed. Then I heard a soft mmwah and a faint blowing sound. The sound of a four year old blowing a kiss. I surreptitiously opened one eye in time to see him wave at his “sleeping” parents as he walked out and quietly shut the door behind him.

All of my complaining aside, this is the real snapshot of my kids. Smart, funny, intuitive, full of surprises. Authentic. Beautiful.

The amazing red haired Japanese baby.

Downward dog at 4 1/2 months.

5 things that seem to gather and breed in my house

2008-12-15T15:59:00.000-08:00

There’s the usual dust, toys, clothes and dishes. But what about these things that seem to proliferate around my home…

1. Blankets. I think this is from my daughter who is always tucking in her dollies, putting them to sleep. Or maybe I need to keep my house at a warmer temperature. But every morning my family room is littered with various blankets. So I gather them up, fold them in a pile and leave them sitting at the bottom of the stairs. This, as all females know, is the internationally accepted sign for “Please bring me upstairs.” But somehow men and children don’t seem to be versed in this international language. They will sidestep, overstep, take two steps at a time to avoid the thing and leave it at the bottom of the stairs.
2. Recycling. Are you the only one in your house who moves the recycling from the kitchen to the garage? Me too. When the recycling box under the sink gets full, that’s when the recycling starts to grow, like buildings in a downtown core, around my kitchen sink.
3. Lists. Well, you know how I am about lists. As I tidy my house I find my lists, my husband’s lists, and now even my kids’ Santa wish lists. Little scraps of paper littered around my house reminding me of stuff to do, stuff to buy, stuff to remember from weeks ago. I’ve seen a website dedicated to people’s discarded lists. I should send mine in. I could keep them going for years.
4. Hats. Ball caps, winter toques, cowboy hats, even princess tiaras, which I don’t think you can really categorize as a hat, but anyway, you get the idea. All these items appear one here, one there around my house until they’re everywhere. As I try and scurry around putting ball caps in closets, tiaras in the toy box, winter hats with the coats, I slip into an activity which my sister has affectionately termed “Moving Things Around.” This is when you spend an hour or more of your time moving things from one area of your house to another until you have lost sight of why this certain item has to move up your stairs until it rests in a different spot from the spot it was in before.
5. Artwork. This one is the worst. Which sounds terrible to say. What kind of a mother says her children’s artwork is the worst? Okay, here’s the thing: my children are 7 and 4 years of age. It is a special time. A magical time. A very … prolific time. And far be it for me to squelch this emerging artistry. I mean really, I love to see their fledgling stick figures, their first misspelled words, their attempts at illustrated stories. But it’s just hard to deal with all the … works of art that come at me from everywhere. They’re produced at the kitchen table, the toy room in the basement, their bedrooms; at school, daycare, camps; at Grandma & Grandpa’s house, parties and play dates. And it’s not that I don’t want them to create. I keep a cupboard full of markers, crayons, glue sticks, scissors, paper, cardboard, everything for crafting expressly because I’d much rather they create than stare passively at the TV. But what to do with everything afterwards??? Some people frame certain special pieces and decorate the toy room or child’s bedroom with their art. I should totally do that. But pretty soon it would be like wallpaper if I kept that up for any length of time. So what do I do? I let everything pile up for a few weeks – in case, heaven forbid, I throw out something only to be asked about that one certain picture the next day – and then I go on a throwing out rampage. I save a few choice pieces from each artist, in case I ever get to that framing thing, and then valiantly try to swallow up my guilt as I see their drawings, their crafts, their signs saying “I love you Mom, you’re the best” get filed in the big round file in the garage. Oh, the guilt! THE GUILT!

5 of my favourite Christmas songs

2008-12-08T12:12:00.000-08:00

1. Blue Christmas, Elvis Presley
When my sister was little she entered a Christmas colouring contest at Shoppers Drug Mart and won an Elvis Christmas LP. In retrospect this seems an odd prize for a children’s contest but I think we were both just thrilled that she won. From that Christmas on, whenever we put up the Christmas tree, we had to play that album while we decorated. I particularly remember Blue Christmas. It just doesn’t seem like Christmas without Elvis warbling, “You’ll be doing alright, with your Christmas of white, but I’ll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas.”

2. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Barenaked Ladies with Sarah Maclaughlin
Steven Page’s current felony drug possession charges notwithstanding, this song is a relatively new favourite. The Ladies give this tune a little folksy, toe tapping lift, while Sarah’s haunting melody give it an almost wistful feel. I totally dig it!

3. The Prayer, Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli
This is not, strictly speaking, a Christmas song but they seem to play it every year around this time. I’m not a huge Bocelli fan, but I just love the pairing of him with Celine in this piece. It is so breathtakingly beautiful that, even though I have no idea what the Italian words mean, it moves me to tears every time I hear it. I know, I’m just a big sap.

4. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Judy Garland
And speaking of me being a sap, this is my very favourite Christmas song. Not just any old version though; it has to be the original Judy Garland version which is much more maudlin than the later, more recognizable one that has been covered by so many artists. The major difference is apparent towards the end of the song when Judy laments, “Some day soon we all will be together / If the fates allow / Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.” I guess since my family is overseas, being the sappy masochist that I am, I like to listen to this version at Christmas and miss them. According to Wikipedia, in 1957 Frank Sinatra asked the writer to “jolly up that line for me” and so it became the innocuous, “Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.” Maybe it’s slightly more jolly, but bo-ring! Is it un-Christmassy to have a drink and miss people during the holidays? You should hear what the writer originally wanted the song to sound like: “Have yourself a merry little Christmas / It may be your last / Next year we may all be living in the past.” Now that’s depressing!

5. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire
I’ve always kinda liked this song but last year it took on an extra special meaning. Hubby was slated to go in for an … *ahem* … operation. You know, snip snip. The big V? Okay. So I’m driving him down there and guess what song comes on the radio? Yup. As if his chestnuts weren’t already feeling the heat, he had to have Michael Bublé singing about them roasting on an open fire. But it doesn’t end there. For about two weeks afterwards, every time we got in a vehicle together and switched on the radio it would be yet another version of Chestnuts, and never the same one. Nat King Cole, The Carpenters, Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, Linda Ronstadt. Who knew so many people had covered it??? But it was uncanny how that song followed him last year... and kinda funny. I’m evil! I know!

So what are your favourites? White Christmas? Rudolph? Something a little less mainstream? Tell me!

5 of my favourite kids books

2008-11-20T17:52:00.000-08:00

1. Red is Best by Kathy Stinson. This story is a classic that I’ve just recently discovered (thanks Dawn!). Three year old Kelly must have only the red cup, the red mittens, the red stockings. No other colour will do. As the mother of a three year old, the unwavering kid logic is immediately relatable to me. Little Kelly’s voice comes across loud, clear and with beautiful authenticity. For a mother who wants to encourage her daughter to embrace and defend her opinions, this one was an instant favourite.

2. If You Give a Moose a Muffin by Laura Joffe Numeroff. Follow step by step all the crazy occurrences when forced to appease the largest species in the deer family who runs out of baked goods. Whimsical, quirky and with great illustrations, this book shows kids what reading for pleasure is all about: fun, imagination, entertainment.

3. Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now by Dr. Seuss. What kind of children’s book list would this be without Dr. Seuss? But you were probably expecting something more mainstream like Cat in the Hat or Go, Dog. Go! And rightly so. Those are great books, maybe even better than Marvin K. But when I was two years old my parents read Marvin K. to me so often I had it memorized right down to when to turn the pages. I would try and trick people into thinking I was reading. Flash forward thirty-ish years to me reading this toddler favourite of mine to my kids. What can I say? It gives me the warm fuzzies.

4. Miss Nelson is Missing by Harry Allard and James Marshall. Permit me to go off on a tangent here that will not only enlighten you about a great book, if you haven’t heard of it already, but also tell you a lot about a big difference between my sister and me.

About this time last year my sister was visiting and we were reminiscing about a book we both loved when we were kids, a book whose title we could no longer remember. All that we could remember was that it was about a teacher, it was kinda creepy and we simultaneously loved it and were frightened by it. Cut to me, ordering a Christmas gift for my sister. This is always difficult for me because I’m a) crap at picking gifts for people and 2) never on time when it comes to shipping Christmas gifts overseas. This time I decided I would order something online. I found out from my sister she wanted kitchen gadgets: mini cheese grater, salt & pepper shaker, spoon rest, you get the picture. I found an online store in my family’s area so that they will ship for free to my mother, who had kindly agreed to wrap the presents for me and then pass them on to my sister. I finalized my online purchase thinking how clever I was, all without ever having to leave my house and brave the mall, which I avoid doing like a mammogram (which I know, I shouldn’t avoid those but geez, they don’t sound like fun, do they?). Anyway, a few weeks later I get a call from my mom: somehow I have shipped her 6 spoon rests, 6 salt and pepper shakers, 18 mini cheese graters!!! Turns out the store I was ordering from was a restaurant supplier for bulk purchases. ARGH!!

What, you may be wondering, does this have to do with the book? Well about a week later I get a Christmas package from my sister containing many wonderful, thoughtful and completely perfect gifts for my family. Among them is, you guessed it, Miss Nelson Is Missing. She somehow managed to locate the book from our childhood, a book we couldn’t even remember the title of, and send it to me. *Sigh* And now you know one of the many reasons my sister is so fabulous. She is one of those thoughtful people with the uncanny knack of selecting the absolute perfect gift.

Oh, you want to know about the book? Well, I’ll just say that this book was probably my first significant introduction to the “plot twist.” Done well, even at a children’s level, it is a thing of beauty. Get it. Read it. See what I mean.

5. The Bear Snores On by Karma Wilson. Often I’ll get children’s books from the library and think, who the heck wrote this? Do they even have children? Don’t they know that children’s books are usually read to them and therefore have to sound good out loud? Karma Wilson gets it. The Bear Snores On has all the elements of a great children’s book: funny little story, easy to follow, likeable characters, cute pictures, but best of all is the lyrical element of the words. They roll off your tongue. My children love to hear it and I love to read it to them.

Yay books! Do you have a favourite? Tell me!

5 reasons I’m jealous of American politics

2008-11-10T09:02:00.000-08:00

1. American politicians are like rock stars. Whereas Canadian politicians are like the nerds who got beat up in high school. Come on. You know forty years ago some jock was roughing up Dion for his lunch money. I remember about nine years ago I was flying in to Philadelphia to visit a friend when the plane started circling the airport. The pilot came on and explained that we had to wait to land because President Clinton was flying in at the same time. I suddenly felt a little giddy. I was in the same place as the President of the United States. I was sharing airspace with Bill! Cool! Then I thought, what if it were Jean Chretien, Prime Minister at the time, who was the one flying in. Totally different. Then I would have just been annoyed that he was delaying my landing time.

2. The choices are clear. During our election (Yes, American friends, we did have one! I know, blink and you missed it.) I kept lamenting, if I were American I know who I’d vote for. But up here it was confusing to me. At least five different choices. And not different like Republican vs. Democrat different. The Green Party vs. NDP differences were more subtle. And then there was this notion of strategic voting: giving your vote to whichever party had the better chance of beating the Conservatives depending on what riding you were in. Huh? I know I am woefully under informed when it comes to politics in general and Canadian politics in particular but I just wanted to ask someone, if I would vote for Obama in the States then who does that translate to in Canadian??

3. The debates. Now my fellow Canadians, be honest. How many of you watched the American Vice Presidential Debate instead of the Canadian Leaders’ Debate on October 2nd? You are not alone. It was hard not to be sucked in by the guilty temptation of potentially seeing Sarah Palin humiliate herself on internationally broadcasted television … again. In the end she did alright and I felt guilty so I watched a recording of the Canadian round table discussion online. But holy Snoozeville, Batman!

4. The glamour. Whether it’s the controversy over Palin’s pricey wardrobe, the talk about the return to Camelot now that an attractive younger couple are heading to the White House or comparing Michelle Obama to Jackie Kennedy, there’s a glamour to American politics. One that is completely absent from Canadian politics. Look what we have to work with. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have anything against Elizabeth May. I thought she came across very well, intellectually, in the debate and in fact, I even voted Green. But it’s hard to imagine anyone referring to her as a MILF.

5. Barack Obama. I can’t be the only Canadian who, swept up in the excitement of the election and the emotion of the historical democratic win, felt a tinge of jealousy over the American’s shiny new president. I mean, it was such a long run, hard fought, emotionally charged race. To see the world celebrate as the U.S., with record numbers of voters flocking to the polls, voted in its first African American president. Then to see his acceptance speech, his beautiful family, grown men and women listening to him in tears. With images of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. rising from the past, to imagine the country forging forth on a new path, looking to this man to lead them … it was all so moving. In Canada after our own, in the words of Jon Stewart, “adorable” election, with decidedly mediocre numbers of Canadians voting, we were left with… the same damn guy. Crickets chirping. Ho hum.

5 ways I can complete the sentence, “I’m an athiest but…”

2008-11-05T11:35:00.000-08:00

1. I got married in a Catholic church. Hubby told me it was very important to him, even though he hasn’t set foot in a church, except for weddings, funerals and baptisms, since.

2. I love Little House on the Prairie. Come on! Pa, Half Pint, Nellie Olsen. Who doesn’t love it?? I’m so glad they’ve started showing reruns everyday at 5pm on CTS. I even tolerate the nauseating ads to watch it.

3. I love the saying, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” It’s such a poetically beautiful saying, don’t you think? When considering the plight of someone else enduring a hardship, I often find myself thinking “There but for the grace of …. something I believe in…. go I.” Somehow it just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

4. I am learning that I can be spiritual. When I was a kid I thought of God as some white haired guy hanging out in the clouds looking down and judging everything I did. As I got older and the implausibility of this notion grew in my mind I began rejecting all things religious. The pendulum swung past agnostic, over to atheist and stuck there for a while. But these days the pendulum is starting to swing back. Or maybe not back but over. Over to the idea that, just because I no longer identify with this notion of a bearded man in robes residing in the heavens, doesn’t mean I necessarily reject the idea of a guiding force or a oneness to humanity. If I sound very “New Earth” it’s because I love that book! In homage, one of these days I plan to write the list “5 reasons Eckhart Tolle could never have a Facebook page.”

5. I wish my kids said grace before a meal. Or maybe not grace. But showed appreciation in some way. In Japanese one says “itadakimasu” before a meal which literally means “I receive” but is generally meant to express gratitude for the food one is about to eat. Maybe I should start this tradition with my kids. To make up for the tradition I started in my family…

Okay, true story: Even though I didn’t have a particularly religious upbringing, we always said grace before a meal, followed by itadakimasu. When I was about 20 I began to feel a bit hypocritical about participating in the religious part of this practice. So I mentioned to my mother one day that I would no longer be saying grace with them and explained why. I meant to just quietly sit and respectfully wait while they said grace. To lighten the situation I joked with her that I was sorry her daughter was such a heathen. Well. The next time they went to say grace they looked at me somewhat awkwardly until my dad laughed, pointed at me and said, “Heathen!” So now, not only does my whole family no longer say grace, but after saying itadakimasu they follow it up with simply yelling, “Heathens!” I know, it’s unbelievable that lightening doesn’t strike me down.

Another Canadian Parents article

2008-10-31T13:11:00.000-07:00

I've had another article published at this online magazine. If you'd like, check it out here!

5 things I didn’t know until I became a mom

2008-10-23T15:46:00.000-07:00

(Don't hate me for continuing to use old Facebook posts. I'm taking a writing class right now and it's been taking up my writing time. Thank you to everyone who's continued to check back, regardless of the slowdown in updates. And thank you to those who have left comments - I'm sorry I haven't been replying these days. Don't lose faith! I will be back to brand new posts ASAP!)

1. That the Alphabet Song, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Baa Baa Black Sheep all have the same tune.

2. That someone could think that dipping sushi in ketchup or grapes in soy sauce is a reasonable culinary decision.

3. That sometimes diapering a toddler is more difficult than putting a tuxedo on a horse.

4. That the length of open-mouthed silence that follows the bang of a child falling down is directly proportional to the volume of the ensuing scream, once that child catches his breath.

5. That the first time a boy told you you’re beautiful has nothing on the first time it came out of the mouth of your two year old.

Five kids’ shows I like more than my kids do

2008-10-07T07:10:00.000-07:00

(Here's another oldie but hopefully goodie post from Facebook. Enjoy!)

1. Timothy Goes to School
I don’t really know why I like this one, I just do. There’s Yoko. Love Yoko. Especially how she lives in a temple and her mother is always wearing kimono (I don’t even know any Japanese mothers in Japan who always wear kimono). Then there are the brothers Frank and Frank. It always calls to mind those Newhart characters, “This is my brother Darryl … and this is my other brother Darryl.”

2. Elmo’s World
Sadly, my kids seem to have outgrown this show. Not even my little Sarah requests it anymore. There’s something so comforting about seeing those Jim Henson puppet faces that haven’t changed since we were kids. My favourite is still Grover. Or actually Super Grover. And every so often they’ll have a retro clip straight from the days before people started trying to out Bert and Ernie. Ah, the innocence.

3. Wonder Pets
I actually don’t really like this show but the theme song gets stuck in my head and I find myself walking around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, singing, “Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets we’re on our way, to help the baby elephant and save the day…”

4. The one where the guy uses all kinds of different materials and when you see it from an aerial view it makes a picture
Do you know the one I mean? I tried to look up the title online but what do you search? No idea. Anyway, my kids are so bored with this one. Doug and I, however, are always totally enthralled as the guy moves this and that around, shifting sheets, shaking out coloured sand. When they move up to the aerial view and the picture is revealed we’re like, “Cooooool.”

5. Peep and the Big Wide World
I saved my favourite for last. I have actually watched this show by myself. That’s right, no kids, just me. First things first: Joan Cusak narrates. That’s cool right there. Then there’s the duck. Has anyone noticed that Quack sounds like Charlotte’s gay friend from Sex and the City?? I’ve checked it out, it isn’t him but man, I keep expecting him to take off his little white hat and say “Some of the best sex I’ve had is with people I can’t stand!” That aside, that duck’s got some great quotes himself. Like, "Of course I'm a duck! I have all the duck bits. The bill. The webbed feet. The cute tail. The sailor hat." That duck kills me.

5 men I find strangely attractive

2008-09-08T12:30:00.000-07:00

1. Ashley from Sin Cities. Do you watch this show? Ashley Hames is the lanky, nerdy, bespectacled Brit host who takes you to cities around the world in search of the most bizarre sexual fetishes. Does this seem like the recipe for a sex symbol to you? Me neither. Especially when you see him in such humiliating and painful looking situations as having his testicles nailed to a board or having huge, industrial-looking, metal hooks strung through the skin of his back or being lead around naked on a leash, to name but a meager few on a very long list. But he’s funny and amazingly game for anything. I don’t know. It works.

2. Dan Connor. Goofy, overweight, blue collar jokester is not my usual dream guy. But John Goodman makes Roseanne’s long suffering husband charming and loveable. On the opposite end of the bad boy’s mysterious allure, Dan is the quintessential good guy in his salt-of-the-earth, middle American, tough on the outside, soft on the inside way. Perhaps my favourite episode is when he finds out Jackie – the sister-in-law he only just barely tolerates hanging around his house annoying him everyday – is getting beat up by her boyfriend. He takes one look at Jackie huddled in tears and wordlessly grabs his jacket and slips out the back door. Dan Connor, avenger of abused women, to the rescue!

3. Tony Soprano. But speaking of bad boys, I find it completely inexplicable why a murdering, cheating, overweight, balding, selfish head of a crime family would be in any way attractive to me whatsoever, but for some reason, he kinda is. During the writers’ strike my husband and I survived the lack of original TV by purchasing all six seasons of the Sopranos on DVD. It was addictive. We watched two or three episodes a night and by the end of it, we were fighting the urge to talk to each other with an Italian-New Jersey accent complete with expletives and Paulie-type hand gestures. And I was sort of crushing on Tony. I think the combination of his unyielding power at work combined with the vulnerability he would show in his sessions with Dr. Melfi somehow melded this crime lord into something appealing.

4. George Stroumboulopoulos. I personally don’t think George should be on this list. I don’t find anything “strange” about being attracted to the cute, funny, witty, sexy host of a smart Canadian prime time talk show with great guests. But my husband insists it’s strange so I’ve added him. Plus it gives me an excuse to blog about him. I love how George starts off The Hour with, “I’m your boyfriend, George Stroumbouloupoulos.” How does he know?! I thought it was all in my head but there he is, announcing it. Love ya, George!

5. Anderson Cooper. The distinguished grey hair. The piercing blue eyes. Intelligent, well-spoken, knowledgeable, quirky, self-deprecating, well-dressed….Okay, I realize he’s totally gay, which is what puts him on this list. That doesn’t stop Erica Hill from shamelessly flirting with him on America’s number one cable news network. It’s not just me, right? She totally wants him. I’m with you Erica… even if Anderson ain’t with us.

So, who’s on your list of unlikely secret boyfriends?

5 things that “drive” me crazy

2008-09-05T11:39:00.000-07:00

(Caveat: My father always told me sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. Well, what can I say? Prepare to get down and dirty…)

1. Advanced green imbeciles. What about a green arrow pointing in the direction you wish to go is confusing to some people? I was the second car in line at an advanced green yesterday. The arrow lights up – nothing happens. No movement from the car ahead of me. I do a little tap on the horn. You know, a still-friendly-just-a-little-reminder tap. Still nothing. So now I lean a little more insistently on the horn. Not only does she still not move, now she’s making irritated hand gestures at me in the rearview mirror. Apparently my honking is really bothering her. The advanced turns yellow. Still nothing. Then she decides to whip out right as the yellow arrow fades so there’s just enough time for her car to get through but leaving me at a solid red light. Wonderful. Equally as annoying are drivers who approach an advanced green light with the same trepidation as one might approach say, a large, wild animal or Paris Hilton movie. They creep up slowly, stop, look both ways, contemplate, and finally turn just after the advanced ends and the oncoming traffic starts to go. Again, leaving the person behind making frustrated hand gestures and teaching their children inappropriate language.

2. Distracted drivers. Everybody hates the clueless driver chatting away on his cell phone, consumed in his conversation and totally oblivious to things apparently less important than his caller, like road safety. But I think a worse offender is the driver looking for a house or store. I live in a new development so it seems there are constantly people just driving around, looking at houses. Getting stuck behind such a driver is nails-on-a-chalkboard irritating. They creep along the road, stop for a second, craning their necks and just when you decide to pass them they start slowly driving again. Looking at houses is fine, but if you’re going to sit in front of a house admiring the brick work for five minutes, maybe you should signal and pull over instead of sitting in the street. I’m just saying.

3. No “thank you” wave. It makes the world a nicer place to be when people are considerate and polite. Don’t you think? I always wave when someone lets me in front of them. It’s about courtesy, people. Come on!

4. Drivers who stop to chat. Two drivers who happen to know each other are driving towards each other from opposite directions and stop to have a chat. On a residential street that isn’t very busy I guess this is okay. But wouldn’t you think when the chatters see another driver coming up behind one of them they would wrap it up and get going? Not always! This seems to happen a lot in my growing neighbourhood, particularly with construction workers. My favourite is when they not only continue their little conversation but wave you to go around them, like you’re interrupting them with your pesky intent to drive down the street. Does it say “boardroom” on this road anywhere??

5. Myself. Now that I’ve finished ranting about everybody else (thanks for letting me get that out, by the way, I feel much better – I’ll go easy on the sarcasm next time) I have to admit that the worst thing about driving these days is me. Apparently I need to start drinking ginseng tea or taking some gingko biloba. I’ll be driving and talking to the kids, or singing karaoke (shut up), or thinking about my next List of 5, when suddenly I’m sailing right past the exit I wanted. The worst is when it takes me a while to realize it. I’ve actually driven for upwards of five minutes in the wrong direction before I've noticed, hey, wait a second, why does everything look different from usual? Which is bad enough, but then you have to explain to the person expecting you why it took twice as long for you to get there. Try sounding intelligent while telling someone, uh, sorry I’m late, I missed my exit and drove 5 k in the wrong direction because I was thinking about my blog. So here’s my PSA: Don’t blog and drive.

5 songs I’m too old to like … but I do anyway.

2008-09-03T10:09:00.000-07:00

Here's a list I posted on Facebook last year. The references are a little dated but I hope you still like it...

1. Don’t Cha, The Pussycat Dolls. Okay, I don’t think I’m the only one that’s guilty of this offense. I know there must be others out there who are inexplicably seduced by the way Nicole says, “I know you DO!” But at least I didn’t watch the Search for the Next Doll. (Okay, I watched the finale. In my defense, I was trapped in the house and there was nothing else on.)

2. Hollaback Girl, Gwen Stefani. Now I’m not going to go the obvious route and point out that any song that spells out the word “bananas” isn’t meant for anybody who’s risen above grade four. Instead I’ll say that originally I thought that this song was about not engaging in immature name calling, kind of in the “sticks and stones” vein. But then I actually listened to the words. “I’m gonna fight. Gonna sock it to you.” Wow. Was I wrong. But you gotta love those marching band drums!!

3. London Bridge, Fergie. With this one, maybe it’s not that I’m too old, just (hopefully) not skanky enough. But like with Nicole from the Dolls, there’s something about the way Fergie rhymes “floor” with “ho.” Doesn’t seem possible, but Fergie pulls it off!

4. U + Ur Hand, Pink. This song rocks! I know it’s been more years than I care to admit since I actually went out to clubs but still, doesn’t it bring you right back to those clubbing days? “At the door we don’t wait ‘cause we know them.” I am at Mac floating past the line at the John. Good times. Brain hemorrhage anyone??

5. Girlfriend, Avril Lavigne. Hmphfff … That’s my transcription of the sound of me hiding my head in shame. Because I am most embarrassed about this one. I just can’t believe I like a song that states, “She’s like, so whatever.” But I think what really brought it home to me was when this song was featured by almost every troop in my six-year old niece’s cheerleading competition. That’s right. I have the musical taste of a six year old. That’s why I’m singing away to this song in the Pathfinder whenever it comes on the radio. Thank God there isn’t one of those hidden cameras in my truck like on that VH1 show. I’d be screwed.

********

I had this ready to post yesterday when I realized I had to make a special addition:

I don’t live in a trailer park, but I like this song

Before He Cheats, Carrie Underwood. There’s something about a song that promotes vengefulness and taking the law into your own hands, isn’t there? Boyfriend’s cheating? Forget about taking the high road. Never mind the best revenge is living well. Get him where it hurts. His “suped up pretty little four wheel drive.” Good song, but I can’t help but imagine what Judge Judy would have to say to Carrie about her unlady-like behaviour…

5 people on TV who really bug me

2008-08-27T15:00:00.000-07:00

1. Russell, “The Cashman,” Oliver. Just when you thought his commercials couldn’t get any cheesier or more embarrassing, what does the Cashman do? He makes a dance video! OMG, could it get any worse? That song! That song that amounts to taking what Oliver says ad nausea in his ads and, horror of horrors, setting it to music. “I’m the Cashman. I’ll give you money for your go-old, yeah.” My ears! And what about those poor women? It’s bad enough to be a dance video ho to begin with; we’ve heard how poorly they’re treated. But if it’s 50 cent or P Diddy you’re humping up against, at least they’re famous. That’s gotta look better on a video ho resume than “I gyrated next to a grey haired Jewish guy flapping around handfuls of Canadian twenties.” Are these girls heading back to standing on the street corner after taping? “Oh-oh yeah!”

2. Rachel Ray. I kinda feel bad saying this one because I never really watch her show, I don’t know anything about her, I really have no basis for feeling this way. I shouldn’t be annoyed by her: she’s got a real person’s figure, she’s pleasant looking, not ugly but not beautiful. She’s girl-next-door, down-to-earth … and she’s annoying. I don’t know why. She just seems a little too cheery and happy. It comes off as fake.

3. Gayle King. I know what you’re thinking. I’m just jealous because she’s Oprah’s best friend when, clearly, I should be Oprah’s best friend. I mean, I wouldn’t make the big O want to reach in and manually tear out her ear drums so she would no longer have to suffer through my screeching along to the radio on an entire cross-country road trip, would I? But it’s more than that. It’s the Dr. Phil’s wife, Robin, factor. (Damn, there’s somebody else I should have included.) What I mean is, the show is called “Dr. Phil.” Why do we care what Robin has to say? (Recently I find it’s questionable whether or not we should care what Dr. Phil has to say.) Likewise, just because your best friend is famous does not necessarily mean you also need to take up air time on the highest rated talk show in American television history. Is it just me? Do we really care about Gayle’s favourite places to eat?

4. Carlo Rota. Maitre d’ turned actor, you may not know his name off the top of your head but trust me, he’s annoying. I was first annoyed by him on The Great Canadian Food Show. Hubby loves foodie type shows and the promise of seeing local places seems appealing. But I just can’t stomache Rota’s pretentious accent and self-important mug. Even the way he chews his food makes me want to smack him. It’s almost like a mathematical equation: take the degree of pompous, know-it-all-ness and multiply by how actually ignorant and lame a person is. Equals: Super annoying. I must confess, I haven’t watched Little Mosque on the Prairie, largely due to the fact that he’s in it. It may be that he’s not as annoying when he’s playing a character as when he’s being, you know, his annoying self. I started watching his interview on the Hour to see from the clips of the show if this is actually the case. But even the joy of watching my boyfriend, George Stroumboulopoulos, could not overcome my irritation with Rota so I couldn’t get through it. Maybe you will and you’ll let me know.

5. John Melendez. Fans of Stern will remember how Howard harped and harped about Stuttering John leaving his show to do Leno. He needn’t have given it so much thought. Other than announcing the lineup, what the heck does this guy do?? At least on Stern you heard him do his silly, stuttering red carpet bits every now and again. Apparently now all his comic writing skills can come up with is holding up a mug when his name is called. I read somewhere he’s getting $500K for that gig. Hey NBC, I’ll read some names and hold up a mug for half that. Hell, I’ll even throw in a list of 5!

I don’t watch those shows like The Bachelor and ANTM etc. So I know there are many more annoying TV faces out there that I haven’t even begun to touch upon. It’s a subject rife with possibilities, really. Tell me, who makes you want to tear off body parts and hurl them at the screen??

5 reasons I don’t want summer to end

2008-08-24T11:27:00.000-07:00

1. No packing lunches. It’s been so nice not to deal with the mad scramble to plan a packed lunch in the morning. Yes, sometimes I still have to throw together a picnic, but since I’m a lucky mom whose kids don’t have food allergies, it’s a lot less stress. PB&J? No problem! This granola bar has nuts in it. All the better! I don’t have his name on this. Who cares! But come September I’ll be back to those mad dash mornings and reading labels on the lookout for “May contain.” And speaking of mad mornings…

2. Sleeping in. I’ve written before about how my children are not sleepers. They take after their father. I LOVE to sleep. And my logic is, it’s the person who’s genetically responsible for their early rising tendencies who should have to get up with them in the morning. Doesn’t that seem logical to you? During the summer my husband is not as busy with work so there are some mornings when he doesn’t have to dash off at his usual pre-sunrise time. And on those blissful mornings I get to sleep in. Sometimes even past 8 a.m.! No backpacks to arrange, no bus to catch, no mad dash mornings. Ahhh, illusive sleep.

3. Sunscreen over snowsuits. In the winter, when my kids yell, “Mom, we want to go outside and play in the snow,” I almost cringe. Don’t get me wrong. I’m as worried as the next mom about my kids getting enough fresh air, vitamin D and time away from the evil TV. But it’s the whole daunting process of gathering up all the boots, hats, mitts and snowsuits that causes the cringe factor. Inevitably a boot is missing, these mitts are wet, she doesn’t like that hat, she wants the other one. You have to try and get them to pee before you put everything on and then they always come back five minutes later, take everything off and then want to go out again five minutes after that. Painful. In the summer I hand them their hats and Crocs – which they can put on themselves, BTW – and off they go! Okay, maybe in this day and age we also have to deal with sunscreen. But there’s no on and off with lotion. I’ll take sunscreen over snowsuits any day of the week.

4. The sun. Towards the end of the summer I think we start taking for granted that we wake up to the sun and generally still have its wonderful, warm presence with us until around 9 p.m. I was on our usual evening walk with my neighbour when, at 8:30 p.m., we found ourselves losing light and I realized those days are fast coming to an end. It won’t be long before we wake up in darkness and come home in darkness. The only upside of this is that I’ll no longer have to convince my kids that, yes it’s still light out but it’s still time for bed.

5. The cottage. No, I’m not one of those lucky people who own one. Although, I still maintain that I have enough to keep me busy with the one house I own. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a whole other house that not only takes up as much time, money and effort to maintain, but also takes me hours to get to in order to expend said time, money and effort. But I digress. We rented a cottage this year, the first time we’ve done so on our own, just our little four person family. And so we experienced the long standing Canadian tradition of summer family time at a cottage. It was wonderful. Or I thought so. Hubby, who isn’t as used to spending 24-7 with two children who alternately love each other passionately and two minutes later fight equally passionately, thought it was slightly less wonderful. But, in my opinion, it’s a little harder to be stressed when you’re surrounded by sun, sand, gently lapping waves and fresh air. The kids loved it when their dad buried them in the sand. Here’s a photo. Tell me, do I need to be worried that she wanted us to make her some boobies?

Stay tuned next week for 5 reasons I want these children to get back to school already!

5 reasons staying home with your kids is hard...

2008-08-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

...but not for the reasons you thought.

1. Your new "occupation." I’ve heard moms who are at home full time hate getting the question “So, what do you do?” at dinner parties. To that I say … They let you out for dinner parties? Okay, kidding. For me, the issue is more about what to write on paperwork under “occupation.” I know Roseanne said ‘domestic goddess,’ (makes me think I should be riding in a chariot, not an SUV) or you sometimes hear “homemaker” (who am I, June Cleaver?). I usually opt for ‘stay-at-home mom’. But still, I don’t know. As a title it kind of sounds made up. Something about all the dashes.

2. Lack of alone time. I’ve mentioned before about the entourage following me into the bathroom. I SO wish I was kidding about that one. Especially at um, that time of the month… (“Mom, what’s that? A special bandaid?” I just know they’ll be asking for the special bandaid next time there’s an accident.). I never thought I was the kind of girl who needed a lot of alone time. I love being around people! But once you’re a mom you realize there are times when hearing that dreaded singsong-toned “Mo-om!” will have you fantasizing about the nearest Buddhist monastery.

3. The need for self-discipline. When you are in the work force, you get work done because they pay you, because you don’t want to get fired, because your boss says you have to. When you stay at home there’s no pay, you can’t get fired (some days you’re like, Please! Fire me!), and the boss is busy playing Lego. The prospect of being at home full-time sounded great to me before. Yeah, there’s laundry to do and bills to pay. But who’s going to bug me if I don’t do it right now. So maybe I spend two hours on Facebook or browsing blogs. (You know, hypothetically. Yeah, I would never actually do that. He he. Nervous laughter.) Then your husband gets home, regales you with stories of the big deals he’s nailed down today and asks you how your day went. Um, I discussed Eighties music trivia with someone from Alberta…?

4. Forced down time. Before I became a mom I understood that Being a Mom is the Hardest Job in the World. But I always thought it was because you are so busy. Busy taking little Jimmy to baseball practice and little Susie to ballet. And there are times like that (and not just in the Fifties when people actually had kids named Jimmy and Susie). But what I didn’t know about was the other time. The time when you have six people coming for dinner in fifteen minutes and you still need to vacuum, make a salad and have a shower. But you can’t do any of it because there’s a baby attached to your boob. Or when you really have to get out to the grocery store, the bank and the dry cleaners before it closes but you can’t because someone’s having a nap. So you just have to sit. Sit and stew about all the things you should be doing but can’t.

5. Nobody cares if you’re sick. Do you remember what getting a bad cold was like before you had kids? I almost kind of looked forward to it. You call in sick to work, make yourself a hot cup of tea, grab the Kleenex box and your blankets and hunker down on the couch for eight hours of watching daytime TV and generally feeling sorry for yourself. And now? Now, you’re lucky if someone says, “Bless you” when you sneeze. Lunches still need to be made, buses need to be caught, diapers need to be changed. You take some Tylenol Cold and you suck it up. (Ewww, not literally. You know what I mean.)

5 fishy celebrity coincidences

2008-08-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else ever feel manipulated by the press when it comes to salacious celebrity headlines? “Pop icon Britney Spears was spotted yesterday dealing crack to toddlers. Pause. Watch Britney on CBS’s How I Met Your Mother, Mondays, 8:30 eastern.”

Now obviously I use Brit Brit in jest, since her media whoring past means she can now garner press for such riveting activities as going to the dentist or buying jeans. Not to mention that she has less and less to promote these days. But how do you feel about these five celebrity viral stories that seem to conveniently coincide with upcoming promotions?

1. Christian Bale
On July 18, 2008, Warner Brothers released The Dark Knight in North America. Not to say there wasn’t enough “dark” hype already surrounding the movie after Heath Ledger’s untimely passing in January. But four days later on July 22, 2008, Christian Bale’s arrest for assault was all over the news. It was later reported the arrest happened in Britain where you can apparently be arrested for “verbal assault.” Against your mother and sister. Really? Some guy yells at his mother and this is what makes headlines? They’d wanna be at my house when I’m tired and renege on a bedtime story promise to my son. Anyway. “See Christian as Batman’s alter ego, Bruce Wayne, in The Dark Knight. In theatres now.”

2. Kanye West
I know that I’m a suburban, stay-at-home mom whose iPod is filled mainly with George Michael and Billy Joel so that it can’t be a shock that prior to September 2, 2005 I had never heard the name Kanye West. But I sure as heck knew who he was after he stood there next to Mike Meyers on the Katrina telethon and made his “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” comment. All I had to do was turn on CNN. Suddenly even a white, middle-class, soccer mom would be familiar with this rapper if she came across his album, Late Registration, which just happened to drop two days before on August 30, 2005.

3. Tom Cruise
You knew I’d have to include this one. Who could forget Tom Cruise waxing romantic about his new relationship with Katie Holmes on Oprah? Even spiritual guru Eckhart Tolle knew he was “the one who jumped on the couch.” Yes, Tom was a busy boy during May and June of 2005. Promoting War of the Worlds for its release on June 29th, you ask? If by promoting a movie you mean professing his (questionable) love, jumping on couches and spewing venom at Matt Lauer and Brooke Shields, then yes. Mission accomplished.

4. Alec Baldwin
There was a while in the early 2000s when I felt like I heard Alec Baldwin’s voice everywhere. From movies to SNL to guest spots on Friends and Will and Grace, it seemed like I couldn’t get away from him. That was when I had a two year old son who was really into Thomas the Tank Engine. Max would be engrossed in the adventures on the island of Sodor and I’d be thinking, Oh my god, I even hear that Schweaty ball voice on Treehouse. Now I’ve really lost it. But none of this prepared me for April 19, 2007, after TMZ posted “Alec Baldwin’s threatening message to daughter” complete with the recorded tirade. I had become accustomed to Baldwin’s voice talking to children about Percy, Henry and Sir Topham Hat. Not screaming “thoughtless little pig” and vowing to “straighten your ass out.” Baldwin was more ubiquitous than ever. Just in time for the April 26th season one finale of 30 Rock.

5. David Hasselhoff
As someone who’s had the experience of partaking in a Mojito or five and then having someone take out a camera (you did delete those, right Jenn?) I kind of sympathize with David Hasselhoff. Maybe a snapshot of someone on a Girls Only Weekend seemingly slumped inanimate on a kitchen table yet still conscious enough to hold one arm up heroically in the air (again, deleted, right?) is not the same as a video of someone lying drunk and minimally clothed on a floor eating a cheeseburger in front of his daughter, but still. After this video was released to the media on May 3, 2007, I made a mental note never to buy my children a video camera. Then I tuned in on June 5, 2007 for the season two premiere of America’s Got Talent. I had to see if the Hoff managed to stay sober during the obligatory sappy back story and subsequent singing/dancing/fire eating/burlesque number. I know I find it hard.

They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. You tell me – am I too cynical and jaded? Is it wrong that as soon as I heard Stephen Page was busted for cocaine possession that I wondered when the new BNL album was being released?

5 reasons I hate cooking dinner

2008-07-28T17:46:00.000-07:00

1. Deciding what to make. It’s just pure laziness on my part but if someone would just tell me what to make everyday it wouldn’t be half as bad. Trying to find something that’s: healthy, tasty, quick, easy, low-fat, appealing to children, appealing to a man who doesn’t eat fish, can be difficult. Once I tried to make a monthly meal plan with coordinating weekly grocery lists. Then I had children.

2. Grocery shopping. Some of my friends say they like grocery shopping. They say they find it calming. I don’t know where they’re shopping or where they’ve stashed their children while they’re doing it but there are many things I find more calming than grocery shopping. Like a Tarantino movie, for example. My daughter sounds something like this at the grocery store: "I don’t want a cart!" (if we’re getting a cart) "I want a cart!" (if we’re not getting a cart) "I want to sit in the cart." "No, I want baby to sit in the cart." "No, I want to stand on the end of the cart." "No, I want to walk beside the cart like a big girl." Two seconds later she tears off down the aisle causing other patrons to abruptly stop their carts lest they run over a small girl whose mother should obviously know better and put her in a cart. All this while I’m pleading, “Mama just has to find one more thing Sarah! Just one more thing!” Now where do they keep the water chestnuts? With the canned vegetables? Is a water chestnut a vegetable? Canned fruit perhaps? I finally find them… with the Asian food. Go figure!

3. Nobody likes it/eats it. Here’s the dinner scenario at our house: I’ve chosen some crazy recipe off the net they’ve claimed is fast, easy and “sure to please.” I’ve braved the grocery store. I’ve managed to find all the esoteric ingredients. I’ve washed, sliced, diced, steamed, pan fried, broiled my little heart out, trying to time everything to come together so we can all sit down as a family and enjoy a nice, home cooked meal. I place their dishes in front of my darlings to a chorus of “What’s this?” “I don’t like that.” “This smells weird.” To be fair, my beloved husband (who is a very good chef and actually likes cooking) is always encouraging and the most negative thing he says is, “Um, I wouldn’t say this one is a do-over, babe.” Much better than what my father would say when we were kids. After my mother would try some new recipe she found in the newspaper, Big Al would push his chair back and pronounce, “If that’s dinner, I’ve had it.”

4. Everyone would rather be eating Sponge Bob Alphaghetti anyway. Right? I mean, who am I kidding. Nobody but me is worried about four food groups.

5. You have to do it all over again the next day. Oh joy. Somebody pass me the can opener.

5 strange and inappropriate songs my kids love

2008-07-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

Like so many, I love my iPod and I love that I can play it in my vehicle. One side effect though, is that my children are introduced to songs to which they wouldn’t otherwise be exposed. But thanks to my beloved iPod they continually request songs like:

London Bridge. I mean the one by Fergie. You know, with questionable lyrics like “How come every time you come around my London London Bridge wanna go down.” Not what you want to hear out of the mouth of your three-year-old daughter. Or six-year-old son, for that matter.

Hey Big Spender. Okay, at the risk of being mocked relentlessly and revealing myself as the total nerd that I am, I’m going to go way out on a limb here and admit something totally embarrassing. I like to download karaoke versions of songs and then sing them as I drive. I know! Never bring this up to me in conversation. I will deny it and pretend I made it up purely for your amusement. Anyway. This song is one of my favourites and the kids have the singing cred to prove it. Imagine one little miss Sarah suddenly belting out, “Hey big spender! Spe-eend … a little time with me” in the middle of Zellers. Freaking hilarious.

I’m Just a Kid. Simple Plan’s homage to teen angst seems to be harmless enough, if maybe a little depressing. Although, one could question my parenting skills when Max’s favourite song laments, “I’m just a kid and life is a nightmare.” The biggest problem with this song, however, is that I accidentally downloaded the explicit version. Instead of the radio version that asks “What the hell is wrong with me?” the version I have spits out, “What the f&$* is wrong with me?” Whoops! I have to have my fingers poised on the volume button each time that part comes up. Why not just download the radio edit, you ask? That would be way too easy!

Kung Fu Fighting. My sister introduced my kids to the original Carl Douglas version of this song. Shortly after Kung Fu Panda was released there was no going back. My kids just love to shout out “Hu!” and “Ha!” while making karate chop motions along to this song. But it is a lot more politically incorrect than I remember it. Aside from including the tacky oriental riff through the whole song, the line “They were funky China Men from funky China Town” sorta makes my PI radar go up.

If it Wasnae for your Wellies. Here’s one the non-Scottish contingent may not be familiar with. It’s a little ditty from Scottish comedian Billy Connolly that I downloaded for my father about “the importance of Wellington boots in Scottish culture.” Normally Billy has quite the “blue” sense of humour (Check him out if you don’t believe me). Luckily, in this version, the worst thing he says is “Jesus Christ.” But because of his Scottish accent my children sing along with lyrics like “… you’d be in the hospital or in family” instead of “infirmary.” I couldn’t figure out what Max was talking about when he asked me what “gai-ya-bun-dun” meant until I heard Billy suggest you sing the song by “leaping into it in a mood of gay abandon.”

5 challenges of getting out the door with children

2008-07-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

Choosing toys to bring. What is going to keep them occupied while I’m meeting with the financial planner / naked under the gown at the doctor’s office / visiting friends who have no children and whose house is therefore devoid of toddler appropriate items but rife with breakables and cupboards containing poisonous cleaners? Toys! When I ask them what toys they’d like to bring they inevitably make suggestions like: My dollhouse! (too big) My paints! (too messy) My whoopy cushion! (you can imagine…)

Remembering snacks. Every mom knows that ensuring you leave the house equipped with appropriate snacks can be the key to surviving an extended car trip. I have a cupboard full of granola bars, fruit bars, drink boxes and similar grab-and-go treats to aid in my quick getaway. But sometimes I just don’t think to bring them. Like the mornings when we’re not rushed and I just have to give them breakfast and make a quick trip over to Walmart. I ask my darlings, “What would you like for breakfast?” They tell me. I make it. They don’t eat it. Then we’re hurtling along the 403 at 110km/hr and they announce, “We’re hungry! We want snacks! What do you mean you can’t magically produce food in the truck??”

Others are not on the same page. As I’m running around the house like the proverbial chicken sans head trying to round up the above-mentioned items, the others in my home are likely to be doing something like: Husband: calmly shaving and showering; Six year old son: making a “really cool fort, Mom!” by pulling every cushion and pillow off every couch, propping them against each other and then yelling at me when the cushions don’t stay; Three year old daughter: dressed like a princess (despite me having spent fifteen minutes cajoling her into her beach clothes ten minutes previous), is also donning her bike helmet since she has caught a glimpse of her bike in the garage, while I was in and out packing the truck, and has decided she needs to go for a bike ride, “…RIGHT NOW, Mama!”

The Potty. What is it about the final “potty call” before heading out the door that some kids find so off-putting? My son was never like this. I’m certain, though, that my daughter could be busting at the seams, but if we’re heading out the door and I hopefully ask, “Sarah, do you have to go pee pee before we go?” she invariably says, “NO! I don’t have to go pee!” I’ve tried everything from imploring pitifully – “Please, Sarah, please go pee pee for Mama…” – to trying a tougher stance – “Sarah, the rule is everyone has to go pee pee before we leave the house. Mama went. Max went. You have to try. At least try!” It doesn’t matter. All tactics end in a huge crying fit and the inevitable outcome of being out on the highway, nowhere near a bathroom, and hearing, “Mama, I have to go pee.” And that’s the good outcome. The other is a puddle.

The illusive item no one can find. We’re going swimming, everyone’s finally ready to go, everything’s packed. On top of toys and snacks I’ve managed to remember sunscreen, towels, bathing suits, bug spray, sunglasses, cameras, everything! Except. I just bought the kids goggles recently so the chlorine won’t hurt their eyes. They were delighted; for two days they wore them everywhere. But now that we’re actually going to a pool the goggles are nowhere to be found. I’m raving like a madwoman and have everyone in the house (finally on the same page!) looking for them. While I'm hunting my internal dialogue goes something like this: No one in this house puts anything back where they’ve found it! Everyone just leaves everything lying everywhere. Nobody ever knows where anything is. Everyone expects ME to find everything! If it were up to ME I would have put them where we could find them the next time we were going swimming - with the water wings! Oh, hold on… I go to the cupboard with the water wings. Voilà. Goggles. And I almost forgot the water wings.

5 reasons I hate shopping with my kids

2008-07-13T10:15:00.000-07:00

Getting there. Do you have kids who are automatically lulled to sleep by the motions of a moving vehicle? Wait, no. Don’t tell me. If the answer’s yes I’ll have to hate you. My son, Max, would sleep peacefully in the truck until he was four months old. That was in 2002. Going anywhere has been a screaming nightmare ever since. We were hoping our second child, Sarah, would be the opposite. We’d paid our dues with the first one, right? Ha, ha! I laugh cynically at our naïve optimism! On the bright side, I’m now completely adept at driving while doing things like a) passing back snacks, b) retrieving sippy cups and c) refereeing arguments. All while listening to Elmo’s rendition of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt for the 327th time.

Comments on fellow shoppers. Once at the mall, my kids never fail to notice the people around them and produce distinguishing commentary. Like when Sarah indicates the scary looking bald man and proclaims, “Mommy, that man have no hair!” Or when Max, pointing, wide-eyed and perfectly genuine asks, “Mom, is that person a man or a lady?”

The food court. We just sit down with a tray full of food when Max announces, “Mom, I have to go pee.” Option 1: Send Max into restroom on his own where possible child molester awaits. Um, no. Option 2: Take Sarah and Max and go into restroom, leaving untouched food on table to be either thrown away by food court employee believing it to be abandoned or poisoned by evil mall dweller. Also not appealing. Option 3: Continue mulling over options and Max pees his pants. Hm. Option 2 it is!

The change room. First, I have to find one that fits a stroller, an adult and two kids. Not so common in the smaller boutique stores, but almost always available at Old Navy. Hence my wardrobe. I go in the wheelchair change room to start trying something on when Max says something really loud (Everything he says is really loud. There is no other volume. There is either really loud or sleeping) and embarrassing. The other day he said, “Look Mom, this balloon is long just like your boobies!” Ah. They do say the benefits of breastfeeding last a lifetime.

The disappearing act. Picture this: I’m at the food court Tim Hortons getting my bagels, juice and coffee. I’m juggling the stroller, my purse, wallet and Sarah, who’s decided she doesn’t want to sit in the stroller anymore. I’m trying to push my tray along (difficult with the aforementioned juggling act) and then pay. Max is earnestly explaining to me why he prefers Batman to Sponge Bob. (“Batman is a hero guy, Mom. Sponge Bob is a silly guy. I like hero guys.”) I take my eye off him for a second to give the lady my money and when I turn around… he’s gone. “Max?” I frantically look around for him while trying to gather my things so the long line of people, now all staring at me, can progress with their orders. He was just here. Where could he have gone in two seconds? No longer caring about people staring, I’m yelling “Max! Max!” My voice is on the edge of panic. Finally, a group of older ladies, seeing my distress, point out that he’s seated at a table – behind a pole. “I found us a seat, Mom!”

I remember when the mall was relaxing. Sigh. So much for retail therapy.