Remember my thoughts about the attractiveness of fictional bad boys? I wrote a piece about it and it’s up at Yummy Mummy. Check it out! xo
Monthly Archives: May 2010
It’s my dog’s birthday!
I used to think that people who celebrated their pets’ birthdays were, how shall I say, a little bit lame. But! That was before we had Barkley, the wonder dog.
Mark is presenting him with his birthday treat. I tried to manually take out Barkley’s red eyes because the photo made him look like a one-headed Cerberus.
What a cute little treat for our little doggie-woggie.
So I also baked a cake. Not for the dog, obviously. The kids were adamant that birthday cake MUST be had. What kind of birthday is celebrated cakelessly? No kind of birthday, that’s what. So yesterday I baked a chocolate layer cake while the snow covered the grass and the wind blew and I wondered if all my flowers would survive or would I be making another trip to the garden center? It turns out they did survive but I was surrounded by a gloomy feeling all day, greatly exacerbated by walking the birthday boy in the blowing cold wearing my winter coat and boots on May 29.
In my twenties, I had a friend who was always sure she never wanted children and she would give her reasons for that decision at the drop of a hat, and one of those reasons was that once a person has children, they become very very boring. They talk about diapers and poop and all the non-unique things that their children do and say. This is probably true of me. I have been known to discuss diapers and poop and hey, I have a blog about my children, so I guess I am fairly dull. I do like being fairly dull, I prefer it to a more dramatic life, it seems.
One of the reasons I know I am fairly dull is that during yesterday’s snowstorm, I had a grand old time cleaning the house. My husband was out running errands, my children were very happily and peacefully (this is relative: they were playing predator and prey with dinosaurs) playing and instead of relaxing with some coffee and a book, I decided the entire house must be cleaned and all bedding must be laundered. How’s that for dramatic thrills and spills? When life gives me lemons, apparently I make lemon-scented disinfectant and scrub the kitchen cupboards. Woot! Anyone want to come over? The house smells like chocolate cake and Mr. Clean. It’s lovely.
Stitches and Disney and Snow in Late May
This is a photo of my backyard this morning:
What’s that on the ground? SNOW! And what are all those buckets in the background? They are covering up my poor, non-frost-tolerant flowers that I planted on Tuesday. And why would I plant non-frost-tolerant flowers prior to June in Calgary? Because I am stupid, evidently. I probably cursed the city by planting impatiens on May 25. Sorry everyone. I guess the snow is my fault.
Nonetheless, I’m very hap-hap-happy today so I’m going to share some random, somewhat amusing things.
1. Today during my yoga practice I accomplished something that I have been working on for…I don’t even know how long. A year? More than that? A very long time. I accomplished it and then I felt somewhat startled, not unlike the ONE TIME I actually caught a ball in my two years of playing slo-pitch in university. But, I did it! I did it! I really did it!
2. Disney should have a warning on their movies for sensitive children. Like, rated G but with extremely sad and tragic scenes. Appropriately for the weather I watched The Ice Age with the kids and Mark was completely devastated several times. What is with Disney movies and all the death? Especially all the deaths of mothers and other family members?
3. My husband had the day off work and we took the kids out for lunch. The extremely low frequency with which we take the children to restaurants is never more obvious when they cheer at getting TWO STRAWS in their iced teas and that lemon on the side of their glass? “It makes me feel like I’m in Hawaii!” said Mark. We are a simple people.
4. On Tuesday a neighbour – not the Deerhunter, another neighbour – stopped by to see if I had any nurse’s training (I don’t). If so, he thought I could remove his stitches. His stitches! I was completely weirded out by the request, albeit slightly curious as to where the stitches were and why didn’t he go to a doctor? I immediately emailed another neighbour who is also my friend, and we giggled in a horrified way about it. I am convinced my evil giggling was bad karma for me because the incident occurred while I was planting the aforementioned impatiens. Coincidence? I’m sorry everyone. The snow was totally my fault. So sorry.
Did you hate junior high? I did.
I was talking to a couple of moms whose sons are slated to start junior high in the fall, and, being the optimistic ray of sunshine that I am, I sighed for them. Junior high is the worst, I said, it’s horrible and I have virtually no good memories of that time. Then I realized that perhaps such comments are not exactly supportive and positive, so I amended them with a comment that junior high is probably better for boys, anyway.
I think that’s true. Junior high boys are ensconced in pubescent idiocy: farting on each other and hitting each other in the testicles during dodge ball and just being jackasses in general. However, that idiocy is easy to take compared with girls that age and their secretive cruelties, their struggles with body image and their emotional bullying. I mostly remember feeling awful about myself and crying a lot.
A few years ago I was talking to a woman about Facebook, which was fairly new to me at the time. She was very much against a Facebook account because, as she said, if she wanted to be in touch with anyone from her past, she would be, but essentially she didn’t want to connect with any of those jerks. The thing I have found is that, just as I have changed, so has everyone else. I was holding on to negative memories for a long time and I found that those bad memories just don’t matter anymore, that people from my past can be an enriching and supportive part of my present, and I’m grateful to have them in my life.
In my twenties, it was all about proving myself. I needed to prove myself in university, I needed to prove myself in my career, I needed to prove myself as a mother. Then I got tired. I don’t feel the need to prove myself anymore, I’m just me, the person I want to be, even if that person is a bit lame and boring.
Recently I came across a picture of myself on the first day of junior high. It’s quite hilarious, what with my gigantically teased bangs, denim skirt, white Keds, and, inexplicably, a button down shirt tied in a knot a la Daisy Duke. If I knew how to work my scanner I would show you, if only for comic relief. I am smiling hugely in that photo, like every door in the world was suddenly opened for me, on my first day of junior high, not realizing then that my smiles would largely disappear for the next three years.
Fishing, but not camping.
Another May long weekend has come and gone, bringing with it the chilly temperatures and rain typical of May long, and in Alberta, an alcohol ban in campgrounds around the province, all of which I’m sure made for some unhappy campers. It didn’t affect me though as I am decidedly not a camper. I am not of hardy camping stock. I love the outdoors but I greatly prefer sleeping comfortably within doors, as well as hot, non-coin-operated showers and the ability to apply makeup without being mocked for wearing makeup while camping.
Instead of camping I spent a very large portion of the weekend playing Go Fish. I was running errands and saw a pack of alphabet themed Go Fish cards, and thought, “Go Fish! That will be fun!”, which subsequently circumscribed my weekend. I’m not really complaining though, Go Fish is greatly preferable to the usual endless and arbitrarily ruled games of Bakugan, or the disturbing, circle-of-life games in which I am cast as the peaceful, plant-eating dinosaur who is being stalked and, eventually, killed by the vicious meat-eater.
I know a few parents who avoid spending time with their children, who view family time as some sort of unreasonable sentence and their children an annoying inconvenience. Such children inevitably become horrible little bastards who no one wants to be around which is somewhat circular. And this is so sad because one of the greatest joys of being a parent is creating someone who you can enjoy and want to be with, after all, the days of Go Fish and endless, tedious games of Bakugan and dinosaurs are fleeting indeed.
Randomness: Jeopardy, Miss USA, and Brahmin Widowhood
During the season, my husband golfs. A lot. Frequently he golfs in the evening, and I take advantage of such time by indulging in such activities as watching seasons 1-4 NYPD Blue on DVD, or Jeopardy, during which I tersely and quickly phrase answers in the form of questions, out loud, naturally. Secretly I prefer Celebrity Jeopardy so I can run the categories and also berate the celebrities for answering Montreal instead of Vancouver, or some such transgression. The past few days, however, have showcased the Tournament of Champions with the corresponding very difficult questions. One of the contestants going into the final is a video game tester and I feel that there is so much to be said about video game tester as a career choice, but I don’t know where to start so I shall leave my commentary unsaid.
Doesn’t it sound like it would be awesome to live with me? Put the kids to bed, crack open a bottle of wine, and watch Jeopardy with intense scrutiny and seriousness, only to fall asleep at 9:00. I’m a barrel of fun! I was chatting with a group of fellow early morning yogis, and my lovely, lovely teacher was telling a story, the punchline of which was “Well, it would be better than phoning at 9:00 and waking everyone up” to which we all nodded gravely. 9:00! It’s like the middle of the night! My people! I love you all, you crazy early birds.
But Sunday evening my husband was golfing, and sadly, Sunday evenings are Jeopardy-free, so I curled up on the couch with the excellent book about life for a Brahmin woman in turn-of-the-century India, “Toss of a Lemon”. Just as I reached the part about her attaining widowhood at age eighteen, after eight years of marriage, and her subsequent head shaving and state of purity that dictated she be out of public view and essentially untouchable during daylight hours, I reached for my glass of wine and noticed what was on television: the Miss USA pageant. I looked from my book to the TV and back again, somewhat taken aback by the contrast.
I am secretly a bit fascinated with beauty pageants. The Miss USA pageant, in particular, is absolutely mesmerizing. For one thing, the contestants all wear the same clothes for much of the pageant, and despite variations in hair and skin colour, they all look disconcertingly the same. They could be essentially split up into two physical categories: those who have had breast implants, and those who have not.
What I really like about the pageants are the shots of the girls all hanging out and doing various activities all together. “They went shopping at Vegas’ newest hotel!”, “Then they cooled off in the pool!”, “They had a sweet time at the cupcake shop” (although I would have liked to see some of them eating those cupcakes, I very much doubt if any did). I always imagine these to be a total cat-fest, but a veiled one, because no one wants to be TOO bitchy, but damn, that Miss Maine had some bad split ends. Although that may be unfair of me to say that, since the only pageant contestant I have ever known personally was a former colleague’s wife, who was runner-up to Miss Nebraska. This woman, in addition to being stunningly, All-Americanly beautiful, was also one of the sweetest, most generous people I have known. In the end, the woman who won was an MBA with a concentration in economics! My people! Kind of.
Grandpa Burger? and other tear jerkers
I, for one, was not at all shocked or surprised when I heard about Robert Munsch and his various troubles. It seems that individuals who are exceptionally gifted – which I think he is – are frequently troubled by mental problems, which often manifest themselves in addictions. I also think it’s very brave of him to come forward with his problems.
That said, I have never been a fan of his. Love You Forever is one of my most hated children’s book, despite its reputation for being the literature epitome of maternal love. To me, it is creepy, and smarmy, and over the top. And I’m a smarmy and over the top person, but not, I hope, a creepy one. In fact, it is incredibly easy to make me cry. All one needs to do is say, stiffly, “I come watch” as per this commercial and I will get choked up. Another one that makes me cry is the A&W commercial with the cranky older man who receives a Grandpa Burger from his son and daughter-in-law. “Grandpa Burger?” I kind of wish that was how I told my dad about my first pregnancy, instead of the normal “I’m Pregnant” way. During that pregnancy I craved A&W hamburgers all the time. Perhaps it was that commercial that did it? We’ll never know.
So, despite my propensity for emotional tears, Love You Forever has always left me cold. Other childhood books that are immensely popular but that I detest are Where the Wild Things Are, The Chronicles of Narnia, anything by Tolkien, and the Harry Potter series. I know. Everyone loves Harry Potter. A certain relative of my husband’s couldn’t BELIEVE that I don’t like Harry Potter, and quizzed me endlessly on WHY, and what is WRONG with Harry Potter, and don’t I like MAGIC? Apparently I’m not the magical or imaginative type.
The books I loved as a child were those set in the late nineteenth/ early twentieth century featuring a plucky heroine. Does anyone else remember the book What Katy Did? I loved that book as a child, fascinated with the plotline – Katy finally being cured of her tomboyism by becoming an invalid. Awesome! Did anyone besides me read the Elsie books? Now there’s a literary relic if there ever was one. I remember being extremely confused reading those as a child: I had no clue about slavery, Southern culture, or even what a plantation is, and I found all the various family members and marriage age gaps baffling. I also clearly remember the plotline to one of the books: Elsie’s father, angry with her for her literal interpretation of the Bible, withdraws all love and affection until she can submit entirely to his will. Then she almost dies of some feverish, wasting, consumptive disease, and her father decides to not make her a pariah anymore and ends up going to church. It’s a happy ending! A happy ending in Crazy Bad Father Land, I guess.
What children’s books do you loathe and love?