Monthly Archives: August 2012

Padme and Anakin and the Five Languages of Love

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Getting right into the year 2005, I watched Revenge of the Sith on the weekend.  Here’s a little piece of advice: do not watch the violent end of a movie minutes before leaving the house to attend a led primary practice.  You will feel all shaky and NAMASTE, BITCH.  Related: it’s very, very awkward when, at the end of a led practice, you turn to your neighbour to say “Namaste” and that neighbour is looking the other direction.  So, you turn to your other neighbour, who is also looking the other way, but you feel that the first neighbour is now looking at you so you turn your head quickly, only to see that they have already bowed their head to their mat.  Awkward. 
Anyway, Revenge of the Sith!  I loved it more than all the other Star Wars movies combined, which isn’t saying much, really, since I have seen The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones a number of times and yet I cannot remember what happens because I either fall asleep or become completely bored and zone out every single time.  But I really, really liked Revenge of the Sith; it was interesting and fast-paced and compelling.  I have only a few problems with it, and although this makes me feel a bit like those nerds that created “Jar Jar Binks Must Die” webpages immediately following the first midnight viewing of The Phantom Menace, I will nonetheless detail them here.

First, near the end of the movie, the conversation between Anakin and Obi-Wan goes as follows:

Obi-Wan: Anakin, the Sith are evil!

Anakin: From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!

FROM MY POINT OF VIEW?  What kind of writing is that?  George Lucas may have well have had them having a twitter conversation:

@ObiWan IMO Jedi = Jerks #haters #SithRule #CheatDeath

Although, it would have been tremendously cool if Obi-Wan had said “Have you tried Hare Krishna?” after saying “Then you are lost.”

My second issue is about Padme’s death.  All this time, I had thought that Padme died a grisly death in childbirth, which, quite frankly, would have been pretty realistic.  But yet, she died of a broken heart!  She lost the will to live!  Padme, you just had two babies – LIVE FOR THEM.  You’re not the only woman who got knocked up by a guy who turned out to be a dick.  I mean, we all make mistakes.  Padme’s was having unprotected sex with a Jedi.  Get over it and mother your children.  Jesus.

Maybe Padme and Anakin should have discussed the Five Languages of Love.  My friend and I were talking about these love languages yesterday, which are Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch.  We are now, as I told a young friend of mine who is in the stage of life when all her friends are getting married, in the stage where marital issues are starting to rear their ugly heads.  My friend was telling me about a book detailing five different love languages, and how sometimes it seems like your partner is being a jerk, but maybe he’s showing his love in other ways.  For example, maybe sometimes you want your shmoopie to give you some PDA, but he never does.  Instead, he shows his love by always unloading the dishwasher (note: this does not happen in my house.  If my husband unloaded the dishwasher, I would be so excited I would rip off my clothes and have sex with him right on the countertop).  But anyway, our conversation centred around understanding how someone says I Love You.  It was interesting, and it made me think that maybe Anakin was showing his love through Acts of Service (turning to the Dark Side so Padme wouldn’t die, ostensibly), but Padme really wanted some Quality Time.  I don’t know.  Things could have been resolved so differently.

Our discussion around the love languages got me thinking – what love language do I speak?  How do I show my love?  My husband would probably say that I need to work on my Quality Time.  For example, the other night I was immersed in a book and he was talking to me.  Instead of looking up from my book and listening, I had a “mmm, really?” kind of response.  He totally busted me for not listening.  Oops!  But I will tell you about something really nice that HE did that is totally sweet and romantic.  I was talking about how I wanted to go visit my grandma, but I didn’t want to take the whole family.  The next thing I knew, he had booked me a flight and a rental car, and had figured out child care.  If it was up to me, a year later I would still be saying “I want to go visit Grandma…”  Hooray for decisiveness!

In other words, people, I am going on a solo trip!  To Saskatchewan!  I haven’t traveled by myself since 2003, I’m the teensiest bit nervous.  So, I should say, is everyone around me.  I have to drive two hours after flying to Regina, and, given my ability to get hopelessly lost in the city I’ve lived my whole life in, there is some concern that I will end up in Nunavut or, alternatively, South Dakota.  My husband has been busy googling maps and reminding me to take the Garmin, my mother keeps asking nervously if I know how to get to the highway, and my dad is probably hand drawing me maps of the various streets around the airport as we speak.  It’ll be FINE.  How lost can I get?  (Don’t answer that).

So anyway, I’m so in love with my husband, I get to go see my grandma, and I am going to be away from the kids for longer than I’ve ever been, which is causing me a little bit of angst.  I’m pretty excited though – it helps that my kids are going to the lake with my parents, which they have told me is WAY more fun than when I come.  What?  Clearly, their love language is NOT Words of Affirmation.

A Farewell to Foggy

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The boys and I had been planning a trip to the zoo today, with my mom, for the past week.  It would be our last zoo trip of the summer, and so Jake was especially excited to see his favourite animal, Foggy the hippo.  When I say “favourite animal”, I mean that Jake felt that he had a special bond with Foggy, and that Foggy communicated to him via telepathic signals, ear wiggling, and honking.  Every time we visited Foggy, the hippo would inevitably wiggle his ears and honk, and Jake was convinced that it was for his benefit alone.  Some of the things Foggy would say to Jake via these messages and the telepathic communications were “Hello, friend!” and “I love you, Jake!” and “You’re my favourite person!”.  I did nothing to discourage this; after all, Jake is someone does not believe in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus, and so believing that he was special to this hippo, the oldest zoo resident and also one of the oldest hippos in the world was magical indeed. 

Then yesterday, we heard the news that Foggy died.

Jake and Foggy, 2010

Jake and Foggy, 2012

You might think that the loss of a zoo animal, especially one who would be 47 in a few weeks – just two days after Jake’s own seventh birthday – would not be a huge deal.  But it really was.  I heard the news and then, thinking about our zoo trip, went to prepare Jake.

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial.  After telling Jake, he seemed unaffected at first.  He said he still wanted to visit the hippo enclosure.  It wasn’t until he saw the story on the six o’clock news that he seemed to think it was real.

Anger.  On the news, they explained that due to health complications stemming from his very advanced age (most hippos in captivity live to their mid-thirties, in the wild their lifespan is much shorter) Foggy had to be euthanized.  Have you ever tried to explain euthanasia to a child?  It didn’t go well.  “THEY KILLED FOGGY!” he yelled, punching the couch.

Bargaining.  After discovering that Foggy had fathered seven offspring, Jake felt that one of them should be brought to the zoo, at all costs.

Depression.  Predictably, around bedtime, Jake completely broke down.  “I just can’t stop being sad,” he sobbed.  “It’s okay, honey,” I said, “You can be sad as long as you want.”  The zoo trip started out all right this morning: Jake and Mark were happy showing their grandma the penguin display, the dinosaur park, and the Canadian Wilds.  Then we went to the hippo enclosure.  Jake refused to look at Sparky, the remaining hippo, and on leaving the enclosure he said that he didn’t care what animals we saw next, because no animal would ever wiggle their ears at Jake again.  He was fairly listless though the other displays, he brightened only a little when Grandma bought some soft-serve, and he was heartbreakingly uninterested in the three adorable tiger cubs we saw frolicking and playing with the mama tiger.  We watched the tigers and pointed out the cuteness while Jake looked at the ground, sadly.  “Can’t you SEE them, Jake?” my mom and I asked.  “I can see them.” he said flatly.

 
 



Acceptance.  After the tiger display, we went to the gift shop – not something we normally do on a zoo trip, but then, this was not a normal zoo trip.  Also, we had Grandma with us, and we all know how that goes (Grandma may or may not be a soft touch).

Not to be materialistic here, but the acquisition of not one but two hippos really turned things around.  Jake said “I will always remember Foggy in my heart, and now I can snuggle my own Foggy whenever I want!”

Death by Shapewear; Nicole’s Favourite Things, Back-to-School Edition

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I was watching the news the other day and there was a story about how wearing shapewear, such as Spanx, excessively could lead to infection, blood clots, and death.  Death.  By shapewear.  I’m sure there are more humiliating ways to die, but at the moment I cannot think of any.  As my friend Rachel said, you would have to die twice – you would need to come back and die of embarrassment when the coronor cut you out of said shapewear, with the ensuing flesh explosion. 

Death by shapewear.  I don’t even want to think too much about the “infection” part. 

As we all know, nothing gets between Oprah and her Spanx.  So, on that O-related note, may I present the second edition of Nicole’s Favourite Things!  This is the back-to-school edition.  I am not exactly looking forward to the change of seasons.  I’m a summertastic kind of girl, and the thought of cold mornings and my aching, purple hands does not get me excited.  But, as I tell the boys cheerily, there is always SOMETHING to look forward to in every season! 

This is how you can tell I’m a Canadian girl – last week I pulled out all the kids’ winter gear and forced them to try everything on, in anticipation of the stores being sold out of everything by the end of September.  If you’ve ever tried to buy a pair of snow pants in January, you know of what I speak.  Fortunately my methodology of buying large so that the boys will “grow into it” worked – I only needed to buy one pair of mittens and one hat.  I also needed to buy indoor shoes for school since my children have disproportionately ginormous feet that grow quickly.

My favourite shoes for the boys are Skechers.  They last well, they’re cute, and at this time of year there is always a buy one, get one 50% off deal at the outlet store.  My only complaint – and this is not just Skechers related, but related to every single retailer in the world – is that the selection for boys is a tenth of the selection for girls.  RETAILERS, YOU SUCK.  There are always thousands of glittery, adorable girls’ shoes, and a handful at most of boys’ shoes.  This reminds me of my recent trip to Costco – not this Costco, thank goodness, or I would be lynched by the Americans for taking up a parking space – when I looked for boys’ underwear.  Pretty simple, right?  It turns out Costco had – and I am not exaggerating, people – four packages of boys’ underwear, size 16.  NOTHING ELSE.  Of course, there was a large selection of girls’ underwear.  Boys need underwear too, Costco, you bastards.

Whew, I went off on a little tangent there, didn’t I?  I also would like to give a shout-out to the good people at Mountain Equipment Co-Op, where I bought those backpacks last year.  MEC is famous for having an insanely good return/exchange/fixing faulty items policy.  They will literally do anything to satisfy their customers.  Their backpacks – along with most of their items – last forever, so I always make sure I purchase a nice, neutral colour that no one will tire of.  Most of their kids’ gear has reflective strips, which is nice for those days when the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon.  Sob.

My kids come home for lunch, which has its pros and cons.  The biggest pro is not having to pack lunches.  The only exception to this is our early-dismissal Fridays, when the kids are out at 1:10 and so they have a “nutrition break”.  I don’t know about your kids, but mine aren’t huge fans of sandwiches when they are not of the peanut butter and jam variety (we are at a nut-free school).  One of my girlfriends suggested a healthy, homemade alternative to those vile Lunchables: packing crackers with various cheeses and meats, veggies, and fruit.  I found these cute little Tupperware containers to keep things separated.

What are those little hearts?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve never tried one of those label companies before, but I won a set from Lovable Labels and included were these cute little stickers that say things like “I love you to the moon and back” on them.  Awwww.  I stuck some of the little hearts on the inside of the containers, as a special reminder to the kids.  Awwwww.  I’m going to miss them and their constant Star Wars prattle.

Nothing to do with back-to-school, but this time of year is fantastic for zucchinis and tomatoes.  So why not think about baking a deliciously addictive loaf of chocolate zucchini bread, roasted vegetable lasagne, or salsa (not seltzer)?  You can eat your feelings about your children going back to school and your somewhat-empty-nest syndrome.  Or maybe that’s just me.

Landslide’ll bring you down

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“I have a feeling you’re not going to do well when the kids leave home,” my husband said to me today.  My parents took the kids to their place at the lake, and when they left the dog – who is me, but in canine form – flopped on the floor, dramatically whimpering.  The dog and I stared at each other in silence for about ten minutes, then I silently moved from room to room, aimlessly staring out the window.  Fortunately my lovely friend popped by for an iced tea in the backyard, or I probably still would be staring out of Jake’s window, singing Landslide to myself, while the dog lay in a heap at my feet.

I’m afraid of changing, cause I’ve built my life around you…

The house is so quiet.  I realized around 4:00 that I didn’t even need to start dinner yet, since it would be lame to eat all by myself at our regular time, instead of waiting for my husband to get home from work.  But, since I am accustomed to eating at early hours with the children, I was starving, so I decided to eat a plate full of crackers with cashew pretend-cheese spread, and drink a beer.  I’m feeling much better now.

Speaking of cashew not-cheese spread, a friend passed on his recipe and I don’t know if it’s super amazing or I’m just so cheese deprived that I’m enjoying anything these days, but it is pretty good!  My husband thinks it’s the latter, by the way.

But what does he know?  Husbands.  They are the reason the “Better Marriage Blanket” was invented.  Have you seen these things?  Apparently this is a real thing.  Although – I don’t know.  It seems a little Saturday Night Live for me.

I don’t know what I love most about this product.  Is it that it completely and quickly absorbs the odor of flatulence?  Is it that it contains technology used by the military to protect against chemical weapons?  Is it that it is recommended as a wedding or anniversary gift?  No, I think it’s the part where it is a real solution to a real problem, and I OWE IT TO MY MARRIAGE.  How many couples are breaking up because of bedtime flatulence?  If this is a joke, I don’t want to know.  I just want to enjoy the thought of giving this blanket as a gift.  You guys seem like you could use this…  Maybe it could be given out in couple’s therapy?

Listen to me.  The children have been gone a mere three hours and all I can write about is flatulence?  It’s like they’re right here with me.

Speaking of silent houses, school starts in two and a half weeks!  Where has the summer gone?  I’m not quite ready to get back into routine, maybe because it’s been a strangely hot and fabulous summer here in YYC, or maybe it’s because I seem to have the attitude THE CHILDREN ARE GONE, I MUST EAT ALL THE CRACKERS AND DRINK ALL THE BEER.  Speaking of which, my beer is empty!  How did THAT happen?

I know all over the continent there is much consternation about school supplies and back-to-school and whatnot, but here’s the great thing about the public system in Calgary: they supply the school supplies!  I mean, there’s a fee and everything, but the fact is that I don’t have to kill myself labeling pencils and finding very specific and colour coded duotangs.  So that’s kind of awesome.  Also kind of awesome – and here’s how you can tell I’m a Canadian girl – I went through all the kids’ winter gear and discovered that buying things that they can grow into really works!  The only things I needed to purchase were a pair of mittens and a hat.  SCORE. 

The house is SO QUIET.  Clearly I’m not ready for back to school, and neither is the dog.  Although, carpe diem.  CARPE FUCKING DIEM.  I think I will take advantage of this situation by having another beer and watching an inappropriate television program.  What do you do when you have the house to yourself?

Time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older tooooooo….

The Skinny on Being Skinny

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Last week, in what can only be described as an incredible burst of energy – of gittin’ ‘er dun – I made pre-back-to-school appointments for the children to see the doctor, dentist, and optometrist.  I’m not sure what this says about me as a mother, but I’m always very anxious prior to any kind of medical/dental appointment.  It’s like my self-esteem is tied up with healthy checkups and no cavities.  It’s been this way since the kids were born.  What percentile are they in?  75th?  Yesssss.

So I had a teensy bit of a crisis yesterday when Jake – who, like his brother, and if I’m being honest here, also like his parents, is tall and skinny – slipped from the 25th percentile for weight into the tenth.  THE TENTH.  And yes, I know, intellectually I know that these are just numbers, the real indicator is that he’s happy, healthy, energetic, and smart.  I know that those charts are probably inherently flawed, and I know that one cannot fight genetics.  Still.  There’s something unnerving about having a child who is one stomach flu away from being seriously underweight.  Something that makes me want to explain to random strangers that yes, I do feed him, and no, of course I don’t give him low-fat anything, and yes, he is allowed to have ice cream.

I really have to watch myself so that I don’t accidentally give him some kind of complex about it, watching every morsel of food that goes into his mouth and mentally counting his caloric intake.  No one needs that kind of glaring spotlight on their eating habits.  I deeply resent anyone who watches and comments on what I eat, so I will endeavour to relax, Frankie, and trust him to eat what he needs. 

As a society, we are so focused on weight and body image.  If we’re not griping about childhood obesity, we are snarking about Angelina Jolie’s arms or Keira Knightley’s protruding breastbone.  We mock women who may have an eating disorder and dismiss their illness by saying Just eat a cupcake, Jesus.  Then in the next breath we express deep concern about someone’s weight gain, rudeness masked as worry.  I’m so worried about you, it’s not healthy to be so heavy.  Someone who shall remain nameless but who I believe should be unconditionally adoring of my children said to me I wouldn’t love them so much if they were FAT KIDS.  Yes, really.  This person wouldn’t feel the same about my children if they were on the other end of the scale.

It’s disturbing.  And yet it is perfectly acceptable in our society to disparage others who do not fall into the narrow realm of “normal weight”.  Sure, it’s only acceptable to whisper about the obese behind their backs, or on the front cover of the Swimsuit Shockers! edition of Star magazine, but it’s okay to say directly to skinny women that they are horrifying, and we hate them. 

It’s wrong and we all know it.  We all know that our society’s focus on appearances and our unrealistic expectations and impoverished neighbourhood’s inaccessibility to fresh foods and our busy-busy-busy fast-food lifestyles are wrong.  And yet we can only fix the things that we can fix.

So I take a deep breath and I continue to prepare healthy meals for my kids and to stock up on ice cream and whole milk and protein sources, I will not allow myself to shine the blinding fluorescent torture light on Jake’s plate at dinner.  I will not say things like “Just one more bite” or “You can’t leave the table until your plate is clean”.  I will trust him to know what’s best for his body, and as long as I provide him with healthy, calorie dense foods, I will trust him to do the rest. 

I don’t want him to feel like his worth is tied up in what he looks like or what he eats.  As long as he is healthy, he’s fine.  He’s more than fine.  He’s smart, happy, healthy, and energetic. I have struggled with body image for my whole life, I do not want the same for my children.  It’s idealistic, but there it is.  Now excuse me, I have some cookies to bake.

Adventures in Boyland

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I’ve been reading the boys all the Little House books, in order, since they became interested in settlers and whatnot after reading Little House on the Prairie at school.  Their favourite was On the Banks of Plum Creek, what with all the plagues and Pa getting lost in a blizzard at Christmas and Laura getting a fur cape and muff from the church Christmas tree and totally flaunting it in Nellie’s face – Nellie didn’t have a muff – take that, Nellie, you uppity bitch.  But now we are reading The Long Winter and it is by far the most captivating for them.  All the tragic foreshadowing – no geese or ducks to be found, the muskrat’s extra thick home, the teeny tiny harvest they have to make last an entire winter – along with the drama of the storms, near-starvation, and seemingly imminent death really captures their interest.  I do not know what this says, but in any case, we’re enjoying it.

So I was very entertained when they dug out Jake’s old Playmobil farm and all the various Playmobil people from other sets – including the veterinarian and dinosaur hunter – and began to reenact scenes from the books.  Kind of.  There were blizzards, and there was fetching water from the creek, but there was also an ocean involved, and water desalination.  There were two moms, two dads, and two kids, so it was either a commune or a gay marriage thing.  I’m guessing commune.  Then one of the Pas – whose name was, coincidentally, Charles – bought some droids to help with the farmwork.  Just like Uncle Owen.

Story worlds colliding!

Then a friend of mine who is a farmer told me that the dairy farmers she knows all have robots that do the milking.  I informed the children of this development and they stared at me, wide-eyed, and said in a reverential whisper “Cooooool”.  My friend said that the cows have computer collars so that the robots know where their teats are located, and the cows CHOOSE WHEN TO BE MILKED.  My mind – along with the children’s – is blown.  Completely. This is a little different from when Pa would use the clothesline to feel his way to the farm during a blizzard, and come back with a pail almost emptied of milk from the wind, and the milk in there just little frozen shards of milky delight.

What an age we live in.

Speaking of dairy, I’ve had a few people ask me how the whole no-dairy thing has been going, and I will tell you this: it’s much less horrible than I thought it would be.  I’m craving it much less, and taking the opportunity to eat more of the yummy non-dairy things I love.  Like guacamole.  So far this week I’ve had three avocados’ worth of guacamole, which is not giving me the shiny hair I covet, but IS pretty tasty.  I’ve also made my own version of my friend Natalie’s banana “ice cream”, which I plan on writing about over on my cooking blog, but here’s the Reader’s Digest (remember Reader’s Digest?  All those hilarious jokes?  Life’s Like That?) version: take two frozen bananas.  Put in food processor.  Add some almond milk.  Put in some chocolate syrup.  Process until it looks like soft ice cream.  EXCELLENT.  The kids lost their little minds.  YOU CAN MAKE ICE CREAM OUT OF BANANAS?  THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER, MOM!

Speaking of the greatest thing ever, the kids wanted me to make bacon for them, for one of our weekly “breakfast for supper” meals.  Now, as a vegetarian who is now practically, and reluctantly, a vegan, making bacon is not my forte.  The thing is, if one doesn’t consume meat, one generally sucks at cooking it.  And yet the motherly love I have for the children pushed me to make it, on the recommendation of a number of friends, in the oven.  OH THE JOY.

Jake: Are we eating Porky Pig?  I sure hope so.  I hate that guy.

You put the meaning in my life, you’re the inspiration

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I’ve been blogging for a while now, and I am still blogging for the same reasons I started: for a creative outlet, to ensure my mind didn’t atrophy from and to make connections with other moms and writers.  I feel like I’m part of a blogging community, which is very cool.  You, dear reader, read what I have to say which is beyond cool.  Many blogs that I read back in the day are defunct.  Many blogs are all about giveaways, and product testing, and sponsored posts, but the blogs that I read and love are the ones that are interesting, funny, and from the heart.  Not that I scorn the other kinds of posts – I just won a label pack from my sweet friend Kimberly – but the bloggers that continue to get my love are those that feel like friends to me.  

Back in the day, bloggers gave each other awards often, and I think we should do that more.  We should show the love to the ones we love, right?  And so I am going to pass along the Very Inspiring Blogger award that my dear friend Hannah gave me!  Some of the people I am going to pass this along to are my very good friends, others may not know I exist.  But, as we said in high school, why should we let that stop us?  They don’t even know we exist is no excuse for not giving a loving shout-out, right?  Keep on keeping on, my fellow bloggers.  Dance like no one’s watching.  Write like your mother isn’t reading (my mom totally reads this blog, but she’s polite enough not to comment when I talk all about sexy times).

And without further ado, I shall accept this award!  Here are the rules:

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

1.  Thank the person who gave it to you, and link back to their blog.

Hannah at Hodgepodge and Strawberries gave me this, and she is like my East Coast sister.  She’s an inspiration, even though she refuses to move onto my street so we can be neighbours.  Just because we have no ocean here!  Whatever, we have the Stampede.  Anyway, I adore Hannah, and if we are ever at a blogging conference together, I am going to force her to be my roommate.  Also, she always answers my Star Wars questions, so much that my kids actually ask me to ask her when they have a question.

2.  List seven random things about yourself.

If you’ve been reading this for a while, you probably already know everything about me.  But I will endeavour to come up with seven previously-unknown things.

* Along with every popular song lyric from the 1970s to the early 1990s, I also have in my brain Kenny Rogers’ entire catalogue.  I impressed my father-in-law last week by singing Lucille.

* I love drinking wine, but I hate to be drunk.  I prefer warm fuzziness.

* I hate the term LOL.  And yet, I use smiley face emoticons disturbingly often.  Sometimes I even sign my name – like, with a pen and paper – and add a smiley face.  I do not know what this says about me, except that at one point in my life I a) dotted my i’s with hearts, and b) signed my name with a flower.

* I – like Hannah – wore army boots when I was a teenager.  I paired them with short little babydoll dresses, which is a grand look.  Later I switched to short little plaid kilts and super tight turtlenecks, which may explain my father’s grey hair.

* Kidding!  My father went grey way before that, and since I take after him, I was completely grey by age 30.  Which means I’m going to be colouring my hair for a long, long time.  I envision myself as one of those old ladies with improbably bright red hair.  Also a grand look.  I shall pair it with bleeding lipstick and Chanel No. 5.

* I was feeling sorry for myself when I discovered I have a dairy sensitivity, until one of my besties discovered she has a COFFEE sensitivity.  Like, no coffee, ever.  I am in awe of this. 

* I was once romantically pursued by a guy who later became a much-reviled politician.  But we never went out!  I swear! 

3. Nominate other blogs

The rule was fifteen – FIFTEEN – blogs, but I have amended it to include blogs I am currently loving, and that I find inspiring.  After all, it is the Very Inspiring Blogger award! 

Allison from Bibliomama!  She is hilarious, and if you don’t believe me, read her posts about chaperoning field trips.  Talk about inspiring – field trips I just don’t do.  I always thought that if she lived on my street, we would be hanging out drinking margaritas all the time, so it’s probably good that she doesn’t, because I like my liver and a gal can’t JUST drink margaritas all the time.

Gretchen from Lifenut.  The woman is making her own baseball team.  HER OWN BASEBALL TEAM.  I stand in inspired awe of her and her (soon to be) brood of nine.

Kimberly from All Work and No Play Make Mommy Go Something Something, which is the longest blog name ever, but she writes with great humour and great heart.  She’s a dear friend of mine, whose honesty and strength inspire me. 

Swistle from Swistle.  Whenever a post from Swistle comes up in my reader, I get super excited.  She has five kids – twins in there! – and she is a fabulous writer.  Also, she won a math medal in her youth, which is to say she is my people.  I think she’s the bomb, and she was one of my early blog inspirations. 

Sarah from Sarah Piazza.  Sarah, oh Sarah, my heart breaks with the beauty of her writing.  She’s a lyrical inspiration.

Catherine from Ben and Birdy.  File this one under people who don’t know I exist, but hers was the very first blog I ever read, way back when she wrote for Baby Center.  She wrote an exquisite piece in the latest Brain, Child, which summed up things for me very nicely. 

Julie from Dinner with Julie.  She’s my foodie inspiration, and I spent an evening with her in June of this year, and it was one of the most fun evenings I’ve ever had!  Even if I almost fell asleep when everyone stayed up until almost 10:00, omg. 

Angela from Oh She Glows.  This is a new blog to me – and so she totally doesn’t know I exist – but a friend told me about her when I complained that the vegan cookbook I bought to get ideas for dairy-free recipes just used regular recipes with fake cheese substitutes.  Burn.  I could have totally written a vegan cookbook if I knew you could just put in regular recipes with fake cheese and egg substitutes.  But Angela has a wonderful recipe repertoire!

Ciara from Hilarity in Shoes.  The title alone is enough.  But Ciara is a funny, honest, and heartfelt writer.  We were also born in the same year and have a thing for Little House on the Prairie, so I feel kinship.

So, smooches, inspiring ladies!  Feel free to play along and pass the award along, but if not, just know that you have inspired me with your words.  I just wanted to share the love with you – you are a fabulous group!