So yesterday I was in the hair salon, getting my inch or so of pure grey roots coloured, when I reached for salon-type reading material: People and US Weekly. Let me preface this by saying that tabloid magazines are a bit lost on me, as I rarely know who any of the celebrities are and also I rarely know the shows or movies that they are in. My twelve year old niece excitedly showed me her Camp Rock themed Easter treat, at which I initially stared blankly, and then conjured up some interested-sounding questions. “You see, Aunty, it’s the Jonas brothers!” she said, to which I answered with a bewildered look that I surely inherited from my own constantly-bewildered father, along with his pure grey hair. Thanks Dad!

Anyway, for those of you who read or have read US Weekly, there is a “feature” called “Stars – They’re Just Like Us!” which shows various celebrities doing things like grocery shopping or picking up their dry-cleaning or some other mundane task which shows that really, we are all people and there is only the smallest degree of separation between me, and say, Jennifer Aniston.

One of the photographs showed a celebrity couple taking a picture of their baby on a swing, and the caption was “They take pictures of their kids!”. On the same page was another celebrity at a playground (or maybe it was the same one, I don’t know) watching his child go down a slide. The caption? “Their kids go down slides!”. Really? Is this news-worthy? I don’t know. I stared at that page for a long time, feeling some kind of apocalyptic sinking and also feeling puzzled. “Their kids go down slides!”

For a while it has seemed like children are the latest celebrity accessory, a baby bump being the ultimate in trendiness. The fact that magazines show photos of these children, who in all likelihood are primarily cared for by nannies and night nurses, is the ultimate in revolting to me. The fact that a child is fodder for the media because he plays at a playground, and is supposedly leading a perfectly ordinary life, despite immense wealth and fame, is pathetic. And the fact that I actually read that magazine makes me feel ill. In this celebrity-obsessed world of ours, children have become just one more thing, something to buy expensive items for and something to dress up in expensive clothes, and something to farm out when they become tiresome.

1) I can’t stand being called “Mommy”. It’s “Mama” or “Mom”. No “Mommy”.
2) I can happily hold someone else’s baby without actually wanting a baby of my own. Yesterday I held my cute little nephew at Easter dinner, and later whispered to my husband “I’m really glad we don’t have babies anymore”. And believe me, this is nothing personal to my adorable nephew, who is sweet and cute and didn’t cry once – not once! – during the three hours we were with him. I just….don’t want any more babies.
3) I don’t want a girl. This is good, given 2). For a long time after having Jake, people (often strangers) would ask me if I was going to try for a girl. Well, a) I find “trying” for a particular gender somewhat offensive – be happy with what you have, people!, and b) I don’t want three kids. I’m good with two. Thanks. I know there are a great many happy families with more than two kids – I myself have two brothers – but for me, two is a good number.

1) Green sprouts of perennial flowers emerging through the leaf mulch, surely to suffer frost damage and be snowed on, yet still poking their tenacious selves up. Oh hardy perennials, how I love you.
2) Two pairs of rubber boots outside the back door, caked heavily in mud.
3) The existence of mud, dirt, and leaf mulch in many unexpected places in the house.
4) Muddy dog footprints in the house.
5) Grimy hand towels in the bathroom. (“But I actually DID use soap” Jake says, puzzled.)
6) Piles and piles of muddy laundry. Do you sense a theme emerging?
7) Spring fever. Ahem. I will decorously leave it at that.
8) I AM ONLY WEARING ONE SHIRT. Yes, like a chrysalis shedding its cocoon, I have put aside my thick sweaters to reveal a mere long sleeved t-shirt. How’s that for an Easter metaphor?

Honestly, I was starting to believe that this winter was actually going to last forever, what with the constant record snowfalls and below-average temperatures. It sort of felt like being at home with a small infant, the constant feeding and no sleep, and the to-do list that looked like this: shower, eat something, wander around in a semi-comatose state. To me, it always felt like the young-baby stage was going to last forever, that I would be exhausted forever, that I would be feeding an infant for the better part of an hour every two to three hours. Intellectually, I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but my emotional self didn’t really believe it. But what do you know, I now have two preschoolers on my hands, who can actually be relied upon to do a few things for themselves and don’t depend on me for every single thing. And just like that, the winter is over and spring is here.

I was speaking with a childless woman in her forties. “Oh, you’re so lucky,” she said, “I would love to stay at home and play all day.” That kind of comment just automatically clenches my teeth. My initial, knee-jerk reaction is to list all the tedious chores involved in my day-to-day life: myriad hours spent planning, preparing, and cleaning up after meals and snacks, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping with kids in tow. My next reaction is to list all the things I do and the things I do not allow: I don’t watch daytime TV, I spend a lot of time figuring out appropriate craft projects, I read the same books about skyscrapers, vehicles, dinosaurs, and superheroes over and over, they are allowed only a limited amount of TV, I take them on outings, and I supervise (sometimes awful) playdates. Apparently I need to justify my decisions by making my life sound as terrible as possible, as if it is all work and I get no enjoyment out of it.

But the truth is I AM lucky. It is fun to be around the kids all day, even if the above paragraph is true. Yes, it is work, yes, it can be boring, and tedious, and actually kind of irritating to be with small children all day, but it can be so wonderful too. Today we went “puddle jumping”. We walked down the block to ogle the neighbour’s eclectic collection of old cars that were probably bought at an auction and are ostensibly being restored, and that the boys are fascinated with. (“Look, Jake, it’s that Caprice that I love!” “I know, Mark! I really love this Oldsmobile!” ) We looked at the cars for a while and then the boys jumped in every single puddle on the way home. They followed a stream of muddy gutter water, watching it flow into the sewage drain, which is another odd fascination of theirs. They threw rocks into some of the larger puddles and jumped and splashed until, freezing, we had to go home to warm up. And I thought, yes, I really am lucky.

I have been a wreck all day. My puppy – a 10 month old Labradoodle, possibly the cutest dog ever and certainly one of the gentlest – was attacked by a pit bull this morning. Let me reassure you that he is okay, albeit with a large puncture wound on his snout. This is what happened. I was taking him to the groomer’s this morning. I had him on his leash beside my van and I had just lifted my three-year-old son out of his car seat. Barkley was sitting beside me, not barking, not doing anything. A pit bull, on a leash, pulling his 90 pound owner, ran at him and attacked his face. The owner could not call him off. I had to kick the dog in the head several times before he would let go of Barkley.

Now that was traumatizing enough. But the thought of my three-year-old, standing right beside me, and the thought of what could have happened if that pit bull had attacked him instead of the dog…well, I guess you can imagine how I must feel.

I know any dog can attack if provoked. I know any dog is protective of its owner. But what about unprovoked attacks? I know that many people say it is not the breed, it is the owner. However, this owner really seemed…well, nice and very apologetic. Apparently this dog had never been aggressive before. Even if that is true, which it may be, that is exactly the point. If a dog has never been aggressive before, and then suddenly shows aggression, then I’m not sure the owner is to blame. It feels like that is something that is in the dog, which cannot be taken out.

Thoughts?

I’m going on a date tonight! I’m very excited; we do not go out for dinner very often and we never go out with the children. This is a fun fact that surprises some people – “you don’t take the kids to restaurants?”. Um, no. The thought of paying for meals that would most likely be left uneaten while I experience extreme tension from the perception that my children are being disruptive is not a happy thought. But anyway, dinner tonight! My parents, with one exception, always have given us a fancy restaurant gift certificate for our anniversary, babysitting included. The one exception was the year Jake was a baby. This story is embarrassing to my mother, but hey, it’s kind of funny. You see, Jake was what you might call an “evil baby”, and I say this with affection because he was an absolute joy as a toddler and now as a preschooler. But as a baby, he was colicky, and then when he was past the age for being colicky, he was just plain surly. He was the type of baby who would scream inconsolably if I say, left the room for thirty seconds. Half the time he would also scream inconsolably while I was holding him. (“Shouldn’t you pick him up or something?” my mother asked on the phone, over the din of the screaming. I was wearing him in the Baby Bjorn.) So, the year that he was a baby, instead of a dinner out we received two serving bowls for our anniversary! Lovely serving bowls they are indeed.

I had a friend who swore by weekly date nights. Every Saturday he and his wife would arrange for a sitter for their three children, and go for dinner and a movie. To me, the logistics for this scheme would be overwhelming, and usually I would rather hang out at home, with a nice glass of wine. But whatever works, right? Here is my personal recipe for a happy marriage:

1) Whether it is a regular date night, or just hanging out at home with a glass (or bottle) of wine, make time for just the two of you.
2) Cultivate your own interests, but if you find that you are always doing things apart, cultivate an interest together.
3) Statistically most fights are caused by finances and children. So, if you work through that, the rest will follow.
4) Listen to your spouse, and don’t take him (or her) for granted.

Simple, no? Although, I’m pretty sure if I asked my husband about his personal happy marriage recipe, it would sound something like this:

1) Keep wine rack full for crazy emotional wife.
2) Encourage daily yoga practice or wife becomes very cranky.
3) With a few exceptions, defer to wife for day-to-day decisions with the children, even when you know those decisions may not turn out well (example: “Sure, I think clay class sounds like a GREAT idea”.)
4) Do not watch golf when wife is talking about yoga.

Wow, it’s a joy to be married to me! What a lucky, lucky guy is my husband!

Anyone want to share their happy marriage hints?

A former boss of mine with a HILARIOUS sense of humour used to refer to my (and everyone else’s) in-laws as “the out-laws”. He also used to use the oft-used-at-that-time-in-business-circles phrase “open the kimono” which just gave me a mental image of him that makes me shudder just writing that. I actually had to stop typing for a minute to shudder. Anyway. The in-laws are visiting this week, which is fine: I get along with them just fine and they dote on the boys, who are their only grandchildren.

But despite the above, I always get a little anxious before their arrival getting things ready and it is ALL FOR NAUGHT. These people are incredibly laid-back about planning their visits. They don’t stay with us, they stay in a hotel, so they come over for a visit…whenever. They will go out to eat dinner by themselves or they will come over…whatever I want. This level of easy-going-ness is what makes me anxious.

You see, I come from a very large extended family who are (and I say this lovingly) a little crazy and very family-oriented, and there is always, always, some sort of feud going on between some members of the family. Someone is always not talking to someone else because of a real or imagined slight, or some kind of offense is taken, or someone doesn’t like someone’s spouse. You get the picture. Despite this, like I said the family is very clan-oriented and there are a few unspoken rules: a) if you visit, you stay at someone’s house, and b) you spend as much time as possible with the person you are visiting.

So you can see why my in-laws’ good intentions make me anxious. They like not staying with us, and truth be told, I like it too. They like eating some meals in restaurants, and hey, I don’t mind. But still, I have this constant feeling like I should be doing more, cooking more, making them at home in our (teeny tiny) spare room, just the way it was when I was growing up. This is why I think so many people have problems with their in-law relationship – it’s the melding of two different family structures and two different levels of expectation.

What do you think? Do you think most in-law issues could be solved just by accepting the fact that your spouse’s family does things differently?