Adventures in Germany, part 2

This happened in March, after we'd lived in Germany for about two months: 

The door to our balcony has a lever on the side that flips up to lock the door and flips down to unlock the door. The entire door shifts down when it's locked so it's quite secure. We leave it unlocked all the time as we are on the second floor and no one can break in. I went out for a smoke this morning first thing, before even having breakfast, which is not something I normally do. However, for whatever reason, I grabbed my coat this morning, one cigarette from my pack and went outside to smoke it. Kate was already up, colouring and  watching cartoons so I figured my minor deviation from the morning routine would not be noticed. 

Before we moved to Germany, Kate never watched TV. It would be on and she wouldn't even look at it. She preferred to play with her toys while we watched our own shows. I think it has something to do with all the German cartoons, but our darling daughter is now addicted to the box. 

Anyway, as soon as she realized where I was she stood at the door, asking to be let out, but of course I shook my head and said no. She seemed to accept this and wandered back to the living room and I went back to reading the magazine I had. Suddenly, I heard a thunk! And I froze.

No, no, no, she did not just do that, did she? Oh yes she had. Without me noticing, Kate had returned to the kitchen and had flipped the lever up, locking me outside and herself inside. This happened at 8:45 in the morning. I tried desperately with much crying and swearing to coax her to pull the bar down and she almost did it twice, but she gave up both times. She just did not have the strength to push it into place to unlock the door. I was stuck. And I panicked. I screamed, I shouted, I coaxed, I cried, I begged Kate to try again.  Please baby, try again. She would not. While the lever was apparently fascinating five minutes before, it was of absolutely no interest to her now.

Fortunately, I had our only cellphone on me, but who on earth would I call? Brad didn't have a phone and I didn't have many people I could call. Our fellow expats were away on a trip so they couldn't come. And it was not even 9:00 am. That is practically dawn to Europeans. 

My best bet was Sonja, the girlfriend of one of Brad's co-workers, Marco. They were a great couple that we had quickly become friends with but Sonja worked late nights as a server at a local bar and she likely wouldn't appreciate an early morning phone call from a stupid woman she barely knew who had managed to get locked out on the balcony by her toddler. I waited until 9:30 and the entire time I was having anxiety attacks about what Kate might get into while she was unattended by her fabulously responsible mother. 

When I finally reached Sonja, it was 9:45 and I'd been out there for an hour, alternately sobbing over my predicament and pounding on the door in the hopes that a sound thumping would dislodge the damn German engineering. No luck. 

Kate spent that hour crying at the door to be let out to join me, playing with the curtain by putting it on her head and saying 'Hat!', sitting in front of the door with her feet up on the glass of the door, playing peekaboo and, finally, getting her shoes, like THAT was the reason that I wouldn't let her come out with me. She went into the living room to put her shoes on and when she succeeded,  she gave me a big smile and lifted one foot and then the other to show me. When I still uncompromisingly would not let her out, she gave up and went to the living room with her shoes still on, sat on the couch and watched cartoons. She had a lovely time, while I sat on a plastic chair and cried. 

Thankfully Sonja's grasp of English was good enough that it was possible to even explain the problem, and she called Marco, who told Brad (without explaining why) that he needed to return home immediately. Poor Brad flew home, imagining the worst only to find his furious, embarrassed wife locked outside and Kate happily watching German SpongeBob.   

To make it even worse, Kate has been saying fuck loudly every time she gets mad today. She's also been telling Brad, complete with fake crying, how mummy cried today. Then she loudly says Fuck!

 And before you EVEN start, I know I should quit smoking.  I'm pretty sure, someone, somewhere, is about to give me the mother of the year award. Oh and they are calling me Rapunzel now.  

Why I Quit Facebook

Every time I need to start an assignment...I write a post in my blog. In fact, you can pretty much measure how much schoolwork I need to get done by how many blog posts I suddenly have. I think this is a pretty common phenomenon.

phenomenon |fəˈnäməˌnän, -nən| noun
1 a fact or situation that is observed to exist or happen, esp. one whose cause or explanation is in question.
I can't believe I actually spelled phenomenon without using spellcheck. I know I shouldn't be so surprised about my spelling since I'm practically a university graduate (!!!!!!), but I have very little faith in my spelling, a fact which has not changed since the advent of spellcheck. I love spellcheck. If spellcheck was a boy, it would be a cute,  pouty-lipped sassy boy that I would want to marry. Some of you may be thinking that my ideal spellcheck looks suspiciously like...hmmm who does that look like? I'll never tell. ...but let's get back to important matters. I typed phenomenon correctly! Don't get all shirty about it, try spelling that correctly without peeking. I dare you. I told you it was a pretty fabulous feat.

I recently quit Facebook. That's right, I QUIT. Some people think I am batshit crazy for deactivating my account. I mean, come on, how can you possibly live EVERY SINGLE DAY without checking Facebook 40 times? I'll tell you how: it's hard. I was a bone fide, true-blue Facebook freak. I checked that crap every thirty minutes...when I was bored, when I was driving, when I was in the bathroom...during class, when I woke up in the morning and before I went to bed at night. And you know what I was seeing 90% of the time? I was seeing pictures of babies with cancer or dogs with their heads cut off and people were asking me to "like" these photos to help said babies or dogs. WHAT THE FUCK? Why would I like a picture that depicts a baby dying of cancer? Or a dog brutally killed? That is the most effed up thing I've ever heard of and people actually think they are helping? How stupid are they? 

And if I wasn't being pelting with pictures of suffering pooches and dying kids, I was being inundated with pictures of objects from the 80s with "like if you remember this." Yeah, I remember it. And with that piece of nostalgia, you made me feel pretty old. Thanks a lot.

Or I was being reminded that my life, compared to everyone else's in the world, was complete crap. Except for that one person who complained non-stop about her life, her kids, her house, her neighbours, her husband, her car, her kids' school, her sister, her mother and her dog. And the neighbour's dog. Her life sucked and made me feel pretty good about my own. But everyone else? They have nicer houses, smarter kids, better-behaved dogs, newer cars, better jobs, and more money than me. And I was, frankly, sick of being jealous of people when my own life is pretty fantastic. I have fabulous people in my life and wonderful things to be grateful for every day. Facebook had the audacity to make me forget that.

I will say I miss seeing what people are up to on a daily basis. Although that seemed to be about 1% of the info I actually got from Facebook. I've missed a few invites because I'm not on Facebook...but guess what those people did? They contacted me directly! I got a special invitation and you just got a crappy Facebook invite! HAHAHAHAHAHA, who's jealous now?

So that's it. I quit Facebook and I only regret it a tiny bit. I might even sign in again one day, just to screw with you.

27 Boxes of Books

My dad died four years ago today. No one said anything to me and I feel like they all forgot. They probably did, except for mum. She probably figured I didn’t need reminding, but still. I wish one person would have said something to me today...but no one did. 

To be fair, last year I forgot. I was happily minding my own business on October 7th and in the evening, my mum called me to see how I was managing, on this, the 3rd anniversary of my dad’s death. I replied, “Well, I was doing just fine forgetting about it until you called to remind me. Now I feel like shit that I forgot. What I horrible person I am. Thanks for reminding me.” She felt terrible, but I’m pretty sure I felt worse. 

So ironically,  I celebrated thanks today, on the anniversary of his death. I am thankful though. I’m still alive. But I can’t help but be bitter that I am dadless and that my youngest daughter will tell people, “My mom’s dad? Oh, he died before I was born.” And my oldest daughter will say, “Oh, ya, my grandpa died when I was two. I don’t remember him.”

For those two things I am not thankful.

I miss my dad, although sometimes I wonder why because we had a complicated relationship. Part of me did not like him very much and will probably never forgive him for leaving my mum and me when I was 15, essentially ending my life as I knew it. Another part of me loved him deeply because he was my dad. He taught me why the moon waxes and wanes. He told me never put up with a guy with a temper, because one day the temper would be turned on me. He had this deep, gravelly laugh that I can’t quite remember anymore. He smelled like tobacco smoke and he read copious amounts of science fiction. He paced while he thought about a difficult problem or if something he heard on the news was driving him crazy. He started making bread right before he died and whenever he experimented a little too much and had a crappy batch, he fed it to the ducks in the park across the street. 

When he died, both my brother and I were living outside of Canada and we had to fly home to clear out his apartment. Neither of us had a lot of time as we had to return to our homes, so we left a lot of stuff, but we did the best we could. Perhaps if one of us had had a home in Canada, we would have kept more things that belonged to him. More things that he had once touched. I have one teak box with a few artifacts from his life and I wish I had kept a shirt or something. The most time-consuming and hardest tasks we had was packing up his books because both my brother and I would grab the odd book from his collection as we packed them up and stop to read for a bit. We both packed a box each to take home with us, but there were so many, we couldn't keep the rest. I now have one row of books in my own library that once belonged to my father. I don’t even know why I picked those particular ones or if I will ever read them and I couldn’t tell you the title of even one. My eyes pass over them, unfocused, when I go upstairs to pick a book out. I suppose it’s a type of avoidance. One day I will pick one out and hold it and think about my dad holding it, reading it. Maybe I will picture him standing in the bookstore, deciding whether to buy it or not. Bookstore visits were a thrice-weekly occurrence for my dad. In any case, I have not read any of these books yet. But I will.

So what it came down to was packing up my dad’s stuff, taking a few small things and donating the rest to charity. The last night was packing the rest of the books. We packed all the books and loaded them into a van and drove them over to a used bookstore. It was dark, raining. Middle of October in Southwest Ontario, you know? So we get to the used book store and they don’t want them. We stare at each other in the wet and the gloom and decide to take them to Value Village. It seems like a good idea because the money will go to charity and we both think Dad would like that. So we unload the boxes and there are so many of them. I tell Dave we need to count them and we come up with twenty-seven. And that’s it. My dad’s life came down to 27 boxes of books abandoned on a rainy night on the cold pavement. 

I wonder what I’m supposed to get out of this experience. Losing my dad at the age of 31 and having this difficult, often sad, often strained relationship with him before he was taken from us. In my mind, I see his books that he loved so much being dropped off at some second hand place and us driving away. It took every ounce of strength I had not to run back and take every book back with me. I wish to this day that I had. 

Do you want to know what I got out of it? To be thankful for every second I have on this earth with these dear people I love. To love life and read books. To look at the moon and remember what he taught me. And to feed the ducks.

The things we lie about to ourselves...

1) That graham crackers are better than cookies and therefore not a "guilty food" and you can eat as many as you like
2) That if you eat the suggested serving portion each time you help yourself to said graham crackers, the calories don't count as much
3) That if you buy something on sale that you didn't really need in the first place, you are actually saving money
4) That if you have a cigarette when you're drinking, you're not really smoking
5) That fat-free foods are better for you when in actuality they usually have more sugar in them to make up for the lost fat
6) That if you weigh yourself with your clothes on, you can take 5 pounds off the total
7) That people are staring because you are so good looking when it's really because your underwear is showing, you have toilet paper stuck to your foot or you have spinach in your teeth
8) That you didn't really just spend the entire evening watching reality television, that you maybe watch an hour of television a night or every other night when in actuality you just watched it straight, without moving, from 6:00 until 11:00 (that is 5 hours a night in case you don't feel like doing the math because Survivor just came on and you're not really reading anymore)
9) That you enjoyed that weird artsy film when really you just don't want to admit you didn't like it, didn't get it and you want your money back
10) That you don't eat that many sweets or junk food...
11) That you have nothing to wear in your closet
12) That you totally just biked for an hour when it was probably about 30 minutes
13) That when you were biking, you were absolutely going hard-core fast, for-all-you-are-worth pedaling
14) That you really do need a new pair of shoes because you hate every pair you own when secretly you love all your shoes immensely
15) That you named your phone because you thought it was funny, but now you really think of it as another person
16) That you love every, single second of being a parent and never, ever want to tear your hair out by the roots in frustration or move very far away from any place that allows children to exist.
17) That Kraft dinner is a good lunch because it has milk in it, but you are too damn tired of saying no not to make it
18) That if you just quickly glance at a text message but don't reply then you aren't really texting and driving
19) That you studied for hours and hours and it was not broken up with painting your nails, surfing the net, job searching, playing with a new app, eating graham crackers or writing in your blog

What I did in the five years between posts...

Iwentbacktoworkigotanewjobiquitmyjobandmovedtogermanywiththefamilyandlivedtherefor16monthswemovedbacktocanadaigotanewjobtheniwentbacktouniversityigotpregnantwehadanotherdaughter(thatmakestwo!)nowimastayathomemom

...The end...

Adventures in Germany, Part 1

After yesterday's rather heavy post, I thought I'd share some of my European Adventures to give you a laugh.

In 2008, Brad, Kate and I moved to southwest Germany. We lived for 16 months in Stadelhofen, a small village in the Black Forest of Germany. We were about 20 minutes from the French city of Strasbourg, which is part of the Alsace region in France and it has almost as much German influence as French. Strasbourg was the border city Marie Antoinette travelled through on her way to Versailles. This is my story about the first time I visited Strasbourg.

On Tuesday I went to France. By myself. Well, with Kate of course. One of the other Canadians came by in the morning to say hi and we were chatting and she said they have an Ikea in Strasbourg and I thought to myself, 'Oh yeah? I need a broom and some garbage cans, I might end up going there' I mean, Ikea is the same everywhere, right? So after she left, I googled the store  and voila! I got the address and a map. Looking at the driving directions I thought to myself, ah, not so hard, just a right, left, straight, straight, right left, straight, no problem, I can totally do this. So I started off and I drove around Stadelhofen (where I live), then to Apperweir, on to  Zusenhofen, and halfway to Ulm, for about 30 minutes trying to find the B28 to Strasbourg because, of course, right off the bat, the instructions were not correct. Anyway, I finally found the highway and I made it to France, which is only about 20 minutes away. So I get on this enormously huge 401-entering-Toronto-esque type highway in France and I'm thinking, Oh God, I will never find my way home, I should turn around right now, but stupid me, I kept going. I followed my directions and found that they were not that bad and that the signs on the roads kind of  jived with what was in my instructions, so I followed them and holy mother of God, after about ten nail-biting minutes on the highway, including two exits and another highway I made it to Ikea. Parked, immediately had a cigarette. Contemplated turning right around and going back before I forgot how to get back. No, no, I'll just follow the instructions in reverse, it'll be fine, after all , I made it here, didn't I? And what woman can really resist a beautiful, shiny, blue and yellow Ikea, just beckoning to her? Not me, that's for sure.

Well, I shopped for about twenty minutes, the whole time close to tears, thinking, stupid stupid stupid. Should have waited until Brad was with me, then at least we'd lost together, or I should have printed instructions on how to get BACK, but no, had to go off half-cocked. I bought a dustpan with a brush, a laundry hamper and a stool for Kate. Briefly thought about gathering enough courage to ask a stranger 'Parlez vous anglais?' and then beg for instructions on how to get back to Germany. Decided against it. Got back to the car, drove around Strasbourg for about 15 minutes, getting more and more panicky when I realized I had no idea how to get back on the huge highway that I'd just been on, but in the opposite direction. After passing Ikea several times and realizing that I was just going in circles, I finally swallowed my pride and parked again, went in again (and the whole time I have Kate, so I'm hauling her around) and after about ten minutes of glancing shyly at a young couple and trying to pump up enough courage to use my French, I finally asked them if they spoke English. THANK GOD they did. They started to help me, but an older German gentleman heard and also spoke English, so he instructed me how to get home and I got home in about 35 minutes. Just like that. Ironically, I was on the right highway the first time I left Ikea and chickened out, I just had to go further. Scary as hell, seriously, but I am kind of proud of myself. We had dinner at Brad's friend's house that night and his wife said I was very cool, that she has many girlfriends that would not go to the Ikea in Strasbourg because the highway is too complicated and scary. I did not explain to her that I didn't know any better.

I've come to the conclusion that not only should Google maps tell you HOW to get to a place, they should RATE the route. Like, give it a 1-10 rating, 1 being straight there, no highways or turning and 10 being the craziest, busiest highways and many exits and turns. e.i. 10 being the nail-biting, cigarette-yearning, twisting-hair, most scary-ass thing you have ever done.

You may be asking, what was Kate doing while I was freaking out? She was sleeping. Like a baby you might say. Traitor.

Dear Bullies:

To All the Bullies I Knew in High School:

The first two years of high school I spent mostly in fear, sadness, and desperation because I was bullied by the same group of girls almost every day. Junior high was the same, but not quite so bad. It was more like training for the real thing.

Bullied. It seems so odd that there is so much focus on it now. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad people are recognizing it and trying to stop it. I'm glad kids are more aware of it and that schools say they will not tolerate it. But when I was in high school, bullying was just part of life. It was something we had to deal with in order to grow. We were going to grow up and have to deal with difficult people all the time, so we better get used to it. Boys will be boys and girls can be vicious. Well, being harassed and embarrassed on a daily basis did not make me better at dealing with difficult people, it made me terrified of confrontation.

In junior high, when I was 12, it was a group of three girls, who, for whatever reason, decided they hated me. As I recall it was because one girl liked my "boyfriend" and her friends supported her. They spread rumors that I was a slut and had already lost my virginity, they said I was stupid, they told people I was a bitch, they confronted me several times face-to-face and said they were going to beat me up. They never touched me, but I lived in fear that one day, when I was walking home alone, one of them would be there to punch me in the face, as she so nastily put it. I still remember all their names, but the main girl, the girl who was jealous of my boyfriend, my friends, my hair, I have no idea what, her face is burned into my mind. Her thin lips pressed into a sneer and her eyes glittering with hate. Because I was 12 and such a threat to her world? In oft repeated chat short form, WTF? 23 years later, I picture her face and I start to shake a little while I write this entry. I never told my mom, I never told any teacher. I just went to school every day with a knot of fear in my stomach hoping it wouldn't be too bad that day.

And it wasn't all bad. I had great friends who supported me, promised they would have my back if any of those girls so much as touched me. But who are we kidding? They were as powerless as me and they couldn't be my bodyguards. Thankfully, because the mean girls were a year older then me, they eventually graduated to high school and the next year I found myself in with the toughest group of kids in the school. They were from an area of town were poor kids and rich kids mingled together but all had various difficulties at home which meant they adopted each other as brothers and sisters. My own home life was great, my parents were still married, we lived in a nice house, we had everything we needed, but I was still welcomed into the group. Into the fold I went and I finally belonged somewhere. I didn't even need to be tough to be friends with them, they liked me because I was nice. And they were tough enough that I was protected by their reputation. No one was going to mess with me when I ran with a bunch of tough kids like that.

Then I graduated and went to high school. We'd moved in the meantime and I was starting at a school where I knew four people out of 1500. Again, I didn't belong and it wasn't long before some girls sniffed this sad fact out and began to pick on me.

All you want to do in high school is blend in, be cool, have a group to hang out with and just get through it. Some people even manage to have some fun. I wasn't a joiner, I didn't go in for clubs or sports, but I managed to make a few friends. Some of them I'm still friends with, incredible as that seems. I met a guy, we started "dating." I wasn't on anyone's radar and life was pretty good. My family had moved to a farm, so we were kind of isolated, but I had a horse and I loved the country. School was a place to go to see my new friends, hear the gossip and just hang out between classes. Lessons didn't really factor in.

Then, one day, it all changed. I knew that there were a couple girls in grade ten who didn't really like me, they gave me dirty looks in the halls and I always felt like they were whispering about me to each other. I laughed that off as vain. After all, who was I but a silly little niner of no import to them? They probably didn't even know who I was I told myself.

I went to a party one night with a few friends. I wasn't an isolated loner, a geek with no friends, a psychopath in the making, I had friends, I got invited to parties. Some people might even remember me as being popular. But this one party, this one night, there was a girl there that I knew didn't like me. She was one year older than me and for whatever reason I never learned, she had decided she didn't like me. I wasn't really concerned. Honestly, I don't like everyone I meet, I don't expect everyone who meets me to want to be bosom buddies, but I thought I could win this girl over. And then that undercurrent of hate I was starting to feel at school would dissolve and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

So I smiled at her. I thought, hey, I'm friendly, I've made friends here, I can make this girl like me. Every time I caught her looking my way, I offered her a small smile. I thought I was making headway. Then a friend of mine (who was in this girl's class) came over to me and said, "Megan, you know I like you and I'm not saying this to be mean, I'm just relaying a message for your own good. Meangirl just said if you smirk at her one more time, she's going to come over and wipe your stupid smile off your face. So, you know, just don't look at her anymore, ok?"

I still remember the shock and outrage I felt as my friend said this to me. I was trying to be NICE! I was trying to be FRIENDLY! And this girl thought I was smirking at her? Taunting her? I look back at that night and cannot recall a time that my intentions were more thoroughly misunderstood. And I've been married for 12 years and had plenty of those head-shaking fights where you just think, Really? You honestly think that's what I meant? And the added insult of being told to "just not look at her anymore"! Who the hell did she think she was, telling me where to look? But at the same time, it scared me. I didn't have my tough friends to back me up anymore and I didn't want to push the issue. I really can't stand fist fights, I've never been able to handle the idea of them in real life and the thought that someone wanting to smash their fist into my face scared the hell out of me.

So that was the start of it. Soon I had a new group of three girls harassing me. They spread rumors about me too and taunted me, yelled at me in the halls. One of the worst insults was a nickname they gave me that followed me for the next year and a half, until I moved away and left the school.

"Hey Booger! Hey, yeah, I'm talking to you bitch," they laughed as I walked by. I could feel my face turning scarlet with embarrassment and confusion. Booger? Why were they calling me Booger? Gross! I remember looking around to see if anyone else had heard. Of course they had, lots of people were staring, a few were laughing, some were just looking away from me in embarrassment. These three girls kept calling me Booger and it took six months for me to find out why. It was as simple (and embarrassing) as talking to a boy one day who noticed I had a booger in my nose and he went and told a bunch of people about it. Word got back to those girls and they gleefully called me Booger for the next year and a half. They probably still call me that, I have no idea. What I do know is that 20 years later I am ridiculously conscious of what is going on in and around my nose at all times.

Another day, the three of them fell in step behind me as I was walking to class and starting talking about that new bitch, you know, Megan? Yeah, what a little slutty bitch she is, if I ever catch her alone, she better watch it because I'm going to kick her ass into next week. She's fucking dead if I ever see her outside of school, what a fucking slutty whore. She's so fucking high on herself, but she's nobody, she's nothing. And I walked in front of them, my books clutched to my chest, my head down so no one would see the tears in my eyes. I didn't turn around and yell at them, I didn't stick up for myself. I just cried silently to get to class. I couldn't even duck into a washroom to avoid them, because what if they followed me in and really did start hitting me? I pictured myself with a cut lip, a blackened eye, sitting alone, bleeding, in the bathroom after they left. Definitely not an escape plan.

And so on it went. Every night I would lie in bed and think about those girls and what I would say to them if I were brave enough. I wished that my old, tough friends from junior high were around to protect me. I knew that I would never stick up for myself, never speak out, that I would walk through the halls with them yelling "Booger!" and laughing at me and I would never tell on them. It might surprise you to know I never once thought of telling a teacher or reporting them to the principal. It was my problem and I had to deal with it. It didn't matter that I was too frighten. My fright was just another problem I had to deal with and get over. I didn't tell my mom, or my dad. I might have mentioned it, but I know it never turned into a big deal, that my mom never called the school to discuss a bullying issue. We talk about it now. My mother and I. She's a teacher now, at the same junior high I attended when I was 12. She says she had no idea that I was being harassed like that, if she had known...well, what would she have done? Probably nothing, because back then it was just something you put up with. You think your kid is exaggerating. Like, but mom! EVERYONE has these jeans! Parents didn't get involved like they do now, they weren't aware of just how badly bullies affect kids. My mom says if it was happening now, she would never let it slide, that she'd be calling the school, the parents. But that is now. Back then, I just cried myself to sleep each night and dreaded the arrival of the school bus in the morning. I went to school in total dread of what horror this new day would bring.

I spread it around that I was a pacifist. That I never fought and I didn't believe in fighting. My reasoning was that it would hold the fist fights at bay because not even a mean girl is going to throw a punch at a pacifist. Pretty much the most cowardly thing you could ever do is hit a person who has told the world they would not fight back. It was the only thing I ever did to defend myself. And in the process of telling people I was a pacifist, I realized I was. I would never hit another human being in anger or participate in a fight. Quite honestly I thought fist-fighting was vulgar and low-class and I was above it all. Okay, so maybe when the mean girls accused me of walking around like a snotty shit, they had a slight point. Still, I stand by that opinion. And I still don't like fights.

That was grade nine and grade ten wasn't much different. The taunts continued. The threats rang out. The name Booger followed me everywhere. At a time when all you want to do is blend in and be accepted, being called Booger doesn't exactly help.

In the fall of grade ten, one of the girls approached me at a party. She had been in a terrible car accident that summer, one in which she had almost died. As I recall, her neck or back had been broken and while she could walk, she had to wear a halo that had been surgically screwed into her head to keep her spine from shifting. I guess this accident had opened up her heart and mind and she came to realize what she had done to me the year before was incredibly unfair. She came up to me and said, "I'm sorry about all that shit I said to you last year. I can't speak for the other two, but I need to apologize to you. Things are different for me now, I realize how short life can be and I don't want to have regrets. I get it if you hate me, but I'm sorry and I won't be mean to you anymore." It took a lot of guts for her to say that. She could have just ignored it all, maybe stopped participating in the bullying, but essentially just ignore me. But she didn't. She had the guts to admit her complicity and apologize for it. I've always admired her for that and we became friends afterwards. We don't talk much anymore, but she's on my Facebook and if anybody asked, I'd say she was a friend.

Unfortunately, her apology seemed to fuel the fire for her two friends. They still hated me and still threatened me on a daily basis. I learned to avoid them, to take different routes so I wouldn't run into them on the way to class. One day, the ringleader, another girl whose face is burned into my memory even 20 years later, sent a message through a friend of mine to meet her in the stairwell near the gym. Ironically, it was the same friend who warned me at that party a year before that I better stop being so damn nice and watch my back. I didn't want to meet this girl, I was imagining her punching me, finally, after all those threats, but I didn't know how I could avoid the confrontation. My friend urged me to go, said she'd be there the whole time and that it would be better to just face it. If I ran away, which I dearly wanted to do, I would be branded a coward and things would never get better. So I went. And I stood there, mute, nodding my head, tears streaming down my cheeks as this girl started yelling at me in front of about twenty or thirty other kids. She told me what a stupid little bitch I was and who the hell did I think I was, walking around like I owned the school when it was pretty clear that everyone hated me. Did I see the people standing around? Every one of them hated me and wanted to see her kick my ass once and for all. I was nothing. I was nobody. I was a loser and if I kept walking around like queen shit, she was going to punch me in the face enough times to wipe that stupid fucking grin off my face. That I would need a fuck load of Tylenol to ever get my smile back.

I just kept nodding, agreeing with her, hoping she would finish up soon so I could flee back to my small group of friends. What hurt the most wasn't the threats of hitting me. It was the realization that all those people sided with her, that they hated me too. I never thought I was popular, or that everyone loved me, but to realize they hated me? What had I ever done to them? Dated a boy they liked? Laughed too loudly in the hall? Looked at them wrong?

Finally she was done. And I turned around to leave and realized my small group of friends were immediately behind me, ready to punch HER in the face if she touched me. I don't condone violence and especially not men hitting women, but when my guy friend said he was just waiting for her to throw a punch so he could hit her back (knowing I wouldn't), even the pacifist in me hugged him hard. I was only 15, sue me.

A miracle happened that afternoon. That girl's friend, someone who had not been part of the threats and taunts, came up to me and said, "I want you to know, what she said to you it wasn't true. Everyone there was hoping you'd lay her out, shut her tough mouth up for once. What she just did was really uncool and I want you to know I don't agree with her. Good for you for taking it and then walking away. Maybe she'll finally leave you alone." She had never stuck up for me before, but I guess her friend had finally taken it too far. People were starting to see that I was being bullied and that it wasn't cool. They started telling her to lay off, the shut up. It didn't change her feelings towards me, she still gave me dirty looks, still yelled, "Hey Booger!" occasionally but she didn't try to confront me openly anymore. Mostly it just got ignored.

Then I moved away and started at a new school. This school was a lot bigger and in a lucky coincidence, one of my best friends had also moved and would be attending the same school. At least with her by my side and a sea of students around me who didn't know about the booger, I could finally blend in and just be a high school student. I was never harassed at this school. No girls ever decided that they were going to kill me. No one threaten me or made fun of me. I never, to this day, found out why that girl hated me so much. It was something I wondered about incessantly because if I could have changed it, so she would leave me alone, you can bet I would have. But she never told me. As far as I know, she just hated my face and wanted to break it.

My story isn't that bad. I know the bullying that goes on inside and outside of school is so unbearable for some kids that they choose to take their lives, rather than live with the torment. I didn't contemplate suicide as an escape. But I can understand why a person would because the constant fear and sadness that I lived with for 18 months was humiliating and exhausting. And I can honestly say it has scarred my life because I will never forget it. I still shake to remember those days, some worse than others, when I would walk into school, my stomach in knots because I was terrified of what fresh hell my tormentors had in store for me that day. The nights when I couldn't sleep because I was lying in bed, imagining my ultimate payback, my revenge, crying because I knew it was a lie and that I would just put up with it, day after day.

It hasn't made me stronger. I still shrink from confrontation. Even in safe environments like the classroom, I have panic attacks speaking out because of what others might think of me. In the moments after I've confidently given my opinion in front of 50 other students, my hands shake and my heart wallops in my chest. I don't want to be special and I don't want to stand out. That is what bullies took from me, even if they never actually hit me.

My daughter told me today this kid has been bugging her at school. She considers him a bully. I told her how I was bullied, told her some of what those girls from so long ago said to me, to my friends, to their friends. She looked at me with round eyes and asked me what I did. I told her I didn't do anything, that I cried to sleep at night and was scared to go to school. She asked me if I would tell one of my teachers if someone was bullying me and I told her that was what she was supposed to do, or come to me like she had. She said, "Yes, but mum, what would you do NOW? Would you tell your teacher if someone was bullying you?" No sweetie, I'm a grownup now and I have to deal with it myself if it happens.

I didn't tell her that being a grownup doesn't help. But now I have my own kids to worry about and I have to have a talk with my kid's teacher about this bully. Even though the idea makes me shake and my hearts begins to wallop.

The Academy Awards

Last night, along with millions of other people, I watched the Oscars. For once I was able to stay up and watch the whole thing since I didn't have to work the next day, but now I wish I hadn't. It was a mishmash of ideas stuck together and called an awards show. I liked Ellen, I thought she was funny (a big improvement from Chris Rock who advocates hate with his racist black vs white humour), but she was barely even on the show. Then there was the singing, each year I can't stand the singing numbers, but this year seemed worse. Maybe it was the fact that three of the songs were from the same picture because apparently there wasn't any other movies with original songs in them? The show obviously ran long, not ending until long after midnight, but they had this guy recapping at the end of some sections on who's just won and how many Oscars were left to give away and talking inanely about Oscars work pools you may have entered. It was painful to see how many Oscars were left to give out after sitting on my couch for three hours. Here's a clue guys: If you're running into overtime, delete the guy who is talking about stuff that no one cares about.
And while I thought it was cool that a nobody like Jennifer Hudson (who was voted off American Idol for crying out loud), just won for best supporting actress, I seriously thought I was going to get an unwanted look at her nipple during her musical number. It came THIS CLOSE to popping right out and making the Academy wish they'd never heard of Jennifer Hudson. I was glad that she was on and off stage during the number and it looked like she was able to adjust her boob, because it looked a lot less likely to jump out and say hi during the last half of the act.
Will Ferrell and Jack Black were funny in a Broadwayeque number lamenting the fact that they would never be nominated and challenging the nominees to a fight. The best part was Will Ferrell saying that Mark Walberg was actually pretty tough, so he didn't want to fight him. "No, really, I think you're a great actor"
They also had these people who gathered behind a screen and made shadows of some of the movie logos or themes. This sounds lame, I know, but you see these shadows of people tumbling onstage and they jump, join, and stretch together and suddenly instead of ten people you have a clear picture of the shoe from the Devil Wears Prada, or four penguins from Happy Feet or a gun for The Departed. It was weird, but really kind of cool.
The Departed won Best Picture and Martin Scorsese won for the same picture for Best Director. Since the picture kicked ass (was very bloody and shocking, but also sad and exciting, quite a ride) and since Scorsese, a legend of Hollywood has never won before, those final Oscar moments, while maybe not worth a four hour wait, were truly wonderful to see.

Embarrassingly Clumsy

I went to Ikea with Tara yesterday and before we started shopping, we fed ourselves and the babies. The restaurant at the Burlington Ikea is pretty good and they provide microwaves for any baby food you might bring. Kind of refreshing that they don't insist that you eat their food. Anyway, after we were all done eating, I put our trays on the tray rack. Then Tara thought maybe she left her tubberware lid on the tray, so I went to look, but couldn't find it. She couldn't find it either, so I thought I would double check the tray. I pulled the tray out from the rack about halfway and then used both hands to start searching through the dishes and napkins on the tray. Unfortunately, no sooner had I let go of the tray then it came crashing down to the floor, spilling uneaten food and breaking dishes with a resounding *CRASH* I was so embarrassed, I started cleaning up the mess, hoping no one would notice. Considering there was salad, apple sauce, meatballs and mac and cheese mixed in with the broken dishes on the floor and the whole mess had somehow spread out about three feet in every direction, trying to hide it was futile, but I tried anyway. While I was thinking this, I picked up a piece of broken dish by the sharp edge and cut my finger. It wasn't much worse than a paper cut, but it was bleeding a lot more. This is when the Ikea employee came out and said, "Oh, don't worry about cleaning that up, we can do, it's our job" and I said, "OK, is there a place I can wash my hands? And I need a bandaid, I have a little cut" "OH, well, you need to come with me and talk to a manager, you'll have to fill out an incident report" Ah crap!!! So I followed the Ikea person over to the cashier, where, apparently, there was a manager. I went with her to the sink, but not before two customers saw my bleeding finger and made sympathetic but disgusted face at me. The manager had me wash my hands and swab the cut with alcohol (OUCH). The whole time this was happening, Tara was with the babies and she was probably wondering where the hell I was, because I went to check for her lid and then I disappeared! So I told the manager I would be right back, I had to tell my friend what had happen. The manager said that was fine, that Rob was coming up to fill in an incident report. Greaaaaaat! So we were standing there and the manager comes over and gives me a bandaid and then this guy comes up and says he's Rob and I told him that my finger was fine, that is was a tiny cut, no more than a paper cut, really, so he was like, "So you don't want to fill out a report?" And I was, "Um, if I don't have to, than no." So we were free to go. I had a bloody papertowel to throw out and Tara had a paper towel and a glass so I took them for her and since I didn't want to leave the glass on the counter, I put it on a tray that was on the dreaded tray rack. Only the floor was all slippery from my now mopped mess and my left foot slipped forward and I went down hard to ground on my right knee. I'm not kidding, I have a bruise today to prove it! I stood back up so quickly, I don't even think anyone noticed. At least, I'm really hoping no one noticed. I rushed over to Tara and said, "We have to leave, now. I just fell in the wet spot created by my mess and I don't want to have to fill out an incident report!" Tara started laughing at me and said, "Really, what happened, did you really fall? Are you ok?" And then, THEN, when I got home last night and I was putting stuff away and cleaning out my closet (I got a shoe holder and now my closet is all orgnaized) I fell down the stairs holding the baby and three bags of used clothes. I only fell down the three stairs leading to the landing, but I hurt my bum and my lower back. At least there wasn't a cafeteria full of people staring at me as I went down this time. I'm hoping that I spent all my clumsy tokens yesterday and that I have a accident-free Tuesday.
Oh, and the lid, the one that Tara couldn't find and thought was on the tray? She suddenly remembered that she left it over near the microwaves and then forgot to get it before we left the restaurant anyway!!! For all we know, that lid is still on the counter waiting for someone to claim it!

I Made a Sweater

I made a sweater for Kate. This is a picture of her in the sweater, she is obviously very excited about it (or maybe she's wondering how the baby in the other room has the same sweater as she does):
I did not use a pattern, because I didn't find one that I liked, so I made one up myself. It's not the greatest sweater ever made, but it's nice enough and I like the colours. It's something Kate can look at when she's a grownup and say, "My mother made that for me." My mother thinks I'm very daring to knit a sweater without a pattern. Woohoo, we're on the train to Thrillsville now. Stop the train, I'm getting out--knitting without patterns leds to chaos and chaos leds to anarchy, the whole world may collapse because I took two sticks and some yarn and decided to make up my own pattern. Knit one row, pearl one row. Omg I can't handle the pressure.

There Should Be People Who Do This For a Living

One broken latch, three stripped screws, one broken drill bit, two useless packs of latches, four skinned knuckles, three un-needed holes drilled into my cupboards and one blood blister later, I have managed to attach childproof latches to my four drawers in the kitchen. I'm very proud. Well, sorta proud. Already I hate them. Everytime I open a drawer *THUNK* and the drawer stops short of actually opening. And then *THUNK* the drawer stops as it's closing. I know it's better and safer for Kate since she is starting to "cruise" around the place and one of her favourite things is to open the drawers. She hasn't pinched her fingers yet, but our drawers are mean, I've been bitten by them myself. Anyway, this is what Kate thinks of my babyproofing:



She has had a fever for almost 48 hours. Well, an off and on fever. Low-grade, probably induced by teething, but it's still a fever. I know low fevers are actually good because it means she's strong and fighting something, but it still freaks me out that my baby has a fever. Words like, "fever spiked" and "deadly infection" keep buzzing in my head like angry bees, ready to sting if I pay too much attention to them.

First Haircut and Retarded Self-Help Books

Yesterday, after Kate fell asleep, I gave her a hair cut. It looks pretty good except now she looks more like a boy than ever! At least she has proper bangs now, instead of those annoying wispy bits of hair that went everywhere. And I have all these mini barrettes now that I can put in her hair so that people know she's a girl. It's kind of funny, because I find it annoying when she is wearing pink and people think she's a boy, but really, who cares? So people think she's a boy, it's not like it will last long and she'll grow up emotionally scarred because she was mistaken for a boy all the time. She doesn't know the difference, so she doesn't care! Cutting her hair for the first time made me feel nostalgic. Not too much more time before I go back to work :(
MSN was featuring a video series about this book called Babyproofing Your Marriage. One of their 'tips' was the Five Minute Fix, which is giving your husband a blowjob instead of having sex with him. Apparently, of the men interviewed, most agreed that they would do whatever their wife wanted (babysitting, housework, with a smile no less!) if they got regular blowjobs. This is just wrong on so many levels. First of all, how ridiculous is it to suggest giving a blowjob instead of sex? If I don't feel like sex, why on earth would I feel like giving my husband a blowjob? Secondly, the authors reason that it will get him off your back for a couple days without rejecting him completely. Honey, if you are just trying to get your husband off your back for a few days, why don't you try TALKING to him? Treating him like a chauvenistic pig isn't good for anybody. I know, I know, guys would rather get the blowjob than a heart-to-heart, but sometimes life sucks (or, in this case doesn't, ha ha). Thirdly, the authors, after interviewing many couples, found that women wanted more help, with the kids and the housework and guys wanted more sex. So the solution is a blowjob for him so he will help you clean the dishes? Fuck that, if my husband can't wash the dishes without me 'sexually servicing' him, I'd rather just wash the damn things alone! I'm not saying that our sex life is perfect, or that the occasional blowjob wouldn't help, but seriously, this is the solution three authors came up with to help millions of couples with kids? Here is a review I found: Jenna's Review It wasn't very flattering and I'm glad I read it before wasting my time with the book! Frankly, I'm a little disappointed with MSN for featuring such crap.
If a book like this can get published, surely I can write something worthwhile!

A Hole in My Sock

I have a hole in my sock and my bra isn't giving me enough support and my hair has split ends. Today everything seems sucky. Maybe I'm just depressed that Christmas is over...

Bona-Fide Standing

Today I looked up from writing my thank-you cards to see Kate standing at her new Baby Grand Piano, trying to reach the buttons at the back. She was STANDING, on her own two feet, by God! And tonight, because of a late nap, she DID NOT want to go to sleep at bedtime. I put her in her crib and left her room, but after 15 minutes of her howling, I had to go back in, I couldn't stand it anymore. I felt like I was torturing her! When I went back in her room, she was standing in her crib, holding onto the bar and screaming at the top of her lungs. I said to Brad, "You better come and see this!" Which probably gave him a heart-attack, but he was pretty excited when he came in and saw her standing there, all by herself! Doesn't she look happy in this picture?

Bona-Fide Crawling

My daughter's been dragging herself around the house for the last month or so in what one friend calls the 'wounded soldier crawl' and another calls the 'commando crawl'. Yesterday, Christmas day, it finally happened-she crawled on her hands and knees! She got on her hands and knees and started rocking back and forth like she usually does, but this time, instead of falling flat, she actually moved forward, all the way across the hall! I sat in amazement, watching her and all I could think to say was, "Holy shit!" It seemed unreal, that this baby, who only five months ago didn't even know she had feet, can actually crawl on all fours across my hall! I have to say, even with everything we got yesterday and the wonderful dinner with our family, that was surely the best Christmas present of them all!
This year was the first year we had Christmas dinner at our house. In previous years, we spent the day dragging ourselves around town, trying to spend time with my dad, Brad's parents, and my mum. It's usually worked out well, Christmas Eve at my dad's, breakfast at one mom's, dinner at the other, alternating every year. It was always fine, but I always, always dreaded Christmas coming and trying to work everything out. It always seemed like my responsibility and I hated that I had to divide my time between my dad, my mom and brad's parents, and make sure everyone was happy. The guilt of leaving my mom alone on Christmas Eve combined with the guilt of leaving my dad alone on Christmas Day, does not always make the season a jolly one for me. One year, we had everything planned and Brad's mom phoned a week beforehand and wanted to switch everything and I nearly had a nervous breakdown. Brad saved the day by saying that our plans stood as they were and that his mom had no right to change things a week before. God bless Brad!
Anyway, this year, with a new baby, I was dreading this arrangement more than usual because, as anyone with a baby or small child knows, getting them ready to go out, getting them in the car, getting to your destination, unpacking everything (kid and gifts), packing everything up again, taking them somewhere else and unpacking and packing, oh my GOD!!! And trying to find time to nurse her? Forget it, so my brillant plan was to have dinner here, in our teeny-weeny house. I just couldn't decide which grandparent would have to miss Kate's first Christmas, so my plan was to make sure no one did! To complicate matters, I invited a couple my mom knows because they were alone for the first time, with neither of their daughters coming home. Which would have been fine if I had talked to Brad about it before making the rash decision to invite them. The silences I endured after I told him were not pleasant and I don't really blame him, since he isn't of the 'the more the merrier' type. I should have known, I'm not really sure what possessed me to invite them, blame it on the abnormally large Spirit of Christmas I seem to be suffering from this year. Anyway, they came and Liz made the gravy, so THAT was ok. I think Brad has forgiven me. But if anyone remembers the incident of the rabbit in the spare room, they know I'm given acting in haste and repenting at leisure. You would think poor Brad would be used to it by now!

Can't Sleep

It's most aggravating when you KNOW you will be exhausted the next day. It's not like I can just pause my life and take a nap when I'm tired. I'm yawning. My eyes are itchy. But sleep eludes me tonight. Hmmm. I think I got that last bit from Jane Eyre.
I was lying in bed, thinking about money, a sure-fired way to lay awake all night. I was thinking about work and taking Kate to daycare and the idea, just the IDEA of it, gives me the shakes. In seven months, I've left her with a sitter five times. OMG. I swore I wouldn't be the kind of person who gives up her life to have kids, but I realize now that she IS my life. So anyway, five times, for maybe four hours at a time. And now I have to leave her with some stranger ALL DAY?! The idea is ridiculous. I miss the kid when she's in bed for the night.
So, I have a few plans to make sure this doesn't happen.
1) Take two kids in for $35-$50 a day, each
2) Bookkeeping from home
3) Pray that Brad's business takes off and he makes enough money for all of us
4) Research online jobs, to see if I can do any of them
5) Start internet porn site, collect money for dirty, stupid men
6) Invest in the stockmarket
7) Bet large amounts of money at the track
8) Become a personal shopper/errand runner for rich people
9) Get pregnant again and take another year of maternity leave after working for 13 weeks
10) Learn how to fix cars and open shop, with Kate as my apprentice
11) Write Great Canadian Novel and sell for thousands
12) Sell rights of Great Canandian Novel to movie producer for millions
13) Sell story of my life, as author of Great Canadian Novel, to different movie producer for more millions
So-do you have any ideas?

And Thanks For All the....Ducks?

The Kid likes the ducks. They quack happily when you pull their string (why does that sound kind of dirty?).

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW

My boob hurts. Yes, that's right, you heard me, my boob hurts. It's all lumpy and full of milk and even though I fed Kate on it for twenty minutes, it's still full. Blocked milkducts suck. I'm really glad I'm breastfeeding and I wouldn't switch to formula if you paid me, but I could live without the swollen breast. Part of me doesn't want to give up breastfeeding, but part of me is also looking forward to when my boobs go back to normal and I don't have to think about them or notice them or be constantly aware of them at all times. Do you know that I actually caught myself (several times) lifting first one breast and then the other IN PUBLIC to see which one was more full (and therefore which one I was going to feed her on next).
Holy Mother of God I need a warm compress.

Happy (Late) Halloween

We (meaning me and Kate, because Brad was on the afternoon shift) had a pretty good Halloween. I managed to not only give out some candy, but I visited people too. My mum and my in-laws were really pleased to see Kate and I arrive to "trick or treat" I even got some candy out of it! I ate so much chocolate in one night, I've been suffering from withdrawal all week.

I got Kate's costume on eBay (I'm telling you, eBay ROCKS). It was way too big, even if it was labelled 6-9 months, it would have easily fit my little friend E who is 18 months! So I ripped it all apart and made it many inches shorter and it turned out so cute-don't you think?
I was thinking I could use it as a pattern for next year and make her a little black bear costume or something. I have so much fake fur it's not even funny. Of course, it would probably be much easier to just BUY a pattern and use IT as a pattern, being as that's what they are for. We'll see how much time I have next year. Try none. Store bought costumes from now on.

I took a picture of my stomach to document what it looked like seven months later. I'm not publishing it here, but I have to say, I was pretty happy with the difference. My stomach is flatter than it was at 15 weeks, which was my first belly shot. I guess that means I'm back to normal.

Brad and I went this Indian food place and got take-out from their buffet yesterday. Oh. My. GOD they make good food. It's really amazing how much you can fit in a take-out tray when you try. They had fresh fruit too, so I stuck a banana in my pocket on the way out (which Brad made fun of later). I figured I had four servings of fruits and vegetables in one sitting, which totally rocks!

Success...Well, Sort Of

Today, my baby VOLUNTARILY opened her mouth when I offered her food! The food offered? Broccoli! Who knew that a child that came from me would prefer vegetables over fruit? Well, not entirely sure that's true because later she was offered a pear (mostly eaten by me) and she grabbed hold of it and used her two teeth to chew away on it. I think she just doesn't like baby food. I can't really blame her, what the hell does straining do to fruit to make it taste that shitty?

Anyway, another mommy friend told me Kate would probably prefer 'real' food to jarred baby food and cereal and she was right. The broccoli was just something from our dinner that I cooked a little longer. I think the bright green intrigued her and she opened her mouth like she does when she sees a favourite toy (right before stuffing as much of said toy into her mouth as possible). Can't say that she particularly enjoyed the broccoli once it was in her mouth, but lo and behold, she opened her mouth for a second helping. After that, forget it. Turned head and pursed lips reigned.

Anyway, tonight a good friend came over and man, she is one crazy girl! She loves babies and dogs and she just gets right down there with them to play. Today she was jumping up and down and talking to Kate and I have to say-Kate loved it. She even giggled out loud which is something she doesn't normally do unless she is physically stimulated (tickling, etc). It was hilarious. Kate was in her Bumbo chair rocking back and forth, like she was trying to dance, laughing her head off. This girl is the type of person you want to babysit your kids, because you know she wouldn't just park them in front of the TV, she would actually play with them and take them places. Cool chick.

Today was a crazy day, I was up all night (it seemed) with Kate, who awoke at 1:30 am and decided it was time to party. She didn't (would NOT) go back down until 5 am. Needless to say, with a killer sore neck and very little sleep, I wasn't really in the mood to party. Then, of COURSE, she slept most of the afternoon, so I got some shuteye then, but GOD. So, here I am at 1 am, not able to sleep, but tired nonetheless. This SUCKS!

I'm reading Jane Eyre again. I don't really remember it from the first time around, except that I felt I was struggling thru it. Now I find myself really enjoying it and wondering what will happen to Jane next. I've just gotten to the part where the owner of the school she's attending has made her stand on a stool in the middle of the great hall and told everyone she is a liar, but her nice headmistress has asked her the truth of her past and believes what Jane says. Altho I find it hard to believe anyone would be as cruel to a child as Mrs. Reed is to her niece Jane, I admire Jane's courage to stand up to her at the last, when Mrs. Reed lies about her character and behaviour. I find myself rooting for poor, downtrodden little Jane. I have a feeling that when I'm finished Jane Eyre I'll once again be convinced that I will never write anything worthwhile.

By the by, I may get some flak for this next comment, but I just finished re-reading The Secret Garden and I have to say, it's not that great! I know it's a beloved book and a classic, but the writer was a bit of a manic about flowers and the weather and let's face it, neither subject is very exciting. I can only handle so many passages describing the heather on the moor and the wind whistling through the eves. To be fair, it IS called The Secret Garden, so descriptions of flowers should be expected, but oh my God, enough! Also, I found myself re-reading certain sentences because vague pronouns and misplaced commas made it hard to read. In one sentence, a pronoun was missing altogether! I found myself wondering if the author ever listened to her editor.

Ah well, it's easy enough for me to criticize books, but I've never had the imagination to write one, have I?

Feeding a Baby

She looks very pleased for herself, doesn't she? I think she was particularly proud that she managed to get some on her forehead, where even the nicest person couldn't say it was anywhere near her mouth.

Introducing Kate to solids has not really been a very fun experience. She does not like anything at ALL and she turns her head away and purses her lips tightly. Sometimes she cries and sometimes she wags her head back and forth with a maniacal grin on her face and I'm quite, quite, sure she knows exactly how frustrating she's making this for me. I'm not one to compare her to other babies because I think that puts unfair pressure on her AND me, but I can't help thinking about how my friend's babies have taken to solids. They are the same age and when THEY see the spoon coming, THEY opens their mouthes and gulp whatever's being offered right down. They even cry if their mothers don't keep it coming. It's actually kind of funny and reminds me of A Clockwork Orange.

Kate, on the other hand, isn't going to be tricked, cajoled, persuaded, jollied, teased or forced into eating anything that isn't coming directly from my breast. I have told myself that my breastmilk is so damn delicious that she won't even consider an alternative.

Hi Ho.

Decorating

My husband and I have been busy the last week picking new chairs and paint for our living room. Yesterday we bought two armless chairs with red stripes. I love them! And we got a side table that matches our coffee table and a couple lamps. They should be here in a couple weeks and I can't wait.

Our whole house is white or beige and it's so boring. We're going to paint the livingroom a dark sage green and the dinette will be a couple shades lighter. I'd like to paint our bedroom a dark, deep blue, but all in good time! My husband has never really been interested in buying furniture or painting, but he suddenly decided that he couldn't live another minute in a white house. Hallelujah!!!

So I'm off to Walmart to pick out a couple of framed pictures I saw a few weeks ago. And maybe Winners or Home Sense. Everyone keeps saying how they have a great selection.

I haven't written for a while because Kate has decided naps are for wimps. She has a long sleeved onsie on with a pink rattle appliqued to the front and the words "SHAKE IT" embroidered next to it.

So-I gotta jet because the babe is crying and bored and I have pictures to buy (or at least look at until I have money to buy them with!)

Getting to Know You

Baby Dilemma # 7

There are four knitted baby dresses hanging in the closet that may or may not ever actually be worn. There are 12 tiny t-shirts and 7 little long-sleeve shirts, 5 miniscule sweaters, and 3 bitty sweatshirts of varying hues in the dresser draws. There are more pairs of teeny jeans in those same drawers than there are in my own dresser. And yet, I can't stop buying clothes for Kate, because everything is either incrediably cute or totally cool. I mean, who could possibly pass up a black t-shirt that says "I Don't Do Pink" that is made for a baby? Who could walk passed sparkle jeans that are only 7 inches long? Or a purple top that has "SPARKLE" embroidered in crazy lettering across the chest? And then there is the stuff you think you may NEED and the stuff you simply WANT. How do I differentiate between the two? Should I bother? And now I have to decide what snowsuit to get if any...not too bulky, not white, not to bright, not too big, not too small, something with feet, something with mitts, something that matches the cool polar-fleece hat I bought in July (it's soooo cute, it's got four tassles on the top and it's purple and pink and white and blue).

Meanwhile, in six months, I may very well be returning to work completely naked since I don't bother buying clothes for myself.

Anybody Want a Cat? Or a Dog?

Sometimes I just want to get rid of every pet and never think about animals again. I've always loved animals and when I was a kid, I wanted to be a veternarian. I grew up with pets and have had at least one pet almost my entire adult life. At the present time, I have two dogs, a cat and three fish. I've written about my cat before and I can't say my attitude towards him has changed much. I was outside enjoying a smoke (oh, don't EVEN start with the "I thought you quit") and the cat came up, all purry and friendly and we had a nice little chat, he and I. I scratched between his ears and he let me. I thought we were friends. Well. Yesterday, I dared to fall asleep with the babe while watching The Great Muppet Caper. By the time I woke up, the chicken I put out for dinner was gone. Brad said there was a little hunk left on the floor and when I blamed the cat, he said, "It looked like they all had a go at it." Which is probably true, the cat would have dragged it out of the sink and the when he knocked it to the floor, the dogs would have moved in for the kill. And to add insult to injury, because it was raining, Cosmo, the pug, decided that he was too special to get wet and peed on my floor. I swear I slept for a maximum of thirty minutes.

And it doesn't even end there. I stupidly, I admit it, left butter on the counter. We never have butter because margerine is always soft and easier to use, whereas butter needs to be left out to soften and we don't have a proper butter dish. You may ask why I need a proper butter dish when I can use a little plate and I will tell you why: because when you wake up in the morning, the little plate has been licked clean of all that buttery goodness!

Damn the cat!

My Manipulative Little Nut

Sometimes I call Kate a nut. Sometimes I think she is manipulating me, so today I've decided she's a manipulative nut. Just as I sat down to write about how I was actually able to shower today, I heard Kate begin to cry. She used to wake up happy and babbling, but ever since she learned to roll over, she wakes up, rolls onto her stomach and begins to cry. So I hear her cry this aft and sure enough, she's on her tummy. By this time she was sucking contentedly on her blanket and wasn't crying anymore. I laughed at her and said, "Ok my love, it's time to roll back on your back all by yourself" and to my surprise and delight, she DID! I laughed again and told her how brilliant she was and walked out of the room to get some leave-in conditioner to put in my hair.

I had hardly turned my back and she started BAWLING, like I'd told her that I was never coming back and she had to live in the crib forever. You could tell she was using real tears and everything, she was crying so hard. So I come back in, still massaging the conditioner in my hair and I say, "My silly nut, I love you, I'll be one sec and you can get out of the crib!" in a sickeningly bright and cheery voice to show her my sincerity. She continued to cry so I put my face right down to her face and kissed her nose and she stopped crying as abruptly as a faucet being turned off. Then I stood straight again and she started to scream, like she couldn't believe I'd leave her AGAIN. By this time I was done with the hair and I picked her up and kissed her tears and laughed at her and told her she was a crazy nut and she stopped crying so fast, she hiccuped. Then she started to laugh. The tears were still wet in her eyes and she's laughing her ass off.

Now I can't decided if she genuinely needed some mummy loving, or if she's just checking to see how fast I'll come when she cries.

They Grow Up So Fast

This Kate checking out the mirror in my bedroom. She is five and half months old and already practicing how to kiss! She slobbered all over my mirror!

A Little Bit About Me

1.MY FAVORITE BREAKFAST IS? Mini-wheats with the milk soaked in a bit

2. THE MOVIE I'VE WATCHED MOST NUMBER OF TIMES?Forrest Gump, I still cry at the part when he's on the platform talking about Vietnam and Jenny calls "Forrest!!" and they run towards each each through the water. It doesn't matter how many times I see it!

3. SPEND MY LEISURE TIME WITH? Leisure time? What is this thing they call leisure time?

4. IF I COULD HAVE ANY CAR IN THE WORLD,WHAT WOULD IT BE? A red Jeep Wrangler

5.FAVORITE HOUSEHOLD CHORE? None, that's why they're called chores.

6. WHEN I WAS A KID I DREAMED OFBECOMING? A Veterinarian.

7. FAVORITE COLORS? Red, black (and don't comment that black isn't a colour, I'm AWARE)

9. WHEN I DIE, I'D RATHER BE CREMATED OR BURIED? Cremated

10. IF I COULD REPEAT COLLEGE, I'D TAKE? Well, since I'm currently a student, I don't think this question applies, but if I could take anything in the world and it didn't matter how long it took, I'd go back in time and be a veterinarian.

11. THINGS I CAN'T LEAVE HOME WITHOUT? My baby.

12. FIRST THING I BOUGHT WITH MY FIRSTSALARY? My first pair of black, eight-hole Docs.

13. I'D LIKE TO BE REMEMBERED AS? A fun person who told good stories.

14. IF A BOOK WAS MADE INTO A MOVIE,WOULD YOU STILL BOTHER TO READ THE BOOK? Yup! I've probably read it before it was made into a movie . Everyone knows the book is almost always better than the movie!

15. SPECIALTY IN COOKING? Um, Chili? Cooking's not really my thing!

16. FIRST CRUSH? This boy named Terry and his girlfriend laughed her ass off when she found out and said WHY?

17. FAVORITE HANG-OUT? My very own house!

18. BEST PLACE TO SHOP? Old Navy (baby section of course!)

19. DO YOU LIKE TO WATCH PLAYS? Not especially. We used to go to Stratford with Brad's parents and once all four of us fell asleep! Alice Through the Looking Glass was pretty good!

20. FAVORITE PLACE IN YOUR HOUSE? My baby's room.

21. BEST GIFT YOU'VE GIVEN? My digital camera from my family (but mostly from Brad)

22. WEIRDEST GIFT YOU RECEIVED? A porcelain rooster. Don't ask.

23. GIFT THAT YOU WANT TO RECEIVE AS OF THIS MOMENT? A new car, LOL

24. WHAT TIME IS IT? 10:23 A.M

25. HOW MANY DIFFERENT CITIES HAVE YOU LIVED IN? Three

26. YAHOO OR MSN? msn!!!

27. LEFT OR RIGHT? Right

28. BLACK OR WHITE? Black

29. BLACK OR BLUE PEN? Black pen

30. SANDALS OR SHOES? Docs!

31. COLGATE OR CREST? Wait a sec, I have to check...Colgate.

32. FLOSS OR TOOTHPICK? Floss

34. ROBOCOP OR RAMBO? Robocop

35. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate

36. COKE OR PEPSI? Coke

37. FAVOURITE TV SHOW? Grey's Anatomy

38. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Cory

39. LAST PERSON WHO TXTED YOU? Andrea

40. LAST PERSON WHO MADE YOU LAUGH? The baby

41. LAST PERSON WHO MADE YOU CRY? The baby (LOL)

42. LAST TIME YOU CRIED? I don't remember, last month?

43. YOU SEE ME ALWAYS EATING? Chocolate

A Bonefide Tooth

It happened. I put a finger in my baby's mouth and felt a tooth! We had company last night, my friend  came with her daughter who is just over a year older than Kate, her husband and a couple other friends.

I was so excited about the tooth, I called my mom after Kate went to bed and left a message about her tooth. Today I have all these mother fears about this new development. I have to brush her teeth now! And what if she bangs her little tooth and chips it? What if she cuts her lip on it? Gawd! Motherhood is so immensely satisfying, but it comes with all these crazy questions. Someone once told me the minute you find out you're pregnant, you begin to worry and you never stop worrying from that moment on. I'm not a super-paranoid mom, I think I'm pretty laid back, but it's hard not have a few fears.

Today I went to my friend's baby's baptizism. There were about 12 babies being baptized and it seemed a little assembly-line to me, but whatever. I sat with a mutual friend and we whispered to each other through the service, which seemed a little sacrilegious, but it was so boring. Kate was really good, she had on her little fairy dress and she made a few whooping noises, but basically she sat on my knee and swung her legs the entire time. She also spent a good part of the time flirting with the men!

I don't think, if there is a God, he/she would be so cruel as to doom a child to Purgatory just because its parents didn't get it baptized. When Kate is older and she decides this is something she wants, we will support her, but I just don't believe in baptisms for babies.

My baby has a tooth!

I Made a Quilt

I made a quilt. I'm very happy with it, as it's my first try and it turned out really well. Now I'm going to tackle a big quilt. I decided I'm going to do the whole thing in corduroy, I can't wait to start it, it's going to look so cool!

I would post a picture of the quilt, but I've tried three times and it won't upload, so I give up!

Baby Okay

Kate is fine. The bump on her head went away by the next day and she's acting totally normal. Then, OF COURSE, today, she was on the floor, playing under her 'gym' and she rolled over. She was very proud of herself and I clapped and told her what a good girl she was. Usually I roll her back after a few minutes so she can do it again (and not get too frustrated from being on her stomach for too long), but I left her on her tummy for a bit to see if she would try to roll back herself. Instead, she concentrated on chewing on the side of the gym. Well, the little tyke is pretty strong and she pulled the whole thing right over and the hard toys that are dangling from it hit her in the head! More bumps in the noggin for the poor girl. She started howling, but when I picked her up and walked her to my room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and smiled. So she was obviously okay, but my, you would have thought the world was ending!

I'm making a quilt based on a style of quilt that a friend gave me before Kate was born. I was going to make a big one (72 in x 72 in) but I decided to start with a small one (36 in x 36 in) and see how it goes. It's going to be mostly light pink flannel with a bit of white flannel or maybe corduroy. If it turns out well, I'm going to make the big one, but I haven't decided what colours yet. Probably dark colours with a bit of black mixed in. Like navy blue, burgundy, dark purple. Mmmmmmm. I like it already. And really rich, soft fabrics. I'll post a pic of the small one when it's finished. I think I can start sewing it tomorrow when my mom drops off the sewing machine.

Wow. What a boring post.

Kate is in bed for the night, but I just heard an unearthly cry from the other room. I'm going to ignore it for the moment. After I put her to bed tonight, she started to cry really hard about ten minutes later, which she rarely does. I think she woke up disoriented because she had fallen asleep while I was nursing her. Imagine how that must feel, to be in the warm and comfortable safety of your mother's arms, with a boob in your mouth and the next thing you know, you are in a crib by yourself. Anyway, I picked her up and held her for a few minutes and put her back to bed and she went off to sleep almost instantly. Crazy kid. This book I have says they should be awake when you put them to bed because then, when they wake up in the middle of the night, there is no shock of "Where the HELL am I?" and they can happily drift off to sleep again.

I talked to my neice yesterday and I asked her if she goes to beach in Vancouver and if she swims in the ocean, or if it's too polluted being in the city. She said, "Yeah, we go to the beach, but no, I don't swim in the ocean, yuck, it's all full of that seawater." How can you NOT laugh at that?

The Very Worst Mother Ever

I need to purge my soul because today I did a very stupid thing. I left Kate on the couch to grab her toy and she rolled off, hit her head on the coffee table and landed on her back on the floor. Thankfully it was in the basement, on the carpet, instead of upstairs on the hardwood, but the results are pretty much the same I think. The poor girl cried harder and longer than she's ever cried before, it took about ten minutes to calm her down. Long enough that I began to think she was seriously injuried anyway. Then she seemed fine, just hiccuping a little the way kids do when they've had a good cry. I had her on my lap, holding her hands so she could watch TV. She seems to like it and it makes her calm. That's when I noticed the red bump on her head and realized that she hadn't just fallen a couple feet to the ground, but had actually hit her little wee head on the wooden coffee table. That's when I started to panic. I thought of the times I had concussions as a kid and how I'd had to go the hospital. Kate's fall happened after the doctor's office closed and I didn't know what to do. Do I rush her to Emergency because of a bump on the head? Can I be too cautious about head injuries? Did she hit her head hard enough to cause an aneurism? Do I watch too much TV? Just how serious is this bump? I called my doctor's office anyway, just in case there was an after-hours number to call. By that time, I think my panic had transferred to Kate because she started to cry again and I couldn't hear the number. I noticed that another mom friend had called on my cellphone when I was looking up my doctor's number, so I called her. She gave me the number of Telehealth Ontario and she was really sweet and told me not to worry and asked me if I needed anything, if I wanted to go there (to her house) and she assured me that it happens all the time and I'm not an idiot and I'm not a bad mother.

But I am. I'm so careless. I KNOW these things happen, but they shouldn't happen to me. I'm an intelligent, caring mother, I know how to do things and take care of things. But I rush and I do stupid things too. I just feel so fricking bad. My poor baby's head.

Telehealth was pretty good. They asked a lot of questions, many of which I was able to answer no (is there broken skin, does the baby's neck seem stiff, is there blood coming from the ears or nose). I felt better after talking to the RN, better in that my daughter will most likely be just fine, but just as stupid in that I let it happen in the first place.

I don't know if I feel better after writing it down. I keep hearing the thud of her little body and seeing her on the ground with this completely stunned look on her face. And hearing her cry and cry with pain and shock. I know kids get hurt all the time and are totally fine, but this time it was from my own negligence and I can't forget that.

I definitely don't feel better.

Kate and the Mystery of the Wasps

I have a friend with an acute fear of spiders. I'm not too worried about spiders particularly, but I certainly can relate when it comes to wasps. Everyone says to hold still and they will fly around you and then buzz off, but everytime one of those suckers comes near me, I look like a marionette gone crazy. Try as I might to keep my cool, I freak out every time.

Which brings me to my story: Last week I was at the baby's change table, changing her diaper when I noticed a wasp buzzing around the window. It was one of those big suckers too, I think they're called yellow jackets. I was almost done the diaper and I hastily finished up, put the baby in her crib and found a board book to smoosh the wasp with. The wasp crumbled and fell behind the change table and all I could think of was Andrea's blog entry about the spider she thought she killed in her daughter's room, only to discover it crawling around again, hours later (minus some legs). I cautiously peered over the change table and spied the wasp curled on the ground and motionless. I stared for a good five minutes, just to be sure, but it didn't move. I gloated a little over my cool-headedness in ridding myself of the terrible little beastie and left the corpse where it lay. I'm a terrible housekeeper at the best of times, but I wasn't picking that thing up until it was an empty shell, if I could help it. The reason for this is quite simple. When I was ten, I was swatting wasps in our houseboat and unknowingly knelt on some of the bodies. I was stung three times in quick succession and after screaming bloody blue murder, my dad came running and when he found out the cause of my freak out, he told me that wasps often sting out of self-defense when they're dying. A last-ditch effort if you will. Anyway, I wasn't taking any chances with this wasp. Let it stay on the floor and dry up. No one can see it behind the table anyway.

I briefly wonder where it had come from, but figured that it got in from the patiodoor being open downstairs and flew around my house for awhile before meeting its fate in the window of my daughter's bedroom. I didn't give it much more thought than that.

This week, I was again changing my daughter's diaper (oh, will the dirty diapers ever stop?) and there was ANOTHER WASP in the window. Unfortunately, I was just starting to change the diaper and Kate's at that wonderful stage where it's fun to twist around while I try vainly to attach a fresh diaper. She recently succeeded in rolling over, back to front, and I think she was practising. Anyway, it took longer than normal to put this diaper on and the whole time, I'm trying to keep one eye on the wasp and one eye on the diaper. This is even more difficult than it sounds, given the squirminess of my kid at the time. Finally I got the diaper on, after a few pleas with my daughter the lay still, and I put her in her crib. I can't say that my heart was pounding, even for theatrical purposes, but I WAS sweating a bit. And not for my own pansy ass either, I was more worried the damn thing would land on Kate and give her a jab. And in this day and age with kids dying at the smell of peanuts and carrying around needles to save them from bees, I have daymares about her getting stung and dying in my arms before I even know what happened. Anyway, I grabbed the same board book and flattened this wasp too. It fell on the window ledge, in the track of the window. I left that one there too. I learned my lesson when I was ten.

Now my question is this: Where are these damn wasps coming from??? I have a small nest in a roof peak at the front of my house, but surely they haven't made their way from there INTO my house, have they?

I Made a Sign

A friend of my mum's bought me wooden letters for a name sign for my kid's room. So I made a sign. It glows in the dark. I need a glass dragonfly to finish it off, but do you think I could find one? I searched the entire downtown St. Jacobs area but nothing. I would have settled for glass ladybugs, but nadda. I KNOW I've seen little glass ladybugs somewhere, but don't ask me where. Maybe Hallmark? Anyway, I'm exhausted.

People Are Weird

My attached neighbours are crazy (although, I'm starting to think I'm the crazy one, since I find so many people strange, maybe it's not THEM, but ME). We moved here two years ago. My first impression of my neighbour was that she was a grumpy, old bitch because I cheerily waved hello to her on my first day in the 'hood and after giving me a dirty look, she completely ignored me. I thought, "Huh, glad I moved out of the ghetto for this." Anyway, she soon improved and has been mostly nice to me and my husband. She has a 20 year-old daughter who is tall, fit and pretty (although only with makeup and she definitely has cankles), she also had a boob job last summer, so except for her ankles, she's a real fox. I jokingly warned Brad not to get too friendly, or better yet, pretend he is blind when she's around. I told the mother that her daughter was so pretty and I'd told my husband to stay away from her, ha ha ha. We've had some uncomfortable incidents, but mostly it's been live and let live.

 For instance, last summer, an hour before we had to leave for my mum's birthday dinner, this neighbour comes over and asks Brad to help her with her satelite. I should have told her he was in the shower, but he wasn't I couldn't lie that fast and anyway, he ends up helping her. I'm waiting inside, getting madder and madder because it's my MUM's birthday and we had to get going. It's brutally hot, so Brad's going to have to shower before we go and time's ticking away here. Finally, I go over to see how things are going and Brad's like, could you stand on the front porch and ask her if it's clear yet, because I'm around the side of the house and I can't hear her. So I tell her that I'm going to relay to Brad and she's like, "Oh, I just took the card out and restarted the system, it's going to take a minute." Oh my God, I could barely contain my anger, but I took a deep breath and said, "Um, ok, well, it's my mum's birthday tonight and we sort have dinner plans and we really have to go and Brad still needs to shower, so um, would it be alright if we do this tomorrow? Or even just, later? I thought it was only going to be a few minutes and it's been 30 and we really have to get going." And she comes stomping out of her house, calls around the side of the house, "Brad, your wife wants you to go, I will just get my friend to do it next week. I can wait for my friend to do it. Your WIFE wants to leave" Like, I'm this horrible bitch for having a life. I mean, she just stopped by on a Friday night and expected us to be twiddling our thumbs. She's just a complete piece of work, this woman. And of course it's "Brad" to him and 'Your wife" to me. Bitch.

So, a few weeks ago, she and her next door neighbours decide to build a fence. Brad was going to help, but he's been working at his shed and he was busy with that and they had about seven people working on their fence, so they really didn't need us. And honestly, when we did our fence last year, she didn't help us or give us money, so why would we help when it's not even our fence? And besides the fact we also have a four-month-old infant to care for. Anyway, after the fence is built, my neighbour and her daughter stopped talking to both Brad and I. We couldn't figure it out, except that we didn't help. We didn't really even care to be honest, she's such a bitch, it was a relief not talking to her. Then I find out from another neighbour that they are definitely mad about us not helping. Oh well, fuck 'em. Life is way too short to worry about keeping people like that happy.

Oh, but wait! That's NOT why they don't like us. The REAL reason? Because, two years ago, when we first moved and I made that joke about Brad staying away from her daughter? She took that as me telling her that her daughter is a slut. Why on earth would I say that to a virtual stranger? Hi, please to meet you, I noticed your daughter is a slut. The neighbour that told me this assured her that I only meant that her daughter was pretty.

Mum says it should be a lesson to me not to joke around with people I don't know very well. But I think it's more of a lesson that if I joke around with someone and they completely misunderstand and take offense, then they are not the type of person I want as a friend. If I can't be ME than why bother?

What JK Rowling Says About Trying to Be Thin

I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter books and one day, while idly searching for the translation to Hogwarts school's motto (Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon), I came across the official JK Rowling Website . There are a lot of interesting little facts there and I have to say, it's quite a fun website. Just what you would expect from JK Rowling, it's got a magical touch. The website has an 'Extras' section where I found Rowling's rant about the Western obsession to be skinny. If you click on the hairbrush, then the Miscellaneous tab and then "For Girls Only, Probably.." Part of it reads: "I mean is 'fat' really the worse thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring', or 'cruel'?...I don't want [my daughters] to be empty headed, self-absorbed emanicated clones; I'd rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny - a thousand things before 'thin'."

Well said JK, well said.

I want to look at you again for the first time

So--I'm a wee but tipsy at the moment.
But
I haven't been drunk for over a year and I deserve this, dammit.
My daughter, my four-month-old daughter, is asleep in the next room and I went in to look at her. I felt guilty, being around her while I'm drunk. But I told her I loved her and she woke up a little and looked at me, her eyes closed again, but she grasped my finger and held on. She loves me even if, at the moment, I'm unfit to be a parent. She loves me. That's all that really matters.
She is beautiful and I MADE her. I still can't believe that. If it weren't for me, she wouldn't exist.
Which brings me to my next point. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Some I regret and some I don't, but I realize, as I look at her, that I can't really regret any of them, because they brought me to this perfect moment of creation. How can anyone regret that?
There is a person in the other room who is small, helpless, perfect. Mine. I can't believe it. Tomorrow I will be the perfect parent and I will wake up (hung over or not) and change her diaper (and maybe her PJs) and hold her and love her and know that it is normal to be this blown away. Tomorrow I will realize that ALL parents feel this way. But tonight, it's mine and it's a miracle.
Who says drunk people don't talk sense?

Soooooo busy

Make that TIRED! On Thursday, my mom, my niece, my daughter, my mom's friend and I went to Niagara Falls to see the falls, Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum and Dracula's Haunted House. We also looked in about a million shops and ate at Boston Pizza. Then Friday it was the African Lion Safari with my Dad, my niece and my daughter. That was fun, but my dad was tired and boring and I think it would have been more fun with my mom, who can be too structured at times, but at least you get to see a lot of cool stuff when you're with her. Then Saturday it was the famous local Farmer's Market and the Market Factory Outlet Mall. My husband came with us that time and he entertained my niece by making jokes and teasing her the whole time. I think she is quite taken with him...she giggles like mad everytime he opens his mouth. He scoffs when I tell him that he is the heart's desire of many little girls, he is sure that at the most, they think, oh he's cute for an old guy. So modest, that boy. Anyway, Saturday night we had a fire in the backyard and my friend brought the stuff for S'mores and the kids made S'mores until they were sticky, smoky, dirty, and exhausted. Then Sunday it was to Toronto with my husband, niece and daughter to see the CN Tower and go to the Eaton Centre.

OH
MY
GOD.
I'm so tired, you have no idea.

But today is my niece's last day and in two hours my mom will be here to pick me and my daughter up to drive my niece to the airport. I'm sad because it will be at least a year before I see her again. She lives in BC and we live in ON, so it's not like we get to just pop over whenever.

A tiny part of me is relieved because I can get my life back to normal and not worry about where I'm going to nurse my baby, change her, travel with her etc. I mean, I'll pretty much whip it out anywhere at this point, but I need to be comfortable and I'm not very good at it, so I need pillows and stuff and there are just times when feeding her is impossible. I did, however, sit in the movie at the Ripley's museum and feed her and to hell with the public! Very liberating.

Actually, I was just thinking of all the weird places I fed her this week:
At the TO airport, picking up my neice, in the Marketplace restaurant in Niagara Falls, at the Ripley's Museum, on the grass in front of the pony ride at the African Lion Safari, on a GO bus, on a bench on the third floor of the Eaton Centre (where, I might add, two women gave me dirty looks and one woman came and joined me with her 8 month old daughter, that was actually kind of cool)and at the TO airport again, dropping off my neice.

Gotta go, I have to shower!

Baby Dilemma #94

It's 8 in the morning and currently 26 degrees celsius but feels like 36 degrees with the humidity factor. The high is expected to be an actual 36 degrees, so what will the humidity make it feel like by that point? I think it'll feel like we are melting. Or swimming in our own lungs. There is actual condensation on the outside of my windows. I felt like I'd opened the over door when I let the dogs outside this morning, a blast of heat so thick and strong struck me in the face, I had to gasp for breath. I hope they don't mind spending the day inside because I don't think they can't pant fast enough to cool down today. Even with the air condiditoning turned down to 22 degrees, I'm still sweating when I attempt even the slightest activity. It's the part of summer were you don't want to have sex, not because you're too tired, but because the thought of touching another human being at this point makes you feel like vomiting. Even holding my husband's hand while lying in bed this morning caused me to break out in a sweat. So what do you do when your child is four months old and can't do anything or go anywhere unless you carry her?