The Daily Chai is a Tickle Monster

Today's Chai is only a dream of tomorrow, like so many things. Sigh

I went to see the girls this evening and Kate made me do a secret knock that was so complicated, I couldn't get it right (skunked by a nine year old). She felt sorry for me and let me into her room where we had a dance party to the three songs she has on her iPad.

Kate and Anna both have a thing about being tickled. I truly don't understand this as I personally hate being tickled because I will pee my pants and then I'm also completely untouchable afterwards because I break out into hysterical giggles any time the person comes near me. My mother and my brother used to hold me down (not at the same time but they both liked to do it) and tickle me until I screamed and I hated it. But Kate and Anne literally beg me to tickle them all the time. It's exhausting. Kate wanted me to pin her down and tickle her with the understanding that the safety word is Bananas and I have to stop no matter what. I obliged and tickled her until she screamed with laughter, yelling, "BANANAS, BANANAS, stop I'm gonna pee my pants!" I seriously do not understand appeal, but whatever.

I told her if anyone saw us and didn't know what was happening, they would think I was abusing her and she just laughed harder and said, "Why? It's soooo fun, tickle me again!" Her other favourite thing is to lie on the bed with me lying perpendicular across her, completely limp and heavy.  She likes to time how long it takes for her to wiggle out. It's some sort of weird survival game, like she's a wounded solider trying to get out from dead bodies, or zombies, or something. I have no idea, she's a weird kid. Whatever. Happy to oblige. While she struggled and laughed and yelled, Anna decided I was hurting her and starting hammering on my back with her little fists, "Stop hurting MY SISTER, GET OFF HER!!!" And Kate's saying, "No, Anna, no, it's a game!" Anna finally got it and climbed on top of me, crushing her sister under the weight of two people. It was around that time that Kate peed on the bed. Annnnnnd, we're done. All fun and games until someone pees on the bed.

After that, it was time to read Anna her story and she picked, wonders never cease, another version of the Frozen movie. We have about four now that I read over and over. I'm so very happy when another one appears in our house. So. Very. Happy. I usually let Anna stay up and "read" her book for a little while, but it was getting late and I said it was lights out and time for sleep. My god, that kid has a professional pout. The only way I could get her mind off the unfairness of it all was to sing "I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane" to her again. She stopped me halfway through and asked me if it was a sad song. Yes honey, it's a sad song. Then I was allowed to continue.

I read to Kate from a volume of Paddington Bear in which Paddington subs for an old boys cricket team. I read the entire chapter in complete bafflement of what was happening. Wickets? Overs? Bowlers? Bats? It sounded like a demented cross between baseball and croquet. And this is the national sport of England? Huh. I could tell it was supposed to be exciting when the bowler was running up to Paddington, who was at bat, so I read that part like a sportscaster would call the action on a football field. Okay, I did my best, with my limited viewing of football games. Well, Kate kept looking at me inquiringly and I kept saying, "I have no idea what's going on, don't ask." I should have skipped that chapter altogether, but that would be cheating.

After I was done reading, Kate and I chatted a bit and then I told Kate I've been working on my English accent and said, "The heart wants what the heart wants," in the most posh way and Kate looked at me, smiled pityingly and looked back at her book. I'm losing my charm apparently.

The Daily Chai Has Started an Epic Journey

Today's chai was feeling a little frisky and decided to jump out of my hand. It would rather commit suicide that be drunk by me. Quite disappointing.

I've decided to binge watch Game of Thrones and I've just watched seven hours of television in one day. They weren't kidding when they said TV makes your brain mush and kills creativity. I had dozens of things to write about this morning and now -- my brain is blank. No random ramblings, no words of wisdom, no angst-filled stories. Shit. In fact, while I type this out on my phone, I'm watching the seventh episode and I'm not really paying attention to what I'm...oh my god! Did you see the way his blood splattered everywhere?! ...wait, what? Why are you still here? Go! Go watch Game of Thrones! The fifth season is starting tonight!

Just kidding. I paused it because I want to tell you about single life. This is what my fridge looks like (that takeout box in the back is from Wild Wing a week ago): 

This is what I ate for dinner:

The end. Back to GOT. 

The Daily Chai Switched to MacDonald's

Today's Big Mac is amazing and I give thanks today to MacDonald's and their wonderful hangover food. My iPhone is getting greasy while I type this and I couldn't be happier. Don't tell my kids I was here without them, cries of outrage all around. 

Good god, these fries are good. 

Moving on. Great night last night with one of my oldest and bestest friends as we celebrated her birthday. Those giant Smirnoff bottles are the bomb and after downing that mofo, we were primed for the bar. Man, I do love to dance after a few when I don't care what I look like or who is watching. Those dance parties at breakfast came in handy as I showed off my Elaine-esque moves. I do kind of miss having a smoke in one hand and a drink in the other while I dance because I never know what to do with my hands.  However, the lack of burn holes in my new shirt is a bonus so I guess I can live without the ubiquitous cigarette while shaking my booty. 

I do have to say though, guys at the bar when the night is drawing to an end are absolutely, ridiculously desperate. Girls, Cardinal rule here: NEVER GIVE OUT YOUR NUMBER. Nothing personal boys, but it's not going to happen. Give me your number and I promise nothing. And I'll tell you a little secret, a drunk girl taking your number at the end of the night probably means you will never hear from her again. 

I started this blog entry on my phone and the app crashed and I lost everything. It's not fucking Shakespeare but jebus. 

I solved a great mystery last night. I noticed while I lived in Germany that Germans use the word fuck the same as English-speakers even though they have German words for other obscenities, for example, scheiß instead of shit. I always wondered what the German was for fuck and last night I researched (yes, while drunk) the origins of the word fuck. While obscure and not entirely known, the general thought is that fuck is a Germanic language word. The Germanic languages are divided into three groups: West Germanic, including English, German, and Dutch; North Germanic, including Danish, Swedish, Icelandic, Norwegian, and Faroese; and East Germanic, now extinct, comprising only Gothic and the languages of the Vandals, Burgundians, and a few other tribes (http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/231026/Germanic-languages). So the word fuck is really a mashed up coupling (see how I did that) of several languages. 

 As an added bonus, I finally learned the Hoch Deutsch for fuck as well. I can rest in peace now. Aren't you proud of me for all these uses of the word fuck that aren't just gratuitous?

Etymology

The Oxford English Dictionary states that the ultimate etymology is uncertain, but that the word is "probably cognate" with a number of native Germanic words with meanings involving striking, rubbing, and having sex.

Older etymology via Germanic

The word has probable cognates in other Germanic languages, such as German ficken (to fuck); Dutch fokken (to breed, to beget); dialectal Norwegian fukka (to copulate), and dialectal Swedish focka (to strike, to copulate) and fock (penis).^[7] This points to a possible etymology where Common Germanic fuk– comes from an Indo-European root meaning "to strike", cognate with non-Germanic words such as Latin pugno "I fight" or pugnus"fist".^[7] By application of Grimm's law, this hypothetical root has the form *pug–. (The above is taken from wikipedia http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck) 

So what I've gotten from all this is my pug dog is, indeed, a little fucker. 

The Daily Chai Has Been Drinking Wine

Have you ever noticed when you've been drinking that sometimes the top of your head feels like it's going sideways and your jaw is going another way? It feels pretty funky. If you have never experienced this, I suggest you go drink a glass of wine pronto. I also suggest you buy a bottle of this wine. Because it's called the Frisky Beaver. I mean, COME ON, you know I bought it because of the name. And I was sober when I made that decision.

So I write my post for each day the night before. There are two reasons for this: One, I don't want to get fired for writing my blog at work and two, it means that I have time to write something that I can schedule publication for each morning at 9:00 a.m. and then forget about it. The only problem with this is sometimes I write late at night when I'm feeling particularly vulnerable and introspective so I perhaps reveal a little too much. And yet, I let it stand because it's what I was feeling at the time. It's the truth, in as much as one can reveal the truth about themselves. As I've mentioned before, we have many faces and sometimes we don't even show our true face to ourselves, let alone anyone else. Sometimes we just don't know ourselves well enough to be capable of the truth. My writing is sometimes silly, sometimes reflective, sometimes wise, sometimes foolish, but I let it stand because it is as true as I can get.

Speaking of truth, the other thing you should probably know, and this may hurt, but I lie about my chai lattes most days. Not that I don't actually drink one every day, I do, but when I'm writing my post for the night, I don't really know what the next day's chai latte is going to be like because I haven't ordered it yet. Hence I use my questionable creative genius to make up something about my latte, or I tell you about the day before. I know, you are all feeling a little betrayed, but rest assured, I do actually order one every day. So it still counts. Sort of. And besides, I wrote the other day that they hum quietly. You didn't really think that was true, did you? This shouldn't be that much of a shock to you then. Good. Moving on.

Shit, my glass is empty. That sucks.

P!NK never spoke truer words.


My soul is restless tonight. I have so many unanswered questions. As I wrote that I realized we all do and it's a little presumptuous of me to expect to get mine answered. I watch too many movies and dream of a happy ending but the reality is...it never works the way you imagined it. Movies only show the beginning, the fun part, the falling in love. They don't show the relationship part. So we have decades of lessons about how to fall in love, but not one about how to keep that love real. Balls.

Enough dribble for one night. I apologize for this latte-less post. But I will not apologize for buying a bottle of wine called the Frisky Beaver. Those people are marketing geniuses.

The Daily Chai is Packing...Again

Today's Chai was made all the sweeter because I met my bestie at Starbucks when I got it. It was lovely and frothy like our friendship.
Then I made a little pun on the side of my cup and that made me happy.

Tonight was my last night with my kids for a week. It's becoming the new normal, we just hung out and watched some TV, then they went to bed and got their stories. There were no tears or tantrums about me going away, there weren't even any questions. It just is how it is now. Once the kiddies were in bed, I packed my stuff for a week...again. What a supreme pain in the ass to have to pack each week and haul my stupid suitcase to my mom's in the morning. I dislike intensely this moving back and forth, but I find peace at my mother's house (with or without the kids) that I no longer find in my own home. I've gotten used to being here with my ex living in the other room, but it was very difficult at first to adjust to it and I hated being here, even though I was here to be with my kids. I felt a lot of anxiety about being in the same house with my ex and I never knew what to expect. Mostly it's been pretty civil, considering the circumstances, but I still felt a huge amount of anxiety and stress about being here. Things have kind of levelled off and he does his best to stay out of the house when I'm here (which I fully realize is very inconvenient for him, so I do appreciate it) Still not the ideal situation and I'm looking forward to moving for good. However, on the bright side of all this, I'm really efficient at packing now. Work clothes? Check. Comfy lounge clothes? Check. Going out to party for my friend's birthday clothes? Check.

Also on the bright side and immensely more important? My kids are clearly adjusting to this situation. They know I go away every week, but I also come back every week. I haven't abandoned them and I still love them like I always have.  My number one concern through all this has always been how is it going to effect my kids and will they be okay? Short term and long term. Many people assured me that kids are resilient and they will adjust, but it's hard to believe that when they are crying about how much they miss you and asking if you really have to go and why can't you stay? EVERY SINGLE WEEK we've gone through this heart-wrenching scenario, but this week, we made progress. This week I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

My neighbour is amazing. She read my blog post about how much I like key lime pie and she made me this pie today while she was working from home. She dropped it off this evening and we had a short visit and a chat. I will definitely miss her when I move. The pie was delicious and is half gone already and I plan on eating the other half for dinner tomorrow. Kate has also decided that she loves key lime pie and I say again, THAT'S MY GIRL. I might leave her some. Or not. Jury's out on that one.

The Daily Chai and How to Be a Fucking Champ at Motherhood

Today's Chai Latte was steamy and delicious, made more so by the cute boy that accompanied me on my daily quest. Too bad he is 24 and has a girlfriend. Dammit all. Skunked again. At least my latte loves me. You could even say, (oh yes, I'm going to type it) IT LIKES ME A LATTE.

I am, by far, not the best mummy out there. I look through Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, mommy blogs etc and I see so many ways I could be BETTER. At pretty much everything. I mean, I bake a pretty mean birthday cake, I taught Kate how to ride her bike, I help Anna pick the most killer outfits every day, I try to read them bedtime stories and cuddle with each of them every night. I take Kate to dance lessons and make sure she practices her piano (the flute being irreparably broken and seemingly irreplaceable, thank you Kijiji ad makers that don't reply to my inquiries). I kiss Anna's stubbed toe and play endless games of princess Barbie with her. I sew up ripped toys and make new ones out of socks. I try to plan nutritious meals and end up serving them food they will actually eat instead. I taught them please and thank you and while their table manners leave much to be desired, they are very polite little girls and really, that's all I can ask for.  I do all those things because I'm their mother and that's what you do. I love my girls and I want to do my very best for them.

Sadly, I'm not always up for the challenge. I am often tired and often overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things that need to get done each day. So I snap at Kate when she is moving a little too slowly (which is basically every morning). I impatiently tell Anna to stop, for the love of god, stop crying because Kate put toothpaste on her toothbrush and she wanted to do it herself. Please just brush your teeth already and forget about that terrible injustice. I forget to sign Kate's piano homework book pretty much four times out of five. Sometimes I let them watch an extra episode of Mako Mermaids instead of reading them a bedtime story. And unless Anna reminds me, I often forget to brush her hair in the morning. Thank god Kate has learned to do it herself.

Added to those shortcomings, I end up feeling more guilty because I'm constantly inundated with posts from mothers whose children eat vegetables (WTF?) and get straight A's. Those amazing mothers that make time to throw elaborately themed birthday parties with hired princesses or magicians and make cakes that look like something out of Cake Boss. Mothers,  I imagine, who never forget to sign a permission slip or get money for pizza Fridays. Whose laundry is always done and they never have to scramble to find a pair of pants that are long enough (why are all Kate's pants so short? When will she stop fricking growing?). I'm sure those mothers find time every single night for stories and only let their kids watch 30 minutes of television a day, if any at all.

However, I find I have a more important goal than having perfectly groomed and outfitted children. I want my girls to grow up to be lovely, confident, happy women. I want them to find value not only in themselves, but in other people. I want them to be thoughtful, to think and empathize with people that are different from them. That little boy who is so nasty to you and everyone else in the classroom? Maybe he has a tough time at home. Why don't you ask him if he'd like to play with your friends tomorrow? He might sneer and say no, but it's always nice to be invited. Maybe the next day he will join you, you never know. Your friend is struggling with her math problems? Work together to get through them as a team. That little guy who is super shy? Ask him if you can sit together and read. Keep trying. Be kind.

I want Kate  to push herself, but also accept that she's not going to be perfect at everything. Not a great dancer? Nope, but you are an amazing flutist. And you know what? I'm not a great dancer either, but it's the highlight of my day to dance around the kitchen at breakfast pretending to be Taylor Swift, so just do it. Do it like no one is judging and no one cares. When you feel good about yourself, when you stop judging yourself, you won't care what other people think. You can truly enjoy your life, whatever you make of it.

Every day, I drop Kate off at her babysitter's house and I tell her to have a fabulous day. I tell her to do one thing that will make me proud so she can tell me about it after school. I'm planting seeds and waiting for flowers to grow. I don't even care if she actually does something amazing every day, but I want the idea that she COULD do something amazing at any moment to be in her head, ready to spring. And today, my motherly philosophies came to fruition when Kate told me that the kids in her class were singing Kindergarten songs and they were all embarrassed to be doing the actions to these baby songs.

"But you know what mum? I had the best time, I was all like, WOOO, YEAH, singing and doing all the actions, like this," and she started dancing around and flapping her arms, "I didn't care what I looked like, I was having so much fun. I LIKE those songs, so who cares if they're baby songs? Guess what happened Mum? My best friend saw how much fun I was having and she got really into it too. Then everyone was laughing and having the best time ever. No one was embarrassed anymore!" 

That's. My. Girl.  Such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things. But the implications of where that attitude will take her in life are breathtaking. I gave her a high five and told her I loved her best and not to tell Anna.

The Daily Chai is Struggling

Today's Chai Latte was perfect. Isn't that nice? However, then it got all bitchy and whiney about me drinking it, so that was kind of a downer. 

I thought I would update my faithful readers on some of the crap I've written about in the last month. So this post is going to be kind of like those shitty "remember when?" episodes that sitcoms do. Sorry. To make it up to you I've thrown in some random shit just for fun. And some links to previous entries because hey, what's a blog for but shameless self-promotion? 

This isn't an update. It's just the truth. And if you think I'm talking about you, get a grip. It's not always about you.  Lesson learned. 

I didn't buy this pie, but it pretty much made my whole day seeing that I can buy a single piece of Key Lime pie. However, I'm waiting on my neighbour to make me a key lime pie as my goodbye gift. Or maybe as a thank-you for sharing my People magazines. Or possibly just because she is awesome and knows I fucking love pie. I will tell you a secret, I DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO MAKE PIE ON PI DAY. But then, why would I when better bakers than me are willing to make it for me?

This is also not an update. I just love this song.

 

Also not an update. Saw it on Facebook and it made me laugh. And then I went, hmmm, that's kind of true. Feminist in me is screaming in outrage, but it can't be helped. Sue me

Some of you wanted to know what my hair looked like after the disaster I experienced last night:



Alright, so I wrote a little while ago about being puzzled by my phone's unrelenting reminder that once upon a time I looked up S&M. IT HAPPENED AGAIN TODAY!!! And I caught a screenshot to prove it. I'm not really sure why I want to remind you about that, but there you are.

Remember my boot complaint? I tweeted this March 10th and still have not heard a peep. For shame Sorel, for shame. 

I have a serious cream egg addiction. I received this egg from a co-worker just because she feels sorry for me. I love her. I have never written about my egg addiction, but I've posted about it on Facebook enough times that people are slightly more than aware that I like them. I like them a latte. See what I did there? And yes, I've used that joke before, but it's a good one AND I WON'T APOLOGIZE. 

The Daily Chai and How to Screw Up Your Hair

Today's Chai Latte was made by my favourite server in the entire world and she made me laugh just because I made her laugh. We just stood there laughing at each other and she has the MOST ADORABLE laugh on planet Earth. I mean it. I go every day for her laugh as much as the chai.

I've had a rather nasty experience with my hair tonight. Balls. I wanted to go lighter, make it more coppery red. So of course I started with lifting the colour with bleach. I highly recommend you never, ever do this unless you would like your hair to resemble wooly yarn. Even serum and a good straightening job isn't going to fix this. But you know, the end result was kind of fun, blonde roots and red hair. Very Fifth Element. If only I looked like a barely-in-her-twenties Milla Jovovich with that porcelain skin. Sadly, I do not. And I work at an insurance company, I'm not part of a superhero alien race out to save Earth. I'm just a worker bee.

Moving on. Next step. Light, intense copper. Well. That box was not kidding. It's intense. And copper. And looks completely fucking awful with my skin and eyebrows and face in general. Oh god. What have I done? I've ruined my trademark red for this? Yikes.

Kate says she loves it. "It looks sooooooo cool mom, I love it, don't change it!" as I tell her I'm going to have to dye over it. Lovely girl. But she is nine. And she doesn't work at an insurance company. So. Thank goodness I have another box of my old, darker red in the cupboard. I'm like a fucking boy scout, always prepared for a dying emergency.

Step three. Fix bad dye job with regular colour. Only. FUCK MY FUCKING LIFE. My regular colour is no longer reacting the same way because my base is so light and I've already chemically treated my hair twice tonight. So the result is a very, very bright red. Very bright. Red. Please, for the love of all things holy, darken as you develop dear hair dye. Don't let me down.

And now I am sitting here, waiting for the timer to go and hoping, at best, the red is at least cool and at worst, my hair doesn't fall out.

I'm working from home tomorrow.

The Daily Chai Has Her Bubble Busted

Today's Chai Latte told me that it was getting sick of always having to be available for me whenever I ordered it. Like I thought I was the boss of it. I told it to shut it and then I drank it. That'll show it not to get too uppity with me!

No, I'm not going crazy. I'M KIDDING. Chai Lattes don't talk, silly. They just hum quietly sometimes.

What to write about, what to write about? Hmmm....well. Kate asked me today if Daddy and I really had to get divorced. And I was like, crap, how do I answer that question? Because the truth is, we don't HAVE TO get divorced. Not really. We could continue on and pretend everything is okay and maybe even pretend we still love each other and pretend that the last five months didn't happen. Stop the sale of the house and run into each other's arms like they do in the movies and say, "I'm so sorry," "No, I'M sorry!" We could kiss and everything would be okay. On the surface. But nothing has changed and nothing is fixed and nothing will ever be the same. So doesn't all that fakeness sound like fun? Like an authentic life? Do you think you could do it? I can't. I actually wish I could. I wish I could take everything back and change how I dealt with my marriage when I was unhappy, instead of clamming up and pretending everything was okay, day after day, when it most definitely was not.

The sad fact is, I didn't deal with the problems in my marriage until it was too late and now here we are. So I looked at Kate when she asked this question and I tried to figure out an honest way to answer her that would be the truth without blaming her dad (or me) too much and still be somewhat satisfying to her as an explanation to why some marriages end. If not satisfying, at least something she can understand and accept. Because she's nine. She knows some of the reasons why we broke up, but she doesn't know everything, obviously. To her, we just got in a really big fight and then the next thing she knew, we were living separately. That was one doozy of a fight! And yes, it really was, but that isn't the solitary reason we are headed for divorce. Obviously it takes a lot more than that, but I can't tell her all those things. But...how do I justify the big D without explaining some of it to her?


As I pondered these difficult questions, she said, "Because if you guys stayed together, I could stay at my school and stay with my friends and I wouldn't have to leave my house."

And that, my friends, is how you get told that it isn't always about you.

The Daily Chai Has a Conversation With a Four Year Old

Today's Chai Latte refused to come home with me. It was a sad day. I bet it tasted like crap anyway.

This afternoon, after lunch, I told Anna she needed to have a nap if we were going to have dinner and play time with our friends that evening. She grudgingly agreed and put her tiny, lovely paw in my less tiny, less lovely paw and we went upstairs together.

Suddenly, with a look of panic, she shouts, "I left my gloves downstairs! I need my gloves to nap!"

She is talking about the pair of latex gloves I gave her after she saw me using a pair to dye my hair. She thought they looked fun and begged me for a pair, which I gladly gave her. Cheaper than a Barbie, as puzzling as her desire seemed to me. She carried them around for a bit and I think she may have kissed the wadded up latex in her hand, but I can't be sure. After about half an hour, she left them forgotten in the family room in the basement. Conveniently at nap time,  the little stalling genius can't live without them. I tell her I am not going down two flights of stairs to get her latex gloves to have a nap with, her blanket and Mousie are right here. I also doubt the safety of a four year old sleeping with latex gloves. With my worrywart mother's brain, I imagine her inhaling them and choking. "Tragic death by latex glove while pre-schooler takes nap, mom arrested for stupidity," I can see the headlines in my head.

My refusal and her tiredness result in a semi-tantrum and she resolutely sits on the floor and begins to cry, "I WANT MY GLOVES! I CAN'T SLEEP WITHOUT MY GLOVES! I WON'T NAP, I'M JUST GOING TO CRY! I WON'T NAP AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" she screams at me, tears streaming down her face.

I sigh. She continues to cry while giving me death glares. All this over a beloved pair of latex gloves that have been in her possession for less than two hours.

"You will nap Anna, you are obviously tired. And we have a big evening with our friends tonight and we want to be well rested for that."

"I...HATE YOU!" she screams, with just the barest pause after the word "I" as she thinks of the worst thing she could say to me.

"Meh," I shrug my shoulders, "I hate you too. Let's go to sleep and reassess that statement after your nap," I say. And no, I don't feel bad for telling her I hate her. I don't mean it anymore than she does, but she might as well learn from a young age that words hurt.

I pick her up and we manage to lie down without it coming to blows even while she struggles to remain sitting on the floor.  I had promised I would cuddle with her for a little while at the beginning of her nap, so I make a spoon for her with my body, but she refuses to tuck herself into it as she continues to cry and yell that she DOESN'T WANT TO BE COVERED UP. Oh for cripes sake, fine, no covers, but I'm cold little chicken so I'm going under them. She sniffs a couple times and stops crying, and finally thinking better of the situation, she slides over and snuggles up to me. We lie under the covers and this is the conversation we have:

"I like spring. I like the grass and the sun. It's pretty outside. Do we have to sleep? I'm not tired."

"I like spring too, I love the warm air. And yes, you have to sleep, you are tired."

"Okay. I like the warm air too. I like the water and the beach. The sand is warm."

"Me too. I like swimming outside and I like the ocean."

"I like - oh me too. I like the bunnies. It's pretty outside right now."

"I like the birds and how happy their songs are. Anna, do you hate me?"

After a moment and without looking at me, she shakes her head, "No, I love you."

"Good. Because I don't hate you either. I love you more than I love spring. I love you more than the moon and the stars and the sun in the sky. Please don't tell me you hate me, it hurts my feelings."

"Okay."

And we lie there. I put my palm on the side of her face because it helps to calm her mind and heart and get her ready to sleep. It always has, since she was a newborn. If I move my hand, she pulls it back and places it on her face again. She begins to hug my arm and hand and kiss it, "I love you mummy, you are all mine and I am never letting you go."

Okay baby, I will never let you go either.

The Daily Chai Needs to Go to Bed

Saturday. I can tell you where the Daily Chai is. That little fucker is still at Starbucks and it hasn't made an appearance. Thinks it's too good to be consumed by the likes of me I bet. Oh well, I could be a giraffe.

It's actually Friday night, but I can foresee that by the time I post this, I will not have a chai latte in my hand. 

To continue. I decided that my children are partly angelic little darlings and partly sadistic little monsters. Did you know they are both very sarcastic? I mean, Kate, she's almost nine, she's got the pre-teen (please don't ever call her a tween, I might vomit) attitude down pat. She cocks her head to one side and just looks at me, blinking her eyelids sarcastically. That is a feat, blinking sarcastically, but she's a pro. Then she says, "Mooooom!" in the most annoyed way possible. Like whatever I've said is just the most impossibly ridiculous thing she's ever heard. She may have a point as I wax philosophical about the chicken wing I just ate. And then she shushes me and continues on in her story about Minecraft vloggers. I expect this of her, she is right around the corner of teenagehood. She's got to practice now if she's going to get the angst-ridden, tortured soul routine fine-tuned in time for her 13th birthday. 

But Anna. My darling, sweet, little pumpkin of an Anna. She's turned on me and become a little terror of sarcasm overnight. She's four. How is that even possible? She actually ROLLED HER EYES at me today and mimicked her sister perfectly, "Moooooom!" She then put her little, adorably dimpled hand over my mouth and told me it was her turn to talk. But they'd both been talking FOR HOURS already. When is it my turn?

Today was my ex's birthday. Kind of crappy. I don't know, it felt weird not to spend his birthday with him, to not make a big deal out of it, to not make him a cake, or get him a present. I saw him at Kate's end of March Break camp play, we sat side by side and played nice. I saw someone I know and as I was talking to her, I referred to him as my husband, which I haven't done since the first month of our separation. It just sort of popped out because it was just too awkward to say, "my ex-husband" as I gestured to him sitting beside me, waiting for this bloody thing to start. I already felt awkward as fuck, no need to make EVERYONE feel acutely uncomfortable. Oh...I have an idea, let's get into how we're actually separated but trying to make things work for the sake of the children so here we are together, isn't it so very modern and fantastic of us? No, thank you. 

But he heard me say those words, "my husband and I" and I'm sure it made him feel like shit. On his birthday. I'm not a complete bitch, I may not want to be married anymore, but I don't want to unduly make him feel like crap on his fucking birthday. Ugh. This sucks. Amazing how four little words can wrack you with guilt all over again. 

And by the way, to the parents that brought bouquets of flowers for your children for their end of week 30 second skit for acting camp, get a grip. This is how you are making all other parents feel

The Daily Chai and How Our Bruises Make Us Who We Are

Today's Chai was a grande because I figured I can watch pennies later,  but I needed a bigger drink this morning. Someone asked me the other day what the hell I was doing as I ate the leftover foam with my spoon and I told him, "Gotta get every last bit of deliciousness, can't let the latte part go to waste!" Because then I would just be drinking daily chais (chaies?) and that clearly is not as much fun. What on earth would I write about?

I spend a lot of time thinking about the past. Sometimes with nostalgia for good times gone and sometimes with bitterness for the hard times. I think about which experiences, good and bad, had the greatest impact on who I am today, at this very moment. I also wonder about who I really am because I have so many different faces for different people. We all do. We have the face we show our parents, the one we show our kids, the one we show our closest, dearest friends, the one we show our boss, the one we show to people we want to impress, the one we show to people we don't give a fuck about. So many faces. But which one is the true face, the core of who you are, your true self? Do you show that face to anyone? Do you even let yourself see it? I wonder about this a lot. I wonder if my perception of myself is on par with what other people think of me. Probably not.

I updated my status on Facebook with this almost a month ago and it's still bothering me:

Why is everyone so dark and twisty inside? We all think we're so special because we have these secrets but the reality is...everyone has baggage. Everyone is fucked up. What matters though, is whether you worth more than the baggage you carry. Make yourself worth it. 

Further to my dark and twisty comment: The baggage I carry is only part of me...the sum of me is so much more. You need to trust that the sum of you is astronomical compared to the baggage. That bag...it only makes you stronger because you have to carry that fucker everywhere. 

So just to expand on that a little bit. I see things all the time about "Let your baggage go, it's too heavy to carry everywhere, you'll never get anywhere if you're always carrying that baggage." I don't agree with that sentiment at all. I mean, yeah, you need to try to let go of bitterness and resentment because you are only poisoning yourself if you desperately cling to them. The person you feel that hate for is blissfully unaware that you are torturing yourself over them. However, I think it's unrealistic to expect that you will ever be free of all the baggage you carry because the human mind just isn't built that way. We hold onto that stuff so we can protect ourselves for similar situations in the future. If we forget about them, we just make the same mistakes and go through it all over again. Those who forget the past are bound to repeat it and all that. So we need to learn how to carry the baggage but not let it take over our lives. To manage that, there is one stipulation; don't pack it too heavy, because there are weight restrictions. The plane won't fly if it's too heavy and neither will you. You have to learn balance if you want to fly. You have to learn what items to take out of your bag and which ones to leave in there for later.

Stop struggling to be free of the thoughts and ideas that make you who you are, especially if you kind of like yourself. If you hate yourself, you might need to work on that. That might be a whole different blog post. But accepting that you have baggage is the key to everything. Deny it and you risk suffocating under its weight because that sneaky fucker can get overwhelming pretty fast.

I started writing this blog to help organize my thoughts, to express myself in more healthy ways, but my secondary purpose was to show you that other people have the same problems as you do. That you are not alone. We all think we're floating through this life on our own, especially during our deepest troubles. That's when we feel the most desperate, but the fact remains, there are people out there going through similar experiences. Sometimes all you have to do is reach out to them and ask them about it. It's a pity that those are the hardest times to actually express yourself.

I leave you with this sentiment, which is still one of my faves:

The Daily Chai Just Got in Shit From Her Mother

I didn't get a Chai Latte today because I'm feeling guilty about lying to my mother when I was ten. It's my punishment. JUST KIDDING, it was frothy and foamy and went down like the sweetest dream you can imagine.

Read this and you will know why I am in shit.

I just got a text from my mother that said, "You need to call me!" Drama queen that I am, I immediately call her expecting the worst, that she's fallen and needs an ambulance or been in a terrible car accident (although why she wouldn't just 911 herself never occurs to me). Unbeknownst to me, my mother, having enjoyed my Daily Chai posts, has decided it would be a good idea to read all my posts, right from the very beginning, starting in 2006, shortly after Kate was born.

"Hello Megan. Are you somewhere that you can talk to me? I need to speak to you about something that has shocked me to my very core. I just read your blog post from July 27, 2006." My first thought is, "What the fuck is she talking about?" but then she begins to read it out loud to me. She gets about three sentences in and I say, "Oh shit." But I can't help it, I begin to laugh like crazy. After all these years, she's found out my big, dark secret all because of a stupid blog post I wrote nine years ago!

Oops. Forgot about that.

I kept my blog a secret for a long time because I wanted to write honestly about my life and didn't think I could if people I knew read it. Clearly, I have gotten over that little foible. Many of my earlier entries seem fatuous to me now and I can hear my younger self so clearly in them, it's almost scary. But I haven't re-read them all, I don't even know what most of them say anymore, it was almost nine years ago that I wrote them after all.

My mother and I had the most hysterical conversation about my deceitfulness and now she's asking me to think very carefully about anything else I might need to tell her, that I might have lied about to her years ago and if it's suddenly going to come to light in another blog entry. I'm wracking my brains and reading previous entries as fast as I can.

The Daily Chai is....Terrified

Today's chai latte was a tall because I have to start watching my pennies. It was too milky and not spicy enough. I'm really going to have to have a word with them about that. SPICY,  I need it SPICY. Otherwise I'm just drinking hot milk like a five year old.

I've had a lot of people tell me how brave I am for striking out on my own, that what's happened isn't easy to endure, but the fact that I'm fighting to make my life right and good for myself and my kids is a good thing and something I should be proud of doing. But I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I'm fucking terrified.

When I was 18, my mom took a teaching job up North and I got my own place so I've been an adult in that sense for a long time. But my boyfriend at the time moved in with me and helped with the bills, so I wasn't on my own for long. When things went south with him, I lived alone for a couple months. I would say that was probably one of only two times in my life I've been really depressed and I withdrew from a lot of my friends. I made $800 a month and my rent was $500. I was broke and lonely. Spent a lot of time drinking alone. I ate one slice of pizza and a coke from Gino's pizza every day and that was it, because it was all I could afford. Always seemed to have money for smokes though. It was around that time I came up with the idea that they should make edible cigarettes. Then you'd always have something to eat and something to smoke. Brilliant!

My mom sent me money whenever I got desperate enough to ask for it, but my pride didn't allow that to happen very often. Eventually I found a roommate and I had a drinking buddy and with half the rent, more money to drink. Met a bunch of people through him (including my ex) and suddenly my house was the party house. It was the place everyone came to pre-drink before the bar and it was the place everyone crashed at after the bar closed. I loved it. I loved having people around all the time. It actually got to the point where I wanted them all to go home and leave me alone! That was mostly because I was usually hungover and bitchy, but we were young and foolish and it was almost always good time. Lots of fucking drama, my god, but generally a good time!

Anyway, my awesome, adorable roommate turned out to be a fraud. He stole our friend's bank card and withdrew all her money. Bought us all Christmas gifts and a flight home for himself to Halifax for the holidays and told us his rich dad sent him money. I bought it of course, I was young and stupid. And I would have never in a million years done that to anyone, let alone a friend, so it didn't occur to me that he had stolen the money. I came home from work one day and there was hammering at my door. I went down to see who it was kind of cautiously (because everyone I knew would have just walked in and started drinking, fuck knocking). It was the cops, there to arrest my roommate for theft and fraud. I was heartbroken at his duplicity, I trusted him, he was my friend and he'd lied to all of us. I freaked out, like really, screaming and crying and saying it was a lie, that he would never do that. Then my ex (who was just a friend at the time) and a couple other friends of ours came and got me and took me away, sat me down at a neighbour's and told me my roommate was a proven liar, that he probably did do it. I was kind of pissed that I hadn't been told this earlier, I'm not going to lie, but they all knew how much I loved him and he seemed like he was a good friend to me, so they never said anything. After all, maybe he had changed for the good. Evidently not. Eventually I calmed down and stopped hiccoughing and crying, but I was still so upset about it that the boys took me out to the bar and we got shitfaced. It's how you deal with everything when you're 19.

After that debacle, I moved with my then boyfriend to a new city where I went to school for awhile, but that all went south too. School, the boyfriend, the whole shebang. I was 20 and coming back from my big, brave move away from everything I knew with my tail between my legs to live with my dad. But then my ex and I finally hooked up after being best friends for about a year. We moved in together after a few months and the rest is history. We were together from that time until just a few months ago.

My point with all this? Through all that craziness, the ex-boyfriends and the fraudulent roommate and the drinking and the partying, I was never really alone except for those few months when I was super depressed. That scares the shit out of me. Because...here I am....on my own for the first time in my life. I have lots of great support, especially my mom who has been simply splendid. But now I have to stand on my own two feet and make an honest go at this thing we call life and I'm terrified. I know I can do it, I mean, I'm not going to die from terror, or starve to death because I can't afford food. Times are a little different for me now, I have a great job and even some assets. I'm a grown up, not a 19 year old kid.

But still. Eep. However, fear not faithful reader, I do believe that it will all be okay because of that quirky eternal optimist inside my brain. She's a bit of a pain in the ass, but I love her. Plus, I believe this wholehearted:

The Daily Chai Misses Her Kids

Today's Chai Latte was fabulous. I'm surprised you're not drinking your own while reading this. They really are the bomb.

So this is where I have the most trouble with my separation: the sharing of my kids. I know, I know, I just said yesterday that solo weekends are awesome. But then the work week sets in, I haven't seen my kids in three days and miss them so much. How is it possible that I've gone three days without seeing my girls? At the very beginning of my separation, I would be a basketcase on Mondays, and it was my bestie that pointed out I was always more emotional that first day back after a busy weekend of catching up with friends. Because while I was busy and distracted and occupied, my kids were not at the forefront of my mind, but reality set in on Monday morning. I would sit at the breakfast table, staring out the window with my Cheerios uneaten and getting soggy while I wondered how I got here and if I was really doing the right thing. That if I continued with this crazy, stubborn, selfish plan, I would miss seeing my kids every day of their lives.

The day after Kate was born, I looked at her and thought, "What the fuck have I done?" I looked at that tiny, scrunchy red creature and started to panic about how I now had a human being dependant on me for her every need. FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Holy shit. That's a hell of an epiphany I can tell you that and I didn't really think I was up for the challenge. 24 hours later, I would have fought tigers for her had I been called on to do so. That protective instinct and my love for her grew every day until it consumed me. I found out that I was really, really good at being a mother. For a person who has always been just smart enough to know that she is mediocre at best, the realization that I was finally amazing at something was deeply satisfying. I held on to it tightly and I wasn't going to give it up.

So when you feel that way about motherhood, dealing with the fact that you are no longer there to protect them and love them every day can be a bit traumatic. And let's face it, I'm a proven drama queen so I imagine the worst-case scenario about how this is all going to play out and I worry about my girls and how this will affect them long term. My worry is not baseless since you always hear horror stories about kids going off the rails because their parents split. My own life went off the deep end a bit when my dad left me at the age of 15 and I never really forgave him for it. I do, however, recognize that this is a different situation. When my dad left, he was done with us. I saw him irregularly at best because he wanted to screw his new girlfriend and he didn't want a sulky teenager who hated his girlfriend at his house every other weekend. The idea of joint custody and both parents actively raising the children after a divorce just wasn't his thing. I was also old enough and angry enough that I didn't want to see him very often. So I speak from personal experience when I tell you I worry for my girls and how this separation will ultimately affect them.

Obviously my ex and I have figured out a way to continue to be in our kids' lives regularly. We both agreed that if we were going to split up, the only important thing to figure out was how to make the kids feel as nurtured, loved and protected as they have always been. Everything else took second fiddle to that. There are going to be some changes, we are moving after all, but we're trying to make it exciting for them instead of scary. We reassure them that even when we aren't together, we're only a phone call away. And drama queen or not, I'm also eternally optimistic about life in general and I look for the good in the bad, I seek out the positive from the negative and see the beauty even in ugly things. So I might worry, but I also hope and expect everything to be okay.

It doesn't mean I don't miss them like crazy when I'm not with them. I haven't missed a moment of their lives since they were born except for the occasional weekend away. But just like with those weekends away, I feel guilty about looking forward to alone time. Because I really do. I revel in it. I write, I read, I do my nails, I watch movies, I see my friends. And I do all of it guilt free because I don't have to worry that I'm doing these things at the expense of not fulfilling someone else's needs. It doesn't seem like a very motherly sentiment to have, but I've always been the primary parent and having down time to recharge has made me a more balanced, patient and caring parent in many ways. And as good pal pointed out, it's ok to look forward to handing my kids over to my ex because I also really look forward to getting them back. It balances out.

The Daily Chai is Puzzled

I'm just about to go get a chai latte and I will tell you all about it some other time. Right now I have an extremely puzzling situation with my phone that I simply must tell you about!

So...a few weeks ago I did a search on S&M, purely to figure out how to spell Sadomasochism (which I didn't spell right when I first published this post) I can't remember why now. Maybe I was drawing up a contract or something, I don't know. Research. For a story. Or something. Moving on. 

So anyway, my Google search came up with S&M on wikipedia and I clicked on the link. Probably because that idiotic movie was coming out. Yeah, that's must be why I was looking it up. But the weird thing is, now, whenever I pull up the Safari window I keep open for my Blogger dashboard on my phone, I get a very brief flash of the main page for the S&M wikipedia. Every time. It's like my phone just wants to remind me that once upon a time, I searched for this particular subject matter AND IT'S NEVER GOING TO LET ME FORGET IT. EVER. Damn you Bridgette* and your damn moral high ground. 

*Bridgette is the name of the phone. 

The Daily Chai and How to Recharge

Today's Chai Latte didn't feel special because it read all my other posts about the delicious chai lattes I've enjoyed in the past and it felt like it was just another latte to be consumed and tossed away. I felt sorry for it and drank it slowly so it would realize that I enjoyed it just as much, if not better, than all the lattes before it.

What a fabulous day on Saturday, I have to say, probably one of the best I've had in a long time. I met one of my oldest friends for coffee in the park and we froze our asses off catching up. We've texted in the four months since my life has changed, but I haven't seen her since right after the shit hit the fan. That time, I walked into her salon, she asked me how  I was doing and I just looked at her. Her response was, "Oh no." Even though she was shocked that I was actually considering ending my marriage (at the time I was still contemplating "just a break") she wasn't shocked by the stories I had to tell. She's been a friend for a long time and knows a lot of my secrets. Yesterday was another good old catch up about what has been happening in the last four months. I think I talked straight for two hours, poor girl. Thank goodness she enjoys my stories! Anyway, it was a wonderful visit and much needed. That chai latte was so much the better because I drank it with one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Then I had an emergency massage from the rock god of RMTs because I've done something to my neck. I had a friend give me some advice on how to ease my pain, but I really don't think that's going to work (but thanks for the suggestion!) so I went to my massage guy instead. It must be all this writing and sitting on the couch on my computer. Oops. This blogging stuff comes at a high price!

In the evening I met another old friend and some of her girlfriends for her birthday and we had a great time. Girl night is always a good way to recharge. It was a little weird being the "single" gal of the group. Been a long time since I was that! I love this person, she is one of those people I met through my ex because she was dating (and is now married to) a friend of his. There was something about her that just clicked inside me and we hit it off. I remember one work party in particular where we just stood poolside yakking away and oblivious to anyone else there. We were talking about how we weren't ready to have kids yet because we were way too selfish to care for another human being...10 years later and we both have two little girls and I doubt anyone would describe us as selfish.

I also had an email from my brother which was...emotional to say the least. We have a strained relationship at best, but there are times we are in sync and I treasure those moments. It helps that he lives on the other side of the planet, we tend to get on each other's nerves less that way. Who knows, maybe my adventure next year will be to Thailand to visit him.

I ended my day with a long, much needed chat with another friend which I thoroughly enjoyed. Very entertaining. I love catching up with my people. I love my people with every fibre in my being and seeing or talking to them recharges my soul. It also helps that I had nine hours of uninterrupted sleep on Friday night and slept until 10:30 on Sunday (although I was up so late I'm not sure sleeping until 10:30 helped!). I love my girls but solo weekends are awesome.

Love to you all and thanks for reading, all your comments and emails are like manna from heaven to me. 

The Daily Chai Has a Bone to Pick

Today's Chai Latte was delicious. I mean really, why are you asking anymore? I drink one almost every day. It would just be silly if they tasted bad.

If you do any of the things below, you should probably stop reading now. I promise you will be offended but being a dick is part of my blog charm.

Pet peeve #1
People who honk their horns just for fun. Listen you dickhead, car horns are used as a warning that someone is about to hit you. So when you honk it a bunch of times just for fun, you scare the shit out of everyone (me). My driving skills are questionable at best and I don't need you hi-LAR-iously honking your horn because you are in high spirits that day.

Pet peeve #2
Tights as pants. I...can't...even...write...about...this.

Pet peeve #3
People who write "alot". See my post here to find out why.

Pet peeve #4
Similar to #1, people who brake hard in front of you. I don't give a shit about the squirrel you just avoided killing. There are thousands of them. They serve as a distraction and nothing else. See?


Pet peeve #5
Places that don't sell pie. What the fuck? What is wrong with you?

Pet peeve #6
People who wait in line at bank machines or at cashiers and when they finally get to the machine/person they are completely unprepared for what is about to happen. They dig in their purse for their wallet, then dig some more for their card (how can you not know where the fuck your bank card is in your own wallet?) and then they dig around for their point card. All the while you are standing behind them doing lunges because your gym time has now been cut in half. Seriously, how the fuck did you think this process works? You had at least five minutes to get prepared. Don't be a dick.

Pet peeve #7
People who post incessantly about working out. First time back at the gym in months? Awesome! Broke your personal best? Also awesome! But nobody else fucking cares. Honestly, limit it to maybe three a year and we will all let it slide.

Pet peeve #8
People who complain about their lives constantly and never do anything to change it. They don't want your advice. They just want to bitch.

Pet peeve #9
People who swear too much. Just fucking kidding. Obvi.

Pet peeve #10
The Blogger app because it doesn't point out my spelling misatkes. It's just wrong. Can't you see the misatke I made there?

Pet peeve #11
Selfies like this:

#nomakeup #nofilter #justwokeuplikethis #duckfacerules #myeyesarereallythiswideallthetime #isntmyphonecasecute #allbullshit (except for the phone case, it really is very cute).

Pet peeve #12
People who flash their lights at you incessantly on a dark road. Please don't do this. It scares the shit out of people. Even if you think the person is driving like a complete asshole, that doesn't give you the right to also be a complete asshole.

Pet peeve #13
People who cancel plans two hours before they are supposed to happen. Unless you have the flu or you just got into a crippling accident, get your shit together and fulfill the commitment you made. It's just rude. If you think I'm talking about you, I probably am.

Pet peeve #14
Restaurants that don't take reservations so when you get there you have to wait an hour for a table. Just fucking take reservations. You don't need to prove how cool you are by having a huge number of people milling about your doors.

Pet peeve #15
Socks with holes in them. Somewhere, a company figured how to make socks that last forever but they don't manufacture them because they wouldn't make any money once you bought enough socks for two weeks. Those companies are assholes.

Pet peeve #16
Bullies. All bullies suck. They make people's lives hell because they feel like shit about themselves. Some bullies have deeply rooted psychological problems because of traumatic and abusive childhoods and they can't deal but some bullies are just assholes. If you've ever made anyone feel like shit just to make yourself feel better, stop it.

Pet Peeve #17

Redheads. Also just fucking kidding. Obvi.

Pet Peeve #18
People who drive slowly in the passing lane. Who do you think you are? Some sort of moral compass for fast drivers? Get the fuck out of my way! I have to get to the gym for leg day. Just kidding. I don't do leg day.

Pet Peeve #19
People who take pictures of their food. "I really enjoyed that photo you posted on Facebook of your dinner last night," said no one ever.

Pet Peeve #20
When people use the word literally but they mean figuratively. "I like, LITERALLY, shit my pants when that happened, oh my god!" So...I'm just saying...I highly doubt you actually SHIT YOUR PANTS. Because then your story would be about the time you shit your pants and not the thing you are actually talking about. If you didn't REALLY shit your pants then you didn't LITERALLY shit your pants. You only figuratively did, which, let's be honest, just isn't as funny. Stop talking now.

Pet Peeve #21
People who leap onto the elevator before the people inside have a chance to get off. News flash, your meeting is not more important than my meeting. Get out of my way. Similarly, people in the front of the elevator who don't move when the doors open and someone in the back needs out. Or they kind of shift around when someone loudly says, "Excuse me," but they are really still in the way. Just get fully out of the elevator and while you're at, hold the damn door so I don't lose a limb because it took you so long to move and now the doors are closing.

Pet Peeve #22
The number 12. I don't know why. It just seems kind of uppity, don't you think?

Pet Peeve #23
When the Latte machine at work is broken. Again. It's like, omg, such a BURDEN to have to leave the building to walk to a real Starbucks. Jebus.

Pet Peeve #24
When the heel on your brand new shoe breaks off. I had this happen to me right before a job interview and I had to limp into the room with this person I had never met and with whom I obviously wanted to make a good impression. I looked like a complete moron shuffling along with my heel flapping against the bottom of my shoe, trying (literally!) not to break my ankle.

That is the short list of my pet peeves. Please feel free to share yours, I'd love to hear them!