The Daily Chai Goes Apeshit About Grammar

Today's Chai Latte is too milky and not quite hot enough. That's what I get for going to the Bean Counter which only professes to serve Starbucks coffee but not be an actual Starbucks. Sad. 

I have a few things to say about grammar and punctuation. My grammar is pretty good, my punctuation needs work, but basically, I know most of the rules. The rules for colons and semi-colons continue to elude me, no matter how often my mother explains them to me, which is why you will never see me use them here. Lots of people think the rules for grammar are overrated, but it's so bloody important for correctly communicating your ideas and thoughts. Even if you don't know the rules exactly, when you see a word or punctuation used incorrectly, your brain stops for a moment to process it. Most of us can figure out what the person means, but the flow of the words has been lost. Or, worse still, the meaning of the message is completely lost and you actually have to take precious seconds to text back a "?" to get clarification. I know. So brutal, right? Empires have been lost over less, of that I am absolutely sure.

I'm just going to give you a few of my very favourites to make my point.

Your welcome. This doesn't make sense. "Your" indicates possession, therefore, when you use it, you are talking about someone's possession. Your dog is ugly. Your story is boring. Your blog is too long and self-righteous. So the ONLY WAY your welcome makes sense is if you follow it by a possession. Your welcome email was appreciated. When you want to be polite after someone thanks you, please write, "You're welcome." Just remember that "you're" is a contraction of "you are." Does it make sense to say, "You are welcome?" Why...YES IT DOES!

Alot. This is possibly my favourite. You know how I know it's not alot? Because my MacBook keeps fucking telling me that it's "a lot" and I actually have to physically click the "x" to tell my MacBook she's wrong. I'm sure her little hard drive heart shivers in agony just a tiny bit every time I do it too. I also know it's not "alot" because it's not "alittle", "alarge", "abig" etc ETC ETC. Okay? Please stop doing this. It drives me mental.

Basically anything with an apostrophe that doesn't need one. This happens when people are trying to make a singular word plural. Here is an example I saw at Target tonight:

Seriously. Are you talking about more than one bra? I'm going to make a huge assumption here and say yes. Many bras are on sale for 30% off. Plural. One bra. Many bras. This sign indicates that one bra owns something. The bra's strap is too tight. The bra's cup is too small. However, as you can see, the salesperson who made this sign didn't finish his or her sentence and has once again left us all hanging. And just as a little bonus...if you were talking about the straps of many bras, it would be bras'. As in, "All the bras' straps were defective." Isn't that fun?

Anyway, my point is that communication, the SOLE PURPOSE OF THE WRITTEN WORD, has not been served here. You are letting us all down Target. Oh, wait. That already happened when you closed 130 stores and left thousands of Canadians without jobs. Hmmm...with that bit of perspective, I feel a little bad about my grammar rant.

No, I don't.


I'm going to leave you with this highly entertaining and disturbingly vulgar guide to help you avoid grammar mishaps.

You're welcome.

The Daily Chai is Ambivalent

Today's Chai Latte is perfect. I have nothing else to say about it except that my entire day has been made because it started with the perfect drink. Sweet, simple things people, enjoy them all!

Mixed emotions last night as my real estate agent came to take pictures and measure rooms so she can list our matrimonial home. We've been here for six years and I never wanted to move again, but here I am, planning, once again, to move. Balls. God, I hate moving.

We bought this house sight unseen while we still lived in Germany. Lots of people went to look at it for us, but the first time we saw the house was on our final inspection right before we moved in. The bedrooms were a little smaller than I'd imagined, but all in all, I was happy with it. It's an old house in an old town and I loved it. It has some good character, like transom windows above the bedroom doors and some of the original trim has survived. There are windows everywhere and on sunny days it is filled with lovely light in every room. It has a finished attic family room just like the house I grew up in and a creepy old cellar with a working cistern that I have never been fully convinced does not house a crocodile. And I SWEAR I have heard children laughing and running when mine have been fast asleep. Maybe just a trick of the house creaking in its old age, but it doesn't bother me, it just reminds me this hundred year old house has history.

We will leave some of our own history here to carry on. There has been love and laughter in this house and it is the house I brought Anna home to when she was born. It is the house that Kate has grown up in and the only place she remembers as the memories of Germany faded for her. I spent almost two years here as a stay-at-home mom, raising my girls and the happiness of those memories will last me forever.

But it is also a house that has many sad memories for me and my family. By the very virtue of its age and character, it has caused us both stress and in someways, that stress played a part in destroying our marriage. Last spring, I thought if we moved to a new house, a house that we would both love, the stress would melt away, but that is like having a baby to save a marriage. It's a pretty big commitment for a bandaid solution. When I thought about buying something else with my ex and being as house poor as we were planning to be, I backed off the idea. It was yet another indication that my marriage was crumbling. People in a healthy partnership do not worry that buying a house is going to tie them more fully to the other person, they reveal in the happiness of the commitment.

And so, a chapter of my life comes to an end. I am excited about it as well as sad. Last week, I was having a few low moments and I asked a friend to remind why I was doing this again. To remind me the correct path is not always the easiest or the happiest. To remind me that sometimes the things of the greatest worth are the hardest to achieve. He came back with this:

So I, like everyone around me, weathers the storm. I'm even learning to enjoy the storm because I never know where it's going to take me next and I'm always up for an adventure.

The Daily Chai and How I Almost Died Today

Today's grande chai latte was of the fancy Oprah variety. 2% milk in case you were wondering because low fat is for chumps and life is too short to waste time on fat free drinks. I drank it too fast and now I'm sweaty. Damn those hot drinks.

Let the philosophical musings begin. 

I was glorying in the extra hour of daylight yesterday and loving the red sunset. My dad used to tell me "Red sky at night, sailors' delight" I figure sailors have to be  pretty good at reading the weather and the old saying meant that a red sunset at night forecasted a beautiful day in the morning. I've never known this to be proven untrue which makes me appreciate those beautiful sunsets even more. 

However, when I woke up in the dark this morning, I was less than impressed. Forgot about that part of Daylight Savings Time. Oh well, I let the kids sleep a little longer and took pictures of them

After dropping Anna at daycare, I galloped back to the car, singing and doing windmills with my arms, purely just to embarrass Kate who is at the perfect age to be mortified by everything I do, whether anyone is watching or not. Just for fun, I now intentionally do embarrassing things around her. There is a method to my madness however...my goal is to teach her not to give a shit about what other people think of her. It's a slow process and I'm having a delightful time with it. 

"Mom! Why are you doing that? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing Kate! I'm just happy!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Mom! Why are you happy?"

"Um. I don't know. Because the sun is shining. Because it's only minus three instead of minus a hundred. Because spring is coming. Because the birds are back. I don't really have a reason. Isn't that amazing? I'm me and I'm happy about it. Because baby, I'm alive!" 

"Oh. Well stop doing that, it's  embarrassing."

Sigh. 

So it was rather ironic that on the way to work today, after dropping Kate off, I almost got smoked by a transport truck I was just about to pass on the highway. He decided it would be the perfect time to switch lanes and I literally had to slam my brakes on to avoid getting run over. My car skidded and fishtailed as he quickly veered back into his lane, causing his trailer to wobble dangerously and I pictured him losing control and me slamming into him. Still shaking from that close call. 

So I say again, I am happy to be alive. Life is short, death is long. Enjoy every minute you have on earth because the number you get is finite. I will continue to dance and sing to embarrass my daughter and I will tell her every day of my life why I am happy. 

Because baby, I'm alive. Listen to this song and I think you will agree. 

The Daily Chai Got a Late Start

Today's grande chai latte was shared with Kate who said it was delicious. I agreed.

The girls and I had to go out to the house today to pack and purge and make it look good for the pictures to list it. Things are moving forward in that department at least.

We stopped at Walmart to get some storage containers and we went to the girls' section to look for mitts since Kate has lost hers at the very end of the season when it's impossible to replace them. Thank goodness the warmer weather is coming! It is coming, right?

Wonders never cease, we actually found mittens. Kate is pumped about the awesomeness of her mittens pictured here:

Anna wanted mittens too, but she didn't like the only ones small enough for her so we left them. She didn't really need new mittens, she just wanted them. We checked out and Anna started to cry that she wanted mittens too.

"Why Kate gets mittens and I don't? I WANT MITTENS TOO!" she begins to screech as I'm hauling her out of the cart to put it away.

"Anna...my darling. You didn't want the mittens they had, so you didn't get mittens. You didn't need mittens anyway, you are wearing perfectly good mittens."

"BUT I WANT THEM!"

"Well, next time tell me that before it's too late and you will avoid being disappointed. Now it's too late, we have to go home."

"BUT I WANT THEM! KATE GOT MITTENS AND I WANT SOME TOO" Heartwrenching sobs begin to erupt at the tragic loss of cheetah printed mitts and the absolute bloody unfairness of big sister getting something as special as mitts and being the only one left out of the fun. I buckle her into her car seat as tears stream down her face and I say, "Dear girl. It's okay to be disappointed but you need to understand that just because Kate got something doesn't mean I'm going to buy you something too. I'm simply not going to do that and you need to learn to deal with your disappointment."

"NO!!!" She screams back at me. And she begins to spit raspberries in between sobs. Because that is pretty much the epitome of high insults when you're a preschooler. 

Breathe. Carry on. I get into the front seat as she continues to cry and I begin backing out of my parking spot. Suddenly a small pink mitt is viciously thrown at my head. The effect Anna is going for is probably lost as the mitten flutters harmlessly to the floor. I can't help it. I start to laugh. Like, almost peeing my pants laughing, tears beginning to form laughing, great belly laughs erupt from my gut laughing. 

"DON'T. LAUGH. AT. ME!!!!!!" Comes the shriek from the backseat. And another tiny pink mitt comes fluttering at my head. I laugh harder. Kate begins to laugh. Anna shrieks indignantly, "I HATE THESE MITTENS. STOP LAUGHING AT ME. STOP LAUGHING!" The last word is a shrill scream of frustration and anger that only a four year old human can produce. 

Suddenly, "ANNA, NO!!!" yells Kate, "Mom, she took off her boot and she was about to throw it at you!"

"Anna King, if you throw that boot at me I will spank your bottom and I will put you to bed for the rest of the day and you WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO WATCH A MOVIE." There. That gave her pause. No boot comes flying in my direction but she is still crying. I start to laugh again, I can't help it, it's just so ridiculous how worked up she's gotten over a pair of mittens she didn't even want. 

"STOP. LAUGHING. AT. ME!" She screams again, her voice actually breaking in the effort to maintain the extreme pitch. 

I work my face into something serious and try to keep my traitorous shoulders from shaking in mirth and I say, "I'm sorry Anna. I'll stop now." Meanwhile, I have not stopped laughing at all and I'm pretty sure I just peed my pants. 

The Daily Chai Hates Cleaning

Today's grande Chai Latte was spicy and hot, kind of like me. Bahahahaha, okay, that just had to said. You may be thinking I'm a little conceited and you'd be right, however I meant it in a temperature kind of way. I'm cleaning so I'm dirty and sweaty and gross. And I'm pretty grumpy about it.

I abhor cleaning in all its forms. My philosophy of life has always been that I'd rather be out doing something with my kids than at home cleaning. The dishes can wait, Kate wants me to read a story. The floors can be spot cleaned in twenty seconds because Anna wants me to play with her dolls. The dusting can suck it because it's a glorious day outside so we're going to the park. The bathroom is grimy but there is a good movie to go see. So I have lived my life. The last time we moved my ex was going through the garage stuff, picked up the Bee Mop and innocently (?) said, "Should we just throw this out? We don't use it anyway." To which I replied indignantly, "You don't use it, but I do!"  In reality I'd probably used it three times since I bought it. And my house is proof of that. Holy shit, there is dust everywhere I look and just when I've wiped down one surface, I look around at the 99 other surfaces that need to be cleaned. This fucking sucks. I'm taking a break from being on my hands and knees to thoroughly clean my floors to write this but I'm shuddering at the thought that I need to clean the bathroom soon. Worst job ever. 

This state of affairs is not entirely my fault. When I was a stay-at-home mom, my house was a lot cleaner, after all, it was my job to clean and cook and take care of the babies. I didn't mind that, I may not have been contributing monetarily to the household, but I had a role and a job to do. And I did it gladly. But when I went back to work full-time and started classes up again, damned if I was going to spend my evenings and weekends mopping the fucking floor! My ex felt the same way and I don't blame him for that either. Just the way it was. We talked about getting a cleaning service but you can imagine who's job it was to arrange that and I never got around to it. 

I doubt I'm the only one with a dirty house. Many times I've heard, "We should have people over more often just so the house gets cleaned."  The problem really lies in that most women do not feel they are doing their job properly if their house isn't sparkly, their careers aren't envious, their kids aren't perfect and their husbands aren't happy. Why do we put that pressure on ourselves? I felt guilty every minute I was sitting down. Not anyone's fault but my own, I put that guilt on myself but it's hard to shake. Somehow, even if it kills us, we have to be superwomen and do it all. In the measly 24 hours allotted to us each day. No wonder no one gets enough sleep. 

Now that I find myself on my own, I feel a lot less guilt about the state of my house. No one but me to care if it's clean. The kids certainly don't give a shit. I'm only cleaning it now because we're getting ready to put it on the market. I could not care less if it was actually clean. And I'm taking the kids skating this afternoon whether that fucking bathroom is clean or not. 

The Daily Chai Goes Back in Time

An excerpt from my pregnancy blog 2005-10-21  (17 weeks)

I feel like I've been neglecting my journal since I haven't written in over a week, but nothing much has been happening. I don't think what  I was feeling last week was the baby moving,  because I haven't felt more movement or stronger movements since then. Everyone keeps telling my pregnancy will be really real to me once I start feeling the baby move and that it feels so cool, so I'm getting impatient, waiting for this next step! In true drama queen fashion to which I'm sure you've all become accustomed, I almost started to cry on my way to work today because I started thinking about the birth and how much it's going to hurt and how hard it will be and how I'll never be able to do it. It's so stupid, I know, all women fear labour and almost all women make it through somehow. I know I should be preparing for the birth by educating myself, but I can't bring myself to think about it. I wish I could just go to sleep pregnant and wake up with a baby! Worse yet is when you voice your fears and everyone says, "Oh, it isn't that bad." Uh, yes it will be!!! My most favourite thing in the world to date is when they start ‘entertaining’ me with stories of their labours or their friends’ labours. I should probably say HORROR STORIES. Why do women do that? I mean, this is my first baby. I have no memories or anything personal to go on. I’ve led a fairly charmed life, the last time I broke a bone, I was 11 and it was a minor hair-line fracture of the wrist. But these WOMEN. Oh. My. God. Here’s an example of the scariest-assed thing I have ever heard. My friend, who shall remain nameless, but she knows who she is, said that her niece was in labour for 48 hours. Then she pushed for four hours and when the baby finally started to come the woman had to have an episiotomy to avoid tearing. The doctor made a cut three inches long from which said woman has never really recovered because they didn’t stitch her up right. 48 hour labour? Episiotomy? Stitching? What the fuckity fuck? Why do people even HAVE children? Oh, but they say it’s all worth it when you finally hold that newborn baby in your arms for the first time. Whatever. I’ll believe that when it happens. Oh and here’s another one: This one involves the umbilical cord being tied around the baby’s neck. Mother in extreme pain and baby in mortal danger. Good times, good times. AND THEN, when I say, “Well, I’m really worried about the pain and I’m having a epidural,” I get in TROUBLE because some people think epidurals are bad for the baby. Like, when did my body and my baby become anyone’s business? I’ll handle labour exactly the way I want to, thank you very much. I don’t roll my eyes when people proudly tell me their ridiculous birthing plans to relax with massage during labour pain. Again, I say, WHATEVER. You do it your way, I’m very happy with my way! I have a lot of weird dreams about the baby. Last night I had another dream, but it was more normal. I dreamt that we had a boy and we named him Connor. I woke up feeling that, of course, this was a prophetic dream and that it will come true. That it is fate. I'm starting to wonder if I always have these weird thoughts or if it's because I'm pregnant. I don't remember what it's like not be pregnant. I honestly cannot remember what I felt and what I thought about when I was not incubating a fetus. It’s like going to a party sober and getting so shitfaced drunk that later in the evening, if you can even form coherent thought, you wonder what it’s like to be sober and in fact, even when you think REALLY HARD, you can’t comprehend ever having been sober and you’re pretty sure that you started life drunk as billygoats and have experienced your entire life drunk. Being pregnant is basically the same. Yesterday I went to pick up lunch for everyone at work (my boss paid because it's his birthday) and I saw a teeny-tiny pink baby with her father. I said, "That looks like a very new baby!" and he said she had just been born on Monday! She looked so sweet and small and, unbelievably, I almost started to cry right then and there because I felt so overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of my baby being out and about picking up lunch one day.  My mom is right, pregnant women are crazy!

The Daily Chai and Kids of Divorce, Part 2

The Daily Chai hates me. It has decided, in its existential crisis that because I didn't order it, it ceased to exist and now, just to spite me, it won't come back. This is what happens when hot drinks start questioning their reason for existence.

I wrote a couple days ago about how Kate is dealing with my separation and the essential splitting of her family as she knew it. Some of you asked, "But what about Anna?" Anna...is a different story. She's only four and she doesn't really understand what's happen or why it's happening. At this stage in her development, she is only beginning to understand cause and effect. Added to that, the world revolves around her and her wants and needs. She understands home and daycare, but her world is pretty small and therefore, fairly uncomplicated. The complexity of adult relationships is beyond her grasp of understanding and she only knows the close, affection bonds between herself and her sister, her mother and her father.  Bonds that have been tested harshly and, in the case of my ex and I, broken. She is striving for independence when she insists on picking her own clothes and getting herself dressed, but she still depends on both me and her dad for the majority of her other needs. She has three feelings: happy, sad and frustrated as fuck. So try explaining that while mommy and daddy don't want to be married anymore, that doesn't mean they don't love YOU! Yeah, right. Really? You guys used to love each other, what happened? Are you going to stop loving me one day? Why don't you love each other anymore? Why don't you live together anymore? Are you going to live together again? I want you to, so you better get on that.

The other night I went over to the house for a visit and Anna came out of the office with a woeful expression on her face and the sad tale of her mean sister Kate not drawing for her anymore because she was doing math. It set the tone for my entire visit, this tearful little face with the trembling chin. She got frustrated when I didn't draw the stick figure EXACTLY to her little dictator's unspoken expectations (I drew it with hands for the love of god, what the fuck was I THINKING??). Then it was time for bed and I do believe all parents will understand the extreme, frightening, nearly bloody tantrum that suddenly erupted at the words, "Okay my darling, bedtime!" Oh well. I carried her writhing, screaming body upstairs anyway and dumped her on my bed to get her undressed.

"But I didn't get to cuddle with you mommy! I want to cuddle!" She screamed in my face. Trying to stay calm, but needing to count to ten, I said, VERY sweetly, "Oh my darling, let's get your PJs on and then we will cuddle all you like!"

"I want to cuddle RIGHT NOW!"

"PJs first, cuddle after," I said, wondering why I had made that stupid stipulation. Now I had to stick to it or be disobeyed forever because my kids will never trust that I mean what I say if I back down one iota from "PJs first, cuddle after."  Why do we put that kind of pressure on ourselves as parents? Jesus.

Well. She started to cry and asked me again, probably for the 58th time since we split up, why don't I love Daddy anymore?

"I do love Daddy, darling, I always will. But it's complicated and sometimes grownups just can't be married anymore."

"Daddy says you don't love him." OH FUCK. Now, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt here because Anna has been known, frequently, to say that I said things or he said things that were completely and totally untrue. So let's just say he didn't say that to her and move on.

I took that little morsel of human existence into my lap and she wrapped her arms and legs around me like a monkey and lay her damp face on my shoulder while I held her tight and stroked her hair. "I think you may have misunderstood Daddy. We will always love each other. But what's really important my girl is that I love YOU.  You are smart and special and you will always be my girl. I will always, always love you and be there for you when you need me." As I said that last part, I choked a little because the hardest part about this is that I'm NOT always there for her when she needs me. One of us is, she always has one parent available when she needs us, but sometimes you just need your mother. And there are days where I'm no where to be found, so essentially, I just lied to my baby. In that split second, I pictured her, 14 and hooked on crack because she was abandoned by her mother at the age of four and never learned how to form lasting bonds with people which led to a life of crime. Yes, that is where my head goes.

Anyway, she calmed down and I put her to bed and lay down beside her in that tiny toddler bed and sang I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane at her insistence. Fuck, that is a sad song to sing to the baby I have to leave behind.

Later, after Kate and I had spent some time watching this incredibly cute Minecraft vlogger (she admitted that half the reason she watches him is because he is so cute and the other reason is because he has pugs), Anna was crying out to me again. I went to her room, "Anna, Anna, my darling, my love, what's wrong now? You need to go to sleep and you've kicked off your covers," I said as I leaned down to tuck her back in.

"I had a hard day today mummy," God, they know how to break your heart, don't they? So back I went into that tiny toddler bed where she "made a spot" for me and I sang Mockingbird to her. Told her she was my girl, that she was my favourite and don't tell Kate. (don't worry, I told Kate the exact same thing moments earlier, they're both aware of my duplicity).

I have no words of wisdom about how to handle this hard time except to say that I express my deep love for her whenever I see her. There is no point in explaining why mummy and daddy don't live together. She doesn't understand, nor should she be burdened with those reasons at her age. Maybe one day, if she is still interested, I will try to explain it to her. Right now,  I concentrate on developing our bond into something meaningful and unbreakable with the hope that it will be strong enough to keep her from losing her mind as a teenager and becoming a prostitute for drugs.

The Daily Chai Just Saved My Life

Today's second chai latte might just have saved my life. I was going back home from an evening with my kids when this car comes up right behind me and starts flashing its high beams at me. I wasn't texting or weaving or anything ridiculous like that, just driving.  So I check that my lights are on and they are so I'm just like WTF, right? Well this person keeps flashing me and then keeps them on, shining them right in my mirrors. I'm starting to get a little worried but I'm thinking maybe my brake lights don't work or something but really, what the hell do you expect me to do about it right this second? Do you really think I'm going to pull over on a dark highway and say, "Howdy! What's up fucker?" So you can kindly let me know that my brake lights don't work because you've already proven to be such a great person already? NFW.

After a few kilometres I hit the roundabout and the person turns off. Phew. Not following me all the way in thank god! Then I get into town and see this person behind me again. Not sure of course that it's the same person, but the lights are the same. Not flashing but maybe they're now trying to be stealth as they plot my murder? Jebus. 

That's it! I need a latte! I pull into Starbucks because there is no fucking way I'm going home with that suspicious car following me. The car continues on and I'm in the clear. I text a girlfriend to tell her what happened:

I'm still laughing. Because you fucking know I checked my backseat double quick. 

The latte was great. Spilled it on my hand and found out it was fucking hot. Shock. 

The Daily Chai and What Women Want

The Daily Chai is still suffering from its existential crisis and is now wondering if no one orders it, does it really exist? Just kidding! I just went to a different Starbucks sillies! I got a Venti and a free piece of banana bread, yay me!

On to philosophical musings.

"Women don't need love. Only men need to be loved, sweetheart. Women need to be wanted."
So said wise and batshit crazy Gemma of Sons of Anarchy fame. I don't know why this quote resonates with me so much, but I've often thought about it since I watched Gemma tell Nero what she needed from him. I always thought I was looking for love, for true love. I found it once and I took it for granted, so I lost it. I'm sure I'll find love again, after all, there are an awful lot of wonderful people out there. And I'm your basic eternally optimistic romantic. Both a blessing and curse, I promise you. But is it what I truly want? I'm not so sure anymore. I find more and more that I want to be wanted. I want to know that the person I'm with, when I meet him, wants me in all my silly, thoughtful, crazy, sane, idiotic, smart, funny, serious ways. I'm a trip and I'm a handful and I change my mind daily, so I'm not always a party to be around. When someone really sees me, sees inside my soul and still wants all that...isn't that love in its basic form anyway?

I recently realized I'm the crazy friend. Thank you Facebook for finding that little tidbit of information out. If you would like proof, read this. While Drunk Meg has not been given a special name, I hate the duck face selfie and I don't use snapchat, that list is pretty much me to a "T". And let's be honest, the way I've been partying on my kid-free weekends, my drunken alter ego will be saddled with a moniker soon enough.

I'm sorry. I misled you with my title. I don't know what women want. None of us do.

The Daily Chai Has Been Disappointed

Today's Chai Latte is having an existential crisis and decided not to make an appearance just to prove a point.










I bought these boots a couple years ago, not exactly sure when, but since I paid nearly $200 for them I expected them to LAST THE REST OF MY LIFE. Clearly I was mistaken to put so much faith in footwear. In true Canadian fashion, I have written a very strongly-worded email to Sorel, demanding they remedy this despicable situation. I will be sure to update you on the story of my boots, as I'm sure you are all dying to hear about it.

In other news, the weather sucks. Oh, my apologies, YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT. Can we, for the love of god, please talk about something besides the weather? How 'bout those Red Sox? Did you hear about this?

I would also like to point out that my most popular post to date is The Daily Chai is Hungover which makes you all guilty of schadenfreude. Since this is quite possibly one of my favourite expressions ever, I'd like to say that I love each and every one of you who read the post. You must be good shits. Also, you men really need to take the fucking kids out of the house. Possibly more often than once a week. Why are you still here? GO, GO NOW!

In all seriousness, I truly appreciate all those who have reached out to tell me they are enjoying my blog or just to say hi and see how I'm doing. I know I've written about some pretty heavy things in the past week, but I want you all to know that I really am doing just fine! I have my ups and downs, my good days and bad days, but overall, I'm happy. I'm moving forward with my life in the best way I know how, taking care of my kids and taking care of me. I'm not always going to make the right choices and already I've done some pretty dumb shit, but at least they are my choices. What makes me even happier is the connection I've made with the number of you who have said my words described exactly how you felt about a certain situation. We are not alone. Carry on.

The Daily Chai and Kids of Divorce, Part 1

Today's grande Chai Latte came with the apocalyptic warning that they were running out of the chai mix and I might not be able to get my latte tomorrow. I better enjoy this one like it's the last one I will ever have. It's damn good too so at least I will have good memories. 

People ask me all the time, "How are the kids?" when I tell them my ex and I have separated. It's a tough question because I'd like to say they are awesome and resilient, but I can't see inside their heads. I don't REALLY know how they feel about this or how much they're holding inside. I told them both from the beginning that they can talk to me anytime about anything and it was okay to be sad. I thought that was important because we're always telling our kids, don't cry, it's okay, here's a cookie, but don't cry. Don't negatively express yourself, don't express anger or hurt or sadness, be happy and for the love of god, don't cry.

Well, fuck. This sucks, they SHOULD cry if they want to, this is possibly the shittiest thing that will ever happen to them. I know when my dad left, I thought my life was over. Everything changed. The circumstances of my separation are very different from my parents, but the effect is the same. Split houses, not seeing each parent every day. Not being a family in the sense that you have always understood family. So, my dear girls, cry if you need to because this sucks. Lord knows I've cried rivers since I made this decision.

I hope my girls feel they can talk to me when they're sad. The problem comes when they don't talk to me and they hold it in, for whatever reason. Maybe they don't want to make me feel bad, maybe they just can't express the reasons for their unhappiness. Maybe they are just tired of talking about it. Fuck, sometimes I feel like if I have to talk about it anymore, I might go crazy. Other times I can't stop talking about it. And the thing is, I can't force them to express every emotion they are having, no matter how badly I want to know what is going on inside their heads. However, there is one story about Kate that I can relate here that makes me think she's doing okay.

She was freaking out on me because she didn't want to have a bath. And I'm not talking refusal to have a bath, I'm talking full out hysterics because I told her she needed to wash her hair during her bath. We got into a screaming match about it and I had to leave the room because we were going nowhere and the mom guilt about yelling at her was settling in. Plus, I was losing my shit just a tiny bit too much over the bath war and I needed to back off. When I came back, she was in the bath, but hiccoughing and crying like a crazy girl. I knew there was more to this than a bath and thought it was maybe more about this being my last night before I handed the reins over to my ex for the week. I didn't want to make that suggestion though because I needed to hear it from her. For all I knew, she was upset because she'd had a fight with her best friend, or a boy had teased her or the teacher got mad at her. The minute I suggest it's about our family, she'd latch on to that and I'd be left wondering if that was really the problem.

After her bath, she was still crying a bit and I asked her again, "What is this really about? I know you don't like your bath, but for god's sake, you have one every other night, why is this a constant battle? I think there's more to this than you're telling me, but you gotta say it to me, you gotta tell me yourself what's up."

"I don't like baths and I don't like when you yell at me and I don't like...that...you and daddy aren't together anymore," the last word ending with a howl of anguish. My heart, hardened by the ridiculousness over the bath war, melted into a puddle and I gathered my girl up in my arms while she sobbed about us breaking up. Finally she started to talk and she said, "We won't go to the park together anymore, we won't go swimming or skating together as a family and we..won't....go to DISNEYLAND EVER." Thank fuck that kid has her priorities straight. I stroked her hair and I told her to talk and to cry and to be sad, that it was okay to be sad about this shitty thing that had happened. But then I thought, she needs to understand something...something vital about what is happening here.

"Kate, you need to listen to me. I know you are sad that we won't do stuff the four of us and that's true. There are things like dinner and stuff that we won't do as a family anymore, but I want you to really think about this. When have we ever really done anything the four of us? I'm the one that takes you to the park, I'm the one that goes skating with you, I'm the one that takes you swimming and shopping and to the movies. We've been the three musketeers since Anna was born and mummy and daddy splitting up isn't going to change that. I'm still going to do those things with you. The best part is, daddy is going to do those things with you now too. So now you have two parents that are going to take you places and play with you and do different things so that you get to have all sorts of fun and spend time with each of us."

It was like a lightbulb went off over Kate's head. Truly. She stopped crying and nodded her head. I could practically see the realization spreading across her face. Ever since then, she's been happy and looking forward to the future, looking forward to moving to a new house and starting at a new school. Don't get me wrong, not all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. She still has her moments of doubt and sadness, but they don't last long and she carries on. As we all do. The best part is my ex told me tonight that he had them out tobogganing yesterday, so I know I spoke the truth to her that night.

The Daily Chai and How I Broke my Face

Today's grande Chai Latte came with a debate about whether Starbucks' pretentious size names are Italian or Spanish. I'm going with Italian and therefore ordered my grande with an Italian accent just for shits and giggles. The chai itself was foamy and hot and delicious. Well worth the $4.80. Crap, as I wrote that I thought, "No hot drink is worth almost five dollars." And yet...I will continue to purchase them because clearly I have no willpower.

2014 was a shit year. Many good things happened but it was the year I broke my foot, broke my face and topped it off by breaking my marriage. So you can probably understand why I was happy to say goodbye to 2014 and welcome 2015 with open arms.

Monday of the May 24th weekend: I've just had one of those weekends with the kids. Lovely little human beings that want what they want when they want it and to hell with everyone else's needs. They get along pretty well, but they'd been bickering and screaming for pretty much 48 hours. On Monday morning, after listening to Kate shriek at Anna about touching her stuff and Anna crying that Kate is so mean, I looked at my husband, wild-eyed and said, "Take these tiny monsters out of this house. I don't care what you do with them but I am this close to a homicidal rage here. Can you hear how my voice is getting high and squeaky? I don't like my voice like this. I need a few hours to bring it down an octave or two. I want to paint my nails, watch Grey's Anatomy and go for a bike ride. I need time to myself for five minutes." Perhaps sensing total  annihilation, he obliged quite quickly.  There were some protests from those sweet angels as they realized they were leaving the house and MOMMY WAS STAYING BEHIND but daddy was adamant that they need to leave RIGHT NOW. Go go go go

The next hour was spent happily in bed watching the BEST GREY'S SEASON FINALE EVER (Meredith and Christina say good bye and drink tequila and dance *sob*) and painting my nails, while happily anticipating my first bike ride of the season. 

Many of you might remember how much I love biking. It started in Germany with  the lovely, paved bike/walking trails all over the countryside. Great way to get in shape and explore the surrounding land. When I moved back to Canada, I didn't have as many chances to bike, working full time and going to school and now with two littles running around. However, this was the first really great day we'd had since my broken foot had healed so I was taking advantage. 

Everything started off well, the sun was shining and the roads were clear. I was at kilometre 18 and feeling pretty good about myself as I was coming down the highway just outside my town. It's a busy road with a gravel shoulder and I was trying to stay as close to the shoulder as possible so I didn't get creamed by a passing car. Suddenly my front wheel skidded off the road and started to shimmy along the lip of the pavement and the gravel. It started to wobble wildly and then suddenly turned sharply at a right angle. Since I was going downhill and probably doing about 25 km/h, you can imagine that my velocity pretty much took over...my bike had suddenly stopped, but my body did not. I went head first over the handlebars and for a split second I watched helplessly as the ground rushed up to my face and I knew it would be smashing into me in a second.  The peak of my helmet hit the gravel shoulder first, somewhat breaking my fall, but then my face skidded along the gravel, smashing my nose and cutting my lip open. My pelvis hit the handle bars and my right hand was crushed under them when I landed. My right knee took a bad hit too and I ended up with some nasty road rash that has left two large scars. I have no idea how long I lay there, but I got shakily to my feet and looked on the ground for my teeth, which I was convinced I had broken. Blood was dripping from my face but I didn't know from where, my nose? My teeth? Turns out it was from the split lip. My teeth, while the enamel was somewhat cracked, were miraculously unbroken. My nose, ditto. 

The first person to stop was, wonders never cease, a doctor. He asked me if I knew my name and where I lived and said he was going to examine my face. My mouth was filling with blood as he lifted my chin and I reactively spit to rid myself of the taste. Of course, I spit blood all over this wonderful person who was trying to help me and I immediately started to shake and cry and apologize.   He was very kind and said I was going into shock and it was okay, he'd been bled on before. Suddenly this wild looking woman skids to a stop on the other side of the road and comes running over to see if I need help. 

"Are you okay?" 

Now, you might think my first reaction would be "No, I'm not fucking okay! I'm bleeding from various abrasions and I think my hand and nose are broken. Other than that, I'm fucking fabulous."

Well, you would be wrong. My first reaction, not wanting to cause anyone trouble was to say, "Yeah, I'm okay, I just need to get home and get some bandaids. No trouble."

Thank fuck my humbleness got hit on the head with some good sense because I finally replied with:

"No, no I don't think I am. I need a ride home. And a hospital possibly. And oh my god, I'm bleeding so much and I can't find my phone but I can hear the music playing!" Because, you know, the whereabouts of my phone while I'm bleeding from numerous body parts is top priority. As is wasting the battery playing music I was no longer listening to. 

Suddenly I heard a soft voice to my right tell me I was going into shock and to breathe and could she help me, "I'm a doctor."

"Well, holy shit, it's doctor day in the 86 because this fellow here is a doctor too! Fantastic!" 

Clearly I'm getting a little delirious in the retellling of this story. Anyway, the first doctor took my bike home, the wild-haired crazy lady took me home and the second doctor left, seeing I was in good hands. The wild-haired crazy lady told me she and her passenger were out looking for corn (in May...yeah, my thoughts exactly) and just look what they found. Me! Bleeding and crying at the side of the road! Lucky them. Her passenger looked to be about 96 and quite decrepit. 

However, it was she that had to help me hobble up the sidewalk to my front porch because my knee was beginning to seize up and the shock was wearing off into extreme pain all over my body. My kids came tearing around the front to see what the commotion was all about and both started to cry when they saw mommy bleeding and crying and limping to the front porch. Anna is still traumatized by the incident. Just the other day she said to me, "You came home and you were bleeding and I didn't like that. You went to the hospital and you came home and you were still bleeding. I didn't like that either."

A trip to hospital showed nothing was actually broken and I didn't even need stitches to the hamburger that my lip had become. Nine months later and I have several scars but no lasting damage and even though my dentist suggested plastic surgery for my face, I've healed well enough that is wasn't needed. Thank fuck.  Who has money for plastic surgery?

Three weeks later I joined the gym. No more outdoor exercise for me. And I haven't ridden my bike since. PTSD. I keep picturing the ground rushing up to smash into my face. 

The Daily Chai is Hungover

Today's Chai is still at Starbucks and I'm lying in bed hoping it will magically appear at my bedside. No such luck.

Last night was a trip. Managed to drink enough wine that I got to see what it looks like coming up the other way. My buddy said, "Note for next time, stop about halfway through the big bottle instead of drinking the whole thing."  My reply, "Ha! Maybe I should stop halfway through a small bottle. That would be even better." Anyway, it's been a month or two since I indulged and I came out relatively unscathed. A little hungover but basically all in one piece. The last time I almost broke my nose when I tripped over my own winter boots and face planted in the icy snowbank. Nose bled for an hour and I cried to my bestie for longer because...oh, for so many reasons. Questioning my choices, worried about my kids, wishing things were different. I was in shock because the ground rushing at my face was reminiscent of my bike accident in May when I broke various parts of my body, including my face, which I'm rather fond of, so the experience was traumatic. 

My girlfriend came by around 7 and we got right into it. She's more of a friend of a friend, but it was a good time and we had lots to talk about. Seems to be an epidemic of men who don't take their parenting responsibilities seriously. Men...take heed! It's easy to let you wife do it all because she will naturally take on each new task, feeling like it's her duty. But just because she does all those things with the kids, doesn't mean she's happy about it and you can sit around playing video games with your hand in your pants. A word of advice (I might still be married if I'd insisted on this): take your kid(s) completely out of the house for a couple hours EVERY week. I know, you might be thinking that is just a crazy fucking thing to suggest, but trust me.  I don't give a shit if you just drive around with them, take them to the park, the mall, to work, I really don't care, but get them and yourself out of there. This serves two purposes. 1) the obvious one is it gives your wife a pause in her busy life so she doesn't go on a psychotic break and drown all of you in the tub one day and 2) you will get to experience HOW MUCH FUN it is to wrangle one or more children in an uncontrolled environment like the mall. I liken it to herding cats with a string. And maybe, just fucking maybe, you will realize that hauling those kids around everywhere, all the time, isn't, like, oh my god, such a fun job!! It's stressful and people judge you in public if you aren't the perfect parent and your kids CONSTANTLY ask you to buy them things and you have to say no all the time and then you say yes and your mother looks at you and says, "You spoil those kids!" Even though you said no five hundred previous times and just had a tiny weak moment. Or you are at the pool and one kid is hanging off you like a koala bear the other one is shouting, "Look at me mom, mum, mum,  MOTHER! Look at what I can do!" EVERY FIFTEEN SECONDS. If men experienced that constant pulling in every direction for even a couple hours a week, they would be more sympathetic to their wives. 

So yes, in my humble opinion, marriages everywhere could be saved if men would just take their kids out of the house once a week. Oh. And without fucking being asked to do so. A little voluntary action on your part would be the bomb.  Pretty simple eh?

Anyway, last night I had a surprise visitor from my way back past which was amazing. Funny how 15-20 years can pass and you are still buddies the way you always were, no matter how life has changed you. And he's still the same good guy I always knew, tucking me in on the couch when I passed out! I wonder how many times he's had to do that? Not much has changed! Still sitting on the same couches in my mother's house, shooting the shit about fights and tattoos and our ridiculous mutual friends who have not changed either. The only difference was my mom wasn't there smoking with us and we had to go outside to smoke. Good times.