Bibliomama

Ramblings. And soup.

2012-02-19T14:35:00.000-08:00

Seems I accidentally took a break from blogging.

I'm not doing that great. I thought I was doing okay, which I sort of am, but not great. And I'm not sick. Which is fantastic, I got through Christmas and vacation return without getting the Chest Thing that I always get over Christmas or after vacation return. I still cough a lot because that's just the way my crazy airways work, but it's still way better than last year, and I am thankful. Except even without being sick I'm not doing that great. But I did make it to the gym the last two weeks, and go to physio for my oh-so-poetic Patellar Femoral Syndrome. And I shelved library books and made dinner and watched Angus's volleyball tournament - okay, I'm sounding pathetic now just to console myself. My husband assures me that I'm not wrecking our children and reminds me that even the Cleavers weren't actually the Cleavers and offers to have sex with me because you know, that's what normal married couples do, and he's nothing if not a giver.

AND I did finally make an appointment with the allergist (May) and the sleep clinic (July), which is good in a way (doing something concrete to address the issues) and bad in a way (I worry that I'm going to build up my hopes that they'll be able to fix stuff and if they don't it will be a crushing disappointment, then I worry that they'll be judgey and mean and I start to hyperventilate and worry that I'll panic and not be able to make myself go to the appointments, in which case you all have my permission to kick my ass).

BUT, on Friday we were invited to a fondue by people that we only know from constantly horning in on our neighbours' parties while they were there. That's right - they know us solely by virtue of the fact that we wander over on New Year's Eve or summer Saturday nights, invite ourselves in shamelessly and say why yes, I'd LOVE a margarita, if you're offering. And they TOLD US WHERE THEY LIVED. And when one of their friends I didn't know asked how we knew them, I told her and she said "oh, you're the fun neighbours Lisa always talks about."

WE'RE THE FUN NEIGHBOURS. Hope you don't mind if I coast on that until March.

This is the Curry Sweet Potato soup (from the Winter 2012 issue of the LCBO Food & Drink magazine) that I was raving about. It doesn't seem to be on the website yet and I am of the firm belief that it must be disseminated as widely as possible, because there is every possibility that this soup might be able to bring about world peace.

Curry Soup with Spicy Cilantro Coconut Pesto (I didn't make the pesto and it was great without it)

1 tbsp (15 mL) coconut oil (I used coconut butter)
2 onions, chopped, about 2 cups (500 mL)
2 tbsp (30 mL) minced garlic
1 tbsp (15 mL) minced ginger
1 tbsp (15 mL) minced lemon grass (didn't use it, couldn't find any)
3 tbsp (45 mL) red curry paste, or to taste (used 3 tbsp)
1 tbsp (15 mL) ground turmeric
3 medium sweet potatoes, 1 1/2 lbs (750 g), peeled and chopped
1 ripe banana
3 1/2 cups (875 mL) vegetable stock (used chicken stock, had it already made)
1 can (400 mL) coconut milk
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Spicy Cilantro Coconut Pesto

1 clove garlic
1/2 tsp (2 mL) salt
1 tsp (5 mL) roasted red chili paste
3 tbsp (45 mL) shredded unsweetened coconut
1 cup (250 mL) loosely packed cilantro leaves
2 tbsp (30 mL) melted and cooled coconut oil
1 tbsp (15 mL) sunflower oil

1. Heat oil in large saucepan over medium heat and sauté onions until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add in garlic, ginger and lemon grass and sauté 3 minutes. Stir in curry paste and turmeric. Cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. (I also sautéed the sweet potato chunks in a little coconut butter at the same time in the soup pot).

2. Add sweet potato, peeled banana, 3 cups stock and coconut milk. Increase heat to bring to a boil then immediately reduce temperature so that the soup begins simmering with a light, gentle bubble. Simmer for 20 minutes or until sweet potato is fork tender.

3. Blend soup with an immersion blender or remove from heat and blend in batches in a food processor. If soup is too thick, add remaining 1/2 cup of stock as needed. Return to pot and simmer until heated through. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.

4. Process garlic, salt, chili paste and coconut in food processor until finely ground. Add cilantro and process until finely chopped. With machine running, slowly pour in oils until smooth. Use pesto immediately.

5. Serve soup with a dollop of cilantro pesto.

Serves 6

Mondays on the Margins: Books 2011 part two

2012-02-13T16:55:00.000-08:00

Okay - the three star entries. I'm not going to lie, as I was typing out this list, there were several that made me think "that should have been two" or "why didn't I give that four again?" One of the essays in the book I read last week, articulated very well how I feel about reading a book. Unless the book has very obvious problems or flaws, I never assume that it's the book's fault if I don't like it. Sometimes it's just the wrong time for me to meet that book. I started The Shipping News three times and couldn't get past the first chapter - when I finally read it, I adored it. Last March I began reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog, which I bought at the same time as Come, Thou Tortoise. Maybe it was that I loved Tortoise so much I just wasn't ready to engage with a Hedgehog. In any case, I started it again from the beginning yesterday and will probably finish it tonight, and it is SUBLIME.

So I'm not going to change the ratings, but I'll mention the ones that I seem to have subconsciously rethought in the intervening months.

Divergent by Veronica Roth - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars. A good example of why I try never to read the first book in a trilogy until all of the trilogy is published.

No Trace by Barry Maitland - Meh. Didn't live up to the jacket copy. 2 1/2 stars.

15 Miles by Rob Scott - a little disappointing, but only because I somehow got the impression that there would be zombies. As a study of a policeman in the process of self-destructing and how he faces the crisis, it's solid. Would have been better with zombies.

The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman - one of my favourite authors, not my favourite book of hers. She deftly explores difficult family relationships with excruciating precision and skill.
I'd Know you Anywhere, by Laura Lippman - same. In my opinion, her Tess Monaghan books or To The Power of Three or Every Secret Thing are far superior.

Ultraviolet by, R.J. Anderson - Her name is ALISON (not enough Ls) and it takes place in SUDBURY, where I grew up (okay, I grew up in a small town outside Sudbury called Lively, feel free to mock). Still - first book ever. It mentions Paris Street - I've DRIVEN on Paris Street! It's also a great story. I offer up as proof that it stands out in my memory from all the other young adult science fiction books I've read in which the female protagonist thinks she's going crazy but there's actually a logical (but also mysterious) explanation.

Easy to Like by Edward Riche - reviewed on blog.

The Best Laid Plans by Terry Fallis - read this for book club. 2011 CBC Canada Reads winner. Also won a Stephen Leacock award, which is appropriate, because I found some of Stephen Leacock's humour was the same as this - sometimes trying just a little too hard - sort of like the jokes that fathers make that make their children groan and go 'Daaaaad'...

You Could Live a Long Time, Are you Ready? by Lindsay Green - read for book club. The author interviewed several older people and put together some advice for making plans and preparations for growing older happily and well. Great advice, VERY dry writing style.

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars, maybe 4.

House of the Lost by Sarah Rayne - more like 2 1/2. I've read other books of hers that have a great eerie atmosphere. This one wasn't as good.

The Identity Man by Andrew Klavan - I've loved this author for years - simple mysteries have a holy rhythm in his hands. Recently I discovered that he's ultra-right-wing and holds some opinions that I find quite objectionable. I really wish I hadn't discovered that. This was more cynical and pessimistic than some of his previous work, but was still well done.

The Bone Cage by Angie Abdou - about the tribulations of Canadian Olympic hopefuls. It was a good story, but read more like a magazine article than a novel.

Strange Affair by Peter Robinson - honestly can't remember much

The Returners by Gemma Malley - need to reread. I remember thinking the premise was great but there were significant weaknesses, but now can't remember what they are.

Songs in Ordinary Time by Mary McGarry Morris - 'very skillfully rendered, if not enjoyable in the least' is what I wrote on Goodreads. The story, the characterization, the setting, all are brilliant, but OH MY GOD, depressing.

Already Dead by Charlie Huston - really cool (well, vampire P.I., duh). I would have given it four stars if I hadn't read his other book Sleepless, which was amazing.

Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon - for some reason this sort of pissed me off while I was reading it and I almost gave it two stars, but now that I'm thinking back on it I can't really figure out why it pissed me off. People were looking for people and turning out to be other people, and it's actually kind of cool in my memory.

Warped by Marissa Guibord - a modern girl, an ancient tapestry, a 16th-century nobleman (young and handsome, naturally).... it was fun. Even though the most recent review on Goodreads recommends it for 'weaver douchebags'. I might have called this a 'romp' if I ever used that word. Which I don't.

Freedom by Jonathan Franzen - I've had some interesting discussions with people about this. It's a great story, I couldn't stop reading it, but (and I am NOT someone who goes overboard on notions of 'author intention') I could not stop thinking, "we all know how he feels about e-readers, but does Jonathan Franzen also really not like women very much?". I've discovered I'm not along in wondering this. The parts in which he has his character Patty Berglund write out her own writhingly bad and embarrassing behavious seems especially sadistic and woman-hating. When I think back to The Corrections it all gets quite disturbing.

Ashes of the Earth by Eliot Pattison - 'a Mystery of Post-Apocalyptic America' is the subtitle, and we all know the word Apocalyptic is like crack to me. But this turned out to be a mystery that could have taken place in any old America. I like the apocalypse to be integral to the plot.

Don't Breathe a Word by Jennifer McMahon
The Island of Lost Girls by Jennifer McMahon - I read one. It was kind of good. I got another one from the library. I wondered if it was the same book re-issued under an alternative title. It wasn't. Look, honey, if you're going to reuse a device, don't make it one as obvious as "I found out my father was first married to my best friend's mother by finding a picture of them together". People notice stuff like that.

The Calling of the Grave by Simon Becket - I don't know why the title is in English but the synopsis is in Dutch (on Goodreads). I read it in English. Again, a medium entry in a series I generally really admire.

Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay - Didn't realize this was a ya book when I took it out of the library. This author's Wandering Fire trilogy is one of the best fantasy trilogies I've ever read and I highly recommend it. This was interesting and sweet.

The Lock Artist by Steve Hamilton - not sure now why I didn't give it four stars. Very interesting hook, good characters, nice suspense, a sense of melancholy fatefulness with a chance of redemption.

Stones by William Bell - reviewed on Goodreads

Fadeaway Girl by Martha Grimes - reviewed on Goodreads. I would probably more readily recommend her Richard Jury mysteries.

Thirteen Days to Midnight by Patrick Carman - 'Amazing that it's so much less cheesy than it sounds' is what I wrote after reading it.

Foundling by D.M. Cornish - I wanted to like this more than I did and might give it another crack. It's quite original, and some of the images from it have stayed with me, I just kept losing the urge to keep reading for some reason.

Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins - the guiltiest of guilty pleasures.

Such is My Beloved by Morley Callaghan - Reviewed on Goodreads. This kind of book always makes me wonder if the author is imposing more modern sensibilities on a character than is fair or realistic. But then some people are always ahead of their time, right? Still, it bugs me that I can't know for sure.

A Cold Night for Alligators by Nick Crowe - reviewed on Goodreads. It seems I liked it more than I remember liking it. My Mom gets me to request books from the library for her, and then sometimes by the time the request is filled I forget who it's for. Then I'm reading this book thinking "wow, this is great, I wonder who recommended it to me" or "why the hell did I think it would be a good idea to read this?"

Nikolski by Nicholas Dickner - I just could not get a handle on this. My friend Mary Lynn loved it and said it seemed like a great Canadian novel, but it left me out in the cold, cold streets of Montreal with a wonky compass. Maybe I should try it again.

The Vanishing of Katharina Linden by Helen Grant - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads.

Old Devil Moon by Christopher Fowler - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Short stories.

The Water Rat of Wanchai by Ian Christopher - reviewed on blog.

Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness- will include with the trilogy in next post

Teenagers, a Natural History by David Bainbridge - reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Read for book club.

Haunted Legends by Ellen Datlow - a little surprised I only gave it three stars because I generally love anthologies edited by Ellen Datlow. Can't remember many of the stories, though.

Today is the day after Eve's ninth birthday

2012-02-08T11:11:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant for the second time, I waited anxiously to feel the baby start moving.

I'd done this once. I thought I knew what to expect.

Good heavens, I thought, what on earth is this?

Flutters? Please.

Kicks? Ha

It felt more like roundhouse haymakers.

Firecrackers in my belly.

Jack Dempsey going three rounds with my spine.

"Look, Baby," I said,

""Whatever it is, we can discuss it,"

"Is it the turkey sandwich? Would you prefer egg salad?"

"Are we talking a marked preference for reality television over vampire dramas?"

No answer.

Just a concerted effort to switch the positions of my liver and kidneys

My friends said "how does it feel?"

I said "it feels angry!"

I asked the doctor "is it all the pistachios?

Do you think I've made this baby........ NUTS?"

I looked at my strapping little boy and though

"Watch out, kiddo - this one's going to give you a run for your money."

The days turned, as they do

The baby inside came out, as ever they have.

The midwife said, "it's a girl!"

I said "WHAT??!!"

Then I though "SHE'S got some explaining to do.

I mean, really - what WAS all that?"

Now I look at her and think,
"If she only knew how wrong I was",

It's silly, really.

Because I should have known all along...

........that she was dancing.

Happy birthday, Crazy Baby.

Mondays on the Margins: Books 2011 part one

2012-02-06T10:05:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's 2012, and by the way I don't like my World's Fair poster calendar nearly as much as my weird-ass Alice in Wonderland one from 2011 that periodically freaked the kids out. Yes, I just made the sweet potato soup with red curry paste and coconut milk from the latest Food & Drink magazine and I'd much rather just talk about how transported I am by this soup which I think might be some kind of superior being in food form - wait, that's kind of gross, isn't it? Who cares, this soup is like CRACK, people, it's like CRACK, you must ALL come over and have some, it has a BANANA in it!

Still, the book review post Must Be Done, must it not? Well, no, nobody really gives a crap, but I have a Free Book book review coming up tomorrow so today seems like a good day for a Books I Read Just Because post. (Aaaaaand that's when I realized it was already ten p.m. and the post would be up for all of two hours before the next post clicked in at midnight. So here we are, on a yet-to-be-numbered even later day in February).

There are 111 books that I either remembered to record or was willing to admit to on Goodreads in 2011. I gave four or five stars ("I really liked it" or "it was amazing") to 57 of them. That's pretty good - it either means I read a pretty good proportion of worthwhile books, or I was too lenient with my ratings. What exactly is the difference between "I really liked it" and "it was amazing" anyway? Oh, now all I can think of is dirty stuff.

There were only 12 that I gave two stars or less to. Two stars means 'it was okay', one star is 'I didn't like it', and one book I actually didn't finish - I think that brings my lifetime total of books I didn't finish to..... two.

That means I gave three stars ("I liked it"), to.... the rest (you're all smart enough to do the math - Pam, you can use your iPad).

Let's start with the turkeys.

The Hypnotist, by Lars Kepler. Written by a Swedish couple (remember how this type of pseudonym crap makes me cranky?) There are a lot of really good mystery writers out of the Netherlands. This is not one of them. Two of them? Whatever - it wasn't horrible, it was just kind of -- clunk. There was a present-day mystery that was connected very clumsily to a past mystery, a lot of people doing things with no obvious motivation, and a couple of people get their noses cut off. Which has nothing to do with why the book isn't good, just, ew.

Ragnarok by A.S. Byatt. I usually love A.S. Byatt. This, I did not love. The framing device of the 'thin child', evacuated to the British countryside during the war and taking refuge in an old book of Norse legends was, well, thin. The legends themselves seemed to be an excuse for extravagant lists of adjectives -- yes, I get that Jormundgandr the worm god thingy is immense, colossal, behemothic, elephantine, immeasurable, massive, mighty and monumental. Are we on the same page? Yeah - the thing is REALLY EFFING BIG. Also, Loki is a pain in the ass douchebag, and whenever some unassuming little dude sidles up to you and says something like "wanna do something really fun?" or "have I got a deal for you!" it's PROBABLY HIM, so steer clear.

The Maze Runner trilogy by James Dashner. So close and yet...no. I saw the first one in the book store and thought it was even odds whether it was interesting or just a rip-off of the Hunger Games. The first two books aren't horrible; the premise is interesting and there's some hope of an exciting conclusion. The last one is a mess - the characters are so wooden that even having to kill one of his close friends doesn't elicit any kind of believable reaction on the part of the main character. All the supposed 'witty banter' is really unfunny too, which is one of the hardest things for me to forgive.

Skin River by Steven Sidor - I actually picked this up and flipped through it again before I took it back to the library because all I could remember was that it was profoundly disappointing. It was stupidly obvious who the killer was, and the sections from his point of view were superfluous and icky.

Beatrice & Virgil by Yann Martel - I still can't figure out where I come down on this one. I freely admit that I have trouble not being influenced by the fact that, having heard a few interviews with Yann Martel, I can't stop thinking of him as a pompous git. This was not the case when I read and loved Self and The Life of Pi, before ever reading or hearing anything about Martel himself. Again, the framing device of the author being screwed over by the publishers - hey, you know what? I think I just don't like framing devices of any kind. Also, there are lists again. Paragraphs-long lists of things. That's not fiction, people -- that a handbook or manual (I'm studying subject classification right now - I know these things). Still, some of the actual play (Beatrice & Virgil) was affecting.

Killer Heat by Linda Fairstein - Meh. This is one of those 'fool me twice, shame on me' things. I've read this series before, and I always tell myself I'm not going to read any more, then I see a description and think it looks interesting. I hereby vow to all of you that I will NOT read any more books about plucky red-haired district attorneys who wear four-inch heels and fight inexhaustibly for the downtrodden unless Publisher's Weekly gives one a starred review or it has zombies in it.

The Dead of Winter by Christ Priestey - On rare occasions, I get a book in the mail that I ordered from Abebooks.com, an online used bookstore, and once I start reading it I have no earthly idea why I thought I would like it. This was over-the-top gothic and old-fashioned - fine for what it was, but not my thing at all. Filed under 'WTF was I thinking?'

All the Colours of Darkness by Peter Robinson and The Sunday Philosophy Club by Alexander McCall Smith - I had read a couple of the Inspector Banks series years ago and liked them (and also met Peter Robinson when I worked at Chapters, when I was caught offguard and said something both inane and pretentious and possibly sexually suggestive, like "Hi - I really like your stuff" AGH CRINGE CRINGE CRINGE) and I have heard great things about McCall Smith's Precious Ramotswe series; I should have been more mindful of the fact that I had heard NOT A THING about this series. These were meh at best. And why is it that, while in theory it seems kind of cool to me that Robinson always talks about the kind of music his Inspector is listening to at home or in the car and what kind of mood it evokes, on paper it leaves me cold as a dead fish? It's a mystery.

Ring of Fire (Century Quartet) by Pierdomenico Baccalario - read my review on Goodreads if you so desire. This sounded so great and was so....not great.

The Affinity Bridge by George Mann - my friend's husband used to say he didn't like theatre, until she took him to a play that he loved, and he realized that it was just that he had only ever seen bad plays. So with this book: is it that I don't actually like Steampunk as a genre that much, or is it just that this is not very good Steampunk?

The Awakening by Kate Chopin - I had been meaning to read this for years, and I admit that I was disappointed - not entirely certain whether it was more in the book or in myself. I may have been expecting a more modern tone (and a less whiny, bitchslappable heroine) than was realistic for the time in which it was written.

The Finkler Question by Howard Jacobson - "do nothing, loll about, arty-farty rich people" (I ripped that off from another Goodreads reviewer, for obvious reasons) musing on what it means to be Jewish. Some of them hate themselves. Some of them provoke hatred in others - readers, for example. Not because they're Jewish, but because they're hugely pompous self-involved gits.

(Dis)Honourable Mentions go to two non-fiction books, Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life by Sandra Beasley, and My Imaginary Illness: A Journey into Uncertainty and Prejudice in Medical Diagnosis by Chloe G.K. Atkins. I actually gave both of these three stars, and I had the utmost sympathy for the plights of both of these women. However, I found myself thinking in the midst of reading both books, "Couldn't she have made her protagonist a little more likable? Oh, wait.... it's not fiction." Certainly it was difficult, if not downright miserable, for Sandra Beasley growing up allergic to almost everything (dairy, egg, soy, beef, shellfish, nuts and mango just to name a few) before the world was as food-allergy-friendly as it is today (and I am aware that even today it's not ideal). But surely at some point she would have learned that it was best to ask her boyfriend if he'd been scarfing down Hershey's kisses before sticking her tongue down his throat and then spending the rest of the evening wheezing resentfully? It's not like she was new at this! And Atkins's mistreatment by high-handed and closed-minded doctors is truly horrifying. But I wanted to hear a little more about how she "somehow" had ended up estranged from most of her family, and yet whenever she needed expensive tests or treatments or a wheelchair-friendly apartment, some well-heeled friend would step forward, wallet extended. But we all know I tend to be extra-bitchy and unforgiving when reading autobiographical books - it's like a tic, I can't turn it off.

Okay. So much for the dreck. Stay tuned for the mediocre!

Book Review: The Invisible Ones, by Stef Penney

2012-02-02T00:00:00.000-08:00

The Invisible Ones by Stef Penney, embodies everything I revere about the mystery genre. Not the simple collection of tropes that comprise a whodunit or a 'thriller', but a mystery, in the most gracious and wide-ranging sense of the word; a work that is about trying to find something, and, in that finding, to address the sense of loss that inevitably accompanies being a thinking person in this world.

Ray Lovell isn't a new type of character - the world-weary, battle-scared private investigator - but he is a fine example of the type. Half Romany, half 'gorjio' (a pejorative term gypsies use for non-Gypsies), he was raised in a house rather than a caravan and is fairly distanced from his heritage, and yet he feels a kinship with Leon Wood, who hires Lovell to find out what happened to his daughter Rose, and with the Jankos, the family Rose married into who claims to have no idea of her whereabouts (I apologize sincerely for that sentence, but I don't have it in me to go back and start over).

Ray is confined to a hospital bed, partially paralyzed and suffering memory loss, trying to trace which of his interactions with the Jankos led to his current state. The other side of the story is carried by JJ, a teenager who lives with his single mother on the Jankos' site; he gives a perceptive and absorbing account of being a Romany in a world that often views his kind with suspicion and animosity. As the only young person he's also an outsider even in his community of outsiders. He lives with his grandparents, Jimmy and Kath, his great-uncle Tene, his mother and Ivo, JJ's uncle and Rose's husband. Rose also reportedly left behind Christo, her son by Ivo who suffers from 'the family illness', an obscure disorder that renders him weak, unhealthy and small for his age.

The story is rich with themes of family, community, otherness and different levels of bereavement. As a private investigator, Lovell is still plagued with the dilemma of whether it is always best for the lost to be found or the truth to be uncovered.

I love labyrinthine stories tracing the disappearances of people. I love stories about Gypsy culture. I love stories with a vibrant web of characters and an underpinning of melancholy with a hope of connection and redemption. This book has all of those things.

The Invisible Ones has been extensively well-reviewed, even receiving what always induces me to read a book, the coveted starred review in Publisher's Weekly, Penney's author video is here - I love her voice. I am the caboose of a blog-tour caravan of The Invisible Ones, which was reviewed most recently at Curled up with a Good Book and a Cup of Tea yesterday. I haven't read any of the other blog reviews yet because I'm always afraid of unconscious plagiarism or getting stage fright after reading someone else's brilliant prose, but I'm off to look at them now.

Memorable Quotes:

"Idon't often think about my -- my what? Race? Culture? Whatever word thesociologists are using these days" (ways in which they weren't really'Travelers'). "But despite them, we knew things. I (especially me, as the dark one) knew whatit meant to be called a dirty gyppo; I knew, too, about the long, petty battlesover caravan sites, and the evictions and petitions and squabbles overeducation. I know about the mutualdistrust that stopped Leon from going to the police about his daughter -- or toany other private investigator. I havesome inkling of what made him come to me, and I realize that he must bedesperate to do so."

"Sometimesyou can know too much. Of all people Iknow this to be true. Ignorance isbliss. Knowledge is power. Which would you prefer? I have seen countless people walk in throughour door, having, like Mr. M., chosen option B. They end up miserable, and paying me to make them so. Because they have to know. I once asked another client -- a likable man-- if, having found out his wife was unfaithful , he wouldn't rather go back toliving in ignorance, and he paused a long time before answering . 'No, because there was something I didn'tknow. She knew, and I didn't. And that was stealing my life. All the time she lied to me, I didn't havethe choice about whether to stay with her or not. She had the choice and I didn't. That's what I can't bear. The years I lost.'"

Thedark is nearly complete in my sitting room. It's the time of day the French, so I'm told, call entre le chien et le loup -- between dog and wolf. First the sun sets, then, as dusk deepens,when the sky reaches a certain shade of dark blue that is not yet black, thedog retreats, and the wolf is waiting in the wings, or padding toward us aroundthe corner. The shape in the shadowscould be friend or foe. I wonder howlong it lasts, the moment that belongs to neither."

Disclaimer: I was sent an Advanced Reading Copy of this book by Penguin Canada for review purposes. Opinions are my own.

I can't blog right now...

2012-01-29T16:11:00.000-08:00

because I'm trying not to eat too much. I find that if I sit quietly on the couch and watch TV, or sit at the computer and don't get up, I don't eat too much. If I move around the house at all, food starts jumping into my mouth. It's true! I'm helpless! Carbalicious stuff and chocolate hurls itself right at my head and if I don't want to end up seriously injured I have to open my mouth in self-defense. It's rough.

January hasn't gotten me too far down yet. I started a new library tech course called Subject Analysis and Classification. My instructor immediately informed us that this was one of the most challenging courses in the curriculum, and the most difficult to learn online, and we were all absolutely going to feel VERY CONFUSED AND FRUSTRATED at the beginning, if not for the entire duration. She stopped just short of saying, you might as well just go eat ice cream and watch Luther and flush any thoughts of having a marketable skill again right down the crapper. Somewhat surprisingly, I didn't flip out and go OH MY GOD I'M TOTALLY GOING TO FAIL and drown my sorrows with ice cream and Luther. Well, not immediately anyway. I didn't get out much this week, but most of the neighbourhood is a glittery smooth ice sheet of death so it was a good excuse. I do need to get some exercise this week, though. If only to keep up my strength for fending off the food that keeps flying at my face (hey, alliteration!).

I will conclude with one final St. Lucia-related anecdote that didn't fit in any of the other posts. We flew home with the family we had met, and we were standing in Toronto waiting for our bags to arrive on the baggage carousel -- they were staying the night in Toronto before driving home to Peterborough, we were trying to catch our flight home to Ottawa, and the time was tight, and the bags were taking a really long time to get there. When the carousel finally ground into motion, we started hugging each other so our family could grab our bags and run (thereby becoming those people I always feel like laughing at, tearing through the airport with desperate eyes and flailing briefcases). As we disentangled from each other and started to move away, Eve announced, "Eric and I just had an awkward hug!"

Won't be your last, sweetie. Not by a long shot.

Do we all look the same to them?

2012-01-24T13:25:00.000-08:00

We met a really nice family from Peterborough a few days into our trip. They had a boy and a girl, in reverse order from ours, but Eric was only two years younger than Angus which was fine for water sliding and getting cheeseburgers and playing ball in the pool, and we all know how Eve feels about "people who are older than me that aren't my brother". Mike -- the dad -- was funny and friendly and has a job similar to Matt's, and Ashley -- the Mom -- was forty and had a perfect bikini body and I STILL liked her - that's how nice she was.

We still had a lot of family time, but we'd usually meet up with these people for a beach walk in the afternoon, the kids would run off to get cotton candy or go on the water slide or the lazy river, and we'd hang out and play pool and challenge the bar staff to come up with new and exciting drink combinations in the evenings.

There were two poolside barbecue nights - one was a Caribbean night and one was Western night. Both had live music and entertainment, which was definitely....entertaining. On Caribbean night, resort staff dressed in red satin and limboed under a flaming pole:

For Western night, they had to dress Western - I wonder if there was a choice between that and the flaming pole because I'm pretty sure the fiery stick would be looking fairly good to me at that point. Not only that, but the MC's accent made 'cowboys and cowgirls' sound like 'callboys and...' well, you get the picture. Until then, I was thinking this looked like a pretty good place to work.

There was a St. Lucian country singer who was actually really good. The staff was always walking around singing all the time anyway, but usually it was reggae stuff - then as I was at the buffet I heard them all singing along with the entertainment and I was thinking "geez, they know all THESE songs too?" Then I thought maybe it was just because there was a Western night every week or two. But apparently the story is that a lot of the young people from the island go to the southern United States and work as migrant workers. Then they come back, bringing tales of wonder and adventure and also the musical stylings of Toby Keith, Alan Jackson et. al.

In the course of trying to get people up dancing, the guy to the far right of this picture in the white pants was dancing by himself, wrapping his arms around himself and then opening them imploringly to the crowd. Ashley loves country music and was outfitted in Western style, and said she was going to go dance with him. Her husband was cool with this, since he doesn't like dancing. I tried to get a picture, but it didn't really turn out. Anyway, when she came back to the table, she said he asked who her husband was and if he minded her dancing with a stranger and she pointed him out - 'dark hair, plaid shirt'. The guy said he'd bring her husband a rum and coke. We started talking, and in a few minutes we saw the guy approach our table.... then walk right by it and deliver a drink to a gray-haired man wearing a t-shirt, whose wife (or date) was wearing a cowboy hat, but there the resemblance ended - she was a good fifteen years older and much less good-looking than Ashley.

AWKWARD!

I told Ashley she should go up to him, grab his shirt and yell, "Did I mean so little to you?" Then we went to dance and the other couple came up and every time I saw them I would almost fall on the ground giggling. This was me and Matt imitating their theoretical discussion: "Why the hell are you giving me a rum and coke?" "Because I danced with your wife!" "WHAT?! WHEN?! -- You said you weren't going to do that any more!" "I've never seen this man before!"

Ashley took it pretty well. The drinks were free, after all. But she did say philosophically, "I was just another white chick in a cowboy hat to him".

Eve making friends in St. Lucia

2012-01-19T19:15:00.000-08:00

Yasmine and Amina from Oxford, England.

Brenna from Peterborough, Ontario.

Big snake. He was local.

Unearned Grace

2012-01-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

That is what last week felt like.

We all know I don't travel willingly or well. I like my bed, and reliable Western toilets. I'm suspicious of many foreign foods (unlike my husband, who, as my children never tire of reminding everyone, ate a shrimp that was recently dead enough to hop on the back of his tongue). I have difficult and temperamental hair. And I don't really mind the cold or the snow that much.

So yeah, I'm the kind of ingrate that, when her husband says "let's go somewhere hot and do nothing for a week in January" whines, "do we HAVE to?" Because I'm awesome like that.

I never know what I think about vacation travel to other countries. It wasn't something that most people I knew did while I was growing up. We went to Disney a couple of times, but other than that we just went to Saskatchewan and hung out on the various farms every summer. One boy I knew went to Mexico in grade six and that seemed impossibly exotic. My husband's father was a doctor and they did a few Caribbean vacations of which he has fond memories.

A guy I knew in university said he didn't really see the point of travel just to not be where you lived. At the time I thought this was intelligent and profound. Now I think that sometimes the point of travel is just that - even if the entire experience is dreadful, there's something to be said for having the place you live made strange for a time. And I realize that my 'antiseptic week by the sea' as a well-travelled professor used to call it, doesn't make for the most immersive experience in another culture. Still, you get glimpses, along with your strawberry peach margaritas. And the fully immersive experience - travelling with a knife and a toothbrush among the natives of a strange country, trusting to fate and your wits? For someone like me, it just ain't gonna happen.

I worried that we were going without cousins or friends - would the kids be bored? My husband is smarter - turns out that, when you force your kids to spend time with you, you actually start having conversations and trying things together and remembering what you like about each other...

...at least for a few days before your daughter makes friends with a couple of little British girls that don't seem to have any parents and abandons you entirely, and then you meet a nice family from Peterborough with a girl and a boy which saves you from a little TOO much 'together time'.

One of the funniest things about this vacation was that everybody in our family spent a fair bit of time reading EXCEPT for me. I didn't read a word. I played with the kids, I sat in a lounge chair and stared up at the coconut palms, I walked on the beach, I went to dinner with my family. At night I laid in bed with Eve and watched her sleep while listening to music on my iPod. And I was perfectly at peace.

And as for shaking up the routine? I think that when I find myself riding in an open Jeep at sunset, being driven on the left-hand side of the twisty mountain road, the wind whipping my hair into a Medusa-like frenzy, volcanic mud drying in my cleavage, we can safely say I'm a fair distance out of my comfort zone.

My husband is a smart guy.

Easing back in

2012-01-16T14:12:00.000-08:00

Scene: our third night in our hotel room at the Coconut Bay Resort in St. Lucia. Two double beds, girls in one, boys in the other. Darkness, cane toads singing, fan spinning lazily overhead.

Angus: What are we going to do tomorrow?

Me: Same thing we do every day, Pinky - try to take over the world!

Angus: I'm really not crazy about going to sleep hearing my mother quoting The Brain.

Me: Would you rather I go back to I'm Sexy and I Know it?

Angus: FINE, fine, we'll take over the world.

Meet the new year, same as the old year

2012-01-02T21:13:00.000-08:00

I don't know how the hell all you people get your yearly review posts up before New Year's Eve - aren't you busy cleaning up from Christmas and watching bad movies and reading a million books, hoovering up the potato chip crumbs from the bottoms of the bags and staying in your pajamas until the last possible minute before getting dressed to go next door on New Year's Eve? No? Besides, isn't it a tiny bit irresponsible to review a year when it hasn't fully finished? What if something happened in that last twenty-four hours that changed EVERYTHING? Won't YOU all look silly having to tack on postscripts to your prematurely done posts then?

I'm stealing Hannah's format for this post because, well, I liked it. If she'd waited a couple of days to post it, I wouldn't have been able to - ha HA!

1. What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before? Ziplining, along with various other traipsing around among tree-tops stuff at the Laflèche Caves in Quebec. It was invigorating. I only screamed a little. Also, I read a post at Bolo (Blogging Out Loud Ottawa). It was invigorating. I only screamed a little.

2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don't make resolutions as such, not big grandiose ones, because I think they set people up for failure. I did start blogging and start my library tech courses in January though, so I guess you'd say I just try to do things that keep me moving forward (or moving at all).

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? A good friend's sister. I held the baby when she was 11 days old. A lot of my friends have no interest in the newborns any more, or only to say "god, I'm so glad it's not me". I still love the babies. I also met my nephew in Edmonton at Easter when he was four months old. I try not to think about this so much because it reminds me how sad I am that we don't live close to my brother-in-law and his family.

4. Did anyone close to you die? Obviously not too close, since I'm having a 'let me stop and think' reaction. Matt's grandparents, who we've seen a lot since we moved to Ottawa, moved to a retirement home about a year ago, and his grandfather is in pretty serious decline, but we saw them over the holiday and he was in fine form again - he's ninety and it's still going to be a horrible shock when he dies.

5. What countries did you visit? Just the ones on our first Disney cruise last January - Mexico, the U.S., the Bahamas. I've been to Italy and Austria with Matt on business trips, but the last one was when Eve was in nursery school, so... five years ago. We're going to St. Lucia next week. I'm dreading it - I'm an anxious traveler. It'll be great, right?

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you didn't have in 2011? A little more energy, maybe? At least in the winter months. The summer was awesome, but last winter was hard, endless and filled with sickness and despair. I hope I use my coping tools better this year if that happens - I know there are people who are willing to help, it just gets hard to remember how to ask.

7. What date(s) from 2011 will remain etched in your memory and why? I suck at dates. I remember Pam dropping off cupcakes at my front door when I couldn't get out of bed; I remember Eve saying that swimming with the stingrays made it "the best day of my entire life"; I remember Angus's baseball team winning the Provincial finals and the none of us could stop smiling; I remember Zarah introducing me to Leverage; I remember the one time this year Angus brought his dishes up from the basement without being asked (okay that date I really SHOULD have circled).

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Probably reading out loud at BOLO - considering I had to choose a post, submit it within the deadline, and then actually go and get up and talk in front of people - you must understand, I would be sick to my stomach for DAYS before any assignment that involved public speaking in high school and university, and I would do ANYTHING to get out of it, so volunteering to blog OUT LOUD was definitely out of character. It was a total rush. I also drove all over the province all by myself (as in, I was the only adult) with Eve, but that was probably more my GPS's achievement than mine (and I want to give her FULL CREDIT and declare my love for her in front of god and everyone - I would give up my dishwasher before I would give up my GPS.)

Pam, me and Zarah at BOLO.

9. What was your biggest failure? Healthy eating and exercise, like every year. I try to make plans for improving without self-flagellating too much. Also, household organization and de-cluttering. Ye gods and little fishes, the crap, it multiplies.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Just the interminable, nagging airway issues last winter - sinus infection that went to a respiratory infection that didn't leave until the snow melted, twice. And some spectacular bruises from ziplining, but those just made me feel badass.

11. What was the best thing you bought? The stuff to redo the kids' rooms, and my Dad's labour (which was bought exceedingly cheaply, even though it was a really nice bottle of scotch) - pictures soon.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration? Almost everyone I know, at some point. My kids just keep growing better - sweet, considerate, funny and enjoyable to be around. And my friends are awesome. Even when they're drunk and being asses.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? Hannah's clients!

14. Where did most of your money go? Books and vodka. Just kidding. Food and St. Lucia. And books. And ebay, for cute clothes for Eve while Matt was away and I was engaging in retaliatory internet shopping.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? New Fred Vargas book. Baseball Provincials and Angus's pitching record. Visiting Zarah in the fall. Girls' cottage week-end. My Mom planting my front flower bed for my birthday. My sister-in-law telling me she loved the Fred Vargas book I gave them last Christmas, when I was worried they didn't like it and were too embarrassed to tell me. Finding the Giant Remote-Controlled Balloon Shark with FREE SHIPPING for Angus for Christmas.

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2011? I'm Sexy and I Know it.

17. Compared to this time last year you are... um, happy and grateful that I spent Christmas with people I love and anxious about our upcoming trip, so pretty much the same.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Walking. Decluttering. Organizing. Swimming. Fooling around with my husband.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Coughing. Sleeping. Hurting. Feeling guilty and ashamed for not feeling better.

20. Did you fall in love in 2011? Well, I'm married, but...hel-LO, Eliot from Leverage.

21. How many one-night stands? only that one with The Hunger Games.

22. What was your favourite TV program? Have you not being paying attention?

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate at this time last year? I try not to hate, although if anyone mentions Penn State, it's tough.

24. What was the best book you read? I think I'll leave this for my book review year-end/beginning post.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery? I don't make great musical discoveries. Other people make great musical discoveries, and then I'm generally too much of a philistine to properly appreciate them.

26. What did you want and get? A little closer to my library tech diploma

27. What was your favourite film of the year? I can never remember all the movies I've seen, but I LOVED Hugo, Arthur Christmas, The Muppets, Bridesmaids and 50/50, really liked Inception and Rise of the Planet of the Apes, and HATED Smurfs and Spy Kids 91/2 or whatever the hell number it was - curse you, rainy summer day.

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I was 41, and I honestly can't remember. My friends took me out for dinner (Pho Thi Fusion) and a movie (Bridesmaids), at some point in the week.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Oh come on - that's a chump's game.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011? Early Old Navy refugee.

31. What kept you sane? Pam, Zarah, my other friends and blog readers and a bunch of people I've never met that kept me, among other things, from having to bail on driving Angus and five other boys to a volleyball tournament because I couldn't stop crying. Also, various assorted pharmaceuticals probably helped a little.

32. What celebrity/public figure did you fancy? Can't think of any. Other than...hel-LO Eliot from Leverage.

33. What political issue stirred you the most? Proroguing. And a bunch of other ones that I won't go into because I'm still trying to stay sane and Pam's probably asleep right now.

34. Who did you miss? My sister and her family, my brothers-in-law and their families, all my friends who live far away and all the people I've met on the internet that I would love to drink margaritas with on a regular basis. Stupid geography.

35. Who was the best new person you met? Hel-LO, Eliot from Leverage.

36. Tell us a valuable lesson you learned in 2011. You can agree to go ziplining when you're drunk, but you should probably actually zipline sober.

37. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me.

Happy New Year.

WHY ARE YOU ALL BLOGGING AT CHRISTMAS TIME???

2011-12-28T19:30:00.000-08:00

Like I need this pressure? I thought we were friends!

Fine. Fine!!

First of all, my husband went out and bought a new TV today, which kind of ticks me off because how am I supposed to mock people for Boxing Week shopping when my husband is Boxing Week shopping? On the other hand, our old TV fell prey to this creeping blue digital fungus months and months ago and now I can't even type without my eyes constantly wandering over to the TV because the picture! It's so bright! and clear! and people look like people and not like half-people half-grey-blobs. I don't even like hockey but damn! this hockey game looks GORGEOUS! So that's our Christmas present to each other plus Matt's 40th birthday present. Plus a college fund or two, who counts?

After all the crazy lead-up annoyances, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were blissful. I was making Christmas Eve dinner for the ten of us (my sister and her family, my Mom and Dad and the four of us), but I did most of it ahead of time, so my sister and my nephew came over to hang out with me and Eve while I did finish-up stuff, Angus and Matt went over to my Mom's to hang with my niece and brother-in-law, we started drinking at noon and my sister perused the book I bought for my Dad and totally did NOT help my cause when I kept telling Eve it was inappropriate for her, while being interrupted by my sister braying with laughter every second page. At least she wrapped it for me when she was done laughing on it.

Eve loves my sister. I mean REALLY loves her. My sister is tall and dresses beautifully and wears makeup and jewellery pretty much every day. Her shoes have heels on them. My sister also has a daughter that sat up in bed one morning when she had to get up for church and said "me no wear a dress". She was two at the time and had probably never worn anything BUT a dress. We can count on one hand the number of times she's worn one since. She plays hockey and basketball, and she skateboards. So my sister likes spending time with Eve too.This is just after my sister gave Eve, in her words, "the hair I've always dreamed of"

Then they went up to her bedroom and did a photo session, complete with costume changes. Because my sister is also a very accomplished photographer. And a pharmacist. Okay, it's a good thing I'm fairly secure about how much Eve likes me and that I'm NOT an entire waste of space as a human being, or I would have to stop and just tell you all to go be friends with my SISTER and read HER blog instead, WAH! Wait, my sister doesn't have a blog. Thbfft.

My stupidly beautiful daughter:

Then everyone else came over, and we ate and drank and the kids did some weird air-light-sabre dance in the living room:

Yeah, that's what you get from my camera - and I wouldn't buy drugs from me either.

I'd been sad because Mickey's Christmas Carol hadn't been on TV, and we've watched it every year since the kids were very small. They both roll on the ground helpless with laughter at the part where the big fat giant who's the Ghost of Christmas Present tells Scrooge of course he's not going to eat him because "there are such good things to eat at Christmas like roast goose and suckling pig and (something else I can't remember) with pistachba -- with mistachma -- with meshuggamashuggama -- uh, with yogoit". The first time I made them pistachio pudding they could barely stop laughing long enough to eat it. Anyway, I had looked on Netflix and iTunes and nobody had it, so finally I just Googled it and, wouldn't you know it, it was on YOUTUBE. For FREE. And we have an Apple tv so we could play it on the tv, and they had all these other classic Disney Christmas cartoons so we all watched for a while in the dark with candles and Christmas lights and it was delightful.

Then everyone else went home and we put the kids to bed in the basement. I let Matt go to bed after he helped me carry up presents because he was still on Japan time and it seemed cruel to make him stay awake. I stuffed stockings then watched the season one Christmas episode of Community, then snuck downstairs to put the kids' stockings on their beds and manged not to knock anything over and wake them up. Then I went to bed for a refreshing four hours of sleep or so.

Under an Afghan Meatball

2011-12-22T17:14:00.000-08:00

So Angus's class was having World Expo today - they all picked a country to study and present about. Angus chose Afghanistan because he wanted to write about the war. Which made me realize that I hadn't really talked to him about the war and didn't really know that he knew about the war and OH MY GOD I'm SCREWING EVERYTHING UP as a mother and... anyway. He wanted to make food to serve at World Expo. So we made meatballs with lamb and chickpeas and spices. They were okay - I don't really like lamb. I thought it was a little screwy to be making Afghani meatballs in the midst of Christmas craziness also, but what the hell, it was kind of fun.

So he came home from school and said "today was AWFUL. Well, I did my project, but Connor upchucked in class. And I was RIGHT BEHIND HIM." We asked him how his project went and he said fine, but clearly the classroom upchucking was the centerpiece of the day. When I told him I needed some serious meatball love for making meatballs the day before the day before the day before the day before Christmas, he said everyone really liked them. He went downstairs. Half an hour later the phone rang. He came up and said Connor wanted him to go over. I said are you the least bit serious? Not if he threw up today. Angus said "he said he's fine - he just choked on a piece of meatball." Then he said into the phone "my parents are rolling on the floor laughing. I'll call you back when they get back to normal." In all the uproar I had to rewind the person being dismembered by a forest creature on my computer. What - you don't watch Supernatural while wrapping presents and baking? Blood and guts - ever so festive.

For Kelly and The Queen - I am heartily sorry. I had no idea that Swiss Chalet was a Canadian chain of restaurants - I just assumed everyone had them. I'm even sorrier that you're denied the wonderfulness that is the festive special. You know, it used to come with a Toblerone instead of the five Lindt truffles, and I was actually disappointed when they switched - I was young and clueless back then, obviously.

For Hannah - to match your shameful confession, one of my own, which has nothing to do with Swiss Chalet and I only thought of it because I actually told it to Collette while we were out yesterday and she told me it was so embarrassing I should never admit it to anyone. You know that song 'Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree'? I thought 'kookaburra' was the Australian aboriginal word for koala bear.

For Nan: my embarrassing but beloved reindeer ornament

My crafty mother's handmade angel

and snowman:

and my daughter's made-from-scratch angel (clearly the craftiness does skip a generation):

Random bullets (none of them have anyone's name on them)

2011-12-21T16:53:00.000-08:00

-My husband got back from a week and a half in Japan yesterday. I also got my hair cut and highlighted. I know I should be happier about the former than the latter, but honestly? Those roots were getting really depressing. And the hair appointment didn't leave me with a mountain of well-travelled underwear on top of the washer. So...

-I took Eve to the mall on Monday morning to see Santa because she suddenly sprung on me that she really wanted to see Santa and there was no way in hell we were going after piano lessons, which would be right when the dinner rush was ramping up. She got to school two hours late. Judge me if you want. It was adorable. She wore her Santa hat and asked for a science kit. In other news, I bought a science kit today.

-After seeing Santa we went to the Footlocker in Bayshore and they had ONE pair of the god-awful shoes Angus has been wanting that no store has had in his size, in his size. Yay. And also, bleargh.

-After Santa and the Footlocker we went to Zellers. We found a silly gift for Matt and we were standing in line waiting to pay for it and Eve started talking about her classmates and which of them do and don't celebrate Christmas. When I tuned in she was saying "...and Maryam doesn't. But I think Natasha does. And Jessie does, even though she's Chinese too. Or maybe Japanese. I really can't tell the difference. Well I guess I could if I was in China, or Japan. But then, what if someone Chinese was visiting Japan? Or someone Japanese was visiting China?" I decided we didn't need the gag gift and it was time for her to go back to school.

-I went to Swiss Chalet for lunch with my friend Collette because we were together on Sunday night and realized neither of us had had the festive special yet. She rang my doorbell frantically and when I opened the door she jumped up and down and yelled "It's festive time, it's festive time, it's festive time!" Then she said "it's kind of sad that I'm really not faking that by much."

-There was a British family behind us at lunch. The kid was explaining the festive special to his father in the most charming of accents and Collette said "makes you want to move just for a little while, huh?" We wondered how people discipline their children when they talk like that. "Are you displeased with me, Mummy?(imagine in British accent)". "No, never mind, it's okay".

-Go see Arthur Christmas.

Digging a Hole for a Post

2011-12-15T18:57:00.000-08:00

I've been ignoring all of your blogs because it helps me pretend I'm not writing because I don't have a blog, what? I don't even know what a blog is, what a funny word, blog blog blog, lalalalalala I can't hear you.

This week sucks much less than the last week Matt was away for the week, which was two weeks ago, what a funny word, week week week week. I always forget to reverse whine about my head not hurting - hey everyone! My head doesn't hurt this week! I have wrapped, I have taped, I have melted and beaten and creamed until light and fluffy. I have trod the mill and pumped the iron. I have done all this while still producing creative and nutritious meals every night (that's a bald-faced lie - this week has been brought to you by frozen pizza, grilled cheese and chicken wraps made from grocery store barbecued chicken. I just wanted to feel like Superwoman for a millisecond. It really wasn't me).

I'm slowly managing to separate the actual decorations from the boxes of shiny things that should actually be put away so we can enjoy the decorations without tripping over the boxes of shiny things. I'm not entirely sure why wrapping a shiny red and gold string around a stair bannister makes it a decoration and leaving it sitting in the box makes it infuriating aneurysm-inducing CRAP, I only know that it does.

I assembled the Christmas parcels to send away to Matt's family and got most of my Christmas cards written and then realized I couldn't find my pretty red address book with the whimsical drawing of a house on the front of it ANYWHERE. I emailed Matt in Japan and said if he didn't send me the addresses of the various family members the parcels weren't getting mailed. Somewhat to my chagrin, he emailed me most of the addresses. I emailed everyone else I knew and said send me your addresses or no Christmas card for you. Somewhat to my chagrin, most of them promptly sent their addresses.This reminds me of a page in a calendar I bought for one of Matt's family members. Oh look -- here it is. Thirty years ago, if I couldn't find my address book I could have had a brief tantrum, then thrown the cards away and kicked back with a bottle of wine. Now we have The Internet. What did we do before Google? Argue for hours over what the guy's name was, or who played the character, or what year the movie came out in? Live with uncertainty? Let me Google what we did before Google.

My friend Collette invited us over for dinner tonight - when people invite us over for dinner when Matt's away I always feel so incredibly overwhelmingly grateful it's all I can do to insist that they come over for dinner instead (somehow I manage). She poured a couple of glasses of wine into me before dinner, which she may have regretted when Ben asked for a bun at the table and I yelled 'go long' and put a nice spiral on one. I told the kids to enjoy their dinner since we probably weren't getting asked back any time soon. And now I am sleepy. To all a good night.

Conflicted

2011-12-12T13:08:00.000-08:00

It's December twelfth and today I went out wearing a t-shirt. First I was wearing a sweater, but then I got too hot. This is not right. It's December. We need snow. We have a Christmas tree and decorations up and it's dark at four-thirty ANYWAY, so I'm with the kids on this one -- we want snow.

Of course, the likelihood is that if it was gray and snowy I would be headachy and miserable, and if I had to shovel out the driveway to get the kids to school every day this week while I'm solo parenting, I would not be impressed. While instead, I got multiple Christmas and household errands done today and felt happy.

But it's almost Christmas and it's kind of sad to think we won't have a white one.

So I guess you could say I'm a little sad that I'm happy, but also a little happy that I'm sad.

And people wonder why I'm always so tired.

Christmas crap

2011-12-11T18:29:00.000-08:00

The second attempt at tree decorating went much better, even though we were still approaching the full moon. Although inevitably what begins like this,

degenerates into this

Also, I need a better camera, Santa Baby.

So of course the entire main floor of my house looks like half a Macy's department store circa Miracle on 34th Street got deposited in it by some random tornado and my husband's leaving for Japan in the morning. If I sit at the kitchen table and look in the direction of the garland on the stair rail and squint enough to block out the surrounding crap, I guess it's kind of Christmassy. Otherwise I still just feel kind of tired about the whole thing.

Pam and I went to the craft show on Thursday. We have a near unbroken record of starting these little trips out full of bitterness and loathing for all of humanity (we didn't make any skinny jogger jokes this time though). Pam was coming off a difficult evening and morning of melting down children. We got to the craft show at ten-thirty thinking it was open at ten and it wasn't open until eleven (let's just pause and savour the irony of me being somewhere TOO EARLY on any given morning) so we went to a nearby mall to kill half an hour. Pam said she needed coffee. I said have you not had any yet today and she said "I've had two, YOU WANNA MAKE SOMETHING OF IT?" I did not want to make something of it. Pam had coffee. I bought lettuce. We went back to the craft show. The craft show was fun. I bought the crucial last present for Matt's Dad and his wife which they probably won't like because I like it, but I couldn't find anything that was the exact opposite of what I like, so oh well. I bought curry hummus from the Hummus Man because he's so bald and smily and darling I always have to buy curry hummus from him even though by the time we get to his booth I can barely carry anything else, and frozen hummus is not feather-light by any means. I bought - hey, I bought smelly soap. What the hell happened to my smelly soap? Pam, do you have my smelly soap?

I'm tired. I feel like I'm stuck at the craft show with no way to get home. My husband's going to Japan in the morning. I'm going to bed.

Moon Madness - brought to you by Surly Thursdays

2011-12-08T12:50:00.000-08:00

Someone said it was a full moon yesterday, and although it's not on my calendar until Saturday, I believe her. I couldn't wake up in the morning. I got presents wrapped, got to the chiropractor and got a few key presents bought yesterday and I should have felt great but I didn't - I felt anxious even though everything was going fine, and exhausted even though I had plenty of time to get everything done. The kids have been waiting since Sunday to decorate the tree, and when Matt finally got the lights on and they could start, they -- who haven't fought in weeks -- were suddenly at each other's throats. They both put themselves to bed VOLUNTARILY a good fifty minutes earlier than usual. Matt had a conference call at ten and went to the bed at eight-thirty and slept until nine-fifty (he's sandwiched between a trip to China and a trip to Japan, so that was maybe less full moonish than an understandable confusion about which fucking time zone he should be adhering to. Before I put Eve to bed I read her this book before wrapping it up for my one-year-old nephew - we both cried.

We were ALL OUT OF SORTS.

Great. Just in time for my extensive volunteering stint at the school Christmas bazaar.

On the funny side: a couple of nights ago I poured myself a drink, then came and sat down at the computer, forgetting my drink on the counter. I asked Eve to bring it over since she was already up. She said "where is it?" and I said "it's right there beside you". She looked at it and said "Oh sorry -- I was looking with my man eyes."

She didn't get it from me - she got it from her teacher. I guess if I had a boy I might be bothered by that. But then I think about Angus when he's 'looking' for something and think - nah, probably not even then.

To Neti Pot or Not

2011-12-05T09:31:00.000-08:00

Warning: there will be ickiness in this post.

I have allergies. Hardcore, nasty, year-round allergies. This started around the time I turned thirty and started having babies (which is kind of cool, because as with so many other things, I can blame the children). I use Nasonex daily, but I frequently also have to take an allergy pill. My doctor suggested a couple of years ago that I also use Hydrasense to flush out my sinuses. I did use it for a while, and then a friend told me that I should get a neti pot instead for nasal irrigation (or nasal douche, as the Wikipedia article says - join me in an adolescent giggle at the word douche, won't you?), because it's a lot cheaper than buying Hydrasense, which is really freaking expensive. So I did.

I suck at the neti pot.

Hydrasense, while being really freaking expensive, has a fairly long, skinny nozzle that you can jack right up into your nostril to fire that stream of salty water into your sinuses. My neti pot has a roundish nozzle that you have to position just right against the opening of your nostril. Then you have to angle your head just right to get the stream of water aimed properly. For me, this works about 30% of the time. The rest of the time I either almost drown myself or just end up pouring water all over my face and feeling like an extreme dork.

Because I'm almost always so stuffed up, it almost never works like the (faintly disturbing) demonstration pictures or videos, where you pour it in one nostril and it flows steadily out the other one. I'm happy if at least some of the water goes in part way and .... well, that's actually enough said about that.

The thing is, when it does work, sometimes it's great - I feel immediately clearer and I can breathe easier. But sometimes it seems to be sort of like squirting water into one of those hollow plastic doll's heads, and if it doesn't come out immediately, then a half hour or so later when I roll over in bed and turn my head... yeah.

In related news, maybe don't go out and get really drunk, decide you're too drunk to have sex with your husband, perform your usual night time ablutions including neti pot use, and then decide that you're not too drunk to have sex with your husband after all, because you might find an ill-timed stream of salty water - well, I was going to say ruins the mood, but the fact is he thought he wasn't getting sex and then found out he was, so really it had no effect whatsoever, so never mind.

Overall, I think the neti pot helps. But every now and then I indulge in a bottle of Hydrasense, because sometimes I just don't need another reason in the day to feel awkward.

MyMemories Giveaway

2011-12-02T08:26:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I was approached by MyMemories Digital Scrapbooking asking if I would be interested in hosting a giveaway. I've been warned by other, more experienced bloggers to be very selective about getting involved in sponsored giveaways, so I was careful to explore the site before I said yes.

I've never done digital scrapbooking, although my sister and several friends swear by it. I like the feel of paper and being able to handle the little flowers and tags and letters (okay, I hate trying to handle the letters, they're a pain in the ass). But here's the thing: digital papers and embellishments can't get lost. You can't bury a digital brad under six layers of journalling cards and chipboard fairies. If you have one background paper and you use it, it's gone, even if you find the photo it would be the perfect background for later on.

So I downloaded the software and started playing around.

You guys - it is SO MUCH FUN.

This is what I did last night, in just the time between when I SHOULD have gone to bed and when I DID go to bed (warning: it's a little addictive).

It's unbelievably easy to select your photos and it slots them into the openings for you.

It's also incredibly intuitive, which is important for someone as - how shall I put it? - technologically challenged as I am. You think "I'd like to crop this" or "I wonder if I can rotate this photo slightly" and bam, there's a button for it.

See that lime green flower? I added it (do I sound impressed with myself? I AM!)

The MyMemories site features, naturally, a wealth of templates and designs that are for sale, but there is also a wide variety of free designs on offer - I used a free template for this album.

The winner of the giveaway will get a free copy of MyMemories Suite Version 3 software - "Simple enough for beginners (yes it is) yet powerful enough for a serious scrapbooker". For one entry, go to the MyMemories site and tell me in your comment what your favourite digital paper pack or layout is.

For additional entries, like MyMemories on Facebook and/or follow them on Twitter, then comment saying that you have done so.

Even if you don't win, MyMemories has given me this Share The Memories code to share with you: STMMMS36927. Copy and paste this link into the promo code slot on the checkout page and it will get you a $10 discount off the purchase of the My Memories Suite Scrapbook software AND a $10 coupon for the MyMemories.com store.

I will pick a winner on Friday, December 16 and notify by email.

I was given a copy of the MyMemories software for review purposes. Opinions are my own.

Three Bags Full - of chocolate

2011-12-01T15:32:00.000-08:00

Ha-HA! I don't HAVE to post. I can just post because I FEEL like it.

Guess what? Today didn't suck. Today I went for a walk with Pam and we stopped at Brown's Cleaners to pick up the Sears package that I had left languishing there for many weeks solely because I hate having to face the sourpuss counter lady. Well, not solely - I also forget things a lot. Then we went to the bank because Pam needed a new bank card. I went up to the counter with her and we were chatting with the teller and I wondered briefly if she assumed we were a couple, because once when Eve was at dance I went to Best Buy with Janis, whose daughter was also at dance, to buy a tv for Matt's man cave, and the young man selling it to us obviously thought we were a couple, which was hilarious because this is Janis:

See? WAAAAAAYYYYYY out of my league.

Then we went home and dressed up nice and went out for lunch with Julie, near the Museum of Science and Technology where Julie works. We went to this restaurant, and the dish I had was called Silly Noodle (anyone who spends any significant amount of time with me might think I would have done better to look for a dish called Serious Noodle, or Contemplative Noodle, or Stop With the Incessant Giggling and the Overuse of the Word Whatever Noodle, but whatever). Then Julie told us that beside the McDonald's which is near the Museum is a Lindt Store.

A Lindt Store. A store that ONLY SELLS CHOCOLATE. I tried not to visibly shake with excitement while we were walking in. I got more chocolate to add to the teacher gifts, which I then realized were already chocolate. Oh well. I bought one Lindt champagne truffle because I've never seen one so I figured I should try it (I haven't tried it yet). Pam and I both spent about the same amount (which shall not be revealed here) which the sales guy remarked was good because then we couldn't judge each other. As if.

I came home and did a little work. The kids got home and I helped them practice piano and got dinner started. Then I realized I was still dressed nicely and grumbled at the kids for not noticing. Dudes! You've been home for two hours and I'm STILL WEARING A BRA - get with the compliments already! They were dutiful, if not terribly convincing.

Now we're going to watch The Muppets Take Manhattan. Because that movie last week has created an unquenchable demand for Muppet content. And in this one Kermit wears disguises.

Happy END OF NOVEMBER. Also, let's observe that I didn't swear even ONCE in this post.

Not with a bang

2011-11-30T10:55:00.000-08:00

It's the last day of NaBloPoMo. I feel like I should be posting something Grand. Insightful. Auspicious.

Ain't Gonna Happen.

I will, however, endeavour to cease my overuse of capital letters.

Damn, I wish I hadn't already done the gratitude post. Oh well, you know what they say, if wishes were horses the world would be three feet deep in horse crap.

Okay, I'm checking the daily prompt.

"What did you learn from doing NaBloPoMo?" Oh for -- seriously? Fine.

I learned that I don't do NaBloPoMo to grow my blog or improve my writing or get closer to writing a book. I do NaBloPoMo because, despite what T.S. Eliot might have written, November is the cruellest month. November is like fifty pounds of grayness and enervation pressing down on my head. Unlike January, when I feel like crap but at least there is usually a happy family Christmas behind me, in November I feel like crap with the added pressures of preparing said happy family Christmas, even when I feel more like reindeer vomit than sparkly snowflakes.

I don't have a lot of outside-imposed structure to my days while the kids are in school. Once they get home it all hits the fan, especially when Matt's away, but otherwise there can be a lot of time to brood. Brooding time is not a good thing. When I have to post every day I have to think about posting every day, which means I'm thinking about something other than how tired and headachey and leaden and worthless I feel - or, if I'm blogging about how I feel, at least I'm distracting myself with trying to make it entertaining to my readers.

And it helps.

Not as much as Tom Cavanagh on Royal Pains, but it helps.

See you in December.

What kind of mother lets her kid get purple hair?

2011-11-29T13:26:00.000-08:00

Remember Eve's Halloween costume?

The makeup was temporary. The purple streaks in her hair were not.

I know, it's not that surprising. I let my son get freak hair for hockey playoffs. It's the kind of thing that I generally waffle on briefly, agree to, and then worry about. Not the thing itself necessarily, but what it says about my parenting. Am I too permissive? Am I setting a dangerous precedent? Am I letting my desire to be cool supplant my need to set boundaries?

I don't think so. First of all, even though having unusual colours in one's hair is sometimes associated with other unsavoury behaviours, it's basically an arbitrary association. My kids know that I expect them to do their homework, treat other people with respect, eat mostly healthy food and fetch me chocolate whenever I snap my fingers - purple streaks and red fauxhawks don't change that.

I don't automatically agree to everything they ask for. I consider why they're asking and what the cost is. Dying their hair cost more than a regular haircut. However, Eve, unlike me at her age, actually has a sense of style, and I enjoy giving her the opportunity to explore it. I had gotten her a couple of blonde highlights for a fun surprise a few months before and she was thrilled. After she had them for a while, she tentatively asked if it was possible to dye hair other colours, and I suspected what she was hinting at. I knew that Angus would enjoy the experience of doing something fun and unusual for playoffs with his hockey teammates, and I knew Eve would be in transports of ecstasy if I let her dye her hair purple. I don't spoil my kids and I don't give them a lot of things with no occasion, but sometimes I do like doing something nice for them for no other reason than to make them happy. They were both extremely and exuberantly grateful.

I did have one or two other parents tell me they would never let their kids do something similar, but they were in the minority and they weren't disapproving or mean about it. My parents thought it was fantastic, which is a pretty good indication that we're not dealing with anything too alternative or cutting-edge.

How will I handle this type of thing as they grow older? When it might affect how employers view them? I'm not sure. When I see teen-agers with piercings or shocking hairstyles, I try not to let it predispose me to judging them negatively - I wait to see what their speech and behaviour says about them. I would hope people would do the same for my children, but I realize that might be a bit naive. For now, most of the people they say already know them and like them, and the few strangers who have commented have been positive.

Then I read an article - in the Globe and Mail, I think - about how to dissuade young girls from dressing too revealingly. Among the suggestions were helping them to find other ways to express themselves creatively, such as -- wait for it -- an unusual hairstyle.

What do you know - when I wasn't even looking for it, nationally syndicated validation landed right on my computer screen.

What kind of mother lets this happen?

A good one, I hope.

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Easy to Like by Edward Riche

2011-11-28T15:30:00.000-08:00

The synopsis from House of Anansi:

"A bitingly hilarious satire of the making of wine, television, and taste from one of Canada's most accomplished comic writers.

From award-winning author Edward Riche comes an immensely readable and sharp novel about "C"-list screenwriter and wannabe vintner Elliot Johnson. With his life growing more ruinous by the day -- his writing career is on the rocks, his struggling vineyard is being investigated by the feds, and his son, a former child star, is in prison -- Elliot decides to do what any self-respecting wine lover would do: escape to France.

Alas, fate has other things in store. Stranded in Canada by an expired passport, he is strongly encouraged to remain there due to his bit part in a growing Hollywood scandal. Deciding that Toronto may just be the perfectly engineered city in which to lay low, Elliot kills time by bluffing his way to the top of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.

A brilliant work of searing satire, Easy to Like showcases one of our most original authors at his comic best."

I'll be honest: this isn't my favourite kind of book. I tend to think satire works best in shorter pieces (think Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal), and can be hard to sustain - and sustain interest in - over an entire novel. But this book was saved by the fact that Riche writes real characters, not merely types on which to hang his biting social commentary.

Elliot Jonson is a snob. He doesn't want to make wine or write scripts that are "easy to like". Unfortunately, this means his winery is bankrupt and he can't sell any scripts. He's not obnoxious about any of it - I was actually quite touched by his quixotic yearning after the unattainable grape needed to recreate the ideal Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The rhapsodic musings on wine are almost incomprehensible to the uninitiated, but they read like a kind of poetry that is nonetheless pleasing.

Elliot's assistant at the CBC, Hazel Osler, is also a solid character - intelligent, perceptive and passionate. This is necessary to keep the whirl of buffoons, ridiculous programming and policy talk from degenerating into an indistinguishable morass. The send-up of the inner workings of the CBC will be entertaining to any Canadian, with Elliot and Hazel's relationship as a nice real-world counterpoint.

I enjoyed this book, although not quite as much as I enjoy following Edward Riche on Twitter:

EdwardLRiche Edward L. Riche
Unfortunate earworms hazard of having a 14 year daughter. I keep telling myself "I've got the moves like Jagger". This is not true.
21 Nov.

In unrelated news, anyone know how to do Twitter screenshots?

Memorable Quotes:

-"'We smell some dried cherry or cranberries, violets, and leather in the best examples, but it is hard to nail it down.' It was a maddening aspect of wine tasting, this search for taste and smell equivalencies. There wasn't a risk of sounding pretentious; there was a certainty."

-"'The Italians, to their great credit' - Elliot thought how much he would like to be, at that moment, in Italy - 'appreciate bitterness in food and wine.'"

-"'Not even going to take a meeting?' 'No, they are not.' 'Did they give a reason?' 'They don't think Brokeback meets Passion of the Christ has an audience. They don't buy the whole gay Jesus thing.' 'come off it, it's so obvious. In the new draft Judas betrays him because he's insanely jealous of this thing Jesus has with Mary Magdelene-'"

-"Châteauneuf du Pape began with Grenache - to which could be added Syrah, for a shiny pepper pelt and the durability of reinforced concrete; Mourvèdre for the funk of blood; and Cinsault, for volatility and polish. Counoise gave a fermented essence that Elliot called 'raspberry kimchi' and it brought to the wine what Mick Taylor had to the Stones. Vaccarèse was a spice: a pinch did the trick. Terret Noir added crisp acidity. Muscardin's role was an utter and essential mytery."

-"Some bald guy hosted the newscast. (You would never see that in the States.)"

-"With his years in the screen trade, Elliot now believed that the best film actors did nothing other than be utterly convinced by their own lies. The best performances came from actors who merely thought they were, at the moment, the character they were playing. They were dissociative psychopaths. They weren't method actors; rather, they were method humans."

-"Connie missed a critical factor in her analysis of his problem. Sure, Elliot wasn't being truthful with himself; sure, he wasn't facing the facts. But he was also self-aware. His was self-conscious self-deception. It was how one coped."

-"It appeared his predecessor was a tyrant; Elliot's comparative disengagement would be welcome. Probably, over time and in spite of himself, Elliot would become a better exemplar of the dickhead they expected. By their nature, most bosses were bullies and assholes."

-"'There is something unsuprising about California wine,' Marshall said. 'Do you think it's because it's grown by graduates of agricucltural colleges rather than by farmers?' Was there anything more humbling, more poisonously and profoundly humbling, than hearing oneself in an idiot?"

I received a copy of this book from House of Anansi for review purposes. Opinions are my own.

Charmingly Offbeat or Some Creepy Shit?

2011-11-27T15:52:00.000-08:00

First of all, thanks and praise to Honest Betsy, who likes my post titles and gave me this (which has nothing to do with the post title, which is meant to be attached to the rest of what the post is about - crap, I sense I'm in danger of having my award revoked):

Get it? Because the word titler has 'tit' in it? Also, we're both breastfeeding advocates - and what says 'breastfeeding advocate' like cleavage in an animal-print bra?

Second of all, it was American Thanksgiving recently, and there were two Charlie Brown Thanksgiving specials on, which I PVRed, because hey, Charlie Brown. Tonight Eve asked if the three of us could have supper on TV trays (actually she asked if we could have lunch on lunch little tables, but if I said that none of you would know what the hell I was talking about, so I paraphrased) and watch Happiness is a Warm Blanket. I happily agreed because we usually let them watch tv while eating on Sunday, I like it when there's something

At least, I always have loved Charlie Brown. I loved him when I was a kid. I loved him when I was a teen-ager. I loved him when I was a childless adult. I loved him when I was an adult with little children. And now that I'm an adult with older children.... well, I still kind of love it, but I notice things I didn't really used to notice. Granted, I think we can all agree that the totality of Charles M. Schulz's oeuvre demonstrates that he was not exactly a happy and well-adjusted man.
Happiness is a Warm Blanket is a lesser-viewed program (if you haven't seen it, it's about an impending visit from Lucy and Linus's grandmother, who, Lucy reports, has vowed to break him of his blanket habit or 'cut it into a million little pieces'. Lucy decides she will 'help' him break the habit before the grandmother gets there. I haven't watched any of the other ones through these newly critical eyes, but to name just a few of the things that make viewing this with my kids slightly fraught:

1. Lucy is a real bitch. Well, okay, I guess I always knew that, but good LORD she's a bitch. She keeps saying she's going to "break (Linus) of this stupid habit". In our house, stupid is a word that is NOT to be used lightly, and while she's not actually calling Linus stupid, the implication is clear.

2. That Violet chick is a real bitch too. The weird thing is, her only function seems to BE bitchiness. Lucy at least gets a few good one-liners in, but all Violet does is walk up to Charlie Brown and say something bitchy about how loserish he is, or walk up to PigPen and say something bitchy about how dirty he is or walk up to Linus and etc. etc.

3. The Charlie Brown crowd is weirdly obsessive about boy-girl relationships. Lucy always draped over Schroeder's piano. Sally always chasing Linus calling him Sweet Baboo. Peppermint Patty lusting after Charlie Brown - what the hell? Is it because there are no parents around and they're trying to recreate some kind of nuclear family model?

4. Schroeder clearly needs some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder meds. All he ever does is play the piano - it's not natural. Oh wait - maybe he has a Tiger Mom.

5. What kind of mother lets a grandmother threaten her kid like that? Oh right, the kind that ISN'T EVER THERE.

I just did a little more research, and the script for this show was actually written by Schulz's son and someone else after Schulz's death. Still, a lot of these issues are in all of the shows, and the comic strips as well.

I'm not saying this means I'll stop watching Charlie Brown, or not let my kids watch it. In some ways it's a refreshing change from some of the early-childhood-educator-approved treacle that's made these days. It's just funny how you see things differently at different stages of your life.

But man, Charlie Brown was a frigging saint for not bitch-slapping Lucy.

Time to Light the Lights

2011-11-26T19:45:00.000-08:00

This morning my husband left for China at some ungodly hour. At a somewhat more civilized hour, I took Angus to hockey practice. I shuttled him into the dressing room, then went to sit in the rink. Then I realized that two teams were practicing and since it was a practice no one would be wearing jerseys with names or numbers on them and it was going to be really hard to figure out which team was Angus's and which kid was Angus on the team.

I was wrong. It wasn't hard. It was impossible. I sat for half the practice on one half of the arena, thought I was watching the wrong team, switched to the other half and picked out who I thought was Angus to watch and felt proud because he was smoking his partner in the drill where they had to skate around the pylon and get the puck. Turns out I was in the right half of the arena to begin with. Don't think I saw Angus do a single thing. Oh well.

Came home. Baked some cheddar cheese scones with fresh rosemary. Sounds delicious, doesn't it? They're not - they suck ass. Don't use the cheddar cheese scones recipe on Epicurious. If I'd made them before practice we could have used them as pucks.

Then we went to see The Muppets with the kids' friends and their Dad who is also solo parenting this week-end (he said to Eve 'this is weird, I've never been on a date with your Mom before'. Then he looked at her face and said 'I just creeped you out a little bit, didn't I?' She agreed most emphatically that he had creeped her out a little bit.

The movie is flat-out motherfucking awesome (and no, I do not believe that would be as effective without the adjective 'motherfucking'). It was like watching something with the bottomless capacity for wonder and joy of a child and yet having all the capacity for smart-assed ironic self-referential recognition of an adult. Although when Kermit said to Piggy "maybe you don't need the whole world to love you - maybe you just need one person" and then they sang The Rainbow Connection, I welled up with an absolute lack of irony (oh - should I have marked that as a spoiler?). Eve loved it even though before we left for the movie she recalled somewhat uneasily that she had been frightened by some muppets at some point. Angus liked it even though I had to strong-arm him into coming (there was no one to stay home with him and I was GOING, goddammit).

On balance, I'm calling it a good day.

Mental cavities

2011-11-25T16:49:00.000-08:00

Last night over dinner my husband was telling the kids about a program he'd watched the night before on the local cable station. It was a couple of psychologists talking to parents about how to keep an eye on their teenagers for warning signs of depression or anxiety, and how to approach the subject of professional help. There was stuff about keeping the lines of communication open and explaining that everyone needs help sometimes and being honest about it. One of the psychologists said, "here is an example of what not to do: a family came in to see me a few weeks ago; a mother and father and a very angry teenaged boy. I introduced myself to the boy and asked him why he was so angry, and he said 'You're NOT a DENTIST'."

We all laughed. Then Matt said another thing the psychologists said was to not let your kid get away with just saying 'good' or 'fine' when you ask him how his day was. We both looked pointedly at Angus, who had just five minutes before said 'good' when we asked him how his day was. He looked panicked and then said "uh, I walked down the hallway, then I put my jacket in my locker, then I said hi to Noah and went in my classroom....".

We speculated on how weird it was going to be the next time we told one of them they had a dentist appointment. Eve walked over to the calendar and pretended to read "'fake dentist appointment' - what the heck?"

My computer is wonky today so this is all you get. It was funnier before I typed it out. I hate when that happens.

Angus is currently sitting on the piano stool trying to spin it around to the point where the seat falls off. Do you think that means he needs professional help?

Slow and Steady

2011-11-24T13:36:00.000-08:00

It's been a good week. I got my passport renewed with much less drama than I anticipated, went for a great walk, worked in the library, made a kick-ass butternut squash soup, left dinner for my Cuba-returning parents and hosted a fabulous book club meeting. So naturally I woke up this morning feeling like a heavy, worthless sack of expired potential. So then I got up and ate a bunch of chocolate cookies instead of going to the gym because I'm a giant self-defeating stupidhead.

So let's talk about the book, because the book is not a giant self-defeating stupidhead. The book makes me happy, even though some of it is sad, and even though I'm a giant self-defeating stupidhead. Should I stop using the phrase giant self-defeating stupidhead? I'll think about it.

The book is called Come, Thou Tortoise. The author is Jessica Grant, who was apparently a New Face of Fiction. That doesn't make me bitter, even though I've never been a New Face of Anything, except maybe Giant Self-Defeating Stupidheadedness (sorry). I bought this book last winter, started reading it when I got to Algonquin early for my exam on an icy day, and almost missed my exam because I was so entranced with the book.

Audrey Flowers, aka Oddly, is one of the most charming characters I have ever encountered. She is the most unreliable of narrators, and certainly she is lacking a certain something, or maybe she has an extra certain something, or something. She doesn't put question marks at the end of her questions, which you might think would be annoying, but it isn't - it is enchanting. She also isn't averse to dropping the odd f-bomb, which as you all know is quite important to me, and if it takes this book out of the running for a few delicate flowers, well so be it.

Oddly has to fly back to Newfoundland from Oregon, where she lives with her tortoise Winnifred (who is a winning presence in her own right) because her father is in a coma (comma). She ends up, in short order, locked in a bathroom with a stolen gun negotiating with an air marshall through the door crack - and this is just in the first five pages. She goes home and is sad, wobbly, energetically misguided and very, very odd while navigating the grieving process and visiting her Uncle Thoby who lived with her and her father for many years. There is a white mouse, there are quirky and entertaining neighbourhood characters, there is a very persistent Christmas light vendor (who happens to be Jewish) who is intent on recalling some potentially dangerous defective Christmas lights. It all hangs together with the same wonderful, slightly skewed, no-question-marks rhythm, the Newfondland scenes interspersed with commentary from Winnifred's point of view as she languishes back in Oregon in the apartment of Oddly's friend Linda and her boyfriend, the very minor Shakespearean actor Chuck.

"Wordplay and hijinks" - I just got that from the back of the book. That says it pretty well. There are also some shenanigans - some are ever-so-slightly madcap.

I put this on the book club list even though I am usually hesitant to put books I love on, because I know it's not certain that everyone will love them and I don't want to have their flaws pointed out because SHUT UP, I just LOVE IT, okay? In this case it turned out to be a good thing because apart from a few minor quibbles everyone else loved it too, and also I had a few things cleared up for me that, despite reading the book twice, I totally didn't get.

Get this book. And don't be slow about it. Ha. Get it? Slow? Because it has a tortoise in it?

Wednesday Waffling

2011-11-23T14:02:00.000-08:00

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity knows how I stand on cursing. Or they should - there's a small chance that they think I'm against cursing and just have really poor impulse control, and, well, I guess that wouldn't be the craziest thing to presume, but.... wait, I'm getting off track.

There are people who seem to think that cursing is one of the worst things you can do - up there with stealing and burning down orphanages and nun-beating. There are people on Goodreads who lament getting into a book and starting to enjoy it and then encountering 'the f word' on page forty-eight and having to stop reading, and wishing they hadn't wasted all that time getting engaged with something they couldn't possibly finish because.... what? Reading the word 'hell' or 'shit' would keep them from sleeping, or cause them to go out and rob a convenience store? I'm genuinely interested in what their line of reasoning is. Okay, you disagree with the use of 'foul' language. That would really keep you from finishing a book that you've been enjoying so far? I'm not saying you're wrong and I'm right, I just... don't get it.

The thing that people who don't swear don't seem to get about those of us who do is that we're not being all that transgressive, because we don't actually think we're doing anything wrong. Swearing isn't against the law. There are certain words that, for whatever reason, our society has deemed 'dirty' or 'unseemly', and for this reason they draw attention to themselves. When I use them, I want attention drawn to something - either in a negative way, i.e. whatever I'm talking about has made me angry, or in a humorous way, i.e. using a 'curse' is supposed to make whatever I'm talking about more funny. I tend to veer more towards using curse words humorously, or if I'm angry about a situation, because directing them at an actual person seems too hostile. This is the first part of my waffly feelings about swearing.

The second part is about when I'm walking into the community centre with my kids on our way to the library and the kids from the attached school are standing at the door smoking and swearing every second word. This does kind of bother me. It doesn't surprise me, of course, but it bothers me. When I swear, I am always mindful of my audience. This will likely come in time for the teen-agers, of course, but I like what my friend Collette told her son - that she knows he will swear when he's with his friends and has no objection to that, but that he should be aware that if adults hear him swearing it will be considered disrespectful and they may assume certain things about him that aren't true.

However, not swearing sometimes seems to me to be a way of drawing attention to yourself just as much as swearing would. One of my friends on Facebook is friends with a woman who is vocally religious and quite self-righteous, and at one point she made a joke and then speculated that she would now be considered a 'smart behind'.

Really? REALLY? I'm too lazy to look up the reference, but I believe it was an Andrew Greeley book, where the main character is in the seminary but home for the summer and trying to teach a girl he used to date how to water ski. He says something like "try to get the, uh, lower part of your body straighter" and she rages "it's not a sin to say 'ass' you stupid prude!"

Yeah.

I won't go out of my way to swear around you if it's something that bothers you. But it's not like second-hand smoke - it won't actually make you sick. It won't even cause you to swear. I strive constantly for greater purity of thought and deed. But I'm quite happy making judicious use of dirty words.

In which I make with the 'tude (but not the bad one)

2011-11-22T07:45:00.000-08:00

The lovely and talented Beck graciously invited me to be part of her anti-Oprah Christmas list post (and by 'invited' I actually mean 'didn't block me when I ambushed her in her Twitter timeline in mid-discussion of the post saying "please please please can I do the book part please please?" This is one nice, nice lady folks.)

I was going to save my thank-you post for a day when I was really stuck, and today I'm actually not stuck. There's a book I need to review that I forgot to do yesterday that I could do today. I already know what I'm doing for Wednesday Waffling tomorrow. But after reading your comments on yesterday's atrocity, I am so overcome with gratitude that I have to do my thank-you post today.

Everyone knows it's not easy posting every day - that's why we need a wacky, hard-to-say phrase like nablopomo, because if you're posting every day many things become wacky and hard to say. You start to forget if you've already written about your kid being afraid of sock fluff or the woman in the schoolyard who always shares too much or how you've always suspected that insects are trying to communicate with you (purely hypothetical). You start to plumb the very depths of your idea well and suddenly you realize why even your very favourite columnist throws out a dud every now and then.

But what about the readers? WHAT ABOUT THE POOR READERS? They who have been accustomed to your lazy, comfortable, twice-or-thrice a week output are suddenly bombarded with a new post (such as it is) EVERY DAMNED DAY. There is no end to the onslaught of inanity. I figured I would be lucky to not have zero comments on every second or third post. This was one of my chief concerns the first year I did nablopomo - "but if I don't leave the damned thing there for three or four days, NO ONE will see it, so what's the point? If a post falls in the forest..."

But damn, you guys are awesome. No matter what drivel I put out there, you have my back. Half the time someone says something that encapsulates perfectly what I was actually trying to say in the post (okay, in that case it's a balanced mix of gratitude and envy, but whatever).

So a huge heaping helping of hugs and kisses to everyone who has read and/or commented (no, that makes no sense, it can't be read OR commented, who would comment without even reading? Oh wait, maybe THAT's how you're doing it - no, then the comments would make no sense, and they mostly make sense, so...). If anyone wants to be on my Christmas card list (with the added bonus of obnoxiously cute pictures of my kids) email me your address and I'll put you at the very top.

Okay, enough with the sweetness. I promise to return to my regularly-scheduled acerbity tomorrow. Blog bless us, every one.

Value Meals

2011-11-21T16:27:00.000-08:00

I just saw another article advising people about what they should order at restaurants to get the best value for their money. I've been told by people who work at restaurants never to order pasta, because pasta has the biggest mark-up. This kind of advice always makes me scratch my head (shut UP, I do NOT have lice). Granted, I'm not the cheapest person I know, but even the cheap people I go out to eat with don't tend to scan a menu and pick out what to order based solely on how they can best stick it to the restaurant in the value department.

When I go out to eat, the VALUE for me is in someone else cooking my food, serving it to me, and cleaning up afterwards. And I LIKE pasta. If I feel like having pasta, am I really going to not have it just because the restaurant might make too much money on my order? It would be different if I ate out at restaurants a lot, but I don't. So when I do, I'm generally going to order what I feel like eating, not what I think is expensive enough for the restaurant to buy and prepare that I'm not getting hosed. Besides, if I really feel like I got ripped off I can always steal the candleholder or something.

Yes, clearly I'm really stretching trying to get a whole post out of this. Oh, while we're on the subject, I also hate those articles that tell you how to eat healthy at fast food restaurants. Um, yeah, we all know - eat the side salad or suck on a napkin. I'm not trying to eat healthy today, THAT'S WHY I'M AT BURGER KING.

cartoon from here

Sunday Scenes

2011-11-20T12:29:00.000-08:00

I was surfing the NaBloPoMo blogroll this morning, as I have most days this month. The first blog post I read was about the blogger's one-year-old and it was cute, but she closes comments and requests emails instead because "it will mean more to both of us".

(sound of loud annoying buzzer like the kind that means you guessed WRONG on a game show)

I LIKE leaving comments. I don't leave one unless I feel it's meaningful. I rarely get one that I don't consider meaningful (assuming it's from a real person). Also, when I click on 'email me' on a blog, I get this email form that doesn't work, so I have to click over to my email and type the address in. In other words, she would have had me as a reader and now she does not.

The second blog was a cool book blog - instead of full reviews each post was just general musing about whatever part of the book the blogger was at. But a few posts down was a post saying he was doing NaBloPoMo but was still on the fence about it and didn't really see the point, plus he was so sick he probably wouldn't be able to keep doing it.

(sound of loud annoying buzzer etc.)

Fortunately, then I found this blog (cute and relatable) and this blog (funny, cool and a little dirty), so I didn't feel like the entire blogroll was filled with whiny fence-sitting pretentious gits.

Angus had a 6 a.m. hockey practice this morning. Angus's new bed in his bedroom is a loft bed with a ladder. He slept in the basement the entire time Matt was away because Eve was sick and he wanted no part of it (even though he demanded updates on her condition every hour). At the end of the week-end we made him move back into his room. Matt is now of the opinion that Angus should sleep in the basement whenever he has a 6 a.m. hockey game or practice because "do you have any idea how impossible it is to drag a 120-pound half-asleep kid down that ladder at 5 a.m.?" Matt then did a hilarious impression of himself jumping up and down, saying "Angus, get up" at the top of every jump. Apparently teddy bears were thrown and it was a whole big bad scene.

Speaking of bad scenes, Matt and I went to get passport photos taken this afternoon. The whole not smiling thing is really bad for me - I need the smile to tighten up my first chin or the second one becomes really obvious. Sigh.

Speaking of even more bad scenes, me and my double chin are going to see Twilight tonight. Stay tuned for much mocking and hilarity.

So Glad You Asked

2011-11-19T18:37:00.000-08:00

Can I post about World Trivia Night tonight, Finola asks? Why yes, Finola, yes I can. Do you mind if I smother you in kisses for the suggestion? No? Just a firm handshake then? Sorry - I moved furniture in Eve's room all afternoon and then had to ingest a hefty dose of robaxa-something-or-other containing codeine.

Lynn, aka Turtlehead, posted something on her blog two years ago almost to the day, something about buying Pringles for trivia night and did anyone want to join her? I commented on her blog that I would be right over, thinking that she meant trivia night at her house or a local bar and also thinking I was just being silly commenting on a blog post, not actually inviting myself to her trivia night. As it turned out, she was talking about World Trivia Night, which takes place in the Aberdeen Pavilion at Lansdowne Park every year, and her team had a vacancy. Since I was experiencing a fortuitous convergence of two fairly rare circumstances, i.e. my husband was in the country and I was actually not feeling too ugly/socially backward/hermitish to venture out of the house to join people I had never met before, I swallowed hard and said yes, thank you very much, see you tomorrow night.

My husband, who is usually all for me being less weird and hermitish, took a fair bit of convincing that I was not going to be found dead in an alley, which if you've ever met Lynn is quite amusing (although she can be deadly serious about her trivia). I also met Julie that night, which did great things for both my ability to divest myself of various Spiderman accessories, my love of dancing to eighties music and my ever-lessening fear of Montreal. Plus she can really rock a version of Voulez-vous consisting entirely of the words Voulez-vous and some incredible hip action.

It's a crazy scene inside the pavilion. There are more than 170 teams of 10, set up in rows of tables. Some of the teams keep their tables depressingly bare except for paper and pencils. Our team does trivia as trivia is meant to be done - under layers and layers of salt, sugar, saturated fat and cocoa butter, unbesmirched by anything that smacks of vegetableness. Peter, Lynn's friend who really anchors the team, runs on a steady fuel of chocolate Cheerios and always bemoans the fact that he's not bulimic at least once during the night. In the car name category, we were totally stumped on a Pontiac model that was also the name of Utah salt flats and a Speedway; we were about to submit Sunfire even though we knew it was wrong, and he coughed up Bonneville with milliseconds to spare.

I never cover myself with glory, although I do consume empty calories very efficiently. If there's a book question no one else knows I might come in useful, but other than that.... it's weird, too, because it's not like my head is crammed with IMPORTANT stuff. You'd think I'd be a veritable compendium of Persian diamond names, French military victories, Latin flower nomenclature and Bristol Palin's baby's name (okay, that one I actually did know, but we second-guessed ourselves and got it wrong). But I'm not. I'm the worst at sports. And geography. Guess what? There was a SPORTS GEOGRAPHY category. Awesome - could I get a liver and dijon mustard milkshake with that? (Liver and dijon mustard both make me gag, if that wasn't clear).

Two years ago we got 85 out of 100 (the questions come in 10 groups of 10). Last year we got 87. This year we got 84 - Lynn was not pleased. She threatened to start bringing healthy snacks unless we all promise to shape up. This from the woman who COULD have brought us up to 85 if she hadn't been too TIRED to watch Captain America the night before, thus learning which fictional element comprises his shield (Vibranium - isn't that a stupid fictional element name? I think it's stupid). That's okay - I'm in it for the pop rocks high and the pleasure of hearing Stuntman Stu cheerfully mispronounce a good forty percent of the answers.

Previous WTN posts here and here.

Getting Down on Friday

2011-11-18T11:44:00.000-08:00

I have finished my last assignment for my course. I have started on the mountain of laundry in the basement. I have debated whether or not to boot Eve and her friend off of the computer, decided not to mess with contentment, and been vindicated when they raced upstairs to her room to play some make-believe game involving teleporting and recorder playing a few minutes later.

It's World Trivia Night tonight - my third with the inimitable Turtlehead (my first without Julie - boo to no Julie). Of course I don't feel like going right now because, well, I never feel like going anywhere if we're being brutally honest, unless 'anywhere' includes up to my bedroom with a book. Once I get there it will totally rock. Especially if I can cough up an answer that has something to do with something other than my knowledge of bad tv shows and their actors (we all know that's not going to happen, but it's a nice thought.

So in the spirit of getting a lazy-ass post up before I forget and leave the house and don't come back until some insanely late hour like, ten-thirty p.m., enjoy this (totally not safe for kids or work. Unless you work someplace really, really cool, in which case, maybe grab me an application). Sent to me by my awesome friend Patti's awesome friend Helen.

Abba-Dabba-Doo

2011-11-17T17:31:00.001-08:00

I went to see Mamma Mia last night. It was enjoyable, although I realized that I have a very marked preference for a certain kind of musical, which this was not. I realize that musicals in general require a willing suspension of disbelief, but for me this only extends to people acting like they're in a play, and then every once in a while they all spontaneously break into song and dance. My willing suspension of disbelief does NOT extend to people singing dialogue to each other, such as "let's go oh-oh-oh-over to the kitchen and may-ay-ake scrambled eggs", or a person singing to one other person. Not only does it make me practically writhe with embarrassment for the person singing, it makes me feel desperately sorry for the poor sap who has to stand there being sung to and gestured at. Sure, it's all well and good to be the character emoting musically. What if you're standing there having to look eager and receptive, unable to scratch your nose or crack your knee until the song is over?

Also, the song "Our last summer". I hadn't heard it since I was ten or so, which was a good thing. I don't care how badly you need a rhyme for "Paris restaurants", or how Swedish you are, you do NOT get a free pass to pronounce croissants 'crow-iss-awnts'. You just don't.

Other than that it was great. Pam and I picked up Julie's friend Denise on the way down, which made the ride there almost as much fun as the actual play. Fortunately, Denise's sense of humour fit in nicely with Pam's and mine, which I was pretty sure it would since she was Julie's friend, but I could envision a scene in which the poor woman would have been lunging for the door handle in heavy traffic. Pam's laryngitis-induced horror-movie croak and the fact that she was driving her husband's vehicle, whose brakes are apparently MUCH, MUCH more sensitive than her car's, only added to the fun. What's a touch of whiplash between friends, after all? I think I feel a song coming on....

An Angus post just to even things out

2011-11-16T09:45:00.000-08:00

Angus has grown up exhibiting a lot of my anxiety-related traits. He sometimes obsesses over things. He needs to know what's happening next. He's not comfortable with uncertainty. Now since he's - unlike me - a boy, and - very unlike me - athletic, playing sports has helped with a lot of this. He's come extremely far in terms of confidence and self-esteem, which is nice. But he's still asked me every day this week if he's sleeping over at his friend Noah's on Thursday night and if I've talked to Noah's mother and learned any additional details of which he should be apprised immediately, if not sooner.

Today I got an email from his English teacher that the Scholastic order had come in and, though he said he pre-ordered the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, she didn't have a form for him.

I stared, aghast, at the computer screen. I remembered him attacking me with the form and demanding that we order the book two months ago so that he could get it on the first day it came out. I had visions of him melting down in the middle of the classroom. I emailed the teacher back that we had absolutely ordered the book and to let me know if she didn't have one for him so I could go to Indigo and pick one up.

Then I wondered if I should go before I picked him up from school, or if we could go after I picked him up. Then I thought, wait. I know I haven't been feeling totally right this week - Eve was sick and we were shut in last week and, well, it's November. I need to call someone and run this by them so I know if I'm overreacting.

No one was home.

So I called the school and got them to tell Angus to call home.

He was not upset in the least. I told him we could go to Indigo and get a copy and he said "we already ordered it, why would we buy another one? Just wait until they figure it out."

Angus is a hundred percent fine. I, on the other hand, am in dire need of something which clearly I have not yet been prescribed.

Eve's Ear OR Telling it Backwards for Suspense over Sense

2011-11-15T13:06:00.001-08:00

On Friday last week when both the kids were home from school, Eve wandered down from her room and over to the kitchen table where I was working on an assignment, or blogging, or surfing aimlessly, as she often does. I stopped and hugged her, as I often do, and then she leaned on the table looking at the computer, which presented her left profile to me. So I flipped her ear around to look at the back of her earlobe, which I often do (this makes sense later, I promise). And I saw a small opening in the back of her earlobe, and shining through this opening was a swath of silver metal.

And that's how I discovered my daughter is a cyborg.

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Just kidding.

Eve's ears have always sort of been her Achilles heel....er.... yeah. When she was a baby, she had wax buildup behind them that had to be scraped out occasionally. When she was three, she had a small bump on her right ear that kept getting infected. We took her to the doctor and found out that it was an extra sinus that had to be operated on in order to close it (I almost linked to 'extra sinus', but the definition has some really gross stuff - it's a little hole, and it can cause problems, let's leave it at that. If you're one of those people that just HAS to know, you can Google it, but then don't blame me).

But then there was a blissful period of inner-and-outer ear health. No ear infections. No stitches. We were lulled into heedlessness.

We got her ears pierced.

It wasn't something I was anxious to do, but when the three other little girls who were all born at roughly the same time and who we hang out with were all going to get it done, I said Eve could get it done too. She didn't want to, so I said fine. Then, about a year later, she said "I think I'm brave enough to get my ears pierced now". I don't know that she put it exactly like that just to suck me in, but sucked in I was - she was being brave! We must go to the mall RIGHT NOW so she can be brave and reap the gratifying results of bravery!

The brief golden Age of Earrings:

Her ears don't like being pierced.

It was okay for a few months, then it wasn't. There was pus, and blood, and various other unmentionable things. We took them out and let them grow over. And then a few months later? We did it again. Because we are morons.

We wanted to problem solve. We wanted to know where we had gone wrong and fix it. We tried hideously expensive earrings, and those worked for a while (with the added awesomeness of having Eve pipe up with "I can't wear cheap stuff - I need gold or platinum" to complete strangers. We cleaned and disinfected nightly, sometimes hourly. We rotated and cleaned and disinfected some more. We finally settled on surgical wire earrings, and for a longer period than ever, things seemed resolved.

Until they weren't. Eve came upstairs crying because her ear wouldn't stop bleeding, and we realized we hadn't checked her ears for a few weeks, and the left one was a swollen, encysted mess out of which we then spent the next hour trying to extract her earring (there was a priceless moment when Matt looked over me and tried to mouth "I think it's bent inside her earlobe" and Eve said "I can see you - we're IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR"). Anyway, the earring finally came out, we mopped up the blood and declared ourselves finished with earrings for all time.

Until I flipped her ear around on Friday afternoon and realized we weren't quite finished with the earrings.

I thought to myself "okay, try not to freak out because that will just freak her out". So I said "HOLY SHIT, there's a chunk of METAL in your EAR!"

She freaked out. Angus came running upstairs. It was a whole big thing. I told her I would use my tweezers. I carefully sterilized the tweezers and washed my hands. Then I threw the tweezers across the room and, while she was looking at them sailing away I grabbed the hunk of metal with my fingernails and pried it out of her ear.

It was an earring back. A whole, big, butterfly earring back that my kid's earlobe ATE. It now has pride of place on the edge of the kitchen counter where we all walk by, look at it and shake our heads in disbelief.

I think we're done with earrings forever now. But obviously you just never know.

I'm Shameless

2011-11-14T13:50:00.000-08:00

I know two Eve posts in a row is probably violating some unwritten Statute of Blogging about exploiting your kids for cheap laughs more than once every half dozen posts. I just don't care. I was all set to be broody and slightly self-pitying today after my week being shut-in with a sick kid and then a week-end of recovery, which was nice but didn't do much to help me rejoin the world without feeling weird and wondering if everybody was looking at me strangely. Instead, Pam dragged me (i.e. didn't throw me out after I jumped into her car) down to Westboro to wander around looking at Fair Trade Christmas ornaments and twinkly elephant-strewn wall hangings and bowls made out of colourful newsprint, and buy discounted Playmobil at Mrs. Tiggy Winkle's, and venture into Mountain Equipment Co-op trying to look much more outdoorsy and athletic then we actually are, and lose my Works virginity (I had the Beverly Hills Lawsuit - I don't think I need to eat for the rest of the week now).

Then I had to get groceries (see part about shut-in week and recovery week-end - we've been eating out of cans for the last five days). So clearly I don't have time to muster up a blog post of any substance.

When I take my laptop up to my bedroom, it has to be plugged in in a socket that's between the chair of my arm and the wall, in a very tiny space. Once Eve was in my room as I was bent over trying to contort my arm in the proper configuration to plug it in and she said "why don't you just let me do it?" So now I just call her to do it, which she loves. Yesterday she was stealing my computer to watch netflix in bed, so she had to unplug it. She got down on the floor and wormed her way into the space, with just her little monkey-and-cupcake-printed pajama-clad butt sticking out. Then I heard "Hmmmm. I think I see your problem, ma'am. The plug is STILL IN THE WALL. I'll see what I can do!" Naturally, I made the only rejoinder possible - I tickled her butt. Then I heard "It's NOT APPROPRIATE for you to tickle my butt, ma'am!"

Funny or a little creepy? You decide!

Eve is about to steal my computer....

2011-11-13T10:24:00.001-08:00

...so I'm going to write down some funny stuff she said today in case I don't get it back before midnight.

"Hey, I can crawl really fast! .....OKAY, that hurt."

"Sorry. I'm a little rusty. I haven't juggled for like two hours."

"Remember when Daddy and Angus were putting on cold bathing suits in a hotel room and they made up that 'cold on the weenie' song?"

"Can we put on makeup? Because I already did."

In sickness and self-righteousness

2011-11-12T10:44:00.001-08:00

My husband and I are about as far apart on the spectrum of believing our kids when they say or think they are sick as you can get. My instinct is always to believe them without question, keep them home from school, tuck them in bed and worry that they're suffering from bubonic plague or the like. His instinct is to declare that they're - maybe not faking, but certainly exaggerating, or just psyching themselves out, because Angus in particular has a very nervous stomach - and send them to school or make them play baseball or hockey and hope for the best.

The general perversity of things being what they are, both of us turn out to be wrong at least half the time. I still maintain that my way is better, because would you rather feel like a bit of an ass when you keep the kid home and within two hours s/he is running circles around you, pulling down the curtains, demanding video game time and a tenth cookie, or LOOK like a giant ass when your kid barfs in the middle of the classroom/cruise ship dining room/bowling alley/birthday cake?

Eve's been home from school for most of the week with my stomach bug, and I kept her home one last day yesterday because she was still pale and tired, but she hadn't thrown up for 48 hours so I said she could still go to her friend's house after school because the friend (and her mother) were desperate for her to come over and I was pretty sure she was no longer shedding virus (you're welcome Clara). Angus was supposed to go to an Ottawa 67s hockey game for a friend's party last night, and he stayed home from school because he was achy and wanted to go back to bed, which he did, which is not normal for him, but he thought he'd be able to go to the party and I was okay with that because I didn't want the friend to be disappointed and again, no vomit was forthcoming - I thought maybe he just needed a day of rest.

So of course, twenty minutes before they're both supposed to leave, they both get all weepy and think they feel nauseous and things head rapidly down hill. I was utterly unable to decide what the right course of action was, and if I had still been solo parenting all three of us might have remained frozen in this miserable tableau for the next five to seven hours. Fortunately, Matt got home from the airport just in time to pronounce them neurotic and ridiculous, stomp on their objections, harass them into the truck and drop them off at their various destinations. Eve had a great time at Marianna's, Angus had a great time at the hockey game (at which he consumed two pieces of pizza, two Pepsis and two pieces of cake), and Matt and I caught up on a huge backlog of Modern Family.

Sometimes it's good to be wrong.

Two Minutes

2011-11-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

I was in my kitchen this morning when the clock clicked over to 11:00. I didn't know where to look for the two minutes of silence, so I watched my microwave clock. For two minutes.

It always feels longer than I expect, standing there doing nothing for two minutes. I tried not to let my mind wander, but I kept thinking about stupid stuff. I wanted to take out the garbage. I wanted to wipe the counters. I wanted to get set up on the table to start the assignment I should have started two days ago. I forced myself to be quiet and still for two minutes.

I thought about what it would be like not just to be annoyed about having to be still. About what it would be like to also be hungry, or thirsty, cold or hot, unwashed and weighed down with pounds and pounds of heavy equipment. I thought about what it would be like if I had to be quiet as if my life depended on it.

I can't find the exact quote, but I thought I'd heard something about war being equal parts boredom and terror. Fortunately for those of us who haven't had to go to war, we're much more conversant with boredom.

Remembrance Day. It's the other Thanksgiving.

Random shit

2011-11-10T08:43:00.001-08:00

Eve's home from school again, barfy-but-not-quite-barfing. It's okay - obviously I wasn't going to be allowed to step foot out of the house today, because my hair is AWESOME. And the number of people I see in a day is inversely proportional to how bad my hair will be, and my hair mysteriously knows AHEAD OF TIME. My hair is an asshole.

I spent hours in an Etsy wormhole last night favouriting hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic wooden toys between which to choose for my nephew, while at the same time wondering exactly to what degree my brother-in-law and his wife would shun me if I sent him a gigantic Nerf machine gun.

I just finished reading this book, which should be easily dismissable as the foul product of a horrifyingly diseased mind, but somehow isn't. Somehow there's enough compassion, melancholy, intelligence and social commentary shaded into the loving descriptions of bodily disease and decay to rescue it - although I have a few qualms about it being labeled teen fiction, and I have no idea who I'd recommend it to.

That commercial about banana-scented shaving lotion for carrots? It's fucking weird.

I don't like artichokes.

Wednesday Waffling:

2011-11-09T07:26:00.000-08:00

I've decided that since I'm committed to posting every day this month, I should tackle a few posts I keep approaching and then backing away from, for various reasons. One reason is that I've been too mentally lazy to try to marshal my thoughts into a coherent post. The other reason is that these are issues about which, no matter how much I go over them, I can't come to a firm resolution.

Today I'm going to talk about my problem regarding religious people. This is separate from my problem about organized religion - I have more concrete reasons there, many of which are articulated brilliantly in God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens.

I read an essay once by a woman who was proudly, defiantly against all religion. She said something about not being sure that faith could move mountains, but it could certainly knock down buildings. I tend to think of religious faith as something like fire: used properly, fire can warm, fuel and cook - activities that sustain life. Used improperly, fire can raze and destroy. And you can't blame the fire - it's the people that decide how to use it. So religious faith in the hands of good people should be a positive thing. So religious people. On paper, I have no problem with them. I even admire them. But in real life? I'd like to be more precise, but the truth is, they tend to give me the heebie-jeebies. If I'm conversing with someone or interacting with someone on social media, and I suddenly realize they're religious, it generates an immediate knee-jerk negative response. Of course, there's a sliding scale of mentions or remarks, the mildest being "we can meet you after church" or "please pray for us at this difficult time" (barely an eyelash flicker) to "all praise belongs to Him" or "Don't thank me, it was all God", (squirmy discomfort, tingly elbows), to "we prayed on it" or "God told me to" (uncontrollable eye-roll, mild nausea).

Why is this? I do recognize that, in a large measure, it's not them, it's me. Why do I care if they feel free enough to refer to something important to them in casual conversation? Why does it make me cringe and debate lessening or cutting off all contact with them?

I don't really know.

I guess I sort of believe that faith should be a private thing, and that if you're secure in your faith, you shouldn't need to keep talking about it. I know this doesn't dovetail with the idea that, with some religions, a big part of the deal is proselytizing and converting other people. But since this is a part of religion I REALLY don't agree with, my feeling is that you have every right to follow the tenets of your faith as long as they don't hurt anyone else, but I don't need you peppering me with references to it. It sort of reminds me of Tom Cruise jumping on the couch yipping about Katie Holmes - if you really feel it, you don't need to be public about it.

Also, I find it sort of annoying when someone gets complimented or praised and says "oh, don't thank me, all the credit belongs to God" (I do have a facebook friend that does this very thing.) The corollary of this is "well, what can we do, it's all in God's hands". It's true that we can't control everything. But it seems silly and unfair to me to discount all human agency. If you worked hard for something and were successful, what kind of sense does it make to say all the praise should go to some amorphous being? Do you think you would have gotten the same result if you'd just sat at home and watched Oprah? I don't like the sense that people are just puppets with the shadowy Man in the Sky moving their little arms and legs around. I also don't like the implication that nothing we do has any effect if God decides to make things go a different way - why do anything, then?

As I feared, I don't feel like I'm getting my feeling across with any precision or coherence. I know I have friends who believe in God and I have no problem with that. And I don't want them to feel like they have to hide it from me either - that's not what I'm saying.

I was raised Catholic. I went to church faithfully the whole time I lived at home. I sang in the choir and was the organist for two years. We had a priest I really liked. He had wild reddish hair down to his shoulders and a skewed sense of humour. When he came to my school he was great with the kids. But he wasn't very good with adults and he acted very strangely sometimes. Once we got home after Saturday night mass and my mother realized she'd forgotten her purse. She called the rectory and my Dad went to pick up the purse, but the priest would only open the door a big enough crack to shove it out, then slammed the door. My father, who thinks organized religion is a total crock, was angry - he didn't see why that kind of behaviour should be allowable just because it was a priest. Shortly after I left home for University, the priest was arrested for abusing altar boys. I was upset about this, but sometimes I don't think I realized just how upset. I stopped going to church regularly (more due to courseload and heavy drinking than any philosophical decision), and the times when I tried to go to mass with my Mom on Christmas or Easter, I felt physically repulsed when I entered a church.

I don't usually do the 'what do YOU think' thing at the end of my posts, but I really struggle with this, and if anyone has any thoughts I'd really like to hear them.

Absence makes the heart do too much online shopping

2011-11-08T08:40:00.001-08:00

I may have mentioned (repeatedly, in a shameless attempt at garnering sympathy) that my husband travels a lot. When the kids were little and we had no family around, it was really hard. By the time he came home I was at the end of all my physical and emotional resources. As they've gotten older and since my parents moved here, it's become much, much easier.

We've established some good routines that work for us when we're a three-person family. Routines for getting homework done, piano practiced, children bathed and everyone in bed at a reasonable time. In some ways it's easier when there's only one parent - we're on my schedule and everyone knows what they're doing when. We usually gather in my room to read at around eight and then I put them to bed or they sleep with me.

Some routines that have started to form when Matt's away are less productive and beneficial. Like the one where I suddenly feel the need to visit online auction sites and look for cute clothes for Eve - this is what I like to call 'retaliatory shopping'. This is not something I ever do when he's home - and it's not because he would disapprove. It just doesn't occur to me. Fortunately, I'm still present enough not to spend too much on them, but it's sort of a pattern that Matt returns home and then one or two or three packages show up in the mailbox with tulle purple skirts or funky striped asymmetrical-hem dresses. Oh, or a Boston Red Sox lightswitch plate - in case anyone is afraid Angus is getting shortchanged.

The other thing that sometimes happened, and this one really needs to be altered, is that I become unable to talk on the phone with my husband without instantly morphing into a raging bitch. And not just when I'm having a bad day. I can be having dinner with the kids or reading to Eve or playing cards with Angus and the phone rings:

Me: Hello?

Him: Hi, it's me. How's it going?

Me: Why do you care? It's not like you'll be any help if it's going crappy.

OR

Me: Hello?

Him: It's me. Just checking on things.

Me: I've always hated how you chew gum. And you shouldn't wear red, it's so not your colour.

OR

Me: Hello?

Him: Um, I have a situation.

Me: You are the unpurged bowels of a dozen earthworms. How many days late? Never mind - email me. You suck.

Yeah. Not constructive. It's usually when I have some underlying issues dragging me down, but I think we can all agree it's not the best way to foster strong marital ties. For a while I just told him to email me and we communicated that way, because I didn't feel myself turning into a reptilian fire-breathing harpy while reaching for the keys the same way I did reaching for the phone. Hey, maybe it's my PHONE that's evil! No, the kids manage to talk to him pleasantly.

I really am working on this. I know it's not his fault that he has to travel. I know it's not always fun for him (but sometimes it is - nice hotels, nice restaurants, sushi off of naked women - okay, it might have just been sushi on plates, but he REALLY LIKES sushi, so still...). I know it's not good for the kids to hear me talking to him in a less-than-polite manner (I don't think I've ever done it when they're around, actually). I know it doesn't make me feel good about myself.

We've had one conversation since he left yesterday. I was fine. It wasn't that hard.

Now, I wonder if they have any cute black sweaters on Ebay in size 8?

It was a good plan...

2011-11-07T18:37:00.000-08:00

So after all my high-minded words about 'spending some quality time with my kids' and 'keeping the family connected', Matt left this afternoon and I proceeded to leave the kids with my Dad and go out for dinner for my friend Janet's birthday this evening. Did I cook something wholesome and homemade for the kids before I left? I did not. I got them McDonald's. They seem distinctly untraumatized. But who knows if I've doomed some unspecified future liquor store to knocking over?

In honour of my friend Janet, who I love not IN SPITE OF but BECAUSE she pronounces words and names in a delightfully quirky manner, I will tell a story she told my husband and me ABOUT HERSELF (another reason to love her) fairly soon after we had all met:

In the story, she was going out for dinner with her boyfriend (now her husband) Dave and some of his friends who she was meeting for the first time. They went to a Thai restaurant. Janet ordered the pad thai. After the waitress went away, while they were engaging in small talk, one of Dave's friends asked Janet what she had ordered.

Janet: "uh...what's it called... oh yeah - I ordered the poon tang."

Dead silence at the table.

Janet: "What's wrong? Don't you guys LIKE poon tang?"

See? See? Lovable.

Post-traumatic sickness disorder

2011-11-06T08:48:00.000-08:00

Sitting here trying not to let the absolute joy at the fact that I feel not the slightest inclination to hurl be overwhelmed by the whiny realization that I missed a gorgeous sunny fall week-end and we didn't finish rearranging Eve's room AGAIN and the house is a disaster and Matt's leaving tomorrow AGAIN, and...

Yeah. How about we don't go there? I realized that the reason my head is all whoosh-y and I keep almost falling down the stairs is not just that I haven't really eaten for three days, but that I haven't taken my antidepressant for three days, when one day of withdrawal is generally a quite noticeable problem. (wait, you all knew that I require medicating to be this sunny and cheerful all the time, right? I'm sure you did - if not, well, surprise, you're welcome, no and screw you - that should cover all the possible responses).

I miss my kids. Not just from the last three days of not wanting to infect them, but from the last month of craziness - I feel like we're all a tiny bit unconnected. We don't fight or yell or anything, because they're great kids at good ages, but Angus is at that age where he tends to want to hermit out a bit in the basement, and I need to reign that in a tiny bit, and Eve has forgotten or lost a couple of things this week and she's been disproportionately self-lacerating about it. So while Matt's away this week I will be re-instituting the 'everyone in Mommy's room reading a book at eight o'clock' and 'everyone eating together at the dinner table' rules. And instead of putting off having them sleep with me until later in the week when I can afford to lose the sleep, I am just going to let them sleep with me every night. I've had enough interrupted bed time in the last few days.

When I was growing up, my Dad got home at 4:45 every day and my Mom got home at 5:30. All our activities took place comfortably after the dinner hour. It seemed easier to get four people together at a table. In this family, the Dad sometimes has to go out for dinner after work and is frequently not on the continent. Eve has dance at an hour that means we have to eat early and dash on Tuesdays. If I have an assignment spread out all over the kitchen table I sometimes let the kids eat on tv tables. I never stop trying to reassert the four-people-at-the-dinner-table model, but it's harder. I do talk to my kids about how important I think it is and how studies have been done that show how families that eat dinner together tend to produce children that are more successful later in life. I'm not sure how he got this particular image, but now Angus's delightful shorthand for it is 'yeah, yeah, I know, you don't want us to grow up and start knocking over liquor stores'.

I guess that captures the point pretty well.

Delirious ravings

2011-11-05T16:12:00.000-07:00

To all my blog/facebook/twitter friends -- sincere apologies for the oversharing. Not that I'm about to stop, you understand, but I am sorry.

I'm really wondering if I should allow myself to type this, but I THINK that after roughly 54 hours of extreme bodily misery, I might be about to do something crazy like digest food. When I stand up I actually feel like my feet send roots into the floor, by sheer virtue of the room not pitching about like a ship in a storm. I would be wholly content, if not for the fear that I've doomed other members of my family to the same fate.

There are people who have cancer or other chronic illnesses who feel like this a large amount of the time. Who watch sickness and fatigue swallow up huge chunks of their lives. I know how hard it is on the kids when I'm sick, and how horrible and helpless I feel when I have to let someone else take care of them, and I can't even imagine what it must be like to have that be the new reality rather than an aberration of a few days.

I'm torn between trying to follow up two days of no food with a clean, healthy start and swearing that no excess sugar or fat will pass my lips henceforth, and seeing how much of a cow I can devour at one sitting.

I sent in a wildly substandard assignment for my course on Friday. Since I've gotten 100% on the first six (actually I think one was 95% - the shame!), I'm not going to sweat it. I'm also not doing a whole lot of 'improving my writing' or 'growing my blog', two little catch-phrases that gave me a bit of an unpleasant start when I saw them on a NaBloPoMo badge. I didn't hold out a whole lot of hope for either of those things - I was going along the lines of Just Do It.

And look - I did.

Knowing Me Knowing You November 2011

2011-11-04T08:55:00.000-07:00

The Nablopomo newsletter asked if we were exhausted from three days of writing - I've actually been really enjoying the writing, I'm exhausted because yesterday I woke up with a burgeoning migraine and then threw up all afternoon and evening and part of the night and woke up this morning still queasy. So naturally I'm getting my post done before I do my assignment that's due before midnight that actually affects whether I pass my course. Priorities, people.

As usual, Shan the Fairy Blogmother comes through with Knowing Me Knowing You just when I'm really, really desperate.

1. What keeps you up late at night?

When I'm not upchucking, you mean? Books. Good books, bad books, heaping towering teetering stacks of books. If I try to read a book at three in the afternoon I fall asleep. I start reading at nine or ten and I can sail through until 2 a.m. easy. Often I start reading a book and can't go to sleep until I finish it. I think it's verging on pathological.

2. Do you collect anything?

Books. Good books, bad books, heaping.... wait, I already said that. I've been trying to achieve zero growth, meaning if a book comes in a book goes out. I use the library a lot so that we have space at home for furniture and appliances and people and moving around, but I've been trying to collect some of the books I've read and loved since realizing that I don't own a lot of them.

3. Are you addicted to Angry Birds?

Nope. I SUCK at video games. Like, lamentably, laughably, humiliatingly, my kids can't even believe how bad I am kind of suckage. Especially driving ones. It's kind of surprising my kids will get in a car with me after seeing my dismal performance at Mario Kart. Except one golden time when I was sitting on the couch with Angus and he passed me his ipod touch and I made some brilliant, idiot-savant type move on Angry Birds and hit the TNT. He suspected for a split second that I'd just been holding out on him, and then ten seconds later he realized it really was just a fluke.

4. What's your idea of a perfect evening?

Watching Doctor Who with my husband. World Trivia Night. A walk on a crisp, cold fall night. Book club. Eight o'clock reading time in my room with the kids. Not throwing up.

5. Are you looking forward to winter?

I honestly don't know. Some things, I guess. I have trouble in winter because I have really bad feet which translates to a lot of lower back pain, and when I can't just wear sandals or running shoes everywhere it affects my mobility, so that part sucks. But the kids like the snow, and I like making soup and chili and I hate the heat, so I guess so.

Shan, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU.

Sound and Fury Signifying DUMBNESS: Dominance by Will Lavender

2011-11-03T08:43:00.000-07:00

I recently came across a member on Goodreads who is kind of pissing me off. She writes these sprawling, grandiloquent, scathing reviews in which she assumes and attributes wildly speculative motives and qualities to authors, indicates that anyone who likes a book she doesn't is a brainless sheep-like patsy, and generally tries to be as unpleasant as possible. And god help anyone who has the temerity to disagree with her. I haven't engaged her, because I'm pretty sure it's what she wants, and I try to stop going back, but the sweet rotting lure of such flagrant bitchiness is strong.

I try to be balanced in my reviews. I tend to review books that I like, while just giving low ratings to books I don't and then moving along. I know what it takes for me to put my writing out there, and how fragile a writer's self-esteem can be.

But sometimes I feel like I've been duped by a book. Like it reeled me in on a false promise of depth and wonder and played me for a fool ON PURPOSE. And that, friends, pisses. me. off.

I don't usually reprint the synopsis, but in this case I need to be really sure you see it:

THE PROCEDURE HAS BEGUN . . .

Fifteen years earlier. Jasper College is buzzing with the news that famed literature professor Richard Aldiss will be teaching a special night class called Unraveling a Literary Mystery—from a video feed in his prison cell. In 1982, Aldiss was convicted of the murders of two female grad students; the women were killed with axe blows and their bodies decorated with the novels of notoriously reclusive author Paul Fallows. Even the most obsessive Fallows scholars have never seen him. He is like a ghost. Aldiss entreats the students of his night class to solve the Fallows riddle once and for all. The author’s two published novels, The Coil and The Golden Silence, are considered maps to finding Fallows’s true identity. And the only way in is to master them through a game called the Procedure. You may not know when the game has begun, but when you receive an invitation to play, it is an invitation to join the elite ranks of Fallows scholars. Failure, in these circles, is a fate worse than death. Soon, members of the night class will be invited to play along . . .

Present day. Harvard professor Alex Shipley made her name as a member of Aldiss’s night class. She not only exposed the truth of Paul Fallows’s identity, but in the process uncovered information that acquitted Aldiss of the heinous 1982 crimes. But when one of her fellow night class alums is murdered— the body chopped up with an axe and surrounded by Fallows novels—can she use what she knows about Fallows and the Procedure to stop a killer before each of her former classmates is picked off, one by one?

Elite scholars. A mysterious, J.D. Salinger-like author. A literary game played by geniuses. Hell yeah, sign me up.

When you read a book and start realizing it's so much less than it was promised to be, do you find that small, unremarkable details start to drive you batshit? Or is it just me? Because once I figured out that this book was a whole lot of telling rather than showing, every second description and adjective choice seemed monumentally mediocre and grating. Even the heroine's name - Alexandra Shipley, but everyone calls her Alex. Alex Shipley - try saying it aloud or even just in your mind. You either have to pronounce both names distinctly - Alex. Shipley - which trips you up every time you read it, or you read/say it as Alec Shipley. I would never have named a child this, and I would never use it for a literary character either. At one point, Alex Shipley (agh) visits Richard Aldiss, the tortured genius, so we're told but never really shown:

"He had wine ready, an immaculate dinner of stewed hare and exotic vegetables on china that spread across a stark white tablecloth." An immaculate dinner? Immaculate? Immaculate is clean white linen or a room with nothing out of place. A dinner involves sauce and juice and piles of things. A dinner can be extravagant or luscious or meticulously-prepared, but not immaculate. And stewed hare? Am I wrong, or is 'stewed' just not a glamorous image? I would have gone with braised veal shanks or maybe a crown roast of something. Stewed hare just makes me think of a wet rabbit.

At another point, Alex is questioning one of the other characters: "The man tumbled away again, followed the air with his eyes." WTF?????? Presumably we're meant to understand that the person's attention was wandering - instead I have an image of someone suddenly performing a somersault in the middle of a conversation. Don't even get me started on "followed the air with his eyes." Followed.... the AIR? The air is EVERYWHERE!!!!! This is pure slapstick, folks.

Yes, this is nitpicking. I wouldn't have started doing it if everything else wasn't so lamentably lacking. The 'Procedure', which is supposed to be some grand, eloquent game, merely consists of students acting out scenes from a book, and in THIS book they only do it once or twice, and most of them seem to suck at it. The night class consists of Aldiss uttering a couple of inscrutable sentences, having a few neurological fits which cut the sessions short or cancel them entirely, and then suddenly Alex and another student from the class are in Iowa following a lead found in the margin of some library book and we're told the class is about to end after the next session.

It's hollow. It's a hollow chocolate bunny. No, it's worse than a hollow chocolate bunny -- at least then the thin shell is made of CHOCOLATE.

Then there's the problem that I sometimes encounter that results from the fact that I read books quite quickly. I'm willing to make certain allowances based on the fact that not everyone reads this quickly, but a lot of people do, and if you're an editor I kind of think you should catch this sort of thing:

page 11 - "His mouth was frozen in a cruel smile."

page 19 - "Alex froze."

page 43 - "She froze."

page 66 - "no other students walked across the frozen quads." (dispensation here for the fact that it's winter, so the literal use of the word applies)

page 75 - "Alex froze."

page 262 - "Alex tried to scream. Tried to stand up, to do something -- but her body was frozen."

page 297 - "Alex froze."

page 303 - "Everything froze."

page 346 - "He froze."

page 353 - "Her blood ran cold." Well it would have to, wouldn't it?

At the risk of assuming too much about the author (because you know I hate when people do that), I'm going to venture a guess that, while writing this book, he should have worn thicker socks.

A Disgrace to my Gender

2011-11-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

I'd like to say that this is one of those hip, ultra-modern, no-stereotyped-gender-roles type households. I'd like to, but I can't. We don't try to mimic an episode of Leave it to Beaver or anything - my husband helps with housework, Eve loves math and plays baseball, Angus has been known to scrapbook, and I can drink my husband under the table. BUT I do the vast majority of the cooking and day-to-day tidying. I do my best not to sully my lily white hands by carrying out the garbage, I'm helpless with anything involving plumbing, and bad things happen when I get hold of an allen key, so I don't put together a lot of furniture. I'm a stay-at-home MOM, for frick's sake. And while my husband isn't a neanderthal or a 'I earn the money, you take care of everything else' jackass, he likes his sports and he can be utterly defeated by the vagaries of a washing machine.

Along these lines, I haven't taken a lot of responsibility for vehicle maintenance. Matt would just take whichever thing needed servicing, drop it off and then take the shuttle to work. At some point, he would pick me up and we would go get the other vehicle and tag-team drive them home.

When we bought the minivan last summer, I said that I should start taking it in, and he said he would be glad to hand over that responsibility. However, the first time it had to go in, I was in the middle of a medication switch and I didn't really feel like myself, so to spare me the added anxiety he took it in yet again. Today was my maiden voyage into the big bad world of Car Servicing.

I was determined not to be a stereotypical woman who is clueless and giggly and doesn't know anything about cars and gets taken advantage of. I'm not sure how I thought I would escape this, though, since, regarding internal combustion engines and the like, I AM clueless. And I do tend to giggle when I get nervous. Fortunately, there was little opportunity for any advantage being taken, since all I needed was an oil change which is still covered under our extended warranty. Furthermore, the guy at the desk could not have been nicer (at least one of us dodged the stereotype), so even if there was a problem I might not have left with a new everything-under-the-hood. But yeah, it was bad. I approached the desk and within ten seconds we'd established that I'd parked in the wrong place, and when he asked me if we'd bought the vehicle at this location I had to say "Uh, I think so.... I wasn't actually....there." He said "Oh dear." Then he said "Oh, I didn't mean to say that." I could have said, look, we discussed it at length and we already knew which one we were getting, and the salesman was someone we knew from our son's school, it's not like I waved good-bye to my husband and said have a nice day dear and why don't you pick up a new car on the way home.... but there didn't seem to be much point.

Oh well. The oil got changed, Pam and I went to Costco while we waited (so I guess maybe it did cost me more than it should have after all) and all my husband has to know is that I successfully navigated my first oil change. It's not like he reads my blog. I don't think. Plus, I have a bunch of muffins the size of my head to console myself with. I'm calling it a win.

Gimme a NA! Gimme a BLO! Gimme a PO! Gimme a MO!

2011-11-01T08:26:00.002-07:00

Yeah, I could just quietly post every day in November without trumpeting that I'm doing NaBloPoMo and demanding that everybody marvel and praise, but that's just not how I roll, OKAY? Besides, if I don't constantly remind myself I might forget.

Halloween.

You know, when my kids were little and Angus always wanted to be a superhero and Eve always wanted to be a princess or a fairy, I used to be kind of annoyed. Because Angus was a superhero every day and Eve was a princess or a fairy every day, and it was BORING. I thought at the very least ANGUS could be a princess and EVE could be a Power Ranger, but no, for Halloween they'd wear a costume that had been worn dozens of times already. And I was annoyed by that.

My stupidity knows NO BOUNDS.

You don't even want to know how much these cost.

I always try to convince the kids that we should make costumes out of stuff we have at home, because it's much more fun and creative than just buying something. One year we pulled together a pretty cool Indiana Jones costume for Angus because he had this great corduroy blazer, and my husband had the fedora. We made a map for his pocket and all we had to buy was the whip. Every other year it's been store-bought all the way. Sometimes we would even have two or three different costumes, one for the school dance, one for our friends' annual Halloween party and one for trick-or-treating. Because, you know, I'm a sucker. At least this year they wore the same costume for everything.

Because I spent so much on their costumes, I was determined that mine would be cheap and easy. And not slutty, because I'm old and married and the party is all about
consuming carbs and getting silly drunk, because I'm old and married and the party is all about not angling to have drunken pirates leering down my Wonder Woman cleavage. Any more.

So my kids come home and see the shirt on the table and seem to have NO IDEA what it is. They get it eventually, but when Matt comes home and says "Cool - a chalkboard", I say "THANK-YOU - our kids are dumb!" Then when we get to the dance, my friend's husband says "Oh, neat -- but you know, they have Smart Boards now". I say "What the hell is a smart board?" And he says "you know, those things they have where you can move the letters around. You're so nineteen-nineties right now!"

Jesus Christ. A blackboard is now a retro costume? I felt like an eighty-year-old. No wonder the poor kids didn't know what I was. My friend's husband added that if some kid started feeling me up trying to move the letters, at least I'd know why. My friend, who's a teacher, wondered briefly if she should make a smart board costume for Monday at school, and then concluded that this would be likely to get her kicked out of the college of teachers, so I made her a chalk board shirt instead. Everyone knew what it was.

I always find the dance kind of excruciating. It seems like it should be fine - it's only two hours, Eve has a blast dancing her little butt off, Angus roams the halls with his friends eating junk food and theoretically I should just stand there talking to the parents I know. But somehow there are always large chunks of time when everyone I know has wandered off and I'm standing there like an idiot - Matt is usually just back from Australia or Japan or wherever-the-fuck, and I take pity on him and don't make him come and then feel incredibly bitter about it. So this year I volunteered, which means you man a table for 45 minutes, selling food or drinks or glow bracelets or telling people where the coat check is or where they need to go for their volunteer slot. And it worked - the time flew by, and then it was almost the end of the dance.

Last night was the first year Angus went out alone with two friends. Eve and I went with a friend and her daughter, and we came across the boys a couple of times - they studiously ignored us, of course, but it was confirmation that they were alive and not carrying eggs or toilet paper. I wasn't as anxious about it as I thought I might be.

Tune in next year - I'm thinking of going as a dial phone.

Surly Thursdays OR How Sometimes I'm Just Not That Bright

2011-10-27T06:05:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has read this blog for any length of time will not be surprised by my confessing that I'm fairly wishy-washy, I suck at confrontation and I just want everyone to get along. On the one hand, I think I'm fairly good at looking at issues from several different points of view; on the other hand, sometimes I sort of admire people who have a solid opinion and are not going to be swayed no matter what.

One of the things I've been trying to improve at is speaking up when I disagree with someone. In the past, I've let statements go by without challenging them either because I didn't feel like I could marshal my thoughts well enough to state cogently why I disagreed, or because I was just too chickenshit. But I've grown increasingly uncomfortable with taking that road - it feels cowardly and dishonest. So if I read a statement on Facebook or a blog post that I disagree with, I will often say so in my comment, as respectfully as possible. For the most part, this has not resulted in any negative experiences and it feels like a tiny bit of growth, so that's good.

Do you know Sandra? I like Sandra. She's kind and self-deprecating and hysterically vulgar, and she has killer abs (okay, I don't 'like' her for that so much as 'feel a bitter, coruscating acid-like envy', but whatever). She has a lot of followers and gets a shit-ton of comments on every post. Her followers like her a lot. Have you noticed that when this happens with a blogger, a sort of phenomenon takes over the majority of the commenters that dictates that every comment must be not just positive, but overwhelmingly positive and supportive and complimentary? "Oh my God, you are the funniest person ever and I love you more than I love my own children!!!!!" "I just laughed so hard my spleen came out my nose!!!! How are you this funny???? Your family must just sit around and laugh at you all day every day!!!!! And also, whoever you hate, I hate them even more than you and I will track them down and kill them with nail scissors!!!!"

I'm not claiming that I'm not often guilty of similar behaviour. When you read a post that articulates something that you suddenly realize has been floating vaguely around your own psyche, and renders it both clearly and comically, it does make you feel like you've found a soulmate, and I often love immoderately on my favourite bloggers in my comments too. But I try to be wary of being swept up in the 'if you hate them I hate them' wave without considering whether I do actually hate the person/corporation/cohort in question. Sandra recently wrote a post about an unpleasant and frustrating parent-teacher interview she had with her son's teachers. People were sympathetic, which is great, BUT, a lot of the comments on this post seemed to insinuate that not just THESE teachers but ALL teachers were unintelligent, uncaring, too quick to medicate and just general douchebags. So this was my comment:

Wow, is this a gathering of people who love to bash teachers anonymous? Or not so anonymous? One of my issues with bloggers who get big is the commenters who love them SO much that they will not only agree with anything they say but will go orders of magnitude further just to prove their loyalty – not only are THESE two teachers bad, ALL TEACHERS ARE HORRIBLY AWFULLY BAD. I would be livid in your place also, Sandra, and I’m glad you have so many supporters but geez, people, take a breath.

Pretty innocuous, right? A couple of teachers actually responded that they appreciated this comment, and no one seemed to find it offensive, so good.

Then I saw a new post from Sandra in my blogroll entitle "The Blogger Who Gets Big". I thought, uh-oh. Then I read the post and then I read the comments which said a bunch of things about rude commenters, haters and 'nonintelligent misinterpreters' and said that they should shut up and blow themselves and a bunch of other stuff. Then I got upset and commented again and said Dudes, I wasn't being rude, and I wasn't even disagreeing with Sandra, I was disagreeing with all the people who can't distinguish liking someone's writing from over-agreeing with them to a loony degree (I'm paraphrasing). I was frustrated. I was tired. I was confused about how saying that Sandra was a blogger who had gotten big was insulting. I was confused about how a comment that didn't use any bad words or direct anyone to ingest fecal matter was negative or rude. I said my piece then I went up to bed.

Then I laid in bed awake for a while. Then I realized that I'M A TOTAL MORON. She didn't quote my comment in the post. She didn't link to me. She didn't even mention me. She used the first phrase from my comment and then wrote about what that made her think, which is totally legitimate, and then a few commenters made an assumption that it was a negative comment and jumped all over the theoretical commenter, whereupon I outed myself as the theoretical commmenter like a giant idiot, when I could have just shut up and gone to bed fifteen minutes earlier. Maybe I'M the narcissist.

Sometimes blogging is really weird.

Ow ow ow ow ow, and also yay me.

2011-10-24T15:31:00.000-07:00

At some point in every woman's life comes a time when she has to face her fears and say:

"You can't scare me. I have children."

Fellow parents - do you find that things that used to turn you pale have lost their power to frighten since you've become conversant with the small beings who move into your house, take all your money, leak all over you and never let you watch the fun channels on TV? I don't know what it is - if all the years of plunging my bare hands into unspeakable substances have worn down my fear response or if it's just that I've forced myself to do scary things (like go headfirst down really high water slides) so many times solely to sew up the rights to mock my kids for NOT doing them. Or maybe I'm just too damned tired to be scared.

Anyway. I'm pretty sure that before I had kids you never would have caught me dead harnessed up and walking on skinny, swaying trails of octagonal beams or half-missing strings of swinging steps ten metres off the ground for three hours on a Saturday afternoon, FOR FUN. I still haven't decided if it's better or worse that my husband was in Australia for the group aerial adventure. I really wanted someone there that I could curse at with impunity if I got into trouble (the other three women generously offered up their husbands for cursing-at purposes). On the other hand, the tense discussion about whether we should race back to Mark the financial advisor's house in order to sign the life insurance policy for Dave which was currently unsigned, and Dave's subsequent musing on whether leaving the policy unsigned for the moment might actually render him safer while wandering around among various tightropes and swaying timbers made me think it was not so bad being a seventh wheel. We did establish a loose rule that, of the two people allowed on every course feature at one time, both should not be members of the same married couple. That's just good sense, right?

We also had a moment's pause when they divided us into an English group and a French one and, while the French guide gave his group a good ten-minute talk, our guide said "everybody got their gloves? Okay, let's go!" We were in Quebec, after all - what if they were giving the French people all the GOOD safety rules and letting us go first to see if anything went wrong? I know, I know, sometimes living in Ottawa makes you paranoid. If they were less than eager to preserve our safety over anyone else's, it was probably because of the pretty much indefensibly immature way we reacted to the whole 'nobody is allowed to touch anyone else's equipment' rule.

On the whole, it wasn't as hard as I expected. Except for about three spots, which were much, much harder than I expected. On one, I caught myself about halfway across actually doing horror-movie breathing -- you know, sobbing out, squeaking in? It was amusing, until I realized I couldn't stop. And then there was this:

My evil nemesis

So you had to get from the platform onto the ladder, which was perpendicular to the platform, and then onto the web. Except my carabiner buckles got stuck between the ladder post and the web while my body was already on the web, and by the time I got them off I was at the very limit of my arm strength. It was a strange feeling - sort of 'wow, if my life depended on how strong and smart I was about this, I would totally be dead'. So I experienced a moment of complete and utter panic, and then let myself go and rested in the harness for a moment. And the world didn't end, and people were waiting, so I figured out a way where, instead of getting my feet back on the web I just used one hand to pull myself along the bottom of the web and the other to scoot my carabiners along the lifeline - it wasn't pretty, but it got the job done. My pride was somewhat salved by the fact that the rest of our group then decided to go across the same way without even trying the other way. They might have just been trying to make me feel better, but frankly I don't really care.

I thought I might be nervous about the ziplines. But the ziplines were at the end of the courses - Christ, by the time I got there I was so happy for a rest I would have....um.... done something even scarier than ziplining (sorry -shocking comparison FAIL).

There's always a certain 'why am I doing this?' factor to any of this stuff - why do we go camping, or do canoe trips, or pay good money to experience pain and fear in at least a small measure? Because we don't have to hunt for our food, or fight in wars, or plough fields and gather crops? Partly, I think. Partly just because we need to break our routine and challenge ourselves every now and then. Partly because it's good to take something to which your first response is 'oh HELL no' and see if 'well, maybe' is a possibility. Partly because after an afternoon like that, food tastes really good and every beer is the BEST BEER EVER.

Everyone I know who has done this course said my legs would be toast for a few days. Naturally, my legs are fine - when do I ever have a normal reaction to anything, I ask you? My arms are really sore (I made a few unpretty noises while trying to lift library books onto shelves today), and I have some fairly impressive bruises on my inside biceps. But my back? It feels great - I think ziplining might have cured it.

Surly Thursdays

2011-10-20T18:04:00.001-07:00

I was a little afraid I wasn't going to be able to summon up a decent amount of surliness, what with my awesome week-end and my extremely painful and stubborn lower-back condition resolving somewhat. Fortunately, then it rained for four days straight and the tendonitis in my right elbow resulted in me using my left hand more which now causes a burning pain to shoot up my left arm every time I move that thumb. Also, my husband left for Australia yesterday and last night my enormous eleven-year-old son hurtled into my bed whimpering in terror because it was raining so hard he couldn't sleep and he was afraid we were going to get flooded (by which he didn't mean the basement might get a little damp, naturally - he was envisioning the army having to airlift us off our roof. Maybe we should stop letting him use that Worst Case Scenario toilet paper). I kept murmuring reassurances, and then just as I would close my eyes and start to drift off he would yelp "was that lightning? Was THAT lightning?" This morning he stumbled downstairs bleary-eyed and said "Sorry for what I did last night. It wasn't a good thing for either of us."

So tomorrow's a P.D. day, I have four kids all day, I have an assignment due by midnight and it hurts to type. Plus I'm supposed to scale rope bridges and zipline and shit on Saturday - who needs two good working arms for that, right?

Nevertheless, I am still thankful. That my daughter has just learned about the sixties and is wandering around saying "Let's change it up, man! It's like the sixties, man! You have to say 'man' after every sentence, man!" That my son kept guffawing at the jokes about 'genitals' in the Big Bang Theory and then looked at me and furtively asked "does that mean balls?" That no one really wants me to stop being snarky - even the universe, clearly, because right after I wrote that post I went to get my hair done and cracked a trashy magazine open and there was Toni Braxton, big as life, talking about her sons - Denim and Diezel.

Thank-you, Universe. Message received.

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Island of Wings by Karin Altenberg

2011-10-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I found a package of books in the mail from Trish at House of Anansi Press. The note said that the two fall releases were a little off the beaten path, so she thought they might be right up my alley. I sent her an email that read "Dear Trish: how is it we've never met and yet you totally get me?" Then she emailed back and said she reads my blog even when it's NOT about books she's sent me, which might have made me squeal in a most unbecoming fashion.

The quote from Anne Enright on the cover of my ARC of Island of Wings says that this book is written "With scrupulous attention to place, history and the natural world," and "tells a story washed by a clean and lovely kind of sorrow". I both love and hate it when someone else has articulated my own opinion so well BEFORE I'VE EVEN READ the damned book. I also automatically struck it from the list of books I will recommend to Patti and Susan, who often walk around Indigo on dance night picking up books and chucking them aside saying things like "haunting sense of melancholy? I don't THINK so!" and "heart-piercing beauty? Screw that, who wants a pierced heart?"

I found a lot of similarities between Neil McKenzie and Nathan Price from The Poisonwood Bible, which I also loved; both are intelligent, well-meaning, tormented men who I simultaneously wanted to throttle and comfort. The sense of place is vivid, evoking the harsh, spare beauty and the unforgiving nature of the land, from which the native St. Kildans wrest a hand-to-mouth living. Lizzie McKenzie is a more sympathetic character (I'm pretty sure this isn't because I'm a woman, and not in love with organized religion); she is insightful and compassionate, even though her opportunities are extremely limited by her gender and situation.

One of the most frustrating things about McKenzie is that he's NOT an evil man. He's not trying to be an asshole (most of the time) - he really thinks he's right; he's TRYING TO SAVE THEIR SOULS. This blinds him to the fact that in many ways the St. Kildans are already moral and principled people: they look out for each other; they accept no gifts unless they are given to the community as a whole; when Lizzie's twins die and she insists they must be buried in coffins, they muster together enough wood, although it is an extremely scarce commodity and they have all been equally devastated by the death of many infants. All McKenzie can see, however, is their godless paganism, and this makes them inferior in his eyes.

This isn't a book that reaches any grand conclusions. It is a fictionalized treatment of the lives of actual people, based on some documentary sources. It draws brief, vivid sketches of people trying to accomodate themselves to an austere landscape and an unfamiliar people, with varying results. It captures a moment in place and time -- exceedingly well, in my opinion.

Memorable Quotes:

-"The archipelago grew out of the low clouds like bad teeth in a weak mouth, the rugged sea cliffs bleakly lit from behind by the sun, which was setting somewhere far out in the west."

-"'You must not ennoble them with more excellent virtues than they deserve, for they are quite crude in many ways... for example, however much effort I put into teaching them the Scriptures, it is as if they will not take them to their hearts. They can repeat the catechism like a child repeats a nursery rhyme, but they do not seem to feel the weight of its truth on their souls. Nor do they let it influence their life and conversation. Indeed' -- the minister was heated now by that missionary zeal -- 'I have heard them swear in the most medieval manner!'"

-"As he continued to look out to sea he was aware that her gentle devotion threatened to embrace him. Despising himself, he felt a need to deflect his sense of failure and shield himself from her love. At that moment he resented her decency as much as his own weakness. 'Our guests did not seem to enjoy their meal very much; perhaps you will be able to improve on the fare tomorrow?' he said, hoping that the cruelty would relieve his frustration and knowing that the hurt it caused could not be repaired."

-"It was no wonder then that the puffins' calls which filled the air sounded so melancholy. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!' they called mournfully to anyone who was prepared to listen. They looked pitiful and sometimes rather comical, thought Dick, like a great assembly of drunken churchmen swaying back and forth on their webbed red feet, unable to decide where to put their weight. He mentioned this analogy to the minister, who laughed and said that in the current climate within the Church of Scotland the birds may well pass unnoticed."

Blissful, Joyful, Delighted, Gratified

2011-10-11T18:10:00.000-07:00

These are all synonyms for 'thankful'. Which I am. My life is rich and full, and I am grateful beyond measure that I have 'all of the necessities and some of the graces' (a quote I love, from this book). My children, my husband, my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my niece and nephew, my friends, my books, my home, the plants that live, the plants that die, the sun, the wind, the snow and rain, enough food, too many clothes, Tuesday night tea with Patti and Susan, girls' week-ends, bad jokes, good jokes, music, colour, beauty and mystery and zombie stories.

On Saturday we informed the kids that this was going to be our last hockey-free beautiful Saturday for the foreseeable future, and therefore we were going to go for a walk in Gatineau Park. Angus said "can I bring my bike?" We said "um, no." He said "But I hate walking!" We said "we know." I think I've mentioned before, also, that Eve hates the smell of fresh air. So we had no illusions - this was an idyllic family stroll under duress, and that was fine by us. As it turned out, they weren't all that annoying. Eve was bitter that all the fuzzy red-and-black caterpillars seemed to have been commandeered by toddlers, although she didn't go for our suggestion that she offer to wrestle for one. Angus found that playing 'leaf baseball' alleviated the tedium of all the sunshine and beautiful scenery.

On Sunday we went to Brockville to meet my mother-in-law and her husband at my husbands' grandparents' retirement home for Thanksgiving brunch. Nana was her usual cheerful and sharp-as-a-tack self, and Grandpa was much as he has been lately - not entirely sure who everyone is or what's going on, but happy to be surrounded by loving faces. He did snap to at one point, when my mother-in-law told a volunteer to bring him and Nana small glasses of wine, holding her thumb and forefinger close together to demonstrate. The girl left and Nana asked Grandpa if he would like some wine and he said tartly, "yes, but I wish you'd all stop measuring it with your fingers!" That'll be me when I'm 90 - grandchildren come and go, but wine is forever.

Monday we had Thanksgiving dinner with my Mom and Dad, who were nice enough to delay it a day so we could be with them. Angus discovered that he loves pumpkin pie, much to Matt's dismay. The wine was not measured in fingers.

When we were back in the lounge after brunch, I was beside Grandpa and Nana was on the other side. She asked him how he was feeling. He looked up from his wheelchair, on a day pass from the hospital where he's been for three weeks, and said "I don't have anything to complain about."

Word, Gramps.

Surly Thursdays

2011-10-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

On the off-chance that you're also feeling like crap - or even if you're not - go read this. It will either make you laugh and forget how crappy you feel or it will make you laugh until you feel even more headachey and barfish, but it will be worth it.

I'm off-kilter. I know, considering how seldom I am actually on-kilter, that statement is practically devoid of all meaning. I must be doing not that bad, though, because I've had a nagging headache, stabbing lower back pain and a sort of medium-queasy stomach for four days now and it's taken me until about an hour ago to develop the theory that it might be some non-specific full-body cancer (and by 'develop the theory' I naturally mean 'become totally convinced').

I got called a smart-ass by Amber a few days ago. You know, Amber? The nicest person in blogging? Once she was talking about how she believes in activism but she finds it intimidating to put herself out there, and most commenters were like 'yeah, totally, me too', but one was like 'then you're a cowardly lazy BAD CITIZEN and you should probably just crawl in a hole', and Amber said to this commenter that maybe she could dial it back a bit because she wanted her blog to be a safe and comfortable place for everyone. Dude, she makes her blog safe and comfortable EVEN FOR DOUCHEBAGS. When douchebags come to my blog I want them to be stabbed in the eye with the spiky hurtful crazy (uncertain how this is different from anyone else who comes to my blog, but the intent is different). And she called me a smart-ass (can't really blame her: she tweeted something like "there's not much that a sunny day can't make better" and I tweeted back "except maybe a drought".) So I'm thinking this is something I might have to work on, because it's literally like I CAN'T STOP MYSELF. And I just read a post by someone the other day about how she's now choosing to focus on the positive and be happy, and not everyone is pleased about it, but she's tired of negativity and complaining and snark.

Tired... of SNARK?

It occurs to me that I may have developed a snark dependency. I don't think I can get through the day without snark. I don't know if I want to live in a world without snark, and that's not good, right?

Okay, I'm going to try to go snark-free for the next few hours. I'll let you know how it works out. And Amber, if I run into any douchebags, I will do my level best to make them safe and comfortable. Because I think it would be good for me to be a little bit more like you and a little bit less like me.

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - John Dies at the End by David Wong

2011-10-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

First a word about pseudonyms. I guess I can kind of understand why some people use pseudonyms - for privacy, or safety, or fun. In some countries it might be a serious risk to one's life to publish under a real name. What I DON'T understand is why someone makes up a pseudonym, and then volunteers their real name IN THE SAME PLACE.

?????

One summer, my best friend and I were camping at the provincial park where we went every summer and she decided that this summer we should make up cooler names for ourselves - she would be Renée and I would be Angela. I'm not sure why I went along with this, except that she was hot and the only way I had a hope in hell of attracting male attention was to stick by her side and hope for some overlap, and the park was pretty boring. So at one point, she leads us up to some guys and asks if they want to go for a walk and they say sure, and as we start walking she says "So I'm Renée and she's Angela. HA HA, no, never mind, actually, I'm Danielle and she's Allison."

Guy: "Uh, are you insane? Not that it really matters, since you're incredibly hot."

Me: "You are henceforth dead to me."

So why does a book have one author's name on the cover and then on the back jacket say "xxx is the pseudonym of xxx"? WHY? If you want to be daring and mysterious and pretend to be someone else, just DO IT. If your real name is too embarrassing to be on the front of the book, why put it on the back? Or what about when it's two authors, and it seems like the first thing they do before even writing the book is sit down and make up some cutesy mish-mash of their two names -- P.J. Tracy is a mother and daughter team. P.J. Parrish is two sisters (26 letters to work with, why do they all have to be P.J.?) Will it really throw the average book-buyer into such a bewildered tizzy if there are TWO authors' names on the front?

Anyway. The book. John Dies at the End. It's weird. And funny. And a little sad. And weird.

This is the dedication: "For my wife, who had been so tolerant and wonderful through all of this that I think she might be a product of my imagination. also, my best friend, Mack Leighty, who gave birth to the 'John' mentioned in the title, and who years ago convinced me to get into writing as a hobby instead of alcoholism.

Mack, I'll never forget that when things got really tough in my life, you stepped up and killed those dudes for me."

This typefies the tone of the book pretty well - humorous, a little touching, outrageous, sneaking up to the very border of being too cute. David Wong is the protagonist as well as being the fake name of the author (I hate when authors do that, too). John is his friend - the kind of friend who call display was invented in order to enable you to avoid. There is a new and reality-bending drug called Soy Sauce, there are various assorted demons and monsters, there's a dog named Molly who keeps dying and coming back to life, there are a couple of road trips (naturally) and a lot of dick jokes.

My reading curve went something like "who recommended this again? Huh? Well this is....ew. Ohmygod, that's hilarious! Oh, so when they.... hey, there might actually be a story here. Okay, this is dragging.....oh, here we are back here again. Oh, that's kind of nice."

David Wong is the (TOTALLY POINTLESS AND UNNECESSARY) pseudonym of Jason Pargin, online humorist, National Lampoon contributor, and editor in chief of Cracked.com (why yes, I DID get that from the back blurb, thanks for asking). This information fits very well with what I thought of the book. It's not terribly deep, but it's not all facile joke-of-the-day fluff either. There are moments of genuine loss, fear and connection in among the Ghostbusting and bad puns. Also, it made me giggle my sleeping husband awake, which doesn't happen that often.

Memorable quotes:

-"Sixteen different objections rose up in my mind at once and somehow they all cancelled each other out. Maybe if there had been an odd number..."

-"I reached for the knob. At the same moment it began to melt and transform, turning pink and finally taking the shape of a flaccid penis. It flopped softly against the door, like a man was cramming it through the knob hole from the other side. I turned back to John and said, 'That door cannot be opened.'"

-"This is Marconi. My secretary says you have some kind of a meat monster there?"

-(song lyrics) -"'My hat smells like/ lubricant, I don't wanna touch it/ Wait, this isn't mine! And it's not a hat!/ Camel Holocaust! Camel Holocaust!"

-"John said, 'Yeah, it's not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. I'm sort of used to it, if you know what I mean.' I held up a hand to silence him. 'John --' 'Of course I'm talking about my penis.'"

George.

2011-09-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

Yes. I have named this post George because this post has proven otherwise unnameable. I considered 'Spinning my Wheels' or "Blurry and lacking in focus" and "little nuggets of pure crazy" and nothing worked. I will call it George.

So apparently I should put a honking big slash between the Biblio and the Mama because (and I really should have known this), I can only do ONE THING at a time. I can blog regularly, or I can do book reviews. So not surprising. Whenever people talk about working out at lunch hour or stopping at the gym on the way home from work I try not to stare at them with my mouth gaping unattractively, but I'm always thinking "huh. So not everyone has Exercise Day, where they exercise first thing in the morning and then spend the rest of the day recovering from said exercise?"

I've been on this baking-for-the-lunch-boxes kick because it's the beginning of the year and I'm still optimistic and energetic (well anyway, I'm marginally less beaten down and demoralized than I will be come February). The kids love those chocolate-covered-coconut bars, so I've turned out batch after batch of chocolate-dipped coconut macaroons, because they're fresh and homemade! and I know all the ingredients! Of course, the fact that those ingredients include sweetened condensed milk and chocolate detracts from the virtuousness somewhat, but still.... Tonight I realized two things. 1. I don't have to look at the recipe any more. 2. We're all so sick of chocolate-covered coconut things we never want to see another one. Naturally I have NO IDEA where to go from here.

I couldn't sleep last night. Then the back of my head got itchy and I scratched it and then spent the next two hours obsessing over the weirdness of back of my skull. Does everyone have this odd shelf of bone halfway up, or have I been walking around with a permanent depressed skull fracture? God help me if I ever go bald.

Remember when I took the kids to Laflèche and we did the kids' obstacle course? My friend Collette has decided that the adults of our four families need to do the adult course. The three-and-a-half-hour really-high-up I'll-make-a-man-out-of-you adult course. Except Matt's going to be away. I said I couldn't go without someone to encourage and support me and tolerate being cursed at without holding a grudge and everyone else said I could use their husbands for that. So I'm going. Even though I'm afraid of heights and those harnesses are really unflattering. What does it say about me that I'm slightly more afraid of humiliation than I am of death?

Wow. This post may have reached a new pinnacle of frivolous lunacy (lunatic frivolity?) Of course, I went to the gym this morning, so really, what did you expect?

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - The Broken Teaglass

2011-09-25T13:45:00.000-07:00

First, I have to get this off my chest.

If you're an author whose first book is called Promise Not to Tell and the cover looks like this:

and then a subsequent book is called Don't Breathe a Word and the cover looks like this:

don't you think maybe you need to fire your editor?

Anyway.

I just finished The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault. It was a quiet kind of mystery, sort of understated and faintly sad, but also quite original and thought-provoking.

I can't remember how I came across it, but what hooked me, not surprisingly, was that the main character works as a lexicographer, preparing citations and definitions for a new edition of a dictionary. The eccentric characters who work at the Samuelson Company are entertainingly drawn, and I love the descriptions of how new words or definitions are decided on, and how questions from the public are dealt with. Billy, the fresh-out-of-college protagonist, is unsure of whether he really belongs there. He finds a heightened sense of purpose when his colleague, Mona, discovers some citations in the files that don't seem to belong, but instead appear to suggest that someone who worked at the company previously has sown fragments of a mysterious narrative among the company's voluminous citation archives.

The developing relationship between Billy and Mona is sort of frustrating, but in a very realistic way - if this was a Hollywood movie, you know they totally would have ended up naked on a dining room table full of word citations. It doesn't happen that way in the book (for this I am thankful). There is also no point where someone "comes too close to the truth and discovers that the next victim may be closer than he thinks". I know it seems like I'm defining this book largely by what it's not - so maybe I am, shut up, it's my blog. There are also no zombies, but I'm not going to hold that against it.

Memorable Quotes:

-"Now that you've paused to look up lexicographer, are you impressed? Are you imagining lexicographers as a council of cloaked, wizened men rubbing their snowy-white beards while they consult their dusty folios? I'm afraid you might have to adjust your thinking just a little. Imagine instead a guy right out of college -- a guy who says yup, and watches too much Conan O'Brien. Imagine this guy sitting in a cubicle, shuffling through little bits of magazine articles, hoping for words like boink and tatas to cross his desk and spice up his afternoons."

-"I'd have preferred we didn't end the conversation there, with my morbid dental hygiene theory just hanging in the air. But before I could say more, she gave me a little wave and headed back to her cubicle, where she could think about how creepy I was for the rest of the morning."

-"Because I keep picturing all of the terrible ways this could end." "Like how?" "Well. Let's see. There's you getting fired. Or you ending up sleeping with the fishes in the Connecticut River. Or at the very least, Mr. Phillips being dragged away by a cop, shaking a fist and screaming 'And I would've gotten away with it if it weren't for those meddling kids!'"

-"How could I start disliking such a thing? Three innocent little letters, signifying something so basic, even charming: a small treasured object, a key. A tiny magical device that opens doors and old hope chests and secret diaries. Ah, and people's hearts! the more I thought about it, the more I grew to hate it. Key. KEY. KHHHEEEEEEY. I could imagine myself near-catatonic in a padded white room, hoarsely repeating the word, trying to clear the syllable out of my throat like a tenacious bit of phlegm."

-"Self-defense is an act that implies you have something valuable to defend. After the instinct, you begin to wonder. What, specifically, was I aiming to save? What, beyond instinct, makes life worth saving?"

Letter to my Optometrist

2011-09-22T12:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Dr. N.:

On the off chance that you're curious why neither I nor my children are any longer frequenting your office, I've decided to share my reasons with you.

As you know, I've been a patient of yours for twelve years, since I first moved to Ottawa. I have never had the slightest issue with your friendliness or professionalism. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for your front counter staff, particularly the one older woman (I'm sure you know who I mean). I'm not sure why I put up with the customer service I've received here for as long as I have - I suspect it's a combination of laziness and the fact that I only come here two or three times a year.

I've worked retail myself, and I do realize that it's a bit much to expect staff to invariably act like 'the customer is always right'. However, it is a somewhat baffling customer service model I've experienced here, one which seems to dictate that 'the customer is a blithering idiot and not deserving of the slightest courtesy or respect'.

This individual has made several mistakes such as calling my house to confirm an appointment for my mother (same last name, different address and phone number), obviously having confused two patients. However, it's more the fact that she acts like I am an intrusion and an annoyance every time I call to make an appointment that I find more vexing, as well as curious; did she not know when she took the job that patients would have to call to make appointments to see their eye doctors?

I would probably still be subjecting myself to this sort of treatment, if not for the incident which occurred in July of this year. I started bringing my children to your office when they were old enough to require eye exams, even though the office is twenty minutes away from where I live, because I have been satisfied with your services as an optometrist and I believe in customer loyalty (I know - how charmingly misguided). A few weeks ago I booked eye exams for my children and wrote the appointments down on the calendar for Wednesday July 6 at 1:00. However, when I received my confirmation call, the individual in question clearly stated that she was calling to confirm appointments for Thursday, July 7 at 1:00. I was a bit confused, and I considered calling to clarify, but then I thought that presumably she had the appointment calendar in front of her while she was calling, and that perhaps I had thought our calendar week started on Saturday instead of Sunday and wrote it down wrong.

At any rate, I showed up in the office on the Thursday. When I gave her my children's names, she couldn't find them. I said that I hoped she hadn't made a mistake when she called, since the appointment I had originally written down was on the Wednesday. She checked, said "yes, it was yesterday. And I don't have anything for today," very brusquely, then looked down dismissively and moved her chair over. I said rather tartly that it would be nice if she would be a little bit more careful about her reminder calls, and asked to make another appointment (because why wouldn't I want to keep coming back for this kind of treatment?). She made it, with fairly bad grace - when I asked if I could look at a calendar she simply said 'no'. When it was done, before leaving, I said it would be nice if she would make some sort of expression of regret for a mistake that had caused me to drag my kids out of the sandbox on a summer afternoon, dress them up and drive them half an hour for an appointment that now had to be rescheduled. She remarked somewhat incomprehensibly that "we always call and say the date and the time", whereupon I said "that's what I'm telling you -- you said the WRONG ONE". She retorted "well I didn't do it", which is really not the point (although it was, in fact, her - she has a very distinctive voice). Totally bemused, I asked her if she WAS at all sorry that we drove out here for nothing because of a mistake on her end, and naturally she said "I don't know that we made a mistake." Really? Really? All she had to say was "if a mistake was made, I'm sorry." That's in the COMPLETE IDIOTS guide to customer service. She was so clearly more concerned with being right than being polite or the least bit professional, I would have been amused if I wasn't livid. I had the impression that she knew she had made a mistake and just wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible. She turned what should have been a minor inconvenience into a deeply unpleasant experience for both me and my children.

I believe that by leaving this individual on the front line of your business, you are doing it a disservice; however, after delivering this letter I don't intend to commit any further headspace to the matter. On the drive back to Barrhaven I came to the obvious yet incredibly liberating conclusion that I don't actually have to drive twenty minutes out of my way and pay good money to put up with -- and be treated like -- total garbage.

Very Sincerely,

Allison McCaskill

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Peter Nimble and his Fantastic Eyes by Jonathan Auxier

2011-09-19T16:55:00.001-07:00

First of all, this book is knock-your-eye-out GORGEOUS. If I'd seen it in the bookstore before Penguin sent it to me I would have been helpless in its thrall. Second of all, it seems that Jonathan Auxier wrote the enchanting story AND drew all the amazing little pictures at the beginning of each chapter, which irritates me in the way that I was irritated when I watched Disney's Aladdin and realized that Robin Williams could also SING. It's kind of like hogging more than your fair share of talent, you know? Anyway...

This is the kind of story I love. Destitute orphan with a mysterious and fascinating destiny involving a quest? Check. Eccentric characters and sophisticated dialogue, wherein people insult each other elaborately and at great length? Check. Impossible-to-believe coincidence following on wildly improbable event? Check.

If I had one quibble with the book, it may be that it seems a little more like a children's book for grownups than a children's book for children, but that might be my underestimating of the average ten-year-old's to read unbothered about a baby's eyes being pecked out by a large raven or... actually, it was mostly the pecked-out eyes that were the sticking point for me, and the empty sockets that Peter would slip the appropriate pair of fantastic eyes into. Once you're past that, everything else is...well, there is some slaughter and bloodshed and what-have-you, but kids are used to that.

I very much enjoyed escaping into this magical adventure. It made me want to hang with a bunch of orphans and overthrow an evil dictator.

Memorable quotes:

-"For a thief, death is something of an occupational hazard."

-"Those of you who are asking the very same question have clearly never been pirates or buccaneers. If you had been, then you would know that lemons and other citrus fruits are used to defend against a nasty disease called 'scurvy.' Scurvy comes from a lack of a magical vitamin that prevents one's teeth from rotting away during ocean voyages, which is why they call it 'Vitamin Sea.'"

-"Some of you may even be thinking to yourselves, 'Boy! I wish I were blind like the great Peter Nimble!' If you are thinking that, stop right now. Because whatever benefits you may believe that blindness carries with it, you must understand that there are just as many disadvantages. For example, if you were to give an order to a bunch of thieving prisoners, and they answered 'of course' while smiling to one another and rubbing their hands, you would see this and know that they were planning something terrible - which was exactly the case here."

-"The princess shrugged. 'You call them the Night Patrol, but for us they are simply monsters. When you have seen enough of your friends eaten whole, you put aside all formalities.'"

Friday Funny

2011-09-16T15:07:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes you have to laugh or you'll be so frustrated from searching for a double loft bed for your son (after finding one in the IKEA catalogue and realizing that it's actually the PERFECT SOLUTION and MUST BE OBTAINED and then finding out that the IKEA in your city doesn't carry it any more and then searching every other goddamned furniture store that is searchable without your ass actually leaving a chair and not finding one ANYWHERE) that you'll cry. Or at least use a lot of objectionable language and feel kind of cranky.

I can't remember where I came across this for the first time, but I came across a copy of it in my pictures file and it made me snort unbecomingly again. It's the corollary to those magical experiences where students come back and tell teachers what a positive difference they made in the student's life. As my son would say, Mrs. Johanson totally pwned Larry. Plus, his name is Larry - for some reason that also makes me giggle.

Also, if you haven't seen possibly the best legal typo of all time, check this out. My lawyer friend said he's considering it as a new template for his retainer letter.

Book Review: Wild Abandon by Joe Dunthorne

2011-09-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

"The last day on earth is coming. Bring your own booze." (you know it's going to be a good book when....)

I had trouble pinning down exactly what I loved so much about this book. Once given the premise of a 'secluded communal farm disintegrating' and the cast of characters - the teenage daughter chafing against the hippie constraints of her parents' philosophy, her younger brother who just wants the family to stay together, their struggling parents and the various other eccentric residents of the farm, it's not hard to guess where the action is leading, and it's only the details that need to be filled in. The details, however, are superb - we see how the seeds of the 'Community' were planted (college graduate friends and lovers living in subdivided office space), the long arc to the place the characters now find themselves in, and the ways in which they all cope with their various disappointments.

Kate, the 17-year-old daughter, is an interesting, if not likeable, character. Her situation reminded me a little of Nomi Nickel in A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews, where we come upon a character who belongs to a certain faction when that faction has already eroded so much as to be unrecognizable; part of me wished to see more of when the Community had been whole and functional, and yet there is a certain giddy freedom and potential in witnessing the end times. Kate is perhaps as lost as Noni, but her casting about for a new normal seems much more selfish and calculating - she throws over homeschooling to attend a real college, meets a boy, moves in with his family who welcome her warmly, and then sets about seducing his father. Albert, her 11-year-old brother, is the most tragic figure - trying desperately to hold his fragmenting family together until the impending apocalypse in which he profoundly believes. Don, the commune's patriarch, and Patrick, the commune's main financial benefactor (a former greeting-card franchise regional manager), come across like middle aged Welsh frenemies, unable to express anything without a one-upping subtext, even though they do have genuine affection for each other. And Freya, Don's wife, is worried about her son and wants a break from her husband. Patrick's unrequited love for Janet, another member of the commune, is another sore point, as is the doomsaying of Marina, mother of the Community's only other child, a further sign of its depletion. Freya is considering sending Albert to school, while Don is determined to keep him sheltered from the evils of the outside world. Events and personalities devolve, culminating in a huge rave party at the commune, Don's desperate bid both to engage the surrounding community and draw back together the members of the commune.

There is both humour and pathos here, since the characters are so real, and for the most part so earnest. I want to believe that cooperative communal living off the grid is possible, and yet I know I would be one of those people pulling out the "contraband shampoo" when the homemade egg yolk and oatmeal shampoo didn't produce any lather. The problem with such an idealized mode of existence is that humans aren't ideal, which is precisely what Dunthorne shows us, with a light and affectionate touch.

Memorable Quotes:

-"(Albert), through years of collecting words from international visitors to the community, had compiled an armoury of exotic insults. He tutted and proceeded to call her something bad in Bengali. She tried not to react."

-"With classes of nearly a dozen young people of all different ages, subject matter had been pitched to the cleverest person, but with simpler alternatives. Their education had peaked with Arlo's now infamous class on cinquecento Italian architecture, which involved a high-level discussion of the villas of Palladio alongside an ambitious attempt to build 'La Rotonda' from Lego."

-...according to Patrick's pet theory -- Don only became condescending when something bad was happening in his personal life. Patrick had noted that, during times of marital strain, Don would aggressively encourage individuals to streamline their recycling process, for example."

-"There is no perceptible difference between something made with love and something made with spite, except spite works to a schedule."

Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Bloodlines by Richelle Mead

2011-09-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

It's my day on the Canadian Bloodlines Blog Tour!

Bloodlines is a spinoff series by Vampire Academy author Richelle Mead. The protagonist, Sydney Sage, was introduced in one of the Vampire Diaries books, and her decision to go against her community and help the falsely accused Rose Hathaway escape from prison and clear her name follows her into the events of this book.

This universe contains humans, Dhampir - half human, half-vampire, protectors of the Moroi - mortal vampires from whom vampire royalty are drawn, and Strigoi - evil undead vampires. Sydney is a human and a member of a family of alchemists - people who use magic to protect humans from vampires, for whom alchemists harbour deep suspicion and dislike. In Bloodlines, she ends up smack in the middle of a mission to protect Jill Mastrano, who is the sister of the Moroi Queen. Because of a law which is in the process of being changed, if Jill is assassinated the Queen will be deposed. Sydney is therefore dispatched to a human boarding school in California to act as a bodyguard.

I've read some of the other reviews on this blog tour, and several people who had read the Vampire Academy books didn't like this one as much. I actually liked it a little more, since Rose Hathaway, the V.A. heroine, was such a natural at kicking ass and taking names, and also at breaking rules with barely a flicker of conscience, that she was admirable but not extremely sympathetic. Sydney was raised in an extremely strict and rule-bound society, and it's much more difficult for her to trust her gut and go against protocol, so I actually found her a more relatable protagonist. A few people also expressed distaste about her bigotry towards vampires, but this was one of the most compelling aspects of the book for me -- I found that the unreasoning fear and hatred of the alchemists toward vampires, bred into Sydney from birth, which dissipates upon acquaintance with actual vampires who have admirable qualities, had strong parallels with other types of racism, and was interesting to view in this context. Sydney is treated pretty harshly by her father and other family members, and her community seems much more focused on duty than affection, but this is also similar to many real-life communities.

It's a good story, with some good characters and a lot of humour. I'm less enamoured of Adrian Ivashkov, the bad boy in need of redeeming by a good woman, than others, but I do see his appeal. Keith, Sydney's fellow alchemist who clings to his evil-vampire stereotypes, is almost too over-the-top an asshole, but maybe not quite. There are some nice twists near the end that I totally didn't see coming. There's a nice subplot involving tattoos that ties in with the alchemists' facial tattoos. It's bloody good escapist fun, and a solid addition to the vampire YA genre - less overwrought and hand-wringy than Twilight (which I also loved, I won't lie). In my research for this review, I learned that Mead also writes an adult series about a succubus who works in a bookstore - this, I am thinking, MUST be checked out.

Esther's Ever After is the next stop on the tour tomorrow.

Bloodlines was released on August 23, 2011.

Lots of fun stuff about the series here.

Download the first chapter of Bloodlines here.

Disclosure: Penguin Canada sent me an Advance Reading Copy of Bloodlines. Opinions are my own, although if you ever DID want to buy my opinion, free books would definitely be the way, so.....

No Words

2011-09-11T10:02:00.000-07:00

He Who Rejects Change is the Architect of Decay

2011-09-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

Then BRING ON THE DECAY, I say. I don't do well with change (I may have mentioned this before). It doesn't matter if the change is mighty or miniscule, positive or pissy, it stresses me the fuck out. Not intellectually - I look forward to the changing of the seasons; I like the freedom that summer holidays bring; I also like getting back into the routine of school, piano lessons, me and the kids reading in my room at night before bed. I like the satisfaction of finishing one course and the challenge of starting a new one.

But something in my body there is that does not love change (I was trying to do a takeoff on that line of poetry about something in nature not loving a wall, but I just ended up sounding like Yoda. Fuck.) The kids get out of school and I'm a panicky ball of angst. The kids go back to school and I'm a weepy mess. I got new glasses a couple of years ago and I actually wrote in my diary "I hate how they feel when I'm washing them. The lenses used to feel curvy and welcoming and now they feel flat and unfamiliar in my hands." (yes yes, I'm even a teeny bit MORE insane than you suspected, take a moment to process and let's move on). My hair dryer finally died a few weeks ago and I HATE the new one, almost solely because it's new.

So I'm focusing my negative energy on clearing the crap out of my house. Again. Because apparently there is an invisible Crap Factory somewhere in my house that keeps churning out more crap to replace every bit of crap I get rid of. Pam and I dropped five garbage bags and multiple boxes of stuff at Value Village today. Then we went shopping. Oops.

I also kind of want to start doing a regular book review day here, but I'm hobbled by the fact that none of the days of the week has a first letter that is amenable to alliteration with 'book' or 'review'. I mean 'Wordless Wednesdays' is a no-brainer and Amber used to have her 'Mat leave Mondays', there was a Friday Funny for a while...I just don't know if I can properly do a regular feature that doesn't have a catchy title -- is that even allowed in blogging?

Now I will distract you from my whining with multiple cute pictures of my daughter with her home-improved backpack and on the first day of school - and the one or two pictures Angus would consent to pose for.

Memorable moments from our Summer of Awesome

2011-09-02T19:15:00.001-07:00

Eve feeds a baby for the first time: "Oh, she's so cute, she wants the spoon."; "Dani, you have to....okay, she keeps throwing that magnet on the floor."; "Here, baby, do you want...AGH! There's yogurt ALL OVER MY HAND!"; "THIS BABY IS HORRIFYING!"; "Wait...was I this bad when you fed me?"

>

Angus discovers that, no matter how good a pitcher you are, you can't beat a rigged carnival game:

>

Eve rides a carousel, and halfway through her ride Angus and I realize all the horses on it are really freaking scary.

Matt discovers, to his great disgust, that our kids suck at bumper cars:

We babysit a bird for five weeks and get quite attached. The little bugger dies two hours before we're due to bring him home. At least his owner (Eve's friend) was already here and had seen him alive so they didn't suspect we'd been keeping him in the freezer or something, but still, it sucked.

Angus wins the ground ball competition at baseball practice and reaps the somewhat unorthodox reward (Ultimate Fighting Championship belt):

I follow my friend Janis into EQ3 in the market to look at sectionals and stumble upoon the purple rocking chair of awesome that OBVIOUSLY must be obtained for Eve's soon-to-be new room:

Just FYI, if your herb garden looks like this, it's probably past time to weed:

Eve and Marielle take Britannia Beach by storm and I have a huge laugh at Marielle's Mom's expense (that's the bikini she was ONLY allowed to wear on the cruise they're taking next March):

One minute it's all football and sandcastles, the next you're smack in the middle of the Zombie Apocalypse:

For Swistle: me, practically full-length, wearing the EXACT SAME SHIRT as tiny little Zarah. (Eve demanded it, and since we made the kids wear matching shirts I capitulated)

This year the kids (Zarah's and mine) would only agree to pose nicely if we subsequently photographed them beating on each other:

Our enterprising children engage in both theatre and marketing:

And the cast photo, naturally....

During the Provincials championship game, Angus falters while pitching his fourth of five innings. The first baseman walks out to centre field, punches him lightly on the shoulder, and returns to first base. This makes me cry.

Eve decides to pick a recipe from my Mrs. Fields cookbook for us to cook. We make black and white cupcakes. She doesn't really like them.

Eve gets over her fear of driving ("WHAT? I can't drive THAT!"):

Angus gets off the baseball diamond and onto the beach - somewhat unfortunately for photo ops, his friend Jacob has been there for four days already.

Helmets!

My Mom drives a go-kart. Pretty much worth the price of admission right there, wouldn't you say?

I get my act together in time to participate in one of Amber's monthly round-up posts. Yippee.

Aventure Laflêche - extrêmement awesome

2011-08-31T09:20:00.001-07:00

The weather here this summer has been fabulous (if you like weather of the scorching melting hot variety, which I actually don't, but I also don't love everyone moaning and wailing when they don't get it, so on balance....). However, it has also had a nasty habit of sensing when I'm planning to do something fun and unusual with the kids that we've never done before and dumping a bucket of crap on those plans. So we didn't get to Puppets Up in Almonte, or Saunders Farm (I know, I'm possibly the last person in Ottawa who hasn't been to Saunders Farm). Of course, the kids are usually already pumped up about doing something, because I'm - what's the word? - a moron, so we have to do SOMETHING, but it's raining, so the something almost invariably ends up being a movie. And kids movies this summer? SUCKED SUPER HARD. The Smurfs? Jayma Mays and the awesomeness that is Neil Patrick Harris, and Hank Azaria, plus little blue people? Actually it demonstrates a sort of impressive savant-like level of excelling at being lame to screw that up. Spy Kids 4? I was cautioning my daughter that we might have to go to some special theatre - IMAX or something- to get the SmelloVision, since I thought they'd be blowing bacon-flavoured mist out of the vents or something. Nope - just a darling little scratch-and-sniff card, with eight numbers on it that, when scratched, all smelled pretty much exactly the same. Ditto with the writing and acting.

So when we woke up on the day we were going to the Laflèche caves and it was threatening rain I said FUCK IT - we're still going (in my head, of course - I hardly ever say 'fuck' in front of my kids, and the one time I did Eve tolds me consolingly that we'd just pretend I was saying 'seal' in French).

We went with my friend Janet and her son and daughter (wasn't it brilliant how the whole group of us birthed boys first and girls second? Years of great parties where the boys play video games and shoot nerf darts at each other downstairs and the girls play mysterious games and shoot nerf darts at each other upstairs and the adults drink wine and shoot nerf darts at each other in the family room and on the patio) and took another 12-year-old boy with us. We did the children's course, because the girls weren't tall enough for the adult one (it's totally true, you can look it up, it had nothing to do with my morbid fear of heights and looking stupid, which I did anyway).

So they harness you in and you inch across ropes and ride on wooden swings and crawl through MOVING WOODEN TUNNELS, none more than 4 metres above the ground (which is really not that close to the ground when you're up there, trust me).

Both segments of the course end with a baby zipline ride. This was probably the thing that freaked me out the most and then surprised me with how much I liked it - once I committed myself to lurching off the platform in a most undignified manner, it was surprisingly comfortable and exhilarating. Until I crashed into the rocks.

(Picture of me? Yeah right).

As we were walking back down the path talking about how much fun the course was, Janet said "actually I'm a little surprised you did it all -- don't you have a phobia about this kind of thing?" I said "oh, I'm totally soaked in fear sweat right now, but you have to challenge yourself every now and then". Then I asked her to hold my hand in case my wobbly knees refused to carry me any further. Angus is keen to do the adult course, which is three and a half hours long with much longer and higher ziplines. I told him I have to train for six months and undergo extensive counselling first.

We had a picnic on the tables by the pond, where we could watch people sail overhead on the Adventure Course ziplines. The girls chanted DROP YOUR SHOE! DROP YOUR SHOE! every time - curiously, no one did.

Then we went on the cave tour. I thought this was going to be the easy part, and then I remembered how I'm mildly claustrophobic. It's kind of annoying the things I've scaled and squished through and the water slides I've gone down headfirst, all in the name of showing my kids that sometimes you have to feel the fear and do it anyway. It's not totally fair that they have to do it anyway without the promise of tequila afterwards, but still...

The caves are really cool. Well, all caves are, aren't they? It's a big mountain that you can walk inside - that's cool. Plus we got to wear headlamps!

We also had to climb up a small, clammy, endless ladder at one point, but let's not dwell on that.

There was one tiny tunnel we were supposed to crawl through. I was about to clamp down my burgeoning hysteria and proceed, and then I thought, wait, surely not everyone who does the tour would consent to this insanity. So I went around.

When we were doing the course, the rain couldn't even reach us through the trees. The minute we got out of the caves the skies opened up and we were drenched by the time we got back to the van. It was still a great day - with no little blue men, crass product placements or baby poop sight gags, just good, outdoor, mild-panic-attack-inducing fun.

Who's Afraid of Camping? I am, I am!

2011-08-19T10:17:00.000-07:00

I'm off to not camp again, this year with son in tow - daughter decided she'd rather have some Daddy time (I believe it also had something to do with the fact that my sister is coming back to pick up her kids. Eve adores my sister. And my sister's sample case from her home jewelry selling business, which she only does to be able to write off her renovations, because she's a very well-employed pharmacist - yeah, no self-esteem-damaging comparisons there at all). Happy week-end, all.

Oh, and in the spirit of the mostly-defunct (at least here) Friday funny: Enjoy this.

1000 Islands of Awesomeness

2011-08-17T17:51:00.001-07:00

I hadn't done the 1000 Islands Boat Cruise since I was about Eve's age and went with my parents. Our usual crew were camping/cottaging nearby so we headed up to Ganonoque on the Saturday morning to meet them. Eve was all for the idea after she verified that the boat was big - she had a nasty almost-getting-swamped experience in a smaller boat while cottaging last summer and was not at all interested in facing her fears on that count.

The tour of the 1000 islands and the various stories of people who have inhabited them (there was something about a self-styled 'pirate' who died ignominiously by slipping on some water on his dock or something) was actually fairly interesting. For the adults. The kids were mostly interested in finding the best places to ride...

...and eat two-bite brownies.

The tour we took stops at Boldt Castle.

This is just the boathouse:

It's knock-your-eye-out architecturally, with a very sad story attached to it, about a man who was building it for his wife who died before he could finish it, so he left it unfinished.

The kids enjoyed walking around the grounds

and exploring the castle,

This was Eve's favourite part:

There are also many rocks which obviously must be climbed. And the obligatory ice cream and cheesy souvenirs. My daughter is the proud owner of a necklace with a magnet on it, to which one affixes a beer bottle cap. So proud.

If you go, be advised that you need a valid passport for Boldt Castle (it's not strictly speaking in Canada), but not one that is more than six months from expiry (someone mentioned this figure to me at some point and it has caused me ALL MANNER of unnecessary anxiety). Also, if you want to sit on the top of the boat you need to arrive quite early, but on the return trip sitting on the top of the boat can be very hot. Also, the same trip that was new and exciting and required no additional distractions on the way there will now be four times as long and the slightest bit boring and may entail complaining about having to share a drink with certain other germy individuals, scaling of various marine structures and a wish that all electronic devices had not been banned and relegated to the cars left back in the parking lot. Just sayin'.

Also, not that I didn't appreciate him taking the picture, but he could have mentioned the bra strap.

Baseball Team of Awesome OR My Son is on the A-Team!

2011-08-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

In our league, spring ball and summer ball are separate. Eve only plays spring ball, because the glory of adulation of usually being the only girl on the team (man, the Moms who only have boys LOVE her) only goes so far. In the spring all the players are sorted out equally onto teams. In the summer, there's a competitive team that you have to try out for - they call it the A team. I remember when my husband first mentioned the existence of this team. He said they practiced almost every day, sometimes twice a day, and I was rolling my eyes saying "Cripes, that would be the only thing you did all summer. Can you believe people actually do that? Can you....holy crap, you actually want him to do that, don't you?"

The first year that Angus was in Minor, he was 'playing up', i.e. playing in Minor when he was still technically supposed to be in Rookie, but his birthday was close enough to the cut-off and he was a good enough player that they let him in. We had decided that he wouldn't try out for the A team that year; we were going to go on a two-week vacation out east with three other families, in preparation for possibly not being able to take vacations in the summer once he was playing on the competitive team. He got invited to try out for the competitive team. My husband was in Japan and I told him this on the phone, and then I said 'they're supposed to show up at 11 to try out for the A team and 1 to sort out for the regular team. I'm taking him at 1." My husband agreed - because he was in freaking Japan, what were his options? Then the damned coaches let him try out at one for the A team anyway. Fortunately (depending on who you ask) he narrowly missed being selected for the team.

Last year he did make the team. There weren't many returning players because many of them had moved up to Major, and the pool of kids who tried out wasn't as big as it sometimes is, so they had to take some weaker players. It was a good team, but not a fantastic team.

This year? They're freaking unbelievable to watch. Angus is a good pitcher, and a good batter, but last year there were times when he almost had to carry the team, and in a playoff game if he struck out or faltered, the whole team seemed to freak out and lose it. This year if he throws a bad pitch or fumbles a ball, the rest of the team backs him up like a well-oiled machine. They were undefeated in regular league play going into the District tournament. They won the District tournament, which meant they played teams from all over Ontario in the Provincials. One day we opened the paper and saw this:

(That's my kid on the right). That was kind of neat. The coach saved Angus as a pitcher for the final game. He pitched five innings and they won 7-0. The next day this was in the paper:

Eagles win provincial Little League championship

Except in the actual paper, not only is most of the article about him, the HEADLINE reads: ADAMS DOES IT JUST LIKE DOC.

I said to my husband (who used to play all-star hockey), "do you you think he's peaked at 11?". My husband said, "I peaked at 12. It could happen."

It's still pretty cool though. For the entire Provincials tournament, they scored 64 runs and only had 2 scored against them. The day after we won, the parents who had the party sent out an email with a picture of a pile of beer cans saying "We actually managed to drink more beers than the team scored runs".

I love it when a plan comes together.

Cottage Surfing - it's Awesome.

2011-08-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

New record for me and Eve - three cottages in six days. Have GPS, will travel.

First, Lyndhurst. My husband's uncle and aunt and six-year-old cousin (which the kids find extremely amusing) had rented a cottage in Lyndhurst. The boys were in District playoffs, so we were the only available family representatives. The swimming wasn't great - I tried to push Eve out past the weeds in a tube, but it turned out there really was no 'past the weeds'. But the deck overlooking the water was beautiful. And there was beer.

And frogs.

Next up, our friends' place where they have people up every summer and this nice man deep fries a turkey.

Eve has never been able to jump into water. She has stood on the side of the pool or the edge of the dock for countless minutes, always getting really frustrated with herself for chickening out. Today, with a huge audience no less, she finally took the plunge.

...which was great, because then she could partake in the numerous cannonball contests.

There was also swinging, sliding, singing, bottle-drinking...

...and an upside-down baby.

Third, we visited the female half of a family we met through baseball - B. was on Eve's team, L. was on Angus's, and Matt and I really liked the Mom and Dad. Two years of bliss and merriment...then the stupid military made them move to Edmonton. They were in town at their cottage for a week, so Eve and I went out for the day. We went swimming, sat on the deck for a bit, and played a game of Trivial Pursuit.

We couldn't decide between the Younger Player questions and the Canadian version - the younger player ones gave us such masterpieces as: "What is Cookie Monster munching on in the video game Cookie Monster Munch?" Seriously? So we kept going back and forth, and we made the girls read all the questions. This led to B. asking a question about 'Austria's Nasty Party' (well, the Nazis were pretty nasty) and Eve reading something about the King of structures which confused the hell out of everybody until we figured out it was 'what KIND of structures'. Eve and I built up a nice lead early on, then W. and B. caught up and we eventually had to call the game on the grounds that W. and I were out of beer.

Did I mention that B. is only three months older than Eve, who is not short for her age? Yeesh.

Here's to travelling with vats of Southwest Pasta Salad, permanently damp bathing suits and the Wailin' Jennys as background music.

(no frogs were harmed in the photographing of this post).

Dinner Party of Awesome

2011-08-03T15:52:00.000-07:00

We have a dinner party with four other couples every couple of months, where everybody makes something fancy-ish, and we rotate who does the soup, salad, appetizers, main course and dessert. It's been a big success; I really enjoy the fact that everyone only does one course -- usually I wouldn't spend all day making a salad, but when I actually have the chance to it's quite satisfying. Over the past year we've had Julia Child's boeuf bourguignon, veal osso bucco, spit-roasted lamb and satsivi (a Georgian dish consisting of chicken bathed in walnut sauce); pear parsnip soup, smoked salmon chowder and lobster bisque; butternut squash ravioli, cauliflower fritters, seared duck and scallops on pesto. And that's just what I can remember. People have cured their own pork belly, aged their own steak and beheaded chickens in the back yard (I might be exaggerating on that last one).

For this party I was making grilled strawberry and fig salad.

I'd actually never eaten a fresh fig before -- I had to call one of my friends to ask if I was supposed to peel them. I bought an extra one to try eating and it took me a few minutes to bite into it, it looked so strange, but it was delicious - Eve liked it too.

I couldn't find pomegranate molasses, so I made some, which was easy. I used snow pea shoots instead of sunflower, and I have no idea what Hooks blue cheese is and no memory of what kind I used.

We grilled the fruit and got all the ingredients ready here, then assembled at the host's house.

Just as I was sprinkling the last spoonful of walnuts on the last plate, I remembered that Susanne's boyfriend Paul is allergic to shellfish and....OH FUCK. Considering I was the one who made the chicken in walnut sauce and that I made a separate chicken breast with a balsamic reduction for him, you'd think I might have remembered. In my defense, he is very quiet - in our blind guess-the-food game, he ate nectarine and it was Susanne who spoke up and said he was allergic to nectarine peel. I cleaned off the plate and made a new salad without walnuts and apologized to Susanne for trying to kill the father of her unborn child. Margot quietly occupied herself with removing the walnuts from the green beans for the main course plate. Later on someone asked Paul how he found out he was allergic to walnuts and he said 'eating walnuts'. See? He's gotta get more obnoxious, or he's not going to survive this group.

The salad was great, although the tradition is for everyone to praise everyone else's dish and denigrate their own, so I probably said I should have used arugula instead of swiss chard or something, for form's sake. Curiously, a good part of the conversation tonight revolved around things happening to people's fingers (if you recall, the conversation was toe-centered at my book club meeting). Also, the drunk woman beside my husband kept threatening alternately to stab him or perform oral sex on him (apparently she'd lost the distinction between fellate and fillet several drinks earlier). Somewhat inexplicably, a good part of the night was devoted to a discussion about Rick Springfield and Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings. However, no boyfriends were harmed (or molested) in the course of this dinner.

For those who asked, here is my book club list for next year:

The Book of Negroes, Lawrence Hill

You Could Live a Long Time: Are You Ready?, Lyndsay Green

Come Thou Tortoise, Jessica Grant

Super Sad True Love Story, Gary Shteyngart

The Best Laid Plans, Terry Fallis

Vernon God Little, DBC Pierre

The Death of Grass, John Christopher

The other two months are a short story night and a manuscript by one of our members.

Book Club of Awesome

2011-08-02T15:49:00.000-07:00

I think I can, I think I can...

Or maybe not.

I banned myself from reading blogs until I blogged again. So I stopped reading blogs.

Here's the thing - when you're living the Summer of Awesome, it's really hard to find the time and energy to blog about it, yanno?

Let's start at the end of June. My annual end-of-the-year dinner with my book club, wherein we eat, drink and compose the list for the coming year. People bring suggestions (one for the exceptionally self-confident, five for members like me - "only if nobody minds....don't want to force this on you....I thought maybe, possibly, if it's okay with everyone.... blah, I sometimes make myself vomit).

We sometimes meet at a restaurant, sometimes at someone's house. We met at Bella's twice - the food was good, but people complained that we were noisy -- which we were, but geez, it's a restaurant, not a church. And Survivor - Book Edition cannot be played quietly. We met at Biagio's but.... I can't remember what the but was. I think some people thought it was too expensive; I will say it's the only place I've ever liked the calamari. We met at The Cottage and a Kitchen for a few years, which was great, but the best place to eat was the patio and the group was always divided on whether or not patio dining was desirable. We thought we'd try something new this year, so we went to The Foolish Chicken on Holland, and dude, we always have to go there now, because almost everybody orders some form of chicken and ribs and the repetition of the term 'rack' (half-rack, quarter rack) is grounds for endless hilarity. Also, the ribs are really good. And the waitresses are sweet. And hot. And everybody upstairs was noisy, and we helped sing Happy Birthday to some guy in French.

Our meeting was the Friday in June when the heavens opened up and rained fury and wrath and a buttload of water down on Barrhaven and the surrounding area. We were dropping the kids off at my Mom and Dad's so my husband could drop me off at the restaurant so I could imbibe to my heart's content and then hitchhike home or something. It was like driving in Venice - there was water fanning up to the height of the car roof on either side. Angus said "is there a plan for evacuating the city?" I was a little annoyed - I know I don't go out on Friday nights that often, but I didn't think apocalyptic rainfall was called for.

My friend Carolyn has this wonderful curly red hair, which has been short for as long as I've known her, until the past year when she started growing it. When she walked in the restaurant it looked like this:

I tried to get The Razor's Edge on the list after rereading it recently, so we could discuss my crazy Irish former boss's opinion that it was the Best Book Ever Written, and also whether Somerset Maugham didn't seem to like women much more than Jonathan Franzen or if it was just me (me that got the feeling they didn't like women, not me they didn't like - I doubt that either of them has any opinion in particular about me, although in the unfortunate and extremely unlikely eventuality that they read this, that might change). Anyway, they didn't go for it. Which is okay, because I also want as many people as possible to be exposed to the glory that is Come, Thou Tortoise.

After dinner we went to The Royal Oak for a few beers. Okay, Carolyn actually ordered a decaf Irish coffee, whereupon we mocked her for the lamest drink order ever. The night was also marked by various assorted horrific and grotesque stories involving toes, but I think it's best if I don't go into that.

By the time I got home, it had stopped raining and the streets were passable. And very clean.

I usually let them hold the fork themselves, at least

2011-07-22T14:59:00.000-07:00

I feel a little better. Although my stop at the Farm Boy deli counter didn't help -- every time I see macaroni and cheese loaf I just want to collapse on the glass and say "WHY?" beseechingly. And what in the name of encased meats is PLAIN head cheese? Less eyebrow? Cheek only?

Then there was the aggravation of trying to convince my son that he could make a sandwich by himself. When we were visiting friends in Edmonton over Easter, I suddenly froze and realized, to my total humiliation, that I was CUTTING MY TEN-YEAR-OLD'S MEAT. Not that this is in any way unusual - I didn't feed him pretzels when he was eighteen months because I was afraid he'd choke on them, and then I suddenly realized when he was six that it was probably long past the time he could have pretzels. I start doing stuff and I just keep doing the same stuff, which doesn't work that well when you have rapidly changing children, except that those children naturally find it expedient NOT to volunteer the fact that they can probably construct a simple meal, put away their own laundry and wipe their own asses (okay, that I did stop doing) when apparently I'm happy to just keep on doing it all.

Fortunately just as I was about to say "oh my goodness, what am I doing cutting Angus's meat, I must have just had a flashback to when he was four", I looked up and saw my friend cutting her ELEVEN-year-old's meat. Whew.

Part of the problem is that I'm a control freak and Angus is a perfectionist. I don't really want him spilling milk and smearing mustard everywhere, and he has a morbid fear of exactly the same thing, because the world might END. The problem is, waiting until he's seventeen isn't then going to make him magically able to pour and spread and cut without making a mess. He'll just look like an exceptionally stupid seventeen-year-old.

Also, there's the fridge. I would post a picture, but I don't want anyone fainting or hurling on my account. If I'm going to insist that he makes his own lunch, I probably need to be able to provide better instructions than "okay, open the fridge. Now hold the salsa bottle with one hand and tip it over, reach past it and grab the middle part of that leaning tower of lunch meat and wiggle it out. I think the mayo is under that upside-down jam jar. If you reach to the very back of the bottom shelf and bend your hand back towards your wrist you might be able to hook a package of cheese slices."

Farm Boy had two more containers of Eve's coconut yogurt yesterday. That's the only thing she's willing to get for herself, and she eats it six times a day so I don't have to feed her much else for the next little bit.

Right, then. I'm off to clean out the fridge and stop stunting my children's developmental advancement.

Oh where oh where has my little blog gone?

2011-07-20T08:41:00.000-07:00

I'm stuck. Hardcore stuck. I don't know if it's BOLO letdown, or summer laziness (it is sort of too hot to sustain life today) or something in the water. Wait, it's Wednesday, I can post pictures! No, no, no, that would be bad. I have a feeling that if I don't write something today I might be done forever (yes, clearly I'm feeling reasonable and stable and not at ALL prone to ridiculous, dramatic, ultimatum-like statements). I'll post pictures tomorrow.

Eve is in tennis camp this week. Okay, one picture because she looks freaking cute:

I was ready for her to be in camp. We've had two weeks of extreme Mother-Daughter togetherness, with Angus playing baseball or practicing baseball or hiding in the basement resting up for more baseball, and it's been great, but I have an assignment due tomorrow and the coinciding of tennis camp with a couple of morning ball practices meant I could get to the gym a couple of times this week and basically, it was all going to be good. Which it is, mostly. Except I'm having this stupid little thing when I drop her off in the mornings. I'm not a morning person. I drop them off at school looking like I just rolled out of bed, because, well... I drop her off at camp looking the same, and walking past the mothers all dressed and coiffed for work is giving me some kind of mental cramp. I don't know why. There are other mothers who show up in capris and tank tops. Not one of the well-dressed moms has given me any kind of look other than a smile (lest anyone be confused about the fact that this is ALL in my diseased little brain).

I run through it all again. Last week my husband was in California. This week he's in Maryland. In the fall he'll be in Asia again. This is what works for our family. This is what works for me. If I really need a project, I can play the damn piano more, or sort through the shit-ton of baby clothes, children's art and various other detritus in my basement. I could even shower and dress up to drop off my kid at camp (yeah, that wouldn't make me feel at all stupid. Maybe I could make a fake work badge too!).

You'd think, having just read and wholeheartedly agreed with this post, and having just had two fantastic weeks of summer vacation with my kids (and one with my best friend) that have only confirmed that I love being a stay at home Mom, that I would have some kind of immunity to this kind of bullshit. You know in the middle of that song Forget You where Gwyneth Paltrow wails 'whyyyyy' in that horrible screeching-cat voice? That sort of says it for me.

I did make it to the gym after dropping her off yesterday. I did weights and the hill workout on the treadmill, and really enjoyed it. So yeah, I might as well just face it - NOTHING's normal this week.

Paranoid much?

2011-07-13T18:47:00.000-07:00

Eve: "I'm going to go brush my teeth"

(starts to walk into downstairs powder room)...

"...oh right, there's no toothpaste down here".

Angus: "WHAT BUG?"

BOLO -- too slow.

2011-07-08T21:02:00.000-07:00

AGH! It's 12:02. I swore to myself I'd get my BOLO post up THE DAY AFTER. But I keep procrastinating. Because Zarah and the kids are leaving tomorrow and we're all sad, and we had to sit outside and drink grapefruit Woody's and read one last chapter of Harry Potter and the kids had to pile onto each other one last time and squirm around and scream that they were being squished and someone was farting on them, and we had to go Go-Karting and revel in how goofy we looked in our helmets. And we practically had to stage an Opening Ceremony for the coconut yogurt that Eve LOVES but I haven't been able to find at Farm Boy for MONTHS, and fortunately I bought two containers because she and Alex finished one before supper. It was so sweet how Alex, who was in the kitchen when I unpacked the grocery bags, saw the container and immediately asked if he could take it upstairs to show Eve. Followed shortly by loud, excited shrieks from upstairs (yeah, we don't get out much).

Also, I don't know what to write about BOLO. I am aces at being a smart-ass and crappy at expressing sincere emotion, and it was such a magical, warm, transformative experience that I don't even know where to start. It might actually be indescribable. Which is a pain in the ass for the purposes of this post in which I should be attempting to, you know, DESCRIBE it.

It was also a real worlds-colliding experience for me. Zarah, who I met in university (and who knows where a lot of the bodies are buried), came with me. Patti, who I've known since high school (and who is such a remarkable woman I can't even tell you, just read her blog once and then try to stop), came just to hear me read even though she hadn't seen her family for a week and they were getting home last night (well, the night before - AGH). Pam, who I met three years ago when her daughter was in my daughter's class (and who has been helping keep me sane and relatively unscathed ever since) drove, so I could placate my nerves with tequila. Julie, who I met a year and a half ago through blogging and World Trivia Night (and who took me to Montreal for a day to cure my phobia) was there, and Debbie, Sharon and Carolyn (who -- forget it for now, they really need their own post) from my book club came, because I mentioned the event, and that I would be reading, at our meeting last month. I couldn't really believe they were there - I kept pinching them until Sharon threatened to flatten me.

I often feel like an underachiever. I don't mean that in an annoying, false modesty, please-tell-me-I'm wrong way. I know I'm a pretty good mother, and a really good friend, and a not-terrible wife, and I'm reasonably intelligent and kind. But I'm also terminally anxious and self-doubting and prone to depression and maybe on the lazy side. I try not to overload myself, because I get scared that if I do I'll crash and the recovery will be harder on my family than the overloading is worth. I've made a kind of peace with this, but still, I always feel like I should be doing more. But last night (the night before - AGH) I stepped out of my comfort zone -- except I didn't, because when I looked across the room at that table full of amazing women, it would have just been stupid not to feel comfortable.

I read it. I rocked it. Those women had my back - that means I must be doing something right.

Oops, this turned into a post All About Me. Great. Another BOLO post tomorrow - well that's okay, it will still only be two days after.