Postcards from the Mothership (the archives)

She went that-a-way!

2007-10-01T17:15:00.000-05:00

Postcards from the Mothership has finally and officially moved a new domain.

Please come and visit at http://danigirl.ca/blog, and adjust your bookmarks and links accordingly!

Smuggs getaway part 4

2007-09-05T08:01:00.000-05:00

(Note: Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at Smuggs Getaway: Part 4.)

***

We'd originally been offered** a three-night stay at Smugglers' Notch Resort, but due to the end of the season, the beginning of the school year and Beloved's and my work schedules, we could only take advantage of two nights. It's too bad, because there was a list of things as long as my arm that I would have liked to do, and even a few things that we'd planned to do that we simply didn't get around to doing. No massage (sigh). No nature walk or hike, which might not have been a bad thing in the long run, because Simon was still fried the morning after our canoe trip and wanted to be carried everywhere. They had other way-cool stuff that I would have loved to try on site (like geo-caching!) and other stuff nearby (like outlet malls!)

Our last day, we had a breakfast buffet at the Morse Mountain Grill before heading off to fulfill Tristan's dearest wish of a round of putt-putt (so easy to please, that one) along side a babbling brook in the shade of a gorgeous late-summer morning.

It would have been idyllic, if it weren't for a potty-training accident that neccesitated an unplanned trek back across the resort for clean pants and a bloody knee requiring excessive kisses and a band-aid. Both injustices were redeemed by a visit to the three-tier pool and waterfall at Notchville Park.

Did I mention that in all the pools we visited, the water temperature must have averaged 90F or more? The air was on the cool side, and I actually kept standing up to get a bit of a breeze; the water was so warm it was making me sweat! Not that I minded. I hate cold water!

After a leisurely couple of hours in the pools, we reluctantly dried off and stopped for a late lunch on our way out of the resort. The drive home was far more pleasant than the drive up, and shorter by almost a full hour. That might have been due to the fact that Simon slept almost the entire trip, or the fact that we chose a smarter route through Montreal. Our DVD player died yet again (that's three times in three trips!) and so Tristan was left largely to stare out the window for the three hours on the Canadian side of the border crossing, but even he seemed relaxed and content.

(Although I've already posted a lot of them, you can see the full set of our weekend pictures on my Flickr account, by the way.)

It's hard not to be effusive about a free vacation. And I really don't want you to think that the glowing review I've been giving Smuggs is entirely about the free bit - even though you do know I love me some free stuff. I don't want to come across as a corporate shill, nor to have you to think I'm raving simply because the trip was free; in all honesty, we loved the place and were surprised by how affordable a vacation a "resort" can offer.

Beloved and I were doing the math in the car on the way home, already planning our next visit to Smuggs. You can stay for five nights a two-bedroom condo for $1750US (early summer rate), and that includes the day camp for the kids, access to the pools, and a bunch of free activities. With the vast amount of room in the 2bd condo, we could invite my folks, or even my brother and his family along to share the condo with us. Not only does that mean splitting the costs, but the whole time we were there, we were saying how much fun it would be to share the adventure with someone.

We must have done a good job evangelizing the place to Granny and Papa Lou when we got home, too. I could see my Dad's wheels spinning at the thought of his own Segway tour, and he opined that since we've pretty much outgrown our free camping weekend cottage at the KOA in the Thousand Islands, this might be just the place for our usual multi-generational extended family trip next summer. Cuz if you're going to travel with two young boys and a newborn, it's good to have back-up!

Thanks again to Karen and Barbara at Smuggs for making this trip (and extended narrative) possible. We hope to see you again next summer!

(Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.)

Smuggs getaway part 3

2007-09-04T06:40:00.000-05:00

(Note: Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at Smuggs Getaway Part 3: The world's longest canoe trip)

***

I was a little bit anxious leaving Simon in the day camp all day while Beloved and I enjoyed a day at Smuggs on our own. Partly, I was nervous about leaving him on his own, when he's used to doing everything side-by-side with Tristan. Moreso, though, I was worried about his newly acquired potty training habit.

Of course, I needn't have worried. In fact, when Beloved and I puttered through the Village Green on our Segway tour, we spied him and his daycamp compatriots on a little expedition of some sort. He seemed to be perfectly content, and I was greatly reassured.

When I finally picked him up at 4 pm, he was still in the same shorts and underwear I'd put him in that morning. (I'd packed two extra pair of each and a pull-up. You just never know.) The first thing he said when he saw me, before even "hello", was "I need to go potty." He was indignant when I tried to lead him into the ladies room, after having used the men's room by himself all day. To add insult to injury, after remaining dry all day, I was glad to have extra pants packed for him after an unfortunate aiming incident. Oh well, he did better than I would have ever given him credit for.

I won't belabour our dinner experience, except to say that the deli at which we intended to eat was closed and so we did the pizza and pasta thing for a second night in a row. Our window of time shrank through various bathroom shenanigans (I swear, between being 18 weeks pregnant and the two boys, I don't think there was a bathroom in the place that we didn't grace with our presence several times over three days) we had just enough time to head back into Jeffersonville to hook up with our scheduled evening activity, the evening wildlife watch canoe trip.

In retrospect, this was an error in judgement on my part. In my enthusiasm to enjoy our short vacation to the fullest, I may have overestimated the boys' (ahem, everybody's) capabilities for a busy day. After being on the go all day at day camp, Simon was nearly falling asleep over his pizza at dinner. Tristan had a bona fide meltdown on the way to the car, insisting tearily that he didn't want to go anywhere else, he just wanted to go home.

As I suspected he might, he did calm down once we got in the car, and was raring to go by the time we parked the car outside the canoe outfitters. Our hosts and guides for the evening trip were two young fellows with the most distinct Southie accents I've ever encountered outside the movies, sounding for all the world like Will and Chuckie from Good Will Hunting. We truly had no idea what to think as rather than simply loading into a canoe on site, we were herded into a shuttle van pulling several canoes and driven waaaaaaaaay upstream. I'm not sure how far we went exactly, but I'm sure it must have been somewhere near the Canadian border for all the time it took us to paddle back (thankfully!) downstream to our waiting cars.

The 300 mile voyageur imitation wasn't even the worst of it. As we pushed off from shore, the guides suggested we remain quiet in our canoes lest we frighten away the wildlife and ruin the trip for the rest of our fellow canoers. Seriously. I have a three- and five-year old in my canoe who have both already vastly exceeded their daily alotment of patience and cooperation, and you want me to keep them quiet? I can't keep them quiet on the best of days.

In the way that only three-year olds can do, Simon interpreted this instruction in his own unique way. For the entire TWO AND A HALF HOURS that we paddled relentlessly down that river, Simon did not stop talking once. He spoke, he babbled, he sang, he bellowed. I shushed him, he whispered for about eleven seconds, and went back to chattering in his usual "outside" voice. I kid you not, that child uttered more syllables in that one evening than he has cumulatively to date in his entire lifetime.

Aside from the constant stream-of-consciousness commentary, Simon was also reluctant to heed our constant exhortations to stop lurching over to the side of the canoe to peer over the edge. Tristan did better, sitting rather calmly and well-centred in the canoe bottom for most of the ride, but that left us perhaps less prepared for the few times he did shift or turn, bringing us precariously close to tipping on more than one occassion.

(On that note, you'll note that photos are conspicuously absent from this post. Beloved opined, rather vocally, that the best place for the new digital SLR was safely hidden in the car and not, say, at the bottom of the Lamoille River in Vermont. Seeing as how we didn't actually see *any* wildlife, aside from the bunny rabbit that Tristan was petting in the parking lot, we didn't miss too many photo opportunities. There was one gorgeous old covered bridge that we passed under, and some ruggedly lovely spots... but none worth betting the seaworthiness of our canoe against our ability to remain upright and out of the water.)

Dusk was settling quickly into official nighttime by the time we approached the landing where we'd parked, and both boys were done like dinner. I had hardly finished exhaling my sigh of relief before the guides motioned us to paddle over to the side of the river 200 yards away from the endgame. They told us that we had one last "tricky spot" through which we'd have to manouever, a bit of white water (!) with rocks to the right (!) and a giant submerged tree stump (!) to the left. Had I had any energy left whatsoever, I might have laughed. They lectured us for a few minutes on exactly how to navigate this final injustice, including how to orient your body should you be tipped into the drink, and I figured for sure we were all going swimming. To the boys' credit, they must have read something in either the whites of my eyes or my white-knuckled grip on my paddle. Regardless, they were nearly still - and blissfully silent - as we shot the rapids with nary a splash.

Final analysis? Our next vacation needs more Segway and less canoe. I'll bet if the voyageurs had Segways, they would have forgone the canoes, too.

(Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers’ Notch Resort after Smugg’s PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.)

Smuggs getaway part two

2007-09-03T14:35:00.000-05:00

***

Although I'd heard of Smugglers' Notch and knew it was a ski resort in Vermont, I had no idea it was a year-round family-oriented resort. Even after reading the website and brochures, I was still surprised at how much the resort tries to be a truly "family" destination, with something for everybody.

Part of our vacation package** included day camp for the kids. It seemed a little strange to be sending them off to spend the day without us! I was a little worried, too, about sending each boy off with a separate, age-appropriate group as they've been together all summer long and I was worried especially Simon would balk about being left alone with strangers.

I needn't have worried. Both boys went off to join their respective groups without a backward glance. Frankly, I think they might have been glad to get away from each other, and from us as well. Beloved and I, too, quickly adapted to our child-free status with a leisurely breakfast bagel at the Green Mountain Deli (yum!) before heading off to join our Segway class and tour.

Ahhh, the Segway. I *loved* the Segway! There were five of us in a little tour group, one other set of parents from New Jersey and a girl of maybe 17 or so. (You have to be 12 years and older to join the Segway tours.) We had a quick orientation session with Bruce, the owner and operator of the Segway tour at Smuggs, who also runs a program for the day camp specializing in video production. (Bruce is one cool guy!)

Although I'd heard of the Segways and seen them on TV, I'd never seen one in person. They're way wicked cool, and more fun than I had even imagined! The Segway has an internal gyroscope that keeps you balanced on its two wheels, so when you first step on it, you can feel it shifting back and forth as it searches for and accomodates your centre of gravity. You go forward by leaning forward, and slow down and stop by leaning backwards. (You can read more about them on the official Segway website.) In the "first generation" Segways that we were using, you turn by twisting one handgrip, but the newer ones you lean to the direction you want to turn. They also have four different keys that allow you a progressively higher speed as you get more comfortable with the machine. After a just a couple of minutes' practice, we were already on the second key, which allowed us to go a breezy 6 miles per hour, and we set off on our tour.

I kid you not, I took to that thing like a duck to water. Me, the ungraceful klutz with the bulging belly to offset my already precarious centre of gravity! (Fryman, stop laughing. It's TRUE!) I was a natural on that Segway, zipping along happily at maximum speed at the head of the group while the others trailed behind, searching for their own personal comfort zone. At one point, cackling madly as I zipped down a trail, I turned back to throw a glowing grin over my shoulder at Beloved and had to laugh at his rather pinched facial expression, which clearly showed a markedly lower level of enthusiasm. (But as we moved along the tour, I could see him quickly acclimatizing to it.)

Bruce took us on a six mile loop (across more than 1200 feet of elevation changes!) around the outskirts and various communities of the resort. By the time we were on our final key, the Segway's top speed was a peppy 12 miles per hour, which I figure converts to at least 90 km per hour or so, based on the wind in my face and my relative exhileration. Okay, so not quite that fast, but I was traveling at a darn good clip when I opened that puppy up on a nice straight stretch!

Bruce would stop us every now and then to allow everyone to catch up, and to chat with us about everything from the philosophy behind the Segways to the history of Smuggs and the mountains around us. (The stopping was as much fun as the going. Rather than just resting in place, you can rock the Segway gently back and forth, spin in place, or make happy little loops around your husband and his Segway.) Bruce did a nice job of tying the environmental message of a sustainable resource like the Segway with the environmentally protectionist philosophy of the resort. Frankly, he was just a personable and interesting guy to spend some time with, Segways or no.

By the time the tour wrapped up, Beloved and I were both on a wicked adrenaline rush. Late for our lunch date with Karen, part of Smuggs' PR team, we chattered excitedly about maybe arranging for a second tour that afternoon, or ditching the kids the next day so we could rent a couple of Segways for an hour or two. It was that much fun.

I don't know if everyone at Smuggs is as friendly and personable as are Karen and Bruce, but they sure make a great couple of ambassadors for the resort. Our lunch with Karen stretched on for a leisurely two hours as we chatted about Smuggs, blogging, family vacations and the world at large. She told us that as a ski resort, it's been around for more than 50 years, but in recent years has really focused on both its summer and winter appeal as a destination for families. I was surprised to hear that Smuggs was around 2/3 capacity on the weekend we were there, because it had a wonderfully spacious and uncrowded feel to it, and the only place we ever waited in line was to check in or out.

After our lazy lunch with Karen, we hiked back up the mountain the short distance to our condo - just enough of a hike to wind us on our full bellies. We had enough time for a quick nap - ahh, what a life! - back at the condo before we had to pick up the boys from daycamp. I wish we'd had more time to enjoy the hiking and walks that Smuggs offers. We simply ran out of weekend before we got to do half the things we would have liked to try.

Coming up next: the canoe trip that seemed like a good idea at the time.

**Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers' Notch Resort after Smugg's PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.

Smuggs getaway part one

2007-09-03T14:31:00.000-05:00

***

We're freshly back from our weekend getaway to Smugglers' Notch Resort in Vermont.**

First of all, I'm thinking of ditching my career as a public servant and joining the professional Segway tour. What, they don't have one? Seriously, this has been one of the best summers of my life, and the best 90 minutes of an amazing weekend during a fabulous summer may just have been those spent zipping around Smugglers' Notch Resort on this Segway. Who knew - turns out I'm a natural! But more on that later...

We got off to a slow start. We were about an hour late leaving Ottawa, and had to turn back after 15 minutes when our first portable DVD player crapped out on us. (I think there was a short in the adapter.) So we turned around and went back to get our backup DVD player, which crapped out on us outside of Montreal, about 1/3 of the way into the trip. Then we chose Autoroute 20 instead of Autoroute 40 to get through Montreal, which I'm sure added another 45 minutes to our trip.

Despite the fact that I had ground my molars into a fine powder by the time we reached the Canada-US border, the rest of the trip was so gorgeous - through pastoral countryside, alongside winding streams through charming small towns and up into the Green Mountains - that I had once again achieved inner peace (or at least unclenched my jaws) by the time we arrived at Smuggs about five hours after we left.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but the condo we stayed it superceded just about anything I could have possibly imagined. First of all, it was HUGE! We took one look around and almost called Granny and Papa Lou back in Ottawa to tell them to pack a bag and get down to Vermont to join us - there was more than enough room to share, and it was immaculately clean. The living room, bigger than ours at home, had a gas fireplace, a sectional sofa that pulled out into a double bed, and a dining room table that would comfortably seat eight people.

Lookit all the windows!

The second bedroom had two single beds AND a double bed. (I'm sprawled on the double as I take this photo.)

The master bedroom had a king size bed and its own ensuite with a whirlpool bath.

There were four(!) TVs placed strategically through the condo, including one perched on a shelf high above the whirlpool tub... perfect for a leisurely soak while watching COPS - or, erm, whatever else you might want to watch on a Saturday evening.

It was late in the afternoon by the time we finished wandering openmouthed around the condo, waiting for someone to leap out with a camera and say, "Surprise, we were just kidding you. You really think we'd give you all this for FREE**? Hah! Not friggin' likely!" Nobody did, and so we set off to do a little bit of exploring of the resort itself.

Smuggs is sprawled over the base of three mountains: Madonna, Morse and Sterling. There are several 'communities' of condos, some owned outright, others owned and rented out through the resort. The condo we stayed in was in the Sycamore group in the West Hill community, and had its own pool and playground adjacent to the condos.

It didn't take us long to find the Funmeister's Clubhouse, a small arcade with video games, ping pong tables and the boys' new favourite summer pastime, air hockey.

Smuggs has no less than eight pools and four waterslides! On that first afternoon, we tried the Mountainside Pool with its Little Smugglers' Lagoon, a shallow pool (not quite waist-deep on the boys) with caves for exploring and spraying fountains.

Since the condo's kitchen was better stocked with cookware and tools than my kitchen at home (including a glass-topped range, dishwasher, blender, toaster and - wait for it - en suite washer and dryer!) we could have easily just made dinner back at the condo. But, of course, we didn't. Instead, we dined on pizza and pasta dinner at Riga Bello's, one of several restaurants at Smuggs. Given that it was cafeteria-style counter service at resort prices, it was a surprisingly good meal that the boys actually ate. Nothing like fresh air to stimulate the appetite!

So how do you end a day like this? With Ben and Jerry's ice cream, of course.

Can you believe I was a Ben and Jerry's virgin before this trip? After sampling Simon's chunky monkey (it's as if they named it after him!), Beloved's chocolate chip cookie dough, and his own chocolate, Tristan voted my berry sorbet to be the best flavour of the lot.

And all that was just the first six hours!!

Coming next: Segway tours, day camps, and the world's longest canoe trip...

**Disclosure: I was offered a complimentary visit to Smugglers' Notch Resort after Smugg's PR folks read my Ottawa to Bar Harbor posts earlier this summer. Our condo and all activities were complimentary but in no way conditional on a favourable review.

The big reveal

2007-08-29T12:15:00.000-05:00

Are Tristan and Simon expecting a new baby sister or a new baby brother?

Follow this link to the new location for Postcards from the Mothership to find out!

Best quiz results ever!

2007-08-27T17:10:00.000-05:00

***

As seen at Expectant Waiting.

You're Catch-22!

by Joseph Heller

Incredibly witty and funny, you have a taste for irony in all that you see. It seems that life has put you in perpetually untenable situations, and your sense of humor is all that gets you through them. These experiences have also made you an ardent pacifist, though you present your message with tongue sewn into cheek. You could coin a phrase that replaces the word "paradox" for millions of people.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Is that not the best quiz result ever? I read Catch 22 when I was a kid and loved it even then. I should crack it open again.

***

Speaking of books, it's back to school time, and Andrea over in the Fishbowl has a great back-to-school photo contest. You can win an HP Photosmart C5280 printer/scanner! Click over to Andrea's place for details and some good photography tips, too.

10 pixels in - my first video game review

2007-08-24T09:29:00.000-05:00

***

Not too long after my recent post talking about how the boys have transitioned from a TV addiction to a computer game addiction, I got an e-mail from a nice lady offering me a sneak preview of "the first video game made for kids 3-6 on Nintendo DS." The boilerplate advertised that "Storybook DS features skill-based mini-games and read-aloud fairy tale adventures for shared play and interaction between mom and child." I wrote back to say thanks for the offer, but we only play games on the PC and we don't have any game consoles. She wrote back to say, "No problem, we'll loan you a DS console for a while to play to the game. You can keep the game cartridge, and send back the console when you're done."

Hard to say no to an offer like that, isn't it? And that's how someone who doesn't really like video games becomes a video game reviewer - or at least whores her children out as video game reviewers. Let the record show that they didn't seem to mind.

So I have to start out by admitting that I'm a little bit biased against handheld games, especially for the preschooler set. I like to see and hear what they're doing, and it's harder to share a four-inch game console than it is to sit together in front of a 15 inch monitor.

Having said that, I have to admit I was immediately impressed with Storybook DS. I know kids get this stuff so much more intuitively than we did, but literally within one minute of snapping the cartridge into the console, Tristan was using the stylus to colour a picture. A few minutes later, he was showing Simon how to do the same. With no input from us, they found their way through a counting game, a music game, a drawing tablet and a storybook reader.

Both boys enjoyed Storybook DS, even if it was a bit on the simplistic side compared to what they are already playing on the computer. Tristan had an easier time navigating and exploring, but both boys could use the stylus to play by themselves. I'm not sure about it being billed as "shared play and interaction between mom and child" - more like interaction between child and video game. I peered over their shoulders a few times to see what they were up to, but three of us jockeying for position around a four-inch screen didn't work well for us. If you'd like to pick one up, they'll be available in stores in late September. (Sorry for the lack of links. I had asked for a URL to point to, but never did get one.)

It was nice to be able to test-drive the Nintendo DS as well as the game itself, and Beloved didn't waste any time going down to the local rental place and picking up a few other games for us to try. I can see the appeal of handheld games, especially for long car rides, or for when one wants to watch TV and the other wants to play games, but I'll stick with my initial assessment of handheld games. They might be a nice treat for the older kids, and no doubt my 3 and 5 year old would love to have one, but when we finally capitulate to a game system for the family - sadly, with three against one I know it's a matter of when rather than if - I'd much prefer a full-size, TV-based console rather than a handheld one.

So what do you think? What age - if any - do you think it's appropriate for kids to start playing with personal, handheld video games? I don't think I can hold out on this one forever, but seven or eight years old sounds about right to me.

Yay Day!

2007-08-23T10:53:00.000-05:00

***

It's a dreary kind of day here, grey and threatening rain - not that I can see a window from here. And I have a cold that kept me up all night and so I might have otherwise been tempted to be a little cranky and feel just a little bit sorry for myself.

But then I started thinking about all the things that I have to be grateful about these days:

a healthy, happy pregnancy. (What they say about the second trimester being the "honeymoon trimester" really is true, isn't it?)

the new nanny. I don't know who is happier, the boys or Beloved and I. Not once has Simon said, "I don't want Jen to come over today" whereas he complained endlessly about going to the previous caregivers' houses.

a four-day weekend this weekend, and a four-day weekend next weekend. Yay!

as if a four-day Labour Day weekend weren't enough to celebrate all on its own, we're going on a mostly FREE weekend getaway to Smuggler's Notch resort in Vermont!! The media relations folks out there (Hi Karen and Barbara!) caught some of my posts about the trip to Bar Harbour in their 'family vacations' google filter, and they're doing an experimental blogger outreach campaign. They've offered us the standard press package, including two nights of accomodation - free! We've got all sorts of cool activities lined up, like an "evening wildlife watch" family canoe trip, and day camp for the boys on Saturday so Beloved and I can enjoy a (don't laugh!) Segway tour of the resort. You know, those stand-up motorized scooters? Now picture pregnant, naturally clumsy me on one of them - hilarity, if not trauma to innocent bystanders, is sure to ensue. Plus they have FOUR pools, EIGHT waterslides, a couple of different playgrounds, trail hiking, shopping... it's going to be a busy weekend! (Don't hate me; it's an embarrassment of riches, I know. I'm not worthy - but I still said yes!)

and last, but not least, the boys continue to make me laugh every single day. We haven't told them about the baby yet (the anticipation of the new school year is enough to make their little heads explode; I can't burden them with a five month wait when I can barely stand it myself) but we have been casually dropping babies into the conversation a lot lately. The other night at bedtime, the boys spontaneously started talking about having a baby brother or sister. Tristan's preference is for a baby boy, whom he thinks should be named "Joe Joe". Simon, on the other hand, favours a baby sister, and he insists her name should be "Darth Luke". Note to self: don't engage the boys in the baby-naming process!

Now you go! What's making the sun shine in your world today? (But, please click over to the new blog location to leave your comments!)

Random bullets to banish the brain clutter

2007-08-21T07:49:00.000-05:00

***

Blogging really is a feast-or-famine kind of thing, isn't it? There are times when your brain is empty, and you go days fearing you may never be graced with an inspiring idea again.

And then other times, your brain is so busy blogging all.the.time that at any given time, you have half-composed posts oozing out of your brain, begging you to get to a keyboard and release them to the Interwebs. This is one of those times. I have a lot of ideas rattling around, but nothing cogent enough to form a full post.

Thank goodness for the existence of random bullets!

We woke up this morning to what appears to be a brand new double mattress delivered to our front lawn. Problem is we didn't order a new mattress. I have no idea where it came from or, more importantly, what to do with it. It's garbage day today, so maybe one of the neighbours put it out and some prankster dragged it down the block to our lawn? But seriously, have you ever dragged a full-sized mattress anywhere? It's not like the wind just picked it up and carried it over. The irony is that we could really use a new double mattress, but I'm not sure I trust providence enough to accept randomly occurring mattresses as part of the natural order of things.

I was supposed to call for my Integrated Prenatal Screening blood test results yesterday - and I completely forgot. I guess I'm not too worried about them, eh? I'll try to remember to call today.

I also go for my first official appointment with the midwife today. Yay!

Today is my sister-in-law's birthday. Happy Birthday, Belinda!! Sometime in the next four days (oy, my memory sucks!) is my very dear friend's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jojo!! Saturday is my cousin's birthday. Happy birthday, Mike!!

Last Sunday would have been my 18th wedding anniversary, had I not bailed from the practice marriage back in 1993. Eighteen years! Eek!!

I find it somewhat validating that since I have made the jump to WordPress, Haloscan has been under some sort of spam attack. I think the last time I had to delete a spam comment was months ago, and I've had to delete more than 20 in the past week.

Tristan has been on a 'what I want to be when I grow up' kick lately. Last month, after visiting the African Lion Safari, he wanted to be an elephant trainer. The other day, I was getting ready for work when à propos of nothing, he announced, "Hey Mom? When I grow up, I want to be king." (pause) "Why are you laughing?" You go, Tristan! Queen Mother sounds like a lovely career option for me.

The one where the nanny didn't quit

2007-08-20T07:17:00.000-05:00

***

So, it's the nanny's third day today, and she didn't quit yet. I'm so happy! (Amazing how my standards have dropped, isn't it?)

Seriously, though, even beyond her not quitting, I'm thrilled with the new nanny. The boys ask every day whether Jen and Jordan (her one year old son) are coming today. She brings them to the park; she plays games with them; last Friday, she brought them to her house for the afternoon and they did fingerpainting and came home with home-made, car-shaped cookies. She's got Simon on the potty a couple of times a day. She even emptied the clean dishwasher so she could put the lunch dishes in it. Really, I love her!

I'm not the only one who loves her. Friday night at dinnertime, Tristan had just finished telling us all the fun things they did with Jen that day. He asked if she would be coming back the next day, but I told him that Mummy and Daddy don't have to work on Saturdays or Sundays, so we'd get to spend the whole day together as a family. "And besides," I teased him, "would you rather spend the day with us or with Jen?"

He didn't hesitate nearly long enough before answering, "Jen!" In other circumstances, I might have been peeved, but frankly by this point, I'm happy with that answer.

It's still a little awkward having her in our house, though. We're making up rules as we go along, because I hadn't really thought any of this through. I don't know if I should leave a list of suggested lunches for the boys, based on that week's trip to the grocery store, or just let her root through the cupboards and make it up based on what she finds. I'm also not sure whether I should be buying stuff for her to make lunch for herself.

I was also thinking about leaving suggestions for activities, and leaving her our family membership card for the Farm and the Science museum. If it were me, we'd be going to the library, and playgroups, to parks in other neighbourhoods - anything to kill daylight! - but I don't want to overwhelm her. I'm not sure I'd want to be doing a lot of field trips by myself with a 1, 3 and 5 year old!

So, day three and all is well on the daycare front. It's going to nearly break us financially (her pay is barely $100 less a week than Beloved earns) but at least for the next year I'm willing to pay that price. Do you think this is finally the good karma I've earned after more than half a year of dreadful experiences?

A very expensive (but fun!) Saturday

2007-08-19T08:10:00.000-05:00

(Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at http://danigirl.ca/blog/2007/08/19/a-very-expensive-but-fun-saturday/)

We had a fun and adventure-filled but ghastly expensive day on Saturday.

In the morning, we visited the Ottawa debut of A Day Out With Thomas. Those of you who have been around for a while will remember the absolute magic of our first adventure with the Very Useful Engine, two years ago in St Thomas, Ontario.

Our latest adventure was not quite so magical, but a fun morning for the boys. In addition to a rather uninspired 30 minute train ride through some scrub and industrial land, there were train tables, temporary tatoos, arts and crafts, and of course, a giant gift shop filled with all things Thomas and Friends. Tristan's waning interest in the big blue engine was rekindled, but Simon has always been less of a fan than his brother. In the gift shop, he looked around for a while before asking, "But where are all the Star Wars toys?"

In the afternoon, we went with Granny and Papa Lou to one of my favourite summer traditions, the Ottawa SuperEx. While the SuperEx never lives up to what I loved about London's Western Fair from my childhood, I still look forward to it every year. I love the grease, the sleaze, the colours, the carnival food, the excess of it all.

The boys don't really need me to ride the merry-go-round with them anymore, but I still do.

But mostly, they ride by themselves.

They weren't big enough to go on the bumper cars by themselves (they couldn't have reached the pedals even if they wanted to) but Beloved and Papa Lou were willing to go along for the ride. My mom and I watched from the lines and laughed the whole time - of the four of them, I honestly couldn't tell you which one was having more fun.

I think my favourite part of the SuperEx are the games of chance. My mom and I are usually pretty good at the squirtgun games, but this time it was Tristan who won his own stuffy.

And no matter how expensive the day might have been, all the money in the world can't buy memories like these.

Ta Da!!!

2007-08-17T07:03:00.001-05:00

Okay, I can't keep it to myself any more. There may be some tweaking yet to be done, but I think I'm ready to go public.

Postcards from the Mothership officially has a new home at www.danigirl.ca/blog.

What're you still doing here? Get over there already!!

The 16 week update: Wherein I let out this breath I've been holding

2007-08-16T09:37:00.000-05:00

Just been for my 16 week OB appointment. Let me tell you, it was a hell of a lot more pleasant than the last time I had a 16 week appointment, and did not live up in any way, shape or form to the "oh no, not again" anxiety dreams that haunted me all last night.

The whole thing lasted - I kid you not - maybe seven minutes. She checked my blood pressure (110 / 60) and asked how I was doing, and pulled out her doppler. Just because my life is not complete without some moments of heart-stopping drama, we didn't hear the heartbeat on the first side she tried - and my heart shrunk down to the size of a pea. And then, when she pressed her doppler to the left side of my abdomen, there it was: whoosha whoosha whoosha, that beautiful baby music. And my heart grew to the size of an elephant.

And that was it, the appointment in its entirety. The IPS results aren't in yet, so I'll have to check back early next week. But I'll happily celebrate good news when I can. 16 weeks and all is well!

Blog woes redux - the one where I whine

2007-08-15T19:08:00.000-05:00

Ugh! I had no idea there would be so many major and minor complications in the set-up and transfer to my own domain!

It ended up being rather easy to set up the domain and web host, and relatively inexpensive. It took maybe an hour or so, plus a few hours of shopping around.

Designing the new blog banner took up the better part of a Saturday, but I'm pretty happy with it. It's a good start, anyway.

Choosing a "theme" for WordPress continues to be an ongoing drama. Unfortunately, I have some vague and some specific ideas of what I want, and I must have looked at 300 or more themes trying to find one that was just right. Relatively minimalistic, single sidebar; how difficult could the choice be? Don't get me started.

Finally, I downloaded one, and to my great shock, it's coded in PHP instead of the CSS/HTML combination that my Blogger template is written in. So in order to customize it at all, I've been teaching myself PHP. Did I mention ugh???

I got frustrated with that one and downloaded one that has more CSS in it, but I still cannot make that sucker bend to my will. I'm currently picking at it on and off. We'll see how much longer I have patience for it, but I'm getting dangerously close to going back to trolling themes again for something that works for me out of the box.

The FTP program I was using was making me nuts, so I downloaded a copy of FileZilla. That means in the last five days I've learned how to use my new web host's control panel and file manager, a new FTP program, a new blog interface, and the beginnings of a new programing language. My brain hurts!

To add insult to injury, last night I was mucking about trying to figure out how to import both the Blogger posts and Haloscan comments. I found out that the verion of WordPress installed automatically on my web host was outdated, and I had to upgrade before I could import from new Blogger. So I did - more practice with the FTP software and the web host control panel. Then I found out that the line of code that I need to change in the Blogger import php file doesn't exist in the latest version of WordPress. Classic Catch 22: can't import new Blogger into old WordPress; can only import Haloscan comments into old WordPress. Argh!!

I'm not quite $90 into this venture... too late to call the whole thing off?

Edited to add: okay, progress. I just realized that one of my major PHP headaches was resolved by the upgrade to WP 2.2. Widgets! I love me some widgets! Also, I must pause at this point to heap praise on the designer of my new theme, Tom at One Hertz, for actually responding to a question and helping me out. Also, major kudos to the tech support guys at Namespro.ca, with whom I had registered my domain. When I sent them a quick question asking how long it would take to transfer my domain to my the new web host, they took the trouble to go into the web host's FAQs and give me explicit instructions on how to do it myself. Excellent customer service definitely makes up for much bloggy angst.

And in the time it took me to write this, WordPress has completely hung in trying to import my 949 Blogger posts. Two steps forward, one step back...

Information overload

2007-08-15T06:50:00.000-05:00

As usual, I consumed most of the newspaper on the bus on my ride to work this morning, and I have to tell you that the news was not good.

Aside from the fact that I now have a new big boss (holding off judgement on that for the time being) I read that Mattel has announced another massive toy recall for lead paint and dangerous toys. Then I read an article that says out of 250,000 births in Canada every year, as many as 1,700 babies suffer skull fractures or other traumatic injuries during birth. And to completely wreck my morning, a new study confirms that "eating large quantities of junk food when pregnant and breastfeeding could impair the normal control of appetite and promote an exacerbated taste for junk food in offspring."

Sigh. It's enough to make you want to crawl back into bed and hide there for a day or two, isn't it?

Since I went looking for it and you might want to do the same, here's the Mattel recalled toys list. It mostly affects Sarge from Pixar's Cars for lead paint, and some Batman, Barbie, Polly Pocket and other toys for dangerous magnets. We have a Sarge, but he's been with us since Christmas and the recall period is for Cars from May through August 2007. But still!

I mean, seriously, when you think of name-brand toys you can trust, don't you think of Fisher Price, and Barbie, and Mattel, and even Thomas the Tank Engine? These aren't dollar store junk toys, for goodness sake. I'd rant a little more on this topic, but Ann Douglas has a great article up over on Yahoo Parenting that says it far better than I ever could.

As for the birth injuries article, well, that just makes me feel a little bit better about my decision to go with the midwife. And about my consumption of junk food? I'll have to pause a moment to wipe the crust of honey cruller sugar from my fingers while I formulate a proper response to that one. In the meanwhile, I blame my mother.

The news isn't all bad, though. If you're looking for something a little more lighthearted, field reporter Fryman sends along this link to a photo gallery on the Globe and Mail's web site of roadside mascots, including the World's Largest Atlantic Salmon, Perogie, Fly Fishing Rod and - of course - Hockey Stick and Puck. Canadiana at it's best! How many of them have you seen? Wouldn't it make a great end-of-summer road trip to tour around and check them all out?

Survey question

2007-08-14T14:18:00.000-05:00

So, if this blog were to mysteriously reinvent itself in a new home, would you want all the original posts to move with it? Or would you expect a fresh start in the new location, assuming the old posts will be archived here for eternity and beyond?

And what if it were possible but intimidatingly difficult to shuffle almost 10,000 (!!!) comments from HaloScan to the new location... would the old posts be worth having in the new location, but stripped of their comments? Or would it be worth the extra chunks of pulled-out hair and special favours begged of tech support to get those comments over there, too.

What say ye, bloggy peeps?

(Don't worry, Mom. I promise to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to the new blog location!)

Sonic booms are cool

2007-08-14T07:01:00.000-05:00

I first read this story in the newspaper on Sunday morning, and I can't stop thinking about it. Everyone I've spoken to in the last couple of days has been subjected to this story, so fascinated by it am I.

Did you hear about the 62 year old French guy who's about to be launched to a height of 40 km (25 miles) and do a seven minute free fall on to a Saskatchewan field, exceeding Mach 1 and creating a sonic boom with only his body in the process?

I'm honestly torn between "how wicked cool is that?" and "what kind of suicidal dumbass is he, anyway?"

From the canada.com article:

At 40,000 metres, temperatures are around -100 C and the air is so thin he will have to spend hours beforehand inhaling pure oxygen to remove all traces of nitrogen from his blood. He must nose-dive out of the pop-can-shaped capsule, freefalling for seven minutes before pulling his chute 1,000 metres from landing for an eight-minute descent to the ground. But if he goes into a spin at the start, no one knows if he will survive as he plummets to Earth at speeds reaching 1,500 km/h and in cold dipping to -115 C, breaking the sound barrier at 1,067 km/h and crashing through the ozone layer.

There's also an article in the Times Online that describes the experience of the previous record-holder for longest freefall: "set by Joe Kittinger, a US air force test pilot who jumped from just under 20 miles in 1960 and told of his four-minute 36-second descent in a 1961 autobiography, The Long Lonely Leap. 'There is no sound, no movement,' he wrote. 'No wind hisses in my ears or billows my clothing.'"

Apparently, if Fournier is successful with his Grand Saut (French for Big Jump), he'll break four records: the longest freefall, the fastest freefall, the parachute jump from the highest altitude and the highest altitude achieved by a human in a balloon. The part that really fascinates me, though, is the "crashing through the ozone layer" bit, coupled with the breaking of the sound barrier with his body. From the few articles I've read on this, they have no idea what the impact of creating a sonic boom will have on his body.

What do you think? Is this guy a hero, or a Darwin Award waiting to happen?

Tristan's big splash

2007-08-13T06:53:00.001-05:00

It's been such a lovely summer so far, full of sunshine and traveling and beaches and pools and water parks. I know we've had a good summer because we're on our fourth package of swim diapers... that's a lot of fun in the water!

Over the course of the summer, Tristan has gone from not quite being able to swim the width of the pool with a float to being able to swim very short stretches unassisted in a panicky sort of dog paddle. He's shown a lot of improvement with all the time we've spent in the water lately, and has taken great delight in being able to jump off the side of the pool and "cannonball" into the shallow end.

Yesterday, we spend an unexpected but lovely four hours or so splashing about and lounging on the deck of our friends' new pool. Despite Tristan's improvement through the summer, I had serious reservations when my friend UberGeek asked Tristan if he'd like to jump off the diving board and UG would help him get to the ladder. It's a testament to many, many years of friendship that I would even consider letting Tristan try - that, and the way Tristan's face lit up when he said, "SURE!" and scrambled up onto the deck before I could even formulate a protest.

The first jump, as soon as Tristan surfaced sputtering and wide-eyed, UberGeek was there to grab him and guide him to the ladder. I took a deep breath of my own and bit back my maternal concerns as Tristan practically ran to the diving board for the next jump - and the next, and the next, and the next. By the end of the afternoon, he was jumping in and able to swim to the ladder completely unassisted, and was also able to swim most of the length of the pool with only minimal assistance. Just like getting up on two wheels, it's amazing how quickly the little synapses fire in a growing brain to suddenly "get" a new activity and master it.

Simon too was the picture of contentment, splashing around in an unusual swim ring built into a t-shirt, a design I've never seen before. While getting him in and out of it was quite reminiscent of shoving him down the birth canal, it seemed a lot safer and sturdier than water wings or a traditional ring float.

In a single afternoon, Tristan went from barely able to swim a foot or two to jumping off the diving board and swimming to the edge, and I went from ensuring neither boy was further than arms' reach away from a grownup to letting them splash and float contentedly around the deep and shallow ends under their own power. I'm simply gobsmacked. And it served as a good reminder that the boys are likely to be ready to take on new challenges far earlier than I'm going to be ready for them to do so.

I only wish I'd had a camera with me...

The one with the naked princess, of course

2007-08-11T17:26:00.000-05:00

The boys have been running around all day, and we all need some quiet time. I ask Simon what he wants to watch. Quelle surprise, he wants to watch Star Wars.

"Which one do you want to watch," I ask. "The one with the Jawas, the one where Han gets frozen in carbonite, or the one with the Ewoks?"

"No," clarifies Simon, "I want the one with the naked princess with the gun."

He's THREE, for chrissake. THREE!!

(Okay, so I don't know a single guy born between 1965 and 1985 who didn't have the same crush, but I had no idea Leia's Metal Bikini had its own fan site, let alone an episode of Friends.)

(Edited to add: this exists, with more than 7000 threads and 125000 posts, and yet *I'm* the strangest place on the Internet?!?!?)

My Internet Legacy

2007-08-10T07:32:00.000-05:00

I never get tired of playing in the referral logs, speculating on the search terms that bring people here. I see some search terms over and over again (gift ideas for two year olds is a perennial favourite, as is cavities in a three year old, and I'm mystified by the sheer number of people - sometimes 10 a day - looking for a variation on lactating or lactation blog.)

Some are a little more obscure. I'm sure I was no help to the guy who wondered "how do i know my piranha is pregnant." Maybe we should get them together with the guy who asked "why is my sperm bigger." Bigger than what, I couldn't help but wonder. And, erm, how exactly did you know?

I'll have to try a little harder to boost myself up the page on the search return for "canadian child care sucks", but with the new nanny starting next week, my fingers are crossed for a good outcome at last.

My mother is endlessly tickled about my noteriety as the number one search return for "ottawa slut" but i'm just as happy to be first on a search for "Ottawa + Mommy Blogger."

Myself, I'm absurdly pleased to be the number one google return for "strange internet places." No doubt, the Web is full of strangeness, but I had little idea that this little blog was the strangest.

And now, since I'm obviously in danger of taking myself a bit too seriously today, is some more strangeness for you, courtesy of the Goddess of the Quirky Meme, Angry Pregnant Lawyer:

YOU ARE PAPER!

You Are Paper

Crafty and creative, you are able to adapt freely to almost any situation.
People tend to underestimate you, unless they've truly seen what you are capable of.
Deep down, you're always scheming and thinking up new plans. Your mind is constantly active.

You are quite capable of anything you dream of. You can always figure out a way to get what you want.

You can wrap a rock person up in your sheet of trickery.

A scissor person can sneak up and cut you to pieces.

When you fight: No one can anticipate your next move

If someone makes you mad: You'll attack them mercilessly when they're unprepared.

Are You Rock, Paper, or Scissors?

Almost 15 weeks update: the midwife question

2007-08-09T06:38:00.001-05:00

See, bloggy peeps? I take your advice! I went ahead and scheduled an appointment with the midwife, just so I could keep my options open for a little while longer.

First, I have to tell you that I heard the baby's heartbeat, and all seems fine. What, you haven't been obsessing over it, thinking of it every ~~two hours~~ ~~half hour~~ six minutes like I've been? Heck, it took me until I was on the bus on the way to the appointment to figure out that I wasn't having heart palpitations and trouble breathing because of any larger fear of the midwife herself, but over knowing she would have a doppler and I was afraid to face the possible silence like last time.

The bad news is, I really liked the midwife and the whole philosophy of midwifery care. I mean, that's bad news because if I had hated her on sight, it would have been a lot easier to simply go back to my OB and carry on.

There are a handful of concerns that I can't quite shake, mostly having to do with scenarios when something goes wrong. To her credit, even though my OB has no bedside manner whatsoever, when she couldn't find the baby's heartbeat with the doppler at my 16 wk appointment last year, all she had to do was walk me over to the ultrasound clinic on the other side of her office, and she did the scan herself to try to find the baby. I know it would never be that easy with the midwife, even though I understand that they do have full referral access for all that stuff.

I think the one thing that most surprised me and most concerned me is that even with a hospital birth, the midwives don't use the fetal monitoring tools like the heart rate monitor. With Simon, I can still clearly remember after many hours of stalling labour when I finally began to have serious contractions there was one terrifying moment when the baby's heart decelerated significantly enough (140s to low 60s) for the nurse to demand of Beloved that he push the call button for assistance. There was no real emergency, and in hindsight it was probably just the stress of passing a baby the size of a Toyota through an opening the size of an orange, but the idea of not hearing that reassuring whoosh-whoosh-whoosh throughout the labour seriously freaks me out.

Here are the other niggling concerns I have:

With Simon, I was 10 days late when they finally started induction, and even then he took more than 24 hours to come out. I asked the midwife about induction, and she said they consult with an OB when you are 42 weeks. Ugh. Did I mention Simon was 10 lbs? I know, nothing says the next baby will be that large or that late, but still...

I have every intention of delivering at the hospital and staying at the hospital for as long as they'll let me. With Tristan, I was terrified to go home because I didn't want to be solely responsible for the mewling little mass of perfection, and with Simon I left after 24 hours (against the doctor's and nurses' objections) because it was the first time I had ever been separated from Tristan. When the midwife said that it's standard practice after midwife deliveries for the mother and baby to go home after three hours, assuming all is well, I told her that I wanted to take full advantage of the hospital stay and she laughed and said it's funny how mothers with more than one at home tend to say that.

Of course, there's the fact that midwives no longer have priviledges at the Ottawa Hospital, so I'll have to deliver at the Montfort, but the more I talk to people in the community about this, the less this concerns me. But still.

There are many things I like about midwifery care:

* the post-natal care. The first couple of weeks with baby at home have been rough on me both times. The midwife comes to visit you at home at least five times in the first two weeks after baby is born, and I find that incredibly reassuring.

* longer appointments with more holistic care.

* will know the people who are with me when I'm actually delivering the baby, and they'll know me (as opposed to taking a gamble on the nursing staff, and the 1 in 10 chance that my own OB is on call that day.)

* when I told the midwife about how at Simon's birth the anesthesiologist said I was his most difficult case in more than 500 epidurals (!) she suggested we could make an appointment for a consulation with an anesthesiologist before the birth to discuss options. (Seriously! Why did my OB not do something like this after I told her how much trouble the anesthesiologist had at Tristan's birth?)

* office is very conveniently close to where I work for appointments, as opposed to the OB who is two long buses away.

* no traumatic memories attached to the midwife's office.

* when I couldn't help myself and cried a few tears of relief when I heard the baby's heartbeat yesterday, she smiled and rubbed my arm and said, "Everything's fine!" in a very comforting voice. As opposed to my OB, who didn't touch me or express any overt sympathy through the entire miscarriage experience last year. In fact, it was the ultrasound tech, following up on what the OB started and confirming that the baby had died, who took a moment to physically touch me and tell me how sorry she was. It's just a more humanized level of care.

So, I don't know. Through the course of the afternoon yesterday, I changed my mind five times. If it weren't for the fetal monitoring part, I'd be comfortable making the switch. Then again, it's not like I'm lacking anything with the OB's care, and I know she's world-class in her field.

Sigh.

I do know that through this most difficult month, as 16 weeks come and go, through a complete fluke of timing in the overlap of care I've got an appointment every week this month. Yesterday I saw the midwife, and tomorrow I go for my final IPS blood test. Next week, I go for my scheduled 16 wk appointment with the OB, to hopefully discuss the IPS test results. The week after that is my first clinical appointment with the midwife, should I choose to go that route. And the week after that is the ultrasound. I couldn't have planned that better if I'd tried!

So, what say ye, bloggy peeps? You're the board of directors at DaniGirl Inc, and we need to make a decision today on the direction of the company. What do you recommend?

Computer versus TV

2007-08-08T07:34:00.001-05:00

The good news is, the boys aren't watching a lot of TV these days. I'd say the daily consumption has dropped to less than an hour, and I won't embarrass myself by letting on exactly how many hours they were consuming before. Some days when I was on vacation, the TV stayed off all day.

The bad news is, they have a new addiction of choice. You see, my three year old and my five year old are now bona fide computer game junkies.

Sigh.

Their drug of choice is Star Wars Lego, and I must admit that it baffles me just a little bit that a Star Wars Lego video game even exists. The boys love it, though, and would play it for hours at a time if I let them. They also play a few other games, like Pixar's Cars, and the Lego Island and Curious George paint games I got at the grocery store, and Simon especially likes the games on Nick.com.

So on the one hand, I'm okay with the reduced consumption of TV because at least with the video games, they're engaged and doing something. They're forced to share and to take turns, but they still play collaboratively. They're problem solving, thinking, and developing at least some cognitive skills. Not to mention memory: Simon, who doesn't yet clearly identify the letters of the alphabet let alone read, can click through six or seven layers of menu screens based solely on having seen it done a few times. It's actually kind of amazing to watch.

It's also hilarious to hear them integrate the language of the video game into their regular play. "Let's play another level," said while leaping forth with lightsaber in hand, means "Let's keep playing."

And yet, I have to admit that I am not completely at ease with this newfound addiction to video games. First, at least when the TV is on the boys drift in and out of the room, playing with their toys and each other while the tube drones on. With the computer, they stand fixed in front of the monitor, fingers thumping on the keyboard, for as long as we'll leave them to it. And I'm already becoming rather tired of hearing "But Moooooom, just let me finish this level!" whined at me each time I tell them to move along to something else.

I'm thinking of getting a timer and limiting them, maybe to 20 minutes each per day. But, true confession time: it's so easy to let them play. They're engaged, they're content, and most importantly, they aren't pestering me or each other. Computer time is free time for me, and at this stage in my life, I'm willing to trade dilligence for indulgence. Call me lazy.

What do you think? Are computer games better than TV? Is there room for video games in a balanced day, even for a preschooler? How much is too much?

And most importantly, how on earth can I justify limiting their computer time when I spend countless hours glued to the monitor myself? Hypocrite, thy name is blogging mother...

Blog woes

2007-08-07T06:48:00.001-05:00

I'm feeling a lot of blog angst today. First, while I was on vacation they unilaterally cut access to blogs from work. Ugh! No blogs whatsoever! You might remember, I'm starting work on a project to integrate social media more fully into how we communicate as an organization; this isn't a step in the right direction.

Luckily, because of that at least I have an excuse to wave my fists and wail and demand blog access back, and my uber-cool boss has put my name at the top of the list of people who should have immediate access restored. But this is government and nothing happens quickly.

On a larger scale, though, I think I'm finally ready to make the leap to my own domain. I'm officially done with Blogger. I almost jumped ship a year ago, but when they introduced Blogger Beta, they introduced the one feature I had been most coveting: labels, or categories. But, I recently realized that each category will display a maximum of 20 posts. Everything else is lost to the ether, and some of my categories have more than 60 posts in them (hell, you know as well as anybody that if I'm anything, I'm prolific!)

Apparently, I'm restricted to 20 posts per category because I chose to keep my customizable "classic template", the one I understand and can tinker with. I could move to the newfangled Widget template, but I would lose some flexibility. I'm finally fed up. I'm done with Blogger.

Earlier this year, I registered danigirl.ca, so I already have the domain. I know I ask this question about twice a year, but for those of you who haven't yet tutored me on this, any tips for inexpensive, reliable hosting in Canada and new blog software? I'm leaning towards Wordpress, because I've heard MT is more of a pain than it's worth. I'm worried that Wordpress won't let me tinker, though. Thoughts?

In which I rant just a bit

2007-08-06T08:02:00.000-05:00

It's my last day of vacation and I'm feeling a little cranky about it. Plus, ya know, I'm old now, and entitled to be curmudgeonly without warning.

So to celebrate this mood of minor annoyance, today I present to you the top five things that piss me off.

1. People who don't acknowledge common courtesy.

It drives me nuts when I slow down to let someone into a lane ahead of me, or stop to hold open a door, or step back to let someone else go first, and they don't even bother to acknowledge me. I don't need a bouquet of roses, but a nod or a smile or a wave (or god forbid, a "thank you") would go a long way.

2. People who don't signal lane changes.

Apparently, I have a whole set of issues with lane changes. (Can you tell I drove back and forth through Toronto recently?) Also on their own sublist of things that piss me off are people who think they are entitled to your lane simply by virtue of the fact that their lane is ending, regardless of the fact that you might currently be occupying said lane, and people who must occupy the buffer of space I'm trying to leave between myself and the car in front of me as we hurtle along the 401 at the speed of light.

3. People who dribble on the toilet seat and don't wipe it up.

It happens. Either you dribble a few drops when you stand up to wipe, or you are one of those people with stronger knees than me who can hover over the seat and give it a good spray when you pee. Regardless, would it kill you to take a minute and a square or two and wipe the seat when you're done? I really shouldn't have to do it, and it's nothing short of disgusting to sit down and realize that you just sat in someone else's pee.

4. People who sit on the gym equipment and chat.

I like to move quickly through my weight workout to keep my heart rate up, and I was told many years ago by a trainer that it's best to stick to a particular order, working the larger muscles before the smaller ones. While I don't mind jumping out of order if it's busy and there's a lot of people using the equipment, it drives me nuts to have to wait for a machine because someone is sitting on it while chatting with someone else. Frankly, it also kind of bugs me when people sit on the machines between sets, and when people don't wipe down the equipment between uses. Hmmm, looks like I have some issues with the gym as well. Maybe a little too much testosterone in my system?

5. People who don't say "excuse me" when they need to get off the bus.

This one is my number-one irritant right now. I've been idly thinking about blogging it for months. Almost every single morning, I sit on the aisle side of a shared seat on the bus. A surprising amount of the time, I'm sure the vast majority, when the person sitting beside me needs to get off, rather than saying "Excuse me" or even "This is my stop", they simply make a lurching thrust toward me that I'm supposed to detect and interpret as an intention to get off the bus and that I should get out of the way. This is a relatively new phenomenon, and it pisses me off every single time. Seriously, how hard is it to say "excuse me"? I usually toss in a smile for free when I do it.

And they say we Canadians are overly polite. Bah!

By all means, don't let me rant alone. What cheeses you off?

Mmmmm, Italian buffet

2007-08-05T15:47:00.000-05:00

Given my post on Friday about lacking food inspiration, is it any surprise we tried a new restaurant this weekend?

For those of you who live in the neighbourhood, I highly recommend the Barolo Italian Buffet. The one we tried is in Barrhaven, beside the new cinema, and apparently there's one out Kanata way near March Rd and Carling.

I know they're not cool, but I like a good buffet. Chinese buffets are way too ubiquitous and often poorly done, but I've been to a couple of excellent Indian buffets in town (Haveli comes to mind.) I'm a big fan of something like Tuckers Marketplace, where you can get a decent salad bar and a selection of different types of food. Then again, I love to graze. My ideal meal would involve table after table of various types of appetizers where I could pick and sample all day.

Ahem, but I digress. The point is that we were highly impressed by Barolo's, largely because there were great choices that the kids would actually eat. Tristan did eat mostly fruit from the salad bar, but also had some fresh warm bread. Simon, on the other hand, had some penne with tomato sauce, some spaghetti with butter and cheese, lots of bread, and a good selection of fruit, and picked off my salad plate.

The salad bar is a little bit limited, but has some lovely antipasto-type cold grilled peppers, eggplant and zucchini salads, as well as a couple of types of pasta salads. In the entree section, they had everything from veal parmasean to chicken in mushroom sauce to cabbage rolls to pizza, and another half a dozen choices on top of that. At the very end, there's a roast beef station and a station where you can place a custom pasta order. I had linguine alfredo that was very good save for a need of some fresh pepper.

It was a little pricey at $16.95 per adult, and half that for the kids; however, the server noted that Tristan had hardly eaten anything and comped his meal for us. I was so impressed that I tipped her the price of his meal. I noticed on the way out that the price is only $14.95 for adults Monday to Thursday, and kids eat FREE those days. Now I know when I'll be going back!

Summertime food ideas?

2007-08-03T10:01:00.000-05:00

While I love this steamy hot summertime weather, it's sapping my already-nominal culinary inspiration. I've completely run out of fresh summertime food ideas. We've done burgers to death, and I've lost my taste for hot dogs. It's too hot to boil pasta, and we've had enough corn on the cob to pluck an entire corn field clean.

Last night, we had one of my summertime favourites: steak and veggie kabobs rolled in peppercorns, grilled on the BBQ and then served as make-yer-own pita sandwiches with tzatziki and feta and fresh cucumber and tomato slices. Mmmmmm!

Save me from another pizza; I'm desperate for inspiration. What's your favourite summertime meal?

Cottage weekend

2007-08-01T18:15:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned, we spent an extended summer weekend with my brother's family at his in-laws' cottage. Gotta love in-laws with a cottage!

The trip didn't start out so well. By the time we started loading the car on Saturday morning, it was pouring rain and we were two hours behind schedule, partly due to the extended search for the cord to plug the DVD player into the cigarette lighter. Imagine our delight when we went to plug in said DVD player and discovered the cigarette lighter was dead. We were suddenly and unexpectedly facing a seven to eight hour drive with not nearly enough diversions planned to pacify the boys. Right then and there, we almost called the whole thing off.

We didn't, though, and it's a testament to how wonderful the weekend was that I can honestly say it was more than worth the hassle of getting there. And we survived a trip all the way across the province to Lake Huron with only a handful of colouring books, some snacks and our wits. Not that I'd ever do it again intentionally, but it's kind of nice to know we could do it.

We left the 401 near Kitchener, and drove through the pastoral farmland of Southern Ontario that is so evocative of some of the best summer memories of my childhood. There is something about that rolling farmland, the yellow bricks one only finds around London, that particular shade of hazy blue, and the achingly beautiful turquoise of Lake Huron under a cloudless sky that fills my heart with sweet nostalgia. Turns out that even 19 years after the fact, sometimes you can go back home again.

The in-laws' cottage was actually a grounded trailer with an extended sunporch / florida room, parked year-round at what looks like it used to be a Jellystone campground (warning, noisy link!) deep under a canopy of towering maples. The boys loved the built-in bunk beds, and thought it was pretty cool that Uncle Sean let them drive the golf cart (apparently almost every trailer has one for tooling around the campground) all by themselves.

And where there are golf carts, there are of course serious golfers.

Aside from spending time with family, the main attraction for me was the proximity to Lake Huron. The first beach we visited was so rocky we could barely keep to our feet, and we did little more than wade in up to our ankles and fill our waterguns.

But the second day, we made a pilgrimmage to one of my very favourite summertime places in the whole world, the beach at Grand Bend, Ontario. The water was clear and warm and perfect for swimming, and the day couldn't have been more lovely. I could have stayed on the beach for days.

Except, of course, for a wander up the main drag to get some french fries and ice cream. Some traditions are sacred, and beach food is one of them.

Who could have guessed that two-and-a-half days of beaches, pools, putt-putt, ice cream, campfires and four kids under six could ever be so refreshing?

On the last day, rather than drive straight home we detoured to a place I haven't been since I was a tender one year old. I've been meaning to get back there for ages, and I don't know a single person who grew up in Ontario who can't hum the theme song for the African Lion Safari (sorry, more noisy links. I hate that!) It was another blazing hot day, which simply amplified the African savannah feel to the day.

This is not a picture of me feeding Ritz Bits with Cheez to a baboon who is perched on the passenger side mirror. Feeding the animals is strictly forbidden, as is opening your window.

In fact, if you were - hypothetically speaking, of course - to open your window to get a better picture of the cheetah lying in the grass mere feet from your car, you would hear the immediate and bullhorn-amplified voice of a park ranger insisting that you CLOSE YOUR WINDOW, and if you didn't immediately heed that first demand in your quest for the perfect picture, you would certainly be motivated to do so by the clear note of panic in the second and far louder bellow to CLOSE YOUR WINDOW NOW. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Not that you would ever flaunt rules so blatantly. Not even later when this very friendly and not in the least bit fierce or bloodthirsty zebra came over to say hello.

By midafternoon under the blazing sun, the combined temperature and humidity topped out over 38C. Thankfully, the park has a supersized splash pad just about the perfect size for a pair of overheated preschoolers.

We finished the day by enjoying the elephant show, including a 15 month old baby elephant gamboling beside its mother that was particularly charming. It's nice to see the "mischievious toddler" thing extends to other species. And we ended the day on a high note - literally, with Tristan, Simon and I perched atop the back of Jenny, a very patient and very big elephant.

Unfortunately, this isn't a flattering shot of either of us.

(Click thru for more photos on Flickr.)

Yay day - the birthday edition

2007-07-31T19:11:00.000-05:00

I have a lot to be grateful for as I look ahead to my birthday tomorrow. (Shameful how I gratuitously troll for your birthday wishes, isn't it? It's the Leo in me.)

We're on our way home after a nearly perfect summer extended weekend away. Details will follow, but it included endless hot, sunny weather; a cottage tucked into a perfect little campground; my brother's family; a pilgrimmage / day trip to my very favourite summertime place; and a baboon sitting on the passenger-side mirror of the car begging for Ritz crackers. No, really!

So today, I'm happy for family, for boys who are road-trip tolerant, for weekend getaways, for perfect summer weather, for people who love me and whom I love in return, for a life so full of joy it exceeds whatever wildest hope I might have had for it when I was growing up. It's the best birthday gift a girl could ever want.

And you? What are you celebrating today?

Gone fishin'

2007-07-28T06:38:00.000-05:00

Computer access might be a little sparse for the next few days. Talk amongst yourselves, and I'll see you again in a couple of days!

Baby TV comes to Canada

2007-07-27T06:02:00.000-05:00

The front page of the Citizen this morning had a big article about the pending arrival of BabyFirstTV, a new 24 hour TV network "devoted to babies six months to three years."

My only question: in the age of the ubiquitous DVD player, do we really need round-the-clock programming for babies? Can they not get past the 3 am feed without a bit of electric nipple to sooth them back to sleep?

Most of what I've read on this whole baby TV debate has centred around the educational value of TV for babies, and whether watching Baby Einstein three times a day at the age of six months will help junior improve his high school grade point average. Seriously. Is there anyone who really believes those weird psychedelic camera angles of brightly coloured toys are cranking up baby's IQ?

Of course not. TV for babies is not really for babies; it's for mothers (and fathers.) It's about finding something that distracts a needy baby for 15 or 20 minutes so a beleagured new mom can load the dishwasher or take a shower or (god forbid) sit and drink a cup of coffee and stare off into space for a while. Never, of course, so mom can pick up the laptop and check what's up in the blogosphere. Never that.

You know I don't have a problem with TV for kids. Heck, ask my mother and she'll tell you I graduated magna cum laude from university in no small part due to the influence of two hours of Sesame Street a day in my formative years. And yet, I don't think we'll be subscribing to Baby TV. Truth be told, we only have basic cable anyway. But I've got a drawer full of Baby Einstein DVDs that I'll happily dust off and put back into circulation. My biggest challenge will be getting the boys to share the DVD player. With any luck, Queen Amidala will be in heavy rotation by then.

Potty training redux

2007-07-26T06:40:00.000-05:00

So. Potty training. I've been through this once before, and even though it took three and a half years for Tristan to show the least little bit of interest in the potty, once we took the plunge it was a reasonably painless and mess-free process. It took four or five days and we had maybe that many accidents before he completed the transition from diapers to underwear, and I was surprised if not highly pleased with how easy the whole thing turned out to be.

I'd been holding out until Simon was the same age, figuring the same internal switch would flip in his head (maybe even earlier, since every other milestone has been bumped up by virtue of the "monkey see monkey do" little brother syndrome) and potty training Simon would be a breeze.

Not so much.

Simon, I seem to need to learn over and over and over again, is not Tristan. He's not as easily motivated as his brother. With Tristan, he had his heart and head set on Annie and Claribel coaches to go with his Thomas Tank Engine sets, and once we told him he could earn them with stickers by going on the potty, he was all over it like, well, like a dirty diaper. We put up one of those little cataloges that come with the trains beside the toilet, and Tristan would happily sit on the potty and gaze at the entire population of the Island of Sodor.

Simon is a different creature. He's not obsessed with anything the way Tristan was at this age, and he doesn't seem the least been interested in transitioning out of diapers, even though he professes to be a big boy and is more than capable of at least peeing on the potty when the mood strikes him.

I think, though, that we've finally found his motivation. Queen Amidala. Yes, the one from the second Star Wars trilogy.

The boys are certified Star Wars junkies now. It does my heart good to see them running around the house with their little light sabers, pretending to be Darth Vader and Darth Luke (that would be Luke in his dark Jedi outfit from Return of the Jedi. No amount of explaining will convince them that he's not a "Darth" at all.) They hum not only the major themes, but the love theme and the victory theme, all day long. They quote large portions of the first trilogy from heart, and they while away their precious computer time playing Star Wars Lego, the video game.

Which brings us to Queen Amidala. They wouldn't know about her, or even the existence of the second trilogy, except Beloved brought a Phantom Menace Star Wars Lego video game home from the library a while ago, and Simon has been asking to see the Queen Amidala movie ever since. Purist that I am, I've decided that the Phantom Menace and its sequels are too violent and too dark for a three and five year old.

This week, Simon paused from some imaginary play where Luke Skywalker (a battered original action figure just like the one I had when I was a kid, scored from a local flea market) joined forces with Queen Amidala (represented by a Polly Pocket doll) against a pirate from a Playmobile set. Simon looked up at me with wounded brown eyes and said, in an unmistakably accusatory tone, "You won't let us watch the Queen Amidala movie." So struck a deal. If he fills his chart with stickers earned by going on the potty, he can watch the Queen Amidala movie.

Does it strike anyone else as wrong to put a poster of Natalie Portman in the bathroom for inspiration?

Ottawa's hidden treasures

2007-07-25T06:32:00.001-05:00

After more than 900 posts, I'm always looking for new stuff to write about. Now that I'm in vacation mode (can I get a 'hallelujah'?) we've been doing what I love to do... touring around the city, doing all of our favourite summertime things. And in doing so, I realized that there are a lot of wonderful things to do in this city with families, some better publicized than others. And that writing about all of Ottawa's "hidden treasures" would give me lots of inspiration through all four seasons AND encourage me to get out with the boys more. Granted, none of the stuff I've been thinking of blogging about is truly "hidden", but how often have you heard about something in or near your neighbourhood for years and never actually gotten around to checking it out yourself?

And thus, an idea is born!

The outing that inspired this brainwave was a trip to the Ottawa Farmers' Market at Lansdowne Park. I've been inspired to try to buy locally, but it hasn't been easy. In the height of strawberry season, my local Loblaws offers only berries trucked in from the US. The open-air market in the Byward Market, a mere half a block from where I work, doesn't restrict vendors from outside our geographical area. I've been to the North Gower farmers market and was disappointed by the selection, and the Carp market is more than an hour round-trip.

And then I finally got around to checking out the Ottawa Farmers' Market last week. Granted, it's practically downtown, not exactly conveniently located for a suburbanite like me. And the day we decided to go, the neighbourhood was packed to capacity for the FIFA Under 20 World Cup semi-finals (bad timing on my part.)

But the selection! Not just cukes and tomatoes, but potatoes and onions and lettucey-type greens. Beans and snow peas and zucchini. For the first time, I could buy an entire week's worth of vegetables from a farmers' market. I saw after the fact they also have horse-drawn wagon rides through the Glebe... next time, for sure.

One day, I'll get brave and actually buy some of my meat from the farmers' market, but for now I'm happy to savour locally grown and freshly picked produce... cuz nothing tastes better than a toasted tomato and salt sandwich (bacon optional) with a tall cold glass of lemonade.

So, it probably cost me an eigth of a tank round trip, and the price is quite a bit higher than in the grocery store, and the selection is excellent now but not so great early in the season. This "buying locally" thing isn't cheap or easy... but it's a start, right?

Baby says "hi"

2007-07-24T06:24:00.000-05:00

During my ultrasound yesterday, baby lifted its arm in a little wave, which I immediately interpreted to mean, "Say hey to all the bloggy peeps for me."

Everything looks great. Baby has two arms and two legs, and just one head, which is about all you can tell from the 12 week ultrasound but which is more than enough to reassure me at this point. I was 12w3d and baby measured 13w1d, but when a millimeter makes a day of difference, I'm not yet too worried about percolating the Baby That Ate New York.

Heartbeat was a nice, normal 156 bpm, and the nuchal fold isn't anywhere near thick at 1.5 mm. (A thickened nuchal fold, larger than 3 mm or so, is considered an early risk marker for Down Syndrome.) I had the first of the two blood tests that comprise the Integrated Prenatal Screening test, and the second one will be August 10. It will be reassuring to get those out of the way. Next on the schedule, I have a regular OB appt on August 16, which will be another nice place to be past as that will be the 16 wk appt, and if you'll recall, that's where I had bad news last time. Fingers crossed and touching wood, I'll then have another ultrasound on August 29 to find out whether baby's plumbing is of the indoor or outdoor variety... but I'm not quite able to look that far ahead. Sounds soon, though, doesn't it? Just a little over a month away.

I told my OB how unimpressed I was with my interaction with her employee who told me to "keep on truckin'" and she simply made a noncommittal noise in her throat and kept reading the paperwork in my file. When I kept talking about how debilitating I found the fatigue, she said given my iron is fine they can't do much about the fatigue, but she did circle back to my mention of depression (I told her at the time I wasn't sure if I was battling anaemia or depression, but that it was more debilitating than anything I had dealt with previously) and she said that they do have treatment available for depression. She also offered me medication for nausea when I mentioned the stomach upset that had been discouraging me from the prenatals, and medication for heartburn. While I appreciated her offer to treat the symptoms that may have been bothering me, none of them bother me even close to badly enough to medicate and in the end I was more irritated than anything. What I wanted was reassurance, and what she was offering came from her prescription pad.

I got a call yesterday that I have yet to return from the midwife to tell me they have a space for me. I'm frozen with indecision by which path to follow, the OB or the midwife. Despite my dissatisfaction as expressed in the previous paragraph, I'm not convinced that I'm unhappy enough to deal with the logistics of switching to the midwife. I think I'll return the call and be honest with the midwife and lay my concerns on the table, and schedule myself a tour of the Montfort hospital. Just to leave my options open for a little bit longer, ya know?

(Edited to add: Spoke to a hospital administrator about arranging a tour of the Montfort. There are no actual tours permitted in this post-SARS era, but there is a power-point orientation presentation. Can't even register for the orientation session until I confirm that I plan to give birth there... but I can't decide I want to give birth there until I have actually seen it. Sigh.)

The friendly floatees

2007-07-23T08:00:00.000-05:00

A hat-tip to Kerry, who shared this link with us last week. It's as engaging as the idea of the escaped elephants taking a tour of suburbia from last week, and I couldn't help but share.

Picture, if you will, 29,000 children's bath toys - a virtual armada of red beavers, blue turtles, green frogs and yellow duckies - circumnavigating the globe for the past 15 years. Is that not the most whimsical thing you could imagine?

From the Globe and Mail article:

It's a story that began in 1992. In rough weather in the Pacific Ocean, a container of plastic bathtub toys went overboard from a ship sailing from Hong Kong to Tacoma, Wash., and broke open. The 29,000 turtles, ducks, beavers and frogs that were freed from their container prison have been floating around the world ever since.

Their travels have been tracked by retired oceanographer Curtis Ebbesmeyer of Seattle using findings sent to him by a network of beachcombers. The toys' journey has been remarkable. Since going overboard, one group has circled the north Pacific between Alaska and Japan five times. But other groups have struck out in other directions.

“Some of them peeled off to the north [through the Bering Strait],” Mr. Ebbesmeyer said, “over to eastern Greenland, down to Labrador, over to about where the Titanic sank off Newfoundland, then turned east and went over to Europe where a frog was found in Scotland. On the U.S. side, a duck was found in Maine.”

(Make sure you click on the map that accompanies the article in the Globe. It shows how the currents have driven the toys through the years. Way wicked cool!)

The Wikipedia entry for the "Friendly Floatees" says that a $100 savings bond has been offered to anyone who finds one of the escaped bath toys, predicted to begin washing ashore in the UK sometime this year, and collectors are paying up to $1,000.

How can you not smile, knowing there's a massive fleet of 15 year old bath toys floating unhindered on the ocean's currents?

Deathly Hallows - Almost half way

2007-07-22T06:13:00.000-05:00

I woke up yesterday morning just after 6:30 to a brilliant blue sky and two sleeping preschoolers, and when I went downstairs I could barely even finish making up a pot of coffee before I cracked open the copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows that Beloved had picked up at 12:01 the night before. (I don't think the Saturday paper has ever sat, unread and even un-leafed-though, for an entire day while I was home before. Usually, I read it cover-to-cover through the weekend.)

I'm almost half way though the book. I'm reading it more slowly than usual, trying hard to remember details I would ordinarily skim past. I'm finding the part where I am a little slow going, but the curiousity hook is deeply embedded, and I think I'll be done by the end of today if not early tomorrow.

I'm in self-imposed media lockdown lest I stumble across a spoiler somewhere before I'm done. Beloved already risked death by telling me the chapter title of the last chapter, and I told him he was officially not allowed to speak of the book in any way or form until I'm done. We've got a book-sharing arrangement where the book is mine to read by daylight and he's allowed to read it by lamplight. As long as my bookmark stays ahead of his, we'll be fine.

Coffee's finished brewing, time to get back to the book....

The triumph of hope over experience; or, The 12 Week Update

2007-07-20T06:47:00.000-05:00

Samuel Johnson said "A second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience." That's always been one of my favourite quotes, and the more I think about it the more I realize that you could say the same thing about pregnancy after miscarriage, and maybe especially after a mid-term miscarriage.

It's taken a while, but I think I'm finally allowing the hope to win out, or at least to garner a foothold. I'm 12 weeks today, and popular opinion seems to be that the risk of miscarriage falls to less than 5% once the first trimester is complete. It's a bit of a cold comfort for someone who has defied the odds not once but twice with miscarriages at 13.5 and 16 weeks, but I'll take whatever comfort I can.

I haven't been posting much about the pregnancy, partly because I would have been doing a lot of whining. I haven't been feeling great, which some might say is a good sign but I take more as a sign that I'm getting too old for this shit. But mostly, I've been taking the famous and favoured "la la la, I don't hear you" approach to this pregnancy - that is, I'm ignoring it until I'm forced to do otherwise. I mean, I'm taking good care of myself and everything, but I spent the first ten weeks or so numbed by vacillating ambivalence, exhaustion, and abject terror. It was simply easier and less stressful to not think about it.

What I really appreciate is how the people around me have taken their cues from me. I haven't really wanted to talk about the pregnancy, let alone the possibility that it could very well end in the birth of an actual baby, very much at all. Every time I spoke about it, I cringed internally, maybe feeling like I was tempting fate or maybe just not yet ready to believe with my whole heart. (And you think I've been hedging - I'm a rampant optimist compared to Beloved, who has been patient and indulgent to my complete lack of energy and ongoing miserableness without actually letting himself buy into the pregnancy... yet.)

It's getting easier - and, frankly, a bit of a relief - to be able give myself over to my natual optimism again, even if it's incrementally. At 12 weeks I am starting to feel less simply wretched and more pregnant. I can feel the bulge of my uterus when I lean against the counter or lie on my stomach, and I can see it even through my clothes. Not long now and other people will be able to see it, too, and that makes me happy. I always liked the public part of being pregnant, how it confers a special status on you and sets you apart from the crowd. (It's shameless how Leo I am sometimes.)

Baby's about the size of my thumb now, according to Baby Centre (which I read through splayed fingers, still caught between detachment and delight) and finally looks human instead of like something you'd dip in cocktail sauce or sauté in garlic butter. Baby has fingers and toes and eyelids, and waves its little arms and legs doing intrauterine gymnastics just like its big brothers.

And it will remain firmly an "it" in my head with no gender speculation whatsoever on my part until six weeks from now when I can find out definitively whether it has indoor or outdoor plumbing. Even though I'm slowly capitulating to optimism, that's too big of a leap of faith for me at this point. I simply can't think about it. Once it has a gender and appears safe and healthy after the Integrated Prenatal Screening test results are in and the 18 week ultrasound shows everything is fine - that's when I'll let out this breath I've been holding since the end of May. Kind of like not letting your kids name the stray kitten they've found when you have no intention of letting them keep it, I think. Once it has a gender, once other people can see it, and once I can feel it moving - that's when it will become real to me. Until then, I'll keep joy at arm's length where I can feel its warmth but where I can drop it in a hurry if I have to.

Ugh, this is coming out so much more morbidly depressing than I intended. Must be the dreariness of the pouring rain outside that's dampening what was supposed to be a fairly upbeat and enthusiastic post. My point is that even though I've been mired in doubt and anxiety, I feel better now. Really, I do! I have another ultrasound on Monday, which will definitely help me feel more secure. And with every week that passes (how lovely to be pregnant in the summertime, when time flits past like a warm breeze on the beach) lets me turn my face more fully toward the sun, and to bask in the glow of what I find increasingly difficult to deny.

You can't keep an infernal optimist down for long.

A thank you note, a love letter, and a call to action

2007-07-19T06:40:00.000-05:00

I'm so easy to please. In this case, I'm absolutely tickled to have been named as a "Rockin' Girl Blogger" by JanB from Just a Mom; That's more than enough.

Thanks, Jan! (You should go check out Jan's blog. I don't go over there often enough and she's got some great stuff, including a gallery of her artwork. Very cool!)

So now I'm supposed to pass on this honour. Trouble is, I could give it to any of the great chicks in my blogroll - have you clicked on a new blog lately? And, I'm so far behind on my blog reading that I have no idea who has already been nominated by someone else.

But the more I thought about it, the more I knew who I wanted to nominate. So this is a nomination and a love letter and a call to action all rolled up into one long post.

I first "met" Cooper and Emily through their blog Been There in early 2005. When Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans in the summer of 2005, Cooper and Emily set up a clearing house where people who wanted to help could connect with people in need, and I was in awe of the power of two mom bloggers to make a real and concrete difference in the lives of people in devastating circumstances.

In the subsequent years, Cooper and Emily have raised awareness about (and even serve on the executive committee of) Moms Rising.org, and have recently spearheaded the BlogHer's Act, a "year-long initiative to harness the incredible power of women online." And they've even inspired a Canadian version. You have until midnight on July 22 to vote on which issue you'd like to see BlogHers Act Canada support for the next year. It's your chance to step up beside your sister (and brother) bloggers to make a concrete difference in the world. (I should have been blogging about this stuff long before now. Shame on me for not getting on the ball sooner, but it's not too late - get over there and vote now, and then let's support these movements through the next year. You don't have to be a fan of BlogHer or be going to the conference - you just have to care enough to want to make your tiny corner of the world a better place. Cooper and Emily give a great quote by Margaret Mead: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Get over there, inform yourself, vote, and do what you can. Because we're all in this together!)

But back to Cooper and Emily, the stars of my show today. As if being in the centre of all this hasn't been amazing and incredible and enough to exhaust an entire cabal of bloggers, there is more! After more than a year of hard work, they've just launched another pet project, "The MotherHood."

What is The MotherHood? In Cooper and Emily's own words: "We asked ourselves -- what if we built a big, beautiful tent where mothers can find, share and talk about all the interesting, hilarious, intriguing, inspiring, mobilizing, good stuff on the web, and, more importantly, find each other? And, with that, the heart and soul of The MotherHood was born." There are link lists, discussion groups, favourite blogs, and much more on the way. It's a great concept, and I know with Cooper and Emily behind it, it will be a wonderful place to hang out online.

Not only do I love and admire Cooper and Emily, but I'm simply dazzled by them. And more importantly, I'm inspired by them. All modesty aside, even this simple little blog can be a tool for change, and I can start - in my own small ways - making a difference. So I offer them the simple token of the Rockin' Girl Blogger award, my thanks and my pledge to do what I can.

Yeah, I suppose I can see that

2007-07-18T10:03:00.000-05:00

Filched from Angry Pregnant Lawyer and Mimilou:

What Harry Potter Character are You?

Hermione Granger

You are a smart and intelligent person. You use your smarts to help out friends. You can be emotional at times but you always seem to be in the mood to help someone out.

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Beloved has decided to get a jump start on me and pick up Deathly Hallows at midnight on Friday at our local book store. It will be waiting for me when I wake up on Saturday. Being woken up at 6 am on a weekend never sounded so appealing!

An ode to boys in the summer time

2007-07-18T06:41:00.000-05:00

When I left the house at 6:30 this morning, the boys had already dressed themselves. This is memorable in itself; while Tristan is quite capable, I don't think Simon has ever fully dressed himself before, and certainly neither of them has done it without considerable prodding and harranguing on our part.

But the really cute part is what they dressed themselves in: their matching Superman pyjamas. You see, it's superhero day at their gymnastics day camp today, and they are supposed to dress as their favourite superhero. Conveniently, earlier in the summer I had picked up a couple of pairs of Superman shortie jammies, complete with velcro-attached cape, at WalMart. I have to tell you with a complete lack of bias that they are exquisitely adorable, running around in their identical Superman jammies with capes billowing out behind them.

I'm so pleased with the half-day gymnastics camp at Starr Gymnastics. I enrolled them back in the beginning of the summer, knowing Beloved would appreciate the break and that they were both old enough to start with this kind of thing. When I enrolled them, even though the session said it was for 3 to 5 year olds, I had the impression that they'd be in separate groups, and I thought it might be nice for them to get away from each other for a little while, too, but it turns out they're in the same group after all. Tristan confirmed Monday afternoon that he was very happy to have Simon on his "team" so maybe they're not so sick of each other after all. They spend the morning tumbling, bouncing on the trampoline, swinging from ropes and climbing on stuff.

Don't you wish they had fun stuff like day camp when you were a kid? I never even went to sleep-away camp when I was a kid; we spent our summers watching the Price is Right and Match Game in the mornings and then roaming the neighbourhood in the afternoon. Or curled up with a good book - some things never change!

The other thing that I'm doing to live vicariously through the boys is swimming lessons. I've got them both enrolled in the same time slot, Tristan with his preschool level C and Simon in a preschool level A class. Last night was the third week of lessons and I still can't help myself - I sit on the deck and positively beam at them as I watch them in the water. They're both fearless, Simon moreso than even Tristan was at the same age, and both obviously doing well in their groups. Tristan can swim across the pool with a noodle under him, or for at least a couple of feet without one. Where the other kids in Simon's class cling to the instructor or to the side, Simon bounces merrily on his own in the water, blowing bubbles or kicking vigourously at the teacher's suggestion.

They've grown up so much this summer. I remember when they were babies (you know, way back in the old days) and how intensely and fiercely I loved them. I would look at older boys with skeptical curiousity, and I couldn't imagine loving them any more than I did when they were taking their first toddling steps, wearing onsies and smiling toothless, drooly grins. And yet I look at these boys - no doubt, they are boys through and through, no trace of the baby remains - and see them thinking and absorbing and synthesizing, and it's breathtaking.

Over the course of the summer, Tristan's mission has been to conquer the monkey bars. Each time we stopped at a park, he would try to traverse the span of the monkey bars, and in a few months he's gone from being barely able to dangle himself to being able to cross even the ones for the big kids, the ones that arc up and down instead of simply going straight across. After watching the ease with which Tristan could do it, I tried it one day myself and nearly pulled my arms out of my sockets. I couldn't make it half way across and my armpits hurt for days. Those monkey bars aren't for wimps.

The best part of three hours of gymnastics camp in the morning, fresh air in the afternoon and swimming lessons in the evening? We finally found out that it is actually possible to wear them out. My perpetual motion machines, the ones that make me dizzy with their boundless energy, actually do have a finite energy reserve. For the first time in I don't know how long last night, they could barely stay awake long enough for a story, and there were no calls for an extra snuggle, a glass of water or an explanation as to why dogs have fur.

Ah, summertime...

Wherein I give up my eco-principals for convenience

2007-07-17T06:43:00.000-05:00

For a week, we're a two-car family. We're watching my parents dog while they're on vacation, and my mom loaned me her car for the duration. It was my intention to leave the car in the driveway except in case of emergency, but I was going to take the opportunity to switch out the boys' full-sized car seats for booster seats. (If you've ever installed car seats into a two-door, pre-LATCH system Sunfire with bucket seats, you'll know the pain of which I speak. But we got new CARS booster seats for the boys - Granny is going to be the coolest of the cool the next time she takes them for a ride.)

I'd toyed briefly with the idea of taking my mom's car to work (shades of high school) but decided in the end to take the bus, as usual. However, when the bus showed up this morning, I walked on and realized that there were no seats. No seats. It's a 40 minute ride, and I would have had to stand the entire way. Not going to happen.

So I pulled the bell and got off at the next stop and marched righteously back to the house, muttering to myself the whole way about how I pay a premium fare ($81/month) for my express pass and I'm three months pregnant and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand up the whole way to work at six friggin' thirty in the morning and what the hell are all these people doing on the bus anyway because it's July and shouldn't they all be on holiday or something?

It was a gorgeous morning to be driving with the sunroof open, hot coffee in my hand. I didn't get to read the morning paper, but I listened to CBC the whole way in. My route of preference brings me first through pastoral countryside, where I can wave to the cows, then along the full length of the Rideau Canal. On the early side of seven o'clock in the morning, there's no traffic to speak of.

No rude person tried to take up more than their half of our shared seat, no crazy driver lurched to sudden and unexpected stops, nobody's oversized back pack bonked me in the head as they shifted back and forth in the aisle. It cost me a whole $7 to park half a block from work and the most traumatic part of the commute was choosing between the sketchy elevator and the even more sketchy stairwell in what must be the world's scariest parking garage where I tried hard to not touch any surface with my bare flesh.

I've long acknowledged our days as a one-car family are limited, and I'm proud that we've lived in the suburbs for four years without a second car. But there simply isn't room across the back seat of our Focus wagon for three car seats, and I absolutely refuse to spend an entire year of maternity leave stuck in the house at home with no car and three kids while Beloved drives back and forth each day.

And after years and years of subjecting myself to the whims of OC Transpo twice a day, I could get used to driving downtown by myself. It's still a bargain at twice the cost of the bus.

OB versus midwife

2007-07-16T05:57:00.000-05:00

The week we came back from Bar Harbor, I had been feeling awful. I was so tired I could barely put one foot in front of the other and I just wanted to sleep all day. At the nadir, I found myself standing in the kitchen, half way through throwing together tacos for dinner, wondering if I had the energy to finish chopping the onion on the cutting board in front of me. It wasn't pretty.

So I called the OB, and was told to come in for blood work. (My next scheduled appointment was still two weeks away.) So I went in and had seven vials of blood drawn - I must again comment on the irony of having them leech out seven vials of blood when I suspect I am anaemic - and went home again. I decided to start taking the prenatal vitamins more regularly, as I had been avoiding them because my stomach was already in some constant state of upset anyway and the only time I've ever actually been sick through any pregnancy was directly following a prenatal vitamin chased down with a glass of orange juice one unpleasant morning.

When three days went by and I hadn't heard from the OB's office, I called for the results. The receptionist left me on hold, where I hope but cannot confirm that she checked not only the results but with the OB as well, and came back on the line and said, "Everything's fine. Just keep on truckin'."

I paused, then sputtered. "But... but I feel like crap on a cracker. I can barely function I'm so cataclysmically tired."

"Well, she said, you ARE pregnant." I hung up, thinking but not saying 'Yes, well, I'm not exactly new at this, and I've never felt this bad before.' In truth, by that time I was feeling considerably better, and by the end of last week I was feeling pretty darn close to myself again.

But the whole experience left a bitter taste in my mouth, so I hung up with the OB and promptly googled until I found information about midwives in Ottawa.

The good news is, I'm on a waiting list and am to call them back later this week. They expect they can take me. The bad news is, I don't think I'm going to go with a midwife after all.

There seem to be two midwivery collectives in Ottawa, neither one of which has priviledges at the Civic hospital where both boys were born. I don't have a lot of attachment to my OB as far as the actual childbirth is concerned, but I do feel strong ties to the Civic. Plus, Tristan was even conceived there before the IVF clinic moved off site.

Both midwivery collectives only seem to have priviledges at the Montfort Hospital, against which I have to admit I have a bit of a bias. I've heard of English-speaking patients having trouble there, even though it's here in Ottawa, finding a fluently bilingual nurse. And while I've never really paid attention, there has been a lot of talk about closing it over the years and I don't know why. I know the Civic, I trust the Civic, and I can't say the same for the Montfort.

There's a midwivery collective out in Carleton Place that has priviledges at the Queensway Carleton Hospital, which is convenient to where I live and several of my friends have given birth there. I'd happily consider that option - except then I'd have to find my way to Carleton Place, a good 20 minute drive from the house and probably an hour from work - for each appointment. Oh, and we only have one car. Not going to happen.

So, while I'm quite drawn to the concept of midwivery and I was ready to make the switch all things being equal, they aren't equal at all. My OB's office is a bloody pain to get to from work (as you'll remember from my epic tale of the good-hearted cabbie and the very, very bad day) but fairly convenient to home. I'm ambivalent about her personally, with some significant pros and cons in each column. But mostly, I'm loyal to the hospital where the boys were born because I think that's the most critical factor for me.

And besides, you know I'm not so good with change.

Order of the Phoenix

2007-07-15T08:07:00.001-05:00

So I don't usually do movie reviews here, mostly because I don't see nearly enough movies. And this isn't exactly a movie review, because it's not terribly critical. But we went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Friday night, and though Beloved and I have rehashed it to death, I still want to talk about it.

(Lots of people are talking about it, and it tickles me to no end that when you google "Harry Potter invisible horses" my blog is the first search return that pops up. The traffic spike has been pretty funny to watch.)

So, have you seen it? What did you think? (mild spoiler alert - consider yourself warned)

I have to say I loved it. LOVED it. The "fidget factor", the means by which I measure my own engagement in a film by the number of times I shift, stretch, check my watch and look around the theatre, was a perfect score. I think I shifted from one cheek to the other once, that was it. I was completely engaged through the whole movie. And I have to say, the theatre was packed and kids between the ages of 8 and 16 comprised about 1/3 of the audience - and yet, with the exception of one annoying giggler in the front row, the theatre was largely silent and glued to the screen throughout. (It really was cute seeing kids showing up dressed in robes.)

It's rare, so rare, when you can love the book and love the movie. The only example that comes even close for me was Carl Sagan's Contact, one of my top-ten fave books of all time. The movie did the book justice, but wasn't nearly as wonderful as the book.

Now, as I may have mention once or ten times, I've been re-reading the books for the last couple of months, and I just finished Order of the Phoenix the night before we left for Bar Harbor so all the details were fresh in my mind. There were quite a few points where the book and movie diverged, but I imagine a movie true to a 600 page book's every detail would probably run somewhere around 26 hours, so I get the shortcuts they took. I realized after the movie that there was not a single reference to quiddich in the whole movie. Not that I missed it; I always kind of found the whole quiddich thing kind of tiresome.

It was too bad we didn't see more from some of the supporting cast, but again I can see why they had to trim things down to size. Even Ron and Hermione probably had about three pages each of dialogue in the whole movie. I didn't find Dolores Umbridge nearly toady enough, but that was my only quibble with the casting. They did a fantastic job with the special effects and a great job with the Ministry of Magic. I loved the final battle scene, especially the one brief bit where Harry and Sirius were fighting Death Eaters side-by-side. Probably my favourite scene in the whole movie - very stirring, especially for a hormonal pregnant woman.

As we were walking out of the theatre, I told Beloved that I'd happily turn around and go watch the whole thing again. It was that good. And then I went home and read the last four chapters of Half-Blood Prince.

Six days and counting. I'm stoked.

High school, 20 years later

2007-07-13T06:58:00.000-05:00

I saw this over on Andrea's and Bub and Pie's blogs, and though it would make a fun Friday brainless meme. I've been thinking about high school a bit lately, since I've been playing on Facebook. It's amazing to me that so many people who have signed up to "I graduated CCH in the 1980s" group are complete strangers to me, but I suppose in a school that huge (when I went there, Catholic Central was one of only two Catholic high schools in the city of London and had an average population of 1700 students) it's little surprise that I don't really remember anyone except the ones I spent significant time with. And, high school in general was a painfully awkward time for me socially anyway so I've probably blocked out all but the very best and worst of it.

(This is long, even by my standards, so I've tucked it below the fold. Click the "more please" button below to keep reading. And please excuse the excess white space, but Blogger has decided to insert two hard returns between each paragraph no matter how many times I edit them out. Grrr!)

1 Who was your best friend?

In Grades 9 and 10, I was inseparable from Suzan Marchand. She was my first girly-girl friend, in the giggling, note-passing, boy-crazy, incredibly annoying way only 15 year old girls can be. By Grade 11, I'd started running with a different crowd and I suppose the person to whom I was closest would be the guy who eventually became my 'practice husband' James. He lived in Sudbury, though, so during this time, I was pretty much inseparable from the Fry brothers, and Todd and Yvonne and Rose and a large, revolving pack of oddballs and outcasts.

2 What sports did you play?

Sports? Guffaw. No thanks. I didn't even take gym in high school, and didn't discover that physical activity could actually be enjoyable until my mid-twenties.

3 What kind of car did you drive?

The first car I drove was one of those giant early 1980s Oldsmobile station wagons, the kind with the faux-wood paneling on the sides and the backwards-facing third-row seat that folded down. On my 17th birthday, my Mom bought a new 1986 Mustang coupe and we 'shared' that for the rest of my high school career. How cool is my mom?

4 It’s Friday night, where were you?

Again, that depends on whether it was early or late in my high school career. Early on, probably talking for hours on the phone to Suzan and watching Friday Night Videos together over the phone. Later on, probably at the Fry's house, or standing in the parking lot of McDonalds with the rest of the crowd trying to decide on where to go.

5 Were you a party animal?

Um, no.

6 Were you considered a flirt?

Um, no. But not for lack of trying. And again, I think I got much better at this by Grade 12 or 13. Funy how I suddenly became that much more attractive to other boys once I had a steady (and conveniently out of town) boyfriend.

7 Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?

Oh yes. I played flute in the high school band for four years, and really wish I had taken my music lessons more seriously. With the band, we traveled to Orlando for a festival one year, and to Ottawa in my senior year, just a few short months before I planned to move up here with my boyfriend.

8 Were you a nerd?

Um... I don't know. I was socially awkward, especially in the first couple of years. I think I was too desperate to be liked to be a true nerd, but I had definite nerdy tendencies.

9 Did you get suspended/expelled?

No. My most heinous rule violation was to frequently flaunt the school dress code, which required navy pants or skirt and a white or navy shirt with a collar. It was the collar part against which I often rebelled, and I played fast and loose with the definition of 'navy' blue.

10 Can you sing the fight song?

Uh, something about "fight Crusaders"... but, no.

11 Who was your favorite teacher?

I had Mrs Hammond for English twice, and in Grade 13 she told me she'd give me a final grade over 90% (I was already close) if I could get published by the end of the year. True to her word, she gave me a final mark of 93% when I got a letter to the editor published in the local paper - which, upon reflection, was about as difficult as getting my name in the phone book, but I was pretty stoked at the time. I also loved my Grade 13 world history professor, a crusty oblate priest named Father Bill Thompson. When James and I got married the year after I graduated (eep!), we asked Father Thompson to officiate and he did.

12 School mascot?

Rodney (the Crusader) from the B.C. comic strip.

13 Did you go to Prom?

Yes. It was at Wonderland Gardens, which burned down a couple of years ago, from what I understand. I barely remember any of it, not because I was drinking but simply because I don't think it was a particularly memorable time. I do remember the dress, though, a sexy white number with a poofy skirt that fell above my knee (not unlike the ones that were in fashion last year) and a risqué lacy patch over my cleavage that my mother kept threatening to stick a hankerchief into.

14 If you could go back and do it over, would you?

Ugh. No. The good times were great, and I think being 17 was one of the best years of my life, but being 15 was excruciating. Once was more than enough, thanks.

15 What do you remember most about graduation?

At the time, Ontario had five years of high school. You could graduate in Grade 12 and go on to a trade school or community college, or do Grade 13 and go on to University. The only thing I remember about Grade 12 grad is that my parents couldn't get in to the church because nobody bothered to check tickets at the door and it was overfull. Did we have a Grade 13 grad? I think it was just a mass. I do remember, though, that Father Thompson officiated our Grade 13 grad mass, and spoke about a book he was reading by Carl Sagan called Contact. A few months later, I remembered him talking about it and read it myself, and it has since become one of my all-time favourite books.

16 Where were you on senior skip day?

This must be an American thing? But speaking of skip, yes, I did like to do that. Once in a blue moon, of course. Like the day we decided to drive to Port Huron, Michigan for absolutely no reason.

17 Did you have a job your senior year?

I had a string of jobs all through high school, starting from when I was 14 and working at the tobacco/newstand/camera store of a family friend. I worked at Baskin Robbins, a movie rental place, doing telephone sales of magazines and freezer plans, and Canadian Tire. By senior year, I was working as a cashier at Zellers, a job I continued when I moved to Ottawa and for which I later quit university to do full time.

18 Where did you go most often for lunch?

For the first few months, I was so terrified of the rest of the student body that I ate my lunch alone beside a fountain in a tiny park half a block from my school. By the time I actually had friends, we mostly ate in one of the two cafeterias while we played euchre.

19 Have you gained weight since then?

*insert eyeball roll here*

20 What did you do after graduation?

The weekend after high school finished, I moved to Ottawa to live with James. (We had gotten engaged in May of that year. I still shudder to think of it, I was in Grade 13 and wearing an engagement ring. My poor mother.) I started at Carleton University in the fall, but had quit by the end of the Christmas break that year. James and I were married in the summer of the following year (1989), and divorced five years later. I went back to school part time in 1992 and eventually graduated from university in 1998.

21 When did you graduate?

June, 1988.

22 Who was your Senior prom date?

James.

23 Are you going / did you go to your 10 year reunion?

Our school was never big on reunions. If there was a ten-year reunion, I never heard about it. I wouldn't go anyway. For the most part, the people I care about from high school are still around enough to be commenting here occasionally or at least a phone-call away. I met up with a few more online recently through Facebook. There's only one guy, Colin Murray, of whom I've completely lost track and often think about - but he doesn't strike me as a high school reunion type either.

24 Who was your home room teacher?

Oh good lord, I can't remember the plot of a book I read four months ago and you want me to remember stuff like this? I do remember being late more than my fair share of times because Fryman and Rose and I, along with some combination of others, used to drive in together in Fryman's beat-up shit-brown Volkswagon Rabbit, and we were easily distracted on the way to school. They had this promotion going on in my senior year called "Freebie Fridays" where you could get free French Toast Sticks at a participating Burger King, and we'd drive all over the city in search of free fast food. For reasons I can't quite remember, some days we'd randomly do stuff like decide to donate blood, too, and though we'd get peculiar looks from the administration, we at least never got in trouble for that act of altruism.

25 Who will repost this after you?

??? But if you do play along, leave a comment so I can come and relive this most painful and awkward time of your life with you!

"Elephants outstanding"

2007-07-13T06:48:00.000-05:00

Some items from the newspaper are just too precious to pass by without commenting on them.

Apparently, three elephants escaped from the Garden Bros Circus in Newmarket, Ontario (near Toronto) and went on a 3 am stroll through suburbia. The electric fence penning them in somehow lost power, and when the elephants realized it, they knocked down the fence and made a break for it. Take a moment to picture two full-grown elephants - elephants! - roaming around in your suburban neighbourhood under cover of night. And now imagine being the caller, or better yet, the dispatcher, on this 911 call, as reported in the Globe and Mail:

Caller: “Hi. Umm... we've found an elephant walking down the street near the community centre, the Ray Twiney."

Operator: “Sorry?”

Caller: “We've found an elephant walking down the street. Like the ones from, like, the circus at the Ray Twiney Centre. One of them got loose and it's walking down the street.”

For the next few minutes, the caller explains that there are, in fact, at least two fully grown, trainer-less elephants milling about, as a woman in the background can be heard futilely exclaiming: “Don't let it cross the street!”
Priceless!

Now playing at your neighbourhood grocery store

2007-07-12T06:37:00.000-05:00

I was absolutely fascinated by a recent post of Julie's over on A little pregnant. She was talking about going into a grocery store in her town and finding that they have carts with television sets embedded into them, so for a dollar your kidlets can watch an episode of The Wiggles or Bob the Builder or whatever while you do your grocery shopping. A TV! In the grocery cart!

I had to know more. From the Cabco website, makers of the TV Kart™:

Designed for use by parents and caregivers of children aged between two and five years, TV Kart™ Classic engages children so parents can relax and have a better shopping experience in retail stores.

Inside each TV Kart™ Classic, there is a steering wheel, interactive buttons on the dashboard, and a 7-inch TV monitor on which children watch selected TV programs.

There is seating for two pre-school children and appropriate safety belts aboard each kart. The adult carer can select what their children watch from a range of appropriate pre-school programs on offer.

Now, I'm the last person to get all high and mighty about TV. I've capitulated to the fact that all four of us are junkies for the big electric nipple, and the TV is often on at our house even if it's just background noise. And you know I don't have a problem with the idea of a DVD player in the car for long trips - although I will say that I'm purposefully avoiding a built-in DVD system in the car because I wouldn't want the kids clamouring for it while we drove to the library or, say, the grocery store.

But seriously! Are kids so unable to entertain themselves - to contain themselves - that we need to sedate them with TV for 60 minutes so mom or dad can pick out the ~~Lucky Charms and cookie dough ice cream~~ lima beans and organic free range chicken in peace?

Call me crazy, but I don't actually mind shopping with the kids. Sometimes. In our neighbourhood we're even lucky enough to have a grocery store that offers a free (FREE!) drop-in playzone where you can leave the kids while you shop. But it's small and the produce and meats haven't been the best quality lately, so we only shop there occasionally. Heck, there are times when I actually like taking the kids with me to do errands. Simply for the (gasp!) pleasure of their company.

And even if you can get past the whole TV in the cart thing, which you can see I'm not quite able to do yet, it's bad enough with the stores that have carts shaped like race cars. The kids know which stores have them and tend to whine if we don't get one. I can only imagine the ruckus if they were anticipating a TV cart and didn't get one. Or if they happened to notice some other kid watching TV in a cart while they had to, you know, not watch TV. Oh, the whinging!

Whaddya think, bloggy peeps? Would you pay a dollar for the priviledge of using a grocery cart with a TV in it? Or would you stop frequenting your favourite store if they suddenly started offering them?

Eight things

2007-07-11T07:54:00.000-05:00

James tagged me for this, and I've been sitting on it for quite a while. Part of it has been the interruption of the vacation and subsequent blogging, but part has been simply because I had a hard time coming up with a list of eight things you don't already know about me.

The Rules:

I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.

Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Okay, so here's what I came up with.

One: One of my favourite after-the-kids-are-in-bed treat is a homestyle oatmeal chocolate chip cookie with a glass of skim milk. And it's only really worth eating if you microwave it for a few seconds to make the chocolate chips all melty. Twelve seconds is not quite long enough and fourteen seconds is a tiny bit too long, but I cannot bring myself to nuke it for 13 seconds.

Two: I'm entomophobic; that is to say, I'm afraid of bugs. Some more than others. I am wickedly freaked out by tent caterpillars, for instance, but not so much by bees and wasps. Earwigs and silverfish make my skin crawl, but I'm not afraid of ants. While I love to putter in my garden, I'm always vaguely revulsed by the critters that live in it. I've been trying very hard to not let the boys see how afraid of bugs I am, and have had to breath deeply to avoid shrieking when they have picked up random insects off the ground and brought them (with their HANDS!) to show them to me. *shudder*

Three: I love my barbecue. From early spring through first snowfall, I'll use the grill three or four times per week. My favourites are (a) peppercorn steak kebabs with cherry tomatoes (is there anything more heavenly than grilled cherry tomatoes?), zucchini, onions and mushrooms; (b) chicken breasts that have been rubbed and left to sit in a sort of dry marinade made of commercial fajita mix and olive oil - makes for lovely spicy chicken fajitas with a cajuny flavour; and (c) plain old hamburgers, which brings me tidily to my next point:

Four: Even though I am the Queen of Convenience Foods, I am a snob about hamburger patties and will never buy the preformed ones. I make mine with extra lean ground beef, a bit of chopped up onion, bread crumbs or wheat germ when I have it, egg (yolk only) and a couple of shakes of worcestershire sauce. The trick is to handle the patties as little as possible, and to flip them only once or twice, not many times.

Five: I went to get some blood work done this week because this pregnancy is seriously knocking me on my ass. I've passed beyond chronically tired into barely functional (with a healthy does of apathetic on the side) and it's far worse than it has been for any previous pregnancy. Does it strike anybody else as absurdly ironic that in testing you for anaemia they take SEVEN vials of blood from you?

Six: Speaking of pregnant, I'm coming up on 11 weeks and have moved once again into the realm of transitional pants. Except they won't stay on my hips and keep wanting to slide off my ass. So in addition to debilitating fatigue and near-constant stomach upset, I plan to spend the next five or six weeks extremely cranky as I battle gravity for control of my pants.

Seven: My memory is getting worse, and my memories for plot details is abysmal. As I've said, I'm re-reading all the Harry Potter books in anticipation of the arrival of Deathly Hallows next week. Next! Week! I'm currently just finishing up Half-Blood Prince, which I consumed rather voraciously when it came out just two years ago, and yet it's like reading it for the first time. I mean, I'm not overly surprised that some of the details of the books I first read back in 2000 have since escaped me, but it's rather alarming how much of this reads like I've never read it before. And even worse, I'm already having trouble remembering the details of some of the books I just re-read a few short months ago. When Harry and Dumbledore talk about Harry destroying the Horcrux that was was Tom Riddle's diary from Chamber of Secrets, I can only vaguely remember how Harry destroyed it. The good news is, it will save me a fortune in buying new books over the years; I'll just start recycling the old ones every couple of years. (Speaking of Harry Potter, if you're in the mood for some great speculation and a considered, intelligent review of the state of the series to date and the prevalent theories on where it's all going, Macleans had a great feature last week.)

Eight: The boys are in swimming lessons right now. I lucked into the same time slot for each of them in a different level, so I sit on the pool deck and watch both of them with their respective teachers. It's Tristan's third session, but Simon's first without a parent in the pool. They're both doing extremely well, and I can't help but beam proudly at them from my vantage point. Tristan never stops smiling the whole time he's in the pool, and is so obviously eager to please his teacher that it breaks my heart. He's just becoming able to dog paddle short distances without a noodle, and he pesters me endlessly through the week with a countdown of how many more sleeps until swim lessons. Simon also seems to be doing well, and I was pleased to see that the teacher knew his name from the very first day. Maybe it's just me projecting, but she seems to favour him. Can't say I blame her, he's awfully cute bobbing around like he was born in the water.

So now, I'm supposed to tag eight other people. Hmmm, just about everyone has done this, and I'm so behind in my blog reading right now that I'm not sure who has and who has not been tagged. Having said that, how about:

1. Not so little sister
2. Sara
3. Liz
4. Suze
5. Alison
6. Barbara
7. Miche
8. You! (Leave a comment if you want to play along and I'll link back to you.)

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 9: Tips for road trips with kids

2007-07-10T06:40:00.001-05:00

The end is near. The end of this series, that is. JK Rowling needed seven books to complete her magnum opus; mine will likely run to ten installments by the time I get it all out of my system. And like Rowling, I'm hedging on that. I might need an extra post or two to finish frosting my bloggy cupcakes, ya know?

Anyway, today I thought I'd share and solicit tips for a successful road trip with kids. I have to tell you, the boys were amazing on this trip. I never would have imagined spending in excess of 30 hours in a week locked in a car with two energetic little boys could be such an enjoyable experience. They're veteran road-trippers now, and Beloved and I were full of speculation on the drive back into Ottawa on where we could travel next summer. The whole eastern seaboard seemed within our grasp, from Florida to Newfoundland -- until it occured to us that if all goes according to plan, we'll have a newborn next summer. Ugh. So much for travel freedom!

I've always loved a good road trip (hat tip to Fryman, with whom I shared many, many road trips over the years) and when my folks lived in London I used to make the six-hour trip at least one weekend a month. For one busy year when Beloved and I first started dating, I'd drive down to London to see him almost every two weeks. I don't clock quite so many miles in on the 401 anymore, but we usually drive five or six hours to see family a couple of times a year, either down near Toronto or up through Algonquin Park. All that to say, the boys are already good travelers - but they far exceeded my wildest hopes for them on this marathon trip.

We ended up driving about seven hours each day, which was just about enough if not about an hour too much. We'd leave after breakfast and arrive in time for dinner, and stopped on average around every two hours. Half way through the second day, Tristan figured out that if he said he had to pee, we'd stop somewhere (yet another reason to love the two-lane highways instead of the Interstate: we were always within 10 minutes of an Exxon station or a general store or something with a bathroom.) After the third shrug and "oh well, I guess I didn't have to go after all" in half an hour, we had a little chat about how much longer the trip would be if we stopped every 11 minutes to pretend to pee, and the situation improved considerably.

A while back, Chantal and Andrea debated the merits of DVD players on road trips, and I've always been firmly in favour of them. What surprised me on this trip is how seldom we actually used ours, and that it was the boys who occassionally declined the opportunity to watch something. I think we used it as much in the hotel rooms to get them to settle down at night as in the car.

I didn't spend as much time as I would have liked preparing my little bag of tricks to distract the kids, but it turned out I had more than enough. In addition to having the maps and my notebook and the camera in my lap, I spent the entire road trip with a bag of kiddie treats at my feet. Every hour or two, pretty much whenever it became obvious that the boys were getting particularly twitchy, I'd pull something else out of the bag for them.

Divided over four days' worth of relatively equivalent bags, I had snacks, drinks and other distractions. For snacks, I had individual baggies of small amounts of stuff like pretzels, trail mix, fruit snacks, and cookies. (Tip: don't bring things that liquefy in 36C heat, like yogurt-covered raisins or mini-Aero bars. Ick.) I had a couple of juice boxes, a couple of bottles of water, and some rubbermaid drink boxes. I had colouring books, sticker books, and a book of mazes - Tristan loves mazes right now - and a box of crayons for each of them. Each boy had a dollar-store cookie sheet with a rim on it to use as a lap desk, perfect for containing runaway crayons and also fun to stick magnetized letters on. I had a couple of different sheets of stickers. Most of the stuff I actually already had lying around the house, but one great investment was a 5x7 blank sketch pad for each of them. Simon stuck a few stickers on his and lost interest, but Tristan drew pictures, wrote letters and filled more than half the pages in his sketch book. There were also a very few small toys, all pilfered from forgotten drawers, and a deck of phonetic flash cards from the dollar store that had Disney and Pixar characters on it.

Before we left, I stood for quite a while in the toy section of WalMart, considering the hand-held electronic games. The few that the boys have seen, mostly cheapo stuff from Happy Meals, have engaged them, and I thought long and hard about getting one for each of them. In the end, I didn't and I'm glad. I'm sure we have a lot of Game Boy days ahead of us, and I'm happy to put hold off as long as I can.

We played a few car games, but given the fact that we were driving with all the windows open to combat the heat, conversation was not always easy. The boys' favourite game is "I'm thinking of a (blank)." The blank started out being an animal, but has since moved on to be just about anything. The boys' favourite topics are movies, foods and people they know. It's basically 20 questions for preschoolers. Simon has improved from choosing the same thing every time it's his turn to think of something, but now has the unfortunate habit of changing his item half way through the game when he gets distracted and forgets what he's supposed to be answering questions about. He's more like his mother every day.

While Tristan mastered the famous "how many more minutes" question on this trip, and I'm sure I would have gone postal if I had had to share just one more bathroom stall with multiple occupants, I still have to say that I'm incredibly proud of how well the boys traveled. I've got a couple more weeks of vacation coming up, and with this trip still fresh in recent memory, we're already considering a six or seven hour drive to Lake Huron for my birthday. That's the mark of a good road trip, when you come home already wondering when your next trip will be.

Do you have anything to add? What do you do to make long car trips with little kids bearable?

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 8: Stalking Stephen King

2007-07-09T06:45:00.000-05:00

We left Bar Harbor early on a sunny Saturday morning, with a plan to follow Route 2 back the way we came and stay once again in St Johnsbury, Vermont, for the night. But first we had one special stop planned - and another unexpected one that delayed us for a little bit.

We were heading north away from Mount Desert Island on our way to Bangor, Maine through the small town of Ellsworth and I was mourning the fact that we had just passed the not-yet-open LL Bean outlet store when Beloved said, "Does he mean for me to pull over?" I looked in the mirror and sure enough, there was a cruiser with lights flashing behind us.

One of Maine's finest approached us carefully and stood just behind Beloved's open window - just like on Cops! I'm sure we looked threatening, what with the car load of luggage and the boys wearing a felt lobster hat and a pirate hat, and me with my usual lap full of Nikon and maps and Scooby Snacks for restless travelers. Seems we had stumbled into a 25 mph zone at a 45 mph clip (to Beloved's credit, I hadn't seen any signs) which would have been a fine in excess of $300. The cop was a good guy, though, and when we checked Beloved's driving record and found it reasonably clean - I only wish I had been driving; can you believe it's the first time I've ever even been in a car pulled over for speeding, let alone been tagged with a ticket - and dropped the fine to $137. Even better, we could pay the fine online rather than having to pay it before we left the state; the story of the Ottawa student jailed 11 hours for speeding in Georgia a few months ago was a little too fresh in my mind! So we had one more expensive souvenir of Maine, and the classic experience of having our oldest son ask in a tremulous voice, "Is Daddy going to jail?" to add to our vacation memory book. With a sinking feeling, I realized that Beloved would not drive one mile per hour over the posted speed limits for the rest of the two-day drive home.

It was still early in the day when we pulled into Bangor in search of my literary hero. Our first stop, just off the Interstate, was Betts Bookstore on Hammond. I'd corresponded with the owner, a fellow named Stu, and he'd promised me a map of some of the key attractions on the Tommyknockers and More bus tour that highlights some of the places Stephen King has immortalized in his many books.

It was a lovely little bookstore, and the owner was a gentleman. He had a little white poodle in the store that engaged Simon while I briefly browsed and wished I had $1200 or so for a signed first edition King book. I settled for a t-shirt and a fridge magnet (we collect fridge magnets of places we visit on all our family trips) and a brief chat with Stu. The map included directions to Stephen King's house, just around the corner, and I asked if the He ever dropped by the store.

"Not anymore," said Stu regretfully. "Not since his accident. He used to drop by our old location two, three times a week, but we just don't see him anymore." This confirmed what I'd read elsewhere, that the formerly gregarious Stephen King, whose house used to have open doors and the best treats every halloween, has become extremely reclusive and guarded with his privacy since the 1999 accident that nearly killed him.

With all this in mind, we piled back into the car and drove the short few blocks down Hammond (ironically, a continuing extension of my beloved Route 2 East) to West Broadway. It's a leafy, quiet street lined on one side with more modest homes and the other with larger rambling homes that one could comfortably call mansions. Stephen King's house is set unassumingly in the middle of a few similarly-sized houses, and we pulled over to rest in the shade of a large tree to consider it.

"You've come all this way," Beloved said. "Aren't you even going to get out?" I hesitated, feeling rather foolish. He was right; ever since the idea of Maine crystalized out of the ether into our vacation destination of choice, the idea of Stephen King had been woven firmly into the idea. I'd been reading his latest book throughout our trip, and my perception of Maine has been coloured largely by what I've read through a lifetime of voraciously consuming his novels. Here I sat, in front of his very house, too shy to get out of the car.

Eventually, I did. It was just before 9:30 am on a gorgeous late-June morning, the sky clear blue above me. On such a summer morning across America, homeowners were pushing lawnmowers in their yards or drinking coffee with the morning paper on the porch, and I peered hopefully at the house and grounds hoping against hope to see Stephen King himself engaged in some sort of similar weekend pursuit. I slowly paced the length of the wrought-iron gate, admiring the italianate style of the gorgeous house and the well-tended grounds. I even peered hopefully at a few windows, feeling more stalkerish by the minute as I snapped pictures of the motionless house. The iron gates themselves are quite the feature, embellished with spiderwebs and bats and various kinds of gargoyles.

By the time I'd paced the length of the property, I'd realized that the gate to the driveway stood wide open and a silver Mercedes sat quietly in the shade at the top of the drive. I lingered for a long moment in front of the open gate, looking at my clear path to the front door. I considered the odds of me ever being in Bangor, ever being this close to Stephen King again. I thought about how much I admire him, how much of an influence he has had on my own writing style, how in 20 years he has never strayed from my top-five list of favourite authors. I willed him to stroll out of the house, maybe on his way to the grocery store or the hardware store or any of the other errands mere mortals run on a Saturday morning. The house remained inscrutable and silent in the morning sun. I pictured myself walking up that curving drive, mounting the porch, ringing the bell, and asking in my politest Canadian manner if I could trouble the Great Man for just a minute, a moment quick enough for a signature, maybe a photo, certainly the encounter of a lifetime.

In the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. With a last regretful look over my shoulder, we drove away. I even scanned the nearby sidewalks with hope of seeing Him maybe taking the dog for a morning stroll, but the streets were calm and deserted. We tried to find the Barrens, made famous in IT and identified as one of several locations on my map of local attractions from King's stories, but we got turned around and I could feel the pressure of the drive ahead of us bearing down.

We decided instead on a little detour to Target, which itself took much longer to find than it should have. We spent maybe 20 minutes or so perusing the toy section, but I simply wasn't in the mood to shop, becoming more twitchy by the minute. By 11:00 we were back in the car, heading west on I95, headed back to Route 2 for the long trip back to Vermont.

What do you think? Would you have walked away too, or would you have taken the risk and walked up to the front door and rung the bell?

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 7: Lobsters!

2007-07-08T17:50:00.001-05:00

I've never been a huge lobster fan. Part of it is the fact that you must cook them live (let alone the supposed scream factor.) I remember my brother, quite young, being invited over to someone's house for a lobster dinner. They put the lobster in the pot and started to cook it, and for a joke the father took the lobster back out and put it on the counter - and the lobster started to crawl away. Pretty much from hearing that story on, I wasn't much on eating lobster.

And then there's the whole look of them. In Australia, I've heard, they call them "bay bugs." They just don't look appetizing, ya know? *shudder*

In Maine, they take their lobster seriously. By the time we got within 30 minutes of the coast, there were lobster pounds everywhere. (A lobster pound is the coastal equivalent of Ottawa's ubiquitous chipwagon, although instead of fries and pogos and poutine from the deep fryer, they serve boiled lobster.) Every restaurant has lobster something on the menu; even McDonalds apparently has a lobster roll. I wouldn't be surprised if Dunkin Donuts didn't have a honey glazed with lobster donut.

Although I couldn't bring myself to actually eat Maine's culinary signature dish, we did decide that it would be fun to go lobster fishing. At first, we were going to go on a whale-and-puffin watching tour, but some wise folks on Trip Advisor suggested that the whale watching tours can be long and boring (an hour or more just to travel where the whales are, and the same back again) for your average 3 and 5 year olds, not to mention the sea-sickness factor. I'm already constantly nauseous, thanks.

So we downgraded from whale watching to a lobster fishing and seal watching tour. It was a lot of fun. The trip was about an hour, and we learned about the various rules that govern the lobster fishery. Each lobsterman (pardon the term, but I'm simply not typing 'lobsterperson' each time) has his own unique set of colours for his buoys and is limited by the type of lobster he can catch. Pregnant females, for example, and 'shorties' that measure less than 5 inches, must be thrown back. They pulled up a few traps, and each trap contained at least one crab or shortie lobster, but since it was early in the season, we didn't catch any big'uns.

They had a couple of full-size specimens in their 'touch tank' and they passed a couple of mature, live lobsters around for everyone to hold. Once I got hold of one and had a chance to see him eyeball-to-antennae, there was no way in hell I was going to eat one of those things. Beloved didn't have the same reservations; he ordered 'lazy lobster' (lobster already divested of its shell) for dinner that very night.

They also passed around a crab and a sea cucumber, but as we watched the tour guide describing the sea cucumber it let forth a long and vigourous arc of what could only have been sea-cucumber pee, and we were all disinclined to hold it after that. Simon did hold a live starfish, apparently more properly known as a sea star, for a few minutes. I think he still has my fingerprints bruised into his forearm, so tightly was I holding his arm to make sure he neither (a) pitched it overboard, (b) dropped it, or - worst of all - (c) tried to actually make me touch it. Did you know that a ~~starfish~~ sea star opens clams by suckering on to them with its tentacles, then pries it open just enough to stick its stomach into the clam shell to begin digesting the meat? Ick. No really, ick.

Personally, I liked the seal watching a lot better than the creatures with the antennae and the tentacles. There was one rock shelf in particular known as "puppy ridge" or something like that, and we could see a dozen or so harbour seals frolicking about in the water and sunning themselves on the rocks. We also saw a couple of bald eagles, and the bald eagles' nest. Did you know that not only do they mate for life, but their nests can weigh more than 2,000 lbs? That's a hell of a condo!

(You can see the eagle flying low over the water to the far left.)

After our boat tour through the gorgeous glassy blue seas (no seasickness today!), we ambled back to our motel for a bit and let the boys chase each other around the playground to shake out some pent up silliness. Then we made our way back downtown - I'm telling you, the Island Explorer Shuttle rocks! - to meet Phantom Scribbler and her family for dinner.

After dinner, not quite ready to go our separate ways even though the sun was definitely on its way down, we instead ambled kind of aimlessly toward the harbour and found ourselves on my other favourite beach. I don't even know what this one was called, except that it seemed to be a municipal beach of sorts. I didn't even realize it was a beach until I saw the signs permitting swimming, because it was right on the main harbour. There, in the dying light of another gorgeous day, we threw rocks into the waves and picked through the tiny rocks underfoot for pretty shells and bits of sea glass. That, and watching the four kids run blissfully through the nearby park (complete with fountain and Jesus singers with a guitar, to whom Simon in particular seemed drawn) made for a perfect end to another lovely day.

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 6: Pirate Golf and a bloggy playdate

2007-07-07T18:33:00.000-05:00

Despite appearances which may be to the contrary through my rather extroverted blog personality, I'm actually rather shy. And the idea of meeting up with a total stranger, even one I admire as much as I admire Phantom Scribbler - one of my oldest and best bloggy friends, and someone I admire immensely - is enough to cause me a considerable amount of anxiety. The idea of meeting up with her far from home, with my entire family in tow, even more so. How will I know her? Will my kids behave? Will I clam up like a dufus, or run on inanely at the mouth like an insecure idiot? Will she like me?

I needn't have worried. We rolled into the parking lot of Pirate Golf, and right away I caught the smile and wave of a familiar face. Our kids took to each other like old friends, at least the five-year-old boys did. Baby Blue, newly three years old on her very birthday that day, and Simon seemed to tolerate each other in that way that toddlers-going-on-preschoolers do... fine as long as nobody actually makes eye contact with them. Phantom and Mr Blue are a hundred times nicer than even their online personas reflect. (At first, it was hard for me to call them by their real names, so accustomed am I to their bloggy pseudonyms. Now, I struggle to slip their pseudonyms back in place - I want to use the names I came to truly know them by.)

Pirate Golf, for those of you who haven't had the experience, is high-end putt-putt with a pirate theme. One golfs up and down hills, under a waterfall and right on to a fairly cool pirate ship. Myself, I love putt putt, but I'd been thinking that the boys were too young to enjoy it. I was wrong. Tristan and LG, Phantom's son, took off to play together, leaving the doddering adults and 3-year-old set trailing behind. Simon soon lost interest in actually hitting the ball with the "stick" and just followed happily along behind the big boys. After maybe five holes, Phantom and I gave up any pretense of actually playing golf and just wandered along with our pack, but Beloved and Mr Blue doggedly played every hole - Mr Blue most often with a handicap of an armload of Baby Blue to contend with. Twice it rained hard enough for me to stash the camera away and trickled to a stop, leaving us frizzy in the humid afternoon.

After Pirate Golf, freshly adorned with paper pirate hats, pirate flags and eye patches, we unanimously decided we needed an ice cream break and stood for three weeks in the world's slowest lineup. Finally, sated on ice-cream, lemonade and milkshakes, we compared notes and decided to meet up after dinner the next day.

Conveniently, Pirate Golf was half way between the KOA and Bar Harbor, so we each went our separate directions late in the afternoon. We puttered around the cabin for a bit, then decided that rather than actually try to make anything for dinner, we'd make our way back into town for a bite to eat. I had heard good things about Poorboy's Restaurant, and they had an early-bird special that ended at six. With a little luck, we'd be able to make it. We hustled the boys into the car and made the 10 mile trek back into town, arriving at Poorboy's at 5:45, only to find out they had a 45 minute wait. Not ready or willing to tolerate that, Beloved suggested we trek back to another restaurant we'd noted earlier in the day called Route 66. If you've seen the movie Cars, which my boys have seen at least 300 times, you know that Route 66 plays a big role in the movie. Good enough to sell me.

It was a funky roadhousey kind of place with the usual pizza and burgers menu, an old jukebox, and tonnes of memorabilia on the walls - a sort of automotive Hardrock Café. We were about half way through our mediocre dinner when to my absolute delight, in walked Phantom and her family, who managed to sit at the table right next to us. I mean, Bar Harbor is not a huge town, but it has more than its share of restaurants. What are the odds? It was that Bar Harbor serendipity at work again.

We retired back to the KOA for our last night in the cabin, and had an oceanside campfire with the most spectactular pink into purple into indigo sunset. A fitting end for a nearly perfect day.

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 5: Acadia National Park

2007-07-06T07:07:00.001-05:00

"So Dani, you've told us about how you got there and where you stayed. But what did you do in Bar Harbor?"

Ah, I'm so glad you asked. (And like you, I'm a little afeared of how long this series is turning out to be. Part 5 and we're only now talking about Bar Harbor? Yikes.)

Ahem, yes, Bar Harbor. Loved it. LOVED it. Bar Harbor is a magical place, where you are walking along the street thinking to yourself, "Man, I'm hungry" and you look to the left and there is a lovely little restaurant called Testa's that has opened its windows to the balmy summer air, and you decide to pop in and have the most delicious cheese omelette of your life.

In Bar Harbor, when you're just sort of wandering around getting oriented on your first morning there, and it starts to rain just a little bit, you think to yourself "Well, maybe we'll just get in the car and drive around for a while until it stops raining." So you take a random left and then a random right, and hey, lookit that, there's the entrance to Acadia National Park. And you think, "Might as well check it out now," so you do. And while you're ogling the spectacular scenery and Tristan announces he has to pee, you stop at the first place you see - which appears out of the trees like he conjured it - and while you're stretching your legs you look over to the left and realize you've stumbled upon a lovely oceanside beach. And then you realize that this is in fact Sand Beach, the one place that almost every local and previous visitor has told you that you must take the kids. And as you are making your way down to the almost deserted and breathtakingly lovely beach, you realize it has stopped raining.

Yah, it was like that.

Two of my very favourite memories of our trip have to do with beaches. The first was Sand Beach. I posted maybe half a dozen of our pictures in the Flickr set, but I must have taken 50 or more in that location alone. We spent a wonderful hour or more just wandering along the surf line, letting the boys run in up to their ankles and back, enjoying their shrieks of delight as the salty 55F (brrr!) waves splashed up at them. It was such a calming, restorative, fresh and simply enjoyable hour. The boys could run freely and explore (if you look at the pictures on Flickr, you'll see that they never let go of their lightsabers, perhaps the most well-traveled lightsabers since Obi Wan himself). The morning was damp from the sprinkling rain, and the smell of the salt air was heady and refreshing. It was dizzying to look out and realize I was looking out to the vast Atlantic itself, and even though the seas were relatively calm, there was just enough of a surf to delight the boys. We could even detect a discernable temperature difference in the air from one sheltered corner of the beach to where the ocean breeze blew directly in. I can't imagine a more lovely place or time. I'd go all the way back to Bar Harbor again, just to spend more time there.

When we finally tore ourselves away, and none of us really wanted to move along, it was a unique challenge getting the 'sand' off the boys' feet. Not sand at all, in fact, but tiny grains of pulverized shells. After first trying to brush off the last stubborn grains with my hand and then a sock, I actually had to use my fingernail to gently scrape the tiny shell fragments off the boys' ticklish feet - in itself a lot of fun!

Behind the washrooms and changerooms adjacent to the beach, Tristan had spied a 'secret trail'. With the sun breaking through the clouds and the temperature at least 10 degrees higher than it had been on the beach, we decided to go for a little hike along the Ocean Path trail. The famous Thunder hole was only a mile's hike, and we figured that would be within the boys' capability.

Stop to laugh at me now if you must. It was just before lunch time, the temperature was rising by the minute, neither Beloved nor I was exactly sure how far 'a mile' was and how long it might take to walk it, and Simon had no pants on - they had been soaked by the surf - and was waddling along in a t-shirt and diaper. A perfect time for a hike? Maybe not so much. But you have to give me credit for idealism. Alas, we never made it as far as the Thunder hole, but given the calm seas of the day, I suspect we wouldn't have seen much if we had. When Simon started asking to be carried, we knew we had reached the end of our particular trek, and turned back the way we came. But even in the 20 minutes or so we had hiked, we had enjoyed some gorgeous views from high above Sand Beach on one side, and up to a mountain towering above us on the other.

Mere feet from the trail head and true to my family's legacy of klutziness, I went down hard as I stumbled and fell on what was probably the only pothole in the Ocean Path. It's long been a family joke that if there was a six-inch hole in an acre of land, we'd find the hole and fall in it. The good news is, I protected both the Nikon around my neck and the passenger in my uterus from serious trauma. And I got a lovely scabbed knee, with which the boys were fascinated, as a souvenir of my visit to Acadia National Park, bringing a little park dust home with me.

The magical serendipity of the morning continued as we piled back into the car and began to wonder what to do next. My cell phone rang and it was the incomparable Phantom Scribbler, also in Bar Harbor with her family on vacation. We compared notes and schedules, and decided to bring the families together on a bloggy play date for a round of Pirate Golf in a little over an hour.

With our next destination settled but time on our hands, we spend the rest of the morning following the Park Loop Road on its 27-mile loop through Acadia National Park, with Simon's shorts dangling from my window and drying in the warm summer breeze. Carriage Roads (motorized vehicles forbidden) and rocky cliffs, breathtaking ocean views, stone bridges and cottage mansions, forests and mountains... again, I only wish we had had more time to explore this most amazing place.

But who could resist the siren song of a bloggy playdate and Pirate Golf?

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 4: Wherever I lay my hat, that's my home

2007-07-05T10:22:00.000-05:00

We chose Bar Harbor randomly. I'd just finished booking our annual Free Camping Weekend through the KOA in the 1000 Islands, and was futzing about with the KOA website, idly thinking in the March chill of sunny summer days. So when we chose Bar Harbor, we already had camping - cabin camping, that is - in mind. And when we saw that the cabins had ocean views, that sealed the deal. When we decided to add a third night in Bar Harbor, it was cheaper and easier to simply book a hotel room in town, so we did.

In retrospect, I might have cut the camping part out of the vacation and just gone with the Bar Harbor Motel for all three nights. We liked the "Kamping Lodge", as the KOA called it, because it was spotlessly clean, right on the water, had a separate bed and living space, and a small kitchen including range-top, fridge and microwave. The campground itself had all the usual amenities, but the pool was in a second campground a five minute drive away, so we never got around to using it.

The KOA itself was easy to find, as it was literally the first thing we saw once we crossed off the mainland onto Mount Desert Island (Bar Harbor and maybe half a dozen other small towns populate the island, along with Acadia National Park.) So close were we to the highway that we could see the tail-lights of the cars waiting at the stoplight as they crossed the bridge from our campsite. But we had to bring our own sleeping bags, pillows and towels, which took up a LOT of room in the car. And sleeping in four places over five nights made us feel a little too nomadic and homeless.

No real regrets, but if I had to do it all over again, I think I'd stick with the motel. It too was spotlessly clean, and we happened to score a room directly across from the small playground and a pool that we never had a chance to enjoy. It also had a small fridge in the room, and the employees could give lessons in hospitality to the KOA folks. It was also half the price per night of the KOA - but of course, without the ocean (well, Western Bay) view.

The biggest plus about the motel was that it was actually in town, instead of a 10 mile drive. They have a wonderful shuttle system set up in Bar Harbor called the Island Explorer, and we could hop on the shuttle from our motel and be in the Village Green within 10 minutes. They run every half hour in the early part of the day and every 15 minutes in the afternoon and evening. The best part? Free.

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 3: An ode to Route 2 East

2007-07-05T07:26:00.000-05:00

For weeks - scratch that, for months - before we left, I peered at various online and paper maps trying to get some feeling for the inscrutable red line that led from Vermont across the tip of New Hampshire and into the heart of Maine: US Route 2.

You can't discern a lot from a map. Even with Google Map's satellite feature, which often gives me an alarming sense of vertigo, you can't really get a feel for the road itself. It seemed a little twisty, and I could tell it started in the mountains and meandered through dozens of small towns. But without context, they were just lines and dots. Was it desolate? Idyllic? Remote? Backed up with traffic? Lined with houses or autobody repair junkyards or pawn shops? Scary or spectacular? The map was enigmatic.

Different mapping software occasionally suggested bypassing Route 2 entirely, suggesting instead that we deke down I89 and then back up I95 along the coast. But with all the time we were logging in the car, Beloved and I agreed that we wanted the trip to be as much about the voyage as the destination. We decided against the interstates, and committed ourselves to Main Street, New England - for better or worse.

In the end, it was the right choice. I loved this highway. I loved its character, its quirky twists, its general stores and Exxon stations, its moose-alerts and billboards, its traffic lights and small-town flavour. I had a real sense of driving through the heart of the place, peering in its windows to see how the people were living, instead of flying past the back gate at 65 mph. We glimpsed sparkling creeks and passed by sheer cliff faces; we drove alongside railway tracks and snowmobile trails; we stopped in grassy picnic areas and Dunkin Donuts on the main strip. Occassionally, we got a few heady minutes sailing along at 55 mph, only to come to a sudden halt at a red light in a nameless intersection.

At times, the forest crept right up to the gravel shoulders. At other times, the road widened into Main Street for innumerable towns so small they didn't even merit a point on my map. I happened to be reading Stephen King's latest novel, Lisey's Story, throughout our trip, and I was tickled to come across this description early in the book: "No Soapa was how the locals referred to Noway-South Paris in neighboring Oxford County, towns which also happened to be within a day's drive of such exotic-sounding wide spots in the road as Mexico, Madrid, Gilead, China, and Corinth." It was truly exquisite actually being in Maine and seeing the places, real and imaginary, through Stephen King's literary lenses. We passed through Mexico and Gilead, and I laughed and pointed out the seemingly confused road sign that pointed to "No So Paris" before I even got to that page in the book.

In one notable series of twists and turns in Maine, Route 2 through the tiny side-by-side towns of Rumsford and Mexico makes at least half a dozen 90 degree turns at it overlays Prospect Ave, Franklin Street, Rumford Ave, Hancock Street, Lincoln Ave, Main Street and River Road - all within less than 10 minutes of driving. Don't blink or you'll miss the turn!

A few miles down the road, we stopped for lunch at the Dixfield House of Pizza. Dixfield itself isn't much of a town, and there weren't a lot of choices for meals. That was another challenge of planning a trip based on nothing but an inky line on a map - we could never guess if the upcoming dot was a crossroad with a smattering of houses and a general store, a sleepy little village or a full-fledged town with a (gasp!) Pizza Hut and a McDonalds. The Dixfield House of Pizza was a gem of a find. It wasn't much to look at, with a walk-up counter and molded plastic picnic-style benches around laminate-topped tables, but I had my favourite meal of the trip there. A simple 10-inch pepperoni pizza, shared with both boys, and one of those old-skool salads with iceberg lettuce and exactly two slices of cucumber, tomato, onion and green pepper. And you bet it was served in one of those brown faux-wood salad bowls that everybody's mom had in the late 1970s. I don't know whether it was the heat or the hunger or the simple pleasure of a simple meal, but my mouth still waters when I think about it. And that was the first place, just an hour or so inside the Maine state line, that I heard someone actually say "Ayuh."

When we finally left Route 2 to pick up the I95 for 50 or 60 miles before the last hour-long stretch to Mount Desert Island, I was sad to see it go. No doubt we covered a lot of ground in a hurry on the Interstate, but I think we would have felt like we'd been past New England instead of in the heart of it had we gone the Interstate route.

By the end of the day, it took us seven hours to travel less than 400 km. By comparison, we can drive to Toronto from Ottawa, more or less the same distance, in less than five hours on the 401, even with a leisurely lunch break.

Turns out the fastest route is not always the best route. It's a good lesson for a hurry-up, impatient sort of girl like me.

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 2: New York and Vermont

2007-07-04T06:37:00.000-05:00

Right up until a day or two before we left, we still hadn't decided exactly which route we'd take to get to St Johnsbury, Vermont. My folks had recently gone to Lake Placid and highly recommended it, Nancy put the North Pole on my radar screen and I was curious about the Ausable Chasm. All could be on the way, with not much detouring, once we decided we'd cross the border from Ontario into New York instead of Quebec into Vermont.

In the end, we decided that a six hour drive was enough of a challenge for the first day, and called the ferry trip across Lake Champlain from Port Kent, New York to Burlington, Vermont our adventure for the day. The early part of the day passed in a rather leisurely fashion, but by the time we hit Plattsburg, NY, I realized that had a little less than 20 minutes to make it to the ferry dock and more than 15 miles to go. If we missed the ferry, we faced an hour and a quarter wait for the next one, plus an hour crossing, plus nearly two hours of driving on the far banks to St Johnsbury. After what can only be considered a madcap dash down Route 9 with fingers crossed and baited breath, we made it with mere minutes to spare.

I have to say that of all the roads we traveled, the highways across northern New York were the least interesting. Lots of ice cream stands, lots of pawn shops and enough gun shops to rather alarm my pacifist Canadian self, a few nondescript farms. As we moved to the south, an occasional mountain teased in the remote distance. Only when we started down Route 9, along the banks of Lake Champlain, did the scenery become engaging. Unfortunately, we zoomed through it ten to fifteen miles per hour above the speed limit and never did get to take much of it in!

Tristan absolutely loved the ferry crossing (as did Simon, once he woke from his car-and-heat induced nap.) At first, Tristan was quite concerned while we waited for the ferry to arrive that the boat would sink under the weight of all the cars. Once we got on board, though, the freedom to get out of the car and wander around the ferry completely engaged him. The crossing from Port Kent, NY to Burlington, VT is a little more than an hour, but it passed in the blink of an eye as we wandered from port to starboard, stem to stern, above-deck and below, examining the view from every possible angle.

After we landed in Burlington, we still had nearly two hours of driving before we reached St Johnsbury for the night. Part of that we passed zipping along Interstate 89 to Vermont's capital of Montpelier, and the rest on the road I would come to love, the one that brought us all the way to Maine, US Route 2.

By the time we reached St Johnsbury, we'd been on the road for nearly seven hours, and we were done. I'd chosen the Fairbanks Inn based on its moderate price and good reviews on Trip Advisor, and while it was pleasant enough, the room itself was a little shabby. There were rust stains on the suspended ceiling in the bathroom, and a stain that looked alarmingly like blood on the carpet. It was roomy, though, and had a nice patio door that opened on to a balcony overlooking the wooded area behind the inn. The final delight for the boys was a heated pool shallow enough at both ends that they could play freely and splash about for an hour before bedtime.

It was a long first day, and bloody hot, but a promising start to our adventure. I couldn't wait to get up and get moving the next morning.

Ottawa to Bar Harbor Part 1: My digital scrapbook

2007-07-03T07:49:00.000-05:00

As we drove across the top of New York State, into Vermont, across the tip of New Hampshire and into Maine - and back again - I sat for the entire trip with the new Nikon, a small notebook and pen, and a clutch of maps in my lap. I snapped a lot (a LOT!) of pictures, and noted whatever caught my fancy as we drove along.

When preparing for this trip, I'd spent an inordinate amount of time peering at various combinations and permutations of route maps on Google Maps (and Mapquest, and the CAA site. I really do love maps.) One day, I noticed the "my maps" feature on Google Maps and thought it would be a fun way to document the trip in snippets and snapshots. As usual, the technology is cheesing me off just a bit, but I think after a couple of hours of tinkering I've got it more or less right.

I've taken the best of the notebook and the snapshots and mashed them into a a sort of digital scrapbook, courtesy of Google Maps. It didn't work out quite like I had expected, and can be seen better from some computers than from others. Regardless, it captures an aperçu of the flavour of our trip in chronological order. The blue pips are days one and two, the green ones are day three, the purple day four and the yellow days five and six. You can click on the pips along the route, or just click on the titles in the left window, to open the dialogue box.

Each pip has some combination of text and/or picture (which you won't be able to see if you can't see Flickr photos through your firewall) in the dialogue box. If you can't see the full text or pix, you can "grab" the terrain under the box and drag it around or use the arrow keys in the top right corner to move the map so you can read it better. (After spending the better part of a day wrangling it, I've got a list of suggestions as long as my arm to help the folks at Google Maps improve this little widget!)

Speaking of Flickr, I've narrowed the 500+ photos down to 75 or so favourites and added them to a Flickr set. There will be thoughtful, meandering posts over the next few days, but this should give you the flavour of our great Ottawa to Bar Harbor (and back again!) road trip.

Let me know what you think - after a week away, I'm hungry for comments! And let me know if you're having trouble with the Google Maps thingee, so maybe I can tweak it to make it more user-friendly.

We're back!

2007-07-02T07:42:00.000-05:00

Four states, two provinces, six days, 1850 kms, 546 photographs... and we're back! But, I'm not nearly organized enough to blog about it yet. Trust me, there will be much vacation blogging - soon!

Overall, the trip was amazing. Truly, I couldn't have wished for anything better.

You'll just have to come back later to find out the details.

Okay, here's one quick snapshot to tide you over.

(Ha ha, tide - get it? The boys are running along the sand as the tide retreats. I've been to the ocean, I know all about tides now. Tides and lobsters and pirates and law enforcement and Stephen King and bloggy friends and harbor seals and mountains and ferries... more to come, I promise!)

Harry Potter and the invisible horses

2007-06-29T06:54:00.000-05:00

This has been bugging me. I've been re-reading the entire Harry Potter series since some time in February or March, and I've got three weeks to finish re-reading Half Blood Prince before the last one comes out.

If you are even remotely a fan, I highly recommend doing this, by the way. I read the first three books back in 2000 or so, and have read each subsequent one as it came out. (That and blogging may well have been the only two times in my life I was even incrementally ahead of the pop culture bandwagon instead of running behind it, begging to be let on.) Anyway, re-reading them has made me even more of a fan, and I'm going to be hugely disappointed when the last one is done and there's nothing left to anticipate.

But something is bugging me - well, aside from the central question around the ending of Half Blood Prince, which at least will likely be answered by the last book. But in the Order of the Phoenix, they have those flying skeletal horses - Thestrals? - that you can only see if you've witnessed death. Harry can see them by the beginning of the fifth book because he's witnessed Cedric's death in the Triwizard Tournament. But the central mythology around Harry is that when Voldemort tried to kill Harry his mother's love protected him, so Voldemort killed his parents instead. Wouldn't Harry have therefore witnessed his parents' death as well, especially since when he encounters the Dementors he talks about hearing his mother screaming? So hasn't he technically witnessed his parents' death as well?

This kind of things are keeping me up at night...

Yay day!

2007-06-27T06:05:00.000-05:00

See how nice I am to you? I'm about to brag blatantly, but I'll turn it into a yay day so you can brag, too.

We got Tristan's report card this week. They 'grade' them on a four point scale, from "needs to work on this skill" to "beginning to develop" to "meets developmental expectations" to "exceeds expectations". He met developmental expectations in most areas - math and science and art. He knows all his letters except for Q, and can count past 40 in English and to 28 in French. He can also follow simple directions in both languages, and remembers his vocabulary in both languages well.

(I must admit I'm still just a little bit entertained that they grade four-year olds in junior kindergarten on math and science and art, to be honest. I kind of expected to get a report that said either 'does' or 'does not' eat paste and colour within the lines. They take this educational stuff pretty seriously right out of the gate.)

He got a few "beginning to develop" in some areas where we already knew he needs to put in a little more effort - writing his letters, for one, but mostly in areas like following instruction and social skills. He still follows his own mind a little more often than the teacher's instructions, but he's come miles and miles from that first week, where we got called in for "the talk."

So while I'm proud that he did well overall, and the comments reflect a bright, happy little boy who is a pleasure to have in the classroom, who enjoys role play and music and story time and interacting with his peers, there were two areas where his teachers said he excelled. He got a '4' for exceeds expectations in oral communication and reading. I'm really not surprised that my boy is particularly literate, given that I can say without modesty that he comes from exceptionally literate people, but I'm proud nonetheless.

We survived the first year. The lovely part is not so much that I'm looking forward to the next year of challenges, but that Tristan is. That's my boy.

And now, after all that, I turn the microphone over to you. What makes the sun shine in your world today?

Knock knock

2007-06-26T05:54:00.000-05:00

Tristan told his first joke the other day.

"How do you stop a cat from meowing in the back seat?"

"You throw him in the front seat."

I laughed, partly because lame though it was, I'd never heard it before, but mostly because I was delighted that Tristan joins a long line of ancestry in love with bad jokes.

Of course, that was immediately followed by a thousand nonsensical and increasingly unfunny versions from both boys, including "How do you get a pepperoni to stop pizzaing in the back seat?" "You put it in the front seat." If nothing else, they got the format down pat.

Previously, knock-knock jokes reigned supreme. My repitoire for knock-knock jokes is unparalleled.

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Isabelle.
Isabelle who?
Isabelle broken? I had to knock.

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Police.
Police who?
Po-lice open the door, it's freezing out here.

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Dwayne.
Dwayne who?
Dwayne the bathtub, I'm dwowning!

The boys are good at memorizing them, but also favour the non-seqitor over an actual pun. For instance:

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
C3p0.
C3p0 who?
C3P0 ate spaghetti for dinner!

I think we need some new material. Care to dip into your repretoire and share your fave kid jokes?

You think he learned this in school?

2007-06-25T07:39:00.000-05:00

We're driving back from the Carp Farmer's Market, a bag containing fudge and homemade salsa and fresh cukes and tomatoes at my feet. The boys are chattering in the back seat as we meander through the back roads bisecting rolling countryside.

"Mom, I know how to say cow in French," Tristan informs me as we pass a herd of Holsteins noshing in a nearby field.

"Oh yes?" I ask. "How do you say cow in French?"

"Vache!" he announces with authority. I confirm he's right, and tell him that the French word for horse is cheval. The boys continue to discuss French and English for a while, until out of the blue, Simon asks me the French word for penis. I am neither entirely that the version of the term I know colloquially is the appropriate clinical translation nor sure that my 3 and 5 year olds need it in their vocabulary, so I tell him I'm not sure.

"R-3-8-H-M," says Simon. "That spells PENIS!"

I decline to comment. Tristan does not.

"No, no, Simon," Tristan says. "This is how you spell penis." He thinks for a minute. "P-E-N-N-E. That spells penis. Oh wait, there's an S too. Um, P-E-N-N-S. That spells penis. Yep, P-E-N-N-S spells penis."

I shoot a look at Beloved, who is concentrating very hard on the empty road in front of us, the little muscle in his jaw flickering in the effort not to laugh. Personally, I'm conflicted. Spelling words out loud is a new talent of Tristan's. Do I praise his effort? Celebrate the mentorship over his younger brother? Correct his spelling? Feign deafness and ignore the entire exchange?

Some milestones are more ignominious than others. We continue through the pastoral countryside, both boys misspelling penis at the top of their lungs. I can hardly wait for the 10-hour road trip.

"Home delivery is for pizza"

2007-06-22T06:40:00.000-05:00

The title to this post is a bumper sticker from the American College of Obstretricians and Gynecologists quoted in an article about "freebirth" in today's Citizen. The article discusses the apparently increasingly popular choice of some expecting mothers to deliver baby at home with no medical professionals in attendance - no doctor, no midwife, no doula.

Um, no thanks.

(I'm sure my mother is breathing a sigh of relief right about now.)

I guess I'm a moderate on this particular spectrum. I have to admit, I'm a little cynical of people who choose "convenience" c-sections. (We had an interesting discussion about this last year.) And note here I'm talking about convenience c-sections and am in no way being critical of c-sections in general - hell, that's how I debuted almost 38 years ago.

On the other hand, while I can appreciate on an intellectual level why someone would choose an unmedicated child birth, I'd no sooner choose to have my wisdom teeth pulled without medication than try to birth a child without it. The irony is that my body is particularly unresponsive to the epidural, and after hours of tinkering with the "cocktails" both boys were fired out pretty much without the benefit of anesthesia.

While I would never choose a home birth, and certainly not an unassisted one (and again, please let me say that this is not a criticism of those who do - just one girl's humble opinion on what's best for her parts and her babies) I have to admit that for the first time I'm idly considering switching from an obstetrician to a midwife.

(My mother is shaking her head in dismay.)

I've actually always rather enjoyed my obstetrician's clinical professionalism. If I remember correctly, she once served at the chief of obstetrics at the hospital where the boys were born. We've had some pretty traumatic moments with her, from the elevated risk of Down syndrome with Tristan to the miscarriage last year, and while she was never exactly warm or comforting, I was always reassured by my faith in her capability. And yet, because of the nature of her practice, she hasn't been present at the birth of either boy.

A midwife appeals to me because of the extra attention implied in midwife care: the extra hand-holding, extended appointments, and after-birth care. Truthfully, I don't even know that much about midwives and the regulations that govern them here in Ontario. Last I heard, if you have a midwife in attendance at a hospital birth, you are encouraged to leave soon afterward, as opposed to the 48 hours that you stay if you have an OB in attendance. Is that right? And midwives are covered under OHIP (public health insurance), right?

Anyway, I likely won't change - but I'm curious. Where do you find yourself on the continuum - freebirth advocate or convenience c-section or somewhere in between?

Coveting a ditigal SLR

2007-06-21T06:55:00.000-05:00

For more than a year, Beloved and I have been talking about getting a digital SLR camera. We started talking about it in abstract terms, a "someday" kind of wistfullness. Beloved is a master at overcoming my resistance to the purchase of new home electronics - I was opposed to the DVD player, the laptop, and our current point-and-shoot digital camera, to name just a few of the things I completely opposed in principal and have since come to know and love. But over the last six months, the "someday" wistfullness has crystalized into me searching sites for product reviews, best prices, and feature comparisons.

The problem with the digital SLR is that I really, really want one. I took a couple of photography classes over the years, and I was just getting comfortable using my dad's 20 year old Canon AE1 hand-me-down when we capitulated to the world of digital point-and-shoot cameras back in 2003. I think I'm a pretty good photographer, and I already know my way around f-stops and focal lengths and aperture, and would really like to have the chance to try out those skills on a digital SLR. I want one, but I can clearly see that we don't need one.

I do love our little Canon Power Shot (or is it a Sure Shot?) and it's done us well over the year, but I fear after a scant four years, it's on its way to meet its maker. They have a bad reputation for the LED screen dying after just a few years, and ours has already lasted longer than some other friends of ours who have the same make and model. At the time, we spent more than $500 including taxes and warranties, so if we're going to have to get a new camera anyway, it seems reasonable to me to spend the extra and splurge on the digital SLR.

And then my cheap side speaks up and chastises me for coveting something so expensive when we already have a perfectly functioning (so far) camera that takes lovely pictures. And I start thinking that for the price of an entry-level digital SLR (and the taxes, and the warranty, and whatever accessories we absolutely must have) we could replace our ugly, unmatched and quickly deteriorating living room furniture. Or we could do a really good job of turning our partly finished basement into a kick-ass playroom/family room. Or we could replace the ugly sky-blue carpet that I hate so much with at least laminate on the main floor, if not hardwood. Or, you know, we could do the responsible and adult thing and pay down some of our rather outrageous consumer debt. Yah right, as if that's going to happen.

In my brand and feature comparisons, I've narrowed my choices down to a basic Canon Rebel and a Nikon D40. Since we already have a Canon, I understand that the couple of hundred dollars' worth of memory cards we have would be compatible, which is a definite selling point. Plus, as I said, my dad has a lovely if not antiquated Canon AE1 with some very cool lenses, some of which may (or may not) be compatible with a new theoretical Rebel, should we be able to convince him to donate them to our cause.

I even toyed with the idea of picking one up while we're down in the States, but Beloved loves his extended warranties, and I'm not sure how well they'd translate cross-border. Besides, with the Canadian dollar creeping towards par, I'm not sure the savings would be huge or worth it.

I'm on the fence, but canted dangerously at an 85 degree angle towards capitulating to my desire. So, whaddya think? Do you have a digital SLR? Do you have any recommendations, tips or thoughts? Go on, convince me. Beloved will thank you for it!

Edited to add: Thanks for all your comments and opinions. You twisted my rubber arm. We are now proud owners of a Nikon D40. I'm in love!

Bloggy navel-gazing

2007-06-20T06:42:00.001-05:00

I started out writing this post thinking about a meme I saw over on Mad Hatter's blog a while back. I thought it was a neat question, and I loved Mad's answer. Mine isn't so impressive as Mad's, but I still thought it would make good blog fodder.

1. Go back to your first or early post. How would you describe your voice back in those early days? Who were you writing to? What was your sense of audience (if any) back then?

AND

2. Do you remember when you received your first comment? What was it like?

I started blogging in February of 2005, just after the end of my maternity leave with Simon. The boys were one and three (!) and I started on a whim. You want to know what really inspired me to blog? I was bored, and playing around with Google. (How bored do you have to be to be poking around on the Google page? REALLY bored!) Google had recently acquired Blogger, and on the Google main page there was a link to some other Google toys. I clicked through to the Blogger one and thought, "Oh yeah, blogs. Hmmm, I should have a blog."

The first blog I'd read, before I even knew what blogs were, was the now-defunct Chez Miscarriage. Getupgrrl was a regular poster on the IVF Connections bulletin board, my online addiction of choice before blogging, and I loved her cynical and hilarious take on infertility. At the time I started blogging myself, I was sporadically reading Chez Miscarriage (though her graphic logo made me cringe every time it appeared on my computer at work), Mommy Needs Coffee, Dooce, and maybe two or three others.

So, back to the meme. I've been told that I have a very distinct bloggy "voice", though I'm still not entirely sure what that means or how it comes across. When I read my first month of posts, I seem to be quite a bit more hyper than I am now - I guess I'm getting older! - and I was rather transparently trying very hard to be funny and clever. I think I'm a little less self-conscious now, and a whole lot more verbose. Can you believe sometimes I posted just a single paragraph? Oh for the good old days!

I was writing primarily for myself (I've always loved the sound of my own voice, Leo that I am) but even in that first month I can see the burgeoning awareness of my audience of close friends. I think I pulled a lot more content from the media back then, too. I really should get back to blogging more about the shiny bits that fascinate me from the mass media, from astronomy to Monty Python. Not everything has to be a treatise with a well-considered defense.

Now, I say that I was writing primarily for myself, but as early as the first week, I was raving about comments. I was beside myself with excitement to get three comments on a single post - which I promptly and accidentally erased when I installed Haloscan for the first time.

What I really like about those first three comments, though, is that two of them are from bloggers I adore to this day. Ann and I have become fast friends over the years, and she has nurtured my spirit as a mother and as a fledgling writer. And though we've never met in person, I've often wished Dean Dad lived in my neighbourhood so we could sit on the porch with our respective spouses and a bottle of wine or a couple of beers and watch our children gambol in the yard while we discuss matters of deep philosophical impact - like, say, whether SpongeBob has contributed more or less to kid culture than Sesame Street.

What I could have never imagined in those tentative early days was where blogging would lead me. Beyond the connection, the sharing, the growth of community and of myself that I attribute directly to this crazy little blog, there's more. In just a couple of weeks, I'll be switching to a new position at work, where I'll spend the best part of a year dedicated solely to developing and implementing policies and projects relating to social media. I'll be looking at the tools of social media - including blogs, wikis, podcasts and the like - as communication tools for the Government of Canada. It's very exciting, and I couldn't be more surprised or proud to pull together what I do for a living with something that inspires me - and confounds me! - so completely.

Mitigating risks

2007-06-19T06:57:00.000-05:00

When I posted yesterday about eating meat straight out of the bag in the Farm Boy parking lot, Loukia commented that pregnant women are not supposed to eat cold cuts. Hey, I never said they were cold cuts - it was raw steak I was snarfing in the hot June sun.

Okay, so that's not true. It was cold cuts - Westphalian ham to be specific, a thinly-sliced, extra-salty ham that my German grandmother used to serve with sliced Gouda on rye bread for Sunday lunch, one of my favourite childhood traditions. No sandwich has ever tasted as good as the ones she cut into tiny triangles for me, served in her tiny, crowded kitchen that always smelled of my grandfather's cigars and some indefinable sweet perfume. Salty comfort food - there's nothing better.

I have to say, I've become rather cavalier about the pregnancy food rules. For my first two pregnancies, the one I lost in 2000 and Tristan, I was obsessive about the "rules". I would not eat cold cuts or hot dogs, salmon or soft cheese. I dropped coffee completely - or, more accurately, it dropped me and I switched to expensive foamed hot chocolate instead. I gave up caesar salads because of the raw eggs, and Greek salad because of the feta. I can't remember exactly what I was eating, but it must have been a complete departure from my usual fare.

In the last few pregnancies, I've become much less obsessive in my eating habits. A younger me would have been scandalized by the "risks" I take. This is partly motivated by experience, and partly by sheer laziness. Sandwiches are one of the foods I tolerate best right now, so I'll eat cold cuts a couple of times a week. I'd be face-down on the floor without some injection of caffeine during the day, so I'll drink a cup of tea in the morning, or a rare cup of coffee. I'll actively seek a caffinated soda some afternoons, just to make it though the day.

It's become an issue of moderation for me. The incidence of listeriosis is incredibly small; this study found an annual occurence of 7.4 cases per million people. I've discovered that almost all cheese in Canada is pasteurized, and have been hard pressed to actually find any that is unpasteurized at the local grocery store. Having squeezed out 9 lbs and 10 lbs babies, I'm not too worried about interuterine growth retardation (she said while touching wood.)

There are a few things I've remained diligent about. I have never been a fan of aspartame, and suspect it contributes to my headaches. Plus, I just can't stand the taste of it. So I'll go to great lenghts to avoid it while pregnant - which is too bad, because I've just recently discovered that Coke Zero actually does taste a lot like my beloved Coca Cola without the 12 teaspoons of sugar in it. But, for the remainder of the pregnancy at least, I'll stick with the original - and the extra calories.

Same with alcohol. It's not a huge stretch for me to avoid it, but I do find myself with a wicked craving lately for Corona with lime. It's a summer thing, I guess. But I'll hold off.

Is it wrong to be salivating at the thought of a beer at 8:15 on a Tuesday morning?

7 1/2 week update

2007-06-18T09:26:00.000-05:00

How do you spot the pregnant chick in the Farm Boy parking lot?

She's the one rooting through the bags recently deposited into the back of the station wagon, eating the meat directly out of the package.

***

I've just been for my first ultrasound, and everything looks great. One wee baby snuggled in just the right spot, measuring one day ahead of schedule at 7w4d and with a steady, strong heartbeat of 158 bpm.

One tiny piece of the iceberg of anxiety has melted away. I can't quite give myself over to giddy joy, but I find myself stoically satisfied. My next appointment, the ultrasound and blood work of the first step of the integrated prenatal screening test, seems a lifetime away at five weeks from today.

***

My regular OB was accompanied by a resident with a soft voice and careful manner. He welcomed me and asked me if I had any questions about the pregnancy. I told him that this is my fifth pregnancy and that I'm an obsessive researcher, and I could probably answer a few questions for him instead. He laughed in an uncertainly polite way, and excused himself as quickly as he could. I should have been less blunt, but I was feeling disconcerted instead of comforted by being back in the OB's all-too-familiar exam rooms again.

***

I did have a few questions for my OB, things I just wasn't comfortable asking the kindly resident with the liquid brown eyes. I wanted to know about testing for abnormalities, and I wanted to know if there was a pathology report from the D&C last November. I was standing next to her when she pulled out my file, thick with the reports and results from two full-term pregnancies, two miscarriages and the lost twin. I found myself reading over her shoulder, knowing it was a dangerous game and yet unable to stop.

As she told me that the pathology report did not include information about Trisomy 18 or other genetic abnormalities, I held my breath and felt separated from my roaming eyes, wondering almost idly what I would do if I stumbled across information about the lost baby's gender and wondering if that's what I was really seeking. Perhaps for the best, she closed the file before I could make sense of any of the clinical report and assured me that there was nothing in the file to cause any concern about my current pregnancy.

***

Seven and a half weeks and all is well. It's all I need to know.

Blogger hiccups?

2007-06-15T12:49:00.000-05:00

Hmmm, I seem to be having some trouble publishing my posts. Well, I'm fine but Blogger - not so much. A couple of weeks ago, someone mentioned that although they could see comments that obviously related to a post from that day, the most recent post she could see was from two days before. The same thing seems to be happening sporadically all over.

Since Wednesday, I've been having trouble forcing Blogger to publish my posts. It says they are published, and I can go to the page that holds the post, but it doesn't appear on the top of the main page. And yet, some of you are commenting on it, so I guess you can see it. It hasn't been dumped into my RSS feed yet, either.

Anybody else having the same trouble?

(Edited to add: Aha! Blogger coughed this one up AND the one about Stephen King, too. So now I have to publish two posts every day???)

Stalking Stephen King

2007-06-15T06:25:00.000-05:00

I was 10 years old when I picked up a copy of Firestarter that my mom left lying on an ottoman. I was fascinated by the story of Charlie McGee, the little girl who could light fires simply by thinking about them, and by the way she was treated as a lab project. I became an instant fan, and went on to read almost all of Stephen Kings books... probably a large part of the reason that I'm almost 38 years old and still prone to being afraid of the dark! But in addition to scaring the pants off me at regular intervals for the past 30 years, I think I've also learned a lot about the craft of writing, and of storytelling, from Stephen King. Even after all the novels, I think On Writing remains my favourite of his works, and one of my greatest inspirations as a would-be writer.

So when we were noodling ideas on where to go on our summer vacation and we stumbled on Bar Harbor, and I realized that to get to Bar Harbor we'd have to drive through Bangor, Maine, my fascination with Stephen King helped seal the deal. I was introduced to the idea of Maine through the works of Stephen King: Salem's Lot, Carrie, Cujo, Pet Semetary, The Tommyknockers, and of course, It. I think It scared me worse than any other book in my life, and it's actually set in the town of Bangor, masquerading as "Derry."

I was delighted to find out that the Bangor visitors and convention bureau actually sponsors the Tommyknockers and More Bus Tour of Bangor, a tour of some of the places immortalized in King's work - and then was crushed to realize we will be missing the first tour of the season by a scant five days.

Reading this article in Maine Today about Stephen King's Maine, I followed references to Bett's Bookstore in the heart of Bangor, home of a giant collection of King's works and memorabilia. I sent a quick e-mail to the owner briefly outlining my fascination with Stephen King, our upcoming vacation and my disappointment at missing the bus tour. He returned my e-mail the same afternoon, saying he'd be glad to give me a copy of the same map they use for the tour if I'd like to stop by the store.

In my ongoing ~~stalking~~ research, I found this Roadside America link with photos and a map to the exact location of Stephen King's own house, just around the corner from the bookstore. I mean, it's one thing to take a walking tour of the Barrens *shudder* or to make my way up to the Standpipe, but to actually walk by Stephen King's house? Way wicked cool!

So, our trip to Maine will be memorable for many, many reasons. There's a playdate scheduled with an old bloggy friend I can't wait to meet, and the boys' first trip to the ocean (and out of the country, for that matter.) There will definitely be my first-ever visit to Target.

But Stephen King? I've got shivers just thinking about it.

Thomas the Tank Engine toy recall

2007-06-14T12:07:00.000-05:00

A friend at work sent me this link today, and I was positively stunned. RC2, the American makers of the wooden Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends toys, has issued a recall on a number of engines and accessories over fears that the paint on the engines could contain lead.

(!!)

(I shudder to think how many of those trains we have, and how much time the boys spent with them - and yes, they have all been chewed on, drooled over and sucked on.)

I found the actual recall notice on the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission Web site, and it has details on exactly which engines and accessories are involved in the recall (seems to be mostly the red ones) and what to do. RC2 Corp has information on its recall page on which trains are recalled and how to return them (including information for Canadians and Americans.)

Talk amongst yourselves

2007-06-14T09:29:00.000-05:00

Ugh. Not feeling well today. I've been really lucky with my headaches lately, as they are becoming increasingly rare. Unfortunately, right now when I do get one there's not much to do but pray that the Tylenol works and crawl back into bed.

But now that you're here, you can't just wander away. In anticipation of our road trip at the end of the month, tell me the best (or worst, or funniest, or simply most memorable) road trip you ever took. For me, the stupidest one was hitchhiking from London to Sudbury with my boyfriend when I was 17.

Book review: Sweet Ruin

2007-06-13T06:38:00.000-05:00

Today, I'm hosting a stop on MotherTalk's blog book tour for Cathi Hanauer's Sweet Ruin. (Disclosure: this means I get a free copy of the book and a small honourarium from MotherTalk.)

This was almost a 10-pages-in book review, because coming into the weekend I just wasn't sure I'd be able to finish it in time for my date on the bloggy book tour today. I have to admit, I was biased against the book as soon as it arrived. With it's girly pink cover and saucily bared shoulder, this book screamed chick lit to me and I've never been able to warm up to chick lit. More accurately, I haven't actually read any chick-lit, ever. Couldn't bring myself to peruse Sophie Kinsella, or pick up a Helen Fielding. The closest I've come is Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum, and I really don't think you can call a book about a bounty hunter chick lit, can you?

Anyway, all that to say that I did in fact judge this book by its cover. Even when I started reading it, I found it hard to warm up to the protagonist. Elayna Leopold is a 35-year-old wealthy subarban mother to six-year-old Hazel, and as the book opens she is recovering from a two-year depression following the loss of her newborn son, Oliver. After his death, she finds she and her husband Paul are simply going through the motions of their former life, hollow and bereft. Strike two against this book. When I signed on to the MotherTalk book tour, I didn't even know I was pregnant, and I almost stopped reading a few times last week just because I didn't want to think about healthy pregnancies that end in neonatal death. Kind of interferes with my new no-worries attitude, ya know?

But, I kept reading. I'm glad I did. About half way through the book, something hooked me deeply and completely, and I tore through the rest of the pages with breathless curiousity. The story examines Elayna's slow ascent from depression after the crushing loss of her son, and considers the eternal question of where the wife and mother ends and the woman begins. When she falls in lust for Kevin, the gorgeous 22-year-old artist across the street, she finds herself awakened and invigorated for the first time in years... and can I just take a moment here to say holy hell, does Hanauer ever know how to make a scene sizzle! Her descriptions of the magnetism of lust are evocative and breathtaking - literally.

Even though I never did warm up to Elayna's complex character - and I admit that a lot of that is simply judgementalism on my part, as I could neither agree with nor understand many of the larger and smaller choices Elayna made - I do appreciate Hanauer's impressive ability to flesh out a character. By far, the most interesting character in the book is Elayna's six-year-old daughter Hazel, a red-haired bundle of fiery energy and attitude perched precariously between being mommy's little girl and a preteen diva.

I found this book both compelling and hard to read. Hanauer is a good storyteller with a keen eye for detail and dialogue, and once the story starts moving it accelerates with the inevitability of a train wreck. You can see it coming, but you can't look away. But that's not to say that I didn't enjoy the ride - I just watched cringing, through splayed fingers, hoping that in the end at least the damage would be minimal. I found myself at times completely wrapped up in the story, my own guilt at hiding upstairs in stolen moments to read a few pages woven seamlessly into Elayna's guilt at her more dangerous choices. Mommy-guilt has more facets than I ever realized!

In addition to the story itself, this book had a few interesting features that I particularly liked. There were a handful of book club questions at the end, and an interview with the author that you can read on the Simon & Schuster Web site - but if you want to read the book, I'd wait and read them afterwards. It was satisfying to finish the book and then read the additional material with the story fresh in my mind, and I've always been interested in process when it comes to writing.

In the end, Sweet Ruin stayed just far enough on the literary side of chick lit to win my approval. While it had its racy and titillating moments, the depth of the characters and the complexity of the relationships was enough to both engage and satisfy me. I'd recommend it as an ideal summer beach book.

What are you reading this summer?

Yay day!

2007-06-12T06:50:00.000-05:00

It's been a few weeks since we've celebrated a yay day around here. The sun is shining and it's two weeks until our Bar Harbor vacation, which are two things worth celebrating all on their own right, but I have more!

My bliss right now comes from the fact that I've been able to spend a lot of time with the boys recently, and I think we're all the better for it. We're in a phase where they're generally a lot of fun to be around (when they aren't bickering like an old married couple, that is!) and I am constantly tickled by their expanding world views.

Kerry and I took the boys to Westfest on the weekend while Beloved attended a weekend-long seminar, and Tristan recounted his encounter with a life-sized Lunar Jim and Clifford the Big Red Dog with some enthusiasm. "But," Tristan concluded with a worldly sigh, "it wasn't the real Lunar Jim."

"How do you know it wasn't the real Lunar Jim?" I asked.

"Well, Mom, because I looked at his back and it had a big zipper on it." Remind me not to let him get too close to Santa Clause this Christmas!

Later that day, Tristan also decided he needed to make a craft, but he was quite secretive about what it was. He asked me to cut a large circle out of a piece of paper, and returned a few moments later with what he called a CBC frisbee; sure enough, he had made an impressive approximation on his 'frisbee' of the exploding cabbage that is the current CBC logo - freehand, using only the image in his head for reference. Be still my patriotic, mothercorp-loving heart!

Yesterday after a bath, Beloved was helping Simon put on his jammies when Simon observed that his fingers were "fancy". It took us a minute to figure out he meant they were wrinkled from the tub.

So my joy is simply that I love my boys, and they love me, and with that everything else in life is golden.

Care to share what's making the sun shine on you today?

The lost post

2007-06-11T06:31:00.001-05:00

Some time between midnight and two in the morning, I woke up with a perfectly brilliant idea for a post. I lay awake for a moment, working out the details and crafting the structure. As I stumbled to the bathroom and back to bed, I actually laughed out loud a little bit with delight at the sheer cleverness of it. I pulled the comforter up tight against my chin, making little mnemonic links in my head so I would be able to retrieve at least the kernel of the idea from the foggy recesses of my brain.

So strong was the resonance of that flash of insight that the first thought that traversed the blank expanse of my brain upon waking was one of curiousity. I had an idea, said my sleep-addled brain, a really good idea. Now, where did I put it? And though I spent quite a few minutes sorting through dusty piles of clutter and looking in long-forgotten corners and cupboards in the dark warrens of my brain, it was no use.

There was even one breathtaking moment of near-revelation, when I sensed the impression of the idea standing nearby, waiting for me to quiet my noisy brain long enough to recognize it or follow the breadcrumbs of nearby concepts so the idea could reveal itself to me in all its inspired glory. But no. It's gone.

Damn. I'm sure it would have been a much better post than this one, too. Any idea what it might have been about?

Six week update

2007-06-08T07:20:00.000-05:00

Since I peed on the stick last week, I have only thought about being pregnant 682,465 times. This, I'm sure you will agree, is a remarkable improvement in restraint and shows definite progress in my attempts to curb the more obsessive side of my personality. This new zen attitude thing is really working out for me!

Not only do I continue to become more pregnant each day, but I am becoming less superstitious about talking about it. I like Fridays, because that's the day I make the leap from the barely pregnant 5w6d to a very far-along and respectable 6w.

I am constantly reassured of my pregnant state in part because every morning I look at the peed-on stick in its place of honour on the lip of the bathroom counter (sidebar: when you are a sentimental and vaguely superstitious pack rat, at what point exactly is it okay to throw away the peed-on stick?) but mostly because the symptoms that have been the hallmarks of my previous pregnancies make themselves more apparent each day. I'm a little more peckish than usual, and my stomach rolls unpleasantly as soon as it detects anything close to hunger. My attention span, not good on the best of days, is practically non-existent.

*looks around*
*blinks*
*notices you waiting*

Oh, sorry about that. What was I saying? Right, pregnancy symptoms. I'm crushed under the weight of a fatigue so big that even Rip Van Winkel's 20-year nap wouldn't take the edge off of it, which is nicely complemented by the fact that where I usually sleep like a happy log, my sleep all week has been fitful and punctuated by stretches of insomnia.

The crankiness? Oh, no, that's not a pregnancy symptom. That's just me.

Hard though it is to believe, my abdomen is already swelling, too. I suppose being on my fifth (!!)pregnancy and having borne children that were larger than some charted asteroids has weakened my abdominal wall beyond repair. I had barely finished peeing on the stick when my stomach pooched out. All I can say is thank god for drawstring summer pants.

Speaking of size, I guess this pretty much halts the progress of my steady but incremental weight loss. I weigh just a little bit less than I did last summer, and have lost a total of nine pounds since February. I think I've gained three since last Wednesday. I think I just gained another one there while I was thinking about it. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that the baby made me eat poutine for lunch yesterday and spicy sausages and perogies for dinner. Willfull little creature, it is. It's been demanding butter tarts for three days, and only the fact that Farm Boy was sold out of them has prevented me from acquiesing - which, of course, has only intensified the craving. Oops, I think I just added another pound just thinking about it.

I work on the edge of the Byward Market, fer crissake, home of some of the best restaurants, cafés and shops in the city of Ottawa. Surely to god I can find a decent butter tart out there somewhere, right? Oh, and for my American friends: a butter tart is like a personal-sized pecan pie, with or without the pecans, occasionally with raisins or walnuts, but gooey-er and altogether more decadent.

Uh, excuse me. I have a - um, a thing to do. Yes, an important ~~butter tart~~ work-related thing. To get. I mean, to do. Quick, point me in the direction of the nearest bakery, it's an emergency!

Edited to add: I love my peeps. Kerry and Trixie came back from a coffee break with not one but TWO butter tarts for me. And Beloved called to say he found a box of my favourite pecan butter tarts at the grocery store this morning. Oh, heavenly tarty goodness...

Episode 156 of the daycare saga: the one with the nanny

2007-06-07T06:28:00.001-05:00

What's that, you say? You're dying for another long, rambly post to update you on the endless saga of our search for quality, affordable child care? Far be it from me to deny you the joy of a post like that.

So. Last time you saw our heroine, she had recently had the rug yanked out from under her by the judgemental and unprofessional caregiver who quit by leaving a note in the mailbox after a mere 14 hours with Tristan and Simon, and she had recommenced the time-consuming and exhausting search for child care. (I'm switching back to first person now. The third-person thing was getting rather tedious.)

In the past two and a half weeks (good gravy, has it only been 2.5 weeks?) I've posted four new online classifieds and answered more than twenty of them myself. I've called daycare centres and home-care agencies. I've called phone numbers from posters taped to the mailbox and the community bulletin board at the grocery store. I've handed my business card out to strangers I've stopped in the park and at Tristan's school, after sidling casually up to them and engaging them in conversations that usually go something like, "Hey, great weather we're having, eh? So, do you know any child care providers with open spaces for a 3 and 5 year old?"

I've asked other mothers at my bus stop, asked neighbours over the back fence, and even had an old friend that I ran into in the grocery store - who happens to run her own home daycare - asking around for me. For a relatively shy person, I've walked up to a whole hell of a lot of strangers and started talking to them. I have, in short, been working the hell out of the surprisingly solid network of parents, friends, childcare providers and strangers.

Much as I've tried to shield them from the conversations going on, the boys are aware that Joanne won't be their caregiver anymore and neither will Bobbie. Tristan has taken to evaluating every adult as a potential caregiver, and has broken my heart a few times by pulling me aside and whispering, "Can {so and so} be our new caregiver?" He has shown a preference for people with swimming pools, extensive toy collections, and other 5 and 6 year old boys with whom he can play.

We've decided to try something new this time around. We're going with - as I have alluded to recently - a live-out nanny. We interviewed someone last week, and although I really liked her, what we could afford was less than what she was hoping to make. I made her an offer last week, and she came back with a counteroffer a few days ago. After much soul-searching and wringing of hands, I told her we simply couldn't afford that much, and she came back with a reduced counteroffer, and I simply couldn't say no again. She hasn't gotten back to me since I accepted her counteroffer, but I'm starting to relax into the idea that it will all work out.

We're going to be paying her $382.50 a week, which is more than $100 more a week (ouch!) than we are currently paying. BUT, she has a car and is willing to shuttle Simon back and forth to nursery school three days a week while juggling the same-time pick-up and drop-off of Tristan. It's a hassle, but gives her three days a week with a two-hour midafternoon break. She has a 9 month-old son of her own, and he's the sweetest, gurgliest, chubbiest 9 month-old I've seen since mine were that age.

Having a nanny is a whole new frontier in paperwork, though. She's considered an employee and I'm the employer, so I have to register a payroll account and deduct and remit the payroll taxes and workers' comp premiums and all that stuff. Gah! Good thing I at least know a little bit about this stuff from all the years I worked in the tax centre.

If any of you have any experience or advice about the legalities of hiring a live-out nanny (or "domestic worker" in government parlance) I'd appreciate your insight. I'm drawing up a contract that covers vacation time, stat days, sick time, working hours and the usual. And no, the irony has not escaped me that back in February I balked at half this stuff when looking for a child care provider and now I'm offering more benefits AND more money than I refused back then. But at least she is my employee now and that gives me some control over the conditions of employment - which means at the very least that she can't take on extra kids without involving me in the decision. I'm a little weirded out by her being in my house with my kids when I'm not there - and potentially when I am, most of all. A new adventure for all of us, I guess.

And the money. Oy. In Canada, you can deduct $7000 per child (younger than 7) against your income for tax purposes. Her annual salary will be just shy of $20K, which is $6K MORE than the annual child care deduction limit - and that's not even considering the $155 a month for Simon's nursery school "tuition." Not to mention the fact that it's damn near 2/3 of Beloved's annual salary last year.

We've decided to suck it up for this year. It will be tight, but my heart was so set on this nursery school for Simon and I am frankly feeling so burned by the whole child care search that if we have to make due on a tight budget for a year we can. A little over a year from now, Tristan will be in school full time and Simon will start morning JK at public school and we can re-evaluate everything then. And of course, our lives could be changing considerably this February - but I'm not counting any of those chickens just yet.

Stay tuned - you know there's more to come.

Public Service Announcement - Safe Kids Week

2007-06-06T13:11:00.000-05:00

(I wrote this last week and then forgot to post it. While it's no longer Safe Kids Week, I still think this is important information. Since I wrote it, another three year old child in the city has died by drowning in the family's above-ground backyard pool.)

***

It's not often I get a press release that's worth just pasting verbatim into a post, but I thought this information from Safe Kids Canada was so timely and relevant that I would do just that. I read on the weekend a frightening story about a 22 month old child who is recovering in hospital from a near-drowning at his daycare outside of Ottawa.

Even we had a bit of a close call last week at a friend's inground pool. Tristan was an arm's length away from me as I held Simon in my arms with my back to Tristan. He misjudged the slope from the shallow end to the deep end and I turned around to see him flailing and struggling to get his footing back under him and managed to pull him back into the shallow end, sputtering and frightened but safe. Awful things can happen in a heartbeat; please read this and be safe this summer. (It's long, so I've tucked it below the fold. Click on the "more please" button to see the rest of this post.)

Safe Kids Canada – Backgrounder on Drowning

Many serious injuries and deaths among Canadian children are linked to summer activities, especially swimming. In fact, the majority (60 per cent) of drowning incidents occur in the summer.[i]

The Facts:

· According to Safe Kids Canada, drowning is the second leading cause of injury-related death for Canadian children. An estimated 58 children under the age of 14 will drown every year. This is equal to two elementary school classrooms of children.

· Another 140 children will be hospitalized each year as a result of a near-drowning incidents.[ii] Near-drowning can cause brain damage and change a child’s life forever. Children who have nearly drowned can have difficulty learning, remembering, planning and paying attention.

· According to a new poll, 34 per cent of Canadian parents believe that if a child were drowning they would hear splashing, crying and screaming. This is simply not true. Drowning happens quickly and silently – often the child just slips under the water. Their lungs fill with water making it impossible to make any sound.

· During the 10-year period from 1994 to 2003 nearly half of all child drownings and near-drownings in Canada occurred in swimming pools (49 per cent); the remainder were in open bodies of water (37 per cent) such as streams, lakes and ponds; and bathtubs (14 per cent).[iii] Young children can drown in as little as 5 cm (2 inches) of water.

· Quebec and Ontario are the most popular provinces for backyard pools. They lead the country with backyard pool drownings with 47 per cent in Quebec and 37 per cent in Ontario.[iv]

· Children under age five are twice as likely to drown as older children. They are attracted to water but do not know its dangers. Their physical characteristics also put them at risk: a combination of poor balance and top-heavy bodies make them vulnerable to falling in the water.

· 38 per cent of drownings of children under the age of five occur in home pools.[v] Often these drownings occur when an adult is not present, while the child is walking or playing near the water and falls in.

The bottom line - these drowning deaths and injuries are predictable and preventable. Parents and caregivers should use ‘layers of protection’ to keep kids safe when in, on or around water.

Safe Kids Canada: Splash into Safety in 2007

It’s simply not enough to teach your child to swim. Safe Kids Canada strongly recommends using ‘layers of protection’ to keep your child safe when in, on or around water.

Advice for Parents about “Layers of Protection”: Follow these 5 Steps to Water Safety

Step 1: Actively Supervise

42 per cent of all children who drowned in the past 10 years did not have an adult watching them.

When in, on or around water make sure you stay within sight and reach of your child at all times – whether it’s a bathtub, a home pool, a lake, a river, a stream or a pond. This means you have no distractions and you are ready to react - no reading or talking on the phone. Wherever water is present, adults need to be vigilant at all times, not only when children are swimming.

Create a safe water environment inside your home and drain the tub after bathing and avoid using bath seats. Babies can drown when bath seats tip over, or when they slip through the leg openings of the bath seat.

Step 2: Get Trained

Know how to react in an emergency situation. Learn to swim or have an experienced adult swimmer supervise children in, on or around water. Weak swimmers should take swimming lessons, and caregivers should learn First Aid and CPR before assuming the role of supervisor.

Step 3: Create Barriers

Children should not be able to access the water directly from the house or cottage. If there are natural water hazards on your property, fence off an outdoor play space for children to keep them safely away from the water.

Many Canadian municipalities require pools to have three-sided perimeter fencing. Since three-sided fencing uses the house as the fourth side to enclose a pool, it enables children living in the home to easily access the pool from the house. A four-foot high (1.2 m), four-sided fence with a self-closing, self-latching gate provides a proven layer of protection. Research has shown that a four-foot high (1.2 m), four-sided pool fencing is twice as effective in preventing home swimming pool drownings compared to three-sided pool fencing.[vi]

Isolation or four-sided fencing is the only passive prevention strategy that has been shown to significantly reduce drowning in backyard pools.[vii] Research shows a fence that goes around all four sides of the pool could prevent 7 out of 10 drownings in children under five years of age by preventing unsupervised access to the pool.[viii]

Whether you have children or not, if you have an in-ground or above-ground pool you should install a four-foot high (1.2 m), four-sided fence with a self closing, self-latching gate. Pool fences and gates should be designed to resist climbing and the gate latch should be installed out of young children’s reach. All these precautions will prevent children from reaching the pool unsupervised.

Even inflatable pools should be fenced off to prevent young children from gaining access directly from the house.[ix]

Other tips: Remember to remove the ladder when you have finished swimming in an above-ground pool. If you are using a wading pool, make sure to empty it when you are done.

Changing four-sided fencing by-laws; what can you do?

Safe Kids Canada is urging Canadians to help enact a municipal by-law requiring a four-foot high (1.2 m), four-sided fence with a self-closing, self-latching gate around all home swimming pools. Not only should in-ground and above-ground pools be fenced, even inflatable pools need four-sided fencing. Pool fences and gates should be designed to stop kids from climbing and the latch should be installed out of a young child’s reach.

Parents who want to find out about their local by-law and advocate for change to the laws in their area, can start by contacting their local councillor. Advice on how to change by-laws is available on the Safe Kids Canada Web site: http://www.safekidscanada.ca/, click on public policy and advocacy, or by calling 1-888-SAFE-TIPS (723-3847).

Step 4: Use Lifejackets

Lifejackets are designed to keep you afloat in water, but they only work if you wear them. Nearly one-tenth of parents believe that children can be left alone while swimming if they are wearing a floatation device such as a lifejacket, arm floats or an inner tube. Arm floats, inner tubes and other inflatable toys should never be used to prevent your child from drowning. Only lifejackets and Personal Floatation Devices (PFDs) are designed for safety. Stay within sight and reach of your child and put young children and weak swimmers in lifejackets when in, on or around water.

Other Tips: Lifejackets and PFDs should be snug; if there is more than three inches (6 cm) between a child’s shoulders and the lifejacket or PFD, it’s too big. Look for the Canadian Coast Guard or Transport Canada approved label on your lifejacket or PFD.

Step 5: Teach Kids To Swim

Evidence shows that swimming ability alone cannot prevent drowning. While parent and tot swimming classes are designed to educate adults in water safety, toddlers are still too young to grasp these concepts. Safe Kids Canada recommends that by age five children are ready to be enrolled in swimming lessons. This is a developmental milestone for children. At this age children have the mental capacity to understand the concepts taught in swimming lessons, as well as increased muscle development and coordination.

Other tips: Teach kids water safety rules. For example, when at the beach or lake only let them swim where you know it is safe.

References:
[i] Safe Kids Canada. Child & Youth Unintentional Injury: 1994 – 2003 10 Years in Review. 2006.
[ii] Ibid.
[iii] Ibid.
[iv] Canadian Red Cross. Drownings and other water-related injuries in Canada. 10 Years of Research. 1991 – 2000.
[v] http://www.redcross.ca/article.asp?id=001037&tid=024 accessed March 19, 2007.
[vi] Stevenson M. Rimajova M, Edgecombe D and Vickery K. Childhood drowning: barriers surrounding private swimming pools. Pediatrics 2003; 111(2):e115-e119.
[vii] Bierens JJLM. Handbook on Drowning. Springer: Germany, 2006. p. 97.
[viii] Safe Kids Canada. Child & Youth Unintentional Injury: 1994 – 2003 10 Years in Review. 2006.
[ix] Sécretariat au loisir et au sport, the Canadian Red Cross (Québec Divison), and the LifeSaving Society. Pertinent Facts about Drownings and Other Water-Related Deaths in Quebec. Undated (1991 – 1991 data).

Book review: Writing Motherhood

2007-06-06T08:35:00.000-05:00

It's my turn to host another stop on a MotherTalk blog tour, this one for Lisa Garrigues' book, Writing Motherhood: Tapping Into Your Creativity as a Writer and a Mother. (Disclosure: for writing this review, I get a free copy of the book and a small honourarium from MotherTalk.)

The irony is that I have been writing this review for 40 minutes, and I'm only on the second paragraph - not because my words are stuck or any writerly block or lack of inspiration, but because Simon decided he wanted to poop on the potty tonight - which is still an arduous task requiring a team effort - and then laptop seized up, and then dog yakked on the carpet. Writing and mothering are fitful partners. There's no shortage of material, but often a serious shortage of available time.

Ahem, so where were we? Oh yes. Book review.

In Writing Motherhood, Lisa Garrigues offers tips and inspiration for mothers who want to write but don't know where or how to begin. She's an award-winning writer and educator, and each chapter of the book examines a different aspect of writing your "momoir" woven with vignettes from Garrigues' life. Each chapter ends with a few writing prompts, which Garrigues calls "invitations," and a select few "inspirations," salient quotes from writers and mothers. The inspirations I liked, but the invitations less so. Like a few other bloggers who reviewed the book on an earlier leg of the tour for this book, I'm not really a fan of writing prompts. I did, however, tuck a few of them away for blog fodder on a dry day.

The central premise of the book is that you MUST get yourself a notebook of some sort and transform it into a "Mother's Notebook." She devotes more than a page of tips to how to select a notebook, and another page to 13 reasons why you should write longhand. And right there, she lost me. Luddite that I may be, I'm still all about the keyboard. I'm so ridiculously out of practice that it's physically painful for me to write more than a paragraph, and I type at just the right speed to keep up with my lurching brain most days. Personally, I don't find handwriting to have any intrinsic craft value. The idea of composing or even recording my first impressions without the easy capability to cut, paste and delete with a keystroke and a swipe of the mouse is nothing short of torturous. Writing longhand may be romantic and creative, but it's also tedious and way too much work. I do carry a small notebook around with me, but even I have a hard time deciphering the half-formed thoughts and scrawled observations.

I found Writing Motherhood to be more spiritual than practical; there wasn't any moment when I gasped with inspiration and leapt for my quill (or keyboard), but neither did I find myself flipping impatiently through the pages looking for something of relevance. While I enjoyed the anecdotal style, I think I was hoping for something with more discussion on the craft of writing itself, something like Stephen King's On Writing - a book I found truly inspiring, and one Garrigues obviously also admired, as she refers to it often.

Writing Motherhood, therefore, is a good tool to help you find writerly inspiration from the act of mothering. It reads very much like the sort writing courses that Garrigues teaches, with each chapter examining a different aspect of where mothering and writing might intersect. The end of the book has a great section on resources, with a few books I'd like to pick up from the library for further inspiration. What I would like to see, however, is an expanded section on moving from private musings to published work, and a much larger section on using the Internet to share your work.

Aside from my disagreement with the central premise of the book, it did inspire me to think about myself as a writer. Garrigues loves the idea of a mother's notebook, but I see the blog serving the very same purpose. I force myself to write every day on blog, and every now and then I try to shake things up with different formats and styles of writing. Like Garrigues' mother's notebook, the blog is a place where I record the minutiae that makes life as a mother both delightful and devastatingly difficult, and also a place where I can play with form, style, and voice. I am slowly giving myself permission to consider myself a writer, even though I've yet to get the elusive external validation of a byline in the mainstream media.

Oh, and while I didn't completely forget that I offered up my slightly-used copy of The Big Payoff from my last MotherTalk review, I'm a little late. Congratulations to Myra! I'll e-mail you for your snail-mail coordinates.

The Secret, and other thoughts

2007-06-04T06:02:00.000-05:00

Jojo dropped off her DVD of The Secret last night, as promised. I'd been hearing a lot about it, and I was curious in a skeptical sort of way. I had mostly dismissed it until some reasonably credible people in my life started singing its praises, and then I heard that the mentoring and coaching program at work was also advocating it.

Beloved and I watched it together, and I have to admit that there were no dramatic epiphanies on either of our parts. The Secret is basically a repackaging of the power of positive thinking mixed in with a bit of theosophy and a little bit of The Force thrown in for good measure... conveniently, the three tenents upon which I've already built my own rather esoteric faith system.

The premise is that your thoughts and feelings have a physical power, and that there is a universal "law of attraction" that draws what you think and feel to you. In short, if you send good energy out into the universe, the universe sends good things back to you. I'm completely on board with that philosophy, and have tried to live my life that way for years. Where I am still a little skeptical is the extrapolation from that, where The Secret claims that whatever you want, as minor as a parking spot close to the door at the mall or as major as a multi-million dollar mansion by the beach, you can draw to yourself through three simple steps. First, tell the universe what you want. Second, visualize not only that you actually have what you covet, but allow yourself to experience the positive emotions that you will feel when you have the thing you covet. Third, believe in the power of your thoughts.

Hmmm.

I remember back in the early 1980s when we were growing up, we used to play a lot of cards as a family. My dad, who was in sales at the time, was a hugely strong believer in the power of positive thinking, and he'd slap his hand on the deck of cards and 'demand' which card he wanted to pick up. I can't remember how frequently it would work as a ratio of the number of times he tried it, but damn if it didn't work at least often enough to leave an impression with me all these years later.

So maybe there is something to this. I mean, I do agree with Shakespeare, who says through Hamlet, "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."( I,v, 175) And I can't argue with the underlying premise. I just have trouble with the covetous aspect of this particular philosophy, that you can attract stuff to you by simple virtue of your desire.

I also have a bit of a problem with the idea that you attract everything to yourself, including the bad stuff. You attract cancer and AIDS and poverty through negativity? And the idea that you can cure yourself of something - again, cancer comes to mind, but I'm also thinking of infertility here - by simply willing it away? What really bothers me about this is the implication that if you can't will it away, you simply aren't trying hard enough.

Anyway, it was very interesting, and the timing was certainly right. I've been making a conscious effort to lead a calmer, less obsessive, more "zen" life since last Wednesday. I'm giving myself over to the universe, placing my faith in fate, and I have to tell you it's been incredibly liberating.

I've decided, for example, not to go for a beta blood test to find out the actual hCG count. This is a huge departure from the girl who kept obsessive results of hormone levels and follicle counts in an excel spreadsheet through four infertility treatments. Those of you who were around last September when I found myself pregnant will remember the great gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands that occurred when the blood test came back at the high end of normal, possibly indicating twins. The great irony, of course, is that high hCG is at least ordinarily an indicator of a strong pregnancy. So, I've decided this time to simply be grateful for the positive pregnancy test this time around, and wait patiently for the first ultrasound in two weeks.

Same with the nanny that we interviewed the other day - the same day, in fact, that we found out about the pregnancy. She's great and I really like her, but I'm not sure we can pay what she needs. So I made our best offer, and she's been considering it. I could have obsessed and been anxious and fretted for days, but none of that would have made any difference whatsoever. Instead, I've given it over to the universe, and know that whatever was meant to be will happen. I've done what I can, the rest is up to her.

I'm not sure if I can keep this up, but I'd like to try. I think this is what people who have true faith in God can do - simply turn over their hopes and fears to God, with the faith that God knows best and the Will of God will prevail.

But on the off chance it might help, I think I'll take a few quiet minutes over the next little while to visualize the new caregiver frolicking happily in the park with my boys, and my round-bellied self waddling up the street to meet them with my heart spilling over with joy. I mean, it can't hurt, right?

Whaddya think? You buy it?

Reactions

2007-06-01T06:29:00.000-05:00

First of all, thank you all for your sweet words of congratulations. I love you guys, I really do! You not only to you elevate my joy, but you inspire me to tell better stories - or at least to tell stories better, as I don't think I could have improved the way the narrative line unfolded itself on that one.

Although of course I am delighted to find myself pregnant, I truly have to say it's the funny and sweet reactions of the people around us that have touched me deeply. This was the e-mail correspondence between Jojo (the boys' godmother) and I before, during and after lunch time on Wednesday. (To truly appreciate this story, you have to know that when we were going for our first IVF cycle back in 2001, Jojo's mom Maureen went to her church and lit a candle for our success. When we conceived Tristan from that cycle, Maureen earned herself a place of honour in our family forever.) So anyway, Jojo and I were talking about The Secret, and Jojo had been telling me how even though we're both a little cynical about these things, she had had some pretty impressive and immediate results. The (very slightly edited for the sake of brevity) correspondence from that point goes on like this:

-----Original Message-----
To: Jojo
Sent: May 30, 2007 10:50 AM
RE: The Secret

Holy shit! Yes, I would very much like to borrow your DVD now!!!!!!! I promise to not roll my eyes any more when people talk about the Secret!

Send out your magic happy thoughts that the nanny interview goes well for me tonight, if you can spare it for me please!!!

----- Original Message ----
To: Jojo
Sent: May 30, 2007 10:50:40 AM
RE: The Secret

P.S. I'm also four days late. Tick tick tick....

----- Original Message ----
To: Dani
Sent: May 30, 2007 11:18 AM
RE: The Secret

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! How have you not POAS?????

You are my favourite silver lining friend! I am sending out an order for both things today for you!

----- Original Message ----
To: Jojo
Sent: May 30, 2007 11:31 AM
RE: The Secret

*laughing* I think I might buy one today. I have no physical symptoms, but didn't have any in Sept either. The one thing that is really making me go "hmmmmmm?" is that I've woken up the last two nights at 2:30 or so in the morning and haven't been able to get back to sleep. Insomnia has been a huge symptom for all of my pgcies. ?????

----- Original Message ----
To: Dani
Sent: May 30, 2007 11:46 AM
RE: The Secret

Get thee to a pharmacy! And you know....tonight IS a Sens game.

----- Original Message ----
To: Jojo
Sent: May 30, 2007 12:34 PM
RE: The Secret

Um, Jojo?

It's postive!!!!!!!!

-----Original Message-----
To: Dani
Sent: May 30, 2007 12:51 PM
From: Jojo
Re: The Secret

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODOH MY GOD OH MY GOD

YES!

The universe listens to you!

***

(I actually had to take out about half of the "OH MY GOD"s. They more than filled my screen!)

So, for one thing, don't diss The Secret! And for another, don't you think everybody needs a friend like Jojo?

Beloved's reaction was more - how can I put this delicately? - restrained. He had been out with the boys all afternoon at a picnic, and so I waited until I got home from work to tell him (which is also why I waited until late in the afternoon to post about it. Some things you just shouldn't find out through your wife's blog, ya know?) I think I mentioned to him that I was on the late side, but I certainly hadn't been obsessing about my lateness in the usual way, so I definitely caught him by surprise.

He was lying on the couch being used as a jungle gym by two climbing monkeys when I flashed the positive test at him without prelude, and his eyes bulged out in a way that even Chuck Jones couldn't have animated better. He looked at me with a lovely mixture of confusion, exhaustion and guarded joy, and later asked my forgiveness if it takes a while for him to feel fully engaged by the idea. The miscarriage last November was harder on him than it was on me, I think, and I competely understand where he is coming from.

My Mom and Dad also received the news with a mix of joy and restraint. My sweet, sweet mother tried valiantly to convince me not to share the news at first. She's just superstitious enough that my public outing of the pregnancy this early in the game screams a dangerous tempting of fate. But she soon came around to my argument that joyous moments are worth sharing, and if sad times come we'll deal with them, too. She did, however, send me a list of "demands" late in the afternoon:

-----Original Message-----
To: Dani
Sent: May 30, 2007 1:25 PM
From: Mom

Here's my list:
Do not lift anything heavy
Do not pick up heavy sod
Get a cleaner for the first 4 months
Do not pick up heavy sod
Eat Eat Eat folic acid and vitamins
Do not pick up heavy sod
Do not be stubborn about this
Love Mom

And, the next morning:

-----Original Message-----
To: Dani
Sent: May 30, 2007 1:25 PM
From: Mom

If that pen is heavy - put it down right now
Ha ha
Love Mom

My own reaction has been one of surprisingly calm. I've been basking in the joy of the reactions of everyone else without thinking spending too much time worrying over the details in my head. It helps that we've been distracted by the sheer busyness of my work and home life right now, including the interview with the potential new nanny. She's lovely and I really like her and hope it works out, but I fear we can't afford her. I sent her an e-mail with our best offer, which is about $200 per month short of what she said she was hoping to earn, and I'm waiting to hear back from her.

I really hope to maintain a sort of "que sera sera" attitude throughout this pregnancy. No good can come of worrying myself sick, and a copy of this article happened to run in yesterday's Citizen (what timing!) confirming that as early as 17 weeks gestation babies can be affected by maternal stress.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... and the wisdom to enjoy the moment. But it wouldn't hurt to get my hands on a copy of The Secret either...

Edited to add: can I say again how much I love the people who contribute to the lively conversation in the comment box? I just got this in my mailbox and had to share it with you. Nicole, you ROCK! My mother will be very impressed... and I promise, no sod will be lifted.

The joys of May

2007-05-30T13:43:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned, yesterday was my Dad's birthday. I was thinking about his birthday on the weekend, and remembered that it was four years ago on his birthday that we told my parents that I was pregnant with Simon.

I had found out that day or the day before, and had had a hard time keeping the secret even that long. I remember practically dancing from foot to foot in their sunny living room, telling him that he was going to get a present for his birthday but that it would take nine months to be delivered. Dad regarded me for a long moment with a confused look on his face, obviously aware of some hidden message but not quite able to piece it together. My mother, on the other hand, squealed in a lovely supersonic yelp that might have been, 'REALLY?' before we both burst into tears and fell into a hug. Looking back, it's sweetly ironic now that Simon and Papa Lou have a special bond that defies description. It hasn't occured to me for years that we announced his pending arrival as a birthday gift to my Dad.

I have to admit, I've been thinking a lot about that May, back in 2003, as this month unfolded. Of course, I started the month with babies on my brain as my lost due date came and went just before our cottage weekend. And here we find ourselves deep in the thick of a hockey playoff season, just like we were in 2003. For those of you who haven't read it, the story of how I found out I was pregnant with Simon has always been one of my very favourite stories, and I'll wait if you want to go read it and see what I mean.

*waits*

*checks watch*

*waits*

See? I mean, of course I'm biased, but I've always loved that story. And each year, I can't help but smile nostagically as I hop back on to the hockey bandwagon, because exciting playoff hockey games and happy news are now inextricably linked in the mythology of my family.

I've been conscious, as the month of May passed this year with its many highs and lows, of that blissful May four years ago. So much so that when I found myself a few days late again this month, I couldn't help but smile. I am, after all, only a couple of days late. I really do know better than to get excited over a mere couple of days.

But I kept thinking about buying that test and bringing it home, and it was a Wednesday four years ago, too. And I kept remembering that hockey game back in 2003, and how exciting it was having the game and the big maybe all tied up in my brain, and I couldn't help but think about tonight's game, Game Two. And when I found myself wide awake at 2:30 in the morning for the second night running, I puzzled over my insomnia for a while before realizing that the only other times I have suffered insomnia have been while I was pregnant.

So I went out at lunchtime today, and I bought a test. A two-pack, of course.

And then when I got back to the office, I just couldn't stand having the damn thing there and not doing anything about it, so I decided what the hell. I'll take the test. So on my lunch break, with far from my first morning urine in a stall in the office bathroom, I took the test.

And it was positive! A big, dark, immediate and unmistakable plus sign. I'm pregnant!

So I've been walking around my office all afternoon with a positive pregnancy test tucked safely in my pocket, and Fates be Damned, I've been having a lot of fun flashing it to a select group of my absolutely lovely, sweet and supportive colleagues, none of whom flinched at me waving a peed-on stick around in front of them and several of whom cried or squealed in delight or did both.

Oh, and speaking of colleagues? Shhhhh! What we say in the blogosphere stays in the blogosphere, at least for now, okay?

Four weeks down, 36 to go...

Thirty years of Star Wars

2007-05-30T07:23:00.001-05:00

I've been meaning to blog for a few days about the 30th anniversary of the release of Star Wars.

Thirty years.

Thirty!!

Star Wars is, hands down, the single most influential movie in my life. It also happens to remain my all-time favourite movie. My childhood memories are tightly woven into a backdrop of Star Wars movies, toys, books, bubble-gum cards and mythology. On this anniversary weekend, there have been plenty of articles in the media about how seminal Star Wars was, and how it changed the movie landscape forever. From an article in the weekend Citizen:

No wonder the U.S. Library of Congress' National Film Registry has named Star Wars "a culturally, historically, and aesthetically important" film, or that the American Film Institute placed it 15th on its list of the top 100 films in the 20th century. And then there's that ubiquitous line from the movie: "May the Force be with you." The AFI ranks the phrase as the eighth-greatest quote in American film history. In this light, it is no exaggeration to say, as film critic Stephen Greydanus puts it, "the Star Wars universe remains a cultural institution of immense proportions."

I clearly remember going to see it for the first time. We went with another family, and on the way to the theatre the four adults sat in the front and back seat of our wood-panelled Cutlass Ciera station wagon (it was, after all, 1977) and we kids rolled around like peas in a 10-gallon tub in the back. Return of the Jedi was the first movie my brother and I were allowed to attend without parental supervision; I remember my father dropping us off in front of the downtown cinema - in the days before the mall-based multi-plex - for an 8:30 am showing.

When we got our first VCR in the early 1980s, one of those giant ones with the square buttons you pushed down and held to make them stick and where the lid opened upwards to accept the cassette and the 'remote' was attached by a long cord and consisted of an analogue switch with two options 'pause' and 'play', Star Wars was the first movie we rented and later copied. I lost count of how many times I watched it through high school, but it was in excess of 120 times. (I may have mentioned I didn't get out much in the earliest years of high school, and by the time I had a pack of friends, they were the kind of good-natured geeks who loved nothing better than to watch Star Wars again and again right along with me after hours spent playing D&D.)

Growing up, my brother had tonnes of Star Wars action figures and playsets. We (note the plural possessive - they may have been gifts for him, but we played with them together) had the ice planet Hoth, the Death Star, and of course, a Millennium Falcon. I had a wicked crush on Luke Skywalker through the first two movies, but as I entered my teen years my tastes strayed from Luke's clean-cut innocence to the roguish worldliness of Han Solo... because in the end, no matter how good the girl, she always likes the bad boys the best.

All these years later, I will still queue up Star Wars in the DVD player if I have an open stretch of evening and feel for a little cinematic comfort food. I think it's safe to say that I would personally rank the movies in the descending order they came out, except that I liked Episode III more than Episode I. I'm a purist, though. The new series, the Anakin stories, are good movies in and of themselves, but they don't hold a candle to the original trilogy.

The Interwebs are full of Star Wars tributes and memes, but these two I couldn't help but share. Have you seen this this hilarious photo from Flickr? Apparently the US Postal Service decorated mailboxes to look like R2D2 in honour of the movie's 30th anniversary. The photo is clever, but the comments embedded into it are hilarious. (Note to self: figure out how they did that - very cool!)

And one last treasure to share with you: this clever little plot comparison between Star Wars and Harry Potter from Neat-o-rama. Perhaps this one appealled to me in particular because I'm deep in the heart of the Harry Potter books, currently in the thick of the Goblet of Fire, working my way through the series in anticipation of Deathly Hallows this summer. Funny to think that Harry Potter may be for this generation of kids what Star Wars was for me!

This post is getting unweildy and I still haven't examined how Star Wars influenced me spiritually, or how Beloved and I still compare and contrast what the movies meant to us growing up. I haven't had a chance to talk about the quotable Star Wars, and how the language of the movie introduced me to a world of rebel alliances and emperors and bounty hunters and cantinas and smugglers and ambassadors - words I learned for the first time through Star Wars and that coloured forever my understanding of them. I haven't gotten into how Star Wars made me curious about life on other worlds, and inspired a life-long love of astronomy and fascination with SETI... I could go on for two sets of trilogies!

What does Star Wars mean to you?

A birthday gift for Papa Lou

2007-05-29T06:49:00.000-05:00

It's my Dad's birthday today. Dad, if you happen to be reading, go away! You can come back tomorrow, but if you read any more you're going to spoil the surprise of your birthday present.

(I can never tell which of my family members reads the blog with any regularity. I know my Mom reads every day - Hi Mom! - and I've set the blog as the default home page on our internet browser, so I know Beloved reads the posts about him and the ones with catchy titles. My sister-in-law in Windsor has said she reads it, but I don't know how regularly - Hi Belinda! - and while I think my brother mostly ignores it, his wife drops by sporadically. Hi Nat! Where was I going with this? Oh right, I was giving my Dad time to leave the room so we can talk about him.)

My Dad doesn't ask for much, and he's difficult to buy for simply because what he wants he immediately goes out and gets. (At least I come by my lack of impulse control honestly!) He has been known to buy stuff for himself on December 23 that someone has already bought and wrapped and tucked under the Christmas tree for him.

So when he mentioned that he would like a cordless drill for his birthday to replace one that wouldn't hold a charge more than a few minutes, I was thrilled to have an easily obtainable gift that I would love to give, and that he would really need and (hopefully!) would not acquire for himself in the days leading to his birthday.

The only caveat was that he wanted to make sure it had a minimum of XX volts of power. I say XX because within three minutes of the conversation, I was distracted and whatever number fit into that XX slot was lost forever. I think he said 18v, but he might have said 12v; I didn't want to ask him because that would confirm that I was taking him up on his suggestion and he would know he was getting the drill for his birthday. (Subtle, eh? Almost as subtle as writing on the Internet about it.)

The very next week, Canadian Tire had a nice 12v cordless drill in the flyer for 35% off, and I made a mental note to pick one up and ask my brother if he wanted to share the $50 cost with me. (Hey, we're Dutch and Scottish; what can I say, we're cheap.) He didn't immediately reply to my e-mail, but I wasn't too worried about it. I saw the flyer on the day before the sale came into effect, and thought every single day of the seven-day sale, "I've really got to get over to Canadian Tire and buy that drill." I finally made it late on the last day of the sale, a good 10 days ahead of my Dad's birthday. I was a little concerned that he had said he wanted a 18v instead of a 12v, but I figured if he really had his heart set on a 18v, he could just trade up.

Drill safely tucked into my closet, I sent another e-mail to my brother asking if he wanted to go in with me. A few days after that, I saw in a flyer that Zellers had an even nicer 18v cordless drill with two batteries for only $40. More power for less cost? That in itself is a gift my Dad would be all over!! But I promptly forgot through the weekend to get myself over to Zellers to pick one up. So yesterday morning I called Beloved from work and told him his task for the day was to get over to Zellers to buy that drill, and we'd take the other one back to CanTire.

After I called Beloved, I called my brother, who reported that he had in fact received my e-mails, and had found a great deal at Rona on an 18v cordless drill, so he had picked it up. He wasn't entirely sure how or when he'd get it up to Dad here in Ottawa, but it was still a better deal than the original one I'd bought at CanTire. I told him about the Zellers deal, and he agreed that it was the best deal of all and we would respectively return our other cordless drills to Rona and CanTire.

Are you keeping track? At this point we've purchased not one, not two but THREE cordless drills. When we get something into our heads as a family, we really follow through!

Beloved called me late yesterday afternoon to report that he had successfully acquired the third and final drill. He said that while he and the boys were in Zellers, they encountered - of all people - my Dad. I don't think I've ever heard my Dad talk about Zellers before. He likes Winners and WalMart and the dollar store - oh how he loves the dollar store! - but I haven't ever heard of him haunting Zellers. I was SURE that Beloved would report that they found him with cordless drill in hand, but apparently not. Beloved and the boys had a close call, though, diving into a nearby rack of clothing when they first spotted Papa Lou, and then leaving the drill safely hidden in a pile of clothes while they went over to say hello. Tristan relayed the story to me with great hilarity as I tucked him into bed last night, highly amused that Beloved had to quickly clap his hand over Simon's mouth as an abrupt end to a sentence that began, "Papa Lou! Guess what? We just bought you a ...."

Okay, so this post is more for me than for you. I'm okay with that if you are. Truth be told, it's really for my Dad, who is a living example of what a great father and a wonderful grandfather should be. He'd appreciate a story about how his family schemed and planned and leapt behind racks of clothing to avoid him.

Happy birthday, Dad, even if you aren't allowed to read this post until your birthday is done!

Now, where DID I put the receipt for that first drill?

Random babbling on a Monday morning

2007-05-28T07:40:00.000-05:00

The good news is, this is the LAST Monday I have to work until after Labour Day. Having a certain amount of seniority means I get almost five weeks of vacation time this year, and in addition to a week in June and a couple later in the summer, I have booked off every Monday through June, July and August. Yay!

The bad news is, I have to work five days this week and the forecast calls for wall-to-wall sunshine. What a drag!

The good news is, the Sens are playing in game one of the Stanley Cup finals tonight. Go Sens GO!

The bad news is, the game starts at 8 pm and the end of regulation time will be dangerously close to my bedtime. Please, hockey gods, no overtime on the weeknight games.

The good news is, I've made contact with a few potential caregivers this weekend, including two daycare providers and a nanny.

The bad news is, I'm tired of interviewing caregivers and more than a little gun-shy about starting all this over again. My standards for personal connection are considerably elevated (and they were pretty damn high to begin with!) and my financial threshhold is getting dangerously high, too.

The good news is, I have hugely satisfied my recent craving for family friendship by getting together with some old friends last week that I had lost touch with, and spent Sunday with not one but two different groups of friends who are like family and family who are like friends.

The bad news is, with all that socializing the house is a disaster and I have no clean underwear.

The good news is, my backyard is in full bloom, from the lilacs to the irises to the apple tree to the honeysuckle and the myriad other perennials that are self-sufficient enough that I haven't yet neglected them to death.

The bad news is, we still have a 12' diameter dirt circle we have to resod from where the pool used to sit. It looks alarmingly like a crop circle in our backyard. I'm thinking of painting a red target in it, just to see if the neighbours react.

The goods news is, I actually managed to whip together a post this morning, which is more than I expected to be able to accomplish because there is simply not enough hours in the day to do all the stuff I've been trying to get done lately.

The bad news is, it's a pretty sad excuse for a post. I'll do better tomorrow, probably. Or, you know, maybe not. See, that's the fun of coming here lately. You never know which of the 17 personalities I've been cultivating will be holding the pen. Today, I think it was a group effort.

Colour me impressed

2007-05-25T19:02:00.001-05:00

Originally uploaded by Dani_Girl

Someone left a brilliant comment recently about saving kids' art to Flickr. I love this idea and have decided to start uploading the boys' art the lazy way, via the digital camera (as opposed to the scanner, which I haven't yet mastered.)

Is it just me, or are these pretty darn good drawings for a five year old? The one on the left is Woody from Toy Story, and the one on the right is (cringe) Sponge Bob Square Pants. He drew them freehand, without any reference material at all. You know I'm all about the words, so he didn't get it from me, but Beloved is a classically trained animator with a degree in fine arts, so I'm guessing Tristan has Beloved to thank for his artistic proclivities.

P.S. This is my first post-from-Flickr blog entry. How cool is that? And I've just realized that I now have to upgrade to a Pro account because I can only have three sets on the basic account. Now at least I know what to ask for for my birthday this year! Does anyone know how I can add more than one picture per post when blogging through Flickr?

Book review: The Big Payoff

2007-05-25T06:49:00.000-05:00

Today is my turn to host a stop on the MotherTalk blog book tour for Sharon Epperson's The Big Payoff: 8 Steps Couples Can Take To Make The Most Of Their Money -- And Live Richly Ever After. (Disclosure: I got a complimentary copy of the unedited proof and a small honourarium for participating in the book tour, and the link is built through my Amazon Associates account.)

I was interested in this book because my finances are a bit of a weak spot. We make a good chunk of change as a family, certainly more than I ever expected to make, and while we own our own home and half of a three-year old car (we'll own the other half in another three years), we have what I consider to be a sickening amount of debt, mostly consumer debt and the tail-end of Beloved's student loans. If we could get out from under the debt we'd be in great shape, but too much of our income goes to paying down the debt and we haven't really got a savings plan - nor have we started socking away money for the boys' ~~bail~~ college funds. I have the golden-handcuffs security of a freedom 55 government pension, but Beloved jokes that he'll be working from beyond the grave. In short, we're luckier than average in a lot of ways, but there are still lots of areas we need to work on.

Unfortunately, this book wasn't a huge amount of help for our family situation for one key reason: we're Canadian. This book has great information about 401(k)s and IRAs, 529 plans and Coverdell Accounts - none of which exist here. If you are American and looking for a great book with lots of specific details on the various types of accounts and tools you can use, I'd highly recommend this book.

The author, Sharon Epperson is a CNBC business correspondent and frequent contributor to a financial column in USA Weekend Magazine. She writes on what can be a complex and, let's admit it, somewhat dry subject with an easy style. The book is well-organized and easy to follow, even for a Canadian like me - I now have a greater understanding of American financial tools and options, at the very least.

In addition to the specifics of the American system, there was a lot of good general information, too. I particularly liked the section where Epperson reiterates the "60% solution" conceptualized by MSN Money editor in chief Richard Jenkins. The theory is that you limit all essential spending to 60% of your gross income. This essential spending, called "committed income", includes household expenses like rent/mortgage, home insurance, taxes, phone, utilities, basic food and clothing, basic transportation (including car payments, maintenance, gas, public transportation fees, etc.), insurance premiums, and fixed expenses like childcare. The remaining 40% of your income should be roughly divided into four groups: retirement savings, long-term savings and/or emergency fund; short-term savings, and fun money.

I have to admit, I haven't had time in this topsy-turvy month to actually sit down and figure all this stuff out, but I know I'm going to have to do it soon. The other issue that Epperson raises that had me toe-ing the carpet in guilty embarrassment was the need to sit down with your partner and create a budget. I'm terrible for budgeting, and I'm worse for communicating about finances. Beloved and I each have control over our own money, and I take care of most of the household expenses. In fact, our only joint account is the mortgage. We really have very little idea how much the other makes or where the money is going. It works for us, but it's not terribly practical. Epperson notes that "a budget helps facilitate communication." I think this is the best take-away from this book for me. The budget isn't a be-all end-all, but a tool to help foster financial openness. It's on the to-do list, I swear it is!

I had a few other grumblings about this book. Although it purports to be designed for middle-class couples, Epperson's version of middle-class seems to be a lot wealthier than my conception of the term. One of the main recommendations is that you should live on one income. Epperson recommends that if you are in a dual-income family, you try living on one income and putting the second income into savings or toward paying down debt. Ha! I'm sure we're at the high end of the middle-class scale, and there's no way we could do this any time in the foreseeable future.

Anyway, while this book didn't quite live up to my expectations for it, it still had enough morsels and nuggets that it was worth my time to read it. I am inspired, at least, to start making a formal budget and - gasp! - talking to Beloved about our finances a little bit more. Well, we can start by talking about his finances. It's better than nothing!

I'd be happy to donate my copy to one of my American friends. If you'd like a slightly-used unedited proof of The Big Payoff, leave a comment below and I'll make another random draw next Monday.

Go Sens GO!

2007-05-24T12:58:00.000-05:00

When I heard that there would be a rally to cheer the Senators on to a Stanley Cup victory on the very day I was home with the boys, I couldn't resist bringing them downtown for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

It was hot - damn hot, to quote Robin Williams - and crowded, but still a wonderful experience to be a part of a crowd of 6000 Cup-crazy fans. The boys had their new Senators jerseys on, fresh from Saturday's inagural wearing, and "Go Sens!" written on their cheeks in, well, in my eyeliner.

Does it get more Canadian than poutine at a Stanley Cup hockey rally? Kerry was kind enough to share hers with Simon.

We had three generations of bandwagon hockey fans cheering for the Sens: Tristan and Simon, me and Papa Lou!

The boys had fun, but spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the backs of people's knees as they sweated in the newly rechristened 'Sens wagon'.

There were lots of smiling faces, and plenty of funny expressions of fandom. This guy who was standing near us had both!

I'm pretty sure this guy had sunstroke by the end of the rally.

This was the best moment of the rally. (Well, this and when Lucky Ron sang Stompin' Tom Connors' The Good Old Hockey Game!) They set off some daytime fireworks and unfurled this 60 foot Sens banner over City Hall.

Edited to add: Kerry's got her take on the rally and more pix on her blog.

We definitely need a Yay Day!

2007-05-24T06:35:00.000-05:00

Whaddya think, peeps? We're long overdue for a Yay Day around here.

If you haven't been by on Yay Day before, the rules are simple. Leave a comment with something that makes you happy today, or something that makes you proud, or something that makes you smile. Celebrate the small victories in life - and the big ones, too! For once, you're allowed to brag to your heart's content.

Given my emotional instability of the past week or so, I'm feeling surprisingly happy today, and that alone is a reason to celebrate. And the boys, those boys who were in one of 'those' testing phases, the relentless and exhausting testing phases? Apparently they're done. They've been just lovely little creatures for the past 30 hours or so, and I've been thoroughly enjoying simply being with them.

Hmmm, which came first - the relaxed and contented mommy or the relaxed and contented boys?

Regardless, here's my contribution to Yay Day: the simple pleasure of a sprinkler and a warm summer evening.

(That's a soccer game in the background. One of the occupational hazzards of living across the street from a park - the invasion of the minivan-driving soccer parents three nights a week!)

Your turn! What is making you happy today?

Now appearing in Canadian Family magazine

2007-05-23T07:05:00.000-05:00

How do you pull a blogger out of a tailspin? Not chocolate, not diamonds, not swedish massage from brawny blond masseurs (although if you're looking for suggestions, all of these are certainly acceptable second-string choices.)

No, if you really want to cheer up a blogger with attention-junkie disorder, give her validation by putting her name AND her blog link in print in a major parenting magazine.

My friend, fellow blogger and parenting author extraordinaire Ann Douglas has written an article for the summer issue of Canadian Family magazine on mom blogging and mom blogs, featuring quotes from Marla and Jen and, um, who was that other one? The one with the lead quote in the article? Oh yeah, me! I can't find the article online just yet, but if they do put it up I'll be sure to let you know. The article is a good exploration of why moms blog, and gives a balanced insight into both the highs and potential lows of blogging.

The irony is that in the lead quote (I'm going from memory here, having forgotten my copy at home) I called the momosphere a kind of massive parenting manual, where there is no question that can't be answered with a search engine and a bit of patience. I wasn't sure that the blogosphere could resolve my current daycare situation, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. In the process, I've invented a new tool: blog search as oracle.

Key your question into the search engine of your choice. Google's blog search would work, but I wanted to narrow my search down to advice from the parenting blogs so I used Scribbit's parenting blog search tool way down there there on my sidebar.

I keyed in "will my search for daycare end well?" and scanned the results for the words "yes" or "no". (I used "find" from the IE toolbar menu to make sure I didn't miss anything.) The oracle of parenting blogs confirms that YES, the search for daycare will end well. Phew, that's certainly a load off my mind!

Thanks, as well, to the Huffington Post, who linked to all the posts on the MotherTalk Blog Bonanza on Fearless Friday, including the post I wrote about Tristan on two wheels.

Now, excuse me while I go use my new blogosphere-as-oracle trick to see if the Sens are going to defeat the Ducks in five games or seven...

Another twist of the knife

2007-05-22T19:38:00.000-05:00

I just spent 30 minutes transcribing the infamous letter, delivered surreptitiously under cover of night, to share with you. (No, I haven't posted it yet. I'm still pondering how wise a decision it is to publish it.) The whole time, I could hear the boys above in their beds, playing and talking and generally avoiding going to sleep.

Tristan finally called down the stairs to me. "Mommy," he said in his serious voice. "We changed our minds. We want to go back to Bobbie's house." The former caregiver, the one who no doubt loved the boys, but with whom I had enough niggling concerns that I launched myself down the road of finding a new caregiver lo these many months ago.

Now I'm really torn. There were valid reasons I wanted to change caregivers. But I'm wondering if maybe my expectations were too high. Should I take the easy road and go back to her? We saw her in the schoolyard today at JK pick-up and she came straight up to me and gave me a hug before talking to the boys. She's been a part of our lives so long, and just seeing her at the school leaves a lump in my throat... especially now as I dread the inevitable question of how it's going with the new caregiver. It's a very small community, and no doubt if I start sending out word that I'm looking for a new caregiver it will really hurt her that we didn't at least try to approach her to see if she would take us back. Bad enough we rejected her once, but potentially devastating that we didn't go back to her when it didn't work out in the very first week... the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt her feelings.

I talked to both boys for a while just now, promising that at the least we would go back to Bobbie's house for a playdate soon. Simon, who every single day said, "I don't want to go to Bobbie's house" said to me tonight, "I miss my buddies. I want to go back, please."

And I didn't think my heart could break any more over this wretched, wretched situation.

I spoke to one agency and left a message with another, and the first agency had absolutely no caregivers in our school zone. I posted half a dozen responses to bulletin boards, and have had a brief e-mail conversation with someone who might be interested in sharing her nanny. It seems half the city of Ottawa is now looking out to help us find a caregiver. Could the answer be as simple as what I had just a week ago? Were my expectations too high? Am I considering settling because I'm still reeling from this whole experience? Does a good heart and unadulterated love count for more than lax discipline, too much TV and rowdy kids?

Twice I asked Tristan how he felt about going back, and twice he said he would like a new caregiver. Is he saying he wants to go back to Bobbie because he thinks thats what I want him to say? Or has he really changed his mind?

Could someone please tell me what the right answer is? I'm getting mighty tired of flailing around in the dark on this one.

Shaking it off

2007-05-22T06:45:00.000-05:00

Well. That was an unpleasant little trip through the dark corners of my psyche. Thanks to all of you for your comments of support and solidarity. It's edifying to hear that a lot of you think the whole daycare-crapout situation was ridiculous - at least it wasn't entirely me!

I spent quite a large part of the long weekend trying to wrest control over the things I can, and looking for the courage to accept the things I can't. Cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed, washed the floors. Boxed up our winter boots and hauled them down to the basement. Threw out half the stuff in the funny-shaped cupboard in the corner that barfs out misbalanced stacks of lidless tupperware and disposable aluminum pans and stray paper plates every time you open the cupboard door. Bought a new battery for the cordless phone that dies if you leave it off the cradle longer than an hour or deign to talk more than 15 minutes. Mowed the lawn, front and back, AND hauled out the weedwhacker to do the edges. Bought a funky new Hound Dog dandelion puller after reading a review of it in the paper (and it was worth every penny of the $25 I spent on it. I filled half a bag of dandelions in less than an hour! Disclosure: link built through my Amazon Associates account.) Bought a bleeding heart perennial to fill a gap in the back flowerbed.

In short, I tried my best to eliminate as many things as possible that have caused me some form of grief in the last little while. And still found time to read a chapter or two of a good book on my new swing. AND watch that stellar hockey game on Saturday. Thank goodness for long weekends.

This post may well qualify for induction into the "Boring Posts Hall of Fame", but I'm trying to cram something in before bringing Tristan to school. I'm home with the boys today since we are newly caregiverless, and I have to tell you, on a sunny May day it's not a bad time to be out of the office.

Sincerely, thank you to all of you who offered a word of kindness in the last couple of days. The good news is, I think my words are unstuck again, and I'm feeling a lot better about the chaos that wasn't banished over the weekend. I mean, life without at least a little bit of chaos is kind of uninteresting, right?

Thanks, friends.

She quit

2007-05-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

I lay in bed for quite a while this morning, trying to force myself to go back to sleep, but I couldn't quiet the voices that have been harranguing me all weekend, so I gave in and got up.

I opened the front door to get the morning newspaper and saw an envelope sticking out of the mailbox. The caregiver had snuck by in the night and left a letter informing us she "felt it necessary to terminate our contract effective immediately." And a cheque refunding our deposit.

I am furious. I'm annoyed as hell about the actual quitting, but I can't say I didn't see it coming. But I am shaking with hurt fury at the cowardly way she went about this without even talking to me. She says her reasons are "Tristan and Simon need much more care than I can give them without jeopardizing the other children, the lack of communication from both you and [Beloved], and the safety issues that have arisen."

And by lack of communication I wonder if she meant the one phone call on Tuesday and two on Thursday I made, checking to see if everything was okay? Ugh. "Children do not learn respect and rules overnight, rather it is a continuous process." She says I was not up front with her because I didn't tell her that Tristan had finished 10 days of antibiotics the night before her first day with them and it was a safety issue and I should have told her. WTF?

There is, of course, absolutely nothing I can do. I'm certainly not going to force her to take my kids for two weeks to honour our 'contract' when she's behaving like this. I'm torn - I feel like there should be some sort of consequence, that I should at the very least give her an earful; but, there is nothing to be gained there.

So off I go to find a new caregiver. Again. I'll at least have to take Tuesday, probably Thursday as well, off work because Beloved is in exam season. Thank small mercies that this happened now instead of in January, and that in a week or two at least he'll be able to stay home with them full time until we find someone.

I told Tristan that Joanne couldn't take care of kids anymore, and asked him if he'd rather go to a new caregiver or back to his old caregiver. At least I know his old caregiver loved both boys, even if I had some concerns about the other stuff and I was willing to eat whatever crow I had to and approach her again. But Tristan said he would like a new caregiver, bless his heart. How can I argue with that?

Oh, and remember the nursery school, the one I was so excited about? Yah, the chances of me actually being able to find someone who will shuttle Tristan to and from school and Simon to and from nursery school? What do you figure my odds are on that one?

Excuse me, I have to go start searching the daycare listings. Staring from scratch. Again.

Bad days

2007-05-20T18:00:00.000-05:00

This is not the post I wrote today. I wrote two others at various points today, trying to relieve some of the pressure in my head. The first two are tucked away in the draft folders, too raw to be published. Hopefully, just getting them out of my head and into the computer is enough.

It hasn't been the best day. It hasn't been the best week. Matter of fact, we're going on two weeks that I'd pretty much either do over or erase from memory.

When I went to see the doctor 10 days ago and she diagnosed the pneumonia, the symptom that was bothering me the most was not the cough, or the fever. It was a much less quantifiable, "I don't feel like myself." The antibiotics quelled the cough and broke the fever, but the emotional malaise lingers, amplified by the criticism and concerns raised by the caregiver.

I'm tired of listening to the various voices in my head. One of the other two posts I wrote today tried to capture the ongoing conversation - no, debate - in my head over the past three days. The voice of comfort tries to tell me I'm doing a good job, I have a great life and very little to complain about on a relative scale, and that this too shall pass. The voice of the critic is less charitable, and makes me feel inadequate and overwhelmed as a parent, as a wife, as an employee, as a person.

Overwhelmed. Inadequate.

Breath in, breath out. Try to find your bliss, try to find just a granule of peace to tide you over.

Right now, I can't think of anything that would make me feel better, which is a kind of desolate place to be. Often, I'll be able to cheer myself up with a meal at a favourite restaurant, or an afternoon of shopping indulgence, or just an hour with a bowl of chips and a good book. Meh. None of those things appeal to me.

The malaise coalesces every now and then into a flare. A flash of temper, a raised voice, tears. And then I feel bad, because my life really isn't so bad and I don't know what the hell has gotten into me. But the negativity is strong, and I look around and see faults everywhere. That was the other post I wrote, trying to capture my vacillating feelings about the boys right now. After the caregivers comments, I'm suddenly hyper-aware of their faults, of my failings. They ARE restless, and relentless. They DO need to learn to listen the first time. They DO talk back a lot, oh my god the arguing and bickering and complaining. Simon really is a handful right now, and I'm honestly out of ideas of how to discipline him. I know they're just going through a phase right now, but their relentless testing feeds my growing ennui and I'm overwhelmed - with worry, with guilt, with anxiety. What if I am screwing this up? What if it's too late? Why can't I do this? Why is it so hard? Why is it so goddamn hard?

So I start to make plans, to compensate. I'll make up charts with reward stickers for good behaviour, limit computer time, make myself more available to them. Except, I haven't washed the floor in two weeks and the toilets in I don't know how long and the grass in the backyard is nearly to my shins. And suddenly two days have gone by and I've been doing menial tasks all weekend with the voices arguing in my head and noticing every. little. thing the boys have done wrong (and, to their credit, a good number of the things they have done right) and I still have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach like I'm not doing a good job anywhere in my life right now. And I just want that feeling to fuck right off because I like it much better when I'm happy and oblivious to the mess and the chaos and I wonder what that says about me.

Breath in, breath out.

I don't know whether I want to publish this post or not. It seems to me I've been doing more than my share of whining lately, and I keep coming to you asking for your feedback, for your endorsement, for your support. That's not what I want, not what I need. But maybe if I tell you that I'm having a hard time, it will make me feel better, and make it easier for me to not be having a hard time anymore.

Dangerous Book for Boys redux, now with more free books!

2007-05-18T06:51:00.001-05:00

Did you think I forgot about the draw for the Dangerous Book for Boys, the one to compensate for the fact that Canadians couldn't enter the Harper Collins contest? Of course I didn't!

There were 22 comments on the thread as of Wednesday morning, one of which was me and one of which was a duplicate. I assigned everyone a number for the order in which their comment appeared and got totally sucked in playing with the Random Number Generator. Why I find random numbers so compulsively interesting is beyond me, but then, I also get lost playing in the thesaurus.

Anyway, twenty minutes later I remembered that I was there for a reason I was playing with the random numbers and got down to business. Since I couldn't get hold of anyone from PriceWaterhouse to validate the contest results, you'll have to rely on this screen capture and my word that the results are valid.

Congratulations to the 10th commenter and winner of the free book, Batman!

But wait! There's more! I'm pleased to tell you that there is yet another chance to win your own free (and autographed!) copy of the Dangerous Book for Boys, courtesy of the MotherTalk Blog Bonanza. For today only, you can write a post and join the MotherTalk Blog Bonanza in support of the Dangerous Book for Boys, and everyone who submits their link to MotherTalk before midnight tonight (May 18) will be eligible for entry in the draw for the free book. Plus, you get to play along with a fun bunch of literate bloggers AND get some traffic to your blog AND maybe find some excellent new blogs to read. There's nothing to lose! Full details are on the MotherTalk blog.

I was all ready to write a post today about raising 'dangerous' boys and how raising boys has changed my perspective on gender roles. After yesterday, though, I'm still feeling a little raw, and second-guessing whether my "boys will be boys" attitude is maybe a little too laissez-faire.

So instead, in this post that lacks any sort of structure whatsoever, I'll turn over the microphone to you. Tell me what 'dangerous' means to you. Is it important for boys to be dangerous? Is it something you encourage, or something you repress? Does being a 'dangerous' boy somehow affect the sort of man he will become? Do girls need to be dangerous, too? Should we tolerate dangerous behaviour more from boys than from girls?

Speak, bloggy peeps! (And, if you decide to post about this as part of the MotherTalk Blog Bonanza, make sure you tell Miriam at MotherTalk so she can link back to you.)

Just when you thought the daycare thing was resolved...

2007-05-17T12:45:00.000-05:00

Remember that new caregiver? The one that took me four months to find, the one I waited more than two months for the boys to start, the one who was 'ideal' and was going to help us send Simon to nursery school?

She wants to quit. Well, she has 'serious reservations' after spending two whole days with my boys. I could cry.

I knew Tuesday had been a rough day. Simon was upset (he cried for the best part of an hour after Beloved left) and he was a real handful after I brought him home. He simply didn't handle the transition nearly as well as I had hoped and expected.

But this morning, Beloved and I were floored when the new caregiver said if she didn't see some improvement by the end of the day today (only the second day she's seen them), she might have to 'reconsider.' When I called her this morning, she had a laundry list of concerns, most of them boiling down to the boys being, well, boys. She felt they were not listening to her, were being too rambunctious, kept asking for TV and video games. She kept talking about how important it was to get a good 'fit'.

I called again this afternoon, and while she had another laundry list of concerns, she's given us a reprieve of sorts, saying she never makes a decision without thinking about it and that she would 'see how it goes after the weekend.' Not sure exactly what this means, except that I get to keep this gnawing lump of anxiety near to my heart for the duration of the long weekend now.

I'm trying not to be bitter, I really am. I get that she's concerned because the boys aren't listening to her as well as she'd like, but to me it's her job to command that respect. They're coming from a day care environment where they had too much freedom, in my opinion, which is why we changed in the first place. And while I'm the first to admit that my boys are not angels, I have a hard time swallowing the fact that they are the bad influence that she seems to be insinuating.

I could refute her criticisms and concerns on a point-by-point basis, but to me it basically boils down to the fact that they need to respect her authority and get used to her style - two things that it will take more than two days to resolve. I'm just flabbergasted that she's being so quick to consider bailing out on me. While of course I would rather she be open with me from the start, I can't help but think this is a huge overreaction on her part. I'm willing to listen to her concerns and to work on the behaviours that are most troubling to her (which seem to revolve around listening and helping to clean up), but it will still take me more than four days to get things turned around.

It's hard not to take this whole thing personally. Aside from the nauseating idea of potentially losing the nursery school connection and having to start the whole day care search over again from scratch, I don't take criticism well on the best of days - but I am especially thin-skinned when it comes to my boys, and my parenting skills.

I can't help but compare this to when we got called in by Tristan's teacher after only eight days last September. She too had concerns about Tristan's behaviour that she wanted to bring to our attention - and we worked with her to improve the situation. The irony is that I wouldn't be surprised to hear he's now one of her favourite students; she's always very favourable to him now and she hasn't expressed a single concern since then.

Bad enough this is undermining my confidence in my choice of a caregiver, but now I'm beginning to wonder if I'm one of those parents who are oblivious to the hellions they are raising. I just want to crawl under my desk and cry...