tripping the life unbalanced

sayonara blogger

2007-03-25T16:10:00.000-05:00

Dear blogger,

I'm sorry to say it's come to this, but I must bid you adieu. I am so very sick of your tantrums and your lack of intuitive thinking. I also need a break from this site - to start again, fresh and without any emotional ties to you.

I hope I can take my friends with me - they weren't just your friends you know. They were our mutual friends when we started this relationship. Like any divorce, I know I'll lose a few. But my real friends can find me over at Wordpress, where the love is still fresh and promises still mean something.

Please forward any mail, messages, and new debates to my new address at http://trippingthelifeunbalanced.wordpress.com/

Your soon-to-be-ex,
CrabbyKate.

4 years ago

2007-03-04T20:13:00.000-05:00

4 years ago tonight marks the eve of Alice's birth. I had a c-section on March 5th, 2003, due to some endometriosis that had plagued me throughout the pregnancy. The plan was for the section to start at 10AM on the morning of the 5th, and about 4 years ago right now we were just returning from an excellent Thai dinner. The last dinner we were to have as just two. We tidied up that night, making sure every last detail was taken care of. We were excited. And scared. Extremely scared.

We lay in bed and talked the night away, even though we knew we had to be up at the crack of dawn to get to the hospital. I was scared about the impending surgery, but mostly anxious to meet the baby. The one we had been talking to, singing to, envisioning and loving before we knew her. I couldn't see myself as a mother, or Matt & I as parents together. Our lives were chaotic, even then, a fact that was reflected in the clutter that filled our hallways and closets. I was nervous I would not be able to step up - to face motherhood full on like I hoped.

And now, four years later, with our lives still in chaos and constant clutter wrapped around me like a shawl, I feel sentimental tonight with the memories of Alice's birth. Because of the section, she was born with fluid on her lungs that lingered for a few days. She couldn't breath on her own for awhile, and was put on a c-pap machine until she was 4 days old. I wasn't allowed to hold her for 4 days.

I have battled anxiety and panic in the past few years, and yes - I could argue that it was parenthood that did that to me. I could say it was being a mother that at times brought the worst in me. But it wouldn't be entirely true, because knowing Alice and being her mom has also changed me for the better. I often feel she created me, and not the other way around.

Even in the first year after she was born, when the anxiety started to show up, holding my daughter could calm me down. Breathing in that milky breath, as I rocked her and desperately tried to carve out my place as a new mother. We were still more like one then, instead of two. She was still just mine. And as much as I embraced and welcome the entry into daycare (oh god you have no idea), it was sad too. Those endless days of just her and I were gone. Forever caught in this type of sentimental remembering.

Just now when I went in to kiss her goodnight, she had fallen asleep amidst a pile of books on her bed. The little baby who never napped, who scared us all in the first few days of her life, the energetic toddler who tantrumed her way through the 2nd year, the preschooler who jumped and danced around the house, the willful child who recently told me "now, I hate you" and "I can never stop loving you" on the same day - this child of mine, she sleeps so beautifully. I feel blessed and lucky and full of love for this child.

4 years ago tonight, she created me.

Happy birthday, baby.

sometimes, it's the little things that push me over the edge

2007-02-28T18:54:00.000-05:00

Alice has been home sick the last few days and Matt and I have barely had a chance to shout obscenities at each other as we passed off child care shifts. The benefit of owning your own business is that you can make up your eight hours in the evening. But the downfall of owning your own business? That you end up working in the evening when you could be doing more productive things like..oh...catching up on American Idol.

Surprisingly, I've been super efficient the last few days and have actually managed to cope with the stress without resorting to my old friends Ativan or Masi. Oh I sighed pretty heavily and sworn a few times under my breath, but for the most part I've stayed pretty calm.

Until tonight, when I saw (or rather - heard) this.

Oh Ben Gibbard (and the other guy from the Postal Service) just what the FUCK are you doing? Look, I understand that bands sometimes do the whole commercial licensing thing (remember the whole uproar over that Moby album, anyone?) I get it, and usually I don't raise a wagging finger. But god, you have taken a song that is important to me and destroyed it. It's one of the only songs that I truly could play at any time of the day and manage to smile. And I know you don't know me and you don't owe this little blogger anything but I feel I must tell you how let down I felt when I saw that commercial. All of the impatience that has simmered inside me for the past few days as I've doted on a sick child has now risen to the surface. In a pile of rage.

What's left for me now, Ben, WHAT'S LEFT FOR ME NOW?

oh. hi.

2007-02-18T12:58:00.000-05:00

This past month has been so busy. I've hardly had a second to myself much less write a blog post. I was off on business trips to Washington and New York, and between those trips and trying to actually spend time with my family, blogging just hasn't been a priority. I go in waves back and forth on this whole blogging thing. Sometimes I can't get to the computer fast enough to get my thoughts out, and other times I feel this whole self-referential cycle drives me bananas. But yet, here I am. And here are the updates.

1. Dance class. Thank you all so much for your very kind comments on the last post regarding Alice's fear of dance class. It meant a lot to me that the post resonated with many of you. I'm happy to report that we managed to get over that hurdle. We convinced Alice to give the class another try, and the next week we went back. This time, we got there a little earlier than everyone else which meant Alice was able to run around the dance studio by herself for a bit before the other kids showed up. And that time on her own made all the difference. She just needed to pee in her own corner, if you know what I mean. When the class officially started, she joined the circle of little dancers willingly and proudly skipped around the room.

Watching her do this was pure gold, as I'm sure many of you can imagine. It's these little moments I try to hold onto, especially amidst other moments of "nooooooomommmyyyyyyyyIIIIIII'mmmmnotttttttgoingtobedddddddddd"

2. New York with Marla . I was in NYC on business a few weeks ago and Marla joined me for fun and freedom from her family. It was a jam-packed few days, as I was attending a tv conference, and Marla was exploring the city. I could spin long yarns about our time there, and how wonderful it was to see Marla enthralled with the candy store that is NYC. But I will leave the majority of those stories to Marla herself, with the exception of what was probably the most memorable night there. I'm talking about watching a very drunk Marla negotiate her way throught he NYC streets late one night. Watching her yell "I wanna be in tv bistibution" on 44th near 8th, and following her (or rather, chasing her) throughout Times Square as she drunkenly wove in and out of stores, pointing at door guards and saying"do you want me to try and get the guy to blow the whistle on me??" I'll leave it to her writing skills to tell the full stories, but suffice to say I will never look at a Lands End coat the same way. And as usual, I don't have any pictures to record my time in New York, but I know there are some doozies in Marla's collection.

3. Our weekend getaway with Nadine and her family (notice the pattern here? I'm thinking about starting up a whole new blog where all I do is recount adventures with other bloggers). In case I haven't mentioned it before, Nadine's husband and my husband are in love with each other. Seriously, it's the real thing. They call each other almost every day and I've caught them having meaningful conversations over the phone. They were chomping at the bits to have a family weekend getaway together so Nadine and I reluctantly agreed (you mean a whole weekend with junk food AND Nadine? Well twist my arm). We rented this place for weekend - just north of Toronto.

It was bliss - we spent the weekend gabbing and eating and drinking and sleeping and gabbing some more. And watching the kids run circles around us.

Nadine's husband cleared an area on the ice (oh yes, there was a frozen pond of course. Laura Ingalls would be proud), so they could play hockey with the kids while Nadine and I lounged with BUST and JANE magazines and pretended we were going to go outside at some point. Nadine spent a good part of the weekend on this captain's bed that was in the open-concept first-floor, right beside the kitchen. Perfect for a pregnant mama to give her orders to her minions and cuddle with Nate.

That captain's bed got plenty of horizontal time with all of us. Even Matt and the kids got to enjoy some books together.

All in all, a busy month personally and professionally. The weeks pass by so quickly and I feel like Christmas was just yesterday. I have to get back on this blogging horse, I know. Next week. I promise.

let down

2007-01-22T19:38:00.000-05:00

All of last year Alice couldn't wait to start ballet class. She would try on every little tutu dress/pink twirly skirt she could find and prance around our living room. She jumped and spun and told me she was one of the 12 dancing princesses. And I, still numb from the fact that this little person was indeed becoming very girly and was very much rejecting the jeans and black turtlenecks I laid out on her bed every morning, started to accept and perhaps even embrace the idea of Alice starting dance class. We signed her up at the local recreation centre, spent a week trying to track down all the necessary accessories (who would have guessed that locating a pair of pink size 11 ballet slippers in Toronto would be so hard?), watched patiently as she showed us her many dance moves in the week leading up to the first class, and gave ourselves a proud pat on the back for at least providing our daughter with some sort of extra-curricular activity. We were good parents.

(cough). You do know where this is going, don't you?

The day of the first class Alice and I stepped out into the bright Toronto winter day, one of the first days we were finally experiencing cold winter weather. We walked in the minus 20-with- the-windchill weather toward the recreation centre, Alice chattering away happily about what her class would be like. We arrived at the rec centre, cheeks cold and chapped from the wind, and ready to start a new journey. As we walked toward the room where the other preschoolers were, I thought about how much older Alice seemed these days.

(jesus Kate, enough with the preamble already).

As soon as we entered the class Alice became a different person. And I mean a different person. She gasped at the 7 other girls staring at her, turned around and hid her face against me. The ballet teacher was sweetly trying to convince her to join the group but she would have none of it. She refused to participate and started crying when it looked like I was leaving the room. I thought that maybe she was just a bit uncomfortable and that if I stayed a while in the room with her that sooner or later she would join in. But no. The whole class she stuck like glue to me, staring at the other children like they were monsters. I could not believe how scared she seemed. And they even did a fairy dance, which for Alice, should have been the end all. The fairy stuff, the princess shit - it truly is her crack. But yet she stayed on my lap, crying every time I tried to pry her off me. I tried every trick I knew to get her to join in, but she stood her ground.

I know, I know. Kids go through this all the time. They get shy and want their mommies - I get it. But really, REALLY, if you have ever met Alice in person you would know that she just has never exhibited much shyness in the past. This is the same kid at daycare who has never, since entering daycare at 11 months old, turned back and cried for me. Even after changing daycares and meeting many new kids over the years, Alice has never seemed like she had separation anxiety. And so I was surprised when she reacted this way.

The worst part, the very worst part, was after the class was over. I thanked the teacher for letting us sit in, and she tried to get Alice's attention to say goodbye. Again, it was like she was trying to pour acid all over Alice's face - she screamed and cried. And then I started to lose my patience.

I got angry and started thinking "well why the hell did we do this if you don't want to be here? Why did you make me come down here in the freezing cold just to be yelled at?" I'll admit it - it was a terrible reaction to have. I was impatient and not paying attention to my daughter's broken heart. I tried not to let her see my anger, but she could probably feel it.

As I got her dressed and we walked out of there, I realized that she was walking head down low and shuffling along sadly. I crouched down to look in her eyes and the saddest little girl looked up at me. She said in a very low voice "we should give those ballet slippers away because I'm never going to use them again." And my heart broke in two, right there in the freezing wind and in the middle of a bunch of other parents hustling by us to get their own kids to their cars. It hurt like nothing else has yet in my parenting experience with Alice. I've done illness and nightmares and even the beginning of terrible girl social hierarchies at daycare. And yet this was the absolute worst I have felt so far. She had wanted to dance so badly. She had waited for months to start this class. But she couldn't do it.

She had disappointed herself, and I was at a loss as what to do. How can you make that first disappointment go away? We all know that feeling - when you've waited and prepared for something that you really, truly believe is going to be your shining moment. And then at the last minute, things just don't go as planned and you feel like you've failed. That's what her little face was full of the whole walk home and I wanted to wrap a protective armor around her against hating herself.

Instead, I hugged her tightly and told her how great a second try can be. How sometimes new situations can be really scary and seem too difficult to deal with. And how mommies can also let themselves down when they want something really really badly.

I hope she believed me, I really do.

prescriptions for plastics

2007-01-18T23:12:00.000-05:00

Oh internet people, I have a dilemma. And once again I am turning online to lay my questions at your feet.

I am off on a business trip to Los Angeles soon and I need some advice - where to stay, what to avoid, how to look like I am having a good time? Which, to be honest, is difficult at the best times for me.

Hollywood, Burbank, L.A. West? It's a blur to me. A great big blur of tans and synthetics.

To rewind a bit, I'm heading out there for a business trip soon and would love any advice thrown my way. While I'm fairly well-versed on all things New York City, I'm afraid to say my L.A, speak is not so good. And in the world of the television industry, which pays my bills, those are the two cities that have their fingers on the remote, so to speak.

I already have Nadine on the case, and I know once Marla reads this her research finger will start itching as well. It's the best having friends who automatically reach for their laptops before you've even finished your sentence about taking a trip somewhere.

But I wanted to ask any of you who also have some advice to give - ummm...can you please give it to me already? Perhaps some of you mama bloggers have recently taken a trip to Hollywood and you want to share? Because I know how realistic that is.

Whatever you have people, c'mon already and shout it out. I'll need to arm myself with some knowledge ammo before taking on L.A. And my handy supply of Ativan, of course.

just add a pinch of barbie

2007-01-09T23:50:00.000-05:00

I should sleeping. I should be sleeping.

But instead, I'm up, catching up on some blogs. And when I came across this awesomeness at crazy mumma's site , I had to share.

I can't share this with Alice just yet, but sweet jesus the rest of you need to see it.

oh where oh where can this little bear be

2007-01-08T20:44:00.000-05:00

The loss of a favourite toy can be devastating to a child. Especially if said child has slept with, traveled with, talked to, hugged and kissed the toy every day of her life since birth. It can be even more devastating to the parents, who first feel terrible that their child feels such pain. And then they feel even worse when they realise that their child needs - absolutely, unequivocally needs - the favourite toy to sleep. This is the stuff of nightmares, people.

We have some good friends - C&D - who are currently going through this dilemma. Their almost-two-year old daughter, full of the same spitfire and energy that befalls Alice, recently lost her favourite bear. Bear fell out of the stroller (they think) somewhere on the streets of Woodstock, Ontario, and now the child is bereft with grief. She won't sleep without it and is driving her poor parents to distraction (and, more possibly, hard liquor). They have tried to locate a similar bear (as in - hey look! Bear grew up!), but, as luck would have it, this particular bear was purchased in Denmark a few years ago and is virtually untraceable.

So my poor friend has asked me to post this picture of Bear here, to see if anyone has seen a bear that looks like this anywhere in the world. Teddy bears are a dime a dozen, I know, but if you knew this child and her penchant for screaming...well, you would want these parents to have one small break. Please. For the love of Bear. Let me know if you have seen a teddy bear like this before.

Won't you help a mama get some sleep?

yes. i know

2007-01-07T19:57:00.000-05:00

My blogging activity over the past few months has been negligent at best. What can I say? The holidays, work, child, eating, drinking, hanging out with real-life family and friends. It kind of took over. And then there's the motivation thing. I mean, really - if I have the choice between writing in this blog or watching a marathon of that damn show 24, you know which one will win, right?

But yes here we are. A brand new year, and another chance for me to make some new resolutions and then ultimately fail. So I am finally not going to do that. I am just going to tell myself I will endeavor to write more and leave it at that. Because I really don't need something else to feel bad about, ya know?

I do have a post brewing on a wrap-up of my 20 book challenge from 2006, but that will come later this week.

I spent the holidays waist-deep in all things pink, Barbie, and princess. God help me, this child seems intent on picking up every single branded item I fucking hate. What can't she love black turtlenecks and jeans like her mom? Case in point, as I write this she is sitting beside me on the floor acting out some game between a singing Ariel doll and Strawberry Shortcake. Although I do have some hope for her yet, as all I keep hearing are things like "you're not my mommy" and then demanding much louder "TAKE YOUR MASK OFF!"

Sweet.

But mostly it was nice to spend just regular hanging-out time with Alice. We're so used to a rigid schedule of daycare, dinner time, reading time, bath time, ativan time, that we're not used to having available hours that are open-ended. It's nice to have time once in a while to just watch movies and eat chocolate and play school and lie down again. And it's especially nice that Alice seems content to do these things with us. Most of the time.

The rest of the time, it's dance time.

nostalgia road

2006-12-20T20:01:00.000-05:00

Instead of catching up on work, which I really should be doing tonight, I've been watching some old faves on you tube. I've even managed to get Alice into some of them. Tonight we've indulged in:

Dr. Snuggles
Fables of the Green Forest
Electric Company
What's The Name of That Song?

Some of the animation and production values on these shows just make me feel old. And MAN was some of that 70s/early 80s programming pretty heavy on the granola/psychedelic side of things. But mostly I feel giddy watching these shows, especially with an enthralled 3 year old perched on my lap.

(Note: Thanks Karrie, for giving me a new bad habit! I started on this youtube mess a few weeks ago after your own post, and now can't stop. I hold you responsible.)

I went all the way to New York City

2006-12-10T12:32:00.000-05:00

And one of the only pictures I took was of Nadine and Al Roker. On tv. In the ghetto motel we stayed in.

We had made ambitious plans to make it to the Rockefeller tree lighting ceremony, but of course dragged our asses while trying to get there. But this picture is just like being there, right?

Last week, I headed down to the city that never sleeps to take in some work and play. And while I am still waiting for Nadine to post her pictures and thoughts (ummm...can't you please do it first?), I'll leave you with a list of some of my more memorable moments while there.

1) Getting an excel spreadsheet from Nad hours before we left, complete with phone numbers for possible restaurants and alternate activities if our planned ones didn't work out. Gotta love a fellow OCD'er.
2) Taking my anxiety meds TWICE by mistake before getting on the plane. Maybe that was why I felt so relaxed while there?
3) The weather. It did rain one day and was fairly humid, but for the most part it was warm -really really warm. Like 15 degrees celsius = perfect for walking around.
4) The ghetto motel. There's something amazing about a motel (because it was waaaay more a motel than a hotel) minutes from Times Square and the rest of the Hiltons that surround it. At least I felt that way - not sure about my travel partner.
5) The moment we saw the Rockefeller tree all lit up. So very very magical. And all the New York people out to see their city reflect back on itself. What a strange thing it must be sometimes to live in a city that is constantly referencing itself in pop culture.
6) Avenue Q - sweet baby jesus. We saw this show after a recommendation from one of my colleagues and wow oh wow was it amazing. Puppets on stage, having sex!
7) Watching my sister and Nadine bond. My little sis lives in Hoboken, and I miss her terribly. She's the one in our family with the devil-may-care attitude and I'm the one brooding in the corner. But surpisingly, we get along very well.
8) Seeing Au Revoir Simone at the Bowary. Somehow, I convinced Nadine that it would be better to see a band then go to a club. It was so worth it to see this band, and they were quite a find for us. Kind of like a mix of Postal Service and the Isabelle chick from Belle and Sebastian.
9) Simply walking the manhattan streets. Night or day, the city hums with electricity. I think I fell most in love with the lower east side -it's one of those neighbourhoods that you can see changing quickly. Cute bars and restaurants lining the streets. And still fairly neighbourhoody.
10) Feeling fulfilled on the plane going home. Although I did a lot of work while there, and it seemed too short a trip on the way home, I felt enough of getting my own thing on before returning to being a mommy. And seeing Alice's face when she ran towards me at the airport? My number one favourite thing about going to New York.

insane in the brain

2006-11-20T19:42:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else have these kind of family days?

First, you start off with one day of the week which you've proclaimed is "family" day. That means a day full of activities that is just for you and yours. A day full of good intentions and sunny ideas and a belly full of giggles and fulfillment. Maybe a trip to the zoo, maybe a day inside doing puzzles together. Regardless of what the activity is, this is supposed to be a day just to spend time together. You know, like all the experts say. "Spend time together", the parenting magazines tell us. No one ever mentions how truly TRULY hard this can be. At least for my family.

What does family day look like at my house, you ask? Oh, let's see: sleep deprived parents who have used up all their goodwill and extra energy during the work week; a broken-down car that fucking breaks down every fucking week; a preschooler hopped up on sugar and boredom; an endlessly messy and chaotic house; and some over-emphasized and under-planned event, like say the Santa Claus parade this past weekend in Toronto.

Yes, we made it to the parade. Well, Alice and I did. Matt was stuck in traffic and the only precious "family" time we had during that event was an awesome cell phone conversation:

Me: where are you?? You are missing the parade.

Him: yeah, well, I'm stuck in traffic. STUCK STUCK STUCK. What can I do about that?

Me: well what do you want me to tell you? (frustrated at having no control over this situation, ultimately which isn't really his fault. But DAMMIT did he have to go to Home Depot just before the parade??)

Him: what I WANT you to tell me is that it's OK I'm missing the parade, what I WANT you to tell me is that you aren't going to nag me about this for years to come. what I WANT you...

Me: click. Hang up.

And then, looking down at my daughter's blissful expression, totally unaware of her parents' insanity, as my own personal hell goes by on a float:

We ultimately made up and tried to salvage the rest of the day, but the pressure of making this one day a week really count is driving me bananas. The rest of the week we cope and tread water, pinning all of our hopes on that fateful "family" day. So when we awake to the reality of Sunday morning which is cleaning and meals all over again, I think we feel cheated by it. I admit it, I want the dream of family day. The anticipated satisfaction we could all have from spending time together. When, in reality, we could be just as happy spending alone time in separate rooms of the house.

watching time fly

2006-11-13T14:37:00.000-05:00

Matt and I have always intended for Alice to have a sibling. Intended being the operative word here. As in, part of a very general conversation when we first thought about kids. As in: siblings? Of course! Of course we want more than one child. Of course we want our kid(s) to have a partner to joke with, conspire with, join forces with against us as we grow old. Of course.

Then we had one child. And the conversation drastically changed. Suddenly the thought of another child makes me break out in a sweat, stomach turning with anxiety.

It seems many across the blogosphere are also talking about the possibility of a second child. It's tricky, this contemplation of the second child. With the first you have the gift of ignorance, the unknowing of sleep deprivation and loss of freedom. You are not yet aware of how deep your rage and resentment can go. And how much your relationships can change.

It's all this that holds me back.

I get asked all the time whether I am thinking about a second child. The short answer: yes. Yes we are thinking about it. Yes we would like Alice to have a sibling. Yes, oh yes. But it's so much more complicated than a simple answer. It's a loaded answer, because it's full of doubt and fear and the unwillingness to jump headfirst into the unknown again. Because I have seen this unknown, and I feel like I am still coming out of it.

And so I bide my time, shrugging my shoulders at the passing time. Always aware that Alice turns four in March and my body gets older.

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to see a new family of four. Our friends R. and I. held a welcoming party for their new baby. It was a lovely afternoon, full of giggling preschoolers and tired but laughing parents. Our friends' first child is much like Alice in temperament and energy, and I was curious to know what it was REALLY like - having two kids instead of one. I asked the new-again mom straight-up: how is it? And she said "you know, in all honesty, it's not as bad as I thought it would be". We talked about the challenges of experiencing sleep deprivation all over again, this time with a 3 year old running around, and something she said very much resonated with me. "The hard time, though, it passes. Eventually, it gets better." And she's right. The first months do end, and the newborn gets older. It is not a finite experience. They get older, sleep gets easier, and then suddenly they are chatting with you at the dinner table about why cats don't have ankles.

We can do this. We can do this.

So what am I so afraid of?

oh happy day

2006-11-08T18:16:00.000-05:00

Thanks, dear internets, for all of your kind words after my last entry. I was feeling down and out and away from the world. But, as always, this crazy worldwideweb thingamajig came through.

AND HEY YOU AMERICANS - congrats on your recent breakup! I know it's been awhile since you've had some good news, so let me celebrate with you. Scarbie's coming over for some pizza and giggles and I promise we will raise a glass in spirit.

god, give me some space

2006-11-05T19:37:00.000-05:00

I have no awesome title for this entry. I'm tired and spent and FED UP with being a mommy today. It's one of those days where I wish I could lock myself in a room by myself for a week and get away from all the poking fingers and the million "Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmeeeee"s that seem to be thrown my way this weekend. I love her, I really do, but crap I need some space. Many tantrums this weekend and a whole bunch of attitude = a very pissed off me. I got home from grocery shopping this afternoon and literally pushed the child at her dad, locked myself in the kitchen, and ate half a giant bag of chips in about 1 minute. Just to do something, ANYTHING, that was just mine. After stuffing my face I looked around at the piles of grocery bags and incredibly messy kitchen, and knew I had another fucking hour of cleaning and dinner making to do. And I cried. I cried so hard for all the hours I seem to spend these days cleaning or cooking or pretend playing or climbing up and down the damn basement stairs to do yet another load of laundry or reading Green Eggs And Ham or battling the ego of a stubborn 3 year old. When I all really want to be doing is reading or taking a hot bath.

Yep, a selfish entry. All about me, whine and more whine. But I needed it. Because if I'm not on here writing my way out of the craziness and anger, I'll be taking it out on my family. And so if you read all that, thanks for listening.

Thinking Crime: Kate Atkinson's One Good Turn

2006-11-01T20:25:00.001-05:00

I'm about to divulge a great secret of mine. Not many people know this (or perhaps really care to know this), and I've tried to keep it hidden for some time. But now I feel it must come out. It's time.

Cough

I sometimes read crime fiction.

Cough.

Ok, ok. Not only do I sometimes read it, I also sometimes truly love it. Especially good crime novels, the ones that are more psychologically thrilling with complicated characters than the ones featuring the obvious and predictable killers. Most of the crime fiction I like happens to be written by women, who happen to write some very excellent, not exactly likeable and usually arrogant, female characters. For example, I'm a fan of Minette Walters and Denise Mina and Lynda Laplante (although with the latter I actually prefer her television scripts to her novels). Earlier this year, I stumbled upon another female crime writer who was newish to the genre. This writer was not exactly being branded as a crime writer but rather as a fiction novelist. A fine line, at times, in the press machine. It was Kate Atkinson, and the book was Case Histories. Although the novel did feature a murder and a search for a killer, it was a much bigger story about family dysfunction and intricate character studies. I was hooked from the first chapter.

I recently had the pleasure of reading Atkinson's follow-up novel - One Good Turn - and have felt the same excitement as I did with Case Histories. While I do admit to loving certain crime novels, I find so many of them weak in character and bankrupt of actual story. Blah blah blah here's a murder, blah blah blah there' s a romance, and blah blah blah here's the murder resolved. It can be so unsatisfying. In Atkinson's novels, however, it's all about the characters and their stories. She uses a multitude of characters' points of view to tell the story, and as it unravels you find yourself deeper and deeper in the psychology of the plot. The murder is just a backdrop, another character almost. It is the drama that surrounds the murder - with all of its finger-pointing at different characters' weaknesses and vulnerabilities that drives this novel.

It seems to be unsavoury in some literary circles to give accolades to crime fiction. Like chicklit, it can be banished to the dusty shelf of all books not worthy of a gold sticker from the likes of Pulitzer or Orange. But I think a novel like ONE GOOD TURN is difficult for those critics, as it straddles the camps of both crime novel and literary fiction. And any author who can turn a pigeon-holed genre on its head has my respect.

See for yourself and let me know what you think.

Hallowhine

2006-10-31T22:29:00.000-05:00

So I have lots to write about regarding the ARM conference and the post conference festivities from last week. I have so much whirling around in my brain about the excellent blogging panel with Marla, Ann, Andrea, Dani and Jen, and lots of stories to relate (like how I started crying during Marla's presentation). And so much more to say about how being in a roomful of intelligent funny women talking about motherhood and beyond made my toes curl with excitement the rest of the weekend. Seriously folks. It was top drawer.

But all of that will have to wait for another day, when I'm feeling more verbose. (I know. Me. More verbose. Can you stand it?)

Tonight, however, it's all about the Halloween activities going on in this house, and the fact that little girls don't like it so much when mommy keeps asking them to "please please turn to the right so mommy can capture the beauty of the costume!"

She eventually did have fun. Right around the time that the 5th chocolate bar kicked in. Can't wait until bedtime. God help us all.

**edited to add: It's a costume of a little girl riding a unicorn. I love how the front legs look all deflated, as if it was empathizing with its rider.

TTLU: Now. With. More. Acne!

2006-10-26T20:16:00.000-05:00

Great. This is just great. Suddenly, and without much warning, some pimples have taken up residence on my face. And we aren't talking little tiny bumps, but rather big RED mothers that compete with my nose and eyes for space. Just in time for a very public outing tomorrow afternoon and evening.

So those of you I have not met before who will be attending the ARM conference tomorrow I'll be with the one at the back of the room trying to cover up my face with a very very long scarf. Or perhaps, the one heckling Marla. I haven't decided yet.

parenting over the phone lines

2006-10-25T17:12:00.000-05:00

There's been much discussion in my house lately about privileges. The privilege to have candy after daycare if you don't scream at me at bedtime, the privilege to watch The Backyardigans if you don't jump on the couch after I told you a million bloody times to cut that out, and even the privilege to have playdates if you don't spit at me on the way home from daycare. For the most part, Alice excels at reward challenges: she likes to work towards a goal that could end positively for her (and provide her with multitudes of Polly Pocket gummy bears. Jesus lord.) She has become much better since last year's Year of The Shitfits (when we saw some doozy tantrums). But now and again the shitfit will hit the fan and I'll duck for cover.

As always, it warms my heart to know that other bloggers feel my pain and parenting foibles. Marla has been experiencing some tantrums of her own with Josie, and we were recently swapping stories. After a botched attempt the other day to get together with Josie and Marla, Alice was upset when the date was postponed. And like all good parents before me, I used this disappointment as a parenting TOOL. Like I said, we were engaged in heavy discussions about "privileges" with Alice, and I knew that Josie and Marla were also in negotiations about tantrums (i.e: act like that and a privilege will be taken away, my friend!) So when I told Alice the playdate had been cancelled because Josie was having difficulty with her tantrums, I also made sure to let her know that that's what happens when parents are fed up with being yelled at. Alice looked at me solemnly and asked if she could call Josie, and here is what (mostly) was said:

A: Hi Jothie
J: Hi Awice
A: We need to be good tomorrow, okay Jothie? We need not to shout and scream and yell at our mommies 'cause I wanna see you tomorrow and I have stickers and I actually want to play with you actually.
J: Otay, Awice. I come to your house tomorrwoah and not be bad tomorrwoah.
A: that's good 'cause I want you to come to my house for a playdate like my mommy said today but then we couldn't do it and now we need to wait until tomorrow actually in one day
J: Yes Awice. I won't yell no more and be good and see you tomorrwoah.
A: (big pause)
J: (bigger pause). The only sound is that of mommies giggling in the back ground
A: (prompted). Bye!
J: (also prompted) 'Bye Awice.

Score one for the mommies. It worked! Dear god it worked. I made sure to milk that conversation for as long as I could that night. "You do want to see Josie tomorrow, right? So you probably want to make sure to go right to bed and NOT dress the cat up in a Princess dress under the covers, right? I hope Josie is listening to her mommy too." I'm not sure if the same went on at Marla's that night, but I can definitely say that the dual reward challenge worked wonders for me.

This is good news, because I'm started to run out of other rewards (she's onto my "no dessert until you finished dinner" scam. She was onto it the night she caught me with a cake pan in my hand, half-eaten. "you didn't eat your dinner, Mommy!") The thought of losing out on a potential playdate was too much for her to bear, and there was excellent behavior to be had the rest of the night. Which is kind of funny, because while Josie and Alice do seem to enjoy spending time together, they have mostly had their friendship thrust upon them and egged on by their mommies. We have convinced them that a missed playdate is the absolute worst thing imaginable, when really it is just so much more convenient for us if they can play nicely while we get drunk in the corner.

Suckers.

paradise by the croisette lights

2006-10-17T17:09:00.000-05:00

I'm back from la France. It was a busy busy week of tv pitching and listening to tv pitches and bitching about tv pitches and good lord stop me before I start talking about pitches again. Cannes is a beautiful but decadent place to do business. I've had my fill of cheese and bread and pasta to last me a lifetime.

Alice and Matt did fine on their own - 8 whole days without me. I was nervous when I first left, thinking the worst of course. But they were fine, as deep down (very far deep down) I knew they would be. I did, however, have a panicked moment one morning. I had not been able to reach them in 24 hours and Matt's cell phone voicemail was completely full. Leave it to me to jump to the worst conclusions. There I was, sitting on the beach along the French Riviera, Cafe Americano in my hand, 25 degrees (C) out and no clouds in sight. I should have been enjoying the scenery and breathing in all that ocean air, but instead I was leaving panicked voicemails with everyone I know. Instead I was calling Nadine on the expensive French cell phone telling her I couldn't get a hold of Matt and Alice and asking her if she had she heard anything. Luckily, she's a good friend and wasn't condescending when she reassured me that they were probably fine and that she could drop by my place to make sure if I really wanted her to. Friends like these, who don't hold your neuroses against you and validate your fears at the same time they calm you down are truly priceless.

Once I talked to Matt and found out that our new cordless phone was broken and he kept trying to answer the phone each time I called, I calmed down and enjoyed the rest of the week of work. It's hard to hate where you are when you see this every morning (view from my apartment balcony in Cannes):

Or when see this on your way to work each day:

And it's REALLY hard to hate a place that excels in making an ordinary meal feel special. Even a regular old sandwich lunch came with these:

Of course, I did miss Canadian Thanksgiving. Which meant I missed an awesomely loud dinner at my parent's house. They can actually be quite fun, and I was disappointed to miss it. But mostly, I missed the opportunity to see my parent's dog in person, who was recently outfitted with this:

If I had been at Thanskgiving dinner, I would have got down on my knees and thanked god that I get to carry this image around with me for the rest of my life. Seriously.

One last thing that the Cannes trip gave me was an opportunity to shop at some of the cutest kids' stores. What it is about European kids' clothing that makes them far superior to the stuff we have here? There's just something about the tiny wooly hats and tights and crochet dresses that makes my maternal heart light on fire. I was happy to bring back a piece of France for my daughter - a reminder of the place I go to twice a year to just be me and not only mommy. Every time I go away I find that as much as I love working on my career, mostly I can't wait to get back to the lovely little spitfire who makes my heart ache when I hear her voice a thousand miles away.

so kiss me and smile for me

2006-10-04T22:24:00.001-05:00

I'm off, folks. Leaving tomorrow night for a week in France to talk television. Say your prayers for me, please, because I surely will need it amongst the many many pitches of "I've got this great idea for a reality show, see?"

Luckily, I'm still sick. I've been fighting this cold/flu now for over 2 weeks and I'm damn sick of being sick. I went to the doctor's yesterday and she was all "tsk tsk you have a virus and tsk tsk there is nothing I can prescribe for you" and I was all "fuck you." She suggested that I go home and "get some sleep for two days" and then I would feel better. Yah, I'll get right on that.

Anyway, to all the people I keep meaning to contact/get back to/call/or yell in their general direction: big sorry and a promise to do so when I return.

I hate leaving Alice when I go away on business. It hurts my heart. This time she seems so much more aware that I am leaving. Tonight at dinner she put her hands on my face and said very solemnly: "France is very very far away from me, mommy, and when you are there I won't be."

Kill me now. Please?

So think of me, friends, tomorrow night as you tuck your kidlets into bed. I'll be high in the sky, high on Ativan. Missing my child already, I'm sure. But kind of looking forward to a bed by myself for one whole week. And the pastries. Sweet Jesus, the pastries.

things that creep me out

2006-09-23T19:16:00.000-05:00

I'm making my way back from the dead. Dead sick, that is. We've all been holed up together as a family of illness the last week or so. Being home sick can be so boring, no? There are only so many episodes of Dr. Phil-I-got-your-kids-back-from-a-cult programs that I can stomach. And then there's the sleepless nights.

You'd be surprised at what kinds of lists I can come up with at 4AM. Lists with titles like "Things I Have Not Yet Worried About That I Should Start Worrying About" or "Things I Should Have Said to Alice to Calm Her Down When She Ran Into A Wall At Daycare and Smashed Her Mouth Instead of 'Oh, Not Your Teeth Again?!'"

I've always been a bit of an insomniac, and for some reason making lists really helps me get through the hours of absolute boredom that can arise from staring at the ceiling. Lately, I've been inspired by thinking about things that creep me out. And, as always, have decided to share it with the internet.

Things That Creep Me Out

James Blunt
Good god, people, WHY? I know I have some friends who actually like this whackjob's music, but the lyrics? The over-the-top stalking emotion is too freaky for me. I saw him perform on SNL a few months ago, and when he sang "Goodbye My Lover" into the camera, I'm pretty sure I heard the sound of bunnies boiling in a pot.

The sound of fingernails scratching fabric
I have no idea where the distaste for this comes from, but suffice to say that this sound makes my skin crawl. Worse offenders are those on couch fabrics - yuck.

Mama Bear's voice on The Berenstain Bears.
I've noted my hate-on for this show before, and truly it is Mama Bear's tisk-tisking that creeps me out the most. It can haunt me. For days.

Men on the public transit system who ask me how old my daughter is
Dude, you probably mean well and aren't a total weirdo, but for your own safety please do not even address me when I stand beside you with Alice. In fact, please avert your eyes completely and pretend we don't exist. You know, the Toronto way.

The word "bon bons"
Seriously. What good can this bring the world?

The texture and smell of cooked eel
Matt loves this stuff and once he ordered it during a marathon of Six Feet Under. Needless to say, we did not make out that night.

That stupid horror movie "The Ring".
I'm not even going to link to it in case I have to continually link to it for years to come until people hear its message.

Water on the floor of the changeroom at the public pool
The idea of stepping in someone else's water that dripped from their body is so gross, so creepy, that it prevents me from swimming in public pools unless it's really too hot outside to live. And even then, I have to swallow back barf and run through the changeroom on my tip toes to just make it into the pool. Pretty mature and impressive, I know. Especially with my 3 year old, who thinks mommy is playing some kind of game. "you win, mommy, you win!"

So, what creeps you out?

damn yo, this horse is DEAD

2006-09-19T13:36:00.000-05:00

So the internets have been swirling and swirling around this topic the last few days. I meant to get on here earlier to post what I PROMISE are my last thoughts on this topic for now, but alas the cold/flu has hit my house. And hit it hard. (hey, as a side note, has anyone else ever hallucinated to Tylenol 1 with codeine?)

I apologize in advance if some of you are sick and tired of hearing about this debate. I just gotta get my last thoughts out, and then I am done.

I want to clear up a few things first: I don't have a problem with popular bloggers. I'm not jealous of bloggers with more readership than I, nor am I interested in being the blog police. I actually respect and read a lot of the bloggers with high readership. What I have felt exceedingly more uncomfortable with, and please note I include myself here, is the climate that surrounds the popularity. It bothers me that there exist companies who are invested in what they hope is our competitive nature (Technorati and Blogshare, for example) My original rant on the subject was somewhat born from my own obsession with checking my site meter. I know a lot of you disagree, but I truly feel as if this constant search to increase your readership can affect your content.

That's how I feel. You can disagree with me (as many have), and you can also call me on my arguments (which also others have). And I respect your right to do so. But I stand by my argument.

Another thing I want to make clear is that I was wrong to limit this argument to just the mommy blogging world (and hey, don't even get me started on the term "mommy blogger" right now, OK? 'Cause that's a whole other can of worms I am not prepared to open at this time). It's everywhere, this obsession with increasing readership, and I should not have limited my argument to this one group. By way of explanation (and not justification) I called out the mommy bloggers on this issue because this is where I personally tend to reside in the blogging world. I never ever meant to suggest that women are alone in this regard, and I do retract my focus on mothers. (I also gave back York University my Women's Studies degree, when they called to ask for it back after reading my post, in case you are interested).

Also, I never meant to offend anyone with my rant. If you notice, my original post does not discuss specific bloggers, and for a reason. Because, as I have said, it's not particular bloggers but rather the general obsession that engulfs the community at large. The focus on linking and commenting and blah diggity blah - it can consume you, eat you up until there's little focus on content and more on the linkage. At least it can consume me. I know some of you disagree and I respect that. In fact, I truly appreciate the debate that has arisen from this discussion. I have listened and read the counter-arguments, and have to at least say this: damn we mommy bloggers have lots to say!

Blogs are a fluid, ever-changing medium, and we should always feel free to challenge their power. Hold it up for introspection. I believe that the blogging world is a microcosm of the outside world in many ways - complete with hierarchy and all. How can we deal with this, and what are some possible solutions? I have some ideas, but they are still percolating and I'm not ready to get into this again. And please, my poor brain just wants to focus on the fact that America's Next Top Model starts tomorrow.

Also, just to be my own devil's advocate about links - I would point out that I too have benefited from linkage. It was through links that I met some close friends, and have many more online blogger friends who I hold dear. I have, like many of you, received great support and created bonds from blogging, and these relationships were first created from a link. So, yes, in that respect, links can be an extremely positive thing.

As for ads on blogs, my jury is still a little out on that argument. But I do think that others are debating it well, and I would encourage you to go see for yourself.

Whew. I'm done with this for now. Where is all the bloggy love, you ask? Because friends, I do have it. Contrary to what you might think. The love is still here, it's just buried a bit amongst my finger wagging and furrowed brow.

So coming up next - a return to the reason I started this blog. My 3 year old. My beautiful spitfire of a daughter, who knows nothing of ads or blogs or real debate (yet). And who yesterday, while I lay in agony on the couch convinced rats were eating my eyeballs, insisted on taking care of me and checking my temperature. Such sweetness, such innocence, this little girl. I should take some cues from her, I think.

the debate rages on

2006-09-17T10:52:00.000-05:00

For any of you who are following the debate around mommy blogging and popularity (and y'all know where I stand on this issue), check out the continued conversation over here. See the comments for the ongoing discussion.

i'm still here

2006-09-16T09:18:00.000-05:00

This blog has been down for almost a day now, and I just managed to get it back by republishing the whole blog. So if you are having a similar problem with your, you might try that.

Otherwise, you can join me in giving a collective finger to Blogger.

best google search string

2006-09-12T12:06:00.000-05:00

Dear internet,

To the person who found me by searching for "baby gravol dogs": you made my afternoon!

Sincerely,

Crabby Kate

this space for rant

2006-09-10T18:41:00.000-05:00

I've just finished reading an excellent piece by Jen over at MUBAR about the business of blogging. And what a business it has become, indeed. I've had my own thoughts stewing about this issue for awhile.

We all know about the increasing presence of ads in blogs, and we all also might know about the debate around certain bigger bloggers posting ads on their sites. I don't even want to get into a long discussion of that here, because actually for the most part I take no issue with those bloggers for making that choice. I recognize how wonderful it could be for some bloggers to make a business out of blogging. In fact, I can appreciate the ways in which those ads are shown: up front and very obviously. There's no pretending those blogs are not receiving ad dollars, (wheras the looming presence of advertorials makes my stomach turn).

What I take issue with is not necessarily the intent of the ad world, but rather the intent of blogging for fame. It seems like it's become a slippery slope from blog popularity to narcissism. And this state of constant need for popularity is rooted on by companies like Technorati and Sitemeter and Blog Shares. It's a world in which links and comments become ads themselves. It's the same world of obsessing about how many links you have, who links to you (and who doesn't), how many hits you get, and on and bloody on. What is problematic, of course, is when there is more focus put on linkage and less on content. I'm no stranger to this obsession myself, and I need to let it go.

The new economics of blogging means you hold up your words as product and look for the best buyer. And we continue to push for bigger and better buyers, damnit.

Before I get a bunch of comments saying "but hey, what's wrong with being a popular blogger?" I'm not saying that popular blogs are bad. I'm not even saying that we should do away with advertising on blogs, per se. What I am saying, rather, is that the blogging world (and the "mommy blogging" world in particular, I think) could do with some reality checks in this regard. We need to shine a very strong light on the fact that these popularity contests take the focus away from the actual "product" of a blog and more towards pleasing a "buyer", or "buyers". The whole idea of blogging to please or blogging for links is disturbing at the very least.

The Family on Beartown Road

2006-09-07T09:53:00.000-05:00

As I have mentioned, I have strayed a bit from my original list of 50 books. My reading habits are a bit like my tv watching habits: I will jump from show to show to show. Finding a gem makes me giddy with excitement, and I want to celebrate the off-road finds as well as my original selection. One find in particular has been The Family On Beartown Road: A Memoir of Love and Courage by Elizabeth Cohen. The story of a family's struggle with Alzheimer's, this book spoke volumes to my personal life.

The Family on Beartown Road is a snapshot of one year, as newly single mom Elizabeth Cohen lives in a small town with both her elderly father and one year-old daughter. Cohen is a member of what they call the "sandwich generation" - people caring for their children and their parents at the same time. Living with both her baby daughter and 80 year-old father, Cohen becomes witness to her child’s glee in learning language at the same time her father grows more confused with his. While there are heartbreaking moments throughout this book, it is an inspiring tale of a transforming relationship between father and daughter, and a pull-no-punches look at the realities of caregivers. What struck me most about this novel was its look at language: there is a painful dichotomy between Cohen’s father’s growing confusion and loss of memory, and her daughter’s increasing grasp of language and ever-increasing army of words. They are almost reflections of life itself: on the way in, and on the way out.

(page 267)

"The brain of my father and the brain of my daughter have crossed. On their way to opposite sides of life, they have made an X. They look upon each other with fond familiarity. And they see each other heading to the place they have just come from. On his way out of life, Daddy had passed her the keys.”

That last sentence always makes me teary, no matter how many times I read it. This experience is not that uncommon, as I am sure many of you have experienced an older family member’s struggle with Alzheimer's or dementia. My family themselves have aging parent stories of their own, not without pain and struggle, and I know other bloggers who are living their own brand of hell with this disease.

We recently lost Matt’s maternal grandfather, a man who had progressive dementia and increasing memory loss. His death was not a surprise, but a great loss nonetheless. The first and only time I met him was a few years back when I was pregnant with Alice. Matt's mom's side lives in BC, and we were making a trek out there to see everyone before the baby arrived. I had heard many stories of this engaging and intelligent man, as well as the recent decline of his memory. Reginald was still at the stage then where he could "fake" a lot. He seemed lucid and on top of things when I met him, making me laugh with stories from his childhood in England. But Matt's mom and grandma had heard these stories many times before, and it was obvious as the night progressed that he was relying on a certain number of memories to get him by. One moment in particular that I will hold dear was when he and I were alone in the living room while the others made dinner. He leaned over to me and whispered "you know, those people in there think I'm a bit crazy. I forget things, so I'll have to apologize in advance if I do that while you are here." He was incredibly sincere, and I was amazed to hear him speak so clearly of the situation. I laughed and said "Well, I'm pregnant and forget things all the time so I think we have that in common." He laughed too and squeezed my hand, saying "well then we'll get along great, I think."

Unfortunately, our visit with them was only for a few days and I didn’t get the chance to get to know them more. The past few years saw him become more and more unable to be cared for at home, and he eventually went into a care facility last fall. I can only imagine how painful a decision Matt’s grandma had to make, to let her lifelong partner go. But really, by that point, the saddest part of course was that he already was unrecognizable: letting go might have brought some relief in many ways. My conversation with Reginald has stuck with me since that visit, and it reminds me of how fleeting time can be. Age eventually catches up with you, and perhaps it is the legacy of lives you leave behind that matters the most. When I see Matt’s gentle ways with Alice, and listen to his long storytelling sessions with her, I can only think that this is a trait passed down from his mom from her dad – and how wonderful a legacy that can be.

Thank you, Elizabeth Cohen, for giving me cause to remember that.

And rest in peace, dear Reginald.

Operation: ducks in a row

2006-09-04T18:20:00.000-05:00

Returning from summer vacation always gives me feelings of general unrest. I'm a creature of habit, and when I'm away I stray from my regular routine and it fucks me up. I pretend I'm all "hey no problem, dinner is at 9PM! and hey look! The child is still awake at 11PM! and HA HA HA, I'm just so relaxed about the fact that we've all been wearing the same clothes for 5 days in a row..."

Not so much, internet friends.

But yet it takes me awhile to remember that I like structure. (Give me a good rut any day and I'm as a happy as can be). I tend to return to my city life and spend the first few days walking around in a haze, wondering why I feel so out of it. This year was no different. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I felt so uncomfortable in my own skin upon arriving home. I was standing at my fridge, late last night, pondering the fuzzy yellow stuff that has taken up residence in the crisper, when it hit me: I NEED TO GET MY ASS IN GEAR! (No shit, Sherlock, the internets cry).

So I promptly sat down and did what I do best: make a list. I made a list of all the things I want to accomplish this fall. Some realistic, some not, but still it gives me great pleasure to write them down. And because I know you're all personally invested in my life at this point, I decided to share them with you. If only to remind myself of these goals in say, oh 4 months, when I'm doing some asshat meme that includes my New Year's resolutions.

Some of my bigger, more general goals for this fall include:

1) Finish what I start. Good god, how hard can this be? It's only been my biggest and baddest albatross since I hit puberty. I am the absolute queen of jumping on board at the initial stages of projects. I will convince myself that yes, this is the magical one I will indeed complete. I have piles of unfinished projects sitting on a shelf in my office that can speak to this, each started with the best of intentions. I eagerly start each one, only to lose interest half-way through, at which time they take their rightful place on the shelf of unfinished projects. (Case in point, my 50 book challenge requires a much-needed cleaning out. I actually have been reading the books, but not reporting).

2) Do more with less. This is part of a larger piece of a conversation Matt and I have been having about our life. I mean, it seems easy to say, right? We have so much, yada yada yada, many people don't, yada yada yada, do we really need all the extras in our life yada yada yada. And really, REALLY? It still matters to me. It still matters to actually write that goal down, as Matt and I did the other night. I am working on some of my own bad vices, like taking taxis when I could stand to use my leg muscles a little more than my hailing arm. Sometimes I feel like all the stuff we accumulate in our life just weighs us down. Makes us want more and then more. My house right now is filled to the gills with crap, absolute crap, that I convinced myself we needed. Like digital cable.

3) Enjoy my free time with Alice. Another one that sounds easy, ya think? But yet it's not always that easy, at least not for me. Lately it seems that Matt & I measure any free time with Alice as an obligation and therefore NOT FUN. It's "your turn, my turn" relay races at my house, and we're both losing out on some really great time with our daughter. It's not always the case, of course, but we could definitely stand to just enjoy the time we spend with her. No feelings of obligation or pressure. Just plain old fun with a silly little girl.

Aside from these larger, general goals, I also have some smaller , more immediately attainable ones. For example, I need to clean this place we call home, pack away all the summer clothes, drink a little, donate some stuff to Godowill, try to find the goddamn paperwork needed for the goddamn taxes (don't even say it), return so very many emails, catch up on some gossip, drink a little more, deal with what seems to be a mold problem in my bathroom (sweet jesus), start to prepare for my business trip to France next month, get some fall clothes for Alice, drink a whole lot more, investigate this thing they call "exercise" and finally maybe try to squeeze in some quality time with Matt (which will ultimately translate to: vegging on our respective couches in the living room, schooling ourselves on the fall tv schedule).

Maybe some of these goals are too ambitious. But damnit, I have to try.

got to give it up

2006-09-02T11:35:00.000-05:00

Crap. I really have to get back on the blogging train. I've been lurking and peeking and sneaking around at other blogs while up here at the cottage this week. I have a myriad of stuff to get out of my brain and onto the internet (imagine that!) and sometimes I wish I just had a direct link from the running commentary from my brain to the computer. The actual act of typing it out seems to be just TOO MUCH while on vacation. It's been a few weeks of over-eating and reading and movies and drinking and other stuff you don't need to know about. And while it's been somewhat relaxing and refreshing, I find that my brain is - or at least the part of my brain that is usually responsible for organizing - sleeping on the job.

Ok now. Let's get this train a-rolling, Kate. Let's not bore the internet with the minutiae of your brain activity, shall we?

I'm back in the city tomorrow night. And then I am making a vow (a VOW I say!) to get my head out of my blogging sand and back staring at the computer screen again.

There. I did it. I managed a post. Imagine that.

home again home again

2006-08-25T18:47:00.000-05:00

Jiggity jog.

So we're back from a mondo trip to New Hampshire to visit relatives and soak in the clean New England air. 13 hour car trips do not a happy child make. But she coped very well and I was proud of her (and of her grandma, who had the insight to bring along a Princess dvd to play on the portable player for the trip there and back. My sanity, however, could use a detox).

New Hampshire, New Hampshire, how beautiful you are! With your rolling hills and very cute little towns. But DAMN you are whitey white. The whole time we were there we saw maybe one person who wasn't Caucasian. Made me crave the multiculturalism that is Toronto.

All in all, it as a great time. Lots of playing for Alice and her close-in-age cousin and lots of laughing for her mama. We were staying with my cousin who is close in age to me and with whom I spent a lot of time in my formative years. They live deep in the heart of rural New Hampshire, so it definitely was a case of city mouse visiting country mouse with Alice. While her cousin was content to wander around their lakefront property totally naked for most of our week there, Miss Alice would meekly ask "umm...do I need shoes?" whenever she stepped outside.

Matt stayed home to work so I got to spend a lot of quality time with Miss A. And while it was so very very tiring at times, it actually was even better than I thought. We got some important bonding in, which I think we both needed. She greeted me every day with a smile and a big hug, throwing her arms around my neck and saying things like "I love it when we vacation together." Pure sweetness.

We're off again tomorrow morning for a week away at the cottage, and I'll try to update from there. Adios, summer!

guest blogging

2006-08-17T00:41:00.000-05:00

I'm representin' over at Martinis For Milk today.

#27. Lunar Park

2006-08-10T19:25:00.000-05:00

Once again, I have fallen behind in the 'ole 50 book challenge. Actually, what has happened is that I am cheating on the challenge, and behind the challenge's back am reading a whole bunch of great books that are more up my alley then some of my original choices. So - coming soon to TTLU - a new feature entitled "SIDE BAR: books without guilt". I have already read quite a few books to make notes on, like Lee Martin's The Bright Forever, and Jennifer Egan's Look At Me (both of which I loved). And I somehow have to sound the alarm for the most excellent The Secret History by Donna Tartt (which doesn't really need an alarm sounded, as it was published in 1992 to great acclaim. I'm just a bit late to the party, that's all, and thought I should alert any other latecomers: do not miss this gift of literature).

Sidetracked....sidetracked...

So yes. Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis. Unlike many of my friends in the early 90s, I did not read and fall deeply in love with Ellis' famous novel American Psycho. I was well aware of its presence, of course, and was nudged and encouraged constantly to give it a shot. I didn't, for no real good reason. It might have helped to read it before reading Lunar Park. Using the "text within a text within a text" trick, this novel sees Ellis as novelist as unreliable narrator as character. In the book, the "character" Bret Easton Ellis has recently married and become step-dad to his new wife's children. He is actually also the bio dad of one of the kids, which leads of course to many inner struggles with fatherhood and father-fear.

I don't really want to go into the plot much here (as it's also kind of a ghost story and I don't want to throw you off course), but will say this: Lunar Park was one of the best books I have ever read about masculinity. You may have gathered from my earlier entries that I am not a fan of the male midlife crisis books. I am sure that many of them have their own validity and fully admit that this is a bias that isn't based on anything substantial. Just that I'm sick of hearing those stories.

So when I find a book like Lunar Park full of all the cliches (older man has affair with younger girl and hides the affair - as well as his coke habit -from his new wife), and I LIKE IT, well then I just want to shout it to the world. I expected to hate the characters and instead felt sympathetic and even found myself nodding along "yes YES I know what you mean." How can this be? Well, for one thing Ellis is master with words and that helps. There's also just something about his self-pitying and self-absorbed character in the book that I identify with.

Go get this book and see for yourself.

see me?

2006-08-10T19:10:00.000-05:00

So in thinking a lot more about my post the other day about photos of me and how I hate them and how I don't have many photos of Alice and I together and bloggity blah blah blah, I decided to finally share myself with you. I know some of you have already braved that line and posted pics of yourself and to you, I tip my hat. I was inspired to try and do a workable photo of Alice and I, to show myself that YES I could get a good pic of us together. It could happen.

Well, it could you know.

But, of course it didn't. 'Cause this is the best one of the bunch:

At least you see my hair. And maybe her eyes closed. In case you can't figure it out, I am kissing her forehead.

I guess that's good enough for now.

on not liking what I see

2006-08-06T21:58:00.000-05:00

Last week while at the cottage, over many glasses of wine one night, we pulled out the family photos. Are you familiar with this family ritual, or is it just specific to mine? We started looking at the photo albums that chronicle my parents' marriage and their four children, at various stages and in various homes throughout the 70s, 80s, 90s, and present. There are the requisite first steps and Jolly Jumper shots, the teen years of sourness and smirks, and the more recent years of marriages and grandchildren. We reminisced and giggled at bad hairstyles and boyfriends and girlfriends come and gone. Amidst the laughter and the yelling ('cause it ain't a get together with my family without the yelling), something became really clear to me. Something that has been simmering beneath the surface with me, bugging me like a hard-to-reach itch that has bothered me for years: I hate looking at myself in photos. As in truly truly HATE it.

The main problem is that I am apparently unable to look human in most photos. And if I manage to look human, then I almost always look uncomfortable or pissed. The worst ones are the group-posed ones, where I try to smile. It's like I am just not made for photos. My sister and I were joking about how she always looked as if she stepped out of Gap ad in the family photos and I was the one constantly scowling with a dark cloud over my head. And while it certainly made me laugh at the time, it also makes me feel somehow disappointed in myself. I can't quite explain it properly, but goddamn it doesn't feel good.

A few years ago when I first teamed up with my business partner we had some corporate photos done of us while on a trip to Banff. Picture it: the mountains as backdrop and two grinning women posing in their proud black suits. Should have been picture-perfect, except once again I had a hard time mastering a smile. I warned the photographer ahead of time, saying "I don't know how to take good photos, and I always look uncomfortable." And he was all "oh you'll be fine" until he realised 50 shots in that I really REALLY can't do photos. At one point I was perched awkwardly on a ledge at the beautiful Banff Springs hotel, overlooking the glorious mountains, trying to pull off a natural smile but looking as if I was sitting on hot burning coals. "what is WRONG with you" the exasperated photographer kept asking me, "just RELAX", he of so much encouragement only minutes earlier. If only it were that easy for me.

This dislike of seeing myself in pictures has also intensified since I gained some weight after having my daughter. I have been able to get most of it off now, but it's like I gained an unhappy voice in my head along with it and now I can't get rid of it.

It's not like I don't know how to laugh and giggle and generally have fun in social situations (despite this stupid moniker I gave myself on a whim one night - CrabbyKate - I'm not always that crabby). Perhaps it's the permanence of photos, the fact that forever in time is locked a picture of me looking uncomfortable. I prefer to remember the memories as they play out in my mind, instead of having a permanent record of me looking ill at ease.

The absolute worst part of this is that I don't have that many pictures of Alice and I together. I have a few - a few that I cherish and hold close - but not the hundreds and hundreds that other mommies I know have. I realise this is unhealthy - I hate this and I truly wish I did not care. "But you look great" Matt tells me. "And how beautiful is any picture of a mother and daughter." But I can't bear to see myself looking awkward and unhappy, not in a picture with her. She is everything happy about me, everything good and everything beautiful. And I can't stand to have her so close to something that has become agonizing to me.

I hesitated to write this post, as it is almost too revealing for me. I had to get this out, though, no matter how exposed I will feel. Maybe by writing this I will come to see how ridiculous the whole neurosis is. Something has to give, because I most definitely do not want to pass this on to Alice.

vacation postmortem

2006-07-30T19:14:00.000-05:00

I've been back for awhile now, but apparently getting my ass in gear to blog again is much too much energy. And it has been DAMN HOT in Toronto, so I can use that as an excuse for my lethargy. But really? I'm just lazy.

Instead of give you a full play-by-play of exactly what went down during our time away in this excellent place, I thought I would just leave you with some of the more memorable events. (and hey, those of you with a young child: you know it's not really a week of relaxation when you spend the time with 10 of your family members without your partner in parenting and with a 3 year old who doesn't fall asleep until midnight every night, right? Ah yes. You know that).

A few glimpses into our vacation:

1) A roomful of grown adults singing along to Disney's "Princess Sing-Along Song" on dvd, which highlights the more popular (and somewhat annoying) hits from any Disney movie with a princess in it. Best all-around award must go to Uncle Aaron who belted out "A WHOLE NEW WORLD!!!" every hour or so, sending Alice into a fit of giggles each time.
2) A table full of shouting (and mostly drunk) grown-ups playing Texas Hold-Em, while a 3 year old tries to sleep upstairs.
3) watching Alice get progressively stoned after I gave her baby Gravol for the first time (oh people, it works, it REALLY works)
4) a Treasure Hunt my parents orchestrated that sent my siblings and I into a tizzy of competition. Yes, that's right. An organized hunt, people. A full-on scavengener-like hunt that drove my sister, myself, and my SIL to run around the small town, giggling like teenagers and trying to throw the other team (my brother and brother-in-law) off track.
5) eating greasy fries on the beach
6) rock hunting with Alice on the Lake Huron shore
7) a well-intentioned but poorly-planned anniversary celebration for my parents (35 years!) that began the night before with a bunch of excited brainstorming and over-the-top plans and ended up being a really nice dinner cooked by my brother and SIL.
8) hanging with my asshat sister who lives too far away in New Jersey. Also hanging with my BIL and SIL getting to know them better
9) watching Alice paint her beloved Uncle Peter's toes pink
10) in the car on the way home, Alice grabbing my hand and whispering "I like it when we have a holiday together."

Ok. That's it for me for now. I have to get some momentum infused in this blog - I just don't seem to be that interested in posting these days. I'll try to get some more posts in soon.

Over and out.

tales from the girly side

2006-07-13T22:50:00.000-05:00

I have admitted here before that my spunky energetic daughter has been enamored with all things ultra feminine as of late. She loves dress up and high heels and lipstick and purses and barbies and princesses. I have been learning as I go along this parenting journey to interject when I think it's appropriate and let her be at other times. And for the most part, it's harmless stuff - she's playing at being girly and I think it's good to explore all kinds of stuff at this age. It's not easy to be asked to "play house like girls do" but I try to filter out the shit and leave the rest behind.

It has previously only been in the realm of play that we have encountered these issues. We now, however, have suddenly come up against the issues around gender stereotypes: "mommy, boys can't wear skirts!" "that boy said only boys can climb up the slide - it's too hard for girls" and my very favourite "but I don't wanna be a firefighter, mommy, I wanna be a FIREMAN!"

Sigh.

In many ways, I love this stage in her life because I get to see her start to really question what is put in front of her, on her own terms. In other ways, it's very difficult to help your daughter understand gender stereotypes at 3. Her world is so black and white right now, and conceptualizing grey...well, it's near impossible.

We experienced this difficulty the other night while reading books in Alice's bed. She had recently received a giant bag of books from a friend and I hadn't yet gone through to see what was there. And so when I lay down to read her a bedtime story, you better believe I was speechless when she pulled out this:

Not sure if any of you have had the pleasure of reading this book, but suffice to say it is probably my least favourite of any of the B. books. (and I'm not a fan, so you do the math). It's about a little cub who pisses off her older brother by following he and his friends around. It's not only the sibling shadow that bothers him (and that's a valid concern, take it from an oldest sibling), but the fact that she is better than the boys at traditional male activities: running, playing ball, marbles, and climbing. And THAT is what she gets punished for - the boys of course run off on their own and start a NO GIRLS ALLOWED club, and well, you can see where this is going. The book's message is apparently supposed to be a lesson about bragging and how it can lose you friends, but really it's just a diatribe about how girls shouldn't make boys feel badly if they - GASP - are better at something than the boys. Take this gem from Mama Bear (to Papa Bear who is actually defending his daughter's right to be the best in the room):

"how would you have liked it when you were a cub if some little girl could outrun outclimb and outhit you?"

Of course, this was the part in the story that I put the book down and had a long conversation with Alice. We talked about what girls and boys can both do, and how some people think that there are things that boys can do that girls shouldn't, and vice versa. It actually turned out to be a good thing we talked, because I think it's pretty confusing at her age to work out in her head why Mommy doesn't like her book.

She's still a little foggy on the details ("you mean people can do whatever they want, when they want, right? Like I can have candy whenever I want!") But at least she is starting to understand that boys can wear makeup and girls can be mechanics. I know we have many more conversations like this ahead of us, but I do take comfort in the fact that she is happy to explore all sides of the gender line, and self-confident enough to tell the boy on the slide that "girls can do whatever boys can!" unprompted.

Of course, I also take comfort in this:

Which is what her arms were wrapped around when I peeked in on her later.

can you feel the love tonight?

2006-07-12T17:31:00.000-05:00

Oh god. It has happened. Disney has captured my sense of good taste and won't let it go. We've been watching The Lion King the past few days (because a 2 hour movie takes oh, about 5 days to get through with a preschooler). I had never seen that movie before, and apparently I'm the last person on this earth to admit to that. Even Matt, the self-professed hater of all things Disney, was surprised "never? as in NEVER seen The Lion King?" I guess I was too busy drowning myself in beer and bad romances when it came out in the theatres.

So anyway, I finally watched it and really? It didn't kill me. I know, I know - I can't believe it myself. But that first part of the movie where all the animals come running to see the new lion cub and Simba is held up to the sky? I'm embarrassed to say a few tears made their way down my pathetic traitor cheeks. I used to talk a big game about the evils of Disney and the ways they rule the world. But now, here I am bugging my daughter to just "hold on a minute, OK? I know you're about to pee your pants but mommy needs to see what happens with Scar and Simba's big throwdown." I blame her, of course, as surely it is her influence on me. She's also to blame for the Barbie doll I bought her a xmas. So there, internet.

In other news, I'm happy to report that our 4 day hiatus from active parenting was excellent. I took two days off work and just puttered around the house for most of the time. I even got to catch up on some good books and spend some quality time with Matt. We celebrated Scarbie's birthday celebrations with her on Friday night and let me just say this - I was so impressed, and a bit envious of how well she handles herself about 5 tequila shots in. We stayed out with her crowd until late and got to sleep in the next morning. The best thing, it is, this thing they call sleeping in. Even better than better-than-sex pie.

Alice came back to us refreshed and full of energy. I think all of that Lake Huron air and spoiling from her grandparents did her a world of good. And even better? We were all so happy to be reunited - it was amazing to realise how much we missed her presence in the house. We are just not our family without her.

#46: Veronica

2006-07-06T12:57:00.000-05:00

One thing I totally hate about conventional chicklit is how contrived it makes female friendship seem: packaging it in a neat box of sentimental tears and pinky swears and a bunch of women howling at the moon in unison. Joining hands in female solidarity, with not a drop of contempt nor insecurity nor jealousy between them.

Yeah, right.

Don't get me wrong - it's not like I think that female friendship is not important or life-changing. I just think that it is more complex than sharing secrets about lovers and holding each other's babies. While those things are indeed fun and even necessary at times, I want to read stories about female friends that goes far beyond these clichés. How about seeing your own self-loathing reflected in the eyes of your friends? How about the solace you find in the fact that you are not alone in the depressing day-to-day crap train that is your life? And I'm not talking here about a literary version of That's What Friends Are For with Dionne Warwick, but more She's Losing It by Belle and Sebastian. I am talking about those friendships that are few and far between, where you take comfort knowing that you are both damaged, both crazy, both walking the line between vanity and insecurity.

I love these kinds of stories - I find myself seeking them out at bookstores and the library. And I found a new one with Veronica by Mary Gaitskill. This novel follows an unlikely friendship between a 20-something has-been model and middle aged professional "temp" worker who contracts AIDS in the early days of the disease. Unlike most well-worn images of female friendships in literature, these two women are not all that sympathetic nor likeable at times. The novel mainly focuses on Alison, and her search for connection in the world. She doesn't feel as though she belongs anywhere, and this emptiness follows her for most of the novel:

page # 132: Sometimes I saw the goodwill and the deep things and longed to know them. Sometimes I saw the thrusting jaw and the bony calves and turned up my nose. Because I could never fully have either feeling, I stayed detached.

It is through her memories of her friendship with Veronica that Alison is able to crawl out of the hole of selfishnesss and detachment that had previously crippled her. Here is a story of female friendship that reveals the complexities of such relationships - they are not all beautifully-wrapped packages full of hearts and smiley emoticons. Instead, they are deeper connections that hold up a mirror to our deepest fears and insecurities, and allow us to find comfort in those reflections.

page 256: I was not saved by an innocent girl or an angel crying in heaven. I was saved by another demon, who looked on me with pity and so became human again. And because I pitied her in turn, I was allowed to become human, too.

This novel touched me in ways few have. I love the way Gaitskill can confront you with ugliness and tenderness in the same paragraph. Most highly recommended.

and out of the blue

2006-07-05T14:25:00.000-05:00

I recently received a call from my dad:

Dad: How are things?

Me: OK. (subtext here is: Tired. Cranky. At my wit's end. How about you?)

Dad: Your mom and I are coming to Toronto on Tuesday, and we wanted to know if we could take Alice with us to the cottage for a few days.

Me: stunned silence. Unable to compute.

Dad: So we would take her from Wednesday until Saturday. Would that be OK with you guys?

Me: OK? (Still unable to completely comprehend that my parents have just offered to give me a vacation from being a mommy for 4 days. 4 WHOLE DAYS, PEOPLE).

Dad: Yah, you know. As in: would you agree to that?

Me: swallowing back tears of pure joy. Yes. Oh yes. I could agree to that.

Dad: Great. See you then.

---------------------------------------------

And so it is, my friends. My parents just left with my child to enjoy 4 days of sunshine and beach and grandparents' love and Matt and I are on our own. I am so excited I don't know what to do with myself. I mean, I really don't. I think I will just sit here for a few hours and simply soak up the silence. WOO HOOOO!

Vacation, All I ever wanted

2006-07-02T17:45:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling nostalgic this weekend. Feverish with memories of being younger and without a child or husband and just being on my own. I'm in a repeat cycle of thinking about patio nights in the summer, pooling change for $7 pitchers of beer, and watching the nights turn into early morning haze. It's like I'm homesick for a 20 year-old me.

I don't really know why I'm feeling so maudlin about that time in my life. It's not like I led such a great life back then, nor is it like I oozed super confidence and was happy in everything I did. I suppose it's the drama of those years -the silly tears over boys and the giggly comfort of my best girl friends. It was a time without a future and where moments were grounded in the "today" of it all.

I was standing in the grocery aisle today, making important decisions regarding whether I should buy the new Lysol spray over my usual brand, when "Vacation" by the Go-Go's came on. Even though that song hit big before my young adult life really mattered,, it's not like that song doesn't remind me of my own younger days. I felt wishful and giggly and a bit remorseful all at the same time. Singing that song softly to myself in the grocery aisle doesn't really cut it against dancing to it during a heat wave at the Dance Cave years ago.

Here's the goods if you wish to indulge. If you're like me ( and I suspect some of you are), you will probably feel a little stirring at your own memory bank. My treat to you today.

Signing off now - I promise not to be so syrupy in my next post...

#44 The Time In Between

2006-06-28T21:54:00.000-05:00

Now here's a novel I fell into, and absolutely loved. Here's a novel that gives good metaphor AS WELL as good story. This 2005 Giller prize winner won me over, and how. The Time In Between by David Bergen is the story of a man who returns to Vietnam where he fought years before. It is also the story of his daughter Ada's search for him when he goes missing, and her subsequent discovery of who her father really was. It's a novel full of overlapping memories and internal conflict, and ultimately is a story of a daughter's search for herself among her father's personal demons. Sad, yes. Depressing, yes, But totally fulfilling.

I love Bergen's prose - the simplicity of it. Probably not for all readers, as its nakedness will probably bother some. (if that makes sense). But this appeals to me, as I love when an author can cut to the chase. Take this paragraph (page 167) near the end of the novel, where Ada is coming to terms with her father's legacy of fear and anger:

They drank warm beer and watched the sun set. It went down orange and then red. Beyond the palm trees in the courtyard, down the lane, Ada saw a woman riding her bicycle, her back straight, one arm steady at her side. Vu said that it was important to live without hate and bitterness and fear. "This is possible" he said.

I like the cadences here, the rise and fall of the sentences as they convey such a simple idea. It seems effortless, even though I know it couldn't have been.

Totally recommended.

#22. Kafka On The Shore

2006-06-28T17:57:00.000-05:00

I must admit, I am hitting a snag with my 50 book challenge. I have about 5 or 6 titles on my bedside table that have been waiting for my attention. They are almost all award-winning novels, by renowned authors. I was getting about half-way through all of them, and then I would put them down and going on to the next. Not engaging or fully immersed in any of them. Which is weird for me, as I love to feel absorbed by and completely addicted to a novel. I finally made a deal with myself and hunkered down to finish one of them. Which is how we come to #22 on my list - Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami. On many of the must-read lists of 2005, this novel managed to hold my interest long enough to dive in with both feet.

I won't go into the plot of this novel, because truly its plot is not that important. It's the tone, rather, that moves this book along. Filled with dream-like narrative, Kafka On the Shore follows two people whose lives intertwine in a sometimes paranormal - and downright freaky - story. And while I can appreciate a picnic of metaphors as much as the next girl, I also found myself growing tired of the falling fish, ghosts, and magic stones that hijack this book. I found myself aching for the STORY in it all - the beginning, the middle, the end. The dramatic arc and then the explanation at the end.

In the television world, we are always talking about the "reveal" in the story: the part of the half-hour lifestyle series where the people walk into their newly-made over living rooms, exclaiming "oh my GAWD, look at the wainscoting Henry!" It's the part of the story when the audience is rewarded for sticking it out. And that's exactly the part of this story that I thought was missing - the reveal. Where's my wrap-up, my sum-up, my clap on the back for making it through achingly-long passages about a mysterious stone and whether or not the two main characters are connected? Maybe I've become lazy in my expectations of a story, but I want the linear story dammnit! Maybe I've become one of those people I hated in university - the ones who rolled their eyes in literary theory class and asked the professor if we could just read The Great Gatsby just one more time "'cause at least it's an easy story to understand..."

Other than the lack of a solid story, however, this novel is one of beauty and skill. Like a really long poem that you can read in bits at a time, savouring each word. Now if only I had the patience to stick around...

graduation

2006-06-26T16:48:00.000-05:00

Alice's daycare invited me to their "graduation" celebration last week. She is not even really "graduating" to kindergarten until next year, but the daycare were also celebrating the movement of the "sophomores" to the next year up. I kid you not.

So I arrive at the celebration, all sarcasm and rolling eyes. Right. This is what the world needs. Another reason to eat copious amounts of cake and buy expensive photo packages. And as if these 3 and 4 year olds can really understand the pomp and circumstance of the whole event.

The parents were ushered into the gym, where a large banner reading "CONGRATS GRADS" was hanging over the stage. I think I had the same banner at my high school graduation. I could not believe the hoopla over (what I thought) was such a minor event. These are THREE year olds, people. I searched the crowd until I found the other parents who obviously agreed with my jaded view of the whole event - we shared some smirks. The lights dimmed and the slide show began, to the tune of the perfectly awful "That's What Friends Are For." I tried to control my giggles at how very very ridiculous it all was, how very over the top. And then, by the time we reached the 2nd verse of that awful song, it happened...I got sucked into the whole thing. The pictures on the screen showed my daughter a year ago, all baby-like with her toothy grins and chubby hands. I found myself reaching for the conveniently-placed kleenex at the end of every row, trying unsuccessfully to cover up big heaving sobs. Good god I was an embarrassment to myself. It was just that there she was - all big girl and no more baby. And there she was - playing a game with kids I don't know. There she was, having an experience totally outside of anything I know about her, creating her own memories away from me.

So I let myself get into it. You know, rituals can be good. And a year of Alice's life, at this point, is a huge huge deal for her. While I can do without the gowns and hats and photo shoots, it made her feel very special about the year she just had. She felt celebrated and cherished. And that's enough for me.

So, with that, I present to you: my sophomore of 2006!

H to the izz-O, M to the izz-E

2006-06-20T20:26:00.000-05:00

Lame. Yes I know. Capital L Lame. But can't a girl love her some Jay-Z just once in a while? Can't I throw around these lyrics like I'm not the whitest mama on the block?

I'm home now from a week-long business trip in Banff. It was hectic and busy and productive and a bit too long. There is only so much talking about television I can do. 'Cause that is virtually what I do all day long. Talk about tv, think about tv, pitch tv shows, listen to tv show pitches, and on and bloody on. Most days I love what I do and do it well. But there are some days when I feel like if I have to hear "OK, there's this makeover team, see?" I will shoot myself and those around me in the face. Or I will just lose my shit and start freaking out about the amount of useless tv shows that are actually currently on the air and how we could all benefit from other activities like, oh I don't know, reading?

I'm not sure which reaction would be worse for my career, actually.

Alice spent the week at my parents up north and had a great time. I think she might have worn them thin by the end of their time together, though. They looked pretty happy to be driving away from her instead of rushing out of the car like they usually do to see who will get to her first. She looked about two years older and actually got taller in the week we were apart. Seriously, the child is almost half my size and I ain't no shorty. I look at her sometimes and think "wow, she is going to kick ASS when she is a teenager." And then other times I feel bad, because I know her fate: the tallest girl in the grade eight room with a bunch of boys who seem a million years younger and much more immature and who act like little fuckers really. Um yeah. I think I have some leftover resentment.

Anyway, I gotta get back on this blogging horse. How does one get her momentum back after a week of listening to many pontifications on the "future" of the Canadian television industry??? She plants her ass in front of the PVR'd episodes of fantastically non-Canadian programs like Entourage and Big Love.

from bliss to barf

2006-06-06T15:26:00.000-05:00

I want to say right upfront that I would never try and topple Marla's current reign as gross-out queen. But people, I am warning you now: if you have a weak stomach or possibly are above listening to people talk about barf or have an aversion to listening to ME bitch about anything, move right the fuck along. Like, now.

This past weekend we enjoyed two blissful days on Lake Huron, where my parents have retired. Beautiful sun, cartons of potato salad, other people to look after my child - what could be better? I got a chance to finish a book and eat my face off and watch my daughter soak up the attention of her grandparents, and generally felt much rejuvenated by the time we started the 3 hour drive home. Even Alice cooperated for most of the ride, and I felt like everything was right with the world.

Until about 30 minutes from Toronto where the sun started to turn into a giant ball of smog and the QEW was packed with stupid fuckers on motorbikes and my daughter started whining about "getting out of this car NOW!" And while I tried to close my eyes and go to my happy place of beach and beer and potato salad, she started kicking my chair and shrieking. And of course instead of offering a comforting "we'll be home soon!" I whined right back at her "stop kicking my chair, Alice, and just try to be patient! Remember we talked about PATIENCE??" (I said, barely hanging on myself). Her kicking intensified and when I whipped my head back intending to go all mommy dearest on her, she coughed once and barfed all over herself, the car seat, and my friend sitting in the back seat. I felt terrible, of course, because the poor thing was terrified and feeling sick and all I did was yell at her. And of course I couldn't get to her because of the stupid carseat.

At this point we were only about 15 minutes from home so it wasn't so bad. Matt started accelerating to get us home faster which put us all more on edge. So I alternated between trying to soothe Alice from my seat with "it's OK sweetie, everything is going to OK" to "good LORD Matt, slow the hell down!" The smell of barf was so intense, and because our luxury 1990 Honda has a) a broken air conditioner and b) windows that are broken and won't go down, it was not pleasant. As soon as we got home I immediately threw her in the bathtub, cleaned her up and hugged her a lot. And after some soup and gingerale, she was good as gold.

I, on the other hand, had lost all memories of the blissed-out weekend. Funny how that happens. You'd think that 15 minutes of pure hell and chaos still couldn't hold a candle to 48 hours of relaxation and rest. But apparently, barf still trumps a holiday anytime.

summer fun

2006-05-28T12:58:00.000-05:00

I love how Toronto moves so quickly from spring to summer. In a matter of days, we go from cold-and-rainy-make-some-stew weather to good-lord-get-out-the-sunscreen weather. No really - I do love this quick change. It appeals to the impatient side in me. The side of me that's always bitching about line-ups and bank tellers and grocery store customers who want to haggle over 10 cents off a bag of milk. The side of me that just wants to yell "good god people, is this what we have come to??"

Ummm...I think that might be another post.

In the meantime, I leave you with some pics from this weekend. Alice frolicking in the backyard. Is there anything more joyful than a preschooler and water?

from the "I'm sure she's using a metaphor for loving me" file

2006-05-22T20:56:00.000-05:00

Conversation today, between Alice and I as we lay down for a nap together:

Me: You were so well-behaved today, Alice, and that makes mommy really happy

Alice: (stares up at me with big BIG eyes)

Me: (gush of emotion) You're growing up so quickly, and I love you so much

Alice: (puts her arm up around my neck)

Me: (getting close to Movie-Of-the-Week teary. voice wavering) And I hope we will always be close

Alice: (beckons me down toward her, so I can her what she whispers)

Me: (prepares myself for another cute love-in from my daughter, blinking back tears. Knowing that her heartfelt reply is going down in my memory bank to pull out when I'm feeling down some day later in life when she starts to pull away from me)

Me:Yes, yes sweetie?

Alice: Mommy, when I grow up, you will have to call me Mr. Fix-It. That will be my new name.

Oh. Right.

dear internet

2006-05-21T16:20:00.000-05:00

Oh internet, I need help. HELP, I say.

In true Crabby Kate form, I ruined a perfectly awesome meal last night. We had some guests over and I was making this great Moroccan stew. And while the oven was turned to 375, I also managed to cook my coffee pot that was sitting on a burner. And the plastic that was at the bottom of this pot, you ask? Oh yes. It cooked too. It melted away while I was out of the kitchen, as I was feeling proud that I had actually put together a decent meal for guests. Proud for about 10 minutes, until I smelled that putrid stink that only melted plastic can make. And not only did the plastic melt on the burner, but all the way down into the stove. Making it so everytime I turn on the oven now, we are all subjected to toxic fumes. I am so awesome.

Has anyone had this happen to them? How should I get melted plastic off my element and out of my stove? I am turning to you, internet, in my time of need. Please come through for me, will ya?

why bloggers make me happy

2006-05-17T18:36:00.000-05:00

I have about 4 drafted blog entries on the go, all half-done and going nowhere fast. I was all set to try to complete an intelligent, insightful, with just-the-right-amount-laughs post, when I starting procrastinating. And what comes next? Oh you know it. I start browsing other blogs to either gain momentum or avoid avoid avoid. And once I saw this I realised that I was done for the night. I seriously laughed until I cried when I saw that picture and then knew that it was OK to let the attempt to create the perfect post go tonight. So instead of posting one of my own entries, I think instead I will share the love that is Not Well Planned. 'Cause the Mincemeat Vixen just has this shit downpat and I bow to her skills.

#10 Epileptic

2006-05-11T18:52:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make.

I've been feeling the pressure of reading some of the books on my 50 book challenge. This is probably a subject for another longer post (in which I wax poetic about how choices are made regarding the books that end up on award lists), but basically I am feeling overwhelmed by how WEIGHTY some of them are. Engaging and intelligent, but heavy on the metaphors and subject matter. I want something I can pick up and dive into right away, and let the story just take me away. Something different, and little out of my regular comfort zone would be great. And lucky me, I have found this in David B's collection of his graphic novels Epileptic.

Let me say right off the bat that I am a novice when it comes to graphic novels. I have many friends who are fans and who have been encouraging me to read some, but I frankly never understood the interest. I believed that a good novel was all about the words, the language, the way a writer could spin a good tale with a few sentences. What I didn't take into account was the way a story can be told, and told well, through pictures and visuals. Epileptic is David B.'s story of his family's experiences with his older brother's epilepsy. The visuals are stunning - full of comic relief combined with intense pain. It acts as a memoir of a family's struggle with a disease that engulfs them. It contains all the elements of emotion and grief that I am finding in the other books on my challenge, but yet it is told through a different medium. Just what I was needing. A good refresher before diving back into the throes of lengthy descriptions and page-long metaphors.

hell hath no fury

2006-05-08T13:33:00.000-05:00

Like a three year-old who doesn't get her way.

My sweet loving little imp disappeared this weekend, and in her place was a demon spawn who wrecked havoc whenever I was around. We seemed to have entered the dreaded 'ole daughter-mommy war, and if this weekend was any taste of what was to come I am dreading the teen years.

We started off nicely enough with a morning at home gardening together on Saturday morning. I dropped Alice off at my brother and SIL's in the afternoon so I could get some peak hours in working by myself in the backyard. Matt was working all day, so that probably contributed to the mother-of-all meltdowns that we experienced later on. We try and spend good family time together on the weekends, but Matt has been working a lot of Saturdays and I think she is missing him.

Anyway, when I picked her up at my brother and SIL's later she went apeshit. And I MEAN apeshit people. She jumped on beds, hid behind bookcases, ran away from me while we were up on the rooftop of their condo, pushed all the buttons on the elevator. All things that alone are general preschool fun, but doing them all together in a crazy sucession of "no no NOOOOOOOO" made for a crazy spiral. We actually had to leave my brother and SIL's place before we had even eaten the lovely dinner they had prepared because Alice was just out of control. I tried everything I could think of - getting down to her level, asking her to stop, telling her why she had to stop, distracting her, removing her to a quieter place, and finally losing my cool and saying "fine! we are outta here!" In the car on the way home she kicked my seat the entire way and then threw herself on the ground in front of our house and yelled "you are NOT my best friend." Back at ya, missy.

Needless to say we had a calm down and a long talk and tears and the whole bit. And after we both fell asleep after all the drama, she awoke the next day only to have a repeat performance.

Her anger is definitely directed at me, and I know KNOW know that it's because I'm the one she wants to test most. Last night trying to get her up the stairs for a bath and book resulted into biting and spitting at me. Like a mad dog. And while I try to remind myself that she is only 3 years old I find myself responding to her sometimes as if she is a mature adult. I have to remember that this is another phase, one where she is trying to exert her independence from me and testing out our boundaries around each other. But goddamn. Can we please skip over this part?

Becoming a caricature of my former self

2006-05-03T13:54:00.000-05:00

One of my favourite movies is GHOSTWORLD. I can watch that movie over and over and still pee my pants each time with laughter. I can run the lines from that movie as much as I could BREAKFAST CLUB back in the day. I could empathize with both Enid and Seymour's characters so much so that sometimes I thought I was living in their world. (This was all pre-child of course). So just imagine my absolute horror the other day when I experienced a Ghostworld-like moment, but was on the OTHER side of the empathy.

I was trying to cross the street (the very busy, always littered, constantly filled-with ass cracks and crack heads intersection in the area of the city in which I live) with Alice in tow. And she was taking her own sweet time, hopping on one foot across the street, simultaneously shoving Smarties in her mouth that I had bribed her with that morning. Her new running shoes were lighting up as she hopped (yes yes I said shoes THAT LIGHT UP. The goddamn sales woman at the goddamn shoe store trapped me, OK?) and as I tried to drag her across the street I caught the look of one of the drivers waiting at the light as we crossed. It was a mixture of impatience and disgust. And all I could think of was that scene in GHOSTWORLD where a similar incident happens and Seymour (played by the absolutely awesome Steve Buscemi) cries out in frustration: "what, are we moving in slow motion, people!?!" It was the same scene, I kid you not, down to the flashing shoes. And all I could think about was how I was the one with the kid this time, and not the one snorting in laughter along with Enid.

So what did I do? Well, exactly what any other Ghostworld-loving parent would. I smiled at the driver and SLOWED RIGHT DOWN. We were still in front of the car when the light turned red. The woman in the car was beside herself with frantic anger, and it was all I could to not shout the lines back at her.

Yes, it's true. Now, I do move in slow motion.

#50: My Year of Magical Thinking

2006-04-26T13:13:00.000-05:00

(I just realized that the numbers on my 50 book challenge list could be misleading you, my gentle readers. The numbered order in which they were originally set was based on the alphabetical order they are in, not the chronological order I read them in. So, for example #50 on the list is My Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion, but I certainly HAVE NOT already read 50 books this year. Just clearing that up).

Preamble and all.

So here we are. At probably one of the most anticipated titles on my list (for me). And I am just not all that sure how I can possibly best describe my reaction to this book. It moved me, inspired me, depressed me, and gave me hope all at the same time. It spoke to the mother in me, the child in me, the partner in me, the skeptic in me, and the sometimes over-the-top anxiety-ridden woman in me.

This is Joan Didion's story of the year that followed her husband John Gregory Dunne's sudden death and her daughter's serious illness. It is the story of a woman who meets hell head-on and somehow somehow lives to write about it. When I first heard about this book, I must admit my first reaction was "I don't think I could ever read that. It would be so sad and give my brain more fodder for fear about death than it needs." And sure - it is sad and it does go into the heart of grief. She doesn't shy away from the horrible awful condition of grief - the endless days of remembering moments from the past and living in those moments, and the questions about destiny and fate. Didion constantly reminds the reader and herself about the expectations one has of life itself - of the apparent meaningless of it all, when death is always so close to us.

But what is absolutely amazing about the book is its focus on survival: death and devastation engulf Didion that year but yet she comes out of it. Still grieving, yes. Still questioning, yes. But she does emerge. And I suppose that is what spoke to me the most - the "surviving it" aspect. I realize that sounds a bit platitudinal, as we all know people who survive terrible ordeals and live to tell the tale afterward. Yet somehow, through reading Didion's mastery, I get it.

One of my most favourite passages of this book comes at the very end, as the year is drawing to a close. Didion is talking about a memory she has of her husband from the late 70s, when they traveled to Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. They were swimming in some caves and were navigating the power of the tides. I will leave you with it, with the hope that you might decide to take this book on yourself. It will be worth it.

(page 227)"The tide had to be just right. We could only have done this a half dozen times at most during the two years we lived there but it is what I remember. Each time we did it I was afraid of missing the swell, hanging back, timing it wrong. John never was. You had to feel the swell change. You had to go with the change. He told me that."

you give me fever

2006-04-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

Alice came home with a fever on Friday from daycare. As soon as she walked in the door, I knew. I saw the face and the lowered head and heard the "I don't feel vewy well." We've been housebound most of the weekend just lying low. Which is never really a success with a 3 year old, is it, lying low? She gets restless and bored but she can't really do anything either. Blech.

#35 A Perfect Night to go to China

2006-04-22T18:25:00.000-05:00

This latest read on my 50 book challenge was quick. I finished the book in under 3 hours and afterward thought: that was it? David Gilmour's A Perfect Night To Go To China took top fiction prize at the Governor General's awards last fall, and for that reason this book showed up on many of those recommended lists from 2005. Which is how it ended up on my list.

Maybe I'm not getting the full point of the book, or maybe I was just overwhelmed with his constant dream metaphors that seemed...well...kind of elementary. It is a haunting story. A man (Roman) leaves his 6 year old son at home by himself one evening for 15 minutes while he visits a nearby bar. And of course when he gets back the boy is gone. The book picks up from there, following Roman as he spirals into grief and guilt.

Obviously the subject matter itself is enough to somewhat turn me away from this book: a story about a missing kid? Check one for my worst nightmare. And grief over said kid? That can be all for me, folks.

But I do think that the subject of grief and loss can be dealt with better (whether in fiction or non-fiction). I would point you to the current book on my nightstand: The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. I will be posting my thoughts on that one soon.

Otherwise, I can't really say that I would recommend A Perfect Night to go to China. Maybe there was stuff going on in Gilmour's dream sequences that was far beyond me. Or maybe the subject matter itself made me extra critical. But regardless, this was not a book that touched or moved me.

parenting in the age of worry

2006-04-20T10:09:00.000-05:00

I'll admit it: I've always been a bit of a worrier. I had serious bouts of insomnia as a young child, and used to spend that time thinking about all the things that could possibly make me anxious. I managed to quell the anxiety a bit in my teenaged years, but the demons started to rear their ugly heads as my mid 20s approached. And then, upon becoming a parent, I became a true member of the club: I was diagnosed with GAD (generalised anxiety disorder)

The first year off with Alice (living in Canada has the BEST benefit of having a maternity leave of one year) I was actually OK. Sure, I had some moments of insanity, but nothing too intense. Even the fact that Alice was born with fluid on her lungs (due to the c-section) and had to be in an incubator for 5 days didn't make me curl up and cry the days away. I somehow got through that, and the months after that coping at home with a sleepless infant. I learned about being her mom and how to carve out a place for just me in her world. I grew as she did, and when I returned to full-time work I felt ready to enter the world again, anxiety-free. It was when Alice was about a year and a half that I fell. Suddenly, the immense responsibilty of having a child hit me, and hit me hard. I started to have panic attacks in public when with Alice. I started focusing on her vulnerability and total dependence on me. It freaked me out, and in a very bad way. I would have moments of sobbing fits and intense nausea where I would hole myself up in my room, while Matt played with Alice downstairs. Sometimes just looking at her I felt such intense love and protection that it felt like I could handle anything, while other times I couldn't even bear to hear her voice in the house. It was as if her very presence reminded me of all I represented to her. Of all the danger in the world that could befall her. And of the terrible unspeakable life I would have if something happened to her and I had to live without her.

I started seeing a therapist last year and went on medication soon after. I feel so much better now, and have learned to cope and manage my panic. I have learned to enjoy my daughter again, which has been so wonderful.

But what I am left with after this experience is wondering how alone I am in this tyoe of "mother worry". We know a lot about postpartum depression these days (well - at least more than we did 20 years ago) and we also are more educated as a society a little more about depression and anxiety issues. But what about this mother worry I carry around with me? It is hormone-related or something else? My doctor says it is that I am just someone who is more suspectible to anxiety, so therefore I worry more about my child. But I think there must be more to it - I have talked to many other moms who experience the same crippling anxiety when it comes to their children. There's something to be said about the physical and emotional connection we have to our children that makes us shake with worry sometimes when they leave the house. And why do we do this to ourselves? Why can't we just somehow let it go and simply enjoy our children?

#30 Never Let Me Go

2006-04-17T14:57:00.000-05:00

Over the long weekend I got the chance to finally finish #30 of my 50 book challenge. And if the titles on this list of mine were ever in competition with each other, Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro would probably be in the top 3. I feel I can say that because even though I am only about a quarter of the way through the list, this book is so great that you know you are in the presence of excellence while reading it.

I don't want to spoil the story for those of you who plan to read it (do it DO IT I say), so suffice to say this is somewhat of a sci-fi novel set in an alternate time where human clones are bred as organ donors. It focuses on 3 friends (who are clones) and their years at an quasi-English boarding school while preparing for their ultimate destiny - donating their organs. Are ya with me so far?

To say this novel goes beyond any sci-fi tale is an understatement. This could easily be a comment on the possibility of cloning and its effect on the world. It could be personal statement about the search for so-called "perfection" and what that does to society at large. But it's not. It's a tale of 3 friends who must navigate through their somewhat moral-less world, without the regular rules of young self-exploration to back them up. Instead of the necessary self-examination that is the staple of any novel with teenagers, these 3 friends embark on a different journey to contemplate their existence: who are they really if just stand-ins until their organs are needed by the real humans? What kind of moral compass can exist in a world like this? They go through the same painstakingly awful rituals of growing up (fitting in with their friends, discovering young love, betraying each other) but yet they are all too aware that their future does not actually exist. That these rituals mean nothing because there is no place to hang them later in life.

I'm not a sci-fi fan, and I'm the first one to look glassy-eyed when Matt starts talking about theories of chaos or such as shown in some specific Star Trek episode. But this book had me thinking and feeling beyond the usual read. Absolutely recommended.

gourmet grub

2006-04-12T16:13:00.000-05:00

soooooooo....

Frozen chicken fingers and half of box of Funshines
is a decent dinner, right? 'Cause that's what Miss A and her mama are getting tonight. Matt is getting home late and I can't be bothered making anything substantial. Oh well. As long as she thinks I'm the cooler parent, we're fine.

building the village

2006-04-10T10:00:00.000-05:00

I have always had close female friendships. From early best friendships in grade school to a long lasting relationship that continues today, I definitely seek out the girls in the room. I have gone through my share of the ups and downs of having girlfriends - the constant giggling to the cat fights to the dramatic breakdowns - and I have at times cursed the psychological warfare that seems to go hand-in-hand with female friendship. But for the most part, I prefer to hang with the ladies.

When I became a mom, I found many of my previous friendships falling by the wayside. It was a fault on both sides - some friends found it hard to relate to my new life of early nights and all-night boob feedings, and I isolated myself instead of reaching out to some old friends. I found myself instead approaching other new moms in the park across the street from my house (I actually accosted one new mom by saying "hey! You have a baby and so do I! We should be friends!") Slowly by surely I built up a new network of friends who were mommies, and was able to navigate between my old self and my new self more comfortably. Some old friendships died and were never to be the same again, while others resurfaced and were rebuilt by something entirely new.

When I first started blogging, I had no idea that I would be meeting the next group of important female friends in my life. I thought it was just a good way to document Alice's early years and work out my feelings as a new parent. It didn't take me long, though, to see the emotional connections mommy bloggers made online. Blogging is like the updated version of talking over your back fence to your neighbour - you swap parenting nightmares and strategies, offer and receive support, and generally just chat your way around your life. It was through blogging that I learned the true meaning of that old African (and somewhat overused) proverb "it takes a village to raise a child." The village of mommies I have found through this blog has truly inspired me. This is the village I come to when I need to giggle or purge or snark or learn or generally feel comfortable in my new skin. Because, it also takes a village to raise a mommy - a healthy, happy, and well-adjusted mommy.

So big big love and thanks to my new village of friends I've been hanging out with in real life - Scarbie, Marla, and most recently T.O. Mama, You rock my world, and you rock it big.

it's about time

2006-04-03T14:48:00.000-05:00

I'm so tired today. I think I got a total of about 10 hours of sleep between Saturday and today. Why is this you ask? Because Matt and I engaged in what can only be called Fight Fest 2006. The reason? TIME. Free time. Work time. I need time off. You need time off. It's time to leave. It's time for me to go out. What time are we leaving? Why does it feel I never have time to myself? And on and on and on. You get the picture.

Before we had Alice, time was already an issue for us. We are on different ends of the time spectrum - he likes life to go slowly and I like things fast. I annoy him with my jumping from subject to subject, and he equally annoys me with his agonizingly slow pace. He needs free time on his own and I need him to respect my need for the same. Usually we can laugh about these differences between us, and usually we remember that it is this very difference that means we can stand to live together day in and day out. But then sometimes the issue itself rears its ugly head, like it did this weekend.

Since we had Alice, we have had to learn to adjust the way we see time, as all other parents. Before all else comes Alice and her need for our time. And for the most part, we can deal with this quite well. But add to the mix that Matt and I are both self-employed and the fact that both of us need extra time sometimes on our respective businesses, and you can get a battle over free time. Also add to that mix miscommunication problems and the fact that there are only 24 hours in a day and you get Fight Fest 2006. Which basically included a lot of sentences that started with "do you not get how I feel?" and "I was just saying..." and a lot of hushed swearing in the kitchen so our 3 year old can't hear us. It's been brewing for awhile - we've been dancing around this issue of free time for awhile now and haven't had a full-out brawl in some time.

We haven't completely recovered from everything that was said on the weekend, and we both seem to be treading a little softly around each other right now. I'm sure things will be resolved soon, it's just so tiring in the meantime. I think both of us want to just be done with the fight and move on. But we're both a little stubborn in that respect and will hold out until we feel like the other person understands our respective points. Until then, though, time is standing still over here and I would like it to move forward. Now please.

sound the alarms

2006-03-28T21:05:00.000-05:00

Oh sweet sweet television gods. You have brought me to a new low with this new PVR Terminal you made me install. You made me do it. Like your American brother TIVO, you give us Canadians even more control over the television content we overindulge in. Good LORD you mean I can watch The Sopranos while recording America's Next Top Model at the same time??? You mean I can skip past every commercial, never to be bothered by them again? You mean I can pay an evil media conglomerate even MORE money?

Call the the police if you don't hear from me for awhile. I'll be in the one still in my pajamas after 5 days staring at the screen, chips all over my shirt, muttering something about "but there's probably something else I could watch, just wait...."

Please help.

in lieu of a real post

2006-03-27T18:14:00.000-05:00

Am. Not. Motivated. Today.

The sun was shining, the weather was finally getting warmer here in the T.Dot, and the last thing I wanted to do is write a long and involved blog entry. I mean, I want to, 'cause I do have a lot to say, but I don't want to actually take the time to write it out coherently.

So instead I will enthrall you with notes on some of my favourite things these days:

1) Big Love, another fine series from south of the border. I thought I would get a break from HBO overload since Six Feet Under is dead and buried (sniff), but alas it is not to be. Oh HBO, why must you torture me so with yet another addictive tv series? Don't you know I have friends I should call and books I should read and walls I should stare at? And a series with polygamy AND Chloe Sevigny? You know how to charm a girl, you really do.

2) I only discovered Jenny Lewis recently, but she's become my new favourite best friend. Her song "You Are What You Love" has me smiling and jumping all over the place. She was recently in town for a show and like the asshole that I am I missed it. Sigh. If you don't yet know who she is, you should find out asap. You won't regret it.

3) This last one has snuck up on me. I didn't know about it until four days ago and now I think about it all. day. long. It's chocolate my daughter's daycare is making me push to unsuspecting family and friends for a fundraiser. I believe the point is to sell it to other people, but in our household that just means "bring home a giant box o' chocolate for mommy." Seriously. I started out with just one mint bar and suddenly I'm about 5 bars in the hole. This is our first experience with fundraising-through-sales and I gotta say it's a bit weird. I understand that it's a business model that works and brings good money for the daycare, but I have never really understood why making kids act as sales people is a good idea. That being said, the chocolate itself is pretty damn good. Or, at least, as the only available sweet thing in the cupboard right now, it's pretty damn good.

Ok, that's all I got. More thoughtful entry another day.

(PS: when I did a spell check on this entry, Blogger couldn't deal with the word "asshole" and suggested "Ashley" instead. So awesome.)

overheard last night

2006-03-23T09:03:00.000-05:00

Matt: Good job going pee by yourself, Alice!

Alice: thanks

Matt: You're such a smart girl

Alice: yep

Matt: You're also pretty funny, you know that?

Alice: uh huh

Matt: You're such a silly billy

Alice: oh settle down

#37. Prep

2006-03-21T19:35:00.000-05:00

Number #37 on the 50 book challenge list was Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld. And let me tell those of you who dig the "comfort food" of addictive mainstream chick lit but prefer books with a bit more substance, this book delivers the goods. Unlike Goodnight Nobody (which I admitted in my previous entry was a guilty pleasure), this book goes far beyond the surface stereotypes of girls and women. It centres around Lee - a scholarship student at a prestigious boarding school. Sittenfeld manages to capture that oh-so-slippery emotional stability of teenaged girls - the strange world between feeling like an outsider and a member of the crowd at the same time. As a reader at times you loathe her constant insecurities and posturing, and at other times you want to assure her that the world outside of high school is much bigger and can get better.

I felt submerged in Lee's world the entire time I was reading it, and I was sad to see it end. Always the sign of a favorite book for me - feeling pissed when it's over.

Most definitely recommended.

The Queen of Fire

2006-03-20T18:07:00.000-05:00

My parents graciously agreed to look after Alice on Saturday night, and Matt and I got the hell out of Dodge. We had been planning a night away for awhile now, and we really needed the break. Those of you who knew us when will know that road trips and unknown destinations are Matt and my specialties. It's also how we first fell for each other (awwwwww) - over a long summer road trip from BC to Ontario, via the US. But that's a story for another day.

We got a cottage for the night in this place and had such a great time we forgot we were parents. Seriously - giggling like teenagers over the strange folks who hosted us and listening to local FM radio as we drove north did wonders for our marriage. We're not really extravagant people, Matt and I, and a crappy old Honda with no antenna nor a working driver's seat window can actually provide hours of entertainment for us.

The resort was pretty much closed as it was off-season, so we had the place to ourselves. It looks kind of ominous here, but it was entirely remote and just what we needed:

The cottage itself was small but perfect. And contained enough ugly but beautiful trimmings. What is it about tacky furniture that makes the whole cottage experience so much better? Seriously, are those lamp/night table combo thingys strictly produced for lazy summers at the lake?

We spent a good part of our evening having a fire contest, seeing who could build the best fire. Matt was convinced that he was naturally the better fire builder, as he is the carpenter in the family and the all-around handyman. But he forgets that given a challenge, the Type A in me will rise to the occasion. I am actually quite good at building a fire, and am one of those annoying people who continually fiddle with the fire until they are convinced it gives the best flame.

So I won the contest. Behold my fire!

Even though Matt hated to concede, in the end he had to admit that my fire won the contest. And that, my friends, is true love, 'cause the dude is all about his skills and abilities when it comes to fires, renovation, and basic household repairs. And usually he is the one who naturally excels at that kind of stuff, while I happily stand in the background.

We spent the time there reading, resting, catching up, and eating copious amounts of local cheese. I couldn't have asked for a more relaxing time.

#17 Goodnight Nobody

2006-03-16T19:02:00.000-05:00

Hmmmm...Does anybody else think it's odd that I am posting about reigning mainstream chick lit author Jennifer Weiner's Goodnight Nobody just after my hate-on for Envy?? Well yes of course I did it on purpose. Because frankly, the character from this book is the female version of Will in Envy. One dimensional. Stereotypical. Bored suburban mom plays detective! Oh my what will she learn about herself in the process??

But you know what? This book, I can read all the way through. This book I can apparently stay up until 2AM to finish. This book I can jump on as soon as I get it out of the library, ahead of more literary picks. This book was like a comfort food amidst the stack of boring reads I just couldn't finish after the first 20 pages.

This book outs me as not-so-much-a-book-snob as I would like to believe.

#9 Envy

2006-03-16T18:43:00.000-05:00

Envy by Kathryn Harrison reminded me of how I felt when I watched the film American Beauty. Bored. And angry that I had to listen to yet another middle-aged suburban man bemoan his existence and lackluster life. Everyone else I knew loved that movie - even raved about it. But me? I sat in the theatre with my fists clenched and my foot tapping. It just seems that the world of literature and film is cluttered with badly drawn portraits of the middle aged man and his depressed state. This book features yet another one - and I have to admit that I couldn't have cared less about his failures, insecurities, or hollowness.

I'm not saying that this theme isn't important or can't be examined at all. I just think it can done better (thinking of Philip Roth's American Pastoral here), and with a character that doesn't make me want to scratch my eyes out.

Envy just made me bored and long for it to be over. Quickly and painlessly - which was apparently impossible according to its author.

50 Ways To Lose Your Momentum

2006-03-16T17:11:00.000-05:00

Yes I know.

I am sorely behind in updating on my 50 book challenge for this year. I've been reading, just not updating. I have also run up against a familiar problem for me: jump into a project head first, go overboard at the beginning, and lose momentum somewhere along the way. It's not that I am losing interest in reading itself - it's that I am losing interest in some of the books I have chosen to read. I'll read about 20 pages of a book, and if I'm not head over heels about it by that point, I'll find any excuse not to finish it. And then I'll feel resentful about having to finish that particular book. Ummm Kate? You do know this is your project, right? This is your list, with your own choices on it right? No one is making me read these books but me.

But I do feel a certain obligation to complete these books, if only to try and overcome my regular procrastination pattern. The bar was set pretty high with Can't Stop Won't Stop, and that's a bit unfair to the other books who maybe need a little time to come out in their awesomeness a little more.

So what have I been doing with the books that don't strike my fancy right away? Returning them to the library, promising myself that I will tackle them later in the year. Great. I can just see where this is heading: August with a ton of books on vacation that I detest. I think I might have to rethink the list a bit. 'Cause I'm the boss of this project, right internet?

Without further ado, let the updates begin. I will follow this post with the updates of the books I have read so far. 'Cause I know you are waiting on the edge of your seats. 'Cause I know how much my reading matters to people. (ummmmm....yah..feel free to skip the next few posts if you're not really into this)

adios innocence

2006-03-15T20:21:00.000-05:00

Alice had her 3rd year doctor's appointment last week, and boy oh boy was it fun! Needles and crying! Betrayal by doctor! Screaming all the way home! Are you feeling excited yet?

It started off fine. Pretty run-of-mill stuff: how is she eating? how is she sleeping? Oh my god she's so tall. She'll tower over all her boyfriends hah hah hah. Normal side-splitting notes from my GP. We also talked about our basic parenting strategies (uh stratewhat? You mean things like making sure she is alive?) and the doctor was asking us how we deal with things like discipline. We assured her we had the all under control (read: learning as we went) and went on to tell her that one of the things we try to do with Alice is be honest with her. And this is true - we do try to tell her what's coming up next in her immediate day - even if it's icky stuff like getting a needle at the doctor's (pay attention people - this part's going to matter in a second). I was one of those kids who totally internalized a fear of doctors and dentists and needles to the point that I still carry the phobias with me. I wanted to do my best to at least prepare Alice - hey, ya know, you're going to have to get a needle. And you know what? It's probably going to hurt. But then it will be over.

So I thought the doctor heard me as I said all those things. But I guess she didn't, because before I could speak with Alice about the needle she had shoved it in her arm. And you will think I exaggerate, but I don't. It all happened so quickly. One moment we were sitting there with Alice on Matt's lap and the doctor was nodding along to our pontifications about parenting styles, and the next minute she's doing something I said we would LIKE TO TELL ALICE about first.

You can guess what happened. Alice's face fell, her eyes welled with tears, and she shot a big stink eye at the doctor. She couldn't believe she had been so intentionally hurt by all of us in the room - with no warning. I was so shocked. We both were. And then it wasn't until later in the car that I was like "did she not hear what I was saying?" (note to self: getting mad at the doctor and making rude gestures in the car after the fact does no good to anyone, especially an irratated spouse and a screaming 3 year old).

I don't profess to subscribe to one particular parenting strategy, but I do think it's a shame when adults feel we must pull the wool over kids' eyes in order to help them deal with unpleasant but necessary things. I think it does them a greater disservice by pretending that things like needles and dentists don't exist.

Off my soapbox for now.

Bandwagon, Kate. Kate, bandwagon.

2006-03-15T20:12:00.000-05:00

Seeing as everyone else is doing it these days (ok, maybe just two of you), I've decided to try a new look around here. I've been meaning to for awhile (I swear I'm not that much of a copycat!), and spent too much time last night online looking for a new template. After ending up in the netherworld of fanatical blog skinners (and believe me, there are some pure crazies out there who love their cute little kitty images a little too much), I ended up with a boring 'ole Blogger one. But it's a change nonetheless, which is a good thing.

I've got tons to talk about, so get ready for a shitstorm of updates.

what being three looks like

2006-03-08T13:44:00.000-05:00

My daughter. Unabashedly dancing at her birthday party this past weekend. Shaking her booty with not a care in the world, nor a thought towards who might be watching. We should all be so lucky.

competing for mommy points

2006-03-07T15:22:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday I got a mention in Rebecca Eckler's new column in the Globe and Mail. She gave me a very nice shout-out for a recent post of mine. My first reaction was a stunned "oh wow!" which quickly led to "oh crap what the hell does it say about me and who will be reading it?" to to finally "ummm...really? A whole column about competitive parenting???"

Don't get me wrong - I can appreciate a shout-out with the best of them. I'm not as nonchalant about these things as I would like to believe. I was flattered to know my blog was being read by more people than just friends and family (I mean really, you do know this is a public website, right Kate?)

But a whole column dedicated to "competitive parenting?" Please no. I take issue with the term itself and with the act of reducing blogging parents to another playground war. As Scarbie Doll recently pointed out, we are already inundated with enough competition to make for a lifetime of therapist hours. Can we not please move beyond this? So much of parenting is already up for judgement and analysis: breast vs bottle, cosleeping vs crib, working outside the home vs staying at home. Can we maybe get a break around here? I'm already a bit overflowing with anxiety issues, thanks very much. I don't know if I will be up for the challenge of blogging for mommy points.

To be fair, Eckler does point out the fact that "reading mommy blogs is free therapy" (agree). And she has started her own blog. I am a little disturbed by the amount of hate comments she has already received. Whatever people - it's her blog. She's allowed to express what she wants. Disagreement - I'm all for that. But dissing her because she makes a spelling mistake? Is this what "competitive parenting" reduces us to?

All in all, I think a whole column dedicated to making parents feel more inadequate is problematic on so many levels. Aren't there other things we could be talking or reading about?

That's my two cents and I am sticking to it. Ho hum.

stalling, stalling

2006-03-06T22:34:00.000-05:00

To Do:

I need to write a post about the mention I got in this column.

I need to write a post about the fact that Alice turned THREE this past Sunday.

I need to do take care of a myriad of household chores and basic life organizational crap.

But these things take time and effort - luxuries my friends, I am sadly lacking tonight.

Instead, I will leave you with this which is currently my source of all things giggly today. Real updates to come soon, I promise. Until then, pour yourself a cup of crazy, and get cozy with Natalie Portman.

these shoes were made for tapping

2006-02-26T20:29:00.000-05:00

I was just about to write this whole entry about the latest exploits of the big girl in the big girl bed. Until she threw me the best one yet just now:

I put her to bed about 10 minutes ago - after no nap today, a hectic afternoon, a bath, and books, and warm milk yada yada yad, I thought she would be pooped. I figured I could get away with one quick bedtime song and she would be out in minutes. But then, just as I started writing this entry, I hear this tap-tap-tapping sound coming from her room. I went in to see what was up and all I find was a little girl giggling in her bed. I knew she had done something, but I couldn't figure out what. I started with the whole "listen Alice, I know that sometimes it's hard to go to sleep but really it's just that" and making myself vomit inside, when I heard the tap-tapping sound again - coming from beneath the covers. I threw back the covers to find the culprit - trampy little "princess" high heels we have unfortunately inherited. That she loves. She had them on the outside of her sleepers - with feet. What a look.

I burst out laughing, which of course wasn't the best thing to curb her growing hyperactivity. But I just couldn't help it.

Someone else put this child to sleep, pleaeeeeaassseee?

what's that sound in the night?

2006-02-23T10:48:00.000-05:00

So the big girl saga contines. Now that Alice has started to become a little more accustomed to the no-crib-bars thing, she has discovered how free she really is. Every night we have to tell her to get back to bed a million trillion times. And look people, I know this is not news to the more experienced parent out there, but this is my first time at it and GOOD LORD why does she keep getting out of her bed?

Last night, par example, we settled down to watch (a perfectly horrible movie) RED EYE (why oh why do I order this shit?). We had already done the whole "back to bed Alice" thing for about an hour. I thought she was more settled by the time we started our movie but of course I was wrong.

About 10 minutes into the movie, we heard a little voice call out "ummmm...Mommy? Something hurts in my eye?" Matt and I had a brief "your turn YOUR TURN" negotiation with me winning in the end. He grumbled up the stairs to her room and then suddenly I heard a gasp and a very loud "Alice! what did you do to your face?"

I ran up to her room to find my little one had snuck into the bathroom while we were downstairs, took out my mascara from the medicine cabinet (where all the FUCKING PILLS are of course) and proceeded to smear it all over her face. Mainly her eyes. We finally got her cleaned up (YOU try explaining waterproof mascara to a 2 year old while rubbing her face off) and back in bed. I think the whole experience tired her out and so she finally fell asleep at around 10PM.

I suppose it could have seemed really cute to anyone else - she was just trying to do something mommy does. But all I kept thinking "Christ Almighty! She can now sneak around without me hearing and get into god knows what!"

This is going to do wonders for my anxiety.

one little monkey jumping on the bed

2006-02-20T11:17:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we finally did something that we've been meaning to do for some time now. Yesterday, Alice became a big girl. Yesterday, we took down the crib and set up the single bed in Alice's room. Yesterday, my daughter and I experienced our first true fight as mother and daughter. Yesterday, my baby said goodbye to being a baby.

We figured now that Alice is ALMOST THREE, that maybe just maybe it was time for us to move her to a bigger bed. We have kept her in the crib for two main reasons 1) she hasn't really acted on a desire to climb out yet and 2) I was dreading the freedom she would have once out on her own. Mainly the reason was number 2) because I can selfish like that.

And so, yesterday morning we decided once and for all to change Alice's baby room into her big girl room. We already had the bed, we just had to make the change. She was more than ready, and we knew it was high time to let her roam free. The whole thing took no longer than an hour, and suddenly we had a very excited little girl jumping on her new bed. She took to it immediately. Closing the door, lying on her bed, reading books, and listening to music. (is she already 15?) She was very very happy that we had made this change, and was all ready to embrace it. Until naptime.

Now I was prepared for the naptime to be a little different. I knew that she wouldn't necessarily even sleep, but that it was important for her to try resting on the new bed at least. But it was like we poured acid all over an open wound. After about 10 minutes of reading quietly on her bed, she ventured out in the hall to my bedroom where I was also reading. "Go back to your bed please, Alice" I tried gently. She glared at me with the force of a angry 16 year old. "I don't like you anymore" she yelled at me and slammed her door. I was stunned, and then angry myself. What ensued in the next hour was a continuum of attempted conversation, to a screaming toddler, to a wagging finger, to a thrown dolly, to a screaming mommy. Whenever I opened the door to see if she was ready to talk, I would get a furrowed brow thrown my way and a strong "get out!" I was convinced she was possessed, and actually said to Matt at one point "I think she has turned psychotic on us."

Looking back on the whole experience, I wished I had dealt with it a little differently. I wished I had remained patient the entire time, instead of losing my cool. But it was like we were actually having a fight - like she understood exactly what she was doing and saying. Like she had grown up suddenly, and I was starting to realise how quickly we had reached the stereotypical but inevitable mother-daughter war.

In the end, I finally reached her by asking "why are you so upset?" She collapsed against me, crying, saying "I don't know how to go to sleep!" Oh god. I felt terrible. Here I was, responding to her as if she were an adult, and suddenly remembering that she was still a little girl who just had a huge change thrown at her. For three years now, she has fallen asleep either in her own crib or in our bed. Never once has she fallen asleep not surrounded by the crib bars or us on either side. What a mind fuck it must be to sleep with everything open around you. Like newborns when they first come into the world, and want to be swaddled to remind them of being in the womb. This was going to be like sleep training all over again.

In any case, there were apologies and tears on both our ends and I think that it actually was a good thing for our burgeoning mother-child relationship. Because the baby really is gone, and I have to accept the little girl who has replaced her. And it is our responsibility as parents to help her into this new world of hers.

Last night was a little better. It took her a few hours to fall asleep in the new bed, but we were both way more relaxed about it. At one point I went in to check on her and she held out her hand and said "hold my hand for a moment, mommy" I gladly agreed, and as she closed her eyes she said "we love each other."

No truer words were ever spoken.

start spreading the news...

2006-02-13T23:24:00.000-05:00

I'm back from New York. I had a fantastic time there, almost cathartic if you will.

My anxiety was kept well under control while there, which leads me to believe that it isn't necessarily the place I am in which creates the problem. It is truly all me. I was in NYC, for gawd's sake - land of uber stimulation and constant noise. And I felt completely at home. I managed to quell my claustrophobia for a few hours and actually SHOPPED. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am the worst person to shop with - I get cranky really easily and frustrated that I can't find anything I like. I managed to somehow get beyond this, however, when I stepped into the land of discount fashion warehouses. I found a wicked lime green coat with a crazy collar that I totally fell in love with. I bought it at the start of my week there so I had the chance to walk around in it with new found attitude all week. I found myself reverting back to that confidant self I used to be - before the anxiety and panic. Amidst the the honking horns and every passerby yelling into cell phones, I finally felt at peace again.

How can it be that I had to go all the way to New York to find myself?

#48 We Need To Talk About Kevin

2006-02-05T23:48:00.000-05:00

Ok people. Now we are talking top-drawer kind of literature. The kind that makes me think much more than just 10 minutes. The kind that has me mulling over my thoughts and how to properly organize them for this blog entry. This book, seriously, is a work of art.

We Need To Talk About Kevin won the Orange Prize in the UK last year, and is an agonizing look at a complicated mother-son relationship. I had never read Lionel Shriver's work before, but after reading this I want to find her other stuff and devour it. The short summary is thus: a 16-year old boy (Kevin) has shot and killed his classmaters and teacher in a shocking pre-meditated murdering rampage. The book is made up of his mother's (Eva) letters to his father and her husband about the events that led up to the killings. Namely, the span of Kevin's life.

Kevin's seemingly innate evilness and Eva's distate for her son (from birth) are difficult to read at times. Difficult to understand, and difficult to absorb. Which is, of course, what makes this novel so great. Shriver plays with the prescriptions of motherhood and ideas of maternal instinct in this novel, and gives us instead a picture of the middle-class surburban hell hiding behind these prescriptions. Eva's egomania and self-loathing is mirrored in Kevin's insecurities and fury. And somewhere amidst this complicated mess of emotions there is a mother and son trying to find their way to each other. A relationship that never truly begins until they are faced with the unfathomable.

I wish I could better explain my feelings about this book. It is hard to fully explain the impact of this novel on me. Perhaps it is being a mother myself, or perhaps it was just the genius of Shriver. What I can say is this: few books have moved me so much that I continue to dream about them days after I have put them down.

Most definitely recommended.

#8 Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life

2006-02-05T23:34:00.000-05:00

Now this is more like it.

When I first saw Amy Krouse's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life
on the top of my library hold package, I was so very happy. Compulsively addictive (can I say that?), this books is made up of...well..encyclopedic references to Amy Krouse's life. So each entry is alphabetical, and contains something - whether it be mundane or of great importance - about Krouse.

Gawd I love lists.

This was one of those books that was a great "in between" read. You know those books that you want to leave on your nightstand and pick up in between other books? These in-between reads can also function like magazines - good for the bath or the small moment you might get while your toddler is actually busy for a change. Unless you decide you just want to stare at the wall and cry during those moments. 'Cause that's OK too.

#3 Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction

2006-02-05T23:25:00.000-05:00

Ok. Remind me again why I wanted to put this book on my 50 Book Challenge list? Maybe it was a sentimental choice, as I remember Adrian from the early 80s and his "Secret Diary". Maybe I wanted something a little lighter on this list. An easy read.

Well. Easy it wasn't, as it was so damn boring. Yawn. Next.

reason 10,996 that my brain has turned to mush

2006-02-01T19:18:00.000-05:00

When I settle down to watch some brain-numbing, mindless escapist tv, and my first instinct is to turn it to channel 65. Which in Toronto, is Treehouse (preschool channel). Which to any adult means a special kind of hell.

slowly getting by

2006-02-01T19:07:00.000-05:00

I've been a bit AWOL from this site the last little while. My household has been taken over by this nasty cold/flu thing that seems to have Toronto in its grip. Yuck. First it was Alice, then Matt, and now me. I had to cancel a business trip to Montreal today because of how terrible I was feeling.

Isn't it funny how, once you have kids, illness can turn a house upside down? For weeks? You seem to go into days and days of just coping. Your hours are spent timing the tempra doses with your own extra-strength advil doses, sharing the vaporizer, and negotiating between Treehouse TV and bad daytime tv. And meals? Forget about anything worthwhile. It's all about the Japanese take-out then, my friends.

So to add to my whine, I've also been trying to balance my growing work load with everyone being sick. Which gets tricky when you have a snotty-nosed toddler crying at your office door - "mommy, can't you come take care of me?" Be still my guilty heart. So off I go, to the couch to snuggle with my girl while also taking a conference call and french-braiding Barbie's hair at the same time. Now that is multi-tasking.

what happens when you are convinced your daughter will be a tomboy

2006-01-22T16:24:00.000-05:00

#6: Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation

2006-01-20T13:27:00.000-05:00

After starting off my 50 Book Challenge last week, I submitted the titles to the library hold list and waited excitedly to see what would come in first (it doesn't take much to excite me, "ooohhhh the automated library lady called me!") And 10 came in all at once, as we all knew would happen.

I went to pick up the 10 books, pouring over each one. There were some novels and non-fiction I really wanted to start, but one book stood out among the rest. And as much as I tried to actually start 2 other books, it was this one book that kept calling me back. It was Jeff Chang's Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation and you better hold your breath because I am about to launch into a short lecture that should be titled "what a fucking awesome book."

The short of the long is this: the 450 + pages trace the history of hip-hop from its beginnings in Jamaica and the Bronx in the late 60s-early 70s, through to the more recent narratives of the early 21st century. As the book jacket says, it "chronicles the events, the ideas, the music, and the art that marked the hip-hop generation's rise from the ashes of the 60s into the new millenium". It is the story of DJ Kool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa and Grandmaster Flash and the famous Bronx parties and the record companies who jumped on the rising stars of hip-hip and then co-opted their music. It is the story of Chuck D and Public Enemy and grafitti artists and Ice Cube and poverty and drugs and gangs and the LA riots. It is the story of the systemic racism that ensures American institutions appropriate an art form with one hand while holding down the communities who built it with the other.

And then of course there's the music. The awesome can't-not-start-dancing music.

But it is so much more than just this, and I feel like my short description does the book a disservice.

Chang manages to place a generation within the historical events which shaped it, without falling victim to a contrived narrative. In his prelude, he makes clear that this is just one version of history, and he encourages other stories from this history to emerge. His definition of the "hip-hop generation" is one of the better I have seen that (even apart from the music) best encapsulate a poorly-named Generation X:

"My own feeling is that the idea of the Hip-Hop Generation brings together time and race, place and polyculturalism, hot beats and hybridity. It describes the turn from politics to culture, the process of entropy and reconstruction. It captures the collective hopes and nightmares, ambitions and failures of those who would otherwise be decribed as "post-this" or "post-that." (page 2)

Can't Stop is one of those books that you pass by on the shelf because it looks so long and textbook-like and you will be thinking "hey, that looks kinda cool but I just want to read something fun right now." But you will be wrong. You will truly be missing out on something incredible if you pass it by, and I can only urge you to have your own experience with it.

As some unnamed bloggy friends know from the other night at an empty bar on Queen Street East in Toronto, I just can't stop, won't stop talking about this book. So I will end this here. Get it. Read it. Pass it on.

Alice's new word

2006-01-18T17:40:00.000-05:00

Alice's vocabulary is expanding by leaps and bounds these days. She loves to try out new words on us - especially if they sound "grown-up":

me: can you please sit down while eating your dinner, Alice? (insert: image of me making an exasperated face)

Alice: (ignores me)

me: Aliiiiiiceeee

Alice: Oh, ok, mommy

me: thanks

Alice: sitting down on our bums when we eat is appropriate, wight mommy?

me: uhhh....yes

Alice: (smiles with satisfaction that she has got a new word right)

me: where did you learn that word? "appropriate?" Is it something they say to you at daycare ('cause people, she sure ain't learning anything "appropriate" at home) Do you know what it means?

Alice: Well, mommy, things are just appropriate or they aren't. That's the way it is, mommy. So you hafta say "appropriate" when you want someone to do something. Ok Mommy? You understand now?

Touché.

a new addition

2006-01-13T21:01:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not pregnant SILLY. (good lord please please no). But we do have a new member of our family and her name is Tigger. Tigger the cat (named by her previous owners) is just a year old and very very skittish. Which means that if a giant toddler starts running toward her shrieking "COME BACK COME BACK I LOVE YOU KITTY", the cat is gone in 10 seconds. But I am happy to report the cat luurrvves moi and that is all that counts. We enjoy the quiet of the house together when Alice & Matt leave for their days.

And here she is in all her glory....

For your further \viewing pleasure I have included here our family's art project tonight - introducing the Potato Head Family!

Matt and I were killing ourselves over fascinating questions like "why do all the potato people only look up and not down? Do they have an altered sense of expectation?" And when Matt put the tongue on the Mr.'s head, well you can imagine he truly crowned a fabulous Friday night. Who needs a nightlife when you can play with the Potato family? Oh and yes - Alice was there too.

sometimes it's hard

2006-01-12T19:13:00.001-05:00

For the most part, I am happy with my decision to work from home while Alice is at daycare during the day. When I first came on board as a full partner at my company, I only worked four days/week and took every Friday off to spend time with Alice. Slowly, as the company has grown, that arrangement has evolved to our current situation where she is in daycare full time all week.

I am lucky to have the flexibility that I do, I know. I am lucky that I don't have to rush in the early mornings to get in a car or on the TTC to commute an hour away. I am lucky I don't have to deal with a boss looking at his/her watch when I come in late because my toddler had a tantrum. I am lucky I don't have to take my vacation time when my child is sick for two weeks straight with the croup. I am lucky I have a business partner who totally understands when I say " sorry, but today and tomorrow I am off as Alice is sick." I am lucky I don't have to race against the clock at the end of the day to go pick up my kid at daycare so I can then race home to start dinner. All in all, I am lucky.

But just because I get to enjoy some perks doesn't mean I don't still sometimes feel guilty or sad that my child is spending key hours of her development away from me. Today I called daycare to check up on her (it seemed a cough was developing in the morning) and the child care worker said "oh she's having a great time outside playing hockey right now." Hockey. My two year old is outside in the fresh air lauging away and running around with her friends that I don't really know and I am here in my home office feeling sad. She is only two years old, yet her life has already expanded far beyond me. And while I love my job and see how happy Alice is in her social situation at daycare, I also sometimes ache for the days when it was just her and I. When I would spend hours with her in the baby carrier bouncing around (she was a baby who liked to be held or worn, a lot). When her every movement and milestone was a part of my daily inner dialouge: she learned to hold up her head! She smiled for the first time! She is walking! You get my drift.

I guess I will always struggle with trying to balance my choices against my feelings - motherhood has mixed them up together for eternity. I know there will be other challenges down the road ("I hate you!"), but for now at least I will try to enjoy the hours I do spend with her and remember to take off more afternoons to spend together. It is the oldest cliche in the book but the time does go by so quickly. And I want to bottle it all - even the sadness I feel on a day like today.

to delurk or not to delurk

2006-01-11T22:08:00.000-05:00

Apparently this is national "delurking" week when those readers who normally don't comment come out of their respective closets and do so.

Apparently, I only have about 4 readers.

Apparently I wasn't supposed to care about this, as I am only really writing this for myself and close friends/family.

Apparently I am too curious.

Apparently I have no pride. So comment away, if you so please.

pants on fire

2006-01-09T20:34:00.000-05:00

Oh. Great.

#1: A Million Little Pieces

2006-01-09T16:02:00.000-05:00

I am glad I started out my 50 book challenge with James Frey's A MILLION LITTLE PIECES. It was a quick read but entirely satisfying - and by satisfying I mean utterly addictive. It was addictive like staying-up-in-the-wee-hours addictive so I could finish it. I now understand (from my google friend) that this book has met with similar responses all over.

Not necessarily the best writing at times, but such clarity at others. In case you were like me and living under a cultural rock in the past few months (I had never heard of this book prior to opening the gift at xmas), this is Frey's account of his 6 week stay at rehab in the early 90s. And his journey to a decision to "kick the habits" without the use of AA or the support of the belief in a higher power.

Not sure if Frey would like this comparison, but this book got me like GO ASK ALICE did in the 80s. Simple prose, but not a simple story - much more than a memoir. This book reminded me of why I love to read, and that fact alone is why I am happy it is at the top of this challenge.

my 50 book challenge

2006-01-08T18:05:00.000-05:00

I have seen some New Years resolutions making their way across the blogging world this past week, and have been thinking about how to throw my own hat into the ring. It has to be something that I will REALLY do, as my modus operandi the past few years has been to come up with an elaborate plan, spend time and energy crafting the ways in which it will play out, and then never following through. But this year, I think I have finally come up with something that is workable for me. So therefore, I introduce to you my 50 book challenge for 2006. And if, in 5 months, I fail miserably, you can point at me and laugh.

Many fellow bloggers have been working on different carnations of this challenge over the past few years - in basic terms, it means to read 50 books in the year and then blog about them. One of the great gaps in my present life is reading books that have commanded recent attention (either by their presence on "notable book" lists or somehow in the realm of popular culture). This gap is due mainly because a) trying to keep up with good books these days is almost next to impossible when a energetic toddler requires constant attention on the weekends and b) I am lazy. Mainly it is the latter.

So here's my plan: through a very non-scientific research methodology, I compiled a list of 50 notable books from 2005. I combined lists from the NY Times, Village Voice, Times London, Giller, GGs, Orange Prize, Booker, Amazon Editors' top 50, and so on and so on. There were some obvious repeats. I put all 50 books on my hold request list at my local library and now I will wait to see what comes in first. As each book comes in, I will try to finish it within the week and then document my thoughts. I tried to get a decent enough cross-section of fiction and non-fiction, and writers from across the globe. A few are not actually from 2005, but somehow came up either in pop culture talks or amongst my own friends and therefore I have included them here.

This is not a fail-safe plan - I am aware of that (what if a bunch of books come in at once?) It is a push in a positive direction for me, though, and hopefully a return to reading something worthwhile instead of watching Law And Order: SVU repeats on tv.

And herein lies the list:

1. A Million Little Pieces by James Frey
2. The Accidental by Ali Smith
3. Adrian Mole and the weapons of mass destruction by Sue Townsend
4. Alligator - a novel by Lisa Lynne
5. The Ballad of Lee Cotton by Christopher P. Wilson
6. Can't Stop Won't Stop - a history of the hip-hop generation by Jeff Chang
7. Cloud Atlas: A Novel by David Mitchell
8. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life: volume one by Amy Krouse Rosenthal
9. Envy by Kathyrn Harrison
10. Epileptic by David B.
11. Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran
12. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran
13. Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt
14. Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
15. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
16. The Golden Spruce: A True Story of Myth, Madness, and Greed by John Vaillant
17. Goodnight Nobody by Jennifer Weiner
18. The Harmony Silk Factory by Tash Aw
19. The History Of Love by Nicole Krauss
20. I Didn't Do It For You: How A World Betrayed A Small African Nation by Michaela Wrong
21. I Have Chosen To Stay And Fight by Margaret Cho
22. Kafka On the Shore by Haruki Murakami
23. Liberation: A Novel by Joanna Scott
24. A Long Long Way by Sebastion Barry
25. A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby
26. Luck by Joan Barfoot
27. Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis
28. Mark Twain: A Life by Ron Powers
29. My Friend Leonard by James Frey
30. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
31. Old School: A Novel by Tobias Wolff
32. One with Nineveh: Politics, Consumption, and the Human Future
by Paul R. Ehrlich and Anne Ehrlich
33. Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books
by Aaron Lansky
34. The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood
35. A Perfect Night To Go To China by David Gilmour
36. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth
37. Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld
38. Saturday by Ian McEwan
39. Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan
40. The Scorpion's Gate by Richard A. Clarke
41. The Sea by John Banville
42. A Tale of Love And Darkness by Amos Oz
43. The Tender Bar: A Memoir by J.R. Moehringer
44. The Time In Between by David Bergen
45. Tulia: Race, Cocaine, and Corruption in a Small Texas Town
by Nate Blakeslee
46. Veronica by Mary Gaitskill
47. A Wall of Light by Edeet Ravel
48. We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
49. Where God Was Born: A Journey By Land to the Roots of Religion by Bruce S. Feiler
50. The Year Of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

one good reason to love my sister

2006-01-03T19:07:00.000-05:00

BECAUSE SHE WORKS IN MANHATTAN AND CAN GO TO CANAL STREET AND GIVE ME AWESOME CHRISTMAS PRESENTS LIKE THE KNOCK-OFF COACH BAG SEEN BELOW.

Dear Holiday Season,

2006-01-02T16:03:00.000-05:00

You came and went so quickly this year, that I hardly had a minute to enjoy you. Or revile you. Between Alice getting sick and Alice going apeshit with cabin fever, I had few moments to reflect on your lessons and wisdom this year. Let's reflect now, should we?

WHAT I LEARNED FROM CHRISTMAS, 2005:

1. A toddler can truly understand and revel in the joys of consumerism mixed with anticipation and talk non-stop about Santa for days on end. Said toddler can spend the days of the season leading up the 25th singing RUDOPLH nonstop and putting out a carrot for two weeks before the big night.
2. The same toddler can wake up on Christmas Day, go downstairs to the promised land, and with her parents eager to catch that expression of pure joy with camera in hand, can turn around, shrug, and say without any excitement "I have a cold".
3. It is entirely possible to get a nap in on Christmas Day if you throw family out of your house, medicate your child with Benelyn, and lock your bedroom door.
4. Despite your best intentions at snarkiness and posturing, you can truly manage to feel grateful and thankful at Christmas dinner while you look around the room at the 40 members of your family who have gathered.
5. That feeling can quickly turn to exasperation as your toddler starts licking the giant closet mirror and covering it in snot.
6. Christmas-based movies and specials really lose their appeal to grownups after the 25th, but not to toddlers who insist that RUDOLPH must be on that damn tv somewhere.
7. Daytime tv can be awesome if a) your toddler returns to daycare after days of being home b) you stay in your robe all day and c) you surround yourself with leftover holiday chocolate.
8. Feminists can buy Barbies for their daughters and only have nightmares of Gloria Steinam raging for the first few nights.
9. Presents that include a new set of pots, a new cutting board, and new juice glasses can really rock your world.
10. The best present of all is a sleepy toddler holding your face in hers and telling you "you are my best friend". You will hold this moment in your memory for years to come, when she begins hating your guts.

So thanks again, Holiday Season. For pushing me face first into 2006 with a chuckle and a grimace, and reminding me how lucky I am to be surrounded by those who love me. And how I can never escape, even if I wanted to....

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

2005-12-23T20:36:00.000-05:00

...'cause there are kleenexes and bottles of Buckley's and tempra and motrin strewn across my house. That's right, my friends, it just WOULDN'T be the holidays without an illness in this house!

I have been fighting the cold/flu for the past few days, and then yesterday after I picked up Alice at daycare I knew something was up with her. When I checked her temperature at home it was almost 104 degrees F which put me into a tailspin of course. (I haven't yet shared my story of Alice's febrile convulsion last year, which I should do soon as it underlines where my fear of the FEVER came from). We immediately launched into the tempra and motrin dance, and I slept beside my poor little girl as she uncomfortably went through the night. The fever has come down here and here as the meds kick in, but the girl is sick. She passed up macaroni and cheese last night, which is a big clue for us.

Sickness and Alice make me so nervous, and sometime soon I will have to do an entry about my "year of anxiety, part two" as I think that will shed some light on my neurosis. If not just make me realise more just how crazy I really am.

But not to worry, because at least we are all together as we embark on one of the most stressful times of the year! I'll be sure to be popping some handy ativan sometime this weekend, if not a big glass of rye at Christmas dinner. Happy holidays to all my new blogging friends!!! Have fun and get some naps in.

yes, Virginia, there is a squishy!

2005-12-14T18:30:00.000-05:00

Ok. Stop the presses. I have to take back what I said about Squishy below . Because SQUISHY IS REAL! After all that mommy-pride in what I thought was Alice's recently expanded imagination, it turns out that there is a little girl at daycare whose nickname is Squishy. Who is smaller than Alice (but then again, my 2 year old is the height of an average 4 year old) and who DOES sing Santa songs all day long. So Alice got her size a little off (she is not the size of a pea after all), and this girl does not live at daycare. But she is real!

sugar and spice and everything nice

2005-12-11T19:00:00.000-05:00

I have a holiday dilemma. My 2.5 year old daughter is rapidly advancing towards little girlhood and leaving her bewildered mommy in the Barbie dust. She is now all about the Barbies and the My Little Pony and the fantastically awful Bratz. This is the first holiday season where she has wised up to Santa and all the trappings of kids gone wild with holiday fever and believing that the magical man will be visiting us on Christmas Eve. She has started to request things - and at the top of the list are the aforementioned thorns in my feminist side.

I always said that I couldn't just wouldn't buy my daughter any Barbies or sisters of the Barbie. I also always said I would a) never get married and b) have a child until later in life. My life has adjusted as my choices have, and while I still have difficulty sometimes reconciling my earlier professions with the reality of my life, I have also come to accept that life is not a perfectly packaged box with a set of rules and beliefs that remain the same over the years.

And so, as I shudder writing this, I think a Barbie or Pony or some other girly item will make it under our tree this season. This is not to say that I will not still talk to Alice about the ways in which girls can kick ass and do other things then look pretty and play with pretty things. It is also not to say that I won't be getting her other things for Christmas - like paints and markers and an easel.

But I will give her the chance to start exploring this universe a bit more. As fucked up and small-minded as it can be, it can also be a place for her to spread her wings a little more and become her own person. Because if there is one thing being a mommy has taught me, it is that Alice will be her own person despite my good intentions and wagging finger. The best I can do is to offer her a safe space in which to challenge the world and all of its prescriptions.

(and maybe I can get away with chopping off Barbie's hair into a mohawk before I give it to her. That would be acceptable, right?)

further proof my family is a little weird

2005-12-07T13:58:00.000-05:00

New song my mom and grandmother taught Alice on the weekend:

ROCK ROCK ROCKING IN YOUR ROCKING CHAIR
ROCK ROCK ROCKING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR

and then repeat. About a million trillion times. This seems to be some old lullaby in my family's personal song collection, but I can't find it anywhere in the (good old) internet. Which must mean that the song is made up. Which means someone in my family somewhere in time sang this to a small child and then inflicted it on future generations.

thou shalt not covet your neighbour's basement

2005-12-06T13:38:00.000-05:00

My good friend has recently had her basement renovated and converted it into a giant playroom/family room and I am OH SO jealous. Imagine the space! No. Toys. Piled. Up in the living room, and No. Toys. Stabbing. Me. In. The Toe when I first stumble into the kitchen in the mornings to make coffee.

In my previous life, I would have coveted a large bay window with stain-glass somewhere in the Bloor/Bathurst area. With a giant window seat that I could sit in and read the Sunday afternoon away. And now? I would move mountains to have a basement rec room if possible, with wall to wall carpeting, pot lights and a couple of comfy couches. And a place for the tv instead of my living room, which is the first room in my house and therefore so easy to feast your eyes on soon as you enter the door.

I mean really. Shouldn't we all have a place to store our kids and televisions?

I wanna rock and roll all night

2005-12-03T23:14:00.000-05:00

Last night I went out to see my friend's band at Clinton's. Wah hoo! Out on a Friday night, got to catch up with old friends, and was all on my own. Loved it. Alice spent the night with my mom, while Matt spent some time on his own. We both needed a night for just ourselves and it was so very very worth it.

I used to spend quite a bit of time pre-Alice in smoky bars and watching bands, so last night felt like an old friend's hug. And I found myself thinking about who I was before I was someone's mommy or someone's partner. I am happy where I am in my life now, but it felt good to remember that old part of me. To look her up and say "wanna go see a band?" Carefree and oh so fancy free.