A Rose by Any Other Name...

At the risk of sounding like a complete freak I’m going to share something about myself here. As a child, I had imaginary children. Now, I know a lot of kids have imaginary friends but I was the six-year-old who had imaginary pregnancies, imaginary births and a whole houseful of imaginary spawn. At one point it got so bad that my favourite pastime was to pour over old catalogues until I found models that could possibly be my future children and collage them into family portraits and eventually timelines that stretched across our living room floor and scanned over fifty years of births, deaths, weddings and graduations. My imaginary children had personalities, hopes and dreams and, always a stickler for realism I’d throw in the odd genetic disease or stint in rehab just to keep them on their toes. More important then their imagined life though was their imaginary names. I even went so far as to name my imaginary husbands and practice the potential surname choices (should I use a hyphen, take his name, or, as became common practice when I hit grade three, abandon the whole husband concept and go the route of immaculate conception ending up a functioning single mother of ten / paediatrician / artist?). I found the concept of naming children fascinating. The power! The influence! The sheer fun of combing through baby name books! It was like a drug and I was hooked.

Fast forward to today and the thought of naming a baby has become the bane of my existence. Of course, I had my favourite names long since chosen and had always assumed they would just be given out in some methodical order as spawn actually starting shooting from my loins. Somehow though, the minute I found out I was pregnant, I became panicky about having to actually give the baby inside of me a name months down the road. I mean, what right did I have anyway? Thus began a long existential debate about entitlement and imposing my personality and choices on a baby who might become someone completely different then I imagined. I went in circles. I had nightmares about birth certificates and baby announcements. What if I unknowingly saddled the kid with a horrible name? What if I didn’t realise possible associations or rhyming words? What if I offered up a smart kid name and ended up birthing a jock? The possibilities for disaster were endless. Then I realised, before I got too far ahead of myself I should probably talk to Jose.

In one of the many naïve assumptions I have made throughout my life, I assumed Jose wouldn’t care what we named the baby. However, after presenting my top girl and boy name choices and waiting for the expected casual agreement, I was shocked to hear the utter disgust in his voice. It became clear immediately that this was going to be tougher then I thought. At my twenty-week ultrasound the doctor surmised that the uber-fetus was most likely a girl. Not seeing any “boy parts” he promised me confirmation at my thirty-two week ultrasound and sent me on my way. Again naively, Jose and I spent all of our time focussing on names for our little chanchita (the thought of a chanchito now firmly out of our minds). After literally going name by name through a thousand page baby book and looking at no end of online sites we finally settled on a name he put forward the first night I arrived while we were walking along the beach in Punta Hermosa. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t love the name, but I got sucked in by his accent and the way he smiled every time he called the baby by it when he talked to my belly. Plus, the name we finally chose matches the picture I have in my head of the baby. It’s not what I’d always imagined, but somehow, it fits the baby we made together… I think.

Of course, the end of January hit and I went in for my final ultrasound and the response to my eager insistence on gender confirmation was a chuckle and the response “the baby is being shy today”. So of course, it was back to the drawing board. As tough as choosing a girl name had been, choosing a name for a boy is certifiably impossible. Thankfully, throughout all the baby name drama, we both agreed that the name should be short and unique (no Jose Miguel juniors here). However, beyond that, Jose and I couldn’t have more different opinions. You can blame a difference in culture, since it is true that a surprising amount of the names I came up with sound like dirty words en español, or the difficulties of long distance, but the truth is we’re just different. As it stands today, if the uber-fetus does end up with an uber-penis, he will not have a name and yes, this stresses me out. Unfortunately, the choosing of a boy name happens to be coinciding with my ultra-sensitive-emotional phase so that’s just the way it goes. Worse case scenario I might have to pull out my old timelines and gaze into the eyes of my imaginary children until a name jumps out at me. Until then, I stand firm in my assertion that if nothing else my son will not be named Thor. Jose may have been half joking when he suggested it, but don’t pretend you’re not all on my side now. Ahem.

PS. The Baby Name Bible by Pamela Redmond Satran and Linda Rozenkrantz is amazing. Go buy it. Now.

Buddha Belly

Last night while I was waiting for my Chinese takeout a toddler cautiously approached me while her mother paid their bill. After staring at me for a solid minute she giggled, pointed at my belly and then waddled over to the Buddha statue in the corner and pointed to his. Anonymous toddler 1, Risa 0.

An Ode to My Bitches

I’m not going to lie, I got a little charge the day after my wedding when I changed my Facebook relationship status to ‘married’. It’s sad to say, but somehow, in a way that the vows didn’t manage, the public status change and resulting flood of wall posts made it all seem real. The truth is the majority of people I know Facebook creep to a shameful degree. I’m no scientist but I’d say a solid percentage of the population’s knowledge of their friends, coworkers, people you met at the bar (you get the picture) comes from sitting alone in front of a computer and obsessively browsing photos, status updates and wall posts. But I digress. The point is that there is one area where Facebook seems to be lacking.

This leads me to the bridesmaid. In the past I’ve seriously wondered about their value. What are they really but the bride’s handmaidens? Modern day slaves who shell out big cash and commit to months of oohing and ahhing and gushing over just how “special” everything is. Now, I’ve been a bridesmaid and yes, I was honoured, but it never occurred to me that not having bridesmaids at my wedding might someday strike me as a little unfortunate. If anything I thought my friends might feel relieved (and I’m sure some of them do). Here’s the thing though, until Facebook figures out how to appropriately honour those serious plutonic relationships that sustain us, parading down the aisle before the bride is like confirmation, to you and everyone else you know, that your relationship is serious. And you’ve got to admit, confirmation that you’re a long-haul friend and not some casual acquaintance shouldn’t be important… but it is. So, for denying the true loves of my life the quiet superiority afforded to the bridesmaids, I apologise. I know it’s not much, but please enjoy your moment in the sun.

Rachel Goldman – Rachel is my stereotypical Vancouverite friend. We shop in expensive stores, like expensive coffee and go to expensive events. She also happens to be incredibly strong and has seen me through some dark days (as I have her). I spent an entire summer just getting by lying on her couch and drinking Crystal Lite Slurpees. She’s considerate in ways you didn’t expect and has become a truly outstanding woman in the last few years (I don’t consider this sentence condescending because regardless of the fact she and sorority went through a shameful brake up, she will always be my little sister). Plus, she’s one of the only people who will actually go to all the arts events I try to drag everyone to and, shock-horror, I’m pretty sure she enjoys them. When she thinks nobody is looking she’s also pretty damn amusing.



Robin Seims – Yes, Robin and I dated. Lived together even. Hell, we share custody of a dog. Still, any romance that ever existed (did it ever exist?) has long since past into hazy memory to the point where I think both of us sometimes forget that dating was how we got so close in the first place. Robin drives me insane. He is forgetful, sloppy and almost brutish. On the upside he is also one of the most selfless and giving people I have ever known. There are whole years of my life that I can say with certainty I would not have made it through without him. Plus, I find him hilarious in ways only we understand and for someone who has seen me at my absolute worst, he puts up with me in ways I know no one else ever will. Oh and out of all my bridesmaids he’s the only one I might have considered putting in pink. For a pale dude, Roberge can really rock the pink.

Katy Short – Katy and I consider our “friendiversary” the night of Gamma Phi Beta formal in her first year when I forced myself into her bathroom stall and declared my love for her. Was she a bit freaked out? Probably. But somehow she’s managed to put up with me for the last six years. Katy is ridiculously neurotic, sensitive and awkward and I love every second of it. She’s as close to a husband as I ever thought I’d get, in fact, I secretly suspect her mother is not the only one who assumed on one occasion or another that we were carrying on a secret affair (could it be that we were “Facebook married” for well over two years?). She’s hilarious in ways I don’t think she understands and stronger then she will ever know. Even Robin, who knows me better then anyone, get freaked out by our friend language in inside jokes if he has to spend more then a few hours with us. She is one of the smartest and most capable people I have ever known, which might sound lame but is actually quite inspiring. Plus I’m pretty sure her Mom is my icon.

Jaydeen Williams – Jaydeen and I met at summer camp when I was 15. She somehow managed to balance vulgar and adorable in equal measures, which remains a huge part of her charm to this day (and of course made her my insta-role-model). She is, without question, the most thoughtful person I have ever known and I am constantly holding myself to the standards of friendship she sets. When I went to UBC in 2001 she took me under her wing and I consider her responsible for some of the best experiences I had there. In fact, if I really think of it, she had a part to play in everything exceptional in my life. I certainly never would have gone to work for Royal Caribbean without her. She has a sense of adventure that makes even me less boring and a way of always knowing the exact right thing to say.

Oldooz Zandiyeh – Oz is that girl who everyone loves. She’s been a bridesmaid more times then I can count and it’s easy to see why. She’s adorable to the point of being sickening, except you couldn’t possibly be sickened by anything she does. She’s funny and sweet and unbelievably genuine. She somehow manages to maintain close relationships with hundreds and yet always makes you feel like you’re the one she really loves best. Attached at the hip for my first year of university, Oz will forever be a part of my inner circle. You just don’t let girls like that go (you hear me men?).

So there you go. You were all there in spirit ladies (and Roberge).

Oh, but I’m still not sold on the whole maid-of-honour thing. It’s like choosing a favourite child. We all know you have one, but isn’t it just tacky to say it out loud?

I ♥ Etsy

It’s quite possible I’m the last person in the world to hear about Etsy but just in case I feel the need to share the goodness with you. Etsy is a website that allows the creative people of the world to sell their handmade wares to people like me who are constantly searching for something a little more unique than your average mall merch. Believe me, I was a sceptic when Ms. Carey Shaw suggested I peruse the site for a little mid-workday break, but I’m certifiably obsessed now. With thousands of products like clothing, original artwork, jewellery, house wares and more I find myself content to browse for hours at a time. Yes... hours. Check it out for yourself if you don’t believe me:
http://www.etsy.com/

Yes. I am aware I sound like an infomercial but seriously... it’s just that good.

Finally, in case you need further incentive, have a peek at a few of my favourite finds from the past few weeks:

Mixed Metal Rings by KimBDesigns

9 Cameras by CB78

Bird Parade Decorative Mobile by giftsdevine

Sweet.Little.Zebra, Adorable. Little.Giraffe & Tough.Little. Rhinoceros Fine Art Photographs by TheInvisibleCircus

Kitchen Icon Labels by TastySuite

SNUGGS (c) by knitstyle

Cassette Tape Library Baby Onesie by trulysanctuary, Personalized Initial Onesie by claireandjanae & Organic Trike Onsie by inkpony

Stapler Sterling Silver Necklace by ballandchain

Chaos, Chance & Change

As I was checking my email at work last week and I was suddenly struck by the date. I’ve been twenty-seven for a whole month! Granted, it’s not that twenty-seven is a particularly important age, but rather that, for me, my birthday always seems to mark the official end of the year. It’s always on my birthday that I take the time to reflect on what’s passed and look towards the future. To determine the bad habits I’d like to give up and bask in the hope of new beginnings. Plus, I’ve always gotten the feeling that the days between December 26th and 31st were just ‘filler’ anyway. Yet somehow this year, amidst walks on the beach, llamas and inca kola, 2008 seemed to slip into 2009 without much thought. Which is funny, because let’s be honest, if there was ever a year fit for reflection, it was 2008.

The result of this realisation? I’m starting a blog. Do I fear that blogging about my life is terribly self-indulgent? Yes, but c’est la vie. Judge me if you must. If nothing else perhaps I can blame it on the boredom. Besides, thousands of people can’t be wrong. Right? To celebrate the very first post on my very first blog, I present to you, esteemed creepers with nothing better to do…

365 Days of Chaos, Chance & Change: The Five Fabulous Facts of My Life (Mi Vida) in 2008

#1. Trains, Planes, Taxis and Ships ~ In January, a mere month after signing on the Navigator of the Seas I was presented with the option of an unlimited extension on my sign off flight ticket out of Rome and back to the Great White North. Yes, I was making a decision for my five-months-into-the-future-self with no real fix on that self’s financial, mental or physical state after almost seven months of Adventure Ocean chaos, but riddle me this… what would you have done? After pushing the limits with the illustrious Royal Caribbean Adventure Ocean scheduler I picked an arbitrary date and committed to a (unplanned) European vacation of a lifetime. All I knew for sure was that I’d be kicked off the boat in Rome on June 19th and I had seventeen days to kill before my flight home on July 5th. I spent the next five months half-heartedly planning. A random email to a friend who might want to join me here, a brief perusal of flight tickets and hotel accommodations there and before I knew it I was three days away from sign off with no plans, no partner-in-crime and on the verge of a fairly significant panic attack. The night before I signed off, with more than a little prodding and considerable amounts of calming down from Jose, I booked a room in Rome for the coming three nights. Yes, I still had fourteen days to fill. Yes, travelling alone seemed daunting. Yes, I hadn’t even finished packing. Yet somehow, it all made sense. I think it had something to do with reading of Eat, Pray, Love. Thank you Elizabeth Gilbert.

The next morning passed in a frantic rush, as sign off mornings do. I stashed the majority of my stuff in Jose’s cabin, stuffed my remaining suitcase with everything I could carry, put all my sign off cash in my wallet and I was off. To make a long story short (something I’m not known to do), travelling alone in Europe for those seventeen days was the best decision I could have made. When all was said and done I’d been to Italy, England, Spain, Greece, Croatia and the airport in Brussels (where I justified counting Belgium as country number six on my official vacation tally). I’d seen the sights and checked off every must in the tourist handbook. Along the way I caught up with a great friend, got one more night with mi amour (which, as you’ll see in Fabulous Fact #2 turned out to be quite significant) and finally got to enjoy my “voyage to adventure” on board a cruise ship I was not employed on. More than all of that, what made the vacation warrant a spot on this list was the experience of travelling on my own. There’s nothing like the knowledge that all that talk of independence and adventure weren’t just bullshit and realising, in a way that a university degree, countless hours of employment, budgets and bills never taught me... I was all grown up. Shockingly, when you’re eating gelato on the edge of the Trevi Fountain, being a grown up seems pretty sweet.

#2. The Uber-Fetus and the Art of Making an Entrance ~ I don’t think I’ve ever been as sick as I was the morning I woke up for Rachelorette 2008. Sitting on the side of my bed, shaking after vomiting up breakfast I casually laughed it off when Roberge suggested I might be pregnant. To be fair, playing it safe was not mine and Jose’s strong suit, but if the doctor gave you a less the 2% chance of conceiving naturally wouldn’t you have been tempted to play the odds a little? It was hours later, after much bachelorette frivolity, standing in the liquor store thinking the greatest challenge for the day might be the choice between vodka or beer, when it hit me that taking a test, just to ease my mind, might not be such a bad thing. Of course, next thing you know I’m locked in the hotel bathroom, three positive pee sticks later and suddenly frantic about the reality of the ‘situation’ that would come to be known as the Uber-Fetus. In hindsight it really does seem like fate, but at that moment all I could think about was the fact that I had no home, no car, and soon, no job (ship life and pregnancy don’t mix) and I’d just maxed my VISA on some, admittedly fantastic, 7-inch heels. Did I panic? Hells ya. I guess for me it really was a case of ‘be careful what you wish for’. Anyone who knows me knows I’ve been a little baby-crazy since birth, even evoking genuine concern from fellow Adventure Ocean staff with my multiple adorable European baby-napping plots, but the reality of the situation was a very different from any fairy tale I’d dreamt up in the past twenty six years.

Of course as I write this now, about seven and a half months pregnant, I feel silly for feeling like this baby was anything other than a blessing. Against all odds, with one night in Barcelona, fate seemed to set the stage for my entire life to change. I don’t know where I’d be now if not for the baby, but regardless I know I wouldn’t be nearly as happy. My parents always called me a “surprise” but I think if the Uber-Fetus ever does question the shady circumstances surrounding its conception I’ll just have to tell the truth. Unplanned? Obviously. But then again, aren’t the best things in life those you never saw coming? I like to think that even my tremendous imagination couldn’t have come up with a ‘situation’ as beautiful fate dropped into my lap. Plus, you’ve got to admit, even in utero this baby knows how to make an entrance.

#3. Life in the Land of the Living Skies ~ As I packed “the dirty bitch” (RIP) after my years abroad and drove west to start at UBC it never occurred to me that someday I might end up back in Saskatchewan. In fact, if anything I’d made a secret pact with myself to never let that happen. That was almost eight years ago now and, like most decisions I made when I was nineteen, I’m not entirely sure what the big deal was. Faced with a burgeoning belly, a baby-daddy stuck on a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean and less than $20 to my name, Saskatchewan wasn’t looking too bad. The truth is. I like it here. It’s nice being in a place that has seasons beyond damp, rainy, really rainy and flooding. I missed the snow. I missed the fields. I missed my family.

I officially moved back in August and somehow my Dad and I concocted a scheme to turn his basement into a self-contained three bedroom apartment. I got a job at the MacKenzie Art Gallery, as the Education Program Assistant, finally doing something I really wanted and learning from a woman who’s been in her position for over twenty years. The lack of shopping options and entertainment has been a blessing in disguise, leaving me more fiscally responsible then I have ever been. Plus, I love leaving the house fifteen minutes before I have to be somewhere, instead of an hour. I guess no matter where I’d lived when I was an angsty teenager it probably would have seemed like hell on earth, but I feel bad for knocking Saskatchewan for so long. I played the big city girl for awhile but it’s just like Dorothy said... “there’s no place like home” and I’m glad to be back. Well... for now.

#4. “Si Accepto” ~ I was talking to a friend on the phone today and he pretty much summed it up... “Dude... you’re married”... Yeah.

Now, I’m not the most romantic person in the world, but the truth is, I love Jose more than anything. After what can only be described as pure and unadulterated drama onboard the Grandeur of the Seas and six months of read-between-the-lines emails, when he finally got to the Navigator and we finally got it together, I’ve never been so happy. One of my favourite days in Europe was our disastrous trip to Florence where, with only an hour in the city after misjudging the train journey, we almost got married in a park beside the train station. Logic got the better of us then, but somewhere between the arrival of the uber-fetus and the repeated rejection from the government of Canada the idea of marriage came up again. Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m not the marrying kind and I can assure you, neither is Jose. We kept finding excuses to push the thought out of our minds. Excuses like our repeated periods of separation, the fact we’d only had a life together onboard a cruise ship and the cold, hard truth that, well, isn’t a shotgun wedding a little tacky? Still, the minute I finally saw him in the crowd at the airport in Lima, I knew I wanted to be with him forever.

I absolutely loved our wedding. I loved finding our silver rings in Lima and laugh at their cost (about $15 each). I love that we both wore black and that I’d bought my dress on sale at ‘Le Crapeau’ just in case I needed something nice that fit over my belly to wear while I was away. I loved walking the two blocks through Punta Hermosa from Jose’s house to city hall and that his brother preformed the ceremony. I love that everything was said in Spanish and that we signed our marriage licence with our fingerprints and that, as Jessica King so eloquently put it, we ate “street meat” at our reception. I always thought I wanted Tiffany’s platinum, bouquets of orchids and a tower of cupcakes. I even worried, right up until the day, that I would forever regret not having a ‘real’ wedding. Like everything this year, I was shocked at how wrong I was. I think in the past I’d been fixated on all those things, not just because that’s what everyone else had, but because up until then I’d been missing the most important piece of the wedding puzzle... the groom. I loved our wedding because I was marrying Jose and that meant that everything was perfection. I can’t imagine needing anything more to feel like my wedding was more beautiful than any I’ve ever been to. Plus, say what you will about a shotgun wedding but I kind of liked having the uber-fetus there with us. More than a marriage, on our wedding day the three of us became a real family and I’ll always be able to tell our spawn about the look on her father’s face when (s)he kicked him during our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Chancho.

#5. Inner Peace eh? ~ I’ll be the first to admit I’m a little hard to handle. I like to think of myself as one of those people you have to learn to love. High strung? Check! Controlling? Check! Judgemental? Insensitive? Bitchy? Check! Check! Check! But somehow, amidst the pure chaos that might have sent me into a shameful downward spiral only a year ago, I managed to stay, dare I say it? Zen. Yes me. Zen. I’m not sure when it happened, or how, but the evidence is irrefutable. I can’t see a cloud without waxing poetic about its silver lining. I’ve taken every obstacle as it came, dealt with it and moved on. I’ve been doing yoga and meditating and giving up prime parking spots in the dead of winter. Some might say it was love that finally did it, others the baby. I’m pretty sure ship people are convinced it’s the lack of hard liquor. Sometimes I wonder if I wasn’t like a computer on the verge of breakdown that somehow got re-booted just in time. A coping mechanism I developed in the eye of the storm like some aspect of Darwin’s survival of the fittest. Truth be told, I think there was always a peace-loving hippy alive and well inside me. If I ever let you in enough to know me well, you usually found her in the squishy parts beneath my cultivated thick skin.