A friend of mine posted this article on Facebook. I think it's a little extreme but it's certianly a good read. I'm wholly on-board with the Free Range Kids philosophy and I think this is central to what the article is getting at (even though it's never mentioned). I want to raise an independent child with a wicked immune system who has a mother who lives her dreams, even if that means she has to spend a fair few hours self-occupying and occasionally eats Cheetos for dinner (not that that ever happens in our house, ahem). I spent many a year working in daycares and felt bad for the kids who had no problem solving skills, cried at the drop of a hat and couldn't even use the toilet on their own. Their parents had become so obsessed with everything that was bad for them I was dealing with 6-year-olds who had never made a single independent choice. Needless to say these kids were in no way prepared for life on the outside. I don't think NOT over-parenting makes me "mediocre", in fact I think it means I'm going to raise someone who can one day function in our less than perfect society. And isn't that sort of my job as a mother?
Thoughts?
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Every Can't
I like to think of myself as a pretty strong person. I’m confident, independent and fearless. Intense, focussed and driven. According to my mother I’m “scary” because I get more done before breakfast than most people do all day. All of this is true when I’m in my element, but if I get pushed outside of my comfort zone I tend to crumble underneath the weight of every ‘can’t’ I hide behind. My world is divided very clearly between what I can and what I ‘can’t’ with the proverbial line-in-the-sand drawn so long ago I don’t ever remember a time I lived without my list of self-imposed limitations... until lately. You may say it’s growing older and more comfortable in my skin, but I’m pretty sure it’s Gaia that’s done it. Being her mother has made me question every ‘can’t’. If I want her to believe that anything is possible, then the very least I can do is lead by example.
For years I exercised half-heartedly, barely breaking a sweat with a half hour on the elliptical as I watched the hardcore runners on the treadmill. I’d look up training programs online before quickly reminding myself “I can’t run”. Still, as my world was falling apart over Christmas in Peru I began running along the boardwalk at the beach every morning. I did it as a way to escape when running in circles for forty-five minutes a day was as close as I could get to running away.
Walk nine minutes, runpantcrydie 1 minute.
When I came home I set my alarm for 6:00am every morning and learned to love the treadmill. These days I typically walk five minutes for every ten I run. One day while I watched Tiger Woods atone for his sins in a press conference booming from the gym TV I ran for the entire twenty-some minutes without even noticing. I’m seriously considering training for a marathon.
Running makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Running makes me feel brave.
I tried and failed at every attempt to learn the Spanish language in my years in university and beyond. I cried in the advising office and choked out “I can’t learn languages” until they believed the truth I’d created. Still, when Gaia was born I was determined she be bilingual so I enrolled in Spanish 100 at the University of Regina. I went to every class and studied for hours a day. I spoke to Gaia in broken Spanish and read her Spanish stories and conjugated verbs every night before bed.
Yo puedo, tú puedes, él/ella/ud. puede, nostoros(as) podemos, vosotros(as) podeís, ellos/ellas/uds. pueden.
I got an ‘A’ in Spanish 100, spoke the language every chance I got in Peru and enrolled in Spanish 101 when I got back. I aced it too. Last week I received the following letter.
I had officially declared my intention to get a Certificate in Spanish about a month ago.
Mastering Spanish makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Mastering Spanish makes me feel brave.
I started cooking meals from scratch and looking for freelance writing jobs and lifting weights. I sang out loud in Starfish class and made a monthly budget and applied for jobs that scared me (one of which, I now work at). I started dancing in the kitchen and dancing in the park and dancing at work. When I think of every ‘can’t’ I’ve left in my wake since Gaia was born I feel powerful, which is a very different thing than everyone just telling me I am. Especially when I remember that I did it all on three hours sleep with the very best of me going towards the epic tornado that is my daughter. In essence, sloughing off every ‘can’t’ that’s lurked in the shadows of my past is how she gets the very best of me.
She deserves to have a mother who is strong, confident, independent and fearless. She deserves to have a mother who is brave.
For years I exercised half-heartedly, barely breaking a sweat with a half hour on the elliptical as I watched the hardcore runners on the treadmill. I’d look up training programs online before quickly reminding myself “I can’t run”. Still, as my world was falling apart over Christmas in Peru I began running along the boardwalk at the beach every morning. I did it as a way to escape when running in circles for forty-five minutes a day was as close as I could get to running away.
Walk nine minutes, runpantcrydie 1 minute.
When I came home I set my alarm for 6:00am every morning and learned to love the treadmill. These days I typically walk five minutes for every ten I run. One day while I watched Tiger Woods atone for his sins in a press conference booming from the gym TV I ran for the entire twenty-some minutes without even noticing. I’m seriously considering training for a marathon.
Running makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Running makes me feel brave.
I tried and failed at every attempt to learn the Spanish language in my years in university and beyond. I cried in the advising office and choked out “I can’t learn languages” until they believed the truth I’d created. Still, when Gaia was born I was determined she be bilingual so I enrolled in Spanish 100 at the University of Regina. I went to every class and studied for hours a day. I spoke to Gaia in broken Spanish and read her Spanish stories and conjugated verbs every night before bed.
Yo puedo, tú puedes, él/ella/ud. puede, nostoros(as) podemos, vosotros(as) podeís, ellos/ellas/uds. pueden.
I got an ‘A’ in Spanish 100, spoke the language every chance I got in Peru and enrolled in Spanish 101 when I got back. I aced it too. Last week I received the following letter.
Mastering Spanish makes me feel strong, confident, independent and fearless. Mastering Spanish makes me feel brave.
I started cooking meals from scratch and looking for freelance writing jobs and lifting weights. I sang out loud in Starfish class and made a monthly budget and applied for jobs that scared me (one of which, I now work at). I started dancing in the kitchen and dancing in the park and dancing at work. When I think of every ‘can’t’ I’ve left in my wake since Gaia was born I feel powerful, which is a very different thing than everyone just telling me I am. Especially when I remember that I did it all on three hours sleep with the very best of me going towards the epic tornado that is my daughter. In essence, sloughing off every ‘can’t’ that’s lurked in the shadows of my past is how she gets the very best of me.
She deserves to have a mother who is strong, confident, independent and fearless. She deserves to have a mother who is brave.
Oh C-Eh-N-Eh-D-Eh! Eh?!?
HAPPY CANADA DAY!!
I love beat poetry and remember seeing this during the 2010 Olympics and thinking how perfectly this represented Canada. Enjoy.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Report Card (Part I)
Have I mentioned how much I love the daycare G goes to? It's amazing. Period. Each day she get's a little "report card" that outlines her day... input (yumyum), output (numéro uno y dos), time outside (including an timeline for sunscreen application), naps (typically of a questionable length) and a comments section that is pretty much the highlight of my mother/stalker life. From now on I plan on sharing the better comments with you. I particularly enjoy today’s.
"After I put one ponytail in Gaia's hair she asked for more, so I put another one in her hair and she asked for more again. I put a third ponytail in her hair and Gaia said more again, but she had no more hair!"
In other news I’m kind of obsessed with the new tea place in the mall. Try the Mojito. Tell ‘em Risa sent you.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Misty Watercolour Memories
Two years ago today JM and I were celebrating our half-birthday in Barcelona. I was clean, I had makeup on and I was drinking beer in the streets. Later that night my girl was conceived. Currently it is 8:00am on Saturday morning and she’s throwing a patented monster tantrum because I won’t let her watch her Baby Einstein World Music
DVD. I'm forced to make this decision because a month ago she broke the DVD player. Did I mention I was up no less than eight times last night?
I feel like there’s an ad for birth control in here somewhere.
DVD. I'm forced to make this decision because a month ago she broke the DVD player. Did I mention I was up no less than eight times last night? I feel like there’s an ad for birth control in here somewhere.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Art Prodigy (Proof)
I’ve talked before of my daughter as a budding artistic genius here and here. Still, I’ve done so with my tongue planted fairly firmly in cheek. Now that she’s actually started creating art it’s a whole new ballgame.
Take, for example, the following drawing, created by Gaia in Mid-May 2010.
In contrast take the following drawing, created by Gaia yesterday.
Notice the bright, tonal colour palette of greens, reds, purples and blues? See how her lines flow along the page in rhythmic harmony? See how the artist is attempting to recognise the beauty of nature with the abstract representation to the left of the image? Is it a tree, perhaps a symbol for her own growth or simply a rush of frenetic energy reaching skyward?
Yesterday when I found this drawing tucked in G’s cubby I was greeted by a giggly baby and a daily report that read “Gaia coloured with so much enthusiasm today! She had a crayon in both hands and moved them quickly across the table.” She took two naps, played outside and ate two servings of meatloaf at lunch. Her behaviour was such that kissing her on the forehead as I gathered our things caused her to laugh so loudly it set the other babies off in waves of glee. I’d say it’s clear that the day this drawing was conceived was a decidedly good one.
My point? My daughter is a true artistic genius, in touch with the very deepest corners of her soul with the ability to capture her emotion on her chosen canvas (scrap paper – ever the environmentalist) that I have no doubt the world will take notice.
I told you so.
Take, for example, the following drawing, created by Gaia in Mid-May 2010.
Notice her choice dark, muted colour palette of browns, slate blues and greys? See how her lines vibrate with raw anger in their sharp, staccato placement across the page? Notice how the artist (formerly known as G) has ripped a portion of paper at the right of the page. Was this a way to highlight the artist’s (decidedly negative) take on the state of our broken world or perhaps even confront the viewer with their own mortality?
The day I found this drawing tucked in G’s cubby I was greeted by a baby ball of rage and a daily report reading only “This morning Gaia enjoyed screaming loudly with (her baby BFF) in the aquatic viewing area.” I noticed she also refused to nap, eat or generally be pleasant in any way. This behaviour carried on well through the evening. I wouldn’t hesitate to classify to the day this drawing was conceived as a decidedly bad one.
In contrast take the following drawing, created by Gaia yesterday.
Notice the bright, tonal colour palette of greens, reds, purples and blues? See how her lines flow along the page in rhythmic harmony? See how the artist is attempting to recognise the beauty of nature with the abstract representation to the left of the image? Is it a tree, perhaps a symbol for her own growth or simply a rush of frenetic energy reaching skyward?
Yesterday when I found this drawing tucked in G’s cubby I was greeted by a giggly baby and a daily report that read “Gaia coloured with so much enthusiasm today! She had a crayon in both hands and moved them quickly across the table.” She took two naps, played outside and ate two servings of meatloaf at lunch. Her behaviour was such that kissing her on the forehead as I gathered our things caused her to laugh so loudly it set the other babies off in waves of glee. I’d say it’s clear that the day this drawing was conceived was a decidedly good one.
My point? My daughter is a true artistic genius, in touch with the very deepest corners of her soul with the ability to capture her emotion on her chosen canvas (scrap paper – ever the environmentalist) that I have no doubt the world will take notice.
I told you so.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Blame it on the Rain
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” – Bob Dylan
Gaia’s been sick the last few days. An invisible ear infection that in turn caused a bit lip to fester into some weird, swollen, oozing sore that made my baby girl smell like an old man whose finally given up on hygiene. Meanwhile I somehow managed to log thirty working hours in three days while still taking a whole day “off” to stay home with my little geriatric. Hmmm. Anyway. Antibiotics, a good night’s sleep and a sunny walk to daycare this morning and we’re (almost) good as new.
But the sunny walk to daycare? By the time I left work I was faced with no less than a torrential downpour with the occasional sharp burn of pelting hail and wrath of thunder and lightning. Regina, like everywhere in the world it seems, is a little confused. I’d like to take a moment to point out, should Mother Nature read this blog that it is, in fact, SUMMER. But I digress. My point is not to complain. I feel like everyone else in this waterlogged town has got the complaining thing covered. Plus, it’s not my style.
So I braved the fifteen minute walk to my car with only a brief desire for the umbrella tucked safely in its backseat. By the time I got over the initial shock of going from dry to soaking wet in under a minute I realised there’s something beautiful about the rain. The way it smells (cliché, I know) and how it washes the city clean, blurring the steel and glass and making it shimmer like a Matisse painting, all brushstrokes. The way the dark clouds look ominous and lush all at once, a study in contradiction. Strolling stoically past the masses huddled under awnings with my dripping face turned up to the sky I enjoyed the rain like I had as a child (standing in wet pyjamas, barefoot with my brother on the grass in our yard, watching as my father checked the rain gauge). I even justified jumping in a puddle when I realised I couldn’t get any wetter. When was the last time you jumped in a puddle? I highly recommend it.
Small rivers dripped in my wake as I let myself indoors to pick Gaia up from daycare. She laughed when she saw me and stuck out her tongue to catch the beads of rain that dripped from my hair. I didn’t bother with her jacket, just held her close as we ran out the door, past the growing crowd attempting to wait-it-out at the entrance. The minute she felt the rain on her face she looked and me and smiled, then held her hands up to the sky to catch it and screamed with joy. We let the car’s seats be our towels and sang along with the raindrops on the windows. She clapped every time we drove through the puddles that splashed up in waves on her window.
How can you stop yourself from loving the rain? Besides, it’s only water.
Gaia’s been sick the last few days. An invisible ear infection that in turn caused a bit lip to fester into some weird, swollen, oozing sore that made my baby girl smell like an old man whose finally given up on hygiene. Meanwhile I somehow managed to log thirty working hours in three days while still taking a whole day “off” to stay home with my little geriatric. Hmmm. Anyway. Antibiotics, a good night’s sleep and a sunny walk to daycare this morning and we’re (almost) good as new.
But the sunny walk to daycare? By the time I left work I was faced with no less than a torrential downpour with the occasional sharp burn of pelting hail and wrath of thunder and lightning. Regina, like everywhere in the world it seems, is a little confused. I’d like to take a moment to point out, should Mother Nature read this blog that it is, in fact, SUMMER. But I digress. My point is not to complain. I feel like everyone else in this waterlogged town has got the complaining thing covered. Plus, it’s not my style.
So I braved the fifteen minute walk to my car with only a brief desire for the umbrella tucked safely in its backseat. By the time I got over the initial shock of going from dry to soaking wet in under a minute I realised there’s something beautiful about the rain. The way it smells (cliché, I know) and how it washes the city clean, blurring the steel and glass and making it shimmer like a Matisse painting, all brushstrokes. The way the dark clouds look ominous and lush all at once, a study in contradiction. Strolling stoically past the masses huddled under awnings with my dripping face turned up to the sky I enjoyed the rain like I had as a child (standing in wet pyjamas, barefoot with my brother on the grass in our yard, watching as my father checked the rain gauge). I even justified jumping in a puddle when I realised I couldn’t get any wetter. When was the last time you jumped in a puddle? I highly recommend it.
Small rivers dripped in my wake as I let myself indoors to pick Gaia up from daycare. She laughed when she saw me and stuck out her tongue to catch the beads of rain that dripped from my hair. I didn’t bother with her jacket, just held her close as we ran out the door, past the growing crowd attempting to wait-it-out at the entrance. The minute she felt the rain on her face she looked and me and smiled, then held her hands up to the sky to catch it and screamed with joy. We let the car’s seats be our towels and sang along with the raindrops on the windows. She clapped every time we drove through the puddles that splashed up in waves on her window.
How can you stop yourself from loving the rain? Besides, it’s only water.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
169 Days
It’s been one hundred and sixty nine days since I posted about my inner dialogue and the vacation it took without me. Since then a lot has happened.
In brief: Jose Miguel and I separated. Mi familia y yo had an amazing/awkward/perfect/painful last week as a family in Perú. Two-thirds of mi familia flew back to Canada. One-third of mi familia screamed for over an hour on a flight from Winnipeg to Regina. A gorilla, a robot, some long-lost members of Jem and the Holograms and my Dad met us at the airport. Saskatchewan, as always, proved cold and somehow comforting. I made some bad choices, obsessed a little and lost twenty-five pounds from the stress of it all. I’ve never looked better. I started Spanish 101 and found myself in a level of hell only verb conjugation can create. I started reading and writing en español at a level I never thought I’d reach. I felt proud of myself. Jose Miguel was approved as a Permanent Resident of Canada after well over a year of waiting. We were told our paperwork was some of the quickest of anyone in our situation. I still want to burn Immigration Canada to the ground. Jose Miguel moved to Canada. Turns out the full three-thirds of mi familia in one house is amazing. We vaguely looked into filing for divorce but then something came up. Gaia learned to walk after an intense session with her personal Phys Ed teacher while Canada was winning an insane amount of gold medals in the Olympics. I finally went to Salsa night. I didn’t dance. I bought a car. I actually won’t own it for four years. Semantics. I tried snowboarding for the first time and I was amazing, even if I couldn’t move for almost a week after. I applied for a job, got offered a job and turned a job down. I’m glad I changed my mind. I love my job. Jose Miguel stayed home with Gaia full-time for almost a month. He’s an amazing father and still the most handsome man I’ve seen up close. The fact that we’re horrible at being married remains. I started running every morning at 6:00am. It made me feel strong and powerful and brave. We celebrated Gaia’s first birthday with a big party and a cake only my Dad could create. Jose Miguel took one last contract on ships. He left. Gaia got a spot at a home daycare. Gaia got kicked out of a home daycare. Gaia got a spot at an amazing, reputable, government subsidised daycare. I was reminded that everything happens for a reason. Gaia and I went to Vancouver for a visit. She made a lifelong friend in a big black dog, had her first experience with finger paint and was the star at her second first birthday party. She did this while wearing an excessively large tutu. I got to catch up, tell my story and celebrate the thirtieth birthday of one of the most amazing people I know. I felt like I could breathe again. We went home. I started a passionate love affair with coffee. Gaia started a passionate love affair with making friends. We are all very happy. I bought an iPhone. I took a week off Facebook. My Dad started cooking family dinner on Sunday nights. I got to dress like a grownup every day. It’s been said, by my boss, that I could take over the world all while wearing six-inch heels. She’s a smart lady. Gaia was exposed to every germ in existence. One day I caught her licking the floor at daycare. She was sick a lot. She stopped sleeping through the night. I talked to Jose Miguel on the phone almost every day. Who would have thought? I got my hopes up for spring and then it started snowing again. I questioned my decision to live in Regina. I started dating, realised I was bad at it and quit. I cut over ten inches of hair off my head. I was relatively unmoved but I’m pretty sure my stylist cried after I left. I had a picnic with my Mom. Gaia enjoyed her first ice cream cone... and her second... and her third. The sun came out and we got a big plastic pool shaped like a shark. Again, I got my hopes up. It was grey and rainy for a month. I cleaned my bathroom. Gaia proved she is a budding genius through a series of events I relayed to anyone who would listen. She started running everywhere. I finally sorted through all my old boxes, found I’d saved every piece of paper from university and threw it out. Now I have a whole extra room in my house. I’m planning on setting up a studio space for me and my girl. Gaia still doesn’t speak save for “Mama”, “Dad-Dad” (what she calls her Grandad) and “Uh-Oh” but she is the best non-verbal communicator I’ve ever met. She now knows the signs for “please”, “more” and “all done” thanks to the wonderful women at daycare. She has a genuine best friend who makes her laugh like no one else. They have perfected the best friend high-five. She climbs up the stairs, up the couch and up the walls. I’ve taken to telling strangers she is NUTBALLS when they look at her picture in my iPhone. She is. I drank many glasses of red wine and got drunk for the first time in a long time. I went to a lot of BBQs, playdates, dinners and a gala. I had my picture taken by Regina paparazzi one night with my boss. Apparently I’m Regina famous (or rather, employed by someone who is). A good friend came to town. We ate the best burger I’ve ever tasted, hosted a BBQ, drank a lot of Big Rock Lime Beer and bought fifteen dollars worth of jellybeans. I redesigned the blog one night while I watched Whip It. Jose Miguel and I made some decisions. We're still not divorced. This weekend the sun started shining. I got a tan while logging working hours and danced on the grass with Gaia when I was finished. Last night I took her to the park. She slid down the slide on her own for the first time. She perfected the art with at least eighty more solo slides before I could get her back home. As a result I think I developed an arm muscle I didn't know existed. This morning I felt like writing.
I make no promises, but... I'm back. Did you miss me?
In brief: Jose Miguel and I separated. Mi familia y yo had an amazing/awkward/perfect/painful last week as a family in Perú. Two-thirds of mi familia flew back to Canada. One-third of mi familia screamed for over an hour on a flight from Winnipeg to Regina. A gorilla, a robot, some long-lost members of Jem and the Holograms and my Dad met us at the airport. Saskatchewan, as always, proved cold and somehow comforting. I made some bad choices, obsessed a little and lost twenty-five pounds from the stress of it all. I’ve never looked better. I started Spanish 101 and found myself in a level of hell only verb conjugation can create. I started reading and writing en español at a level I never thought I’d reach. I felt proud of myself. Jose Miguel was approved as a Permanent Resident of Canada after well over a year of waiting. We were told our paperwork was some of the quickest of anyone in our situation. I still want to burn Immigration Canada to the ground. Jose Miguel moved to Canada. Turns out the full three-thirds of mi familia in one house is amazing. We vaguely looked into filing for divorce but then something came up. Gaia learned to walk after an intense session with her personal Phys Ed teacher while Canada was winning an insane amount of gold medals in the Olympics. I finally went to Salsa night. I didn’t dance. I bought a car. I actually won’t own it for four years. Semantics. I tried snowboarding for the first time and I was amazing, even if I couldn’t move for almost a week after. I applied for a job, got offered a job and turned a job down. I’m glad I changed my mind. I love my job. Jose Miguel stayed home with Gaia full-time for almost a month. He’s an amazing father and still the most handsome man I’ve seen up close. The fact that we’re horrible at being married remains. I started running every morning at 6:00am. It made me feel strong and powerful and brave. We celebrated Gaia’s first birthday with a big party and a cake only my Dad could create. Jose Miguel took one last contract on ships. He left. Gaia got a spot at a home daycare. Gaia got kicked out of a home daycare. Gaia got a spot at an amazing, reputable, government subsidised daycare. I was reminded that everything happens for a reason. Gaia and I went to Vancouver for a visit. She made a lifelong friend in a big black dog, had her first experience with finger paint and was the star at her second first birthday party. She did this while wearing an excessively large tutu. I got to catch up, tell my story and celebrate the thirtieth birthday of one of the most amazing people I know. I felt like I could breathe again. We went home. I started a passionate love affair with coffee. Gaia started a passionate love affair with making friends. We are all very happy. I bought an iPhone. I took a week off Facebook. My Dad started cooking family dinner on Sunday nights. I got to dress like a grownup every day. It’s been said, by my boss, that I could take over the world all while wearing six-inch heels. She’s a smart lady. Gaia was exposed to every germ in existence. One day I caught her licking the floor at daycare. She was sick a lot. She stopped sleeping through the night. I talked to Jose Miguel on the phone almost every day. Who would have thought? I got my hopes up for spring and then it started snowing again. I questioned my decision to live in Regina. I started dating, realised I was bad at it and quit. I cut over ten inches of hair off my head. I was relatively unmoved but I’m pretty sure my stylist cried after I left. I had a picnic with my Mom. Gaia enjoyed her first ice cream cone... and her second... and her third. The sun came out and we got a big plastic pool shaped like a shark. Again, I got my hopes up. It was grey and rainy for a month. I cleaned my bathroom. Gaia proved she is a budding genius through a series of events I relayed to anyone who would listen. She started running everywhere. I finally sorted through all my old boxes, found I’d saved every piece of paper from university and threw it out. Now I have a whole extra room in my house. I’m planning on setting up a studio space for me and my girl. Gaia still doesn’t speak save for “Mama”, “Dad-Dad” (what she calls her Grandad) and “Uh-Oh” but she is the best non-verbal communicator I’ve ever met. She now knows the signs for “please”, “more” and “all done” thanks to the wonderful women at daycare. She has a genuine best friend who makes her laugh like no one else. They have perfected the best friend high-five. She climbs up the stairs, up the couch and up the walls. I’ve taken to telling strangers she is NUTBALLS when they look at her picture in my iPhone. She is. I drank many glasses of red wine and got drunk for the first time in a long time. I went to a lot of BBQs, playdates, dinners and a gala. I had my picture taken by Regina paparazzi one night with my boss. Apparently I’m Regina famous (or rather, employed by someone who is). A good friend came to town. We ate the best burger I’ve ever tasted, hosted a BBQ, drank a lot of Big Rock Lime Beer and bought fifteen dollars worth of jellybeans. I redesigned the blog one night while I watched Whip It. Jose Miguel and I made some decisions. We're still not divorced. This weekend the sun started shining. I got a tan while logging working hours and danced on the grass with Gaia when I was finished. Last night I took her to the park. She slid down the slide on her own for the first time. She perfected the art with at least eighty more solo slides before I could get her back home. As a result I think I developed an arm muscle I didn't know existed. This morning I felt like writing.
I make no promises, but... I'm back. Did you miss me?
Pretty Little Girl
Almost every night before going to sleep I lie in my bed and cuddle up next to my iPhone to Facebook creep*. It’s a bad habit and one clearly not conducive to slumber but so it is. Last night the last thing I saw before calling it a night was the following video, posted by an old friend from university.
When Gaia was a wee one, about 3 months old, a mama-friend and I discussed the ramifications of constantly praising our “pretty” babies. We discussed gender politics. We discussed theories in education. We discussed our own hopes and fears. I confessed I found myself hastily adding “and smart” to the tail end of every “you’re pretty” even in the days when Gaia could barely hold her head up. I later found I did this even more in the days when she was making choices like eating out of the garbage can and running head first into the walls. My mama-friend confessed to throwing in a “and hard working” lest her babe be giving the impression smarts alone were enough. God forbid our infants rest on their laurels.
Two baby girls lounging lazily on the floor – “You’re pretty... and smart... and hard working.” Their twinkly baby gazes gave little indication that the message was getting through.
Since Gaia was born there’s a whole portion of my brain that’s dedicated to raising a teenager. I fear it in a way I never expected and one that at times consumes me. Somehow I grew up with a healthy dose of self esteem. I’d always been a “pretty little girl” all big eyes and dark lashes. My big teeth turned into a perfect smile without the rite-of-passage that is braces. I hit puberty hard, and early, but even that only slowed me for a second when in the back of a car while I pretended to sleep my parents talked about the relief they felt that their “pretty little girl” had a new layer of fat to protect her from dangers I didn’t fully understand in grade five.
“Thank God she’s a little bit chubby because with that face we might have been in for trouble.” I stored it away in a place I don’t often visit.
I’ve always dressed and acted how I wanted. Always got what I wanted, in school, at work, in life, with men. When I look in the mirror I see so much more then my reflection. How could I waste time on my muffin top when it's so hard to see among what I’ve accomplished and what more I have to conquer? The real question then, is how did that happen? I am the minority among my friends who use their reflection as an excuse to forgo the life they long for, who poke and pinch and prod and one who did such damage to her body with years of grasping at straws to keep those bones that jutted from her hips that she struggles, nearly ten years after recovery, with the most basic of bodily functions. Nagging me constantly is the story that has burrowed into my brain about one friend who refused to have her picture taken for years because she couldn’t stand her own visage. She wasn’t even ten years old. Growing up my house was filled with fad diets and low-fat recipe books and Weight Watchers magnets and still, I have never defined myself on being “pretty”. When a car accident in 2004 left half my face scarred and broken after countless stitches that closed the gaping hole in my forehead and ran down my cheek I used the settlement money to pay debt and buy a laptop. The thought of plastic surgery receded with the reality of what the money could do. The scars, which are so faded already they’re almost invisible remind me pretty isn’t everything and that life doesn’t stop when pretty is compromised. I love them. I don’t want Gaia to define herself on being “pretty” and still I watch her play and can’t stop myself from scooping her up and whispering in her ear that I know... I KNOW... she is the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen.
One little girl laughing at the playground – “You’re SO BEAUTIFUL. No one. NO ONE is as beautiful as you.” She smiles and hands me a fistful of sand.
Of course what I really mean is that no one has her personality or the way she twists her face into a myriad of expressions that make her a little baby pantomime. The way she stubbornly problem solves, refuses help, runs ahead to assert her independence only to cautiously wait for me to catch up and tickle her round Buddha belly. When I say she’s beautiful I mean that the very inside of her emits such a stunning light that sometimes I am blinded in wonder of her... all of her. That she is the very best parts of me and her father and that every time I see her she helps me remember everything that’s good in the world. That the parts of her that are hers alone and that shock me every day with how much of her own person she already is are the most amazing parts of the most amazing human being I have ever met. And yet, I praise her with words like “pretty” and think she’ll catch the subtext.
I’m nowhere closer to knowing how to raise her to be who I hope she’ll be. She’s my “pretty little girl” all big eyes and dark lashes. My “pretty little girl” with wild hair and a dirty face with runny nose and sticky hands and skinned, chubby knees. Pretty isn’t a disease, but pretty isn’t everything.
---
* For those of you not familiar with this terminology please see here. I feel I’ve raised it to an art form.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Feliz Año
When I was in high school I wanted to be a writer. To travel the world and drink wine in the wee hours and spend weeks with lovers who I didn’t understand all while wearing really expensive shoes. I wanted to weave stories about life and love and adventure that I’d seen with my own eyes. Some throw away words from a teacher about how often I became “wordy and a tad self-indulgent” gave me doubts. When I went to university, fully enrolled in the Creative Writing program, the thought of sitting through classes where my peers critiqued the words I’d poured over turned my doubts into fears. I quit. I focussed on someone else’s art. Years and years of someone else’s passion. I poured over it and let it fill me up. Still, with every step I take a story weaves itself in my head until my thoughts are full with a rich inner-dialogue from a narrator to the story of my life who sounds just like me. Last year I jumped fast on the overflowing Mommy-blogger bandwagon. It was an excuse to write, a way to feel less alone and a place to find the overwhelming peace that has always come with telling my story. I thank you all for listening. I hope that soon I can find something worth your attention again. It’s been too long since I’ve had a story worth telling. I pride myself on my love affair the silver linings of life and for the past few months those silver linings have receded so far my narrator got lost in the clouds. My inner voice went on a vacation with happiness, passion, self-respect, dignity. I could go on forever. They must have chartered a jet. Rented a whole hotel in Vegas. Like no other this year has been full of the most epic highs and the most devastating lows I hope to ever encounter. There is a story here I’m sure, but not one I’m willing to tell and certainly not the one I thought I’d be writing. The moral to this untold story? Today, for the first time in months I saw the silver lining and the briefest glimpse of my narrator through the clouds. I hope her travelling companions aren’t far behind.
Tomorrow would have been my first wedding anniversary. Instead I’m choosing to let it mark the beginning of my new life. My new year. My new chance. To promise myself to search around every corner for the pieces of myself that went missing until I feel whole again. To stare at the sun and play in the ocean and buy myself a pair of really expensive shoes. To make myself good again. To be myself again. The truth is, if it were just about me I could wallow in the darkness indefinitely, but this year has brought me the biggest reason to always find a silver lining. She’s been the best silver lining I’ve found.
Tomorrow would have been my first wedding anniversary. Instead I’m choosing to let it mark the beginning of my new life. My new year. My new chance. To promise myself to search around every corner for the pieces of myself that went missing until I feel whole again. To stare at the sun and play in the ocean and buy myself a pair of really expensive shoes. To make myself good again. To be myself again. The truth is, if it were just about me I could wallow in the darkness indefinitely, but this year has brought me the biggest reason to always find a silver lining. She’s been the best silver lining I’ve found.
The icon of my fresh start. Wonder. Adventure. Beauty. Gaia.
Monday, October 12, 2009
FUN Theory
So I know this is just another painfully clever gimmick from the marketing geniuses at Volkswagen (or rather DDB Stockholm) but seriously... SERIOUSLY... it is awesome. Mission accomplished VW. You sick bastards.
PS. I also think this whole “Fun Theory” business, while clearly having an agenda, is an interesting social experiment resulting in some fantastic food for thought. Discuss.
PS. I also think this whole “Fun Theory” business, while clearly having an agenda, is an interesting social experiment resulting in some fantastic food for thought. Discuss.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Walking the Tightrope
On what a parent looks like:
"You know how the tightrope guy at the circus wants everyone to believe his act is an art, but deep down you can see he's really just hoping he makes it all the way across?"
-- My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
In spite of the emotional avalanche that was reading this book the first time around, I'm now re-reading it in the hopes of avoiding looking stupid at my new bookclub this week. I'm also studying for a Spanish quiz, trying once and for all to get my house organised and unpacked, reading over one hundred pages of art history essays on the culture of exhibiting and making appropriate discussion notes (which have to be submitted weekly thankyouverymuch), organising an oral presentation on Emily Carr at the Vancouver Art Gallery (or should I do something less entrenched in Canadiana... hmmm... perhaps I should spend another two hours online researching blockbuster exhibitions), going to the gym five days a week (and baby yoga and stroller fitness and Starfish lessons), doing never ending amounts of dishes and laundry and seriously considering moping my floor. Oh, and I'm also taking care of six month old on my own. The last few weeks it has also become a serious goal to get at least four hours of sleep a night. Here's hoping.
"You know how the tightrope guy at the circus wants everyone to believe his act is an art, but deep down you can see he's really just hoping he makes it all the way across?"
-- My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
In spite of the emotional avalanche that was reading this book the first time around, I'm now re-reading it in the hopes of avoiding looking stupid at my new bookclub this week. I'm also studying for a Spanish quiz, trying once and for all to get my house organised and unpacked, reading over one hundred pages of art history essays on the culture of exhibiting and making appropriate discussion notes (which have to be submitted weekly thankyouverymuch), organising an oral presentation on Emily Carr at the Vancouver Art Gallery (or should I do something less entrenched in Canadiana... hmmm... perhaps I should spend another two hours online researching blockbuster exhibitions), going to the gym five days a week (and baby yoga and stroller fitness and Starfish lessons), doing never ending amounts of dishes and laundry and seriously considering moping my floor. Oh, and I'm also taking care of six month old on my own. The last few weeks it has also become a serious goal to get at least four hours of sleep a night. Here's hoping.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Art Prodigy (Blow Your House In)
If you're a regular here you might remember this. Well, Gaia and I spent this morning at the MacKenzie Art Gallery and as always she came home with a lot to say. Perhaps I need not state the obvious but come on, clearly she's an artistic genius. Foisting my dreams on my child - who me?
G – Mama, I wanted to talk to you about the exhibition we saw today if I may.
Me – Of course. Did you enjoy it?
G – Well, it was nice to go to the gallery, as always. I do so enjoy contemporary art. But I’m left troubled by some of the issues being addressed by Vernon Ah Kee.
Me – Was it the faces? They are a little scary.
G – Don’t patronise me. While the faces were a little disturbing I wouldn’t demean them by referring to them as “scary”. Please. I thought they were a very appropriate and moving depiction of the artist’s view of how others see the aboriginal community. The hollow, black eyes and mouth offering a clear vision of a silenced, disrespected people. I found them moving.
Me – Oh.
G – I also enjoyed the exhibition title and how it suggests a re-examination of the story of the Three Little Pigs from the perspective of the wolf. I’d never thought about how we only hear one side of the story and how Ah Kee encourages us to consider different perspectives such as the pigs as colonisers taking the land from the wolf and the acceptance of a villainous characterisation and the validity within that construct.
Me – How do you know the story of the Three Little Pigs? I don’t remember reading it to you.
G – You know I do read when you’re not around. Seriously mother, can you focus? As I was saying, I just think his point of view, as an Australian aboriginal has so much resonance here in Saskatchewan with our own aboriginal community being as large as it is. He really spoke to some universal issues. The work has brought up a number of troubling issues in my mind, ones that I think are important to bring to the forefront. My hope is that exhibitions like this one might get people talking about their own biases so they can eventually be deconstructed.
Me – Wow. That’s a great point. You know, I thought it was really interesting, at the artist talk on Friday as Ah Kee was explaining his point-of-view, how he noted perhaps the wolf was trying to warn the pigs about a meteorological phenomenon (the wind that eventually “blew their house in”) or perhaps it was all just a misunderstanding because the wolf and pigs spoke a different language or came from different cultures.
G – Yes, well I would comment on that but you chose to attend the event on Friday on your own. Ahem.
Me – Gaia-bear we talked about this, it was an evening event and you know you get cranky if you’re not in bed by 8:00pm.
G – Whatever you say.
Me – Can we move on?
G – I suppose. Beyond the content I also found the presentation of his work quite striking – the row of faces and the large, bold words on the walls. In fact, the text reminded me of the work of Jenny Holtzer, who I know you enjoy, and the use of simple but evocative text to convey a message.
Me – Yes, I had made that connection as well.
G – Oh? You didn’t say. That’s convenient. Anyway. I also thought the large portrait of his grandfather was beautiful. It’s my understanding the artist does a number of these of his family members and that they have some correlation to the black and white archival photos of the Australian aboriginal community. I think it’s moving to take something used to classify or rationalise a people and transform it into a media that offers some dignity and respect.
Me – Speaking of portraits, did you enjoy the student exhibition we went through? You know, that’s the project I was working on last year while you were still in my belly.
G – I know, I remember.
Me – Oh do you...
G – Of course. It really was amazing though, to see two years of work from students up there in the gallery. I’m so looking forward to meeting the artists at the opening this weekend.
Me – Yeah. Me too.
Vernon Ah Kee: Blow Your House In is on at the MacKenzie Art Gallery until January 3, 2010. The exhibition is a culmination of the work he did as a artist-in-residence with the gallery this summer.
Looking In, Looking Out: Qui suis-je maintenant? is on until Februrary 28, 2010. It’s an exhibition of work by students who took part in an incredible bridging project which aimed to bring youth from different 'cultures' within Saskatchewan (specifically École Monseigneur de Laval, Sacred Heart Community School, Scott Collegiate, Michael A. Riffel High School and Chief Kahkewistahaw Community School) together to explore their identity and the identity of others through engagement with the variety of work displayed at the gallery from 2007 to 2009. Students got the opportunity to tour the exhibitions and respond to them with the help of a number of talented artists. Their finished work ranges from three dimensional plaster masks to Warhol-esque portraiture to video screen tests to beadwork and more. They also had the opportunity interact with each other, facing preconceived notions of their differences and breaking them down as they recognised all the ways in which they could relate. I feel incredibly lucky to have been a part of this amazing adventure while working at the gallery last year and am so looking forward to celebrating in the achievements of these students at the opening on Sunday, September 20th (1:00pm-4:00pm). If you’re in town I highly recommend you join us. It’s truly a unique and inspiring exhibition.
G – Mama, I wanted to talk to you about the exhibition we saw today if I may.
Me – Of course. Did you enjoy it?
G – Well, it was nice to go to the gallery, as always. I do so enjoy contemporary art. But I’m left troubled by some of the issues being addressed by Vernon Ah Kee.
Me – Was it the faces? They are a little scary.
G – Don’t patronise me. While the faces were a little disturbing I wouldn’t demean them by referring to them as “scary”. Please. I thought they were a very appropriate and moving depiction of the artist’s view of how others see the aboriginal community. The hollow, black eyes and mouth offering a clear vision of a silenced, disrespected people. I found them moving.
Me – Oh.
G – I also enjoyed the exhibition title and how it suggests a re-examination of the story of the Three Little Pigs from the perspective of the wolf. I’d never thought about how we only hear one side of the story and how Ah Kee encourages us to consider different perspectives such as the pigs as colonisers taking the land from the wolf and the acceptance of a villainous characterisation and the validity within that construct.
Me – How do you know the story of the Three Little Pigs? I don’t remember reading it to you.
G – You know I do read when you’re not around. Seriously mother, can you focus? As I was saying, I just think his point of view, as an Australian aboriginal has so much resonance here in Saskatchewan with our own aboriginal community being as large as it is. He really spoke to some universal issues. The work has brought up a number of troubling issues in my mind, ones that I think are important to bring to the forefront. My hope is that exhibitions like this one might get people talking about their own biases so they can eventually be deconstructed.
Me – Wow. That’s a great point. You know, I thought it was really interesting, at the artist talk on Friday as Ah Kee was explaining his point-of-view, how he noted perhaps the wolf was trying to warn the pigs about a meteorological phenomenon (the wind that eventually “blew their house in”) or perhaps it was all just a misunderstanding because the wolf and pigs spoke a different language or came from different cultures.
G – Yes, well I would comment on that but you chose to attend the event on Friday on your own. Ahem.
Me – Gaia-bear we talked about this, it was an evening event and you know you get cranky if you’re not in bed by 8:00pm.
G – Whatever you say.
Me – Can we move on?
G – I suppose. Beyond the content I also found the presentation of his work quite striking – the row of faces and the large, bold words on the walls. In fact, the text reminded me of the work of Jenny Holtzer, who I know you enjoy, and the use of simple but evocative text to convey a message.
Me – Yes, I had made that connection as well.
G – Oh? You didn’t say. That’s convenient. Anyway. I also thought the large portrait of his grandfather was beautiful. It’s my understanding the artist does a number of these of his family members and that they have some correlation to the black and white archival photos of the Australian aboriginal community. I think it’s moving to take something used to classify or rationalise a people and transform it into a media that offers some dignity and respect.
Me – Speaking of portraits, did you enjoy the student exhibition we went through? You know, that’s the project I was working on last year while you were still in my belly.
G – I know, I remember.
Me – Oh do you...
G – Of course. It really was amazing though, to see two years of work from students up there in the gallery. I’m so looking forward to meeting the artists at the opening this weekend.
Me – Yeah. Me too.
Vernon Ah Kee: Blow Your House In is on at the MacKenzie Art Gallery until January 3, 2010. The exhibition is a culmination of the work he did as a artist-in-residence with the gallery this summer.
Looking In, Looking Out: Qui suis-je maintenant? is on until Februrary 28, 2010. It’s an exhibition of work by students who took part in an incredible bridging project which aimed to bring youth from different 'cultures' within Saskatchewan (specifically École Monseigneur de Laval, Sacred Heart Community School, Scott Collegiate, Michael A. Riffel High School and Chief Kahkewistahaw Community School) together to explore their identity and the identity of others through engagement with the variety of work displayed at the gallery from 2007 to 2009. Students got the opportunity to tour the exhibitions and respond to them with the help of a number of talented artists. Their finished work ranges from three dimensional plaster masks to Warhol-esque portraiture to video screen tests to beadwork and more. They also had the opportunity interact with each other, facing preconceived notions of their differences and breaking them down as they recognised all the ways in which they could relate. I feel incredibly lucky to have been a part of this amazing adventure while working at the gallery last year and am so looking forward to celebrating in the achievements of these students at the opening on Sunday, September 20th (1:00pm-4:00pm). If you’re in town I highly recommend you join us. It’s truly a unique and inspiring exhibition.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Decir Adios
Tonight I had fully intended to finish an epic post about just what G and I had been up to for the month of August when posting was nearly non-existent. Yup. That was the plan. Except I've just arrived home from a particularly confusing Spanish class and I'm currently in engendered-language-conjugation hell and suddenly I feel like what I actually need to do is sit in front of my already well-worn copy of ¡Hola, amigos! and hundreds of flashcards until I can miraculously speak enough Spanish to a) quell my increasing level of panic and b) pass a quiz on Thursday. And before you say it, I'm well aware that we're in week TWO of THIRTEENEFFINGWEEKS of classes and inevitably it's only going to get harder from here but if I feel obliged to mention that should you bring this up I might (read: will) respond with a swift kick to your manjunk/ladybits.
In liu of my epic post please enjoy this:
"Y la verdad es que me siento solo pues nunca te podre olvidar/Y la verdad es que me siento libre aunque las noches sean de soledad/Y la verdad es que te llevo adentro pues ocupaste tu lugar/Y por tu bien espero que no vuelvas pues la vas a pasar muy mal."
-- Decir Adios by Amen (from Lima, Perú)*
I had wanted to include this song in my favourites from my Sad Bastard playlist but I couldn't find it online (turns out I had the title wrong in my iTunes which clearly only adds to my level of I'LLNEVERLEARNSPANISH panic). It was one of the first Spanish songs Jose ever played for me and it remains the saddest. I don't think I'll ever forget what it felt like to listen to his voice translate the lyrics for me as the song played on a loop in the background and I sat on the edge of his bed staring at him, smelling him, melting into a virtual puddle of semi-pathetic-woman-obsessed-with-Latin-man goo. Did I mention things we're a little rocky in the beginning. Um... yeah. Enjoy.
* The title, in English, is Saying Goodbye and the lyrics (translated roughly by me with the jist of the meaning given more weight then a word-for-word translation) are "And the truth is I never feel alone because I can't forget you/And the truth is that I feel free but the nights are lonely/And the truth is I carry you inside but someone will take your place/And I hope that it is not you because you are bad for me."
In liu of my epic post please enjoy this:
"Y la verdad es que me siento solo pues nunca te podre olvidar/Y la verdad es que me siento libre aunque las noches sean de soledad/Y la verdad es que te llevo adentro pues ocupaste tu lugar/Y por tu bien espero que no vuelvas pues la vas a pasar muy mal."
-- Decir Adios by Amen (from Lima, Perú)*
I had wanted to include this song in my favourites from my Sad Bastard playlist but I couldn't find it online (turns out I had the title wrong in my iTunes which clearly only adds to my level of I'LLNEVERLEARNSPANISH panic). It was one of the first Spanish songs Jose ever played for me and it remains the saddest. I don't think I'll ever forget what it felt like to listen to his voice translate the lyrics for me as the song played on a loop in the background and I sat on the edge of his bed staring at him, smelling him, melting into a virtual puddle of semi-pathetic-woman-obsessed-with-Latin-man goo. Did I mention things we're a little rocky in the beginning. Um... yeah. Enjoy.
* The title, in English, is Saying Goodbye and the lyrics (translated roughly by me with the jist of the meaning given more weight then a word-for-word translation) are "And the truth is I never feel alone because I can't forget you/And the truth is that I feel free but the nights are lonely/And the truth is I carry you inside but someone will take your place/And I hope that it is not you because you are bad for me."
Monday, September 14, 2009
Easily Irritated?
Note to Readers: This post contains the word vagina and a brief nod to the fact I might have had sex once before and plan to do so again in the future. If this seems like it might be verging on TMI then please avert your eyes. Dad, I'm looking at you here.
In addition to sorting out my iPod I thought I should also give birth control some consideration now that I'll be in the same country as my husband. Not that we don't love Gaia but somehow I don't think the "what are the chances?" form of contraception is gonna cut it anymore. I know, I know, you'd think I was sixteen*. Anyway. Apparently birth control is a hot topic at the moment because not only did I read a topical post from my favourite Mommy-blogger this morning but I also had a chat about NuvaRing with a friend the other day. The fact that her doctor suggested it knowing she, like me, hates the pill was enough to warrant giving it a little of my google time before seeing my own doctor this Wednesday. As far as I can tell it seems pretty similar to the pill except you don't have to remember to actually take a pill every day (which was never my issue). Then I stumbled upon something I've never seen before, among the list of conditions that might make NuvaRing a not so great option was a warning for women who suffered from "any condition that makes the vagina get irritated easily." Hmmm.
Well I'll tell you, its not real happy with Immigration Canada either. I guess NuvaRing's not for us.
* Seriously. I'm obsessed with MTV's 'Sixteen and Pregnant' and every single girl is like "well, we used protection about half the time but he didn't really like it and then we just thought it wouldn't happen to us" and I simultaneously judge them while attempting to feel superior because COME ON, the doctor told me I probably wouldn't get pregnant without fertility therapy. I say attempting because by the end of the episode I'm always hit with the realisation that the only thing that separates me and these girls is the fact that I'm twenty-seven and they're still in highschool.
In addition to sorting out my iPod I thought I should also give birth control some consideration now that I'll be in the same country as my husband. Not that we don't love Gaia but somehow I don't think the "what are the chances?" form of contraception is gonna cut it anymore. I know, I know, you'd think I was sixteen*. Anyway. Apparently birth control is a hot topic at the moment because not only did I read a topical post from my favourite Mommy-blogger this morning but I also had a chat about NuvaRing with a friend the other day. The fact that her doctor suggested it knowing she, like me, hates the pill was enough to warrant giving it a little of my google time before seeing my own doctor this Wednesday. As far as I can tell it seems pretty similar to the pill except you don't have to remember to actually take a pill every day (which was never my issue). Then I stumbled upon something I've never seen before, among the list of conditions that might make NuvaRing a not so great option was a warning for women who suffered from "any condition that makes the vagina get irritated easily." Hmmm.
Well I'll tell you, its not real happy with Immigration Canada either. I guess NuvaRing's not for us.
* Seriously. I'm obsessed with MTV's 'Sixteen and Pregnant' and every single girl is like "well, we used protection about half the time but he didn't really like it and then we just thought it wouldn't happen to us" and I simultaneously judge them while attempting to feel superior because COME ON, the doctor told me I probably wouldn't get pregnant without fertility therapy. I say attempting because by the end of the episode I'm always hit with the realisation that the only thing that separates me and these girls is the fact that I'm twenty-seven and they're still in highschool.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sad Bastard
In the quest to get my life organised before I head off to Peru for a length of time yet to be determined I’ve set to the task of cleaning out my iPod. Unfortunately there are far too many annoying one hit wonders from my club days and an alarming amount of weird yogic chats which I can only imagine must have been snuck on there when I dated an organic masseuse/art auctioneer for a few weeks during my first contract on cruise ships. Anyway, the point is, putting my iPod on shuffle is risky to say the least. And it’s not just crappy songs I’m getting rid of, the overhaul also includes a revamp of my playlists, deleting such gems as ‘Music to Distract You from That Creepy Guy on the Skytrain’ and ‘Pretending to Study’ (both actual playlists on my iPod, thankyouthankyou) and replacing them with things like ‘Tunes for my Baby Rockstar’ and ‘Spanglish – Songs Jose Will Listen To’. As you might have gleaned, I’m a big fan of playlists and had well over fifty of them at one point. Anyway, today I stumbled upon a playlist called ‘Sad Bastard’ that I’m pretty sure came to being circa mid 2007 when Jose and I were just starting what would become the year long on and off again soap opera known as our early dating life. Clearly I was full of pain and angst and if I remember correctly the playlist was on a constant loop in my cabin for a solid three months before my roommate gave me a particularly harsh ultimatum as I lay on the floor and wept. That being said, it’s full of beautiful, haunting songs and while it was created in the spirit of relationship drama I listened to it today and it fits my mood of rage over the whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” fodder perfectly. Plus there are a few small rays of hope that snuck into the playlist proving that somewhere deep down I knew it work out all along. Just in case you’re in the mood for a good wallow I highly suggest these depressing little nuggets...
And yes... I'm aware this post smacks of highschool angst but it's good to languish in your own self pity now and then. Try it. You'll like it.
"You are a china shop and I am a bull/You are really good food and I am full/I guess everything is timing/I guess everything's been said/So I am coming home with an empty head."
--You Had Time by Ani Difranco
"If I was my heart I'd rather be restless/The second I stop the sleep catches up and I'm breathless/This ache in my chest as my day is done now/The dark covers me and I cannot run now."
-- Wake Up Alone by Amy Winehouse
"Haven't laughed this hard in a long time/I better stop now before I start crying/Go off to sleep in the sunshine/I don't want to see the day when it's dying."
-- Twilight by Elliot Smith
"You are my sweetest downfall/I loved you first, I loved you first."
-- Samson by Regina Spektor
"You don't have to lie about where you've been/We both know you've been schemin'/So why don't you give your little voice a rest/Climb on up inside my bed and just pretend you need me?"
-- Stay by Coal
"And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking and part of this terrible mess that you're making/But me, I'm the catalyst."
-- Catalyst by Anna Nalick
"I drink good coffee every morning/Comes from a place that's far away/And when I'm done I feel like talking/Without you here there is less to say."
-- I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You by Colin Hey
"I want to be a good woman/And I want, for you to be a good man/This is why I will be leaving/And this is why, I can’t see you no more."
-- Good Woman by Cat Power
"Don't know why I'm still afraid/If you weren't real I would make you up now."
-- Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur
"Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth/Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs/Speak no feeling no I don't believe you/You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit."
-- Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself/That these feelings are in the past/No it doesn't mean they're off the shelf/Because pain's built to last/Everybody sails alone."
-- Heal Over by KT Tunstall
"I am stil dreaming of you face/Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away/I don't want to be your good time/I don't want to be your fall-back crutch anymore."
-- Santa Monica by Everclear
"Mess up my bed with me/Kick off the covers I'm waiting/Every word you say I think I should write down/Don't want to forget come daylight."
-- Paperweight by Joshua Radin (with Schuyler Fisk)
"Leave me out with the waste this is not what I'd do/It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you/It's the wrong time for somebody new/It's a small crime and I've got no excuse."
-- 9 Crimes by Damien Rice (ft. Lisa Hannigan)
And yes... I'm aware this post smacks of highschool angst but it's good to languish in your own self pity now and then. Try it. You'll like it.
"You are a china shop and I am a bull/You are really good food and I am full/I guess everything is timing/I guess everything's been said/So I am coming home with an empty head."
--You Had Time by Ani Difranco
"If I was my heart I'd rather be restless/The second I stop the sleep catches up and I'm breathless/This ache in my chest as my day is done now/The dark covers me and I cannot run now."
-- Wake Up Alone by Amy Winehouse
"Haven't laughed this hard in a long time/I better stop now before I start crying/Go off to sleep in the sunshine/I don't want to see the day when it's dying."
-- Twilight by Elliot Smith
"You are my sweetest downfall/I loved you first, I loved you first."
-- Samson by Regina Spektor
"You don't have to lie about where you've been/We both know you've been schemin'/So why don't you give your little voice a rest/Climb on up inside my bed and just pretend you need me?"
-- Stay by Coal
"And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking and part of this terrible mess that you're making/But me, I'm the catalyst."
-- Catalyst by Anna Nalick
"I drink good coffee every morning/Comes from a place that's far away/And when I'm done I feel like talking/Without you here there is less to say."
-- I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You by Colin Hey
"I want to be a good woman/And I want, for you to be a good man/This is why I will be leaving/And this is why, I can’t see you no more."
-- Good Woman by Cat Power
"Don't know why I'm still afraid/If you weren't real I would make you up now."
-- Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur
"Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth/Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs/Speak no feeling no I don't believe you/You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit."
-- Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself/That these feelings are in the past/No it doesn't mean they're off the shelf/Because pain's built to last/Everybody sails alone."
-- Heal Over by KT Tunstall
"I am stil dreaming of you face/Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away/I don't want to be your good time/I don't want to be your fall-back crutch anymore."
-- Santa Monica by Everclear
"Mess up my bed with me/Kick off the covers I'm waiting/Every word you say I think I should write down/Don't want to forget come daylight."
-- Paperweight by Joshua Radin (with Schuyler Fisk)
"Leave me out with the waste this is not what I'd do/It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you/It's the wrong time for somebody new/It's a small crime and I've got no excuse."
-- 9 Crimes by Damien Rice (ft. Lisa Hannigan)
PS. I’m also keeping ‘Shake That Ass’ which is probably the best workout mix ever made. Bar none.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Half Birthday of (Big) Baby G
Gaia is six months old today. Well, as my mother pointed out, technically she's six months old today at 9:30pm. Still. I made her this video (and yes it's for her... I have dreams of her watching it when she's away at university while she weeps over how much she misses me). Six months may seem like nothing to you but wow... it's been a lifetime... Gaia's lifetime. The video is as long as a primetime sitcom with commercials and it's my first ever attempt so there's one point near the end when the music just stops for about fifteen seconds. Sorry. I don't expect too many people to watch but that's okay. I didn't make it for you anyway. I guess what I'm trying to say is this...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY G!
Music Credits: Lullabye by The Dixie Chicks/Hold You In My Arms by Ray LaMontagne/Upside Down by Jack Johnson/My Girl by The Temptations/Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison/Better Together by Jack Johnson/(Big Girl) You Are Beautiful by Mika
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Carefree Wanderings
Speaking of Jaydeen...Do you remember how excited I was when she and her man started a joint blog? Then you can imagine my excitement now that she’s started a blog of her own. It too is chock full of photos, this time from her extensive travels. As if the photos weren’t reason enough to check it out she pairs them with travel tips and memories that will have even the least adventurous homebody itching to get out an explore the world. Enjoy.
PS. I especially love the details she's captured and puts up in the top right corner of the blog... "bubbles" from Greece... an "abstract rainbow" from Vancouver. Genius.
It Takes a Village
Yesterday afternoon I got a package. A gigantic, excessively weighty cardboard book filled with books. Thirty-one individually wrapped Spanish children’s books to be exact. That’s a little over two new books per week until Gaia and I temporarily relocate to Perú in December.* The name in the return address? Friend extraordinaire and G’s Fairy Godmother Jaydeen. Of course.
No matter what life throws me and how down I get I can always count on one thing. I have amazing friends. Like we-should-be-on-Oprah-sobbing-about-their-greatness-while-a-video-montage-of-our-friendship-plays-in-the-background kind of amazing friends. The thing about the books isn’t just the generous gift (although I do love presents). Jaydeen took the time to find thirty-one Spanish children’s books. She showed support in our quest to raise Gaia in a bilingual home. Then she took the time to wrap each book individually and leave instructions to open them slowly over the course of four months. It’s a gift that keeps giving not just to Gaia but to me as I wake up each morning painfully aware of how far away December is (97 days, 20 hours, 9 minutes and 44 seconds until we board the plane in Regina). It’s also a show of support for my own Spanish education which began formally last night.**
* Oh did I mention we’re moving to Perú? More on that later.
No matter what life throws me and how down I get I can always count on one thing. I have amazing friends. Like we-should-be-on-Oprah-sobbing-about-their-greatness-while-a-video-montage-of-our-friendship-plays-in-the-background kind of amazing friends. The thing about the books isn’t just the generous gift (although I do love presents). Jaydeen took the time to find thirty-one Spanish children’s books. She showed support in our quest to raise Gaia in a bilingual home. Then she took the time to wrap each book individually and leave instructions to open them slowly over the course of four months. It’s a gift that keeps giving not just to Gaia but to me as I wake up each morning painfully aware of how far away December is (97 days, 20 hours, 9 minutes and 44 seconds until we board the plane in Regina). It’s also a show of support for my own Spanish education which began formally last night.**
And it’s not just Jaydeen who deserves the friend of the year award. There’s Katy who ordered a gigantic package of mindless entertainment to be shipped to me in my first barfy, unemployed months of pregnancy. Katy who took almost a month off work to cook for me and clean my house and hold a newborn G at 4:00am so I could get some sleep. There’s Robin who drops everything when G and I are in Vancouver to make sure we have what we need – his house, his car, his time, you name it. There’s Rachel’s who had an extensive baby starter kit filled with enough clothing to outfit G well into toddlerhood and all of her favourite books delivered to my house while I was in Perú for Christmas. Rachel who calls me weekly and listens to me gush about G. Who gets up at 3:00am to produce a morning radio show and still spent her afternoons with us in Vancouver, playing on the swings and drinking coffee and gossiping about nothing important at all. There’s King who visited me when I was pregnant and made me start preparing and looked at the stroller and car seat combo in Babies-R-Us and said “let me, let us, we can afford it”. There’s Oz who pores over Gaia’s photos and comments and makes us feel like the most special pair in the entire world. Then there’s their parents, a never-ending network of pseudo grandparents who send gifts and give advice and cuddle G while they tell me stories of their children that make me see the world a little differently. The fact that one day I will have an adult child seems so surreal but they remind me, without saying it, that Gaia will grow and eventually, hopefully, I’ll sit on the floor with my grandchildren (related and otherwise) and ahhh... the circle of life. Right.
If you think I couldn’t possibly be luckier, just wait! I haven’t even mentioned the new friends I’ve made in Regina and the old friends I’ve re-connected with. People who make sure (consciously I suspect) that I don’t go too crazy alone in the house with G all day. Who call with invites for walks and play-dates and barbeques and dinners and gallery openings and coffee. A mommy-friend who accepts my phone calls and councils me on solid foods and toxic toys and sleep (or lack thereof). A childhood friend-of-the-family (more like a sister really) who reminds me not to lose myself in the task of being a wife and raising a child. They are my new community and I’m in awe of how they’re building themselves up around me, helping to hold me up.
I’ve always believed that friends are like the family you choose for yourself. The people you surround yourself with to fill the voids of care and support that might need filling. That’s not to say my family isn’t wonderful, but it takes a village to raise a child and Gaia is lucky to have such an extensive network of “aunts” and “uncles” who love us, not because they have to, but because they choose too. And, not to be too self-congratulatory, but I have to believe it wasn’t just luck that brought all this amazingness into our life. Gaia is also very privileged to have a mama with such impeccable taste in people.
So thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Big love to you all.
And back to the exciting package that got me all appreciative in the first place. This morning we opened our first two books, one fittingly titled Very First Words in Spanish (Mis Primeras Palabras en Español) and another called Cinco Pequñas Mariquitas which I translated (on my own thankyouverymuch) to Five Little Ladybugs. Clearly Gaia loves them.
* Oh did I mention we’re moving to Perú? More on that later.
** I didn't mention I’m going back to school? No? Sorry. I’m a horrible blogger.
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