On Saturday I got into a huge blowup with my mom and sister where I angrily exclaimed that I was only doing this baptism for my parents. To which my horrified mother replied, "What happened to your faith?"
Good question. A big factor is that the Dog is agnostic. "I believe in myself," is his usual answer when quizzed about faith. So when one tries to explain Christianity and spirituality to someone who only knows of religion the bastardized fanaticism of those use faith as a weapon... well, you start to see the holes in the story.
A big flaw for me is the sacrament of baptism. The church believes that one is born with the sins of Adam and Eve. Well when I look at my angelic son, I find it hard to accept that he was born with any sin whatsoever. Nor can I accept that dunking him in some water and dousing him with oil from Armenia will protect him more than the baby next door who doesn't get baptized. When you think of all the baptized people who have gone on to commit sins and then all the non-baptized bunch who have gone on to become incredibly good people... you're probably about even. So when any human being is faced with two options, in this case good and evil, a person has a 50/50 chance of doing the right thing, holy water or no holy water.
Anyway, that being said, I am a firm believer in the fact that there is a good energy watching over us, and I believe that good (or God) comes from all our collective positive thoughts and good vibes. I believe in the importance of community (which church, temple or mosque offers to many) and that it definitely takes a village to raise a child. I also like the idea of someone like Jesus, the concepts of self-sacrifice, of forgiveness and of rebirth. I'm just bummed that the whole "water into wine" trick was limited to JC. (espescially with this looming LCBO strike!)
While Nate was still in utero, after much back and forthing, the Dog agreed to have Nate baptized. I explained to him that it was important to me, that it was sort of like a coming out party for the baby, a celebration of his life. I wanted to have my closest friends and family in one place, rooting for Nate. And the Dog could not argue with that. And after Nate's rocky beginnings, a party in his honour was well overdue.
In my culture, making someone the Godparent to your child makes them family. It may be through a technicality, but it still, it's a way to bring those not related by blood into your inner circle. All that time ago, on the train from Oslo to Stockholm, we agreed that Queen Nomad and her hubby, Sustainor, would be the Godparents for our little Specky. They were the natural choice, being that Sustainor actually goes to Church, they both are worldly and knowledgeable and would able to answer any questions our child might have about the world, faith and why things exist. And in a lovely park in Stockholm's equivalent to Queen West West, we asked them if they would honour us by saying yes. The catch being that they would have to fly home and visit us for the event.
So the Godparents arrived and so did the day. We dressed him in a white "clown suit" made by the Amish that Texas Martha Stewart handed down (my own Godson was christened in it) and headed to the church where were married (another ceremony that took some convincing back in the day). The priests were laughing at Nate because he was eating his shoe the whole time (a very cute pair of white Reebok trainers, natch). He won them over in two seconds. He refused to sit down in the baptismal tub -- he LOVES to stand and wanted to look at all the people, so he forced his body up. I turned to look behind me and all our closest loved one were gathered around, looking all gooey-eyed at Nate (OK, maybe just the women and the grandparents). He didn't even cry when they poured the water over his head! He didn't cry once. Not until he stuck his hand in his cake later that day. He did, however, pee on his anxious Godfather. I was just in awe of my little man.
The priest rushed QN and I to dress him -- the florist from the wedding after us was already putting bows on the pews. We forgot to put his bonnet and his mitts. They anoint him with this special oil from Armenia. The put an oily cross on his forehead (don't think evil), his eyes (don't see evil), mouth (don't speak evil -- you get the picture), heart, hands and on his back so no one backstabs him with evil when he's not looking. So you have to put the gloves on so he doesn't lick it off - fat chance.
After we dressed him we walked back to the centre of the altar and QN and I squeezed hands. Wow, this was a big moment and I'd only just begun to understand what it all meant. They pulled up this big throne for me to sit down while I held Nate. So there was actually a part in this largely patriarchal ceremony where the mother gets her props. I sat there, surrounded by my husband, best friend and her husband, friends and fam behind them, and I looked up at the ultimate mother and child above the altar. So this is what sacrifice is. In Christianity, we always think about Jesus' sacrifice for all of mankind, but we forget that perhaps the biggest sacrifice was for his mother Mary to let go of him and allow destiny to take over. No wonder she's everybody's Homegirl.
We followed with a huge BBQ in my parents' backyard and all in all it was a very special day that, to quote my father-in-law, "I won't soon forget." I remembered exactly why I wanted to do this baptism in the first place and it had nothing to do with parental or cultural expectations. With his huge hospital visit over with and a peace in my heart that everything will be OK, I am glad that my son was ritualistically reborn. Here's to the first day of the rest of your life, my son. I love you more than ice cream.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
Home
We got the keys to the new house today. So why am I feeling so down? Well I guess "let down" is more like it.
On Sunday, while three of us were changing Nate's diaper (they have to stand over my shoulder and laugh at how he touches his dink everytime his diaper is off), I mentioned to my parents that if they would like to come and see the house Friday, a bunch of us might be hanging out and eating pizza. "There is too much work to be done," snapped Mamacita, sounding very shocked that I would be partying when I should be helping. "We have to clean the house [for the party after the baptism ceremony] and set up the tables in the backyard!" (More on Nate and Christ to come)
"I'm sorry," I retorted, "But getting the keys to my first house is kind of a big thing for me, a bigger thing than giving Nate to God, no offence, and I would think that what is a major event for me would also mean something to you! (deep breath. calm down) I am just letting you know that we'll be at the house if you want to come see it."
"Oh, OK. We'll come by then. I didn't know it meant so much to you."
Say wha? Most of my closest friends had driven past the house already, if not at least checked the MLS listing online. Not my family. In fact, they have done nothing but pretty much ignore the fact that I bought my first home since it happened. When they try to congratulate me, it sounds forced. There is an underlying tone that screams, "Well since YOU'RE the one doing it, I'm sure you've probably made another mistake."
OK, whatever. Maybe they don't know how to be happy for me finding my independence and taking this next step into adulthood. I think they are still a bit chuffed that I didn't take their offer to move in with them.
We got the call around 11:30 am about the keys. The Dog was out taking his pants for alteration, so I had some time to kill and some great news to share. I immediately called Sista Sunshine to see what time she'd be over. "I think I have a cold." Um, I just saw you last night and you were fine. The Dog is always telling me to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I know them too well you see. The day we were putting the offer in for this house, SS was also "sick" and begging me to come over because she couldn't get up to get herself a drink. She got quite upset when I told her I was busy.
"Yeah, my nose is running like a faucet and I don't want to get Nate sick." Uh-huh. Then, "I can't believe I haven't even seen it yet." Um well, you never checked the MLS listing until days after we had already bought the house and the page had expired. And when I offered to drive you past it for a peek you claimed it was too hot and demanded to go straight home. Whatever, I let it slide.
I called my mother to tell her the good news. "Oh yeah? Well your dad works until 4:30 so I don't think we can come after that. But we'll call you. Just don't stay to late because you have to be here in the morning to set up the tables." Uh-huh. Fabulouso ma, thanks. "Congratulations. We are very happy for you."
Are they? Are they happy enough to come and share in the joy? No. Are they happy enough to call later on to see how it all went? No. Am I expecting too much out of my family? I don't know. I have been made to feel irrational and hyper-sensitive my whole life and can't seem to judge this one.
By the time we got organized it was past 1pm. We headed to the lawyers, got the keys and hightailed it to the new digs. I had this vision of excitedly putting our keys in the door and taking photos. But when we got there shortly after 2 pm, old homeowner chicky was still there with her dad... loading up her car. (So that's why they tell you to call a locksmith after you get the house!) We sat in the car and ate the sangwiches we'd had the foresight to make. After 30 minutes, the Dog went over to make small talk. We went to get an ice cream bar as they assured us it was their last load.
We get back to the house and they are gone. Phew. Set up the camera for the big dramatic door opening. 10 minutes later, we still can't get the door open. Finally get the door open, realize the Dog is not going to carry me over the threshhold and his mom pulls up. OK, so no "christening" the new house just yet.
Queen Nomad and hubby how up shortly after and we laugh at how the neighbours to the North still have a snowman decoration on their door and an ugly 80s couch on their front walk. Promising. The neighbour to the South, where the houses are actually attached, seems to be ignoring us, even though she is in the backyard, we can see her through the latice (note to self: get a better fence) and have said hello with no response. Queen Nomad screams hello to her until she turns around and we realize she is very old and probably had a stroke or something. "I am your nice neighbour," she said flatly. Then, whomever looks after her called her in. I guess she's not allowed to play with us just yet.
As we are basking in the one tiny patch of grass that gets any sun in the largely tree-canopied yard, I smell a bad smell. I am just trying to get QN to acknowledge the smell when a HUGE boxer starts barking and jumping up on the chicken wire fence that separates the back wall of my backyard. I whisk Nate back to the house as my Dog tries to convince me that this dog is all bark, no bite. I ain't no fool, I wasn't going to stick around to find out. The boxer is kept in a gravel yard, in a crappy dog house next to his buddy, the seemingly docile rottweiller (note to self: We really need that friggin fence!).
QN asks if my parents are coming by. I tell her I don't think so. It makes me sad again. Even she is upset by this news. After our firsts guests leave, we realize that being in an empty house with nothing to sit on can get dull in a hurry, so we lock up, get Indian food (it's going to be the new churrasco) and rent Million Dollar Baby . Not the movie to watch when you're feeling like your family has let you down, but an incredible film nonetheless. I totally could relate to Hillary Swank's character when her family uses her achievement as something to complain about. Mind you, I am in no position to be buying my family a house, but the idea of family in the film just matched my mood.
As I watched, I began to draw a parallel between my mother-in-law and Clint Eastwood's character. She has really been there, rooting for us when no other family member seems to get it. She even brought champagne and strawberries. She watched Nate while I gazed off, dreaming of Debbie Travis paint colours and gossiped with my best friend on the porch. And I think if I ever asked for my breathing tube to be pulled out, she would be the only one with the balls to do it. She made my husband into the fabulously considerate and caring man that he is, and most importantly, raised him to do housework. She needs to be appreciated more.
The Dog is always telling me that I have to realize that my family is now him and Nate. I'm just sorry he had to actually TELL me that. I wish I had been able to feel that way from the moment I said "I do" and leave my co-dependant, dysfunctional roots in the past. Or at least in the 905. No more of this. The "new house me" refuses to let others get her down.
From now on Home is where my boys are.
On Sunday, while three of us were changing Nate's diaper (they have to stand over my shoulder and laugh at how he touches his dink everytime his diaper is off), I mentioned to my parents that if they would like to come and see the house Friday, a bunch of us might be hanging out and eating pizza. "There is too much work to be done," snapped Mamacita, sounding very shocked that I would be partying when I should be helping. "We have to clean the house [for the party after the baptism ceremony] and set up the tables in the backyard!" (More on Nate and Christ to come)
"I'm sorry," I retorted, "But getting the keys to my first house is kind of a big thing for me, a bigger thing than giving Nate to God, no offence, and I would think that what is a major event for me would also mean something to you! (deep breath. calm down) I am just letting you know that we'll be at the house if you want to come see it."
"Oh, OK. We'll come by then. I didn't know it meant so much to you."
Say wha? Most of my closest friends had driven past the house already, if not at least checked the MLS listing online. Not my family. In fact, they have done nothing but pretty much ignore the fact that I bought my first home since it happened. When they try to congratulate me, it sounds forced. There is an underlying tone that screams, "Well since YOU'RE the one doing it, I'm sure you've probably made another mistake."
OK, whatever. Maybe they don't know how to be happy for me finding my independence and taking this next step into adulthood. I think they are still a bit chuffed that I didn't take their offer to move in with them.
We got the call around 11:30 am about the keys. The Dog was out taking his pants for alteration, so I had some time to kill and some great news to share. I immediately called Sista Sunshine to see what time she'd be over. "I think I have a cold." Um, I just saw you last night and you were fine. The Dog is always telling me to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I know them too well you see. The day we were putting the offer in for this house, SS was also "sick" and begging me to come over because she couldn't get up to get herself a drink. She got quite upset when I told her I was busy.
"Yeah, my nose is running like a faucet and I don't want to get Nate sick." Uh-huh. Then, "I can't believe I haven't even seen it yet." Um well, you never checked the MLS listing until days after we had already bought the house and the page had expired. And when I offered to drive you past it for a peek you claimed it was too hot and demanded to go straight home. Whatever, I let it slide.
I called my mother to tell her the good news. "Oh yeah? Well your dad works until 4:30 so I don't think we can come after that. But we'll call you. Just don't stay to late because you have to be here in the morning to set up the tables." Uh-huh. Fabulouso ma, thanks. "Congratulations. We are very happy for you."
Are they? Are they happy enough to come and share in the joy? No. Are they happy enough to call later on to see how it all went? No. Am I expecting too much out of my family? I don't know. I have been made to feel irrational and hyper-sensitive my whole life and can't seem to judge this one.
By the time we got organized it was past 1pm. We headed to the lawyers, got the keys and hightailed it to the new digs. I had this vision of excitedly putting our keys in the door and taking photos. But when we got there shortly after 2 pm, old homeowner chicky was still there with her dad... loading up her car. (So that's why they tell you to call a locksmith after you get the house!) We sat in the car and ate the sangwiches we'd had the foresight to make. After 30 minutes, the Dog went over to make small talk. We went to get an ice cream bar as they assured us it was their last load.
We get back to the house and they are gone. Phew. Set up the camera for the big dramatic door opening. 10 minutes later, we still can't get the door open. Finally get the door open, realize the Dog is not going to carry me over the threshhold and his mom pulls up. OK, so no "christening" the new house just yet.
Queen Nomad and hubby how up shortly after and we laugh at how the neighbours to the North still have a snowman decoration on their door and an ugly 80s couch on their front walk. Promising. The neighbour to the South, where the houses are actually attached, seems to be ignoring us, even though she is in the backyard, we can see her through the latice (note to self: get a better fence) and have said hello with no response. Queen Nomad screams hello to her until she turns around and we realize she is very old and probably had a stroke or something. "I am your nice neighbour," she said flatly. Then, whomever looks after her called her in. I guess she's not allowed to play with us just yet.
As we are basking in the one tiny patch of grass that gets any sun in the largely tree-canopied yard, I smell a bad smell. I am just trying to get QN to acknowledge the smell when a HUGE boxer starts barking and jumping up on the chicken wire fence that separates the back wall of my backyard. I whisk Nate back to the house as my Dog tries to convince me that this dog is all bark, no bite. I ain't no fool, I wasn't going to stick around to find out. The boxer is kept in a gravel yard, in a crappy dog house next to his buddy, the seemingly docile rottweiller (note to self: We really need that friggin fence!).
QN asks if my parents are coming by. I tell her I don't think so. It makes me sad again. Even she is upset by this news. After our firsts guests leave, we realize that being in an empty house with nothing to sit on can get dull in a hurry, so we lock up, get Indian food (it's going to be the new churrasco) and rent Million Dollar Baby . Not the movie to watch when you're feeling like your family has let you down, but an incredible film nonetheless. I totally could relate to Hillary Swank's character when her family uses her achievement as something to complain about. Mind you, I am in no position to be buying my family a house, but the idea of family in the film just matched my mood.
As I watched, I began to draw a parallel between my mother-in-law and Clint Eastwood's character. She has really been there, rooting for us when no other family member seems to get it. She even brought champagne and strawberries. She watched Nate while I gazed off, dreaming of Debbie Travis paint colours and gossiped with my best friend on the porch. And I think if I ever asked for my breathing tube to be pulled out, she would be the only one with the balls to do it. She made my husband into the fabulously considerate and caring man that he is, and most importantly, raised him to do housework. She needs to be appreciated more.
The Dog is always telling me that I have to realize that my family is now him and Nate. I'm just sorry he had to actually TELL me that. I wish I had been able to feel that way from the moment I said "I do" and leave my co-dependant, dysfunctional roots in the past. Or at least in the 905. No more of this. The "new house me" refuses to let others get her down.
From now on Home is where my boys are.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Oops, upside yo head
The wee Puppy had his first major spill this week. We were preparing to leave the house and the Dog was loading the car. I set Nate down on the bed (in the middle of the Queen-size bed) and turned to quickly call my mother to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything (our bedroom isn't really a proper bedroom and is in the main thoroughfare of the apartment). Just as the touch-tone was completing its delayed reaction dialing, I turned to see Nate rolling excitedly (he's so cute when he gets like this, his breath gets all raspy) onto the cooler next to the bed. Except he wasn't going to make a clean roll onto the cooler. He was only going to get half his wee body onto it. In a millisecond, his body slid off the cooler. He stood for a moment, before teetering backwards onto this metal shelving unit that I use as my nightstand. He hit his head pretty badly and cried his eyes out in pain. He cried for 2 minutes. I cried for 2 hours.
The whole thing felt like slow motion. Though I managed to hang-up the phone, I couldn't do anything else. I froze. Completely froze. It reminded me of this one episode of 21 Jump Street where Johnny Depp's girlfriend was killed in a convenience store robbery while he (the undercover cop) was standing there. He replayed the security tape over and over again and, after determining that he had a full 8 seconds to act, tormented himself by figuring out all the daily, mundane things one can do in 8 seconds. I just kept playing the whole scene in my head over and over, asking myself why I didn't act. I saw it happening, why didn't I try harder to stop it?
Neither the Dog, nor the Puppy were upset with me. There was no blood, only a small bump. The Dog even made Nate laugh to prove to me that he was fine. But by the time I got to my parents' house I broke down. I confessed the incident to them and told them how bad I felt. I told them how now I understood everything I put them through over the years. How when I replay some of the things I've done (particulatly in my teens) and think of Nate doing those things to me... well I get it now.
I'm sure there will be many more accidents to come, and I'm also pretty sure that most of them will hurt me more than they hurt him. Who the f&*# am I? Is my teenage self laughing at me now? "Like, I so can't believe you are siding with Mom and Dad man. You used to be cool. You used to SPELL out the bad words."
The whole thing felt like slow motion. Though I managed to hang-up the phone, I couldn't do anything else. I froze. Completely froze. It reminded me of this one episode of 21 Jump Street where Johnny Depp's girlfriend was killed in a convenience store robbery while he (the undercover cop) was standing there. He replayed the security tape over and over again and, after determining that he had a full 8 seconds to act, tormented himself by figuring out all the daily, mundane things one can do in 8 seconds. I just kept playing the whole scene in my head over and over, asking myself why I didn't act. I saw it happening, why didn't I try harder to stop it?
Neither the Dog, nor the Puppy were upset with me. There was no blood, only a small bump. The Dog even made Nate laugh to prove to me that he was fine. But by the time I got to my parents' house I broke down. I confessed the incident to them and told them how bad I felt. I told them how now I understood everything I put them through over the years. How when I replay some of the things I've done (particulatly in my teens) and think of Nate doing those things to me... well I get it now.
I'm sure there will be many more accidents to come, and I'm also pretty sure that most of them will hurt me more than they hurt him. Who the f&*# am I? Is my teenage self laughing at me now? "Like, I so can't believe you are siding with Mom and Dad man. You used to be cool. You used to SPELL out the bad words."
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
31-derful
Sorry, only just got to the computer. Between arranging the closing and the Dog working from home all the time these days, it's been pretty hard to get to the computer. Working on getting myself a laptop and a cute vanity for my new bedroom to type on.
It is a tradition in my circle of friends that a birthday is celebrated over several days. And in true form, Birthweek was a raging success.
* My best-friend Queen Nomad is in town from Paris, making this my first birthday in 3 years that we've been able to spend together. She made me a traditional Italian dish that I have been craving for like 4 years now and takes all day to make. Awesome! She also baked me an apple pie that we all devoured after several glasses of bubbly.
* Some of my closest pals came over the night of my actual birthday to raise a glass of champers with me on my beautiful balcony (one of the last times we will be doing that again) with my beautiful son sleeping soundly in the adjoining room.
* I got to see the inside of our new home with the Inspector on my birthday, and I could see it feeling like home (no major issues to report was an added birthday bonus).
* I wore my pretty new teal outfit, courtesy of Mamacita to brunch at Saving Grace with the Dog and the Puppy.
* We had the patio all to ourselves, so Nate could do as he pleased without getting cut-eye from the local hipsters.
* In a burst of MacGyver-like inspiration, I used the Dog's discarded watermelon rind as a means to quiet Nate. The perfect all-natural chew toy (save for the pesticides I guess, but I was desperate)
* For the first time in a while I did not feel frumpy. The Dog bought me a beautiful Amazonite necklace to go with my new outfit. What's even cuter is that he took the teal top with him so that he could be sure the necklace matched -- without me even suggesting that!
* Kerouac came by with loads of free books for me (including the new Sophie Kinsella!)
* Had a huge BBQ in Trinity Bellwoods park with friends and family. My rarely-leave-905 parents actually showed up!
* V took me for tea at the Windsor Arms. I was initially in love with the idea. I thought, what a lovely way to spend the afternoon with my pal who is also a tired new mom. Nate and Mati managed to stay in their strollers thru finger sandwiches that look like sushi rolls, and a few cups of tea. I was halfway through my first scone, listening to the pratter of a group of female editors/writers/publishers in the next room, when I realized that I could distract Nate no longer without taking him out of the stroller. He was babbling unhappily and rather loudly, trying to express him annoyance with me. Damn. Upon being released from stroller-jail, he instantly stuck his fingers in blackcurrant jelly and then crammed them in his mouth. I managed to scarf some mousse tart thing into my mouth quickly, only to have Nate grab the soiled doily wrapper out of my hands and rub it on his cute aqua fake Lacoste that Sista Sunshine bought him from H&M.
We asked for the cheque and I eyeballed the remaining scones and desserts thinking that Mamacita would have had them wrapped up in paper napkin and put into her purse by now. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even though I really wanted to. There is this discord between my ghetto suburban immigrant upbringing and my reinvented fabulous urban self.
Then we walked to Holt's to see if we could find something cute (and most importantly--on sale) to wear to our sons' baptisms. On Bloor St I saw Psycho Mike walking his giant German Sheppard as I pushed my stroller. I did not stop to talk to him, but he definitely saw me too. Shudder. Well, I thought, that's one way for him to find out that I had a baby.
In Holt's we rummaged through sale racks and realized that when something is 50% off $750, I still can't afford it. Especially since my maternity leave top-up is over next week (GULP). But we decided that the jeans were a good deal and quickly tried on a few pairs with the strollers in the changerooms and annoying rich teeny boppers staring at us like we were aliens. I came out of the changeroom with a sexy pair of Juicy Couture jeans on.
V: "You look skinny."
Me: "Sold!" I repeated the same to her in her Sevens and we were done in 10 minutes. "You know, I get it now," V exclaimed, "I understand why moms just give up and let themselves go and just throw money at whatever. You just can't do it anymore!" We laughed and then spent what felt like 2 hours in the washroom because they have a Mommy room for nursing (only one chair, but better than none).
* Sista Sunshine also bought me a pair of Seven jeans as a reward for finally losing all the baby weight. I was always anti-Sevens (who pays that much for a pair of jeans?) but man are they ever comfortable! Though admittedly, both pairs of jeans are pretty low and therefore these new post-baby uber-hips just spill over the sides hoochie-style. I might weigh the same, but my body is definitely different.
Over all, turning 31 has been amazing. I realized all the people I have around me and how fortunate I truly am. I realized the changes I need to make in my life to become a more positive person. 30 was a tough year full of negativity, stress and bad vibes that I believe culminated in my son having a stroke. I have thought long and hard about the people I have wronged, the mistakes I have made and realized that I cannot turn back the clock, only start fresh and move forward. And I am so hoping that this is the week for that.
Nate had an MRI at Sick Kids yesterday and my wish is that the tests will close the book on what's happened and we can start anew on Sunday, his baptism, finally truly celebrating this amazing life we've brought into the world. We get the keys to our new house on Friday and I feel that once we walk through the doors, our new life will begin. It might take a fresh coat of paint and some hard work, but I think we can turn things around for the better.
It is a tradition in my circle of friends that a birthday is celebrated over several days. And in true form, Birthweek was a raging success.
* My best-friend Queen Nomad is in town from Paris, making this my first birthday in 3 years that we've been able to spend together. She made me a traditional Italian dish that I have been craving for like 4 years now and takes all day to make. Awesome! She also baked me an apple pie that we all devoured after several glasses of bubbly.
* Some of my closest pals came over the night of my actual birthday to raise a glass of champers with me on my beautiful balcony (one of the last times we will be doing that again) with my beautiful son sleeping soundly in the adjoining room.
* I got to see the inside of our new home with the Inspector on my birthday, and I could see it feeling like home (no major issues to report was an added birthday bonus).
* I wore my pretty new teal outfit, courtesy of Mamacita to brunch at Saving Grace with the Dog and the Puppy.
* We had the patio all to ourselves, so Nate could do as he pleased without getting cut-eye from the local hipsters.
* In a burst of MacGyver-like inspiration, I used the Dog's discarded watermelon rind as a means to quiet Nate. The perfect all-natural chew toy (save for the pesticides I guess, but I was desperate)
* For the first time in a while I did not feel frumpy. The Dog bought me a beautiful Amazonite necklace to go with my new outfit. What's even cuter is that he took the teal top with him so that he could be sure the necklace matched -- without me even suggesting that!
* Kerouac came by with loads of free books for me (including the new Sophie Kinsella!)
* Had a huge BBQ in Trinity Bellwoods park with friends and family. My rarely-leave-905 parents actually showed up!
* V took me for tea at the Windsor Arms. I was initially in love with the idea. I thought, what a lovely way to spend the afternoon with my pal who is also a tired new mom. Nate and Mati managed to stay in their strollers thru finger sandwiches that look like sushi rolls, and a few cups of tea. I was halfway through my first scone, listening to the pratter of a group of female editors/writers/publishers in the next room, when I realized that I could distract Nate no longer without taking him out of the stroller. He was babbling unhappily and rather loudly, trying to express him annoyance with me. Damn. Upon being released from stroller-jail, he instantly stuck his fingers in blackcurrant jelly and then crammed them in his mouth. I managed to scarf some mousse tart thing into my mouth quickly, only to have Nate grab the soiled doily wrapper out of my hands and rub it on his cute aqua fake Lacoste that Sista Sunshine bought him from H&M.
We asked for the cheque and I eyeballed the remaining scones and desserts thinking that Mamacita would have had them wrapped up in paper napkin and put into her purse by now. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even though I really wanted to. There is this discord between my ghetto suburban immigrant upbringing and my reinvented fabulous urban self.
Then we walked to Holt's to see if we could find something cute (and most importantly--on sale) to wear to our sons' baptisms. On Bloor St I saw Psycho Mike walking his giant German Sheppard as I pushed my stroller. I did not stop to talk to him, but he definitely saw me too. Shudder. Well, I thought, that's one way for him to find out that I had a baby.
In Holt's we rummaged through sale racks and realized that when something is 50% off $750, I still can't afford it. Especially since my maternity leave top-up is over next week (GULP). But we decided that the jeans were a good deal and quickly tried on a few pairs with the strollers in the changerooms and annoying rich teeny boppers staring at us like we were aliens. I came out of the changeroom with a sexy pair of Juicy Couture jeans on.
V: "You look skinny."
Me: "Sold!" I repeated the same to her in her Sevens and we were done in 10 minutes. "You know, I get it now," V exclaimed, "I understand why moms just give up and let themselves go and just throw money at whatever. You just can't do it anymore!" We laughed and then spent what felt like 2 hours in the washroom because they have a Mommy room for nursing (only one chair, but better than none).
* Sista Sunshine also bought me a pair of Seven jeans as a reward for finally losing all the baby weight. I was always anti-Sevens (who pays that much for a pair of jeans?) but man are they ever comfortable! Though admittedly, both pairs of jeans are pretty low and therefore these new post-baby uber-hips just spill over the sides hoochie-style. I might weigh the same, but my body is definitely different.
Over all, turning 31 has been amazing. I realized all the people I have around me and how fortunate I truly am. I realized the changes I need to make in my life to become a more positive person. 30 was a tough year full of negativity, stress and bad vibes that I believe culminated in my son having a stroke. I have thought long and hard about the people I have wronged, the mistakes I have made and realized that I cannot turn back the clock, only start fresh and move forward. And I am so hoping that this is the week for that.
Nate had an MRI at Sick Kids yesterday and my wish is that the tests will close the book on what's happened and we can start anew on Sunday, his baptism, finally truly celebrating this amazing life we've brought into the world. We get the keys to our new house on Friday and I feel that once we walk through the doors, our new life will begin. It might take a fresh coat of paint and some hard work, but I think we can turn things around for the better.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Kid Pro Quo
Each day, the Dog and I inch closer to becoming the statistic: yuppies with a car, interesting pet (at least we think she's interesting) and 2.3 kids (I don't do math, but I figure we're just under halfway there). Well last week we edged even closer. Even though it's insane. Even though I swore that by the time my maternity top-up was over and the Dog's employment sitch was still spotty, we would pack up and move to my folks (scary as that thought was). Nope, instead we did the nuttiest thing. We bought a house.
Nate's not crawling yet, but he's sorta doing this salamander 360 on his belly. And every now and then he works that movement into a downward dog. He's trying to get on the move. He's even rolling from the TV to the couch. I can no longer be sure that where I put him down is where he'll be when I return. In other words, it's only a matter of time before this stylish West-side apartment becomes a tiny dump.
So we sucked it up and did it. Scary and exciting, we get the keys on July 22nd. It's not a fabulous neighbourhood (Little India), but it's a place of our own. A cute little two-bedroom semi with a backyard and a basement -- or more importantly, with a washer/dryer and dishwasher! How the hell did I get through the first six months of motherhood without?
It'll be Toonie Thali Tuesdays, dollar-store heaven and a short walk to the trendier neighbourhoods including THE BEACH! Home Depot trips instead of Holt Renfrew. Paint colours, poo colours, baseboards and breast issues. This is my new life. And as I turned 31 about 31 minutes ago to the minute, I kinda feel good about growing up and becoming an adult.
Nate's not crawling yet, but he's sorta doing this salamander 360 on his belly. And every now and then he works that movement into a downward dog. He's trying to get on the move. He's even rolling from the TV to the couch. I can no longer be sure that where I put him down is where he'll be when I return. In other words, it's only a matter of time before this stylish West-side apartment becomes a tiny dump.
So we sucked it up and did it. Scary and exciting, we get the keys on July 22nd. It's not a fabulous neighbourhood (Little India), but it's a place of our own. A cute little two-bedroom semi with a backyard and a basement -- or more importantly, with a washer/dryer and dishwasher! How the hell did I get through the first six months of motherhood without?
It'll be Toonie Thali Tuesdays, dollar-store heaven and a short walk to the trendier neighbourhoods including THE BEACH! Home Depot trips instead of Holt Renfrew. Paint colours, poo colours, baseboards and breast issues. This is my new life. And as I turned 31 about 31 minutes ago to the minute, I kinda feel good about growing up and becoming an adult.
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