Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Giddyup!
Am I the only one who finds THIS hot? Mmm-mmm. Gonna have to get me a day pass to get out and see that.
Letter to a Mom to Be
My good pal from high school Femail Advice Giv'err (whom we used to call Streetfighter due to her addiction to the arcade game of the same name) is about to burst any minute now.
She commented here recently on how my blog was freaking her out and how she was generally freaked out at the thought of giving birth and raising a child. That was the night before she found out she was 2-3 cm dialated at 37 weeks.
So I wrote her back this letter. I meant to stop after the first point, but then a million things about the "early days" rushed back to me (particularly since I've been virtually reliving some of it via Jen at T.O. Mama and Kristen at Tall n' Lucky). So here goes, hope I help out some other moms-to-be with some stuff that no one really told me.
***Don’t worry. You will do fine. You’re kinda like me that way: happy and in love with life. You’re gonna rock at this.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and the best advice I can give you is this: In the beginning, if you find you are getting up all the time and it’s too much, bring the baby into the bed with you guys for the first 2 months or so. It will make your life SOOOO much easier. You are small enough. Either put him in between you or get one of those guard rails from toys r us so he can be just beside you. That way you can roll onto your side and stick your boob in his mouth without FULLY waking yourself up. You will find that often you both will fall asleep in the middle of this. We used to go to bed all together each night and the Dog and I would take turns propping Nate’s legs up when he would get gassy. Everyone slept better this way. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty about it.
At about two months old, start putting him for naps in his crib, even if he only sleeps there for short spurts. Hang out in his room and get him used to the idea that it’s a good place to be. This may sound weird, but you have no idea how many times he will fall asleep in your arms and in your lap and you will be unable to put him in the crib. Cherish these moments, because they are too short.
It’s hard in the beginning because you will be nervous about everything. Try not to let yourself go there. Enjoy how tiny he is, I feel like I didn’t really do that, I was so busy trying not to kill him. Now that he’s so much bigger I am trying desperately to remember how small his hands were and I can’t. Really take time out for you and he to get to know each other. You’ll soon find you can talk without speaking. It is so cool. You will never have a bond like this with anyone else in life. No matter what our sisters think, the first one is always special.
Also, try to get V involved as much as possible. Let him make his own mistakes as you will make yours. As women, too often we try to tell the man how he should do something our way. Try not to. He’ll learn soon enough to cover the dinky up during diaper changes. A few golden showers never hurt. Heh.
Take water with you everywhere. You will be parched no matter how much you drink. Make sure you always have snacks with you. You will never be so hungry. You will wake up in the mornings and want lasagna. Don’t worry about calories, the breastfeeding will take care of that. If you can't breastfeed, don't beat yourself up about it. I was formula fed and am a genius. Heh.
Try to get fresh air everyday. It’s good for both of you. A few times a week, try to take some time for yourself. Do the grocery shopping alone, or get your nails done, but take time for you. No matter what it seems like, you are the most important person because if you are cranky, the baby will be too. “If mommy is happy, everyone is happy.”
Be patient when feeding. Don’t answer the phone or turn on the TV for the first few weeks until he really gets the hang of it. After that it’s soaps and long distance calls and chick lit as much as you want. Feeding gets boring pretty fast. Make sure V checks on you often so that you’re not dying for a break or a drink with no relief.
After 3 months it gets waaaay easier. Enjoy this time because once rolling, crawling and teeth happen (around 5/6 months), say bye to the peaceful baby and hello to the active monster. Thank God they get cuter and more interactive and snuggly so it makes it all worthwhile.
Hire a cleaning lady. I couldn’t afford one at the time because The Dog wasn’t working, but there were two of us at home so it wasn’t so bad. You wont miss the pesos. You’ll miss the time you lost with your son because no one else seems to notice when the bathtub is nasty.
Take a babymoon. This might be impossible for you because you’re living away, so there is no choice but for your family to stay with you. But try to get some time just the three of you in bed and just loving each other. The first few days are the best for this because baby is sleeping a lot. Tell people to give you a few days before calling — leave a message on the phone telling people all is well, you’ll call them next week. You’re on your babymoon dammit.
Most importantly, just remember to breathe. It’s going to be OK. In fact, it’s going to be amazing.
I’m thinking of you. Good vibes.
She commented here recently on how my blog was freaking her out and how she was generally freaked out at the thought of giving birth and raising a child. That was the night before she found out she was 2-3 cm dialated at 37 weeks.
So I wrote her back this letter. I meant to stop after the first point, but then a million things about the "early days" rushed back to me (particularly since I've been virtually reliving some of it via Jen at T.O. Mama and Kristen at Tall n' Lucky). So here goes, hope I help out some other moms-to-be with some stuff that no one really told me.
***Don’t worry. You will do fine. You’re kinda like me that way: happy and in love with life. You’re gonna rock at this.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and the best advice I can give you is this: In the beginning, if you find you are getting up all the time and it’s too much, bring the baby into the bed with you guys for the first 2 months or so. It will make your life SOOOO much easier. You are small enough. Either put him in between you or get one of those guard rails from toys r us so he can be just beside you. That way you can roll onto your side and stick your boob in his mouth without FULLY waking yourself up. You will find that often you both will fall asleep in the middle of this. We used to go to bed all together each night and the Dog and I would take turns propping Nate’s legs up when he would get gassy. Everyone slept better this way. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty about it.
At about two months old, start putting him for naps in his crib, even if he only sleeps there for short spurts. Hang out in his room and get him used to the idea that it’s a good place to be. This may sound weird, but you have no idea how many times he will fall asleep in your arms and in your lap and you will be unable to put him in the crib. Cherish these moments, because they are too short.
It’s hard in the beginning because you will be nervous about everything. Try not to let yourself go there. Enjoy how tiny he is, I feel like I didn’t really do that, I was so busy trying not to kill him. Now that he’s so much bigger I am trying desperately to remember how small his hands were and I can’t. Really take time out for you and he to get to know each other. You’ll soon find you can talk without speaking. It is so cool. You will never have a bond like this with anyone else in life. No matter what our sisters think, the first one is always special.
Also, try to get V involved as much as possible. Let him make his own mistakes as you will make yours. As women, too often we try to tell the man how he should do something our way. Try not to. He’ll learn soon enough to cover the dinky up during diaper changes. A few golden showers never hurt. Heh.
Take water with you everywhere. You will be parched no matter how much you drink. Make sure you always have snacks with you. You will never be so hungry. You will wake up in the mornings and want lasagna. Don’t worry about calories, the breastfeeding will take care of that. If you can't breastfeed, don't beat yourself up about it. I was formula fed and am a genius. Heh.
Try to get fresh air everyday. It’s good for both of you. A few times a week, try to take some time for yourself. Do the grocery shopping alone, or get your nails done, but take time for you. No matter what it seems like, you are the most important person because if you are cranky, the baby will be too. “If mommy is happy, everyone is happy.”
Be patient when feeding. Don’t answer the phone or turn on the TV for the first few weeks until he really gets the hang of it. After that it’s soaps and long distance calls and chick lit as much as you want. Feeding gets boring pretty fast. Make sure V checks on you often so that you’re not dying for a break or a drink with no relief.
After 3 months it gets waaaay easier. Enjoy this time because once rolling, crawling and teeth happen (around 5/6 months), say bye to the peaceful baby and hello to the active monster. Thank God they get cuter and more interactive and snuggly so it makes it all worthwhile.
Hire a cleaning lady. I couldn’t afford one at the time because The Dog wasn’t working, but there were two of us at home so it wasn’t so bad. You wont miss the pesos. You’ll miss the time you lost with your son because no one else seems to notice when the bathtub is nasty.
Take a babymoon. This might be impossible for you because you’re living away, so there is no choice but for your family to stay with you. But try to get some time just the three of you in bed and just loving each other. The first few days are the best for this because baby is sleeping a lot. Tell people to give you a few days before calling — leave a message on the phone telling people all is well, you’ll call them next week. You’re on your babymoon dammit.
Most importantly, just remember to breathe. It’s going to be OK. In fact, it’s going to be amazing.
I’m thinking of you. Good vibes.
How Soon is Too Soon?
So pals in blogdom, I have a question for you. Well, two question, or better, one question relating to two different topics.
How soon is too soon to start...
a) watching TV?
Nate is 8.5 months-old. As I have said before, breastfeeding can get pretty boring in a hurry. I can no longer read n' feed as Nate is ripping everything out of my hand instead of concentrating on the task at hand. But when the TV is on, he no longer ignores it. He is suddenly riveted by Marilyn Dennis and Barbara Walters and all manner of annoying daytime chicks. So I inevitably turn to TVO, CBC or PBS (we don't have cable anymore) to see if he can at least watch something that I perceive to be good for him. But is educational TV doing anything for a baby this age, or am I just creating a future couch potato? I need stats people!
He already recognizes Elmo from a book that was given as a gift that he enjoys. He giggles during Blue's Clues (while I debate if I have a biiger crush on Joe or Steve). So it can't be that bad can it? I definitely don't want to be one of those moms who throws in a DVD every day, but sometimes you are tired and you need some bloody time to yourself. What to do?
b)potty training?
My mother claims that my sis and were daytime potty trained by 9 months-old. I am wondering if this is possible. I realize that the diaper industry would like us to keep our kids in nappies for as long as possible and I'd love to give the environment the break, but isn't 9 months pushing it? Isn't it a bit like kiddie torture? You could discuss psychological impact of starting so early, but although I am a crappy crapper (rabbit pellets), my sister being the second child has no problems with Number 2.
Even though I protest, she insists on placing Nate, bottoms off, on the potty. And though my son is very bright, he has no idea what the hell she wants from him. She may as well be asking him to decipher The DaVinci Code. The kid just mastered not peeing or pooping when his diaper is off. Give him a break Ma! She just dismisses me and tells me I'm being too North American about it and that I should switch to cloth diapers so he'll feel the wetness and therefore want to be dry sooner. Confused. Advice?
Anyhoo, we're up to four teeth now! The two top ones pierced through this past week. Here we see Nate in a surprisingly good mood considering that fact. And you can really see he has his father's high cheeks, which I love to bite! Yummy!
How soon is too soon to start...
a) watching TV?
Nate is 8.5 months-old. As I have said before, breastfeeding can get pretty boring in a hurry. I can no longer read n' feed as Nate is ripping everything out of my hand instead of concentrating on the task at hand. But when the TV is on, he no longer ignores it. He is suddenly riveted by Marilyn Dennis and Barbara Walters and all manner of annoying daytime chicks. So I inevitably turn to TVO, CBC or PBS (we don't have cable anymore) to see if he can at least watch something that I perceive to be good for him. But is educational TV doing anything for a baby this age, or am I just creating a future couch potato? I need stats people!
He already recognizes Elmo from a book that was given as a gift that he enjoys. He giggles during Blue's Clues (while I debate if I have a biiger crush on Joe or Steve). So it can't be that bad can it? I definitely don't want to be one of those moms who throws in a DVD every day, but sometimes you are tired and you need some bloody time to yourself. What to do?
b)potty training?
My mother claims that my sis and were daytime potty trained by 9 months-old. I am wondering if this is possible. I realize that the diaper industry would like us to keep our kids in nappies for as long as possible and I'd love to give the environment the break, but isn't 9 months pushing it? Isn't it a bit like kiddie torture? You could discuss psychological impact of starting so early, but although I am a crappy crapper (rabbit pellets), my sister being the second child has no problems with Number 2.
Even though I protest, she insists on placing Nate, bottoms off, on the potty. And though my son is very bright, he has no idea what the hell she wants from him. She may as well be asking him to decipher The DaVinci Code. The kid just mastered not peeing or pooping when his diaper is off. Give him a break Ma! She just dismisses me and tells me I'm being too North American about it and that I should switch to cloth diapers so he'll feel the wetness and therefore want to be dry sooner. Confused. Advice?
Anyhoo, we're up to four teeth now! The two top ones pierced through this past week. Here we see Nate in a surprisingly good mood considering that fact. And you can really see he has his father's high cheeks, which I love to bite! Yummy!
Big Man Pyjamas
Tante loves to spoil little man Nate. She's his favourite girl and he's her main man. She picked up these amazing jammies for him last week at Baby Gap. We thought it'd be cute if he were reading the paper.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Spoiler Alert
It has been almost 2 months since we got the keys to our house. We're still renovating, but it's actually starting to look like something. And more importantly, it's starting to feel like home. Sometimes, when I'm rocking Nate in his room, I think about how he will use the room as he grows. When I see him clambering on the hardwood in the dining room I am so glad we ripped up the nasty carpet and refinished the original floor. He's pulling books off of bookshelves and interacting with everything around him and I hope that he will have a few memories of this place when he's older.
One of the nicest things in the house is Nate's closet, which got redone by the upcoming Life Network series The Mom Show. It is so organized and cute, but what a ride it was to get it there.
You always here from people that makeover shows are invasive and somewhat annoying, but you always pshaw these people. What're you crazy? They're going to do your house for free? Shut up already!
The taping happened just over a month ago. We were not moved in yet. A lovely woman came in to measure the closet so they could figure out what they would do. It was all happening very quickly. They would be over with the cameras two days later.
I'll take a moment to tell the folks at The Mom Show that they are great and I totally appreciate everything they are doing for me. They are fans of the blog (go figure!) and I hope they are not offended or upset by the details I am about to reveal. This being a brutally honest blog, I couldn't really censor myself once I started writing.
I had no idea what was really expected of us. No one called me to tell me what was going on. I was going to be on TV so I wore nice jeans and a brown top that had some sequins along the bustline, and an african-inspired huge necklace. I felt that was casual but showed my style. Of course when the crew and the producer arrived it quickly became clear that it should look like we were moving in (duh!) and I should be unpacking boxes, etc. Um, I dressed innapropriately to say the least.
The producer was late and wondering where to get a coffee around here. I know her type and quickly informed her that you had to drive to get a Starbucks, but there are three Coffee Times within walking distance. She filled me in that we would be shooting an interview of just me and could my husband hold the baby. It was a fluke that the Dog was not working that day. Like hello? If that was important did you want to tell us that ahead of time? We weren't moved in yet, so I don't think there was even anything to put him in... like a swing or something.
The camera and sound guys were super awesome. I prattled off some interview questions for them and they kept assuring me that I was a natural. Some of the questions were mega-dumb out of context: "How do you think this makeover will change your life?" Being a writer that works in televison and is obsessed with these types of shows, I think I gave them the soundbytes they were looking for: "Disorganization is a major source of argument for my spouse and I. I'm hoping that a more organized space will alleviate some of that marital stress." or "As a new mom, I'm looking to simplify things as much as possible, while teaching my son good habits for the future." You get the picture. Easy enough right?
Well we had to do it over and over. I had to sit on my hands so that I wouldn't gesticulate (I'm middle eastern! There's no such thing as talking witout hands.) We were shooting on the front porch and cars would go by or nosy neighbours would want to know what's going on. But the worst was when the producer asked to reshoot because a fly went by my face or something. I mean, come on! We're outside! It's natural.
OK, no biggie. We go upstairs and I pretend that I'm unpacking boxes in a top I would wear out for drinks. The totally adorable designer pretends she's just discovered me under all these boxes (props) and we chat about what I would like for the closet and how I am totally baffled as to what to do (Wasn't that the TRUTH? Amen and Hallelujah!) with it.
In the meantime, we had to shoot b-roll a.k.a. cuttaways. All this time (literally hours) the Dog has been entertaining the Natester. When time came to shoot him, the little man was fast asleep. "Could you wake him up?"
"Um, I could, but he will suck on camera if I do and frankly, I'd rather not." She decided to suck it up and go to Coffee Time.
Now he was up and it was time for him to eat. "Oh great, we'll get shots of you feeding him." Well, I wasn't about to pull out my boob on camera. What to do? Breastfeeding police, please don't come after me. I know you will hate me when you read this and even more when you watch the segment. I know I should not be ashamed to whip out the tit on camera and that it's natural and all that, but I just didn't feel comfortable with that. So I made up a bottle of formula and they filmed it and then recorded me giving Nate the bottle. I have a feeling the breastfeeding police do not believe in absolution and saying 10 Hail Marys isn't gonna cut it.
Then the producer wanted to get a feeling of what it's like now that Nate is crawling and on the go, how that juxtaposes with the chaos of renovating. I tend to be too accomodating, so the Dog had to remind me that there were nails and bits of crapnel all over the floor and under no circumstances would he put our son on that floor for a shot. "What if [The Dog] was scraping off wallpaper and I came in all frustrated and just handed him the baby? That would totally happen."
"Noooo, I find that tooo... re-enactment." What is it with TV people wanting the show to look like it's not TV? Like, we're not dumb. We watch enough of this stuff to know that "reality-tv" isn't based in reality. So what is the brilliant solution? "What if you're painting with one arm and holding the baby in the other?" Ya, cuz that would happen.
So the handsome, dread-locked camera guy suggests that mixing paint and babies would be a bad idea. So we end up with a more ridiculous shot. The Dog outside on the porch with Nate, while I carry paint cans and HUGE garbage bags out to the curb. He was not happy. "It makes me look like an asshole. As if I would let you do that." Ah well, who knows what gets used in the final thing.
The next day rocked. The two designer chicks came in with their power tools and did it up. All the prep work at least, since you need to shoot some of the assembling, etc. I totally get a girl crush for women who know how to build stuff. The following day was more shooting, this time interviewing the Dog and I together (he so sucked BTW) and then doing the big reveal. I cannot thank The Mom Show enough. They totally saved my life and made so much storage in a tiny space. I was truly surprised and that look on my face on the tape (at least the first take) is so totally for real. I will post the before and after, but you must promise to tune in when I tell you it's gonna be on people!
Anyway, the designer's kid's clothes (the props) are still in my basement and if I don't hear from her soon, I am so putting Nate in some of her awesome stuff. I think it's only fair. All that cute Baby Gap stuff taunting me in the basement. Who could resist? The only thing worse was when I worked on La Femme Nikita and there was a whole warehouse full of designer clothes beckoning me. In our last week on that show (for good, since it was the final season), the super-nice production manager let us ransack the storage room. All of Peta's amazing shoes were too giant for my wee feet and her clothes to skinny or too long, but I managed to get a white Diesel Princess Leia ski jacket (that got stolen in a car theft in Montreal - boo hoo), a black 3/4 Lida Baday crepe jacket and a burgundy patent leather Dolce and Gabanna jacket. I felt bad and grabbed two Gap tees for the Dog on my way out. I still remember driving home with the booty in my car. I couldn't believe that I had a real Dolce (not D&G, the full price deal baby) in my car! Sadly, no one tells you that patent leather is a REALLY bad idea in a jacket. The jacket sticks and squeeks and I have worn it out twice with great discomfort. I'll wait until burgundy is hot again and sell it on eBay perhaps.
But I digress. Those fabulous folks at The Mom Show have chosen me and T.O. Mama to be their official bloggers. They take excerpts from our blogs and discuss in panel discussions. How freakin' cool is that? I feel honoured that they think I'm funny enough to discuss on TV. Only time will tell if it's a blessing or a curse.
One of the nicest things in the house is Nate's closet, which got redone by the upcoming Life Network series The Mom Show. It is so organized and cute, but what a ride it was to get it there.
You always here from people that makeover shows are invasive and somewhat annoying, but you always pshaw these people. What're you crazy? They're going to do your house for free? Shut up already!
The taping happened just over a month ago. We were not moved in yet. A lovely woman came in to measure the closet so they could figure out what they would do. It was all happening very quickly. They would be over with the cameras two days later.
I'll take a moment to tell the folks at The Mom Show that they are great and I totally appreciate everything they are doing for me. They are fans of the blog (go figure!) and I hope they are not offended or upset by the details I am about to reveal. This being a brutally honest blog, I couldn't really censor myself once I started writing.
I had no idea what was really expected of us. No one called me to tell me what was going on. I was going to be on TV so I wore nice jeans and a brown top that had some sequins along the bustline, and an african-inspired huge necklace. I felt that was casual but showed my style. Of course when the crew and the producer arrived it quickly became clear that it should look like we were moving in (duh!) and I should be unpacking boxes, etc. Um, I dressed innapropriately to say the least.
The producer was late and wondering where to get a coffee around here. I know her type and quickly informed her that you had to drive to get a Starbucks, but there are three Coffee Times within walking distance. She filled me in that we would be shooting an interview of just me and could my husband hold the baby. It was a fluke that the Dog was not working that day. Like hello? If that was important did you want to tell us that ahead of time? We weren't moved in yet, so I don't think there was even anything to put him in... like a swing or something.
The camera and sound guys were super awesome. I prattled off some interview questions for them and they kept assuring me that I was a natural. Some of the questions were mega-dumb out of context: "How do you think this makeover will change your life?" Being a writer that works in televison and is obsessed with these types of shows, I think I gave them the soundbytes they were looking for: "Disorganization is a major source of argument for my spouse and I. I'm hoping that a more organized space will alleviate some of that marital stress." or "As a new mom, I'm looking to simplify things as much as possible, while teaching my son good habits for the future." You get the picture. Easy enough right?
Well we had to do it over and over. I had to sit on my hands so that I wouldn't gesticulate (I'm middle eastern! There's no such thing as talking witout hands.) We were shooting on the front porch and cars would go by or nosy neighbours would want to know what's going on. But the worst was when the producer asked to reshoot because a fly went by my face or something. I mean, come on! We're outside! It's natural.
OK, no biggie. We go upstairs and I pretend that I'm unpacking boxes in a top I would wear out for drinks. The totally adorable designer pretends she's just discovered me under all these boxes (props) and we chat about what I would like for the closet and how I am totally baffled as to what to do (Wasn't that the TRUTH? Amen and Hallelujah!) with it.
In the meantime, we had to shoot b-roll a.k.a. cuttaways. All this time (literally hours) the Dog has been entertaining the Natester. When time came to shoot him, the little man was fast asleep. "Could you wake him up?"
"Um, I could, but he will suck on camera if I do and frankly, I'd rather not." She decided to suck it up and go to Coffee Time.
Now he was up and it was time for him to eat. "Oh great, we'll get shots of you feeding him." Well, I wasn't about to pull out my boob on camera. What to do? Breastfeeding police, please don't come after me. I know you will hate me when you read this and even more when you watch the segment. I know I should not be ashamed to whip out the tit on camera and that it's natural and all that, but I just didn't feel comfortable with that. So I made up a bottle of formula and they filmed it and then recorded me giving Nate the bottle. I have a feeling the breastfeeding police do not believe in absolution and saying 10 Hail Marys isn't gonna cut it.
Then the producer wanted to get a feeling of what it's like now that Nate is crawling and on the go, how that juxtaposes with the chaos of renovating. I tend to be too accomodating, so the Dog had to remind me that there were nails and bits of crapnel all over the floor and under no circumstances would he put our son on that floor for a shot. "What if [The Dog] was scraping off wallpaper and I came in all frustrated and just handed him the baby? That would totally happen."
"Noooo, I find that tooo... re-enactment." What is it with TV people wanting the show to look like it's not TV? Like, we're not dumb. We watch enough of this stuff to know that "reality-tv" isn't based in reality. So what is the brilliant solution? "What if you're painting with one arm and holding the baby in the other?" Ya, cuz that would happen.
So the handsome, dread-locked camera guy suggests that mixing paint and babies would be a bad idea. So we end up with a more ridiculous shot. The Dog outside on the porch with Nate, while I carry paint cans and HUGE garbage bags out to the curb. He was not happy. "It makes me look like an asshole. As if I would let you do that." Ah well, who knows what gets used in the final thing.
The next day rocked. The two designer chicks came in with their power tools and did it up. All the prep work at least, since you need to shoot some of the assembling, etc. I totally get a girl crush for women who know how to build stuff. The following day was more shooting, this time interviewing the Dog and I together (he so sucked BTW) and then doing the big reveal. I cannot thank The Mom Show enough. They totally saved my life and made so much storage in a tiny space. I was truly surprised and that look on my face on the tape (at least the first take) is so totally for real. I will post the before and after, but you must promise to tune in when I tell you it's gonna be on people!
Anyway, the designer's kid's clothes (the props) are still in my basement and if I don't hear from her soon, I am so putting Nate in some of her awesome stuff. I think it's only fair. All that cute Baby Gap stuff taunting me in the basement. Who could resist? The only thing worse was when I worked on La Femme Nikita and there was a whole warehouse full of designer clothes beckoning me. In our last week on that show (for good, since it was the final season), the super-nice production manager let us ransack the storage room. All of Peta's amazing shoes were too giant for my wee feet and her clothes to skinny or too long, but I managed to get a white Diesel Princess Leia ski jacket (that got stolen in a car theft in Montreal - boo hoo), a black 3/4 Lida Baday crepe jacket and a burgundy patent leather Dolce and Gabanna jacket. I felt bad and grabbed two Gap tees for the Dog on my way out. I still remember driving home with the booty in my car. I couldn't believe that I had a real Dolce (not D&G, the full price deal baby) in my car! Sadly, no one tells you that patent leather is a REALLY bad idea in a jacket. The jacket sticks and squeeks and I have worn it out twice with great discomfort. I'll wait until burgundy is hot again and sell it on eBay perhaps.
But I digress. Those fabulous folks at The Mom Show have chosen me and T.O. Mama to be their official bloggers. They take excerpts from our blogs and discuss in panel discussions. How freakin' cool is that? I feel honoured that they think I'm funny enough to discuss on TV. Only time will tell if it's a blessing or a curse.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Mom About Town
A quick note on Nate's biting -- after reading some comments from other moms, I realize that he is only clamping down when he is fighting the sleep e.g. rubbing his eyes, tearing at his ears and thrashing about in my arms. Ah that being young and wanting to stay awake thing. Now it's about getting older and finding time to sleep thing.
Teething, coupled with Nate coming off his sedative, is causing my formerly perfect sleeper to wake up several times a night. Translation? I'm waking up several times a night. Which would be fine(ish) ordinarily, but I have been pushing it this week with the going out.
Normally I wait until Nate is asleep to go out and deal with him in the morning. But this past week it's been more of letting someone else put him to sleep and then coming home late and him waking up so I don't get any rest. It's my own fault. I am still trying desperately to have some semblance of former life and with TIFF in town... well, it's hard for a film nerd to weigh out motherhood vs. motion pictures sometimes. Bad mommy.
So far I have seen three films, all good, so I think I'll quit while I'm ahead. The only times I have seen bad films at TIFF are when I try to see the big celebrity films, and that is truly when you lose out at TIFF. The key to a successful TIFF experience is to avoid celebrities like the plague and seek out smaller, more interesting films.
This year, admittedly, I have seen more mainstream films in the fest -- ones that are likely to come to a theatre or at least to DVD. But all three were still pretty indie/undergroundish if you are not a film fan. Big difference between liking movies and liking films I think. It's like the difference between being a tourist or a traveller. OK, I am being a culture snob, sorry.
Anyway, here are my TIFF reviews based on what I have seen.
L'Enfer
Ladies, brace yourselves for this roller-coaster ride. This film represents many faces of the female, some of them unpleasant or hard to watch, if only because they were so real. The film deals with themes of betrayal, guilt, abandonment and family in a fresh way. It is getting incresingly difficult to tell human stories in a fresh way, but the material here was presented with a brutal honesty that I found refreshing, at times depressing, but ultimately liberating. Masterfully directed by Danis Tanovic, the film is so well executed. The performances are completely engrossing. And I even shed a few tears. Mostly because some parts of the story were directly related to things we had experienced in the past, and having to relive them while thinking of how I would feel as a wife, not as an offspring dragged into the scrum -- whoa. That was heavy for me. This is not a film that is entertaining, it's a film that provokes emotion, thought and discussion.
Le Temps Qui Reste
OK, Le Divorce was a crappy book and an even crappier movie. But the one redeeming thing (other than the coveted $16K-and-there's-still-a-waiting-list Birkin bag) was the gorgeous (even though his character was an asshole) Melvil Poupaud (he played the estranged husband of Naomi Watts). So see this film, if for no other reason than you agree with me that he is yummy. If you happen to have a thing for Francois Ozon movies like I do (Swimming Pool, 8 Women/Femmes, Under the Sand) then you have even more reason to see this. Ozon has a fetish for people with secrets, and this film continues along that vein, but with the most touchingly human story I've seen in a long time. I can't give anything away, but bring the Kleenex for this one. There is no way you won't love it. I didn't know whether to spend the whole night crying or to go out and party my ass off or to rush home to my loved ones (you can guess which I chose). There is the most beautiful scene of a woman breastfeeding on a train. I have never really looked at it from that angle or that close. Wow. It really is beautiful. This one was my favourite of the three by far, which is tough, because each one found a place in my heart. And that hasn't happened in a long time.
The Notorious Bettie Page
Directed by Torontonian Mary Harron (I Shot Andy Warhol, American Psycho), I chose this film for three reasons.
1) I worked on American Psycho in 1999 and it was an amazing experience. I was hoping to see if anyone I worked with was there, particularly the Production Designer, Gideon, whom I have had a hopeless crush on for the past 6 years. He was sort of like a straight (not 100% on that actually) Rupert Everett, but hotter. An Englishman who hated England..."Oh God, why the fuck would you want to go there?" It didn't help that the Dog had left me for England at the time and I hadn't had sex in two months.
I did see Gideon's name in the credits and he is so tall I thought he'd be hard to miss, but from what I remember of him, if he was in town, he was at the party having a drink before the credits came up. It was nice seeing Mary Harron and remembering being in her kitchen and gushing about Lily Taylor to her. Bet when I saw her on the street, I couldn't bring myself to say hello for fear of awkwardness. MH is very awkward to begin with and to add "Hey remember me? I was your office PA on American Psycho!" to the situation, well, I just rathered not.
2) I have always had a Bettie Page thing and in fact spent most of 1999-2002 with the Bettie Page bangs. In a world of blondes, I've always idolized the sultriness of a fellow brunette. Bettie, Audrey, Sophia, Ava, Christy Turlington (I had a weird Obsession with Calvin Klein ads when I was a teen). I particularly like this photo where she looks bored on the job like any of us would be, except the rest of us would not have garters and opera-length gloves on.
3) The Dog has a thing for old fashioned sexiness and I thought watching a movie about a half-naked pinup girl would get me laid (it did and how!)
Now about the film. More a snapshot of the most popular pinup of all time than your typical dragged out biopic, this fun and fabulous film has the look and feel of the era with an excellent soundtrack and everything you would want in an indie-type film. I think the tendency would be to portray Bettie Page as some sort of sex vixen, like a Jayne Mansfield. But if you've truly looked carefully at Bettie's poses, she always looked happy. Not a "you wish you could get with me" haughty look, nor the "I'm just doing this because my acting career didn't work out" look of a porn star. And so, the ladies involved with this film (three female producers, a female writer/director, female co-writer and the lovely Gretchen Mol, who I'm sure helped shape this role with her own sugary influence) really captured the idea of a sweet, somewhat naive, southern girl who really enjoyed having her photo taken and hoped that good ol' JC wouldn't be too upset with her.
Gretchen Mol turns out a career high performance (she may just have the most perfect breasts ever -- clearly has never breastfed), which I am happy about, because she did have the curse. Several years ago, she made the cover of Vanity Fair when no one really knew who she was (does anyone now?) touting her as the next It-girl. And let's be frank, that was a bit presumptious or shall I say... dead wrong. I mean, she has never made it to Gwyneth status, though not for lack of talent. Making poor film choices when you are a pretty blonde in fickle Hollywood renders you forgettable I'm afraid. If this doesn't put her back on the A-list, well I'll be a monkey's uncle.
Intensely private, Bettie herself has not seen the film yet. Bettie left the pinup party on a high note and fell in love with her old flame, Jesus. Whatever floats your boat honey. You were one helluva woman. I hope you're happy wherever you are.
That's my TIFF wrap-up. Make sure to see these films when they arre available near you. Then email me and tell me what you think.
Teething, coupled with Nate coming off his sedative, is causing my formerly perfect sleeper to wake up several times a night. Translation? I'm waking up several times a night. Which would be fine(ish) ordinarily, but I have been pushing it this week with the going out.
Normally I wait until Nate is asleep to go out and deal with him in the morning. But this past week it's been more of letting someone else put him to sleep and then coming home late and him waking up so I don't get any rest. It's my own fault. I am still trying desperately to have some semblance of former life and with TIFF in town... well, it's hard for a film nerd to weigh out motherhood vs. motion pictures sometimes. Bad mommy.
So far I have seen three films, all good, so I think I'll quit while I'm ahead. The only times I have seen bad films at TIFF are when I try to see the big celebrity films, and that is truly when you lose out at TIFF. The key to a successful TIFF experience is to avoid celebrities like the plague and seek out smaller, more interesting films.
This year, admittedly, I have seen more mainstream films in the fest -- ones that are likely to come to a theatre or at least to DVD. But all three were still pretty indie/undergroundish if you are not a film fan. Big difference between liking movies and liking films I think. It's like the difference between being a tourist or a traveller. OK, I am being a culture snob, sorry.
Anyway, here are my TIFF reviews based on what I have seen.
L'Enfer
Ladies, brace yourselves for this roller-coaster ride. This film represents many faces of the female, some of them unpleasant or hard to watch, if only because they were so real. The film deals with themes of betrayal, guilt, abandonment and family in a fresh way. It is getting incresingly difficult to tell human stories in a fresh way, but the material here was presented with a brutal honesty that I found refreshing, at times depressing, but ultimately liberating. Masterfully directed by Danis Tanovic, the film is so well executed. The performances are completely engrossing. And I even shed a few tears. Mostly because some parts of the story were directly related to things we had experienced in the past, and having to relive them while thinking of how I would feel as a wife, not as an offspring dragged into the scrum -- whoa. That was heavy for me. This is not a film that is entertaining, it's a film that provokes emotion, thought and discussion.
Le Temps Qui Reste
OK, Le Divorce was a crappy book and an even crappier movie. But the one redeeming thing (other than the coveted $16K-and-there's-still-a-waiting-list Birkin bag) was the gorgeous (even though his character was an asshole) Melvil Poupaud (he played the estranged husband of Naomi Watts). So see this film, if for no other reason than you agree with me that he is yummy. If you happen to have a thing for Francois Ozon movies like I do (Swimming Pool, 8 Women/Femmes, Under the Sand) then you have even more reason to see this. Ozon has a fetish for people with secrets, and this film continues along that vein, but with the most touchingly human story I've seen in a long time. I can't give anything away, but bring the Kleenex for this one. There is no way you won't love it. I didn't know whether to spend the whole night crying or to go out and party my ass off or to rush home to my loved ones (you can guess which I chose). There is the most beautiful scene of a woman breastfeeding on a train. I have never really looked at it from that angle or that close. Wow. It really is beautiful. This one was my favourite of the three by far, which is tough, because each one found a place in my heart. And that hasn't happened in a long time.
The Notorious Bettie Page
Directed by Torontonian Mary Harron (I Shot Andy Warhol, American Psycho), I chose this film for three reasons.
1) I worked on American Psycho in 1999 and it was an amazing experience. I was hoping to see if anyone I worked with was there, particularly the Production Designer, Gideon, whom I have had a hopeless crush on for the past 6 years. He was sort of like a straight (not 100% on that actually) Rupert Everett, but hotter. An Englishman who hated England..."Oh God, why the fuck would you want to go there?" It didn't help that the Dog had left me for England at the time and I hadn't had sex in two months.
I did see Gideon's name in the credits and he is so tall I thought he'd be hard to miss, but from what I remember of him, if he was in town, he was at the party having a drink before the credits came up. It was nice seeing Mary Harron and remembering being in her kitchen and gushing about Lily Taylor to her. Bet when I saw her on the street, I couldn't bring myself to say hello for fear of awkwardness. MH is very awkward to begin with and to add "Hey remember me? I was your office PA on American Psycho!" to the situation, well, I just rathered not.
2) I have always had a Bettie Page thing and in fact spent most of 1999-2002 with the Bettie Page bangs. In a world of blondes, I've always idolized the sultriness of a fellow brunette. Bettie, Audrey, Sophia, Ava, Christy Turlington (I had a weird Obsession with Calvin Klein ads when I was a teen). I particularly like this photo where she looks bored on the job like any of us would be, except the rest of us would not have garters and opera-length gloves on.
3) The Dog has a thing for old fashioned sexiness and I thought watching a movie about a half-naked pinup girl would get me laid (it did and how!)
Now about the film. More a snapshot of the most popular pinup of all time than your typical dragged out biopic, this fun and fabulous film has the look and feel of the era with an excellent soundtrack and everything you would want in an indie-type film. I think the tendency would be to portray Bettie Page as some sort of sex vixen, like a Jayne Mansfield. But if you've truly looked carefully at Bettie's poses, she always looked happy. Not a "you wish you could get with me" haughty look, nor the "I'm just doing this because my acting career didn't work out" look of a porn star. And so, the ladies involved with this film (three female producers, a female writer/director, female co-writer and the lovely Gretchen Mol, who I'm sure helped shape this role with her own sugary influence) really captured the idea of a sweet, somewhat naive, southern girl who really enjoyed having her photo taken and hoped that good ol' JC wouldn't be too upset with her.
Gretchen Mol turns out a career high performance (she may just have the most perfect breasts ever -- clearly has never breastfed), which I am happy about, because she did have the curse. Several years ago, she made the cover of Vanity Fair when no one really knew who she was (does anyone now?) touting her as the next It-girl. And let's be frank, that was a bit presumptious or shall I say... dead wrong. I mean, she has never made it to Gwyneth status, though not for lack of talent. Making poor film choices when you are a pretty blonde in fickle Hollywood renders you forgettable I'm afraid. If this doesn't put her back on the A-list, well I'll be a monkey's uncle.
Intensely private, Bettie herself has not seen the film yet. Bettie left the pinup party on a high note and fell in love with her old flame, Jesus. Whatever floats your boat honey. You were one helluva woman. I hope you're happy wherever you are.
That's my TIFF wrap-up. Make sure to see these films when they arre available near you. Then email me and tell me what you think.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Cliche
To quote the wise words of the Dog, “My life has become a cliché… and I love it.” This repeated in my mind last night as I tried to rock out at Lee’s Palace. I made a valiant attempt to not be the cliché. Tried so hard to not talk about Nate in a gooey tone. But no matter how ceramic-platedly straight my hair was, no matter how shiny my makeup, or how proudly I wore my Wonder Woman-esque lightening bolt cuff (a favourite gift from a day on Portobello Road with Queen Nomad), I could not shake the new persona: Eastside Mommy.
My lovely pal Kerouac a.k.a. Ragdoll had an extra ticket for me to join her and her Rock and Roll Boyfriend for the Cuff the Duke CD release party. Ragdoll always speaks highly of the “Cuffies” and sounded eager for me to join her so I decided to go and rock out like I would pre-baby. Besides, it’s Canadian music and you gotta support your own. Especially when you husband offers to put your crying, teething baby to sleep and tells you firmly to have a good time.
“Welcome to my rock and roll life,” Ragdoll whispered as we went in with RRBF and the sexy R from LOTL, whom I believed to be the most prolific thing in Canadian rock when I was 18. I even dated my grade 13 English teacher briefly based on our mutual love for this band. But that, Hammy Hamster, is another story. Anyway, we are outside of Lee’s with the rock stars and within 2 minutes R announces that he is going to be a daddy.
So instead of drunkenly gushing about how much I loved LOTL, about how “Henry Needs a New Pair of Shoes” would make me laugh or how everyone knows an “Eternal Fatalist”, I chose to gush about gasp parenthood. I believe I actually said, “It’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.” OK, so there was tequila involved, but still! I am officially a nerd.
On a side note, if you are looking for fabulous new Canadian music, you MUST check out The Fembots new album The City. They got NNNNN in Now magazine! They got a special write up in the Star. Their music was featured on Fashion Television when Arcade Fire were still learning how to play their instruments at McGill. Their last album, Small Town Murder Scene was listed in both Now and Eye’s top 20 albums of 2003. Even the Cuffies did a cover of one of their new songs last night, a move I thought showed the utmost respect.
The City reminds me of my favourite moment in Say Anything, except with the Fembots as John Cusack holding up his boom box and our glorious but effed-up city as pretty-girl-with-a-lisp-who-thinks-she’s-too-good-for-him Ione Skye. It’s not a perfect love. Both sides have their flaws, and they may not always seem to suit each other, but it’s L-O-V-E. OK, there’s my plug for my pal’s BF’s band that I love.
Back to me at the show: Hottie R just looked at me the way I looked at people when they used to crap like that to me. Like I was an alien, slowly backing away so as not to unleash some undetectable, though highly possible, alien fury. Nonetheless, it was a blast feeling like the naïve young boy in Almost Famous, watching all this rock splendour around me and feeling like I was sorta part of the outer, outer ring of that.
And then the shock of “Oh wait, I can’t just head back West with you guys like I normally would.” The nervous realization of “I missed the last subway train!” Followed by, “How the hell am I getting back to the Eastside?” and “Am I the only one in this club who is crossing the Bloor Viaduct?”
I definitely had time to ponder my fading coolness in my $20 cab ride home, but a friendly chat with my Pakistani cabbie about the merits of Lahore Tikka House quickly made me stop weighing it out. I turned my key in the lock, was greeted by the cat at the door and got to go UPSTAIRS to bed! I haven’t done that since I lived with my folks (stairs TO the apartment don’t count). The Dog erupted into sleepy giggles at the sight of me, Nate woke up for an in-bed feed, even the cat took a corner and soon we were all snuggled in the same bed.
This might sound like a cliché, but it was a slice of heaven.
My lovely pal Kerouac a.k.a. Ragdoll had an extra ticket for me to join her and her Rock and Roll Boyfriend for the Cuff the Duke CD release party. Ragdoll always speaks highly of the “Cuffies” and sounded eager for me to join her so I decided to go and rock out like I would pre-baby. Besides, it’s Canadian music and you gotta support your own. Especially when you husband offers to put your crying, teething baby to sleep and tells you firmly to have a good time.
“Welcome to my rock and roll life,” Ragdoll whispered as we went in with RRBF and the sexy R from LOTL, whom I believed to be the most prolific thing in Canadian rock when I was 18. I even dated my grade 13 English teacher briefly based on our mutual love for this band. But that, Hammy Hamster, is another story. Anyway, we are outside of Lee’s with the rock stars and within 2 minutes R announces that he is going to be a daddy.
So instead of drunkenly gushing about how much I loved LOTL, about how “Henry Needs a New Pair of Shoes” would make me laugh or how everyone knows an “Eternal Fatalist”, I chose to gush about gasp parenthood. I believe I actually said, “It’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.” OK, so there was tequila involved, but still! I am officially a nerd.
On a side note, if you are looking for fabulous new Canadian music, you MUST check out The Fembots new album The City. They got NNNNN in Now magazine! They got a special write up in the Star. Their music was featured on Fashion Television when Arcade Fire were still learning how to play their instruments at McGill. Their last album, Small Town Murder Scene was listed in both Now and Eye’s top 20 albums of 2003. Even the Cuffies did a cover of one of their new songs last night, a move I thought showed the utmost respect.
The City reminds me of my favourite moment in Say Anything, except with the Fembots as John Cusack holding up his boom box and our glorious but effed-up city as pretty-girl-with-a-lisp-who-thinks-she’s-too-good-for-him Ione Skye. It’s not a perfect love. Both sides have their flaws, and they may not always seem to suit each other, but it’s L-O-V-E. OK, there’s my plug for my pal’s BF’s band that I love.
Back to me at the show: Hottie R just looked at me the way I looked at people when they used to crap like that to me. Like I was an alien, slowly backing away so as not to unleash some undetectable, though highly possible, alien fury. Nonetheless, it was a blast feeling like the naïve young boy in Almost Famous, watching all this rock splendour around me and feeling like I was sorta part of the outer, outer ring of that.
And then the shock of “Oh wait, I can’t just head back West with you guys like I normally would.” The nervous realization of “I missed the last subway train!” Followed by, “How the hell am I getting back to the Eastside?” and “Am I the only one in this club who is crossing the Bloor Viaduct?”
I definitely had time to ponder my fading coolness in my $20 cab ride home, but a friendly chat with my Pakistani cabbie about the merits of Lahore Tikka House quickly made me stop weighing it out. I turned my key in the lock, was greeted by the cat at the door and got to go UPSTAIRS to bed! I haven’t done that since I lived with my folks (stairs TO the apartment don’t count). The Dog erupted into sleepy giggles at the sight of me, Nate woke up for an in-bed feed, even the cat took a corner and soon we were all snuggled in the same bed.
This might sound like a cliché, but it was a slice of heaven.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Jaws
On some happier notes, my saliva-soaked son has cut his first two bottom teeth. The Dog has taken to calling him Droolie Andrews. With no end to his oral floodwaters in sight, I'm thinking he will be busting out the top two in the next month or so. It's so cute watching him try to chew a piece of watermelon or soft cucumber. Kinda looks like a 90-year-old or something.
Though I am happy that my son is earning his second middle name/second last name (Dislioglu literally translates to Toothy Son), my nipples are somewhat upset by this advancement. Each time I breastfeed there is an ounce of fear. It's kinda like sticking your hand into the mouth of a cute, but possibly vicious, dog and hoping for the best. Except it's your nipple! I had so hoped that I would nurse him until at least the age of one, but my patience (and my aureole) is wearing thin.
I love breastfeeding. I feel so close to my son and I feel like it's something only I can do for him. (That's probably because it is.) I love breastfeeding so much I could have been a wet nurse back in Shakespearean times. But the biting, coupled with this tearing at my breasts with his claws that seem to grow a centimetre in a day, is making me want to stop. But when I try to give him a bottle of formula, he pushes it away and grabs my boob instead. It's like he knows the "girls" are trying to break up with him, so he's making it more difficult.
I was feeling rather depressed about this situation, until I read Marla's post at Hello Josephine and felt like I wasn't alone. Mind you Marla should be given a medal for making it way past the one-year benchmark. I called my partner-in-diapertime V to see how her decided weaning was going. It wasn't. "He's resisting the bottle, so I am trying the sippy cup," she announced. Wean there, done that. Didn't work. In a fit of madness, V has bought everything disposable -- sippy cups, plates, spoons -- and though I am opposed to that, I can forgive her in this time of feed.
There is nothing else to say. Those teeth are mutha-effing sharp man. They haven’t had years of gnawing to turn them into polished beach glass. But I hate reading the chemical make-up of formula (I’m pretty sure my breastmilk doesn’t have coconut oil or the like in it.) and I hate having to go down to make up or heat up a bottle of formula when I can just whip out the boob and administer half asleep.
Whaddy’all think I should do?
I promise to put up new photos once this whole house thing gets somewhat more settled.
Though I am happy that my son is earning his second middle name/second last name (Dislioglu literally translates to Toothy Son), my nipples are somewhat upset by this advancement. Each time I breastfeed there is an ounce of fear. It's kinda like sticking your hand into the mouth of a cute, but possibly vicious, dog and hoping for the best. Except it's your nipple! I had so hoped that I would nurse him until at least the age of one, but my patience (and my aureole) is wearing thin.
I love breastfeeding. I feel so close to my son and I feel like it's something only I can do for him. (That's probably because it is.) I love breastfeeding so much I could have been a wet nurse back in Shakespearean times. But the biting, coupled with this tearing at my breasts with his claws that seem to grow a centimetre in a day, is making me want to stop. But when I try to give him a bottle of formula, he pushes it away and grabs my boob instead. It's like he knows the "girls" are trying to break up with him, so he's making it more difficult.
I was feeling rather depressed about this situation, until I read Marla's post at Hello Josephine and felt like I wasn't alone. Mind you Marla should be given a medal for making it way past the one-year benchmark. I called my partner-in-diapertime V to see how her decided weaning was going. It wasn't. "He's resisting the bottle, so I am trying the sippy cup," she announced. Wean there, done that. Didn't work. In a fit of madness, V has bought everything disposable -- sippy cups, plates, spoons -- and though I am opposed to that, I can forgive her in this time of feed.
There is nothing else to say. Those teeth are mutha-effing sharp man. They haven’t had years of gnawing to turn them into polished beach glass. But I hate reading the chemical make-up of formula (I’m pretty sure my breastmilk doesn’t have coconut oil or the like in it.) and I hate having to go down to make up or heat up a bottle of formula when I can just whip out the boob and administer half asleep.
Whaddy’all think I should do?
I promise to put up new photos once this whole house thing gets somewhat more settled.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Wisteria Lane it's not
It's more like Wisteria Lane meets Coronation Street. There are definitely some Desperate Housewives here, there's also a slew of middle-aged single women, a gaggle of crazy-ass skids, a Christian group home and the requisite VERY nosy, Mrs. Huber-esque neighbour that seems to piss everybody off yet seems to maintain order in "the street". (She's outside right now interrogating the Dog about our stunner of a cat. "Burmese you say? Well my husband's from Burma! You've seen an Asian man walking a pug around here? That's him. TONK! Come out here and look at their cat!" )
In the past month we have had a decorating/TV crew (seperate post on that experience to come-teehee), some flooring guys to restore our ugly floors to their original beauty (who on earth would cover these old gorgeous long planks up?), a group of amazingly helpful friends and family all pass through the doors in an effort to make our house... well, ours.
Sadly, what are not ours by choice are the mistakes of past owners:
* 5 layers of wallpaper underneath deceptively matte paint. Not the kind of stripping I had in mind.
* A teetering toilet that, according to a previous home inspection from 2003, has been teetering for at least the past 2.5 years. Did no one mind? How did "she" live like that?
* A DIY tub installation that survived 3 single women owners but buckled under the weight of the Dog and has now broken away from the caulking and seems to be falling.
* Electrical wiring that is not "to code".
And the latest, greatest, most horrific... We survived the huge storm with very little water entering the basement. So why the musty smell down there? We did not survive two back-to-back loads of laundry. The drain backed up. (wait for it) And so did our SEWAGE!! Nasty! Ok, all we need is a guy with a "snake" right? Wrong. Old clay pipe is bad people, especially when combined with trees that are close to the house. Looks like we have roots in our pipes. Front and back drains clogged from trees. Totoal replacement of clay pipes with new PVC. Cost? Thousands. Ugh.
I feel so defeated. Here we are, a new family, who spent their life savings on a tiny house on a bordering-on-sketchy street. Everything goes wrong at once and we get even deeper into debt. Why us, we ask the virtual man in the sky. The Dog is convinced there is no one watching over us and that Karma and all other ideologies are crap if good people keep getting screwed. I, on the other hand, wish for the days when I didn't read between the lines so much and found comfort in thinking about clouds, white robes, harps and wings.
But then again, it could be worse. It could be New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina it seems, according to one Op-Ed in the Star, "exposed the United States' Third World underbelly." How apt. How depressing. That a country with so much wealth and poverty finds it more inportant to go mess with the lives of others instead of dealing with major problems right at home. I'm sure we all feel the same about this issue. These people were struggling enough to build one life, now they must go and struggle to build another. I wonder how they keep going.
That's humanity I guess. You just suck it up and move forward. Because the alternative, giving up, is more depressing than getting knocked down each time you try to stand up. All I can do is rub Nate's little head and tell him to send good vibes to all the poor little babies out there. I am sure trying to send good vibes to those who've lost everything. I hope they find their families. I hope they are reunited with their pets. I hope, I hope, I hope.
Perhaps looking to the sky is not where to look for help. Especially when the sky opens up and tries to kill you. My father's theory is that New Orleans was a bit like Sodom and Gemorrah. A place full of so much evil and baddies that God is punishing them. Interesting considering I never knew he even believed in the idea of God. So I guess we have to look to one another for answers, for theories, for help. And sometimes, when we inherit the problems of those who came before us, or our neighbours, we just have to take our lumps and try to make a bad situation better for those who will come after us.
In the past month we have had a decorating/TV crew (seperate post on that experience to come-teehee), some flooring guys to restore our ugly floors to their original beauty (who on earth would cover these old gorgeous long planks up?), a group of amazingly helpful friends and family all pass through the doors in an effort to make our house... well, ours.
Sadly, what are not ours by choice are the mistakes of past owners:
* 5 layers of wallpaper underneath deceptively matte paint. Not the kind of stripping I had in mind.
* A teetering toilet that, according to a previous home inspection from 2003, has been teetering for at least the past 2.5 years. Did no one mind? How did "she" live like that?
* A DIY tub installation that survived 3 single women owners but buckled under the weight of the Dog and has now broken away from the caulking and seems to be falling.
* Electrical wiring that is not "to code".
And the latest, greatest, most horrific... We survived the huge storm with very little water entering the basement. So why the musty smell down there? We did not survive two back-to-back loads of laundry. The drain backed up. (wait for it) And so did our SEWAGE!! Nasty! Ok, all we need is a guy with a "snake" right? Wrong. Old clay pipe is bad people, especially when combined with trees that are close to the house. Looks like we have roots in our pipes. Front and back drains clogged from trees. Totoal replacement of clay pipes with new PVC. Cost? Thousands. Ugh.
I feel so defeated. Here we are, a new family, who spent their life savings on a tiny house on a bordering-on-sketchy street. Everything goes wrong at once and we get even deeper into debt. Why us, we ask the virtual man in the sky. The Dog is convinced there is no one watching over us and that Karma and all other ideologies are crap if good people keep getting screwed. I, on the other hand, wish for the days when I didn't read between the lines so much and found comfort in thinking about clouds, white robes, harps and wings.
But then again, it could be worse. It could be New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina it seems, according to one Op-Ed in the Star, "exposed the United States' Third World underbelly." How apt. How depressing. That a country with so much wealth and poverty finds it more inportant to go mess with the lives of others instead of dealing with major problems right at home. I'm sure we all feel the same about this issue. These people were struggling enough to build one life, now they must go and struggle to build another. I wonder how they keep going.
That's humanity I guess. You just suck it up and move forward. Because the alternative, giving up, is more depressing than getting knocked down each time you try to stand up. All I can do is rub Nate's little head and tell him to send good vibes to all the poor little babies out there. I am sure trying to send good vibes to those who've lost everything. I hope they find their families. I hope they are reunited with their pets. I hope, I hope, I hope.
Perhaps looking to the sky is not where to look for help. Especially when the sky opens up and tries to kill you. My father's theory is that New Orleans was a bit like Sodom and Gemorrah. A place full of so much evil and baddies that God is punishing them. Interesting considering I never knew he even believed in the idea of God. So I guess we have to look to one another for answers, for theories, for help. And sometimes, when we inherit the problems of those who came before us, or our neighbours, we just have to take our lumps and try to make a bad situation better for those who will come after us.
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