Men of Steel

Happy Halloween everyone!

You can read my re-cap on Blogging Baby here.

Complete set of Halloween photos can be found here!

Days of Whine and No Roses

I'm about to whine and I don't want any hate mail about it. Your family's poopy diapers don't smell like roses either. People who live in houses with toilets shouldn't throw shit. And revised cliche after revised cliche...

I'm getting shit on today. Nate was up all night crying. He's getting over his first ear infection and I think his pain meds wore off. Then he and I slept in until 8 (I have to be at work for 8:30) because the Dog left at 6:30 and didn't want to wake me up after the night I had.

Then I bundle Nate up, get us in the car. The car doesn't start. I try it again. Nope. I call work to say I won't be making it to Mississauga, but I'll TTC to the downtown office. I leave Nate on the sidewalk in the stroller, while I put on warmer coat, gloves, hat, etc. I walk in heels to the daycare in the freezing cold and Nate bawls his friggin' eyes out because he's sick and sleepy and doesn't want to go to daycare. I can't afford to miss anymore days of work, so no choice but to leave while he bawls in Carmi's arms. Then I walk out to the TTC stop only to find the Gerrard streetcar is not running due to road work. I try to get a cab, but there are no cabs for some reason and my cell battery is dead.

So I decide to go home (super late anyways) and take a breather while my cell battery (and my own battery, though sadly not by car battery) recharges. As soon as I see my house I start bawling my eyes out at the realization that you can't be a good mum and a good employee. Like two-in-one shampoo, you do a mediocre job at each and constantly let someone down. It made me feel like I sucked ass at everything and I just wanted to quit both jobs right then and there. (motherhood and Big Book Company, LOVING Blogging Baby work!) For the first time I understood why some women walk away and leave everything behind.

Someone tell me I'm not the only one who feels the cards are stacked against her. (Though I suspect a quick surf through blogs will reveal that I'm not.) I think it's the realization that you can't give certain things in your life the energy and concentration that you once did. You remember being 25 and what you thought of women who called in sick because of their kids all the time. You have become that woman. You can't get your once-fabulous shit together. It knocks you down a few sizes -- but not enough to get your ass into skinny jeans. And you just. want. to. give. up.

Let's Get One In Right Now!

OK, I might be ready to cough up the SIL story, but I have to think this through. Might have to go to the Basement. I'll let you know when it's up.

Last night I was feeling bloated and nauseous on my way to pick up Nate from Grandma's. (full story on that tomorrow. I promised Kate I would tell this one.) I thought to myself, Oh no -- I'm pregnant again.

I had written a while back about my desire to conceive a second child this year AKA Operation Baby 2007. The Dog was really on the fence about the whole idea, but he finally came around this August on our US road trip. He saw that the family bond was strong and that I was doing well mentally/emotionally. And he really saw the advantage of having a sibling for Nate while increasing the love in our big-hearted family.

But then I smartened up, or chickened out, depending how you look at it. I'm currently on a part-time contract at work that's up in December. The Dog is also on a contract, though he has no end date and his job is mostly secure. (They won't be getting rid of hockey in this town any time soon.) We don't have a benefits plan between us, and we live in a two-bedroom house. The chances for a desired spring baby got further and further away. The mature thing to do would be to wait until conditions are better. But then, it's never the right time, is it?

Earlier this month, on the fringes of ovulation, I threw caution to the wind in the heat of the moment and we decided to skip the whole contraception thing. We did the same thing on the tail end of ovulation. And by the third encounter of the month we were both a bit weary (read: frightened) of the idea and decided to settle for a handjob night instead.

On Sunday, I casually bought a First Response with my groceries. Last night, we sat on the edge of the bed together, at my insistence, and waited for the second pink line to appear.

Now, it's me and I'm a bit of a dolt and I haven't actually missed a period yet that I know of. In fact I can barely remember my last period. "Hmmm... I had it in July on my birthday..." So of course, there was no second line. I'm not pregnant, yet.

I was probably just anxious about going to my mother-in-law's after the weekend we had, or I ate a bad shrimp. But the range of emotions we went through on the car ride home affected us both dramatically. We were all ready to celebrate, but then no line. It was unexpectedly disappointing. But the experience made us sure of one thing: it's time to start trying.

I looked at my lovely husband sitting with our beautiful son on his lap. The Dog turned to me with love in his eyes and said, "Come on! Let's get one in right now!"

*sigh* Will he ever get some skills in this department?

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

Deep breaths.

Today, I am embarking on a journey that will hopefully carry me through the rest of my life. As of 9 AM ET this morning, I will officially be a columnist for one of the largest online blogs for parenting and children, Blogging Baby.

This also means I am officially coming out of the closet. My full name is listed there. No more hiding behind Scarbie Doll. If I want to blog about really private things, I may have to move to Toledo, wear a moustache and start a new blog. (Who am I kidding? I'm Armenian! I already have a moustache!)

Fret not MFM fans. I'll still talk about sex and swear on THIS site, I just won't be writing about my sister-in-law. (Though I REALLY REALLY want to because she pissed me off this weekend and the story is GOOD.)

I am waiting for the rash of "How the fuck did YOU get that job? You don't have more talent than me!" comments and emails. Believe me, they will come. But alas, I have no more of an idea than you why I get to wear the Blogging Baby crown. I sent in three samples like anyone else and somehow I made it through the swimsuit and evening gown competitions. Kidding. They liked me! They really liked me!

I have been reading Blogging Baby for so long that it seems totally sureal to be in the fold. Like I'm in a Michel Gondry film. The other columnists are wonderful, totally friendly and welcoming. I am excited to have my name published next to theirs.

So here goes. Getting paid to blog. Cuh-razy! I never thought it would happen. I'm not making an NBA star's salary, but it's enough to get a pedicure once in a while and not stress about what I will do when my contract with the Big Book Company is up in December. I'll still need to find work, I just won't need to have panic attacks over it. Phew!

Thanks to everyone who has supported me by coming here over the past 2.5 years. I tip my hat to you. You are the reason I still do this. If I make you laugh, if I make you feel less alone, then I've got the talent to write for anyone. I promise to continue bringing you the funniest tales from my family life and my nutty life in general.

Nadine Silverthorne

Hunk O' Meme

When we were kids, we were forced to go on a lot of road trips that involved fueling my dad's obsessions with either dead American presidents or dead American authors. Driving to Washington Irving's grave is very creepy for a 10-year-old, when your only association with Sleepy Hollow is the scary Disney version.

Anyway, we used to stay in motels and watch a lot of TV in the evenings. I remember in one motel in Buttfuck, NY, a commercial came on for Underoos. Remember them? The superhero underwear? Well the commercial had a bunch of boys posing in their cool drawers and each one would rifle off their hero. "Superman's for me!" The last one said, "The Hulk is my man!"

My sister was probably about 6 when she jumped on the bed in response to the ad and said what sounded like, "Hunk o' meh-meh," which sent my parents into giggle fits. Meme in Turkish is slang for breast. My parents still laugh about it to this day! It's probably one of those "You had to be there" things, but this long intro is leading up to the fact that I giggle everytime someone asks me to do a meme.

But I do them anyway. This time, I've been tagged by the fabulous Penelope, who may just be my blogging twin. So how can I resist. Go give Penelope a high five for putting James Blunt as her answer for question 1.

1. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?

I have had allergic reactions to many artists over the years (Sophie B Hawkins, Donna Lewis, Posh Spice solo). Thankfully, they mostly ended up being one-hit wonders and I didn't have to deal with them for the long haul. Currently, well I really wish Nickelback would go away, no matter how much my friend Big J likes them because someone sang an awesome version on Rockstar or whatever. And if I had more switches, I would take out every new band that tries to be Green Day. I think Green Day were so annoyed by this phenom that they decided to come back and show the kids how it's done with a kickass record!

OK, I'll try really hard to keep things shorter. Brevity's not my strong suit.

2. You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no-strings-attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity of your choice?

Ewan MacGregor. He's the only one my husband would endorse. Plus he's got a HUGE... light sabre.

3. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who do you pick?

D'Angelo -- that Untitled video... wow.

4. Now that you’ve slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy shit, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna spend it?

Really. Cheap. Hookers.

Kidding of course. I would head to Allen's on the Danforth and buy burgers for my closest friends.

5. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Barthelona

6. Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another hundred-dollar bill. Shit! Now that you are in the new location, what are you gonna do?

Since this is a fantasy meme, I'm just going to convert that into Euros right now. So 100 Euros? I'm no fool. I'm heading straight to the Zara headquarters.

7. The Angel of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?

Get into Love Island (aka our bed) with the whole fam for some snuggle action. Ooh, and I'm going to eat Ben and Jerry's too! Better add some to the grocery list, just in case.

8. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What’s it gonna be?

Ooh, teleporting for sure. If I could zap myself from A to B, well that would solve a lot of problems.

9. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

The day we made Nate, the best day of my life. Eating lobster, drinking vintage Dom P, and being totally in love with our city and each other.

10. Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there?

London, 1790s. Give me those Jane Austen parties and empire frocks that make your boobs look fab and your tummy mysterious. "Did she eat a lot?" "Can't tell. The dress just floats away from that area."

11. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Acapulco, 1997. My only one night stand.

12. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world! Bitchin’! What country are you going to live in now?

Ah France. They hate everyone, especially foreigners that move to their country, but they love star-fuckers. They also love strikes, Jerry Lewis and burning cars, but the whole wine/cheese/bread, shopping, Mediterranean thing cancels out the bad stuff.

13. The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous-person of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?

River Phoenix. There'd be no need for that annoying Leo DC if River hadn't ODed.

14. What’s your theme song?

Well it used to be Peggy Lee's "I Enjoy Being a Girl" but then SJP killed that with her Gap ads. Now it's Kelly Clarkson's "Since You Been Gone." Damn I love that song -- still!


OK, so now I have to tag people to do this thing. I tag Rob in Victoria, MotherBumper, and Blondie

pomegraNATE

Foods consumed by Nate during sickness: Pomegranate

Yeah that's right. Just one food item.
My mother decided to introduce Nate to pomegranate, or noor as it's called in Armenian. It's like our national fruit, if we had a national fruit. My grandmother used to take a pomegranate every New Year's Eve, and at the stroke of midnight she would throw it out the window with the intention of smashing it. Then she would utter some Middle Eastern Voodoo so that each pom seed that exploded would bring more luck and auspiciousness to the family that year. I often thought of my New Year's baby as the pomegranate for our family, bringing his good fortune with him into this world.

That being said, I am not a fan of the pom. The juice is tasty, but what's with the seeds? I don't do seeds. Plus, when you crack it open the juice sprays out and stains what you're wearing worse than Bill Clinton. Also, I am not sure that feeding tiny chokable seeds to a toddler is wise, but apparently my family has been feeding them to kids for generations, so I just gave in.

So that's all he'd eaten for 3 days! She was so happy that he loved it, she made sure to give us a container of all the individual seeds already broken up. At her house, he eats them neatly. At my house he eats them while he's running around and they inevitably roll off the table all over the floor and I miss a few during clean up and end up with stained socks. Argh.

I am happy to report that after a quick visit to my homey today, we were given wee magic granules that seem to have us in better shape and had Nate eating like a champ. He actually ate BOTH the meals I cooked him today! That NEVER happens! He usually has to refuse something. But today he ate my tortellini AND my curried cauliflower soup. I'll see how long this lasts and then I might have to go back to get more magic fairy dust. Thanks homey, for reading this blog and mocking me until I got my ass through your doors. You are a saviour yet again.

Dispatches from Snotville

Times Nate woke up and asked to get into bed with me: Every single night for the last week
Hours of sleep I got on average per night: 45 minutes (I've said it before: Why is it called co-sleeping when only the child gets any sleep?)
Times I've wiped my nose: 472
Times I've wiped Nate's nose: 1034
Boxes of tissue used up: 6

My parents kidnapped us Thursday night and took us to their suburban hospital/hellhole, which I was grateful for since I needed help. I'm not too proud to call for back up. The Dog was working double shifts all weekend, and I was too weak to brave it on my own. Plus they have cable, which, like Coca Cola, is fun on occasion.

On Friday, while my parents were at work, I tried to keep Nate complacent and resting by letting him watch television. He overloaded on Thomas (his favourite, "Tommiess!") and Dora (hearing him say, "Oh myan" when he sees Swiper is fun). Then we played with playdough and made faux pizzas and cakes that he managed to fake eat instead of actually shoving in his mouth, a sure sign that he's growing up. We coloured, he pushed various toys around and I tuckered out. I got so tired I could barely move. But my nose was running. The light bulb went off!

"Nate, can you bring mommy a Kleenex?"
"Nooo."
Damn, that didn't work like I thought. I needed to try a different tactic of mind control. Why didn't I ever take a psych course?

"Sure you can! Come on! Show mummy what a big boy you are and bring her that Kleenex!"
"No."

This went on for what felt like forever. And then a light at the end of my dark tunnel! He was making his way to the box!
"That's it! Now bring it to mummy!"
Eureka! Yes, this was awesome -- we were communicating!

But then he looked me in the eye with that sly way of his, tore the tissue into 8 bajillion pieces, walked over to me handing me a piece the size of a postage stamp and proudly declared, "Keenex mummy!"

Winner: Nate

Top 10 Songs That Make Me Think of Nate

I am so freakin' sick. This is what I get for making fun of the flu shot every year. I should really call my homey for some herbal remedies, but the NeoCitran is so close and it's sleep inducing ways are so welcome. So while I'm waiting for my chemical elixir to cool...

I'm not really into kiddie music. Traditional nursery rhymes and lullabies? Yeah, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just doesn't do it for me. (OK, maybe a bit when Nate sings "Tweeentew, Tweeentew...") Here are 10 songs that do:

10. "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" -- Lauryn Hill
This is the first song I ever sung to my son. I was in Norway, having a shower, soaping up a belly that was more gas than placenta, (fuck, I could not remember that word just now. I was like placebo? Polenta? Mom brain.) when this song came to me and I thought of the lyrics in a different way. "You'd be like heaven to touch/ I wanna hold you so much..." took even greater meaning when I longed to take my son in my arms while he was in the NICU isolette. I would whisper this song to him through the holes in the glass.

9. "Beautiful Boy" -- John Lennon
A pretty song by one of my all-time heroes. When I hear it I think, poor Julian Lennon, his dad never wrote a song about him. Well, I guess there's "Hey Jude" but I'm pretty sure Paul wrote that one. And now when JL sings the last line, "Darling, darling, darling, darling Sean..." I inevitably think of Britney and Sean P and I wonder if Brit Brit has this song on her iPod. Strange how my mind works, huh?

8. "I Hope You Dance" -- LeAnn Womack
Yes, it's a sappy radio hit. Yes, it's a country song. Yes, it makes me cry. I can't help it -- as a writer I've always been a lyrics girl, and the words to this song make me tear up.
"I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean/
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens/
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance/
And if you get the choice to sit it out or dance/
I hope you daaaaance..."

Yeah, crying just typing them. But that might be my fever talking.

7. "Dry Your Eyes" -- The Streets
The rap part of the song is about a guy who desperately wants his girfriend back. The chorus is sung by his friend, who urges him to forget about her and move on. Why does this make me think of my son? Well it's nothing particularly emotional or moving. The chorus goes, "Dry your eyes mate..." and we would change it to "Dry your eyes Nate" especially back in the day when he was crying all the time. Now we just bop around the kitchen to it, while pretending we're North London hoodies.

6. "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" -- Roberta Flack
Admittedly, it took a long time for me to listen to this track without thinking of that creepy Clint Eastwood movie, Play Misty for Me. (A film that will turn every guy off one night stands) But Roberta's voice is haunting and the lyrics, "The first time ever I saw your face/I felt the earth move in my hands..." are more poignant to me now than ever.

5. "Always Be My Baby" -- Mariah Carey
"Me and Mariah...go back like babies and pacifiahs..." Oops, wrong Mariah song. Say what you want about Mariah, but she can do no wrong by me. I worship her pop divadom. She is the queen of all hoochies. (Yes, I think she's far more regal a hooch than L'il Kim) She sings some catchy tunes, many of which had me grinding with strange European boys on random dancefloors in my 20s. Let's face it, Nate will always be my baby. We love partying to this song any day. It's the ultimate soundtrack to any happy, sun-filled home. Try it, you'll like it. Sing it with me now, "Doo doo doot dah, doo doo doot de doot de dah..."

4. "Dream a Little Dream" -- The Mamas and the Papas
A lovely little lullaby sung by the husky-voiced Mama Cass. I would listen to this on my cassette player walkman as I was going to sleep in high school, dreaming of a boy that I would love enough to miss someday. Now it doubles as part of our bedtime ritual. It's more about romantic love than parental love, but the melody and imagery are so pretty that it works for our purposes. Plus, I don't sound like a dying cow when I sing it.

"Stars shining bright above you/
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you/
Birds singing in the sycamore trees/
Dream a little dream of me..."

3. "L-O-V-E" -- Nat King Cole
Ahhh Nat. What can you say about Nat? This was the last hit he had before he died of lung cancer in 1965. (thanks Wikipedia!) It's a joyous song with sweet lyrics, Nat's velvetty vocals and a big band backup.
"L is for the way you look at me/
O is for the only one I see/
V is very, very extraordinary/
E is even more than anyone that you adore can..."

2. "If I Could" -- Regina Belle
There are many versions of this song about a mother's hopes for her child, including those by supreme divas Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand. IMO Regina Belle's version is the one to hear. But I'm an RnB loving whore, so you might have a different opinion.
"If I could/
I would try to shield your innocence from time/
But the part of life I gave you isn't mine/
I'll watch you grow, so I can let you go..."

Here's a link to the lyrics, because they are all worth taking in.

1. "Baby Mine" -- Alison Krauss
This song from Dumbo, from a mother comforting her child, is the perfect bedtime lullaby. Yeah, when I think of Dumbo's mom putting her trunk through the cage to hold her son and how that whole thing works out, I still get choked up. But the sentiment is perfect for rocking to sleep.

"Baby mine, don't you cry/
Baby mine, dry your eyes/
Rest your head close to my heart/
Never to part/
Baby of mine..."

What about you? What non-traditional songs make you think of your little one?

Soulmates

SO DRUNK! I can hardly keep my eyes open! GTs. GTs.

Something Old, Something New, Something Blonde

From time to time I have mentioned my friend Blondie in this blog. If you've been reading me for a while, you may or may not have noticed that the Blondie mentions have decreased. It probably never bothered you, but it really bothers me. I was too chicken to tell her in person, so I wrote my thoughts here and hoped that she would understand me like she always has had a knack for doing.

Blondie and I met through mutual friends in January of 2001. She's the type of girl that makes you feel dorky the instant you lay eyes on her: tall, grace of a gazelle, short-pixie hair framing the loveliest skin and facial features. I awkwardly said hello and then made sure to stay on the opposite side of the room.

We probably would have gotten on like Paris and Nicole (me being the pre-anorexic Nicole) in season 1 of The Simple Life, but we each had a prejudice about the other. Our mutual friend was a fickle-yet-endearing-skank, God love her, who swapped best friends and lovers like models on Project Runway. Each week she had a new "best friend" that you just HAD to meet. And each month that "best friend" would be spoken of no longer and was eventually replaced by a new "best friend." So when Blondie and I ended up in the Endearing Skank's apartment a few months after our initial meeting (to watch Britney Spears Live in Vegas), we were a little apprehensive of each other.

A few short months later, we found ourselves working together. The Endearing Skank got us both jobs working for The Big TV Company. At first the Endearing Skank sat between us, but eventually she got an office and soon Blondie and I were sitting a few feet from each other. It didn't take long to realize we were meant to be. I was so wrong about my initial impression. Though her looks are indeed the type to stop you in your tracks, shortly into a conversation you realize her beauty is not intimidating, just lovely to look at and enjoy. She is the type of person who makes you feel warm when she smiles at you. Unlike the Endearing Skank who hugged like a dead fish, Blondie hugged you tight, like she meant it and when she laughed at your jokes it made your day. But more than that, she was wicked smart and had an evil sarcastic side that I could not resist. I HAD to be friends with her.

We soon became "sole"mates. Working on Bloor St meant lunches and after work walks to the subway were often sidelined by trips to the many shoe stores nearby. We were both the type to cry at long distance commercials and other people's baby pictures. We were both obsessed with pop culture and celeb gossip, which, back then, was nowhere near as huge as it is now. We were the rarity in the office (save Ragdoll on the other side of the partition, but she was shy back then), checking HelloMagazine.com first thing each day, discussing Justin Timberlake's finer points and who's marriage would be the next to go. She thought I was funny. She even got my weirder, darker references to stuff. She made me funnier.

She's super clean, I'm a slob. She's tall and blonde, I am short and brunette. She's private, I don't know what that word means. She exercises 4 times a week, I do one sit-up getting out of bed each morning. But we work. We were always able to laugh at our differences.

She invited me to her yoga class Thursday nights. There I met Shantih and Dings. The Thursday night ritual is the one I miss the most. Shantih moved away to Montreal, Dings to Vancouver, and me to the East Side. The yoga class symbolized that our friendship was being taken outside the workplace. It was the friend equivalent to meeting a your new boyfriend's parents for the first time.

I loved her. Huge girl crush love. I wanted to tell her I loved her, but something about Blondie's demeanour made me feel like if I told her how much her friendship meant to me I would scare her away. So I stayed silent. We started hanging out with our respective partners as couples. We moved a few blocks away from them. (God, I sound like a lezzy stalker now. Please, please take this the right way people.) She and CrowN started to come over frequently for dinner. Our dudes became buds. Brunch at the Lakeview became a weekly occurance. We were intermeshed in each others' lives. I openly told her I loved her, and often. She loved me back.

She walked into the office one Monday and announced, "I think I might be buying a condo." I turned to her and said, "Not to one-up you, but I think I might be pregnant dude." Her face was priceless. We read the instructions to the pregnancy test together on the subway. When I told her the next morning that I was indeed preggers, she cried with happiness. She was the last person I talked to before they wheeled me into the OR to cut my baby out of me. It meant a lot to me to be able to share those moments with her.

I had my baby and then moved a 20-minute car ride away. We acted like it wasn't going to affect us, but it did. Not being a few feet away from each other every day took its toll. Weekly visits became more infrequent. I missed her a lot, but didn't make enough of an effort to see her more than once a month. I know I come with a lot of "extras" as a friend. I'm not very monogamous in my friendships (though nothing like the Endearing Skank) and am the type of person who has a lot of close friends -- though I am fiercely loyal to those I love. Two of my close friends, Big J and Pipes, I have known since Kindergarten. My best friend I have known since grade 9. I am not the type of person who throws friends out, but they do have to share my time. It's the con that comes with enjoying the company of many people and seeing the good in everyone. I also have a demanding family, including a sister who is like a second husband sometimes. I know I'm not the easiest person to be friends with. Still growing apart with someone you so highly esteem hurts like a bitch.

Blondie told me she was getting engaged casually over an email. She said they were getting married in Vegas in September and that they didn't want a huge fuss. I was over the moon for her, but felt I had to downplay my excitement. Not that it really mattered to me. She and CrowN have always been committed to each other. But a wedding is a big deal for any woman, whether she wants a fuss or not. I was worried that CrowN would be upset if I got all giddy and silly about it. But upon seeing CrowN that night he was super excited, so I couldn't figure out: Why all the no fuss?

I threw her an understated stagette. We had a good time, but it was killing me that I couldn't go to the wedding. The Dog and I had just come back from our baseball trip that we had booked before we knew of the wedding. Why didn't she tell me before I booked the trip? Maybe she didn't really want me there? It was in Vegas after all and don't people go there to get married without a lot of people around? Maybe we weren't as close as I thought? Maybe she was upset that I couldn't go? Maybe I was over-dramatizing things and it really wasn't a big deal to her? I had questions, but no answers. And for some reason I felt our friendship could not withstand a confrontation. Not that either of us are the type to get in a shouting match with a girlfriend, but somehow telling the truth about this felt like something I shouldn't do. At least not right before such an important event.

The week of the wedding, I thought about the two of them every day. "I really SHOULD be there," I thought. I really WANTED to be there. I don't know why I beat myself up about it. I guess that I subconsciously felt the wedding symbolized the distance between us. It made me sad.

Two weeks ago, we celebrated the wedding of Blondie and CrowN at her mum and step-dad's place. It was the type of party that will go down in history amongst our friends. Blondie was stunning--glowing and utterly in love as she kissed us hello. She was genuinely glad to see us and I don't know why that surprised me. She took a photo of the Dog and me in the backyard and pre-empted it by saying, "Ah, the couple that I model my own relationship after." I never knew that she felt that way about us. It made me a bit misty. Then we all ended up in the basement to watch the wedding video. I didn't think a wedding video could affect me, but I found myself moved to tears watching these two, formerly altar-shy people, pushing their fears aside to declare their eternal love for one another. I realized I was being an ass and the wedding had nothing to do with me-- it was a private moment between two people very much in love.

We spent most of the night dancing in the living room with Wierdo, and it felt like old times (The only thing missing was Dings. It was beyond fun and I lost my voice belting out "Since You Been Gone" at the top of my lungs. And the next morning I couldn't stop thinking about it all.

Then this past Saturday, we celebrated the wedding of another friend. I had been thinking about this post that has been sitting in my draft box for over a week. I had discussed my feelings with Queen Nomad on Friday night and decided that putting all this down in a blog post, instead of telling Blondie to her face, was hypocritical. How could I be miffed about finding out about her wedding in an email if I didn't have the balls to tell her this to her face? So at our friend's wedding, after quite a few drinks and pieces of cake, I grabbed her on the dancefloor and tried not to slur as I told her all the things I couldn't put in a greeting card. That I missed her terribly. That our phone calls from work are not enough. That I want to make more of an effort to see her, to hang out and laugh like we used to. That this isn't like some co-worker friendship that ends when someone gets a new job. This is a lifelong journey.

What I'm not sure if I said (details of the night a bit fuzzy, though I have a vague memory of asking the cab driver to take us through the McD drive-thru and then passing out in a Big Mac haze while watching Total Recall) was this: I want to be beside you when you take your next steps in life, I want you to be able to announce things with joy, in person. You need to be able to count on me more and call me up when you're feeling up or down. You're tired, I'm tired, Fall TV is calling. I get it. But you mean too much to me to let this slide into an acquaintanceship. I'm tired of keeping my feelings about this inside, while you slip further and further away.

Phew! That's a load and a half off my chest. (like I needed to lose more off my teeny chest.)

MFM Book Club: Before I Wake -- Your Questions Answered

So way back in August, I gave away 10 copies of Robert J. Wiersema's book Before I Wake and said that if you read it and submitted questions, our dear author friend would answer. Rob is obviously a man of his word, so he has graciously done so below. Didn't submit a question? You might find your internal burning question answered already. Being a writer, brevity is not one of Rob's strong suits. Heh.

If you loved Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones, or have ever questioned your faith and/or the idea of miracles, you should not miss Before I Wake. I really can't say too much about the book without giving away the plot, plus if you don't really know what it's about then you're in for a good ride.

Be warned, the answers to these questions assume a knowledge of the events of Before I Wake. In other words, they're spoiler heavy. You've been warned.

1. Want to know what Robert's all time top 3 favourite books are, and if this is too difficult to answer he can just list the first three really good ones that come to mind. CC

Rob: Well, "favourite" is something of a loaded term, but I'm game.

First, chronologically at least, would have to be John Irving's The World According to Garp. I stole my first copy of this the summer that I was twelve, and I've worn out three or four more, as I read it every summer. Garp was the book that gave me the courage of my convictions, that told me that it was not only possible to write, as I had been doing, but to live the life of a writer. Of course, Garp's life as a writer was characterized by misogyny, infidelity, sudden violence and a series of babysitters... Mine hasn't turned out that way. Yet.

Next would have to be John Crowley's masterful Little, Big. This is... well, it's... actually, it's... hmm. I've read it probably a dozen times and I have no idea how to characterize it. It's something of a Victorian faerie tale, something of a family saga touched with magic, something of a ... yeah. At its heart, for me, it's a love story between the bookish Smoky Barnable and the lovely Daily Alice Drinkwater, though just when you think that's what it is, it changes again. So... It's probably my favourite book. I haunt used bookstores looking for copies, and I carry one with me whenever I travel as a sort of talisman, a familiar dream-state to slip into in unfamiliar surroundings. Inevitably, though, I end up giving these copies away (usually, it must be admitted, to women). I think I've probably given away ten or twelve copies in the 15 years since I discovered it.

And the third... Well, that one's always the tricky one. I try to keep the space open for whatever is freshest in my mind, whatever new treasure I've discovered. Right now, I'm reading the new David Adams Richards, so I'm inclined to say his Giller winner, Mercy Among the Children. Or Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves. Or Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales. Or...

You know what? I'm going to say The Sandman. Yes, Neil Gaiman's graphic novel. 76 issues in ten volumes, telling, cumulatively, one of the greatest single novels of the twentieth century. Another book(s) that I re-read on an annual basis. [Editor's Note: I think, that possibly, DC Comics is going to put out the entire collection in one volume this fall. Rob? Do you know about this in case anyone's interested?]

2. Before I Wake deals with some deep explorations of faith, yet it addresses them so sensitively that it will appeal to many people of different faiths. What role did your own personal beliefs play in the development of the story? Stacey

Rob: In all honestly, I don't have a lot of faith of my own. I'm an agnostic, bordering on atheism. If pressed, I would describe myself as an agnostic Buddhist (ie, I believe in the teachings and the practices, but I've got no time for the orthodoxy and structure that have sprung up around what is essentially a solitary practice.) I'm spiritual, not religious.

Before I Wake did draw heavily on my personal questions of faith, and you can see them being worked out, in a way, in the pragmatism that Simon and Karen adopt. Though that's not entirely it. It also dealt with questions about the power of faith, and the force of unthinking, unquestioning belief, which I believe to be the most destructive force currently at play in the world. It also dealt with my belief that there is another world out there, a world of the divine, of Mystery, pressing in on us at all points, forcing us to reckon with it in moments of terror and transcendence.

3. Is he a parent? I'm assuming someone is going to ask him about the grueling scene in which the mother curls up with her daughter in the hospital bed. Oh. I cried. But then again, who wouldn't? Andrea from the Fishbowl

Rob:I'm glad that scene affected you that way. Wow, that sounded mean, didn't it? What I meant was, I continue to have a similar reaction to that scene when reading it to audiences, even after having read it hundreds of times in various forms. I'm glad it's not just me.

I am a father. Xander is 7. Just 7, at the end of August. Interestingly, though (to me at least), I wrote the book BEFORE I
became a father, when my wife was in the early months of pregnancy. I wrote it out of fear, out of a purgative desire to face down what might be one of the most terrifying things I could dream of for this new stage of life I was entering. I was thrilled when, upon starting to revise, I realized how right I seemed to have gotten the child stuff in the book's opening pages, despite not having spent a whole lot of time with any kids.

And to pre-empt a follow-up, I don't think I'd be able to write that first section today. Not in the same way. Not without seeing my son's face and flinching away.

4. I'd be interested in hearing about how the book first began and how it changed shape along the way. Did you intend to write this particular story from the outset? Andrea from the Fishbowl

Rob: Intention is a strange thing. The novel was inspired by a story I read in the Vancouver Sun in 97 or 98, about an eleven-year-old girl who had fallen into the family pool and essentially died, though she had been brought back, in a catatonic state. Her parents noticed strange, miraculous seeming things happening around her, and word leaked out into their religious community and around the world. She became so well-known that they were forced, once a week, to take her out into the backyard under a canopy and welcome the pilgrims -- who had called ahead to reserve a spot -- into her presence.

I read this story once and, I think, chucked it out. But clearly it stuck with me, working in the back of my mind, raising questions about the nature of miracles, about how non-religious parents might react, that sort of thing. But it wasn't a book, even in germinal form, until a scene sprang, unbidden, into my head. That scene was of two shattered parents, distraught, using their daughter to heal their infertility, and to heal the rift between them. I knew that this scene was going to be the end of something, and as soon as I realized that, I knew that there was an accident at the beginning. So all I had to do was fill in point B to Y, right?

You would think.

I had no plan for Before I Wake, and I was surprised at every turn. Absolutely nothing proceeded in the way I had imagined. I knew, for example, that after the accident the driver, in a state of despair, was going to disappear. But in my mind I imagined him becoming a street person, joining the ranks of the urban disappeared, those we see without seeing on a daily basis. So I was stunned -- STUNNED -- when he tried to kill himself. And when he couldn't? Jeez...

I have long scoffed at writers who suggested that their characters got away from them and took over. But that's exactly what happened. Thankfully I expressed my scoffing in muted tones, or I'd owe a lot of apologies right about now.

And the thing is, I don't think I could have written the book as it is if I had thought it through. For one thing, it develops so
organically because that's the way it developed for me. Nothing was imposed. Perhaps more importantly, though, it's such a stretch in so many ways that I think I would have been too incredulous to actually write anything. The Wandering Jew and Judas meet in the Victoria Public Library? That's not a plot development, that's the set-up for a not-very good joke. It's just as well I didn't know, from writing session to writing session, what was going to come next.

5. I'm also wondering about the non-traditional seesaw narrative style. Did anyone try to dissuade you from setting it up this way? Andrea from the Fishbowl

Rob: The narrative form of the book exists for two reasons. Initially, I wrote it because I wanted a scene, late in the book, narrated by Sherry from within her sleep. It didn't take too long in the writing process, however, before I realized that this was a VERY BAD IDEA. Not only was it (in my mind) overly derivative of Faulkner, but it risked answering questions I didn't want answered. Were I to have pinned down the nature of Sherry's existence in that way, it would have shaped the rest of the novel in ways that I didn't particularly want (ie, if she were suffering in the comatose state, that would give Karen and Simon's actions a very different feel). So I decided not to write that scene.

Which left me with the narrative structure.

Now, this was in the very early days of the writing. I could, at that point, have gone back and adopted a traditional consistent
point-of-view. But by then, I didn't want to. I was enjoying having my cake and eating it too. I liked being able to both show a character's inner workings AND to show how they appear and affect the other characters. Simon, for example, is a cad. We can see his effect on Karen and Mary and others around him. But we can also see his internal conflict, his attempts at rationalizing his behaviour, his sudden awakening to the world around him. I liked that play between, essentially, internal monologues and "seeing ourselves as others see us".

Thankfully, it worked. I think. There were times when the voices were too close in tone and usage to be easily distinguishable, but that got sanded out in the revision process.

Did anyone try to dissuade me? Not really. The book was fait accompli before anyone saw it, so it was a touch too late. What did happen is that the number of voices was substantially reduced. In the first draft, virtually every character had a narrative voice. Some (police officers, nurses, etc) were easy to lose; others hurt to cut. I still miss the doctor's voice sometimes -- it was a nice counter to Simon, and set up a certain chemistry with Karen that you can see lurking in the shadows of the finished novel, but was much more apparent in earlier versions.

6. Do you have any advice for other writers? Metro Mama

Rob: First off, it's very, very strange to be asked this question. You're not the first, but... It's like asking the guy who just won the
lottery for his financial planning advice.

No, I know, it's not like that. Feels like that, though.

Advice, advice.

Read. Read everything. Read things you wouldn't normally read. If you're of a proper sensibility, I'd advise reviewing some books. Not only are you forced to read things you might not have otherwise, you're forced to ruthlessly dismember innocent books to determine how they don't work. That's a skill that'll come in handy when you're trying to make sure you're own work does... well... work.

And when you're not reading, write. Give yourself permission to write badly. Then write better. I've heard someone say that every writer has to produce a million words of garbage before they start getting to the good stuff. So it behooves you to move through that stage as quickly as possible. Get to the good stuff, and don't begrudge the time to get there.

And if you're constitutionally up for it, I would advise getting up earlier in the morning to write. I always hear people saying that they don't have time enough for the writing they want to do. Yeah, you do. Carve it out. Make the time. Set your alarm clock an hour early and drag your sorry carcass to your desk. You'll resent like hell losing sleep to do this, so you're going to want to make the most of the time.

And take comfort in the fact that I'm right there with you, bleary-eyed and unwashed, putting one word down in front of another. That's how it works.

There are several great things about writing early in the morning. First off, you're probably alone. Everyone else is likely asleep. Secondly, your internal editor is likely asleep, so it's a perfect time to do that uninhibited first-draft writing that is so
pleasurable. And thirdly, you start the day with the comfort and knowledge that, no matter what happens, the writing is done - you've made it a priority and you've followed through.

A special thanks to Rob for being so awesome and congratulations on his well-deserved success. Stay tuned for the next MFM Online Book Club announcement later this week.

Son of a Bitch!

So I write this nice post about my hubs and what does he do? Well he leaves me sick as a dog with Nate all day while he trots off to work, comes home and declares, "No offense, but you don't seem that bad. I'm not missing basketball."

Fucker, I may not seem that sick but I have laryngitis and bronchitis. Talking kinda hurts. Not talking is kinda impossible when you're with a toddler all day. I can't very well walk around with a notebook around my neck playing pictionary when I want to tell Nate to do something, can I? To make matters worse, Nate does not go to bed until 9:30! He wanted me to read him everysinglebooknexttotherockingchair! OK, fine no worries. It's Nate, I love him and I will suffer through the scratchy throat for him. But as I am raspily trying to sing our goodnight song, I hear the phone ring. I know who it is and what the message is saying, even if I can't hear it. I am trying to put my son to sleep, but I am seething. I manage to get Puppy to agree to get in his crib and race down to play the message. I check the clock. It's 9:40 pm

BEEP. "Hey love, it's me. Basketball just finished [bullshit, b-ball always finishes at 9 because the grade school gym they use has specific rules.] and I'm just going to grab a quick pint with Drew and Glen. I'll be home by 9:30...9:45. Call me if you need to. [AKA I'm not with another woman if that's what your nutjob brain is thinking."

I pick up the phone ready to lose my shit. How is that even possible that he would be home before 10? It's not humanly possible considering it was 9:30-ish when he left the message. I want to kill him.

Ring ring. "Oh hey love!"

Me: "Hi?"

Him: "I should be leaving in 5-10 minutes."

Me: "OK. I just wanted to remind you to buy milk."

Huh? Wait a second. What happened? Normally I would have bitched him out until he regretted taking a sip of that beer. Wow. Looks like I HAVE turned a new leaf. Let me know how those BJs go though. Though I didn't get angry, it doesn't mean he's gettin' any tonight.

7 x 3 Reflections

Rather unremarkable you might say as far as dates go, but since I am slightly OCD and relish in all things that are multiples of 7, 21 months of motherhood is something to write home about.

Nate, you are amazing. And I can tell that you know that I think that. In fact, I can tell that you know every soul who crosses your path thinks that. I hope that someday, a beautiful young human being will look at you in the same way that I do, with an un-ending love and complete understanding. I will try really, really hard not to be jealous of her, (or him, should that be the case) because ultimately this is what I want for you. Love. But with love comes pain and I want to talk a bit about your father and I and how our lives have changed since you came into the world.


On Friday night, I went out directly after work, formerly a regular occurance, but something I rarely do anymore. It's getting harder and harder to leave you these days. I went to Yorkville with Tante and Big J for sushi and then to get my cookbook signed by Nigella Lawson. Mommy really likes Nigella because she looks like she eats the food she cooks. She was glowing and incredibly warm even after a long day of media interviews and signing hundreds of books. I looked at smiling Nigella and thought about her losing her first husband, the father of her children, to cancer. When I think of an event like that, my heart darkens and I can't imagine ever moving on from the grief. Your father means that much to me. But here is Nigella, lovely as ever, and now with a new (very wealthy) love. She pours her heart into her food, her work and her family. And life goes on. But I was so tempted to ask her what her secret to happiness was, especially after such a tragedy.

Before you were born, I would think about the horrible possibility that I could lose my husband in an untimely accident. By now you know of your mother's anxieties and hopefully this won't come as a shock to you. Sometimes I'd fantasize that I would find someone new and move on. Not that I would want such a thing to happen, but I needed to think it through to know that if tragedy struck, I could find the will to try agin to love and have a family. I have the experience of making a marriage work, I know what I want and what I don't what, and I know the hidden gems to look for in a man -- the subtle goodies that many women would miss out on first glance. I thought I could do OK if I had to face a Round 2. But now because of you, there is no thought to a future without your dad. Because he is you and you are him. There would be no you without him. Loving you makes me love him even more. I see the reflection of one of you in the other and it makes my heart explode. Now the thought of losing him is the thing I fear the most.

After Nigella, because you were likely asleep by then and I was already out, I went to see The Last Kiss starring Zach Braff, thinking it would be the sort of romantic comedy that would cap off a fun night out with the girls. Instead I found a film about love and relationships that was at times so real that it hurt to watch it. It makes you think that all men are shitheads, which I'm trying not to do because taking on such a sweeping generalistic view would mean that mothering a son is an exercise in futility.

There was a side storyline about a young couple with a new baby. The wife was incredibly mean to the husband, who couldn't seem to do anything right by her. I felt like shouting at her, "Just love him! He's a nice guy! He's just having a hard time too!" It pained me to watch a family disintegrate in a mangle of angry words. The way she snapped at her husband for insignificant things scared me. It scared me because what I saw was a reflection of myself over the past 21 months.


Your father makes mistakes at times. He has always thought for only himself. Marriage was a big step for him. Having to consider two people's needs before making a decision was a huge brain twister. Now that there are three of us (plus one highly demading feline), considering the family unit before doing any single thing took a long time and hard work to achieve. Sometimes he failed. I asked a lot of him. I still ask a lot of him. We are equal partners in taking care of the home and equal partners in taking care of you. It's meant that his dreams are on pause for a little bit. It's meant that his needs have been put on a shelf behind the pumpkin pie spice. It's meant more room for error, which often lead to more disagreements.

In the past two years, I have been a sleepless, hormonal mess. In popular culture, one might refer to me as a bitch. I have been unfair to your father, getting angry with him because he forgot to buy milk again, or laundry detergent. "Why do you look at me like you hate me?" he would ask. The truth was, because I did. I hated that no matter how equal we were in the home, biology wasn't equal. You wanted Mommy and only Mommy. I hated that we didn't have enough money for me to stay at home. I hated that I wasn't the kind of mom who would even be happy staying at home. I hated that I had to make career choices that would reflect your need for me, while he could make career choices unencumbered by his reproductive life. I wish I didn't feel that way, but I did.

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to speak softly and to not hate the person you live with. I feel like Daddy and I are just healing from the last two years of forgetfulness and selfishness begetting bitchiness. We are only now able to come up out of the rubble for air, inspect the foundation, assess the damage, and try to patch up and reinforce the cracks. And once that's done we're going to throw the reproductive dice and see if our base is solid enough to withstand another go with the sledgehammers.

Now I am slowly remembering how to love your father again. It's not that my love for him went away, it just changed. I changed. And now the old us isn't working like it used to and we have to start again. Taking what worked before and tossing out what didn't. We had you later in life because we wanted to make sure that our marriage was strong enough first, that we were a team. But having you was like inspecting the basement after a huge storm: suddenly all our weak supports were exposed.

The truth is, you couldn't ask for a better dad. Unlike me, he loved you from the second he laid eyes on you. He put his needs aside from the moment you came out of me not crying. He stood by me when I was afraid to hold you because I was scared you would have another seizure. He held me up when I thought I'd lost all hope. And I absorbed his pain, his grief in exchange for his endurance. When I think of him in the NICU, reading you stories and never giving up, I can't help but cry. He is the type of person I hope you grow up to be. He is strong, both physically and emotionally, and he loves us even when we don't love him back. He loves us until we have no choice but to let our anger melt away into silly giggles. He loves us in spite of ourselves.

Your limitless capacity for love, your insatiable curiousity and your fine-tuned sense of humour are what have kept us together. So many times, you were the only thing we could agree on. Watching you sleep or eat or play or simply grow has always been able to put a smile on even the angriest face. I promise to be nicer to your Daddy from now on. He deserves more than what I've been giving him these past few. He deserves to have me look at him the way I look at you. After all, it was our great love, our true love that made you. I have to do whatever it takes to make him feel loved like I do. I hope you remember that in the future -- to do whatever it takes for the person you love. Because true love is a very rare thing indeed.

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Mom, no disrespect but... you crazy!

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PS: For those who read Before I Wake, Rob will be answering questions in the next day or two. You might still have time to get a question in if it's really burning a hole in your brain.

I'll also be announcing the next MFM book club pick later this week. Stay tuned.