Moose Stew and other debacles

I am usually game for eating anything once, but I haven't been feeling so iron-stomached lately. So my trip to Newfoundland was full of trying to avoid traditional and strange Newfie food.

Fish and Brewis: Fish and bread stew, I think. Nuh-uh.

Moose Stew: Um, don't think so.

Scrunchions: K, I've had these before, only to learn they were basically deep-fried fat and any suggestion that they may have contained onions was purely a coincidence.

I did have some tasty cod and the Dog and I managed to get out for a date to a Japanese restaurant I really wanted to try. If you're ever in St. John's, Basho is run by real Japanese chefs, the main guy being trained by Nobu himself. It was unbelievable. I had to stick to mostly cooked fish, because um, you never know... But I had these lobster croquettes that I will think about for a long time.

The wedding was beautiful. I have never seen my SIL look lovelier. My niece-in-law, Bex, looked so grown up as she walked Nate down the aisle. Nate was awesome as the ring bearer. (I'd attach a pic, but we forgot our camera in Newf so we're waiting for the rest of the fam to get back) In the middle of a quiet Catholic ceremony, Nate shouted out, "Mommy is SO pitty!" He was stroking my hair as he said it. I was laughing so hard I had tears rolling down my face. Then at the reception, during grace, right after the priest said, "Thank you Lord for these gifts which we are about to receive," Nate screamed, "YAAAAAY!" and clapped. The whole room erupted into giggles and Father Kelly recovered with a "Well said!"

The reception was in a golf club at the top of St. John's overlooking the harbour. I spent a large portion of the evening not talking to the Dog. He said he had packed Nate's bag, but he forgot his milk, a cup or bottle, and anything remotely resembling a meal, so between 1 pm and 6:30 pm all Nate had was a tomato juice, a clementine, a handful of juice berries and a few pieces of cheese. Normally, that's all he would want to eat anyway, but the little guy was actually asking to be fed for a change. I wanted to kill the Dog. There's nothing worse than trusting your partner for once, only to have him let you down. It didn't help that none of us had anything to eat in that time span and I am such a huge bitch when I'm hungry.

All us mainlanders got "screeched in," a process where you knock back a shot of the killer rum known as Screech and then kiss a cod fish on the mouth. We were spared the cod, thankfully, and I managed to trick the locals by downing the ginger ale shot set aside for Nate. Phew!

I drove all the kids back to our hotel at 10:30. It was a little freaky having so much responsibility. Me in a big minivan, driving down icy hills with everyone's children. But I made it. It was a small sacrifice to make so that the rest of the family could party it up. The fifteen-year-old was bored stiff anyway and was glad to accompany us home. I put Nate to bed, made us all hot chocolate and stayed up till 1 am pulling bobby pins out of Bex's hair and watching Popular. Now that she's 10, we have the best talks. At one point, she turned to me and said, "It's so much easier to talk to you than to my mom." I think my heart shot through my jammies.

Friday morning we had brunch at the awesome Classic Cafe on Duckworth St. Then the bride and groom came to retrieve their daughter, the Norwegians went shopping and the rest of us piled into the minivan. I gave them the same tour I got the first time I went to St. John's: Signal Hill, Quidi Vidi (though my beloved antique shop was closed for the season), and Cape Spear. It was so un-fucking-believably cold and windy that I was more than happy to stay in the van with a napping Nate.

Then we headed to Ches's fish and chips. Holy fuck this was good fish and chips. We took it back to the hotel and wolfed it down with the Norwegians. The rest of the day was spent making headway with the teenager. He let me listen to his MP3 player, watched a My Super Sweet Sixteen marathon with me and told me what he likes to do with his friends: two buddies bring their computers over and play Warcraft together. Oh lord. This is what I have to look forward to with a son. The thing is, this kid is unbelievably gorgeous for a 15 year-old. I know that sounds gross, but if I went to his school, I'd be so in love with his cool shyness. Of course my awkward chatterboxness would make him run the other way. Some things never change.

Friday night was date night. So after Basho's we met up with the bridal party and other friends for a pub crawl down George St. If we didn't have a flight to catch the next day, or a kid for that matter, it would have a been a legendary night. But alas, I have turned a new boring leaf and have nothing exciting to report.

That's my week friends. Nate stole the show as usual. It was nice to be away and unable to worry about the dishes or the laundry. A quiet end to an ultra busy year. I hope this bodes well for the year to come.

Happy New Year all.

Home for the Holidays

I'm in Newfoundland, so close to the furthest East you can get on this continent before you fall into the ocean and end up hitting Ireland. My sister-in-law is getting married tomorrow and I've managed to get over the fact that I've been dragged out of my house during "chill-out week." It's actually really nice to be here again.

If you've been reading me for awhile, you may remember that I came to St. John's for "work" in fall of 2005. If not, here's the link (third post down). A young woman who sat next to us on the flight from Halifax to St John's said it best: You arrive here a stranger, and you leave as family. There is something about Newfoundland that feels like home. Which is strange, because it couldn't be further from my Middle Eastern/Mediterranean roots. Perhaps it's the call of the ocean that leaves me feeling so peaceful.

I am staying in the same incredible Hometel and we have an entire townhouse to ourselves for $100/night each couple. My MIL and FIL are in the suite next door (read: we have to have ultra quiet sex) on the top floor. Down a floor is Christian, the fifteen-year-old son of the Dog's first cousin, who is visiting from Norway. He's sleeping on the couch in the family room and is probably glad to have a room to himself. Other than that he's making me feel horribly old and uncool. I envy his apathy. I miss being able to shrug everything off because I was too cool to care.

I don't even know what to say to the kid. I found myself walking next to him today and I was like, "So what's your favourite subject in school?" Oh my shizzit I have become such a dorky grownup. Of course he said, "Gym." Of course I KNEW that was the answer. Ugh.

Anyway, next to Christian's room, there is a dining room and a kitchen with cupboards I covet. On the floor below him sleep Tante Marit and Onkel Nils, the Dog's aunt and uncle, also from Norge. It's a sweet deal.

In a little while we'll be off to the rehearsal where my son will practice his duties as ring bearer. It will be too cute I'm sure I'll bawl my eyes out in spite of myself. And then I'll grumble about turning into my mother. I am so proud of Nate, he was so good on the plane. Not a whimper AND we even had a stopover in Halifax. He is charming the pants off everyone who crosses his path. I am so in love with this boy and the power he possesses. He brings joy to even the loneliest diner in a restaurant.

Anyway, we survived the holidays so far, but I'm only half done (click here for details). Hope you all had a lovely one.

Whassup?

Well, well. Where have I been? Almost a month since my last post (so you might as well print this off and save it for lunch or a cup of tea -- it's gonna be a long one). Did I decide to close up shop like some other awesome mom bloggers that I know?

Not really, though it's still a consideration. Mostly I was going through some trainwrecky things, and though normally I can stomach naysayers, I wasn't in the mood to be Trainwrecked. (Though now that I've said that, the trashing will probably begin.)I was also pondering other questions. Like where the hell is blogging going? We are all talking about the same things -- can there be such thing as original voice in a such a niche market. Is my poo story funnier than that other blogger's poo story? Am I subjecting my child to exposure that is unsafe? Will he be angry that I revealed so much when he had no voice to protest?

But at the end of the day, it's me. I need to emote, to express, to document. I just don't need to do it to the point that it makes me sick.

And sick I have been. My immune system has thrown up some red flags as of late. My trip to NYC, though incredibly fun and rewarding, was fraught with much anxiety -- though according to my homey, I can't call it that anymore. Instead I'm supposed to call it "hysteria," an out-of-fashion term (it's 2000 years old) that is Greek in origin and has to do with the flow of blood from the uterus to the brain. In the past, women were burned at the stake for hysteria (so says my hyper-intelligent coworker Dot H), then in Victorian times they were given "the vapours" (AKA the doctor-prescribed dildo treatment), and as late as the 50s women were given valium to treat hysteria. But then the term became to broad, so they don't really use it anymore.

I've blogged in the past about my irrational fear of dying. I am working through my issues with it, but it's taking longer than I would have hoped. Though I initially improved after coming out of the closet with it, it seems I've regressed as of late. Two conceivable reasons: 1) Sleep-deprived, 2) Stress.

I'm hard on myself. I want to reach my goals, to succeed. My parents so obviously put all their dreams on the back-burner for us. I don't want to be afraid or complacent. I want to realize my ambitions, but do I want to die trying?

The Blogging Baby gig has been hard, because I absolutely love doing it. It just doesn't pay enough to be my only job. So my already insane routine has transformed to:

Wake up, get dressed, get boy ready, kiss husband. Off to daycare. Off to work.

Come home, pick boy up, get dinner ready.

Dine, clean up (ish), bathe boy, put boy to bed.

Possibly entertain a friend or my husband until 9 or 10 PM.

Start working on blogging job, hopefully finish before midnight. Go to bed, ignore husband, wake up at 3 AM to the tune of "Mommy gone! Moooomy gooooone! Waah!" (I swear that boy does guilt better than a Jewish Mother-in-law!) Get up, repeat again. (Notice that there are no household chores on this list other than cooking and childcare?)

To top it all off, last month Britney was not the only mom partying all weekend while the babies were at home. Every single weekend in November, Nate spent both Friday AND Saturday nights with Grandparents or Aunts. And as I may have hinted at, it was starting to show.

My family life was suffering, I was suffering and then my body started doing funky things that made me think, "Uh-oh. I'd better tone it down." And then I read this post entitled The Escalation of Cool by Andi Buchanan(seriously, it's long, but a fabulous read) and it touched something deep at the root of my middle class modern problems. It wasn't all the talk of cool mommy being bad for the mother movement that got me -- though with my martini logo and my hair-on-fire party stories I guess I would be partially guilty of this. It was her comment on modern women having a hard time surrendering to motherhood.

I have had a difficult time "surrendering to motherhood." And why not? I was 30 when I got pregnant (well, 29 and 3/4). I had spent a lot of time with myself as an adult. I was very involved with social groups and cultural activities in my city. I enjoyed social drinking. 40 weeks is a long time for someone who likes the odd glass of wine to go without. I am by no means an alcoholic, so I apologize if my experience seems silly to those with an actual drinking problem. (and who is trying to be a parent.) Really, I never understood why it was such a big deal to me until I read this piece. It was like I was afraid that by giving up this one part of my old self I would be losing myself completely.

And why was that prospect so scary to me? Why was I so afraid of "morphing in to mama?" Was it my downtown hipster impressions of motherhood? I truly felt I had to combat the image of mom jeans and minivans. It was up to me to show that moms could be moms while being cool. Motherhood wasn't going to change me. The child would just have to fit into my lifestyle with some small concessions on my part. I wasn't just trying to be a hip mommy because it was the cool thing to be as, Andi's article suggests. I was a hip woman to begin with, a mask I had cultivated long ago. I was just trying to make the old costume fit over my new, super-tired, curvier self.

Ultimately, the effort it took to maintain this image of myself caused me to burn out. So I am bagged. Ridiculously tired and sick of trying to be the cool mom. For whom? And after my third tequila shot at a recent Christmas party, I realized that I actually cared what people thought. I cared how people perceived me. And not other moms. No. I cared what my "party party" friends were thinking. I didn't want them to think that I was a square now that I'm a mother. The thing is, where are these hipster friends when I need someone to hold my kid so I can take a shower? (Yes, they are usually at the bar.) So why do I care?

Finding the balance is difficult. I know I've written about this in a few different ways, but it's because I'm on a journey and you happen to be on it with me. Surrendering to motherhood while still maintaining some of your interests is a challenge. What Andi made me see is that there's a difference between being real and trying to be cool. I still think that I should be able to wear skinny jeans if I want to. I just shouldn't be made to feel like I *have* to wear skinny jeans. (Have yet to buy a pair.) But those types of pressures aren't limited to motherhood. Woman have been bogged down by images and feeling like they have to conform forever.

The funny thing is, Andi must have been feeling some of the pressure on her time that I've been feeling, because she has also stopped posting recently. The reality is you can't be all things to all people. Instead of being a half-assed friend, a half-assed wife, mother, employee, I am streamlining my life for once and for all and giving love and attention to those I get the most out of in return.

Anyway, I've missed blogging here (especially the feedback and interaction with you) and have no plans to stop. The fare will just be lighter and more sporadic for a while, so I can sort out my head. If you want to read about my NYC trip, Kate has a hilarious recap here. I'll be back with my thoughts on the trip, for posterity's sake, over the weekend.

Happy Holidays.