OK, well no new posts have come in, so this will be the last GBF post until someone else steps up to the plate, or something new and ridiculous happens to me.
This post comes from the darling and daring TSM (Terrifically Superiorly Mediocre) -- Thanks for sharing!
It may be the most shocking one yet! I don't even know what to title this post. I'll take suggestions when you're done reading.
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Back in my early 20s, I was a wild child. I had 2 kids of my own (yeah the whole getting married when you're 17 thing? I don't recommend it), and was on the dating scene. I was hot, baby! Or at least warm enough to date me an old boyfriend from high school.
The catch? He lived a good 6 hours drive away.
One blissful weekend, he made the trek to spend a couple of days with me, most probably locked away in my bedroom (in between child feedings, because I'm that good a parent). I had made an appointment witih my GYN for the following week because I had noticed a little...different scent...than usual. I assumed I had some sort of yeast thing going on, because I had never had one and that MUST be what this is. Patient man that he is, he shrugged off my apologies and was very sweet and attentive, despite what must have been going through his head. The weekend ended (sadly) and he went home (sadly!).
During my appointment the following week, I explained this strange odor, and that I had never experienced anything like this before. I was horribly embarassed, but determined to find answers. After a cold speculum and a knowing glance between doctor and nurse, my (male!) doc says "I think we found the problem!"
Apparently, the week prior to "Jake" coming to visit, I had forgotten something...something IMPORTANT...a TAMPON! Silly me, I was just thankful not to have an unwelcome guest along with my boyfriend. Would have ruined the mood, ya know?
After he reassured me I was perfectly healthy and everything was fine, I crawled out of that office and never returned. I think I may have picked a new GYN because of that.
Oh, and Jake lasted a couple more months, but apparently I was just too absent-minded for him.
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Oh. My. God.
This story reminds me of a time when we were newlyweds. On our one month marriage anniversary, we went to the Gio Rana's "The Nose" restaurant, which used to be at Yonge and Davisville, roughly. We got dressed up and then ridiculously drunk and stumbled back to our apartment, which was the Dog's old bachelor that we lovingly called The Treehouse -- until I moved in and only had room for one suitcase full of clothes. We didn't last long there.
But I digress. After the dinner, I remember very little. I woke up with my good skirt on and nothing else. I had to play what I like to call CSI: Party, where you bust out all your forensic gear to figure out what the fuck happened the night before. I remembered making out for a bit and possibly saying, "Do whatever you want to me," right before passing out.
I groggily went to pee and noticed that I had a tampon in. Then I had a good laugh. Clearly my invitation was interrupted by the Dog's discovery that something was already up there. Oops.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
GBF Guest Post: Too Drunk to Care
Well, I had a very busy weekend, ranging from taking a transportation-obsessed two-year-old to the Auto Show, to checking out the Come Into My Room event at the Gladstone Hotel. Both are worth writing about -- not to mention the Oscars! Though all I really have to say about that is that I won my company Oscar pool and the Dog won his too! Woo hoo! We're $74 richer between the two of us. I think that spells d-a-t-e.
Here's the latest Gross, But Funny post by an anonymous blogger. Enjoy MFM readers!
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On Saturday my husband and I had some friends over for an intimate game night. We all ate pizza and watched my daughter dance and sing before putting her to bed and breaking out the board games.
When the board games came out, so did the alcohol. We made as many mixed drinks as we could before the juice ran out, and did shots for the rest of the night. Out of everyone there, my husband was the drunkest of them all. His speech was slurring, he kept asking for more shots (which he did not get) and wouldn't stop spitting everywhere.
After our guests left (around midnight) we headed to the bathroom to brush our teeth and get ready for bed. I had a girly problem, and earlier that night had brought home groceries including the cure for my girly problem. Because our guests were here when I got home, my husband put my cure away in the bathroom without letting anyone see it, to spare me the embarassment. How sweet.
As we're brushing our teeth, I asked my husband where he had put my cure. He got it for me and I did my thing. He explained everything to me, about how he put it away without embarassing me, etc.
We ended up crashing on the couches, watching television. Well, I watched television, and my husband passed out cold after watching Species 1 and 2. At 3am I attempted to get my husband's ass to the bed. I woke him up by smacking him gently on his face, and then tried lifting him by his underarms. He finally sat up for a moment, then stood up and walked to the bathroom saying, "I gotta brush my teeth."
"No, honey, we already brushed our teeth. Remember?" I whispered. He went to the bathroom anyway, while I took the baby monitor to the bedroom.
When I went back to the bathroom to pee, I noticed the door was shut and the light was off.
I opened the door, turned on the light, only to see my husband standing 3 feet away from the toilet, pissing on my bath mat.
"Jeffrey!" I shouted quietly at him, as though disciplining a naughty puppy. "Why are you pissing on the floor?!"
"I put the Monistat in the closet here, in the bag, so Kristy and Jack and Betty wouldn't see it and you wouldn't be embarassed. It's in the closet," he said sleepily, with his eyes closed. I sighed grouchily, my buzz totally killed, and wiped his piss off the floor with a towel.
"I'm cleaning your urine right now!"
"Why are you doing that?!" he asked, before sluggishly heading to the bedroom, where he passed out until the morning. He didn't remember his drunken pissing at all, but I sure do.
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I've been there girl. So has my pal Blondie. You think they are house-trained, but they are not.
Seriously readers, we had a similar experience at Casa Scarb, except the kitty litter under the sink replaces the bath mat in the story. (oh and there was nothing about Monistat in my story either.)
I woke up one hungover Sunday -- may have been pre-Nate -- to find the kitty litter in one solid clump. I thought the sink above was leaking. Then I deduced that the Dog, who LOVES to stare at his drooling, drunk-ass self in the mirror, had probably been the offender. It was not a good morning.
Stay tuned for one last installment of Gross, But Funny this week. Unless, of course, you'd like to contribute. Email me your story at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com.
Here's the latest Gross, But Funny post by an anonymous blogger. Enjoy MFM readers!
***************************************************
On Saturday my husband and I had some friends over for an intimate game night. We all ate pizza and watched my daughter dance and sing before putting her to bed and breaking out the board games.
When the board games came out, so did the alcohol. We made as many mixed drinks as we could before the juice ran out, and did shots for the rest of the night. Out of everyone there, my husband was the drunkest of them all. His speech was slurring, he kept asking for more shots (which he did not get) and wouldn't stop spitting everywhere.
After our guests left (around midnight) we headed to the bathroom to brush our teeth and get ready for bed. I had a girly problem, and earlier that night had brought home groceries including the cure for my girly problem. Because our guests were here when I got home, my husband put my cure away in the bathroom without letting anyone see it, to spare me the embarassment. How sweet.
As we're brushing our teeth, I asked my husband where he had put my cure. He got it for me and I did my thing. He explained everything to me, about how he put it away without embarassing me, etc.
We ended up crashing on the couches, watching television. Well, I watched television, and my husband passed out cold after watching Species 1 and 2. At 3am I attempted to get my husband's ass to the bed. I woke him up by smacking him gently on his face, and then tried lifting him by his underarms. He finally sat up for a moment, then stood up and walked to the bathroom saying, "I gotta brush my teeth."
"No, honey, we already brushed our teeth. Remember?" I whispered. He went to the bathroom anyway, while I took the baby monitor to the bedroom.
When I went back to the bathroom to pee, I noticed the door was shut and the light was off.
I opened the door, turned on the light, only to see my husband standing 3 feet away from the toilet, pissing on my bath mat.
"Jeffrey!" I shouted quietly at him, as though disciplining a naughty puppy. "Why are you pissing on the floor?!"
"I put the Monistat in the closet here, in the bag, so Kristy and Jack and Betty wouldn't see it and you wouldn't be embarassed. It's in the closet," he said sleepily, with his eyes closed. I sighed grouchily, my buzz totally killed, and wiped his piss off the floor with a towel.
"I'm cleaning your urine right now!"
"Why are you doing that?!" he asked, before sluggishly heading to the bedroom, where he passed out until the morning. He didn't remember his drunken pissing at all, but I sure do.
************************************************
I've been there girl. So has my pal Blondie. You think they are house-trained, but they are not.
Seriously readers, we had a similar experience at Casa Scarb, except the kitty litter under the sink replaces the bath mat in the story. (oh and there was nothing about Monistat in my story either.)
I woke up one hungover Sunday -- may have been pre-Nate -- to find the kitty litter in one solid clump. I thought the sink above was leaking. Then I deduced that the Dog, who LOVES to stare at his drooling, drunk-ass self in the mirror, had probably been the offender. It was not a good morning.
Stay tuned for one last installment of Gross, But Funny this week. Unless, of course, you'd like to contribute. Email me your story at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
GBF: She who sits on the throne does not necessarily rule the kingdom
As my child becomes more verbal, he becomes more willful. He understands the power of NO, which is an important lesson in life. NO comes into play in defending yourself, in standing up for what you believe in, but also in learning that sometimes you just can’t have your way. Nobody said life was fair little boy.
His NO also teaches me that sometimes I can't have my own way. No matter how inconvenient.
After our kid-free afternoon the other day, I drove the Dog to work and then picked up Nate early so that he’d already be in his snowsuit in the playground, eliminating the most annoying part of the leaving ritual: chasing him down and getting him dressed. Damn Canadian winters.
We got home and I had to go. This is a lesson I've been trying to teach Nate. When your tummy feels funny, you've got to go. Well there was a rumble in the bronx, and with the preggy constipation I thought I'd better take advantage of the moment.
Me: "We have to go upstairs now. Mummy needs to use the bathroom."
Nate: "NO Mummy! No upsteyis!"
Me: "I can't leave you alone down here Nate. It's the rules. So come on, let's go."
Nate: "NO Mama! I no wanna go upsteyis."
Me: (increasingly unconfortable) "We have to go NOW! Who's the boss?"
He usually says, "Mama is the boss," and then gives in. But the fucker is getting too smart for his own good.
Nate: "I'm my boss. I no wanna go upsteyis."
Me: "Ok Nate, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm counting to three and if you don't come, I'll have to pick you up. one...two...three."
Nate: "No Mama, no upsteyis. Waaah!" Kick. Scream.
I put him in a football hold and cart him upstairs, promptly locking the gate to prevent him from hurling himself to his desired destination. He throws himself on the ground, freaking out.
Me: (running to the toilet) OK, if you need to be upset you can take a minute for yourself in your room...
He crawls into his room, wails some more and then pokes his head into the bathroom.
Nate: "Mama, can we go downsteyis?"
Me: (straining -- damn muscle relaxing hormones!) "N-n-noo. N-n-not. Riiiight. N-n-now. (pause, genius strikes) Where's your Thomas book? Go get your Thomas book and you can sit on your potty (that you only use as a chair) and I'll read it to you."
Nate goes and gets his book. That's it little boy. Bring it to Mama... Waaaah! He throws it in the bathtub and flings himself against the side of the tub. Frack. That didn't quite workout the way I'd hoped.
Nate: "Mama, can we go downsteyis?"
Me: "I told you, you can't go downstairs by yourself. And Mama can't move right now. Don't you want to go and play with trucks in your room?"
Nate: "NO! Waaah!" Flail. Kick.
Me: (genius strikes again) "How about Ducky? Does Ducky want to go to the store?"
Somehow this works. He picks up Ducky and and does his little play-acting where Ducky goes to the store, AKA the shower curtain, and buys "Chips and chocolate!" Then he throws Ducky under the clawfoot where he cannot reach him. Tantrum ensues.
I begin to ignore him and try to focus on the task at hand. Dammit. I had my hi-fibre cereal this morning. Why is this happening? Argh! Why can't I crap in peace?
Nate reaches into the tub and manages to soak his Thomas the Tank Engine book. Then he moves over to my very expensive coloured-hair shampoo and begins to pump it into his hands.
Nate: "Lookit me Mammy! I washing my hands!"
Me: (trying not to let it bother me that the cheap shampoo is right next to the expensive shampoo -- all encouragement drained from my voice) "Wow. What a big boy you are."
Oh my God -- just kill me now. What has happened to my life? Why must I exercise humility and restraint in everyday situations like these? Can't I just take a crap in peace? Why did nobody tell me this could happen?
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We've got two more anonymous "Gross, but Funny" submissions in the queue over the next two days. Stay tuned. They are shocking!
His NO also teaches me that sometimes I can't have my own way. No matter how inconvenient.
After our kid-free afternoon the other day, I drove the Dog to work and then picked up Nate early so that he’d already be in his snowsuit in the playground, eliminating the most annoying part of the leaving ritual: chasing him down and getting him dressed. Damn Canadian winters.
We got home and I had to go. This is a lesson I've been trying to teach Nate. When your tummy feels funny, you've got to go. Well there was a rumble in the bronx, and with the preggy constipation I thought I'd better take advantage of the moment.
Me: "We have to go upstairs now. Mummy needs to use the bathroom."
Nate: "NO Mummy! No upsteyis!"
Me: "I can't leave you alone down here Nate. It's the rules. So come on, let's go."
Nate: "NO Mama! I no wanna go upsteyis."
Me: (increasingly unconfortable) "We have to go NOW! Who's the boss?"
He usually says, "Mama is the boss," and then gives in. But the fucker is getting too smart for his own good.
Nate: "I'm my boss. I no wanna go upsteyis."
Me: "Ok Nate, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm counting to three and if you don't come, I'll have to pick you up. one...two...three."
Nate: "No Mama, no upsteyis. Waaah!" Kick. Scream.
I put him in a football hold and cart him upstairs, promptly locking the gate to prevent him from hurling himself to his desired destination. He throws himself on the ground, freaking out.
Me: (running to the toilet) OK, if you need to be upset you can take a minute for yourself in your room...
He crawls into his room, wails some more and then pokes his head into the bathroom.
Nate: "Mama, can we go downsteyis?"
Me: (straining -- damn muscle relaxing hormones!) "N-n-noo. N-n-not. Riiiight. N-n-now. (pause, genius strikes) Where's your Thomas book? Go get your Thomas book and you can sit on your potty (that you only use as a chair) and I'll read it to you."
Nate goes and gets his book. That's it little boy. Bring it to Mama... Waaaah! He throws it in the bathtub and flings himself against the side of the tub. Frack. That didn't quite workout the way I'd hoped.
Nate: "Mama, can we go downsteyis?"
Me: "I told you, you can't go downstairs by yourself. And Mama can't move right now. Don't you want to go and play with trucks in your room?"
Nate: "NO! Waaah!" Flail. Kick.
Me: (genius strikes again) "How about Ducky? Does Ducky want to go to the store?"
Somehow this works. He picks up Ducky and and does his little play-acting where Ducky goes to the store, AKA the shower curtain, and buys "Chips and chocolate!" Then he throws Ducky under the clawfoot where he cannot reach him. Tantrum ensues.
I begin to ignore him and try to focus on the task at hand. Dammit. I had my hi-fibre cereal this morning. Why is this happening? Argh! Why can't I crap in peace?
Nate reaches into the tub and manages to soak his Thomas the Tank Engine book. Then he moves over to my very expensive coloured-hair shampoo and begins to pump it into his hands.
Nate: "Lookit me Mammy! I washing my hands!"
Me: (trying not to let it bother me that the cheap shampoo is right next to the expensive shampoo -- all encouragement drained from my voice) "Wow. What a big boy you are."
Oh my God -- just kill me now. What has happened to my life? Why must I exercise humility and restraint in everyday situations like these? Can't I just take a crap in peace? Why did nobody tell me this could happen?
**********************************************
We've got two more anonymous "Gross, but Funny" submissions in the queue over the next two days. Stay tuned. They are shocking!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
GBF Guest Post: How Fitting
Ragdoll writes faster than me so her "Gross, but Funny" post goes up first. Voila!
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Because I would consider this to be x-rated material, especially for the completely PG-13 My Tragic Right Hip, Scarbie has let me guest post on MFM. I just had to share my experiences at the doctor yesterday.
It's that time again. You know -- when you head off to the family doctor all washed up because you'll be dropping your drawers for the yearly examination? I figured because I had this week off, it might be the best time to get all the pipes looked at, might as well start my new job feeling healthy from the, ahem, inside out.
Annywaay. I also decided that I wanted to get a diaphragm, fairly archaic, I know, but I can't take the pill, and the thought of an IUD kind of freaks me out. So I say to the doctor, "I'm also wondering about diaphragms."
Now, she's fairly young. And not only has she never prescribed one before, she doesn't even know HOW they work. This is the doctor people. I say, "Well, it's a learning curve for both of us then."
Keep in mind that we have a this long conversation while my knees are up and my feet are in the stirrups, speculum IN, I should add.
"Don't get dressed. Let me just go ask someone about it."
The doctor leaves the room and comes back with a case of rubber rings. "Okay, I have to fit you, then I can write the prescription."
After a couple of failed attempts to even get the rubber fitting ring INSIDE, she tells me to put my fists under my pelvic bones. Then she uses HER fingers instead of instruments, fiddles around for a while, and says, "Let me just get in there to see if it's on right."
Ahem.
"I think we have to go up a size!"
Good to know.
"Does that feel comfortable?"
And, actually, it did.
"Okay, let's take this out now, I think we're good."
Pants back on she leaves the room again and comes back with not one but TWO nurses to help explain the complex and varied ways that one uses a diaphragm. Not only did they give me a good, long lecture about the value of the contraceptive, they brought props. That's right, I said props. Use your imagination.
One thing I didn't know: you have to leave that sucker in for twelve hours AFTER intercourse, or else the little buggers might still get to where they shouldn't be going. Oh, and you've got to feel for your cervix to get diaphragm on right. Having never been introduced to my cervix before, I'm thinking the first time I use the device, it's going to be quite interesting.
Cervix meet Diaphragm. Diaphragm meet Cervix.
The "being back in grade twelve gym class" feeling still strong, I finally left the office with my prescription and headed on over to the pharmacy. And just when I thought I couldn't be any more embarrassed, the pharmacist calls, "Ragdoll? Is Ragdoll here? You have a prescription for a diaphragm?"
Yes, that's me.
"Well, the doctor's written the wrong kind, is it okay if we change it to a different company?"
Yes, yes that's fine. (I don't know if I could have turned any more colours of pink, honestly.)
As I left with my tiny safe sex oval in my bag, I sort of got why so many women take the pill. Seriously.
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OK -- someone went first. If you've got a "Gross, but Funny" story to tell, email me at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com. Your level of anonymity is totally up to you.
****************************************************
Because I would consider this to be x-rated material, especially for the completely PG-13 My Tragic Right Hip, Scarbie has let me guest post on MFM. I just had to share my experiences at the doctor yesterday.
It's that time again. You know -- when you head off to the family doctor all washed up because you'll be dropping your drawers for the yearly examination? I figured because I had this week off, it might be the best time to get all the pipes looked at, might as well start my new job feeling healthy from the, ahem, inside out.
Annywaay. I also decided that I wanted to get a diaphragm, fairly archaic, I know, but I can't take the pill, and the thought of an IUD kind of freaks me out. So I say to the doctor, "I'm also wondering about diaphragms."
Now, she's fairly young. And not only has she never prescribed one before, she doesn't even know HOW they work. This is the doctor people. I say, "Well, it's a learning curve for both of us then."
Keep in mind that we have a this long conversation while my knees are up and my feet are in the stirrups, speculum IN, I should add.
"Don't get dressed. Let me just go ask someone about it."
The doctor leaves the room and comes back with a case of rubber rings. "Okay, I have to fit you, then I can write the prescription."
After a couple of failed attempts to even get the rubber fitting ring INSIDE, she tells me to put my fists under my pelvic bones. Then she uses HER fingers instead of instruments, fiddles around for a while, and says, "Let me just get in there to see if it's on right."
Ahem.
"I think we have to go up a size!"
Good to know.
"Does that feel comfortable?"
And, actually, it did.
"Okay, let's take this out now, I think we're good."
Pants back on she leaves the room again and comes back with not one but TWO nurses to help explain the complex and varied ways that one uses a diaphragm. Not only did they give me a good, long lecture about the value of the contraceptive, they brought props. That's right, I said props. Use your imagination.
One thing I didn't know: you have to leave that sucker in for twelve hours AFTER intercourse, or else the little buggers might still get to where they shouldn't be going. Oh, and you've got to feel for your cervix to get diaphragm on right. Having never been introduced to my cervix before, I'm thinking the first time I use the device, it's going to be quite interesting.
Cervix meet Diaphragm. Diaphragm meet Cervix.
The "being back in grade twelve gym class" feeling still strong, I finally left the office with my prescription and headed on over to the pharmacy. And just when I thought I couldn't be any more embarrassed, the pharmacist calls, "Ragdoll? Is Ragdoll here? You have a prescription for a diaphragm?"
Yes, that's me.
"Well, the doctor's written the wrong kind, is it okay if we change it to a different company?"
Yes, yes that's fine. (I don't know if I could have turned any more colours of pink, honestly.)
As I left with my tiny safe sex oval in my bag, I sort of got why so many women take the pill. Seriously.
**********************************************
OK -- someone went first. If you've got a "Gross, but Funny" story to tell, email me at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com. Your level of anonymity is totally up to you.
They see me rollin'... Gonna catch me writin' dirty
OK, so you want funny. My life is mostly funny, but sometimes it's hard to come up with material. Or I'm just too tired to remember to tell you guys about the funny. So we're going to try something here at MFM. Maybe you have your own "gross, but funny" story you'd like to tell, but no place to tell it. Let's face it, Her Bad Mother's Basement is a great idea, but it's basically a place to bitch. And hey, that's a necessary outlet too. But that's not really what we're all about here. We're about embarassing ourselves and those around us who deserve a little ridicule. We're about seeing the humour in people's flaws (without being too snarky or mean) and putting it out there so others can feel like, hey, it's OK to laugh about it.
So I'm opening this spot up to those who have a "gross, but funny" story to tell but don't want to do it on their own blogs or don't have a blog to begin with. This idea came to me as my good friend (who shall remain anonymous) IMed me about an experience she had yesterday that was too embarassing to put up on her blog. Hey! Why don't you guest post? So stay tuned, her hilarious post should be up by tomorrow.
In the meantime, I'll get things started with my own "gross, but funny" post later today. If you've got an MFM worthy story to tell, feel free to email me personally at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com. You can remain anonymous or not, totally up to you. I promise not to tell your mother-in-law.
So I'm opening this spot up to those who have a "gross, but funny" story to tell but don't want to do it on their own blogs or don't have a blog to begin with. This idea came to me as my good friend (who shall remain anonymous) IMed me about an experience she had yesterday that was too embarassing to put up on her blog. Hey! Why don't you guest post? So stay tuned, her hilarious post should be up by tomorrow.
In the meantime, I'll get things started with my own "gross, but funny" post later today. If you've got an MFM worthy story to tell, feel free to email me personally at nadine(dot)silverthorne(at)gmail(dot)com. You can remain anonymous or not, totally up to you. I promise not to tell your mother-in-law.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Scorpion Deathlock
Yesterday, I had a day off from work. Our parent company being American, I guess we got to honour President’s Day with Heritage Day. It sounds like some made-up holiday, but I’m all for made-up holidays. The Dog did not have to be at work until 4 PM, giving us a few options on what to do. Instead of burning $35 well-spent pre-paid dollars to enjoy our child, we decided to ship him of to daycare and enjoy each other. He was none to happy about it until I got the teacher to talk to him about playing hockey with his dad on the weekend and quietly walked out while he was going on about it.
First we had a leisurely promenade through Loblaws. I got to take my time looking at products and reading labels and, for once, the Dog didn’t rush me. We even flirted in front of the rice. We spent a good hour or more in there and walked out with a hefty, healthy, but higher in fat than usual grocery bill. (Never let a hungry pregnant woman shop to her heart’s delight.)
We cracked open the Snyder’s Pretzels bit things (cheddar flavoured) in the car and giggled the whole way home. We drove past Nate’s daycare hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the playground, but we had the timing wrong. Oh well.
We mowed down on pasta, watched Sopranos at full volume and then crawled into bed mid-day. I can’t remember the last time we had “afternoon delight.” It was positively rejuvenating to a marriage that is strained by parenting and strange work schedules. We napped, watched old wrestling promos on YouTube and joked about how I might have to let Bret Hart try out some wrestling moves on me if I get to meet him in person. (Shhh… there is a teeny chance.) The Dog said he’d want to have Bret put him in the Sharpshooter, aka the lethal sounding Scorpion Deathlock, which I wikipedia-ed to learn that Bret had given this move its awesome name. I was that 12-year-old starry-eyed girl, who familiarized herself with all things WWF, GI Joe, and Transformers just so she could talk to boys. Part of me gets nostalgic when I think about wrestling’s hey day and I am once again the pubescent ‘tween with the crush on the man in tights.
It was the type of day that reminded us of how we once were, before Nate consumed our hearts, when the whole world contained only the two of us. I remember being pregnant and watching Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind at the Royal. I sobbed hysterically through the whole movie and for hours after. I remember feeling that -- much like the couple in the film has their relationship deleted from memory -- a part of us would be erased with the birth of our child. How desperately I wanted to hang on to what made us beautiful.
Our Valentine’s went by without much fanfare this year. The Dog was working and I came home to an empty house, a leftover Dora Valentine and 5 (why 5?) carnations. We always pass it off as a Hallmark holiday, but this year it became clear that we needed the excuse to focus on one another. Then sometimes, an opportunity presents itself to be spontaneous -- rare as pink diamonds for most parents. And on those days, we get to be a beautiful thing once more.
Though we're always wrestling with who holds the belt, you got the Scorpion Deathlock on my heart Silverthorne.
First we had a leisurely promenade through Loblaws. I got to take my time looking at products and reading labels and, for once, the Dog didn’t rush me. We even flirted in front of the rice. We spent a good hour or more in there and walked out with a hefty, healthy, but higher in fat than usual grocery bill. (Never let a hungry pregnant woman shop to her heart’s delight.)
We cracked open the Snyder’s Pretzels bit things (cheddar flavoured) in the car and giggled the whole way home. We drove past Nate’s daycare hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the playground, but we had the timing wrong. Oh well.
We mowed down on pasta, watched Sopranos at full volume and then crawled into bed mid-day. I can’t remember the last time we had “afternoon delight.” It was positively rejuvenating to a marriage that is strained by parenting and strange work schedules. We napped, watched old wrestling promos on YouTube and joked about how I might have to let Bret Hart try out some wrestling moves on me if I get to meet him in person. (Shhh… there is a teeny chance.) The Dog said he’d want to have Bret put him in the Sharpshooter, aka the lethal sounding Scorpion Deathlock, which I wikipedia-ed to learn that Bret had given this move its awesome name. I was that 12-year-old starry-eyed girl, who familiarized herself with all things WWF, GI Joe, and Transformers just so she could talk to boys. Part of me gets nostalgic when I think about wrestling’s hey day and I am once again the pubescent ‘tween with the crush on the man in tights.
It was the type of day that reminded us of how we once were, before Nate consumed our hearts, when the whole world contained only the two of us. I remember being pregnant and watching Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind at the Royal. I sobbed hysterically through the whole movie and for hours after. I remember feeling that -- much like the couple in the film has their relationship deleted from memory -- a part of us would be erased with the birth of our child. How desperately I wanted to hang on to what made us beautiful.
Our Valentine’s went by without much fanfare this year. The Dog was working and I came home to an empty house, a leftover Dora Valentine and 5 (why 5?) carnations. We always pass it off as a Hallmark holiday, but this year it became clear that we needed the excuse to focus on one another. Then sometimes, an opportunity presents itself to be spontaneous -- rare as pink diamonds for most parents. And on those days, we get to be a beautiful thing once more.
Though we're always wrestling with who holds the belt, you got the Scorpion Deathlock on my heart Silverthorne.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Phew!
So I'm, like, pregnant if you hadn't surmised. I told my boss today and now I can breathe a sigh of relief. I was so nervous about telling her, but she was cool with it. As cool as can be expected. She wasn't jumping up and down for joy exactly, but who can blame her? I had just told her that she only had me for 6 more months. You'd be upset too if I told you that.
Frankly, I could NOT hide it for one more day. I am so huge already. The abs are already shot to shit, so the body is just soldiering forward. No brakes. I feel like I'm going to explode and I have 28 more weeks of this shit!
I had my official 12 week ultrasound today. The baby seems to be growing well and the anticipated due date, based on the size of the baby in the ultrasound, is August 25. A Virgo. Nice. There was more good news. The cyst on my ovary has shrunk in size somewhat, so it looks like it's a pregnancy cyst and will go away.
This baby is already so different from Nate. Nate's 12 week ultrasound photo is clear and lovely. He was totally cooperative and took a great shot while he was chillin' in utero. This one would only show us its backside. It was moving around like mad and I got the sense that he or she has a personality of his/her own already. The photo is blurry and sucky. But it was still nice to see the baby and especially nice to share it with the Dog. I think he had forgotten how magical babies are.
At dinner, he decided to show the photo to Nate. "Omigosh! That's AMAZING!" our son exclaimed. We looked at each other thinking, "Wow, what an intuitive boy he is." He repeated, "That's amazing! That's amazing! That's an amazing... car!" Getting this idea across is going to take some work.
Frankly, I could NOT hide it for one more day. I am so huge already. The abs are already shot to shit, so the body is just soldiering forward. No brakes. I feel like I'm going to explode and I have 28 more weeks of this shit!
I had my official 12 week ultrasound today. The baby seems to be growing well and the anticipated due date, based on the size of the baby in the ultrasound, is August 25. A Virgo. Nice. There was more good news. The cyst on my ovary has shrunk in size somewhat, so it looks like it's a pregnancy cyst and will go away.
This baby is already so different from Nate. Nate's 12 week ultrasound photo is clear and lovely. He was totally cooperative and took a great shot while he was chillin' in utero. This one would only show us its backside. It was moving around like mad and I got the sense that he or she has a personality of his/her own already. The photo is blurry and sucky. But it was still nice to see the baby and especially nice to share it with the Dog. I think he had forgotten how magical babies are.
At dinner, he decided to show the photo to Nate. "Omigosh! That's AMAZING!" our son exclaimed. We looked at each other thinking, "Wow, what an intuitive boy he is." He repeated, "That's amazing! That's amazing! That's an amazing... car!" Getting this idea across is going to take some work.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
If I knew then what I know now... part II
Well, that last post seemed to be more of a downer than I'd meant for. To be honest, with the impending "secret" (and my swelling boobs) the Dog and I have been getting along splendidly. The romance is back (as are the whoremones) and there is a renewed sense of faith in what we're building together.
So I offer you a more humorous portrayal of our up and down marriage. Here are the points from the New York Times piece with my thoughts at age 25 in green, and today's reality below:
Questions Couples Should Ask (Or Wish They Had) Before Marrying
Published: December 17, 2006
Relationship experts report that too many couples fail to ask each other critical questions before marrying. Here are a few key ones that couples should consider asking:
1) Have we discussed whether or not to have children, and if the answer is yes, who is going to be the primary care giver?
Sure! Let's have kids someday. We can have lots of sex as practice. Maybe even get a pet! If we can keep a pet together, surely raising children will be just as easy. And oh, I'd really like to stay home like our mothers did. I think I was born to raise kids.
Holy fuck that was way harder than I thought. Please, please let me out of the house and to talk to adults a few days a week? I have no idea what to do with this child.
2) Do we have a clear idea of each other’s financial obligations and goals, and do our ideas about spending and saving mesh?
Hmm, well you're a tightwad and I'm a shopaholic, so we'll just balance each other out. Oh, this credit card debt? Wedding expenses. It's all good.
Um, you forget to pay the bills and I forget to stop spending, so basically, we're facked.
3) Have we discussed our expectations for how the household will be maintained, and are we in agreement on who will manage the chores?
OK, I'm the washer, you're the put-awayer -- cool? I'll do bathroom and kitchen and cooking, you do the floors and the tidying.
You're scared to touch my clean, folded underwear. I have domestic ADD and leave shit all over the house. You seem to be the cleaner one, so why don't you do most of the housework, while I blog?
4) Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental?
I'm all clear for STDs, but I have a bad knee and starved myself for three years. Oh, I tend to get a little crazy sometimes, but when you see it coming on, just kiss me. That will stop it.
I need professional help for my hysteria and you may need some too after decades of living with me. You are more physically fit than is normal, yet you still GI Diet, and I suspect you have male body image problems.
5) Is my partner affectionate to the degree that I expect?
Yes, we can't keep our hands off each other.
Yes, but there are severe dry spells for which I keep battery-powered back-up.
6) Can we comfortably and openly discuss our sexual needs, preferences and fears?
Yes. I've made it very clear: I won't take it in the bum.
He's happy to snore while I use battery-powered back-up. I'm happy to pretend that my computer is not being used for porn. I still won't take it in the bum.
7) Will there be a television in the bedroom?
No way!
No, but but there may be a laptop.
8) Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints?
Of course! We're so in tune with one another.
Well, we've really perfected the art of tuning one another out. But it looks like I'm listening, right?
9) Have we reached a clear understanding of each other’s spiritual beliefs and needs, and have we discussed when and how our children will be exposed to religious/moral education?
Ummm.... hmmm... Love is all you need!
Me: Come on -- a little dip into water never hurt anyone...
The Dog: So you want me to stand there and smile and lie while I our child gets baptized against my will?
Me: Sure, that'll do.
10) Do we like and respect each other’s friends?
Sure, they're just like family. Can't imagine our lives without them!
Really? You'd rather stay home too? Awesome!
11) Do we value and respect each other’s parents, and is either of us concerned about whether the parents will interfere with the relationship?
Whaddya mean you're worried that my parents will try to run our lives and guilt us into doing what they want? Well, my dad may be an asshole but your mother is an alcoholic!
I love your parents. Your mother is one of my best buds -- now that she is not drunk all the time. My parents have learned to wait for my call instead of hounding us, and their guilt trips have decreased somewhat now that they realize you and I are just going to do our own thing regardless.
12) What does my family do that annoys you?
Yes, I know my mother has nothing to talk about except how she got the eggplant on sale, and my father is a mute, but just wait until we have kids -- then you'll have something in common.
Yes, I know that all my mother wants to talk about is how Nate ate the eggplant she got on sale, and my father just says, "Nate" and giggles, but um, they really like you!
13) Are there some things that you and I are NOT prepared to give up in the marriage?
Me: The fact that I must see my parents once-a-week, (or be disowned,) the fact that I like to look good and that will cost more money than you can get your head around, and the rights to my bum hole.
You: The fact you need more alone time than seems right in a couplehood, the fact that you need to be active at all times, the fact that you need to control the remote and the CD/MP3 player at all times.
See above.
14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move?
Sure! We're young and in love. It would be romantic to overcome challenges in a new place.
There is no way I'm leaving this city while my mother is still alive -- especially with Nate in the world.
15) Does each of us feel fully confident in the other’s commitment to the marriage and believe that the bond can survive whatever challenges we may face?
Love is all you need!
Holy fuck this is hard. Sometimes I just want to go to my mother's. Sometimes I want to put the pillow over your face while you are sleeping. But I love you more today than I did all those years ago. It won't always be wine and roses, but it won't always be arguments and anger either. You make me laugh every day, you make me take myself less seriously, and you make me love life more than I could have imagined. We're in this together -- for the long haul. Love is all you need. Oh, and it doesn't hurt that you're hot.
So I offer you a more humorous portrayal of our up and down marriage. Here are the points from the New York Times piece with my thoughts at age 25 in green, and today's reality below:
Questions Couples Should Ask (Or Wish They Had) Before Marrying
Published: December 17, 2006
Relationship experts report that too many couples fail to ask each other critical questions before marrying. Here are a few key ones that couples should consider asking:
1) Have we discussed whether or not to have children, and if the answer is yes, who is going to be the primary care giver?
Sure! Let's have kids someday. We can have lots of sex as practice. Maybe even get a pet! If we can keep a pet together, surely raising children will be just as easy. And oh, I'd really like to stay home like our mothers did. I think I was born to raise kids.
Holy fuck that was way harder than I thought. Please, please let me out of the house and to talk to adults a few days a week? I have no idea what to do with this child.
2) Do we have a clear idea of each other’s financial obligations and goals, and do our ideas about spending and saving mesh?
Hmm, well you're a tightwad and I'm a shopaholic, so we'll just balance each other out. Oh, this credit card debt? Wedding expenses. It's all good.
Um, you forget to pay the bills and I forget to stop spending, so basically, we're facked.
3) Have we discussed our expectations for how the household will be maintained, and are we in agreement on who will manage the chores?
OK, I'm the washer, you're the put-awayer -- cool? I'll do bathroom and kitchen and cooking, you do the floors and the tidying.
You're scared to touch my clean, folded underwear. I have domestic ADD and leave shit all over the house. You seem to be the cleaner one, so why don't you do most of the housework, while I blog?
4) Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental?
I'm all clear for STDs, but I have a bad knee and starved myself for three years. Oh, I tend to get a little crazy sometimes, but when you see it coming on, just kiss me. That will stop it.
I need professional help for my hysteria and you may need some too after decades of living with me. You are more physically fit than is normal, yet you still GI Diet, and I suspect you have male body image problems.
5) Is my partner affectionate to the degree that I expect?
Yes, we can't keep our hands off each other.
Yes, but there are severe dry spells for which I keep battery-powered back-up.
6) Can we comfortably and openly discuss our sexual needs, preferences and fears?
Yes. I've made it very clear: I won't take it in the bum.
He's happy to snore while I use battery-powered back-up. I'm happy to pretend that my computer is not being used for porn. I still won't take it in the bum.
7) Will there be a television in the bedroom?
No way!
No, but but there may be a laptop.
8) Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints?
Of course! We're so in tune with one another.
Well, we've really perfected the art of tuning one another out. But it looks like I'm listening, right?
9) Have we reached a clear understanding of each other’s spiritual beliefs and needs, and have we discussed when and how our children will be exposed to religious/moral education?
Ummm.... hmmm... Love is all you need!
Me: Come on -- a little dip into water never hurt anyone...
The Dog: So you want me to stand there and smile and lie while I our child gets baptized against my will?
Me: Sure, that'll do.
10) Do we like and respect each other’s friends?
Sure, they're just like family. Can't imagine our lives without them!
Really? You'd rather stay home too? Awesome!
11) Do we value and respect each other’s parents, and is either of us concerned about whether the parents will interfere with the relationship?
Whaddya mean you're worried that my parents will try to run our lives and guilt us into doing what they want? Well, my dad may be an asshole but your mother is an alcoholic!
I love your parents. Your mother is one of my best buds -- now that she is not drunk all the time. My parents have learned to wait for my call instead of hounding us, and their guilt trips have decreased somewhat now that they realize you and I are just going to do our own thing regardless.
12) What does my family do that annoys you?
Yes, I know my mother has nothing to talk about except how she got the eggplant on sale, and my father is a mute, but just wait until we have kids -- then you'll have something in common.
Yes, I know that all my mother wants to talk about is how Nate ate the eggplant she got on sale, and my father just says, "Nate" and giggles, but um, they really like you!
13) Are there some things that you and I are NOT prepared to give up in the marriage?
Me: The fact that I must see my parents once-a-week, (or be disowned,) the fact that I like to look good and that will cost more money than you can get your head around, and the rights to my bum hole.
You: The fact you need more alone time than seems right in a couplehood, the fact that you need to be active at all times, the fact that you need to control the remote and the CD/MP3 player at all times.
See above.
14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move?
Sure! We're young and in love. It would be romantic to overcome challenges in a new place.
There is no way I'm leaving this city while my mother is still alive -- especially with Nate in the world.
15) Does each of us feel fully confident in the other’s commitment to the marriage and believe that the bond can survive whatever challenges we may face?
Love is all you need!
Holy fuck this is hard. Sometimes I just want to go to my mother's. Sometimes I want to put the pillow over your face while you are sleeping. But I love you more today than I did all those years ago. It won't always be wine and roses, but it won't always be arguments and anger either. You make me laugh every day, you make me take myself less seriously, and you make me love life more than I could have imagined. We're in this together -- for the long haul. Love is all you need. Oh, and it doesn't hurt that you're hot.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
If I knew then what I know now...
Oh NYT, you're so clever. Of course we all should have asked these questions of our partners before we promised to make them breakfast forever. In actuality, most of us did have these discussions. But anyone who's been married long enough knows the real truth -- people lie.
Especially young Armenian girls in their mid-20s, who fear nothing more than their mothers answering yet another phone call from the community matchmaker. Or worse -- being told at a family party that your cousin Arpi, who's 3 years younger than you, is engaged and boy, you'd better forget your ideals because you're not getting any younger. And what's wrong with you anyway?
So you alter the truth a touch when your prospective (and thankfully non-Armo) husband asks you questions like number 14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move? You say, "Sure!" and try to sound sophisticated and confident, even though you're 25 and haven't cut the umbilical cord yet. You don't tell him that your family would guilt you into grief, or that the first time you went camping when you were in 8th grade, you actually called and asked to come home because you were the homesick loser that no one wanted to roast marshmellows with.
Eventually you get married and your husband realizes that you call your mother 3 times a day, and even though you explain that it's not really you, that if you don't she'll think you're dead and call your sister to confirm your whereabouts -- he never really gets used to it. And you never really get used to the fact that he could care less if he sees his mother four times a year, at birthdays and holidays. And you try to tell yourself that like John Lennon said, love is all you need, but eventually you really start to annoy each other. You lie next to each other each night--you dreading any movement of the comforter releasing his offending odors, he dreading your open-mouthed Darth Vader post-nasal-drip breathing.
Eventually, the uphill pedalling gets you to the top of the hill and you can coast the breaks for a while, smiling and enjoying the view. But the ride downhill is always so much faster than the ride up the hill you know awaits you at the bottom. And sometimes it's hard to enjoy the scenery when you know tough times and lots of work lie ahead. But you pedal in tandem, in earnest, because you're not quite ready to disembark just yet.
Especially young Armenian girls in their mid-20s, who fear nothing more than their mothers answering yet another phone call from the community matchmaker. Or worse -- being told at a family party that your cousin Arpi, who's 3 years younger than you, is engaged and boy, you'd better forget your ideals because you're not getting any younger. And what's wrong with you anyway?
So you alter the truth a touch when your prospective (and thankfully non-Armo) husband asks you questions like number 14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move? You say, "Sure!" and try to sound sophisticated and confident, even though you're 25 and haven't cut the umbilical cord yet. You don't tell him that your family would guilt you into grief, or that the first time you went camping when you were in 8th grade, you actually called and asked to come home because you were the homesick loser that no one wanted to roast marshmellows with.
Eventually you get married and your husband realizes that you call your mother 3 times a day, and even though you explain that it's not really you, that if you don't she'll think you're dead and call your sister to confirm your whereabouts -- he never really gets used to it. And you never really get used to the fact that he could care less if he sees his mother four times a year, at birthdays and holidays. And you try to tell yourself that like John Lennon said, love is all you need, but eventually you really start to annoy each other. You lie next to each other each night--you dreading any movement of the comforter releasing his offending odors, he dreading your open-mouthed Darth Vader post-nasal-drip breathing.
Eventually, the uphill pedalling gets you to the top of the hill and you can coast the breaks for a while, smiling and enjoying the view. But the ride downhill is always so much faster than the ride up the hill you know awaits you at the bottom. And sometimes it's hard to enjoy the scenery when you know tough times and lots of work lie ahead. But you pedal in tandem, in earnest, because you're not quite ready to disembark just yet.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
20 Book Challenge 2006
So last year I said I was going to read 20 books. I didn't reach my goal and I definitely fell off the wagon when it came to reviewing them. My recap below if you're interested. Where I didn't post a review, I've linked to an online bookstore.
1. A Million Little Pieces by James Frey
Dubbed A Million Little Lies, I am so glad I finished this book a few weeks before all the controversy hit. I got to enjoy it innocently rather than cynically. Which is hard enough for me to do without any hoopla. This book is very well written, regardless of all the bullshit. It's a great read, though I guess trying to figure out what he lied about would ruin it somewhat.
2. Learning Curves by Gemma Townley
I read this because I was going to a lunch with the author, and I must say, it was pretty good for chicklit. Gemma is the sister of Sophie "Shopaholic" Kinsella, and while I'm not a fan of Shopaholic, I do quite like the idea of chickit-writing sisters. It's like taking the Joan and Jackie Collins thing to the next level.
1. A Million Little Pieces by James FreyDubbed A Million Little Lies, I am so glad I finished this book a few weeks before all the controversy hit. I got to enjoy it innocently rather than cynically. Which is hard enough for me to do without any hoopla. This book is very well written, regardless of all the bullshit. It's a great read, though I guess trying to figure out what he lied about would ruin it somewhat.
2. Learning Curves by Gemma TownleyI read this because I was going to a lunch with the author, and I must say, it was pretty good for chicklit. Gemma is the sister of Sophie "Shopaholic" Kinsella, and while I'm not a fan of Shopaholic, I do quite like the idea of chickit-writing sisters. It's like taking the Joan and Jackie Collins thing to the next level.
3. Seductive Poison by Deborah LaytonOoh, I love a good conspiracy/scandal book. This was a true-life account of a Jonestown survivor. Scary shit. I got into it after transcribing an interview for a documentary on the Jonestown massacres. I got a tad obsessed with the subject matter. The whole people dying en masse thing really intrigues me.
4. Black Swan Green by David MitchellDefinitely one of the highlights of my 2006 reading list. I heart this book. It's out in paperback on Feb 27th, so be sure to get yourself a copy. Honestly, there is nothing to not like about this book. It's a coming of age story set in 1980s Britain, filled with all the humour and sadness that being 13 is. It's a highly accessible, warm-your-heart book, written with intelligence and great compassion.
5. Why Babies Do That by Jennifer Margulis A gorgeous gift book that answers the title question with gorgeous multi-racial babies throughout.
6. Toddler edited by Jennifer Margulis
If you have a toddler -- get this book of short essays. They will make you feel better about the trying days and bring a welcome tear to your eye from time to time. Makes an excellent gift too.
7. Before I Wake by Robert J WiersemaOne of the most accessible works of Canadian fiction. I dare any woman to read this book and not feel a pang in her gut. Fabulous! And the author? He signed my yearbook.
8. The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld9. Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld
Oh how I longed to do a proper post on these two books. But somehow I never got around to it. I had the great pleasure of meeting Curtis Sittenfeld in June and as I said to Kate after the lunch, "We would so hang out with her!" OK, admittedly, it was a bit of a "Stars! They're just like us!" moment. OMG, she watches ANTM too! But seriously, I even emailed back and forth with her after about her current city, Philly. We were even going to meet up, but she was away when I got there.
I read these books in the wrong order. I recommend starting with Prep, and then picking up the paperback of The Man of My Dreams when it hits the stores in April. She has a way of writing unlikeable characters that you sort of relate to and side with. She perfectly captures the painfulness of being a girl in her teens or a young woman in her 20s. Plus Cross Sugarman is the new Trip Fontaine.
10./11. The Mother of All Solutions Series by Ann Douglas OK, admittedly I have not read the whole series, but I read The Mother of All Pregnancy Books and was pleasantly surprised to be mailed Sleep Solutions and Mealtime Solutions by someone I am proud to call a friend, the mother to us all, Ann Douglas. What I love about Ann's books are that she takes the research from all the other books, like the Ferbers and the Karps, and combines them, stressing there is no "one-size-fits-all solution" for children. Speckled with anecdotes from real moms, like Marla and Jen, the books help you cope and not feel so bad about yourself when the damn Weissbluth method isn't working for you.
12. Notes on a Scandal: What Was She Thinking? by Zoe HellerOh how I love a new voice in British fiction. This book is amazing. A perfect character and class study that is so good you can see it in theatres right now starring Judy Dench and Cate Blanchett.
13. Heat by Bill BufordI love to read about food. So when I caught the subtitle "An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany" I knew I had to dive in. And it doesn't disappoint. If you loved Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, or you worked in a restaurant, you will appreciate these stories of an amateur who volunteers to work in Mario Batali's kitchen.
14. Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay by Stefanie Taylor-WilderYou might know Stef from her hilarious blog Baby on Bored, or you may have seen her at the back of US Weekly, giving her witty quips on celebrities who dress bad. You may have even seen the lush *gasp* drinking on national television! In front of *gasp* her child! Regardless, if I had read this book when I was pregnant, I don't think I would have started a blog. Seriously, she says everything I have felt in this journey to the motherland. Get this book for your preggy friends now!
15.The Thirteenth Tale by Diane SetterfieldHere's a totally easy read for those who like Austen and Bronte, without the difficult old English to navigate. The entire time I read this book, I was casting it in my head. Judy Dench as Vida Winter for sure! Jim Broadbent as Aurelius. Elaine Cassidy as Margaret Lea. My only lament is that I got laryngytis before I could interview the author for a podcast. This is a book for people who love books.
So that was my 2006 in books. There were many, many half-read books. Many books started and not finished. And the nature of the publishing world is that once you set a book down, we start to market the new titles and those lovely gems that were set down don't get picked up again. Stay tuned as I'll announce my reading list for the winter/spring and maybe even give away some shiny, new and best-of-all FREE books.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Seen and Heard
Daddy and Nate were having breakfast while I puttered about getting ready for work.
Nate: (disappointed) "Mommy's leaving."
Daddy: (upbeat) "No bud, she's just going to work. She would never leave us. Look how cool we are!"
Nate: "Yah. We so cool Daddy."
*********************************************
On the phone with my mother, (AKA YaYa) getting grilled about my appointments and such for the hundredth time.
YaYa: (anxious, but thinking she's sounding calm) "Ven are you going to de doctor?"
Me: "Um, not sure. Waiting for them to call me with the appointment. I have another ultrasound on the 13th though."
YaYa: (anxiety rising) "Oh. Vat is dat one for?"
Me: (ambivalent, used to this line of questioning) "Um, I don't know. They're going to do some genetic testing for down's syndrome and stuff. It's normal. I did it with Nate too."
YaYa: (alarmed, panicking, but thinking she sounds cool and collected) "Is dat safe for de feutiss?" (yes, she can't pronounce fetus)
Me: (annoyed) "No mom, it's actually not safe for the feutiss, that's why I'm having it done. Because I want to harm my unborn child."
YaYa: (defensive) "No, no. I just meant... are dey going to stick a needle into your stomach? You hear all sorts of bad tings deez days."
Me: (enough already) "Ma, I didn't say amnio. I said ultrasound. They are just going to check on the baby, then I decide -- based on what they find -- what to do next. Will you stop freaking out already?"
YaYa: "No. But I am reely excited!"
*********************************************
At YaYa's on the weekend. Nate playing independently and chatting away, while I lay on the couch like a dead log.
Nate: "My sister is baby. My sister is nice."
Me to YaYa: "He keeps mentioning a sister. He must know someone with a sister, because he seems to have it in his head that that's what he's getting."
YaYa: (giddy) "I don't know... but I saw a pitteeg in my dream!"
Piteeg is my mother's slang for vagina.
Me: (laughing) "What?!"
YaYa: (laughing back) "I don't know. I vas changing a diaper, or someone vas changing a diaper. But I saw a pink piteeg!"
Me: "Please don't say that word again."
Nate: (disappointed) "Mommy's leaving."
Daddy: (upbeat) "No bud, she's just going to work. She would never leave us. Look how cool we are!"
Nate: "Yah. We so cool Daddy."
*********************************************
On the phone with my mother, (AKA YaYa) getting grilled about my appointments and such for the hundredth time.
YaYa: (anxious, but thinking she's sounding calm) "Ven are you going to de doctor?"
Me: "Um, not sure. Waiting for them to call me with the appointment. I have another ultrasound on the 13th though."
YaYa: (anxiety rising) "Oh. Vat is dat one for?"
Me: (ambivalent, used to this line of questioning) "Um, I don't know. They're going to do some genetic testing for down's syndrome and stuff. It's normal. I did it with Nate too."
YaYa: (alarmed, panicking, but thinking she sounds cool and collected) "Is dat safe for de feutiss?" (yes, she can't pronounce fetus)
Me: (annoyed) "No mom, it's actually not safe for the feutiss, that's why I'm having it done. Because I want to harm my unborn child."
YaYa: (defensive) "No, no. I just meant... are dey going to stick a needle into your stomach? You hear all sorts of bad tings deez days."
Me: (enough already) "Ma, I didn't say amnio. I said ultrasound. They are just going to check on the baby, then I decide -- based on what they find -- what to do next. Will you stop freaking out already?"
YaYa: "No. But I am reely excited!"
*********************************************
At YaYa's on the weekend. Nate playing independently and chatting away, while I lay on the couch like a dead log.
Nate: "My sister is baby. My sister is nice."
Me to YaYa: "He keeps mentioning a sister. He must know someone with a sister, because he seems to have it in his head that that's what he's getting."
YaYa: (giddy) "I don't know... but I saw a pitteeg in my dream!"
Piteeg is my mother's slang for vagina.
Me: (laughing) "What?!"
YaYa: (laughing back) "I don't know. I vas changing a diaper, or someone vas changing a diaper. But I saw a pink piteeg!"
Me: "Please don't say that word again."
Friday, February 02, 2007
I Love Books
Well that's hardly news. What is news is that my favourite book of 2005 , Lori Lansens incredible The Girls was just picked to be on the Richard and Judy show. Rich and Judy are like the Oprah's Book Club of the UK. The book is going to go through the roof in the UK.
What puzzles me more is why more North Americans didn't take a crack at this book. Was my glowing review not enough? I gave away several copies of the book to my readers. You should know by now that I only recommend good books. You don't need to be a brainiac to read this book. It's the simple story of two sisters -- they just happen to be, um, you know, joined at the head. Read my "Review about a book that's really about me" here.
You'd be wise to pick this up now. Canada | US | UK
What puzzles me more is why more North Americans didn't take a crack at this book. Was my glowing review not enough? I gave away several copies of the book to my readers. You should know by now that I only recommend good books. You don't need to be a brainiac to read this book. It's the simple story of two sisters -- they just happen to be, um, you know, joined at the head. Read my "Review about a book that's really about me" here.
You'd be wise to pick this up now. Canada | US | UK
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