Thank heaven for little girls

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca

I really, really wanted to have a daughter. When we had the ultrasound with my first and were told it was a boy, I had a slight pang of sadness. I put a moratorium on looking at pink dresses and continued that in my second pregnancy.

After a traumatic emergency c-section with Nate, we wanted to give Number 2 (she will one day hate us for using that nickname) a different birth story. She was planned, while Nate was more of an "Oops!" We decided not to find out her gender. I recall being in the delivery room with Nate and amidst all that chaos being told, "Congratulations, you have a healthy baby boy!" My only thought was, "Hmm, I knew that already."

With Number 2 I opted to try a Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (or VBAC -- I knew I'd be the first to type "vagina" on a Sweetspot blog!) and after several hours of pain and pushing, I frankly didn't care what kind of baby came out of me. I was just so proud that my body had come through for me.

Then I heard someone say, "It's a girl!" and I immediately started crying. I looked at that gorgeous gooey pink mess on my chest and sighed, "Hello Lucine." (It was the name I had carried around forever, like Charlotte in that Sex and the City episode with the baby shower.)

I finally let myself have the pink overload I was craving. And then my baby became a toddler, and she is anything but girly. She screams every time she's made to wear a dress, grasping at the fabric, trying to tear the offending garment off. She plays with her brother's Hot Wheels and Tonka trucks. She even says, "Vroom, vroom!"

Though I feel like I'm betraying who she is, I am cherishing the red velvet dress hanging over her change table, waiting for the holiday parties to arrive. Because next year, she'll have words of her own to defy my desires with... and I'd like to hang on to my girly dream just a bit longer.

Who's that pretty girl in the mirror? I'm still trying to figure that out.

Going Home

There are basically four choices of home location for any person who has had her uterus laid out on a table:

1. Live in a ridiculously small house in the city.
2. Live in a reasonably-sized house in the suburbs.
3. Live in a monster-sized McMansion in the suburbs.
4. Live out in the middle of nowhere.

We are currently doing #1. We got our Municipal Assessment thingy and were absolutely shocked when it told us the square footage of our house. 830 square feet. (This doesn't include the basement, which, if finished, would bring us to 1192 sq ft or something ridiculous like that.)

For so long we joked about how were going to live European style, and to some extent we have been. J bikes to work, I take public transit. We shop locally and are mildly active in our community. It's quaint. We have quirky neighbours like the pirate across the street who keeps my cat overnight (though we've repeatedly asked him to stop seeing her -- it's not like he's an online predator pretending to be a cat. What the fuck is she thinking? Come home already dammit!) or the friendly lesbians who invite my son to see their zoo (they have a lot of pets).

But our attempts to be organized are bust. With the lack of time these days to pair down, our stuff is overtaking us. The toys of two walking kids in the middle of our only sitting area are just not what one wants to put her ass tired feet up on at the end of the day.

Also, I'm really fucking tired of seeing crackies all day. In my two minute walk from the bus each day, I pass at least three of them. Their panicked, hungry eyes too hard to dismiss. Their angry, anxious walk; their twisted, shaking hands... I can't help them. They are lost for good. Is it horrible that I'd like to pretend they don't exist? That I'd prefer not to see them or to have my kids grow up in their shadow?

On top of all that, having a semi-detached house is annoying. I can hear my neighbours argue through the walls. When they finally had their roof redone last week, their fly-by-night shinglers put grey over our brown shingle so her house looks larger and our house looks like a postage stamp. I don't want to "do" our basement for fear of the problems it will cause on the other side of the wall.

My ultimate dream is #4. I think with the way this global warming thing is shaping up, it's time to read some Laura Ingalls Wilder and LM Montgomery and figure out how to put up preserves each fall. Time to go backwards and figure out how to be self-sufficient. Plus Nate is already begging to be home-schooled. But really? Could I handle milking a cow or waking up at dawn to feed sheep? Would the isolation kill me? Where would I get my latte?

#3 is not going to happen. Big houses require a lot of cleaning and no offense if you have one, but they often lack character. I can't tell you how many times I drive right past my parents house because it looks like every other house around. But if anarchy happens, it's probably best to be in groups of people who care about each other's well-being, so never say never. You could find yourself holing up in a McMansion out of necessity.

#2 is looking more and more like a possibility. While I swore I'd never move back to Scarborough, part of me idealizes it. The backyards and pathways of my youth hold such innocence, the strip malls such wonders. Beef patty and coco bread with ginger beer. Halal meat and giant pearl couscous. Filipino lumpia. Airbrush decals on t-shirts. Dances in church basements. Kennedy Station.

Oh sure, Scarborough has, you know, um, gang violence and stuff. J came home after a visit to his mom's and declared, "I forgot this about the suburbs, but all the kids are punks." Yeah well if you've looked around, all kids are punk asses these days. We were too. But we had the kind of values that kept us mostly out of harm's way.

Lately I'm dreaming about bungalows and side splits (with driveways! Imagine?) and never-ending yards and walking the kids to school without worry. I'm dreaming of quiet GO Train rides into the office once a week, because my fantasy also provides me with a proper home office (with a lockable door). I can see myself throwing parties again, where kids go down to the basement and grown ups get silly upstairs.

I'm envisioning dropping in on my elderly aunts once in a while and Nate and Lucy growing up having playdates with their cousins. There is something peaceful and quiet and relaxing about these dreams and J has been having them too.

But is it worth giving up what we have in the city? Can I actually make that leap? Have I forgotten how painful it was just moving from Westside to Eastside of Toronto proper? Stay tuned...

Nateisms: Stage Mother Edition

Like every mother, I think my children are special and exceptionally beautiful. But sometimes all the talk that Nate should be a model REALLY gets to my head and I start to have delusions of grandeur. When I watch certain kid-reality-shows like This is Daniel Cook or Are We There Yet, I start to imagine my own kids on those shows.

Me: "Nate, this Daniel Cook guy's pretty cool huh?"

Nate: "Yeah! I like Emily Yeung too!"

Me: (excited, I can see it now...) "Wouldn't you like to be like Daniel Cook and go to cool places and ask lots of questions?"

Nate: "Nope."

Me: (deflated) "Why not?"

Nate: "I'm too shy for that kinda stuff."

Me: (think that's the cutest answer in the world, pick him up, smother him with kisses.)

*********

While watching Are We There Yet: World Adventure a show hosted by siblings who travel around the globe having adventures. The mom is often in the shot. (Hey, someone's gotta chaperone.)

Me: "Nate, don't you think it'd be cool if you and Lucy hosted this show?"

Nate: "Nope."

Me: "Why not? Don't you think it'd be cool to travel the world as a family and have lots of adventures?"

Nate: "Well, I don't wanna be different."

Me: (Puddle of melted mama, guilty) "Oh, I get it... you just wanna be like everyone else?"

Nate: (Shakes his head, taps his chest) "No, I just wanna be myself."

Me: (Think he couldn't be more profound. Hate myself for not seeing him for who he is and projecting my own bullshit on him. Pick him up and kiss him a thousand times. Thank heaven he's mine. Thank the stars he has so much to teach me.)

My new favourite skincare line (that I got for free)

As I may have mentioned already about two million times over a few hundred posts, I'm tired. A lot. The Mama Guilt kicks in often and I find myself stretching and sacrificing to be the best I can be at mothering and at being the editor of a site that tells moms how to be fabulous. (Most days these attempts at near-perfection are futile.) Of course the first thing to go is taking care of myself.

So when I got an offer to try out several hundred dollars worth of CARE by Stella McCartney skincare, I could not say no. a) I adore Stella McCartney as a designer and as the daughter of a Beatle, b) the entire line is organic, c) it's not cheap stuff and they were offering it to me for free.

I've been using it just over a month now and I think it's time to break it down for y'all here. After all, it's holiday time and perhaps you'd like to ask for something extra nice for yourself.

Packaging
My first thought when I got the stuff was, "Wow look at these shiny silver cylinders!" Most skincare branded "organic" or "natural" usually looks like something you'd be embarrassed to have on your bathroom shelf. (Like I don't want people to think that I use crystals or some shit instead of deodorant! I'm not THAT much of a hippie yet!)

But then as I unwrapped the clear plastic wrap, then untwisted the silver cylinders to release the plastic tubs of moisturizer and such inside, I got a tad pissy. Stella, if you're so eco-conscious that you've created the world's first completely organic skincare line, wouldn't you try to take out a step or two in this packaging process? The containers that hold the lotions are quite lovely on their own and they seem very sturdy. (The silver cylinders did make for a sort of Russian Doll type activity for my 14-month-old though!)

And that's really my only negative. Everything after that has been amazing. I have ridiculously sensitive skin. Many sensitive skin lines even irritate my skin. Some products I've tried work for a week and then my skin is back to its old tricks. Not this one. It's been just over a month now and my skin has never looked better. My pores are smaller, my skin less red, less uneven, smoother. I am happy, happy, happy!

What's so good about it
The "calming soothing elixir" that goes under the "5 benefits moisturizing cream or fluid" has worked wonders on my raw, tired face. The "nourishing elixir" is great for those really windy days when I need a little extra rejuvenation. Not crazy about the "radiance and youth elixir" though.

Spraying "Toning Floral Water" on your face feels nicer than it sounds. And best of all, it doesn't smell like you're drowning in birch bark (I love you Dr. Hauschka, but you gotta work on those nasty smells) -- the scents are actually pretty without reeking of perfume or being overwhelming (Boo -- Body Shop).

I do wish the line had an eye cream and an exfoliating scrub. Will have to stick to my beloved Hauschka for now. (Also, I love saying Oog Creme, those wacky Germans!)

Price (Ouchies!)
I'm not going to sugar coat it -- this isn't for everyone, especially in these times. The elixirs are $64 USD at Sephora, the moisturizer a whopping $76. Even for someone like me who rarely denies herself anything if she thinks it's the best (and I do think this is the best skincare line I've tried -- EVAH!), it's a shaky hand that lays down that credit card these days.

But if your main man Santa wants to lay down a coupy hun on something nice for you, I think this could be worth it. Just use teeny tiny pumps like me. (That's pumps of lotion you pervs.)

The trick is remembering to do the regime every night. (If someone figures out how not to fall asleep while putting the kids to bed let me know!)

*************
If that left you hankering for more beauty talk, I have a post about my beauty bag musts over here!

Sunshine and Lollipops

Originally published on Sweetspot.ca


Being a Sweetmama means sometimes having to make tough choices. Should you feel guilty about being invited to tour Walt Disney World solo? Do you downplay it to your colleagues? And what do you tell your kids? (We opted for "long work meeting.")

I was a bit skeptical at first. Was I off to be indoctrinated into the cult of the mouse? But bit-by-bit, my entire jaded, city girl exterior faded and I slowly began to channel my inner princess (I think it was all the wine pixie dust). Here are my top five moments in photos:


1. Cinderella's Castle. All lit up like the Eiffel Tower, it was a sight to behold. Getting pixie dusted at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique inside? Priceless. (Yeah, I was drinking the Kool-Aid and asking for seconds.)


2. The Gang. I cannot say enough about the lovely Disney people (the ladies to the left of the pixies) who lavished us with (uninterrupted) five-star dinners, queen size beds and spa treatments in the luxurious Grand Floridian Resort & Spa. Every single "cast member" we met seemed genuinely proud to work there -- as evidenced by the giant smiles on Tink and friends in Pixie Hollow here.

The ladies to the right of the pixies are us weathered journalist/blogger types. Even the most hardened of us (ahem, Julie) succumbed to the magic in the end. It's also worth noting that one should not wear fairly new heels to the Magic Kingdom. See my red foot behind the orange pixie? I missed Space Mountain because of those shoes! If I asked Magic Mirror, "Who's the Sweetmama-ist of them all?" the award would go to Racheal, who braved all the rides in heels and complained not once.


3. The Food. (Get your filthy mind out of my eggs benny!) In three days of breakfast, lunch and dinner on the resort, I was amazed by the options offered. The pulled pork sandwich at The Whispering Canyon Cafe offered a mini pitcher of BBQ sauce so I could control how saucy it was. But the piece de resistance was our final night in the French Pavilion at Epcot. Dinner at Les Chefs de France, a bistro with -- wait for it -- REAL. FRENCH. WAITERS! (Yum!)


4. Guilty Shopping. If one can't take one's kids to DisneyWorld, one tries to make up for it in stuff. Downtown Disney offers an abundance of options for getting said stuff. In my house, you can't go wrong with Lego. (Though you CAN give yourself a heart attack as you try to convince your preschooler to pick up every single piece so that your toddler doesn't choke on it.)


5. The A-ha Moment. On our last day, I got to sit out by the pool on a rare break between sightseeing. Though we were pretty much "working" from 7am to close to midnight each night, the Florida sun with its warmth (and humidity) was an exceptional treat -- especially with what we're dealing with at home a week later. (Temperatures below zero, snow, sleepless nights...)

I never imagined that my first ever trip to DisneyWorld (a place I once gathered pennies on the street in hopes of saving up to see) would be without my kids. Now I've been spoiled. I can't imagine going back with them. (Shhh...)

DisneyWorld Redux With Photos

Hey gang! I've posted a brief (600 words is brief for me -- though it's 400 words over the max guidelines I've given my other Sweetmama bloggers) relay of my trip including photos (minus the curse words you'd find here) over there. Check it out!

I also recommend this hilarious post by one of my favourite chickens (yes I have favourites) Jes about the sweets at Sweetspot/Sweetmama. Don't hate us because we have candy at work. Seriously, I've gained a good 7 pounds since I started working there. (Or maybe I've just never lost that last bit of baby weight?)

Top 10 Things I've Started to Blog About But Never Finished

After countless posts in drafts, buckets of tears and no spare time, I just have to resign myself to the fact that I have been a bad blogger.

So let's get some housekeeping out of the way, shall we? Here are Top 10 Things I've Started to Blog About But Never Finished. (Past 3 months edition.)

1. I'm walking over here!
Loogoo the tanko started walking just after her first birthday. I thought it would tire her out, slow her down, get her to sleep through the night again. Alas, no fucking dice. She has no interest in sleeping. The world is far too interesting for my spirited child. She's all like, "What's up bitches? Where the tequila at?"

2. Halloweak
I took a photo, maybe two, and I haven't uploaded them yet. Loogoo was a kitty cat, because I have no time and that's all that was left at Old Navy. And I just couldn't bear to buy her one of those super skanked up Halloween costumes that are made for two-year-old hookers.

Nate was Batman and he remained in character all day with the help of his Dad-slash-ambiguously-gay-sidekick Robin. Poor Robin was so sad that no one took his photo with Batman. I pretended to feel bad but really I was thinking, "Well, you're fucking lucky you even had time to go hunt down a costume for yourself after I spent all weekend in a horrendous mall getting everyone else sorted!"

The highlight was our kitty cat daughter crawling into a cat bed with a cat in it, of her own accord. We could not get her to come out. She was all like, "Check this funny shit out bitches! I'm a cat in a cat bed, and there's a real cat in here. Now that's some funny shit! And hell to the no, I'm not moving." (Oh damn, now I am forced to upload the picture because you need to see it.)


3. Public Enema
We had a booth at the Babytime Show and I hosted a stroller fashion show. Let me just say loud and clear that the irony of all this is not lost on me. That I once dissed Bugaboos and now tell people that they can pimp out their rides with Bugaboo bonnets is something I've learned to come to terms with. It's called a paycheque actually. That, and I actually have fun at my job. I'm learning shed my attitude and to let things, that would have once bothered me, go. I'm getting a bit soft and selling out, but in a good way...?

Case in point, we have a new blog starting at my day job, and you may notice an interesting blogger on the list.

I'm also having a tough time writing here when I am now censored a bit by way of having this medium profile job. That part is really frustrating.

Anyway, I'll be on CHCH Morning Live in Hamilton Wednesday AM, very early. So set your PVRs. All this being a representative stuff is new to me and I'm enjoying it. It's fun to have your kids come out and see you up on stage (or on TV) making a fool of yourself. It's not so fun having to explain to them why you have to work on a Saturday.... which brings me to my next point...

4. Work/Life Imbalance
I love what I do, I hate that it's taking up so much of my time. It means I'm not around as much as I was when I first took this job. Thankfully, the situation is temporary, but I feel like a lot of the damage has been done. My relationship has been extra rocky as of late, my daughter is practically being raised by my mother (it's kinda like we have joint custody) and I am saddled with a toxic cocktail of stress and guilt. It's hard to be away from blogging for a few weeks and then just drop a major trainwreck on your readers. But it's been hard to go through it without being able to write about it in depth. This synopsis doesn't do it justice. It needs time, time that I'm working to regain back into my life.

5. My Dad
Melissa Summers wrote an incredible post on her late father that left me in tears. So I went back to my biannual attempt to summarize my father. I have several tries in drafts. I'd like to sort all that out somehow and put it out there. One of these days I won't give up after the third paragraph.

6. Sleep Doula
My daughter doesn't sleep. I have to edit stuff, which means I need my head screwed on straight. I never thought I'd be one of those people who would hire someone to help her daughter get to sleep (especially because I'll need to borrow money while the world is financially falling apart to do so) but I am at my tits end. I am beyond tired and it's making everything brutal. So I met this Sleep Doula woman and she seemed quite nice and good lord in heaven I just need some rest! What do you think? Sleep Doula a good idea or waste of cash that I don't have?

7. D*sn*yW*rld
I can say nothing bad about these people (though MAN it's tempting to snark!) as they just hosted me for three days all expenses paid at their awesome complex. I went kid-free, with other mom-journalists and one non-mom. It was like Breakfast Club with mommy writers. You know, if Judd and Molly and the gang got to eat in five-star restaurants and have spa treatments and stuff. And boy it was bordering on detention hanging out with this mom, this mom and this mom all day. (Kidding. I couldn't have been saddled with a better, snarkier bunch.)

I was a pampered princess for three whole days. The "magic" really happened when I got to sleep in a queen size bed all by myself. (No, I reneg -- the magic was when I came into the room after a long day of touring the sites to find my curtains drawn, my bed turned down and milk and cookies on my counter.)


8. The C.R.A.Z.Y.
So at the peak of my stress, I felt like I was going to die. I was sure I was giving myself cancer. I had an arthritis attack rip through my joints. I cried at my desk a lot. Then I went to see my homey and she gave me some magic beans and then this crazy ass tree grew in my yard and when I climbed to the top there was an ogre... or something like that. I feel better. But seeing the CRAZY peek out underneath your clothes is not a good thing. Glad I was able to tuck it back in.

9. The 50% that is not me
Loogoo is cutting six teeth in one shot and I think that's worth mentioning. Maybe not a whole post worthy, but it should be noted that my MIL keeps reminding me that she was up all hours with my husband and his teeth. (And he can now sleep through anything!) I am not really comforted by that, but it's helpful to know.

Also, Loogoo does not use her second tow when stepping. I know this because I have stared far too long at my MIL's feet, which are the kind prone to SEVERE bunions. Loogoo has inherited these feet and it's very upsetting to me with my adorable feet that the boy got. How will she ever wear sandals or stilettos? It's heartbreaking to me. (Yes, I am that fucking shallow.)

10. The Apocalypse
Of course, cute shoes won't matter with the coming of Armageddon. I have to force myself not to stay up envisioning a Cormac McCarthy type bleak, dystopian future. But I am fearful of it if I let my mind dwell. It makes me want to take all my loved ones to a farm up north and start a commune. It also makes me consider having guns for the first time ever. Oh I hope we don't live to see that kind of a world, but it's happening faster than I ever thought. It could just be the CRAZY talking, but I'm betting I'm not the only one out there who's awake at midnight trying to decide if it's best to live in the city or the country.

So that's just a small chunk of it all. More to come. Now off to bed before Loogoo wakes up. Gah!