FitPreggo Friday

Pregnancy Weight Gained 8lbs, Alcohol Units 0 (sigh), Cigarettes 0 (yuck), Timbits 3 (but were bought for office mates so don't count), Skittles Too many to track, Chocolate Chips Several large handfuls, Fries Yes (but as are potatoes, counting them as vegetables), Other Forbidden Substances Tim Hortons French Vanilla Coffee, Total Calories Scared to hazard a guess.

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Am most upset because bravely worked out last night to Billy Blanks Ultimate Boot Camp video. Not feeling any fitter, but now have headache from tensing up while using resistance bands. Also noticed while doing girl push-ups that burgeoning stomach takes on a most distressingly Sigourney Weaver-esque Alien aspect. Not good if wanting to portray a chic mother-to-be. Colleague at work remarked that stomach did not look pregnant, but rather like it had recently given birth and was still sporting an afterbirth pooch. (Mental note: ply colleague with fattening foods so she gains a pooch too.)

Have been attempting to keep up with running schedule, but am finding it difficult between stomach viruses and Mr Earth's busy schedule. Run times distressingly low, and usually end up at Timothy's for a chai tea and chocolate chip muffin. Not sure if able to count runs followed by large chocolatey baked goods. Must remember that while eating for two, one of said two people is only 5 inches and probably doesn't need to eat a whole muffin alone.

Am seriously considering going on cross-country tour to promote idea of recognizing Toddler Lifting and Carrying as new official sport of Olympics. Am sure to win gold medal and gain international fame.

In the past, have been compared most flatteringly to Buffy star Alyson Hannigan. Or, as gents in bars point out "that Band Camp girl". Have been centre of amused attention at parties after perfecting Band Camp impression:



Am concerned that with second pregnancy, am on my way to a less delectable star comparison:

Graduated

Picked up my diploma at lunch today. Sort of anticlimactic after all the work I've done. Just went to a desk, paid my fifteen dollars and they handed me the document. All said and done, though, a lot easier than going through the whole graduation ceremony. I couldn't have made it anyways - I had a Big Meeting, the Boy was sick, and we had to go see the otolaryngologist for a followup to his surgery. It was a big day for me as well, just not ceremonial kind.

You know what? They didn't even ask me for ID. Anyone could have picked it up, and gone on to pretend they're me. (Although, really, who would do this? It's not like it's a medical degree, just a Bachelor of Fine Arts.) Looking at the diploma, though, it is kind of like I'm pretending. It's made out in my maiden name, and I'm not really that person anymore. I mean, she is still very much a part of who I am, it's just that I'm so different now. And yet, I'm still completely her.

Does anyone else have this identity crisis, or is it just me? I decided to take Mr Earth's last name because I knew we would have children, and I didn't want to have a different last name than my kids. It's just so labour-intensive, and I'm not into explaining myself all the time. Personally, it's also a thing I have about unity. We all play for the same hockey team here, we should be wearing the same jersey. After all, if we had different names - how would the fans know who to cheer for? I know that there are manymanymanymany reasons for keeping your name when you get married, and I strongly support them all, but at heart I'm a traditional girl.

The one compromise I did make, though, in favour of feminism, is that I use my maiden name when I act. And apparently, also when I apply for graduation. I did have the choice, you know. I could have used my married name on the degree. I decided to keep this little piece just for me. Acting is the same. Strange to say that though, because graduating is something I could not have done without Mr Earth, period. I actually can't do shows anymore either, without Mr Earth to watch the Boy. So it's intricately woven, and yet I keep it separate. Funny, huh? I like to make things complicated. But I'd be interested to know whether you all kept your name, hyphenated-it, changed it when you got married. Or didn't. This doesn't only apply to married people, if you're living together and don't want to be married, I'd love to know why too. Man, I'm nosy.

But back to my original point: I graduated! [insert fanfare here] As to what I'm going to do with this piece of paper, who knows? The only place to go is up, though.

Of Harry Potters and Puff Mommys..

I was talking with a colleague of mine at work about Harry Potter, and she said that she wasn't interested in reading it because she thinks that magic is silly. I was floored. I had to bite my tongue to keep in the million things that I wanted to say in response to this flabbergasting revelation. What do you have against magic? Did you have a bad experience as a child? Magic is supposed to be a bit silly, that's kind of part and parcel with the fantastic. In the end, I told her that she should just try reading the books because they are really quite good, and that although magic obviously plays a big part, that's not really what they are all about.

Since then I've mulled this over in my head, trying to figure out what I could have said differently to convince her to give the books a try...

Read more from Mama Drama at MBT


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Okay, so I'm just over 16 weeks pregnant and all my pants still fit but my shirts don't. I'm busting at the seams here, folks. I had to cross my arms at my meeting this morning, because I was afraid that a button would pop off my blouse and hit a colleague in the eye. It's embarrassing. Should I be at all concerned that I'm only gaining weight on the top half of my body?? I seem to remember last time that I was putting elastic bands in my waistbands of my pants to relax the fit, but that shirts were no problem. Am I a freak, or what? Ack.

Let's talk about sex, baby.

Other than pressing me for names, the number one thing that people have asked me about since learning I am pregnant is whether or not I am going to find out the sex of the baby. And going on to offer me opinions on which sex baby they would prefer that I have. (I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think that their preference will do anything to persuade the Powers That Be..could be wrong, though).

With my anatomical ultrasound coming up on July 3rd, I have to say that I am torn. Right down the middle. With leanage to one side. Clear as mud? I thought so. We very specifically did not find out the sex of The Boy before he was born. With three (!) sets of grandparents eager to buy us Baby Stuff, we didn't want them going overboard on pink frilly dresses or blue sports-themed paraphernalia. I am very much against pre-emptive gender-typing. I figure that they will get enough of that crap growing up and they don't need us to enforce while they're still babes in arms. But - more importantly - we didn't want to ruin The Moment. I don't think that there are many moments more dramatic in an ordinary person's life than the moment when, sweaty and exhausted from labour, someone announces triumphantly "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!". That's drama, baby, and I am all about the drama. People have told me that it's just as dramatic to find out on the day of the ultrasound, but I remain unconvinced. Moments, to me, are about setting the stage, and waiting for the precise second when your words or actions will have the most impact. It's about keeping yourself and your audience in the most excitingly tense state of suspense possible.

BUT - now we have the Boy. He can barely understand the concept of "brother" or "sister", and it just makes it more confusing to tell him that he may have one or the other, but we're not sure which. Also, if Baby Earth turns out to be a boy, well, we're all set for clothes and toys. If Baby Earth is a girl, I'm sure I will find something girlie to buy. I'm totally jealous of the cute girlie clothes out there. Plus, I kind of want to know. You know? This is it for the family and I want to know how it's all going to turn out. I'm impatient. Plus, eventhough we didn't find out the sex of the Boy, we knew - without a shadow of a doubt - that he was going to be a boy. Finding out would only confirm what we already knew to be true. This time, I'm not so sure. Well, I still think it will be a boy, but that's mainly because I don't know what it's like to have a baby who isn't a boy. What on earth would I do with a baby girl?? That may sound odd, seeing as I am, myself, a girl. But then, I wasn't looking after myself as a baby, now was I?

Since all that really matters to us is that we have a healthy babe, it shouldn't really matter to us what sex the baby turns out to be. And it doesn't. I also have a hard time passing up a truly dramatic moment, just because I'm impatient. I'm going to have to mull this over something fierce before my next ultrasound. It would help if you told me whether or not you found out. If you did, what made you decide to find out? Was it still a Big Moment?? Oh, and go over to the sidebar and vote on what sex you think it will be, will you? Look at me creating a poll - I'm a techno-wiz! (Mr Earth wanted me to create a gambling pool where people would send us money, but I vetoed that. Although, if you want to send us money, feel free..)

June is Bustin' Out All Over

I've had this little post burning a hole in my pocket for several months, but now that I'm finally ready to write about it, I'm feeling kind of shy all of sudden. Sort of like that first dinner at my parents' house after my honeymoon. They were both extrememly happy and welcomed Mr Earth into the family whole-heartedly, but you couldn't deny the subtle undercurrent of awkwardness. My father could no longer pretend to himself that his only daughter had never had sex. No denial would save face, no "oh but daddy, we just hold hands and pray all night" would cut it this time. It was patently obvious. And my father didn't quite know what to do with the knowledge. As is my usual style, I just ignored the awkwardness and hoped it would go away.

That won't cut it this time. This is something you can't ignore. It's simply too big. But since I can't bring myself to say it outright, let me beat around the bush for a bit. Can you guess where I'm going with this:

I cried when Jaslene was made America's Next Top Model. (underdogs get to me every time)

I rage over the least little thing. (poor Mr Earth)

I have a newfound love of spicy foods. (chilies - your time is nigh)

My drink of choice these days is a Shirley Temple. (shut up, they're good...!)

I fall asleep about 9:30pm. (wild girl)

I can't do an hour-long run without hitting the bushes. (so classy)

I'm scared and happy at the same time. I'm happy to be scared and scared to be happy. (in short, I'm a mess).

Still no clue? Take a look at this amazing photo:

Yup, it's true. Come American Thanksgiving, the Earth trio turns quartet. So, I'm going to retire the ole diet for awhile and just let it all hang out. Hopefully, not TOO far. Good times.

What's that?

Well, here we are almost two weeks after the Boy's surgery, and Mr Earth asked me last night if I thought that the Boy was hearing better or speaking more. Our immediate response was: "Uh, no, not really". (We're very in sync - you might say we're in love, or something..) But then I got to thinking..

He may be talking a bit more. It's hard to tell. I've mentioned before that he narrates his life like a running commentary exercise from Young Driver's of Canada. When he's quiet, I usually jump right into the mom-freak stance of What'swrong?Areyouok?Areyoutired?Areyousick?Areyouhungry?Whyaren'tyouspeaking?? Hot damn, life with me must be fun.. But then, it's true that when he's quiet, there is quite often something wrong. So if he talks more than, say, all the time would you be able to tell??

He seems to have more of a reaction to music. He'll start bopping in his seat when a song he hears a song he likes. He's inherited my unique dance ability. Man, it's funny to watch. I wish I had it on video. His chubby little arm will bounce up and down. If his hands were clasped when the music came on, then both arms will bounce. He's also started to sing in discernible notes, and tunes. But is this a result of the surgery, or is it simply a developmental thing?

I do think that he is hearing more of the sounds at low auditory levels. He's always been one to point out things and say "What's that, mummy, what's that?". Now, this happens all the time. To almost every sound. It even happens when I don't hear anything. That can be a little freaky - especially when we're home alone at night. Most of the time I think it's pretty funny, but sometimes it gets a bit much. Especially if I don't know what he's pointing to, or what he's heard. Sometimes I ask, in the nicest way possible, "What do you think it is?" or "What does it look like?" (Very Seinfeld-esque, for anyone who saw the episode where Kramer pretends to be the Moviephone voice: "Why don't you just tell me the name of the movie you want to see?"). Sometimes I think he knows very well and is simply testing me. It's most amusing, though, to see his little finger point straight up in the air like he's about to say "Eureka!" -- you know another "What's that, mummy?" is going to come at any second.

Strangely though, kids who have ear surgery are supposed to talk very loudly before the surgery, but the Boy speaks louder than ever now. I kind of feel like I'm living in an episode of Dora the Explorer. Why do they shout so on that program. Can anyone answer that?

All I can say, is that it's never boring at Casa Earth. And I've learned a lot. You don't spend your whole day naming things without learning a little something along the way.

Little Miss Sunshine

I was reading a post over at Metro Mama's and realized that she is absolutely right. We moms are all really good at sharing our angst and shortcomings, but it's not often - or, more importantly, not often enough - that we share the good things. She was talking specifically about laughs and poems in this instance, but since I'm fresh outta laughs, I thought the least that I could do is share with you some of the ways that I AM a good parent, despite all my protests to the contrary:

1. When I'm with the Boy, I am WITH him. Present. I don't blog, watch tv, talk on the phone (except when absolutely unavoidable), or read. I may not be there all day, but the time I have with him is quality time.
2. I stick to a firm-but-flexible schedule. The Boy knows what to expect of his day, and we avoid a lot of tantrums by keeping naps and bedtimes predictable.
3. I always look for opportunities to give the Boy a choice. I keep it to choices he can make: a choice of two dinners, a choice of two shirts. I think it gives him a sense of independence.
4. I rarely leave the house without everything we could ever need for every possible scenario. I'm an ultra-planner that way.
5. The Boy's comfort and happiness is foremost in my thoughts. I actually sit at my desk at work and worry whether I've dressed him properly for the day, and plan days together to make sure that he gets a nice mix of indoor and outdoor time.
6. I can make the Boy smile or laugh just by looking at him funny.
7. I've managed to raise a generally sunny and upbeat Boy who narrates his life like a Young Driver's of Canada running commentary, but set to music. You'll often hear little songs floating around our house like: "I sitting on a chair now! I sitting on a chai-air!"

I think seven is a good number, so I'm going to stop there. What I would like to know, though, is how do you think you're a good mother?? I know you all are, or I wouldn't be reading your blogs every day. As with Metro, I like to surround myself by stronger players.

And, since it's against my nature to be a total Little-Miss-Sunshine without any clouds whatsoever, why don't you skip over to Mommy Blogs Toronto and read my latest post on a rather embarassing failure from my theatre school days? It's a doozy. Fun times.

Weekend Pictorial

As I type this, the air outside is redolent with the smell of sulphur from the fireworks. All night long - for the past three nights, actually - we've gone to bed with the intermittent popping noises of Victoria Day celebrations. The weekend was not all I hoped it would be. Mr Earth was in rehearsal two out of the three days - his show opens this week. Poor service at our anniversary dinner on Friday, coupled with a touch of food poisoning, cast a pall on the holiday. Between the tired and the sick, I am left with few words. We did have a few good moments though:

We played in the park.

We stopped and smelled the flowers.

We checked out the fountain.

We learned to catch a frisbee. (Ok, not really, but we did throw it around a bit.)

Back to my crackers and gingerale. Goodnight.

This is not a love song

This is not a love song because..

..most love songs are written by unhappy people on illegal drugs. I am most happy, and I have never used illegal drugs (except for that one time in BC - but I didn't inhale.)

..it doesn't contain "achy breaky" hearts or cheatin' men. I trust you completely - with my heart and my life

..love songs are rarely written by people in mismatched pyjamas that smell like Vicks VapoRub.

..it doesn't rhyme (I just didn't have time. Oops.)

..people just don't go around spontaneously singing about their feelings. At least, that's what the musical theatre haters would have us believe.

..most love songs don't get beyond the "happily ever after" part. We gone so much further. Since getting married 5 years ago, we've: bought a house, bought a car, had a baby, lost a dear family member and experienced countless comedies and tragedies that are too numerous to list here, but I haven't forgotten a single moment. And I can't wait for the moments still to come.

Nope, this is not a love song. It's a tribute to a wonderful man who met me when I thought it was cool to wear oversized t-shirts, stretch pants and Fluevog boots, and fell in love with me anyways. The grunge look of 1998 was not kind to me. I consider myself lucky to have found you.

Maybe this is a love song after all.

Second Guessing

It's ironic that the times that I feel most like a parent is when I am doing the worst job of it. At the best of times, I am a terrible decision-maker. That's the problem with seeing the world in shades of gray. Generally, it's a very inclusive world view, but it sucks when you are called on to have an opinion or make a decision.

Tomorrow, the Boy goes to the hospital to get ear tubes put in. In some ways, I am relieved. On one hand, it will (hopefully) be an end to the non-stop ear infections that render the Boy miserable. On the other hand, it's been some time since he's had an ear infection, so I'm starting to wonder if the whole ordeal is really necessary? Theoretically, the Boy would have more earaches in the winter, because they are caused by non-stop congestion that turn into infection. I would kick myself if I turned down the surgery and the poor Boy went through another winter like the one that we just had. If we had to "well days" in a row, I was jumping for joy. That's not a way to live life when you're two.

But after the surgery, he will have to wear earplugs every time he takes a bath, and a special ear band or cap whenever he goes swimming because he can't get water in his ears while he has the tubes in. That's no fun, either. Since the Boy won't wear sunglasses for longer than a second at a time (and he asks to wear them!) - I'm thinking that ear plugs will not go over very well. And I'm a little freaked out because just as things have finally started to get "easier" and "routine", they are suddenly complicated again.

I know it's not the end of the world, and that many people would think that there are far more serious things to worry about. I agree. What's causing this second-guessing is the simple fact that, in the end, the decision came down to us. I don't want to be doing this surgery for unnecessarily. It is our decision to do the surgery. But surely the specialist would not recommend the surgery if it was not needed..?

I belong to the camp of people who trust doctors (most of the time), and take their recommendations at face value. If a hearing specialist tells me that the Boy's hearing has been comprimised because he constantly has fluid in his ears that never drains completely, then what should I really say to that? I'm no hearing specialist, after all. I haven't noticed a hearing problem. He speaks well. He's got a great vocabulary, and 99% of his words are understood by people outside the family. Apparently, though, kids are supposed to have super-sonic hearing or something, and he doesn't hear things at super low levels. He hears like he's underwater. How could I not have noticed something like that? It makes me question my instincts. And I am already second-guessing them.

I hate creaky floorboards..

Lately, the Boy's bedtime routine has taken a rather um, interesting turn. Normally, after bath and story, we cuddle him, put him in the crib, rub his back, say goodnight and walk away. Now, we do exactly the same thing, but within a couple minutes of walking away, the Boy is up, tears running down his face, and screaming at the the top of his lungs "I want my mommy and daddy! AAHHHH!!" The only thing that calms him down is if I sit in the rocking chair while he falls deeply asleep. This can take some time.

The first night, I tried to leave too early, stepped on a creaky floorboard, and the Boy was up screaming in an instant. I had to lie him down and sit in the chair again. This has made bedtime rather challenging, to say the least. And drawn out. I've stared at the alphabet cards bordering his room for much longer than I care to. Several are falling off the wall from the humidity, and it annoys me to no end that I just have to sit and watch them fall slowly off the wall, instead of fixing them. Now I just sit in the chair, think about how hungry I am, and hope that the Boy will turn his head and face the wall. That's the only way to escape without him waking up. I feel a little bit like I'm trying to exit a room that is laced with deadly laser beams. If I wasn't so tired, it would seem like an adventure.

Nothing has changed in the Boy's routine lately, so I can't imagine what has prompted this turn of events. I love that he needs me, I do, but I would like my evenings back please.
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If you want to check out how Nomo is defeated by book, hop on over to Mommy Blogs Toronto for my latest post. I'm going to have a nap now.

Careers I've Considered

In the hopes of finding something that I love to do as much as acting, I've spent a lot of time (mainly at work) thinking up careers that I might find fun and fulfilling. I thought it would be neat to share them with you, so that you don't think that I spend all my time whining about how much I dislike my job. Look! I think, too!!

Also, since these are creative ideas, I thought publishing them on my site would have the same effect as copywriting, so nobody could claim that they had the idea first (Did you read about the whole "Muggle" fiasco that JK Rowling had a few years back? No fun.) So, without the benefit of any law experience, I am declaring these ideas/images below to be the sole property of the author of this blog, and any use of these ideas/images without my knowledge or consent is prohibited by law. (Fancy words, those - n'est-ce pas? Not that anyone would really want to steal MY ideas.) Here goes.

1. CHILDREN'S BOOK AUTHOR/ILLUSTRATOR:

This is Henrietta. She's a little horse who is always in a hurry. Things are never done fast enough to suit her. And when things aren't done quickly enough, she is most displeased.

I was going to call the book Hold on, Henrietta!, and dedicate it to the Boy - who always wants things done right away, or not at all. Unfortunately, I can't seem to develop the story more than this. I don't consider myself an author, and I'm a little daunted by the task.

2. PORTRAIT ARTIST

This was actually my original "career choice" back in Grade 9. I was going to be an art teacher who did portraits on the side. I eventually decided against it because although I love to draw, it's really a very solitary career. You spend ages alone in a studio, and rarely become famous until you're dead. I kind of like hanging out with people. Also, I don't really know anyone who wants portraits done anymore. It's really a dying art. Who needs a portrait when you can just take a picture? I should have been born in the 1800's. I would have rocked the world.

Please keep in mind that I haven't done any portraits in years. I did this sketch on a 10-minute break at work. I used a mechanical pencil, instead of my preferred medium of chalk pastels, or acrylic paints. All told, though, it doesn't look unlike the Boy. I could do better if I spent more time on it.

3. CHILDREN'S DRAMA/ARTS INSTRUCTOR

This is still a possibility. I love working with kids, especially doing art and drama. I'm just plum scared at opening my own business. Plus, I'm really not sure how much interest there is for this kind of thing. People don't have that much money for extras, and when they do, they generally spend it on name brand classes like Gymboree. Still here's my company name, and a quick rendering of the type of logo that I would use. I love designing logos. I even reserved a website address for this name, just in case. Who knows what could happen in the future, right?

A Tree Falls in the Forest

Here's the question of the week: If a post is written in the blogosphere, and nobody reads it, was it written? Was it worth it to write it in the first place? The immediate answer to this question is most enthusiastically - yes! Writing can be many things to different people: cathartic, soothing, creative. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. But when you sit down and really think about it, the blogosphere is a public forum. If people really wanted to write just for the sake of writing, they would keep a personal journal. Blogging initiates interaction with the outside world. It asks for feedback. That is part of it's very nature. If you have a blog, and nobody reads it, is it actually a journal that just happens to be online?

Intrigued? Read the rest of the post in my little corner of Mommy Blogs Toronto: Mama Drama. I plan to post here on a weekly basis - usually on Thursdays. Hope you'll join me!

White Bread

I love this time of year because it promises so much. The hope of spring and rebirth is all around me. It's so wonderful to lose the mittens, scarves and hats. It's so rejuvenating to feel the sun on my face, and know that summer is coming soon. I like a lot of things about winter, but what I like best is leaving it behind. But this time of years also brings with it some old, bad feelings. It was around this time about thirteen years ago (omigod has it been that long? crap I'm old), when I was sitting in a small room in the theatre school across from my first year acting prof, being evaluated. It was actually my second year out of high school. I spent a year at another university, before deciding that I needed a program that was less academic and more studio-oriented, if I really wanted to become an actor. Anyways, for those that think acting is an easy program, try sitting in a room with a prof who tells you exactly what's wrong with you. You're not being judged on your writing skills, or how much you studied for exam, or whether you had original ideas - you are being judged on YOU. Whether or not you're interesting, talented, significant. According to my first year prof, I was not. I was "too pink" (WTF?), too "middle-of-the-road", too "white bread".

White bread. I can't tell you how this innocuous phrase has gotten stuck in my head and stayed there. Sure, lots of people eat white bread. Some kids will only eat white bread, in fact. But nobody loves it. If a prisoner had to choose their final meal on death row, I'm pretty sure it would not be white bread. If you could only have one food with you on a desert island, I'm guessing it's not going to be white bread. Even if you had to name your top five favourite foods, I doubt that white bread would make the cut. So this is what I'm compared with? A food that, while tasty enough, is completely forgettable?? Thanks. Way to break a girl's spirit. I had a rather "delicate" self-image up to that point, and that pretty much shattered it.

Most years I can just coast by and forget, but this year, as some of you know, I was actually back in school. April brought with it papers, exams and much stress. Along with it came the inevitable reminder that I am not an actor (or why would I be back in school), so maybe the prof was right after all. It's not news to me that the professional actor thing isn't going to happen, of course. I've accepted, albeit grudgingly, the fact for some time now. But the question is - what do I do now? I'm stuck in a job that I don't like, that doesn't challenge me, and where I am all but invisible. I would quit, but it just doesn't make sense financially to do that right now. Even if it did make sense to quit, though, it wouldn't make me happy.

The truth is, I like to work. I think that I've been a better mother since I've been back to work. That doesn't make sense to most people, but it does to me. But I look at my beautiful Boy's face every day that I leave him in the hands of others and think what have I done - what am I doing?? It must be the epitome of selfishness to leave him every day for a job that I don't love. How bad a person must I be to think that I wouldn't be satisfied staying home all the time with this amazing little man who is so very lovely (except when he's not). Then I think - do other people feel this way? Does every mom who goes back to work love her job? Does her job make a difference in the world?

So the solution, you might think, is to find another job - one that I do love. There the rub, no? For every job other than acting would be a Royal Gardner to my Gilbert Blythe. But what do you do when Gilbert Blythe is off the market, but you still want to get married? Would you settle for Royal? It seems that I have no choice, but it does make a decision - any kind of decision - difficult. What I have to do is find another job altogether, something out of the norm. Easier said than done. What I can't do anymore is remain invisible. I can't do a job where I'm not using all of myself, and making a definite contribution to something worthwhile. Even if I was a good employee right now (and I'm not, because I don't care), I wouldn't be doing something valuable. I'd still be white bread. And that's not good enough.

Not all Urban Babies wear black.

Top ten reasons the Boy is an "urban baby" eventhough he rarely wears black:

10. He is a burgeoning food critic. He won't eat chicken and peas, but he will eat sauteed scallops and steamed asparagus.

9. He loves the workings of daily city life. He gets really excited about garbage day. Really, really excited.

8. He is familiar with the delicate art of negotiating. When I say we have to get dressed and go, he says "No. Two minutes".

7. He's fashion forward. He owns more designer clothing than I do.

6. He's been immersed in culture. In fact, he's been to the ROM more times in his two years of life, than I have since I moved to Toronto 15 years ago.

5. He's already networking. He says "Hi!" to random people and offers them snippets of small talk to get the conversation going, like "I ate a cracker!"

4. He's a useful shopping companion. He can direct you to the bank machine, the LCBO and all coffee shops in the Village.

3. He's already working on the bohemian lifestyle. He frequently "goes to rehearsal", carrying his gourmet food bag from Rustico.

2. He knows all the catch phrases of urban life. He rarely says "Thank you", but he constantly suggests that we go for a "coffee and a muffin".

1. He already knows his Starbucks order. When we get to the cashier, he shouts "Grande! Grande! Grande!"

That wasn't ketchup on his shirt..

I knew I shouldn't have gone to work today from the moment I got up. I was more tired than I should be considering that it's been almost a week since I finished exams. I wasn't feeling sick, exactly, but I was experiencing a general malaise. I seem to have contracted the Boy's goopy eye syndrome, too.

My day started at 6am by going outside in my pyjamas and picking up the trash can that our aggressive neighbourhood raccoons had knocked over. In the middle of my shower, I was seized with the fear that I had thrown out the government tax return check, so I showered quickly and went on a frantic dripping search through the piles of mail on our dining room table. I hadn't thrown it out, of course. I never throw out money. When I woke the Boy, he asked to go back to bed. I should have listened. I wanted to go back to bed too.

I spent a long, frustrating trip on the subway because someone had pulled the personal assistance alarm. I finally got to work and had no sooner sat down then I got a call from Mr Earth. The Boy fell at daycare and had cut his head rather badly. A mother who was a doctor saw it and thought it would need stitches. They wanted me to meet him at the hospital emergency room. They tried calling me, but when they couldn't reach me (I was stuck on the subway), they called Mr Earth. Mr Earth is out of town on business.

We spent a long time waiting to see a pediatrician, eventhough there didn't seem to be anyone there. The Boy was being very good and cooperative, but his bandage fell off at one point. The cut had been described to me as "deep, but small". It actually extended almost the length of his eyebrow, and when I saw it my stomach lurched. I'm not queasy at all with cuts and scrapes, but there's something innately wrong about seeing perfect two-year-old flesh sliced open. I knew the first real accident that requires medical attention could happen any day, but it's quite another thing entirely to be sitting and looking at it. I was shocked that the Boy was so calm. My poor brave, bandaged baby. The only time he cried at the hospital was when the doctor glued the cut together. Glue for flesh is weird. Better than stitches, though, all told. Not sure I could watch my baby's flesh being sewn together. Although, I'm sure I will someday.. .knock on wood. At least today eased me into it a bit.

The Boy was fantastic throughout - a real trouper. Other than not taking a nap. At all. The whole day. My tired old bones weren't happy.

Anyone know of a good way to get blood stains out of shirt?

The (elusive) Red Shoes

**Update below!

Mr Earth offered to buy the shoes for me! I went shopping Friday night, expecting to come home with my shiny new shoes. Apparently, they don't make pretty shoes for someone with my elephantine feet. When I told the saleslady that I wanted a size 9, she said:

"Oh. We only order one or two pairs in that size, and they usually sell out right away."

Well, thanks. What does that tell you lady? Do you think that it might be a good idea to order more shoes for these, according-to-her-non-existent, large women with unfeminine feet? I tried other shoe stores and other shoes, but nothing fit right, or were quite sexy - or red - enough to suit me. You just cannot buy black shoes when what you really want is red. You cannot settle for pretty and practical, when what you want is sexy and frivolous.

Is this just one more part of the Great Fashion Conspiracy?? Don't know if you've encountered it, but I sure have. It's part of why I don't like shopping for clothes for myself:

1. Girls with small breasts always want to wear heavily padded bras. (Didn't you know that?)
2. Girls with large hips must necessarily also have large waists. (I can't leave the house without a belt or risk unsightly exposure..)
3. Girls who are large on the bottom must also be large on the top (this is especially embarrassing in swimsuit season)

...and just when I thought I found my safe haven with shoes:

4. Girls with large, wide feet should stick to clunky, formless shoes. Sexy high heels are for people with delicate feetsies.

Grr. And Grr again! Undaunted, I will continue my search. I am nothing if not tenacious. The saleslady threw down the gauntlet, and by god I am going to smack her in face with it! (Wow, that sounds very confrontational, and very unlike me. See what good shoe can do for a girl? I've never had a shoe fetish before, but if anything will make me have one, this will..)

**Well I did find a size 9 in another store - yahoo! Take that you killjoy-sniffy-salesdemon-who-made-me-feel-like-a-large-footed-freak!! The size 9's fit just fine, although I must admit that I am really (really!) bad at deciding what is going to be a wearable fancy shoe. They all feel somewhat abnormal. Usually I wear flat mary-janes, running shoes or sandals. But I'm dying to try something new and be sexy for a change. I'm sure Mr Earth appreciates the effort. Quite frankly, even if these shoes didn't fit - and I think they do - I would probably buy them and make them fit anyway, à la Ugly Stepsister. I'm just obstinate that way...

I can't believe I own a pair of stylish, high-heeled shoes that didn't come from Payless! Very exciting.

Balm in Gilead

There seems to be so much evil, hatred in the world these days that I am simply left speechless. I'm fairly certain that this is not a new thing, but I guess I'm finally old enough now to look outside my own small little universe and see what's really going on. But I don't. Not really. When faced with the horror of something like Virginia Tech, I shut down. I put my head in the sand and hide. I don't think about it, because to think about it is to feel it, and to feel it is unthinkable. Add to that months of hard work, long hours of study, and pushing myself till I'm too tired to form comprehensible thoughts and punctuate it with a disappointing performance on an exam that should have been easier than it was. Add to that a toddler who has taken the crazy pill and decided that screaming "No Mummy!", pushing and kicking, and emptying out every cupboard/drawer/desk available are the funniest things in the world...and I'm done.

When things get bad, I start to obsess about something completely unrelated. Mr Earth calls it "glomming on to something", but it's really keeping my sanity in by finding something - anything - that makes me happy. Here is my new obsession:

I saw these while on my lunch break the other day, and my heart started racing. They're sexy. They're red. They have 3.5 inch heels! I feel excited just thinking about buying them. But would you? First off, they're just over $100. Secondly, I don't wear heels all that often. Okay, I don't wear heels at all, really. I only wear them when we go out somewhere fancy, and we really don't go fancy places all that much anymore. I could wear them to work, I guess, but I doubt I would. I'm one of those people on What Not to Wear that think wearing Skechers to work is acceptable. (I do, and I have.) They seem rather excessive and impractical - two things I am not.

So can I justify buying heels simply to assuage my broken spirit? And that's how I feel. Broken. Tired. I've been driving the car for what seems like forever, and I want someone else to take the wheel for a bit. I want to sit in the passenger seat and soak up the sun. I want to be driven somewhere where it's sunny and warm all the time, not just days that I'm stuck indoors working. And my, those red shoes would look really nice lounging around on the end of my feet as we drive off into the sunset.

Wouldn't they?

Fear

If you were going crazy, would you know it?

The thing is, I've been thinking about fear a lot lately. I could claim that it's a result of studying Gothic Horror fiction for the past few months, but I really don't think that's it. You see, a while back - I don't know how long, but it's less than a year, I witnessed something horrifying. Mr Earth, the Boy and I were taking the subway downtown, although I can't recall why. I was on the pay phone getting information about a book I had on hold, and Mr Earth was off to the side entertaining the Boy in his stroller. I was facing the escalator that we would be going down as soon as I got off the phone. I watched as a frail little old lady stepped onto the escalator. I watched as the lady went head first down the escalator. I listened to the descending cry of "ahhhhh!" as she fell to the bottom. If it had been a cartoon, I would have laughed, but it wasn't. It was real. It was surreal. I didn't know what to do and I froze. I sent Mr Earth down the stairs to see if she was okay, while I stayed with the Boy. I would have called an ambulance, but the TTC workers had already done it. Turns out that she got up and actually walked to a bench to wait for the ambulance. I was shocked because I was sure that result would have been different. It's been a long time since this happened, and I can still hear the sound of her scream.

Now, I see accidents everywhere. I'm afraid to walk down the stairs with the Boy in my arms because I think I'm going to fall. I'm afraid to drive with the Boy in the car, in case I get into an accident. I'm afraid to let the Boy anywhere near stairs, or ramps, or especially uneven ground. My heart clenches whenever we have to take the stroller on the subway. If the Boy is standing on the couch, I want him to get down so he won't fall and hit the coffee table. If he jumps on the bed, I think he's going to land on the floor. I could go on, but why? It's awful.

I don't stop him from doing anything. I still carry him down the stairs. We've driven on the highway to see my parents. We go places on the subway all the time. I do let him run and jump and climb. But there I am in the background: hovering, warning, cringing. I get so tense that I give myself headaches and my heart races. I don't want to be that kind of over-protective mum - the one that never lets their kids do anything fun. It's funny too, because I'm incredibly lenient about things that other moms are horrified at. The Boy has eaten whole grapes since he started on solids (I tried cutting them up, but he would have none of it). He has eaten food that has fallen on the floor. He spent the majority of his first year sleeping in strollers or mini-matinée theatres. We don't stay home every time I think he has a cold.

I guess what I'm most worried about is the possibility that this fear has nothing do with what happened on the subway that day. If it was, it would go away in time. I worry that the fear was always in me, and that day at the subway was just the catalyst. What I don't want is to raise a Boy who afraid. He doesn't deserve that.

The Big Questions

I'm starting to think that I have nothing interesting to say anymore. Maybe you are too. If so, check out my new blog at Mommy Blogs Toronto: Mama Drama. I'm trying to be more "thinky" there. But this here is my own personal little space. And it is said that art doesn't happen in a vaccuum. It is reflective of what the artist is going through in his/her life, and what is happening in the world. (Not that I consider my writing "art" in any way, shape or form...) For instance, light-hearted movies and musicals flourished in the 30's when there was a Depression. In the 50's when things sifted back to status quo, we saw the rise of the B-movie horror films. So, these days, I'm saving all my "Big Thinks" for the essays and exams I'm writing. That means you all get the stuff that's left over. Lucky you! And when the lovely K-girl had some questions for me, how could I say no?

1. You have just been nominated as the shoo-in candidate for Supreme Benevolent Goddess of the Universe. Who will be your running mate?
Well, this is obviously some kind of alternate universe, because I'm not a candidate for Benevolent anything. I am nice (sporadically), kind (usually), helpful (almost always). "Benevolent"? Not so much. I really want to be, though. I'm just far too selfish. And tired. So very tired. So I obviously need a running mate who's going to do all the work. And since this is not reality, I can choose anyone I want - even Dead People. So I pick Princess Di. She had a lot of money and power, and used it for good, instead of her own ends. And she didn't seem afraid to get "down and dirty" with the commoners. That's my kind of chick. I could stand to be more like her.

2. Your son seems to enjoy climbing on bookshelves. What is he trying to reach?
I assume you're talking about the photo in the corner? That's actually quite out of character for the Boy. He has shown little inclination to climb on anything. I desperately want him to figure out stairs, so that I don't have to haul him up them anymore. He is very fond of the phrase "Carry You?". In this picture, he's actually pointing at a picture of me and Mr Earth at the cottage that my parents sold last year.

3. What do you do these days to relax? How about before you had a kid?
Relax? What is this thing RE..LAX?? With a full-time job, kid, school and volunteering, it's pretty much non-existent. My best times lately involve pizza, a glass of red wine and America's Next Top Model. Or Veronica Mars, BSG, House, Gilmore Girls, or American Idol. Are you sensing a theme here? Yes, I've devolved to an empty-headed TV watcher. Before Baby, I loved going out to dinner at fancy restaurants, seeing plays, and watching movies in the actual theatre (!). The only relaxant that has remained constant is running (although that's more of a de-stressor than a relaxant). Oh, and the red wine. Don't forget about the red wine...please?

4. High School – evil, institutionalized joke and a time best spent smokin' BTs in the parking lot, or super-awesomest best time of your life and wow, I wish I could still fit into my pink prom dress?
Neither, actually. I did really well in high school academically, I got good marks without really trying, so I liked that part. But I was also a bit of a nerd. (No. YOU, Nomo? A nerd?? Pshaw.) After one uncomfortable year of drifting aimlessly, I hooked up with the theatre crowd and didn't really look back. After that, I was too busy to smoke drugs, or worry about what I would wear to the prom. Which, by the way, was a fifties inspired dress with a black bustier, over-sized black belt with rhinstone buckle, and a white crinoline skirt with black polka dots. I was HOT.

5. What is the one skill that you wish you possessed? Will you ever pursue the attainment of it?
Without a doubt, I would LOVE to be a competitive ballroom dancer. Have you seen those kids move? It's crazy sexy when it's done well. Strictly Ballroom is perhaps my favourite movie ever, and I can't tell you how many times I've watched it. I would kill to play the role of Fran, the nerd who gets transformed into a dynamite dancer. As to actually becoming a ballroom dancer? Sigh. Probably not. I would have to dance with Mr Earth and we collide on the dance floor. He complains that I lead (I do), and I complain that he can't lift me (he can't). I'm too heavy, and he's weak. Also, I have no body flight. But a girl can dream, can't she?

Easter Eggstravaganza

I should be studying for exams right now but it's sooooo boring, so instead I will share with you some photos from our Easter Eggstravaganza Weekend. Ooo posting photos during study time is so naughty...! I'm a wild and crazy gal, I tell ya. All in all it was a great weekend. We had about a gazillion temper tantrums mainly due to over-excitement, but also because I wouldn't let him eat ALL his chocolate in one sitting. We got far too much chocolate. Why the in-laws think that a two-year-old should have a chocolate bunny that is almost half his height is beyond me. All that happens is that Mr Earth and I (meaning mostly me) end up eating it for him. And I wonder why I keep gaining weight...hmm.

But really, this post is all about the gratuitous photos of the Boy, so here goes:

Elmo loves Easter because the Easter Bunny hides chocolate eggs in his crotch. No wonder he keeps laughing like a maniac.

Hands-down the best part of Easter was hiding the eggs in plain sight, giving explicit directions to the Boy to "go look on the chair", and this is the result. Good times.

The reward for mummy making me work so hard. How sweet it is.

Hope everyone had as great a weekend as we did!

Vampires have sucked my brain dry...

Nothing like spending a weekend writing a paper on how Gothic horror fiction uses vampires as a metaphor to really make you brain dead. Umm, or "Undead", as the case may be. Add to that a paper on whether or not Daniel MacIvor's House is a masterwork, and a presentation yesterday that is worth as much percentage as the paper, and I'm done. Finished. I'm afraid there are no more thoughts in my head. I wrote down all the thoughts in my head and it only came to about 17 pages. That's pretty sad, if you ask me. (And please don't ask me anything, I am not capable of coherent thought).

What all this schoolin' has brought me to is the pathetic conclusion that I am not capable of original thoughts. My papers are cited and quoted within an inch of their lives, and I'm sure if I spent more time researching, I would only find out that the lone "original thought" I did have were, in fact, published in some book somewhere. I'm starting to think that mothers of young children are not cut out to go back to school. However, there are people out there who do it, so maybe I'm just lazy? All I know is I want to sleep for about a week, but I can't because I still have two exams to write. O woe is me! To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub. (Shakespeare, Hamlet - mixed lines).

In fact, I find myself "rehearsing" many of my conversations lately, either before or after the conversation has actually happened. I'm so worried that my thoughts are going to come out all jumbled, that I have to practice what I'm going to say before I say it. Is that something that has happened to me because I am a mother, or because it's "part of the mystery that is me" (MacIvor, House)? I wonder.

I just bought the Boy a pair of rainboots at lunch, and it's snowing outside. Good timing. Hope they fit, he has rather wide feet, and apparently, children who wear rainboots are all "delicate snowflakes" (Beck, www.frogandtoadarestillfriends.com) who have very narrow feet.

Things You Don't Want Your Daycare Report to Say

So I get home from class last night, where we watched Ginger Snaps (note to self: don't eat dinner while watching gory horror movies), and I ask Mr Earth how the Boy was.

Him: "You should check out the report."

Me: "Why, is anything wrong? Is he okay?"

Him: "Just check out the report. I can't really explain it."

So, I checked out the report. Usual stuff about toileting and disposition, and this...

I had fun today because:

I played with poop and animals.

I don't know what's more distressing: the fact that he played with poop and nobody stopped him, or that there were animals in the daycare.

Hmmm.

Please Play Again

You have no idea how infuriating these three words are to me. Every day at work, I go down to the Timmies and buy myself a large hot chocolate. They never fill it to the top because they have hot chocolate that comes out of a machine, all they have to do is push button, but the large button doesn't fill the large cup. Fine. Most days I have to wait in a line so long that I'm wondering if anyone really works anymore, or they just show up as a pretense to go get coffee. Fine. I generally get coffee for one or more people and eventhough my hands are full, I'm expected to hold the door for someone else instead of the other way around. Chivalry is dead. Fine. But this RRRRRRRoll up the RRRRRRRim to Win thing is making me TENSE. Cause I don't. Win. Ever. Okay, fine, I've won a free coffee or two. But buying a beverage five out of seven days, you figure you might beat the odds somehow. Now I'm not asking for a million dollars here. I know I'm privileged. I want for nothing, really. I mean, I want a lot of things I don't have, but really - I want for nothing. Far better that the Large Jackpot goes to the person at the end of their rope who doesn't know how they are going to make ends meet this month. I am not that person. I am simply a person who buys a beverage every day of this stupid contest in the hopes that I might see those two lovely little words "Win/Gagnez". And it's not about the prize. Don't get me wrong, I would love a thousand dollars, or a plasma TV. But what I really want is recognition. I want some person - or in this case some cup - to say "you are doing a good job, Nomo, you deserve a prize". It would make my day. Truly. Is that so wrong?

Real Moms

The inimitable Mad Hatter tagged me, oh, ages ago to do this meme about Real Moms. I've been so swamped with course work that I haven't had a chance to write about it before now. It's supposed to be accompanied by photos, but I haven't had time for that either (or rather, I had a few moments, but the photos were crap) so that brings me to my first two points:

1. Real moms don't have time to blog as much as they would like to.
2. Real moms try to take funny pictures for bloggy memes, but look like crap in them and already have low enough view of their beauty that they certainly don't need to post ugly pictures to prove it to the world at large.
3. Real moms have to get up at 5:30am to exercise because they can't find any other time in the day.
4. Real moms constantly have dark circles under their eyes, regardless of whether they had a good night's sleep or not (and they did not - see #3).
5. Real moms have painfully dry hands from overwashing - so much so that they are cracked and bleeding. (Nobody needs to see a picture of that, do they? O woe is me.)
6. Real moms know the exact locations of all local coffee joints, how accessible they are for strollers, and whether or not they have a change table. Oh, and know exactly what they are going to order and how much it will cost, so that they can spend the minimum amount of time in line, yet always seem to end up behind someone who has to read the menu in its entirety before ordering.
7. Real moms spend considerable time wondering where Max and Ruby's parents are, and why Little Bear's parents wear clothes, but Little Bear does not.
8. Real moms are tired.

I'd like to hear from Metro Mama, Motherbumper, and Funny Bunny. If you've already been tagged, I apologize - I haven't been visiting as much as I'd like. Stupid essays. Stupider exams.

Tapestry

HBM has had some lovely thinky posts about narcissism lately. To my mind, it's kind of ridiculous to deny narcissism. Everybody is narcissistic to some extent. We are all the star of our own reality show, and each and every person in our lives are either co-stars or supporting actors. And hell, I'm interested in the minutiae of your life, so why couldn't you be interested in mine? I think people are endlessly fascinating, and never tire of the different ways that different people deal with the same situation. That is precisely why reality tv is such a booming industry. Don't tell me you don't like reality tv, I won't believe you. I thought I didn't like it either. Now I sit glued to the tv when American Idol and Top Model is on. It's the vicarious thrill of superiority, when I can sit on my comfy couch, wear my "fat pants" and say things like "That's the wrong song for her" or "Her eyes are dead in that photo - she should act more". Let it be known that if I were in their exact same situation, I would make all the same mistakes, even armed with the info I have now. If you have a tv, chances are you're watching some version of a reality show. If you're not, it's simply because they haven't invented one that catches your fancy yet. Give it time. They will.

In fact, I would argue that in creating these "mommy blogs" (how did that get to have derogatory connotations, anyways?), we have, in fact created our own reality tv show: "The Mom-iverse". The difference, to me, is that instead of sitting back and criticizing the naive singers and vapid models, I sit back and learn a thing or two from people who are in the same situation as me. Instead of criticizing, I read and think things like "Wow, so that's what you're supposed to do!" or "Wow, I don't think think I know all the meanings of those words, much less think I could use them together in a sentence!". Is it narcissistic to think that someone out there is deriving the same pleasure from reading my blog, from reading the minutiae of my life, that I have in reading theirs? Maybe. If so, I say narcissism is Hot! (Thanks, Paris). Why must we belittle the minutiae? What has the minutiae ever done to you? That is how we live our lives - a series of random moments that create a rich tapestry of life. Of course the minutiae seem unimportant if you don't see it in context. Put together, the individual threads are beautiful to behold. The delicious feeling of watching these "minor" events unfold, in my life and in the lives of the blogs I read, gives me a sense of connectedness. And when I someday sit back and see the tapestry as a whole, I will see it as beautiful not simply because life is beautiful, but because I am invested in that life. I had a part in the creation, even that part was only the minor role of observer.

So, in the interest of keeping this Mommy Blog a proud "tapestry to feel and see; impossible to hold", let me share with you some trivial details of my life, which I maintain are anything but trivial - to me (but then, I am a narcissist)...

In the past week:

1) I took the Boy to 2-year-old birthday party celebrating the birthdays of all the children in my mom's group. It was at Gymboree, and though the Boy didn't participate in any of the group activities (I think he was overwhelmed), he did crawl through tunnels, walk a balance beam, climb over hills, and play basketball with an adult-sized ball. The Boy doesn't normally get this much "gross motor activity", prefering to play with his cars and Little People. He napped for 2.5 hours afterwards.

2) While the Boy and I were outside the house waiting for daddy to come home, a pre-baby runner friend of mine named George jogged by. He stopped to say hello, and we had a short conversation sprinkled with random non-sequiturial comments from the Boy, who didn't like that the conversation was not directed at him. To keep him from protesting too much, I would ask him sporadic questions like "Where's Daddy?" (Daddy's at work), "Where's the Boy's house?" (Over dere). After the last question, the Boy turned to George and asked him "Where George's house?". That's the first time I believe he has ever asked someone a question about a subject that didn't directly relate to him.

3) The Boy started taking my hand to go for walks. In fact, we walked two whole city blocks in this fashion - from Starbucks to the Library, and back again. Up till now, walking, for the Boy has meant "mummy carry you". My heart and my arms have never been so light.


So, if you're out there wondering "What good amid these, O me, O life?", take heart. I, for one, am listening.

Lucky Number Seven

Kgirl at The Kids are Alright tagged me with the following meme: to "list seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to".

This is a tough one for me, actually. I'm always listening to music, but rarely seem to have time to listen to albums anymore. Or maybe I'm just lazy and finding the right CD from our large collection is too much effort. I listen to JackFM and Live365 (usually 80's or 60's music) at work. At home, I listen to our downloaded music on "Random Play" - Mr. Earth is all about the random play feature and I just go with it. I can tell you the songs that turn my crank lately when they come up in the scramble:

1. Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benatar)
Something about the "prostitute with the heart of gold" story always gets me. And a girl who shimmies her defiance of her pimp, and can pull off wearing a feather in her hair gets props in my book.

2. Right By Your Side (Eurhythmics)
The Boy and I dance to this constantly. Well, I dance, and the Boy endures my spastic gyrations. Good times.

3. Band of Gold (Freda Payne)
This. Song. Rocks. Man, I wish I had a voice like this chick.

4. I Don't Like Mondays (The Boomtown Rats)
Do I need to explain why this song speaks to me? Granted, the kid's reaction to Mondays was a bit extreme..

5. Come Sail Away (Styx)
Yeah, man. I like a song by Styx. You gotta problem with that? ...Anyways... the beginning of this song is crazy beautiful. The rest? Comme-ci, comme-ça.

6. Carey (Joni Mitchell)
Love Joni Mitchell. Love. Hands down, this is her coolest song. I often find myself humming it eventhough I still don't know all the words.

7. Anytime (William Finn)
A few weeks ago, Mr Earth took me to see a show called Elegies, by his favourite musical theatre composer. About three quarters of the way through the show, there was a song sung by a mother who had died of cancer. She was singing to her young child who would grow up without her. It broke my heart. It made me want take singing lessons again, simply so that I could somehow attempt to make others feel the way that I felt when I saw this song performed. Most people won't know this composer or this song, so I'm going to post the words now. It may give you an idea of what it's like, but it will not replace what it was like to see it performed live:

Anytime you laugh
Anytime you cry
Anytime you hear a sound
When you're on the grass
Lying on the ground
Anytime you wash your hands
I'll be around
I'm out there on the baseball field
Though I'm well concealed
I'll be out there cheering
I'm out there in the books you read
It is guaranteed
I'm not disappearing fast
Anytime, no not anytime
And I am there each morning
I am there each fall
I am present without warning
And I'm watching it all
Yes I'm watching it all
I am there in music
I am there in sky
I don't know why this thing did happen
But this much is clear
Anytime or anywhere
I am there
Anytime you pray
Anytime you fight
Anytime you gained a pound
Anytime its day
Anytime it's night
Anytime the earth moves
I'll be around
I'm out there in the maple trees
In a summer breeze
On a perfect evening
I'm out there when you celebrate
When the world seems great
I'll be waiting by your side
Anytime, yes anytime
And I am there each morning
I am there each fall
I am present without warning
And I'm watching it all
Yes I'm watching it all
I am there in flowers
I am there in snow
I don't know why this thing happened
But this much is clear
Anytime you cry
Anytime you sing
For anything
And I am there each morning
I am there each fall
I don't know why this thing happened
But this much is clear
Be aware
I am there
I am there
I am there
I am there
I am there
I am there
I am there

For the second part of the meme, I'm supposed to name seven sisters to continue it. Unfortunately, I'm so late to the game, that I think everyone has already done it. If not, please appropriate this meme for yourself and let me know - I'll post your names below. If I reach seven people, I will truly consider myself lucky.

Good Morning Sunshine!

Don't know how your day started, but here's a brief glimpse into mine...

Nomo: I'm hungry. Do you want cereal for breakfast?
Boy: Don't wanna cereal. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: Ok ok, how about some toast?
Boy: (Pause) Sniff. Yeah.
Nomo: Ok, toast. Let's put your Mr. Froggy bib on.
Boy: Don't wanna froggie bib. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: You have to wear the bib.
Boy: WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: Do you want butter on your toast?
Boy: No! WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: Alrighty then. Why don't we put butter on it just the way you like?
Boy: WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: Here's your toast.
Boy: No wanna toast. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
Nomo: Ok, I'll just sit here and eat cereal then, because that's what I want to eat.

Do you notice a pattern in this conversation? I thought so. To which pattern were you referring: the incessant crying, or my mounting frustration? Enter the Terrible Two. I've done all the reading, I know that toddlers have difficulty communicating and this results in tantrums. I know that you should keep them safe and let them have their cry. I know that you should offer choices so that they feel more in control. Sage advice. But what do you do when the tantrums make you consistently late for work? What do you do when you offer a choice, the Boy chooses neither, so you choose and he loses it? How does this very wise advice play out in real live situations? Or, what, for the love of God, am I doing wrong??

I'm afraid that this conversations paints a poor picture of the Boy. He really is the funniest, quirkiest, most congenial little boy I know. (I'm not biased, of course..). Unless, however, you do something he does not like, or ask him to do something he doesn't want to do. Or offer him a food that displeases him. Then he goes from zero to scream in .5 seconds. And all hell breaks loose.

I know, I know - I should be grateful that I have such an easy-going child the majority of the time. Believe me, I am. I get down on my knees every day and thank whatever gods are listening that such a high-strung person, like myself, should have such a good-natured child, like the Boy. But I would argue that it is precisely this easy nature which makes me wholly unprepared for when Mr. Hyde makes his appearance. I fluster. I flounder. I flop. I lose my cool. And I was not cool to begin with.

It doesn't help that we're both a bit under the weather. (That's not the reason for the breakdown of communication, but it's a factor.) It doesn't help that I've, characteristically, bitten off more than I can chew with this whole school thing and I'm freaking out about the work that must be done in the next three weeks. (This is totally not his fault, it's mine. I try not to let it affect my relations with the Boy, but I can't seem to separate it. Poor Boy.) It most certainly doesn't help that I feel like I'm hanging by a thread.

Ack.

Wild and Crazy Girl Out on the Town

So. Very. Thirsty. On Friday night I met up with a few of my fellow mommy bloggers for drinks at a pub. I was kind of nervous all day, like I was going on a blind date or something - only I wasn't worried whether or not I would be getting lucky at night's end. (I didn't, in case you're wondering - Mr Earth was asleep). Despite the two days of near dehydration, I'm so glad I went. It was very cool to finally meet the pretty faces behind the words. I had such a good time, in fact, that I have been unable to write about it coherently for two days. I'd like to blame it on copious amounts of alcohol, but I only had two Smirnoffs so sadly, I think it's just the mere fact that I'm old. It was quite the night for me...I drank alcohol (in public, not in my basement in front of the Teevee)! I was outside the house after 8pm (lockdown at Casa Earth)! I didn't go to bed till early the next morning (not passed out at 9:30pm)! I met a fabulous bunch of ladies who I hope to see again! AND...we ended the night with chocolate. Good times. (If you're wondering who the crazy lady riding the subway at midnight with three chocolate bars in her greedy mitts was, that, my friends, was me).

Last night we went to see MacIvor's House at Buddies in Bad Times. I'm doing a paper on it for one of my courses, so technically it counts as homework. Elated by eating dinner at a restaurant sans kid and apparently learning nothing from my hungover dehydrated state, Mr Earth and I polished off a bottle of wine before the show. Nothing like doing homework while drunk. (I'm not an alcoholic, shut up!). This is what happens when I'm given some freedom - my weekend turns into drunken debauchery. Anyways the show - if you live in the area and want to see a great show, I highly recommend it. And it's only an hour and fifteen minutes with no intermission, so those of you (like me) who can rarely stay out late anymore without falling asleep will be home early. Part of Buddies' Creator/Performer series, it will be MacIvor's last time performing the show as he is closing his company da da kamera to move on to other projects. It's billed as a "sit-down, stand-up, one-man comedy nightmare", and I dare you not to laugh. It runs till April.

Hey - how did this post turn into a plug for Buddies? All in all, I had a fun crazy weekend. Rarely do I do anything more exciting than ordering an extra shot in my latte. I need to sleep now, thank you. Gotta get ready for the next time! I hope...

Let it slide

It's funny how you just let things slide when you become a mother. Eating proper meals. Keeping the house clean. Exercising regularly. It took me a long time - longer than it really should have based on those "new-mom tips" I was gobbling up like candy when I was pregnant - to realize that this is okay. Carrying a few extra pounds, carpets that look like a crumb-minefield, and ordering takeout for the third time in a week are small prices to pay for quality time with your family. What's been plaguing me lately is this - when is it not okay? When have I let things slide too far?

When I found out I was pregnant, I was in a production of Five Women Wearing the Same Dress. I should have known that I was pregnant because my skin broke out and I was tired all the time, but I was in hell week of the show, and those symptoms could be explained away. Stupid stage makeup. Stupid all-day rehearsals. So I used lots of foundation and drank boatloads of Awake tea. It took bursting out of an ugly prom dress costume that was made for me and getting drunk on two small glasses of wine on opening night for me to realize it. (I'm slow.) Since then, I haven't done a show. At first, it was because the next set of shows would go up in October when I would be visibly pregnant. I didn't think anyone would cast me, and I was worried that I would be too tired even if I was cast. Then the Boy was born and I was too tired. Then I didn't know how to do rehearsals when I was breastfeeding and the Boy wouldn't take the bottle. Then I was back at work and I was too tired. Then I thought I could handle a show, but how could I go to rehearsal at night and on weekends when I barely saw the Boy enough as it was? Then I thought it would be okay to do a show if it was really important to me or my development as an actor. When I weighed the shows out there, very few made the cut. Of the few that did, I didn't get the part. Stupid directors. So, all told, I haven't done a show since I was in my first few weeks of pregnancy. The Boy just turned two. That's a long time.

It would be okay to let it slide, if it wasn't something that was so important to me. But it is. It's part of who I am. Or who I was. I don't know who I am sometimes. And I'm torn between trying to be the best mom I can be, and doing things that make me happy. So far the mom side has been the clear winner. But, as Bub and Pie so eloquently put it, I am entitled to do things that make me happy, not just because it will make me a better mom, but because I am a person and am entitled to the Pursuit of Happyness. (Did anyone see that movie? Whole lot of Pursuit, not very much Happyness..).

So on Tuesday, I had an appointment to get my headshots done. Let me tell you, I have been quaking in my boots ever since I made that appointment. This guy has shot people like Rex Harrington (drool) and that Ginger Snaps girl (what's her name again?). I'm no 20-something with perky boobs and a rock hard ass. What do I wear? I have no clothes that fit. How do I look? Well, my skin is wretchedly dry and I haven't gotten rid of the muffin-top. I still have the thunder thighs, but they're bigger now. Boobs are non-existent. How am I going to pull this off? It got off to a rocky start:

Photographer: So, do you do theatre or film and tv?
Nomo thinking frantically: Nothing. Nothing! Nothing, I do nothing. What should I say here? I got nothing.
Nomo speaking out loud: Um, mostly theatre.

Photographer: Who are you with?
Nomo thinking frantically: Who am I with? What could that possibly mean?? Mr Earth? The Boy? Is he seeing dead people?? OH! Now I get it.
Nomo speaking out loud: I don't have an agent right now, but I'm hoping your pictures will get me one...

Yes, I advise telling the truth in all situations. It's just that sometimes, when I'm caught off-guard, my mind does not always follow the path of truth and light. And sometimes the lies are easier than the long explanation required to tell the truth. (You know you should have just lied when you see their eyes start to glaze over while you're talking). I don't care if I have an agent, I just want to act again sometime. I don't want to be the person I was before becoming a mom - I've changed in a thousand infinitesimal ways and I'm so much better than I was before. But I don't want to lose the things that made old Nomo a good, interesting person too. I don't know whether I'll actually let myself do shows, or I'll end up feeling too guilty again. I hope I don't. It's important to me. But I feel like I should be one of those moms who put everything on hold while their kids are growing up, so I don't miss the golden moments. It would kill me to miss those moments. Is it really all or nothing??

Mom Olympics: Winter '07

Competitor: Nomotherearth
Category: Working Mom, Daycare Division

1st Event: HOUSE PENTATHLON

Description: The goal of this event is to get out of the house on time. During snowstorms, competitors are required to leave the house earlier than usual. Components include Tantrum Throw, Cereal Wrestling, Home-length Running, Snowsuit Jump and Compulsory Singing. Extra points awarded for components that are avoided entirely.

Commentator: "Teams really show their mettle in this one - if one half of the team is not pulling their weight, you're sunk. Nomo's made a poor show at practice lately, but we're hoping she's going to pull through today. Competitors are allowed to wake up as early as they need to based on the weather conditions. Admirably, Nomo managed to get up at 6am, despite a last-minute consultation with Boy at 4:30am. It seems that the Boy was having second thoughts about competing today, but Nomo managed to convince him of the importance of the Olympics and he decided to go back to sleep until the event began. The Tantrum Throw portion was dicey for Nomo - the clothes the Boy wanted to wear were in the wash. It seemed like the tantrum was going to be averted when Nomo managed to find a pair of jeans in a pile of clothes that don't fit properly. However, the Boy's mercurial personality showed through when there was no Elmo diaper available. Still, Nomo managed to make up time in the Cereal Wrestling - at the two-minute warning mark, she got the cereal bowl out of the Boy's hands. He made one last grasp for a handful of cereal which he stuffed into his mouth in a desperate hurry. Next came the Home-length Running. The Boy got off to a good start. He made it from the kitchen to the front of the house in under 2.6 seconds and almost made it out the front door, but was headed off by Nomo who wanted to move on to the Snowsuit Jump. In a stroke of brilliance, she combined the Compulsory Singing and the Snowsuit Jump into one impressive maneuver. The judges seemed to love her rendition of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail", and so did the Boy. It distracted him from his dislike of mittens, and they managed to get out the door a full 10 minutes earlier than usual. Well done!"

Scores
Technical: 8.0
Artistic: 6.2
Overall: 7.2


2nd Event: CROSS COUNTRY STROLLER

Description: Competitors must make it to daycare with only a stroller for transportation. Time is the key factor, as competitors cannot be late for work, doctor's appointments or snack time. During the event, competitors must exhibit a minimum of 2, maximum 5, special skills. Acceptable skills vary depending on the weather and evaluation of said skills are subject to the discretion of the judges.

Commentator: "Here's where we see Nomo in her element. She cut her teeth on Hamilton snowfalls, and is by no means a babe in the woods when it comes to winter survival. She's the clear favourite here. She left the house in fine form, and nimbly displayed her ability to adapt to weather conditions by crossing the street where there was no crosswalk in order to avoid SnowHill Lifting. It seemed to be smooth sailing until all of a sudden the judges threw in a Freestyle Fallen Tree. WOW! We haven't seen that since Winter '05!! We thought that this would stop her in her tracks, but after a moment's hesitation, she went straight into Puddle Jumping. Puddle jumping is a risky undertaking in cross country stroller, mainly because it requires the co-operation of random strangers. Luckily for Nomo, there was a good samaritan at hand. It was a case of Team Lifting, Classical Style. The Puddle Jump left Nomo on the road with no return access to the sidewalk. In a stroke of genius - and, dare we say it, recklessness - she pulled a Downroad Sprint to the nearest puddle and jumped again. What a move! Nomo is really out to win this one. Having demonstrated 4 special skills in one event, we think that she just may do that yet."

Scores
Technical: 9.4
Artistic: 6.0
Overall: 7.7

JUDGES FINAL EVALUATION: 7.5
While Nomo shows great promise, we feel that she has yet to come into her own. Technically, the components are all there and she shows some real grit. Artistically, however, we need to see more. She shows more impatience with the Boy than we feel is acceptable. Yelling at houses who's residents had failed to shovel their walkways is in outright violation of our rules. Also, though she made it to her doctor's appointment on time, the doctor was running extremely late due to weather and she had to re-schedule the appointment and hustle to the subway. Which made her late for work.