Month: October 2006

Friday comment game – it’s all about you!

I’ve been staring at this empty interface for long enough. I give up, I got nothing for you today. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’ve got a rant about diapers, but I think it follows a little too closely on my rant about BBQ chips and my rant about punctuation spacing, and maybe I need to take a break from the rants. And I could tell you about some of the really cool stuff coming up next week – but then what would I brag blog about next week?

So instead, let’s play another comment game. Even if you read only occassionally, you all know a LOT about me, but I can’t always say the same. This game is all about you, and getting to know you better. (I can’t remember where I saw this one – if I subconsciously stole it from you, please let me know and I’ll be sure to give you credit!)

It’s a cocktail party, and you all have to make small talk. Pay attention, cuz if you play there’s TWO parts to each comment. Each person who comments will answer the question in the comment directly above theirs, and then pose a question of their own for the next person. Got it? Each comment has the answer to the previous question, and the question for the next person.

The questions can be on whatever topic you like, and you can take as long or as little to answer as you like. The kind of questions I imagined should be about personal preferences, attitudes and opinions, along the lines of the ones you see in those e-mail memes: what’s the last book you read? What’s your favourite movie? What’s under your bed? Vanilla or chocolate? What’s the best vacation you ever took? What are your pets’ names and why? (Yes, I know, these are lame questions. But I trust that you can do oh so much better.)

Okay, so my question for the first commenter is: What’s your favourite breakfast cereal?

Snack time

I’m getting lazy. I’ve stolen the idea for this post from a comment I made on a post of Andrea’s yesterday about Tupperware. Sad, isn’t it? I was up all night with a barfy Simon, and I have to cram this in before the Bob the Builder DVD is done, so this is as good as it will get today.

Ahem, anyway…

I thought that having a kid in half-day kindergarten would allow me to dodge the bagged lunch woes for at least a couple of years, but I’m finding snack time almost as stressful.

Tristan is in morning junior kindergarten, which goes from 9:00 to 11:30. We’re supposed to send a snack and a drink every day. A healthy snack. A healthy snack that Tristan might actually eat. I mean, he’s only there for two and a half hours, how much does the kid need to eat in a day?

But fine, I’ll send a snack. Tristan’s actually a lot better with snacks than actual meals anyway. My real complaint is with the requirement for a drink. I hate tetra pack juice boxes. Hate them! I hate the waste, and the fact that they aren’t recyclable. And I still tend to water down the boys’ juice, which I can’t do with a juice box.

Well, you say, you could send a drink in one of those re-useable drink boxes with the straw, couldn’t you? Except I’ve yet to find one that doesn’t leak. At least three times so far this year, I’ve had to leave Tristan’s backpack spread out to air dry overnight after a leak.

On Parent’s Night at the end of September, I spoke up and asked if there was a water fountain that the kids could use, instead of wasting all the packaging of juice boxes. Not only the teachers but the parents looked at me like I had three heads. Uh – sure, the teacher said, looking rather bewildered.

And so I buy and send juice boxes. I hate the wasted packaging, I hate the extra sugar and I hate the cost. It figures that the one time I try to take the moral high road, it’s the wrong choice. And I’ve stopped worrying about thinking of goldfish and raisins as a healthy snack, too. At least the bag always comes back empty!

I’m outraged!

I’m outraged! Outraged, I tell you. Is nothing sacred?

I got a set of documents back from an editor the other day, which in itself is usually enough to twist my knickers. (I’m not so fond of being edited. I don’t mind it when they catch actual mistakes, but I tend to bristle over suggestions of a stylistic nature. I suppose I should work on that should I ever want to actually get anything professionally published.)

Aside from the usual complaints about formatting and a couple of typos, I came across a note saying that I had too many spaces after each period and that the new standard is only one space after a full stop or other final punctuation mark.

What?!?

Only one space after a period? Bah! One space after a comma or semi-colon, two spaces after a period, exclamation point, question mark or colon. If nothing else, I know that rule is sacred. It’s in the Bible, I think. It was certainly drilled into my head over an old Underwood manual typewriter in Grade 9 typing class.

So I hopped on the trusty Interwebs to gather evidence to support my cause… and to my great dismay, found out my editor was (gasp!) correct. I googled ‘how many spaces after a period‘ and found at least four pages of entries discussing the subject. How could I have possibly missed this debate before now?

Apparently, now that we have proportional fonts – thanks to online word processing – the old practice of indicating the end of a phrase with a double space is now rendered unnecessarily redundant. Even my most trustworthy Canadian Press Style Guide advocates only one space after a period. It’s a whole new world. I’ve never felt more obsolete.

I politely told the editor that after 25 years (ack!) of ten-fingered typing, it would take a lot more than a simple rule change to disabuse me of the satisfying double-thumb-thwack on the space bar at the end of a sentence, and that if she valued consistency, she would accept my two-spaced full stops. She took a long look at me, perhaps evaluating the extra white showing around the irises of my eyes and the little vein throbbing under my ear, and nodded silently.

There are some things that are simply sacred. I’m learning to deal with prepositions at the end of a sentence or split infinitives. I can live with or without a serial comma. But this is my line in the sand: I will never relent to a single space at the end of a sentence. Never!

Blog book tour: Sleep Solutions

A couple of days ago, I was reading a great post by Bub and Pie about rage and sleep deprivation, and it reminded me of one of my own posts from last year on this subject.

Ah, sleep deprivation, my old nemesis. Of all the worries relating to having a third child, I think it’s the one-way ticket to a minimum of six months of serious sleep deprivation that most scares the hell out of me. Some people do well with not very much sleep, but I, unfortunately, am not one of them.

So it’s timely that today I have the great honour of hosting a stop on the bloggy book tour for my good friend Ann Douglas and her book Sleep Solutions for Your Baby, Toddler and Preschooler.

I wrote a little bit about this book when I first received my copy, back in March. I was a part of Ann’s panel of 200+ parenting ‘experts’ (snicker) that she consulted in writing the book. Go on, read that post. I’ll wait. I’ve taken the trouble to highlight my own contribution to the book, significant as it is!

Parenting in the early years is fraught with questions about sleep. Some of the most contentious issues we’ve faced have been about sleep and sleep deprivation: whether to co-sleep (despite being vehemently opposed to the idea while pregnant, both boys slept either in a cradle at my bedside or in my bed well into their sixth month), how to deal with sleep deprivation, whether to rock the baby to sleep or let him fall asleep on his own, crying it out, soothers, early risers, non-nappers, early-to-rise and late-to-bed… my goodness, have I ever blogged about anything other than sleep-related issues??

And that’s why a book like Ann’s is so important, and so helpful. I’ve read all the books in Ann’s “Mother of All” series, and there are a few things in common that I love about all of them. Ann writes with a gentle humour, and it often feels like the advice is coming from your best friend or older sister. And while I snicker about being part of a panel of parenting ‘experts’ I do enjoy reading the experiences and exploits of other parents who have been there and done that.

One thing I most love about this book in particular is that it is 100% guilt-free. Ann lays out all the common wisdom and research work done on sleep, and offers the big ideas to you with tips and tricks for you to find what works for you and your family – without making you feel like a bad parent whether you choose to let your child cry it out or let your child co-sleep through kindergarten.

This is a practical book with real solutions. It has chapter headings like, “How sleep deprivation makes parenting harder,” and “Eight best sleep strategies: What every parent needs to know.” It has charts explaining sleep cues, and the difference between tired and overtired, and a chart showing how much sleep your child actually needs at each age and stage. The end of the book even contains almost 30 pages of sleep tools to help you understand and manage your child’s sleep troubles.

Congratulations again, Ann! My only complaint is that I wish you had written this book about five years ago!!

Stacking the kiddies like firewood

We’ve been slowly wrapping our heads around the idea of fitting three kids into a three-bedroom townhouse. It seems to make sense for us to move Simon into Tristan’s room, and leave his room with the crib intact for the player to be named later. We’ve talked to the boys, and to my surprise, they are both quite enthusiastic about room-sharing, so now we just have to work out the logistics.

Even though he’s two-and-a-half and nearly 40 lbs, Simon is currently still in his crib. I remember a little too clearly the agony of moving Tristan into a big-boy bed at the tender age of 20 months, and the ensuing weeks of sleep-deprived, eight-months-pregnant hell as he wandered around the upper floor of the house from midnight to three am every day, so I haven’t been in too much of a hurry to transition Simon out of his crib any earlier than absolutely necessary. I think, though, that with Beloved’s semester break in December, coupled with the fact that I’ll have a bit of holiday time and Tristan will be out of school, makes that seem like a reasonable time to give it a try.

We already have a second-hand twin pine bedframe that loosely matches Tristan’s, and so on the weekend we went out to Ikea to scope mattress and dresser options. That’s when we stumbled across this little gem of a bed. (The original version of this post had a picture imbedded – pardon the pun – into the post, but blogger.beta ate that post, and now refuses to let me post a picture. Grrrrrr!)

In the catalogue, it’s sold as a low loft bed (it’s only about 4 feet off the floor), but in the store they had it set up with a second mattress on the floor, setting it up as a particularly child-friendly bunk bed.

The boys LOVED it. We couldn’t pry them out of there. Now, we’ve discussed the idea of bunk beds in passing before, but usually the conversation ends with a snort of derision and the image of one or both boys launching themselves off the top bunk and onto, say, the dog. Clumsy + rowdy boys + bunk beds = TROUBLE. But this particular set-up seems fairly innocuous, and I have to admit that I love the idea of saving the space. And besides, wouldn’t you have absolutely loved a bed like this when you were a kid?

There are a few impracticalities, aside from the prospect of abrasions and contusions. Crawling onto the top bunk to read bedtime stories might become a bit of a trick, especially in the third trimester when I’m likely to not even fit under the canopy. And while Simon was content in theory to sleep in the bottom bunk – Tristan put together a surprisingly reasonable plea for the bed on the spot in Ikea – I’m sure the time would come when they would battle for the top bunk.

What do you think, bloggy friends? I don’t have any room-sharing experience of my own, let alone any bunk bed experience. (Heck, even now I don’t like the idea of sharing a room and would gladly have a room of my own!) Any thoughts or tips on room sharing in general, or bunk beds in particular?

And be assured, I wouldn’t even be considering this if we didn’t live in a country with socialized medicine and free trips to the ER.

My new favourite online shop

Every now and then, you stumble across a company that you want to tell all your friends about.


ZigZag Boutique is a lovely little online consignment shop, run by moms, based right here in Barrhaven. They carry baby and kids’ clothes, women’s clothes, used baby equipment, and some new products crafted by moms. I stumbled across it completely by chance, and I started flipping through some of their maternity items. A lovely navy blouse-and-tank set caught my eye, and for $11.99 the price was right. I placed my order online, and because I didn’t have my wallet with me, I chose the option for a telephone confirmation of my order.

Since one of the proprietors, Laura, lives literally right around the corner from me, she sent me an e-mail last night offering to personally drop it off at my house, and she let me pay in cash on the spot as well. She won me over as a fan for life when she tapped gently a few times on the door when she arrived in mid-afternoon (and prime nap time) rather than ringing the doorbell.

The blouse combo was in store-bought condition, far better quality than you see in many consignment shops. You’ll be impressed with their online presentation, too – take a look and tell me what you think. From the colourful tissue and gift-quality paper bag tied with raffia to the chocolate coins stapled to the invoice, it’s obvious these women care deeply about their company and the products they are selling. Really, I’ve never seen a more lovely package from any retailer, online or otherwise.

I am so impressed with the incredible service, the wonderful concept, and the charming manner of the proprietor that I can’t wait to spend more money at ZigZag. And when I’m done with my maternity stuff – because three kids is more than enough, thanks! – I’ll be looking into selling some of my better-quality stuff with them, too.

Honest, I’m not getting any benefit to rave effusively about ZigZag Boutique, nor have they asked me to promote them. But when you stumble across a little gem like this, it’s only right you should tell your friends!

Dear Frito Lay Company,

I am writing to you today to address some concerns I have with your marketing techniques, and with a possible violation of my personal privacy.

How did you know? Are you watching me? Do I consume so many of your products that you are now tailoring your product releases to me personally?

I am a lifelong connosieur of potato chips, and you obviously know I love barbequed potato chips the most of all. Back in 2001, when I was pregnant with my first son, you came out with an Old Fashioned BBQ flavour – and it was good. Very, very good. I actually called my brother, my childhood companion in the consumption of endless bowls of barbequed chips to share the news, and he went out that very day and got some for himself. After the dry years in the early 1990s when you tried to pass off the hip new ‘mesquite’ movement in lieu of real barbeque flavour, the Old Fashioned BBQ were a godsend. And I’m sure I gained an extra 10 lbs during that pregnancy, simply by virtue of those heavenly chips.

Strangely, though, they disappeared shortly after my son was born. In fact, the last bag I had was the treat my husband brought to me in the hospital after my son’s delivery, come to think of it. In place of the Old Fashioned BBQ chips, you came out with a modified barbeque flavour, and the barbeque pendulum came to rest somewhere between the mesquite flavour of the 1990s and the beloved BBQ spice of my youth. While I still enjoyed an occasional Ruffled Barbeque chip, the traces of mesquite flavouring assured that I enjoyed the idea of the barbequed chips more than I enjoyed the actual chips.

And then, when I was pregnant with my second son, for a few glorious months I could find the Old Fashioned BBQ chips again. I bought extra bags when I stumbled across them, hoarding them in the pantry and in my desk drawer, rationing and savouring each chip. And again, without warning, they disappeared, leaving me to smack my salty lips and chew leftover barbeque spice out from under my fingernails with longing.

Imagine my delight, then, to recently discover a cardboard display of – yes, miraculously – single-serving bags of Old Fashioned BBQ chips in Shoppers Drug Mart last month. I approached the display like an oasis in the desert, expecting them to waver and melt away upon my approach, leaving me to weep in the snack food and personal toiletries aisle. But, to my delight, they were real, and they were very, very good.

In fact, they are so good that I find myself thinking about them constantly. I plan my day around detours that might take me to the vicinity of one of the two locations in the entire city of Ottawa where I have found a cache of them. I think of them at night. I make deals with myself, that I will eat nothing but salad and fruit and the occasional rice cake for an entire day, if I allow myself the salty satisfaction of a bag of BBQ delight for my afternoon snack.

I would like to know how exactly you know I am pregnant again. Do you have market analysts who monitor these types of trends? Do I contribute that meaningfully to your corporate profits?

In researching your company for this letter, I have become even more deeply suspicious. I looked on your corporate website and was perplexed to find that it makes no mention of Old Fashioned BBQ flavour, nor is the flavour mentioned on your parent company’s website. They don’t really exist!

I demand a response to this issue. Is there a conspiracy of BBQ chip production going on? Are you in some sort of marketing alliance with the makers of extra-large maternity clothing?

And could you send me some coupons or free samples? You know, for the baby.

Yours in savoury addiction,
DaniGirl

Mixed messages

I’m having a good couple of days. Pardon my enthusiasm, but I had to update you on Tristan’s school foibles.

You’ll remember a couple of weeks ago, we got called in for a parent-teacher confab after a mere eight days of school, causing me to believe we should perhaps stop saving for Tristan’s education and instead start saving for bail money.

Yesterday, we got the first ‘goal worksheet’ back in Tristan’s communication folder (because he alternates between a French and an English teacher, he hasn’t been back with the other teacher since the week of our conference.) Five goals, five happy faces for five goals achieved. Go Tristan!

And from the department of mixed messages, we also got a lovely little certificate signed by the principal saying Tristan was “Star of the Week” for October 2 through 5. I understand from our daycare provider, who has older children at the school, that this is an honour bestowed upon a student by having the certificate hang in the hallway outside the principal’s office for a week, then sent home to the child’s beaming parents. I have no idea of the significance of this honour, whether he was nominated by a panel of his peers, or whether he will be able to add it to his curiculum vitae some day, but Tristan was plenty proud and so am I.

And speaking of honours, one of you lovely peeps have nominated me (or rather, nominated blog) for a Canadian Blog Award again this year. I am in great company, with nominating nods – so far – to many of my favourites, including Beanie Baby, MUBAR, Martinis for Milk, Breadcrumbs in the Butter, Bub and Pie, and a peek inside the fishbowl. I’m honoured and touched by your nominations – thanks!

Job satisfaction

I went to a seminar yesterday on building a career management strategy in the public service. I don’t think it was the intention of the organizers, but by the time I left I had a huge sense of satisfaction both with my current job, and with my future job prospects. (Of course, it helps that I walked out of that seminar and happened to pick up my language test results, lifting a 1000 lbs elephant off my shoulders.)

I was planning to link to some survey results, but apparently I copied down the URL wrong and no amount of searching through the Treasury Board Web site has turned it up. You’ll have to trust my wonky memory on the details, I guess.

The gist of it was that they came up with a number of measures that indicate job satisfaction, including having challenging and interesting work, having work-life balance, having opportunities for advancement, and of course, recognition and compensation. I was really surprised to see that in the sample of public servants they surveyed, satisfaction across these factors topped out at around 50 per cent.

It made me realize how very lucky I am to be doing a job that I truly enjoy for all of those reasons. My work is challenging and interesting, if not a little bit overly bureaucratic at times, ad I love the people I work with. I leave the office almost every day at 3:30 and almost never take work home with me. I’ve been promoted twice within the past five years, including two full years off for maternity leave. And quite honestly, I make more money that I ever imagined I would. We’re not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but when I was in my twenties I could never really envision having enough money to actually own a house – so I’ve come a long way!

It’s almost funny how serendipitous the whole thing has been. I’m not particularly ambitious, and I seem to have arrived here by whimsy as much as by design. Sure, I’ve worked hard and I think I’ve done a good job proving myself and my capabilities to my employers, but I still shake my head in amazement to look back and see that not only do I have a job, but I have a career – and one I love at that. How lucky am I?

I don’t imagine I’ll ever leave the public service. Heck, I’ve been with this department for 17 years – hard to imagine ever leaving here, let alone starting over again in the private sector. As of this year, I’ll be closer to my retirement (age 55) than I am to the day I started my career here at the tender age of 20. They aren’t kidding when they call them the ‘golden handcuffs’.

The great irony, of course, is that all I ever wanted to be was a mom. Even when I was a teenager, my career aspirations were something vague like, “I’d like to be a journalist, or in PR, or maybe sales. But mostly, I just want to be a mom.” And in the coming years, it’s only going to get harder to balance the raising of three little kids with this daytime life of mine.

But I’m glad to have had a little bit of a perspective check, to realize that everyone is not as lucky as me to be in a job they love, with people who treat them well, getting paid for it all to boot.

Even on a grey, rainy day, there are lots of reasons to be grateful. I’m a lucky girl.