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If you are a woman born anywhere between 1960 and 1990, chances are you’ve read Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. (Bonus points if you’re a guy and you’ve read it!) It’s easily one of the most important, influential books I read as a young woman. It was the first time I remember reading a book and thinking, “Oh wow, it’s not just me.”

Did you know, though, that in the late 1990s, the text was updated to reflect the modern state of feminine hygiene products?

Whereas in the original novel, published in 1970, Margaret “attached a Teenage Softie to the little hooks on my pink belt”, in the 21st century version Margaret “peeled the paper off the bottom of the pad” and “pressed the sticky strip against my underpants.”

When I was in elementary school and reading this book for the first time, circa 1979 or 1980, the sanitary napkin belt had been banished, but the maxi-pad dispenser in the school washroom still stocked those diaperish inch-thick pads you clipped to your underpants with safety pins. The revolution to microthin protection and ‘wings’ had yet to occur.

When I first read that the publisher had updated Are You There God, my immediate response was that it was a nice idea, making the story more relevant and accessible to modern readers. But then I started to really think about it, aided in part by a reading of Rebecca Traister’s recent article in Salon (also excerpted in my weekend Ottawa Citizen which, once again, I would link to if the Web site would load).

The more I think about it, the more I wish the publishers had left the original version to stand. For one thing, how often to we go quietly mucking about with literature to ‘update’ it? Should we apply the same reasoning to rewrite Catcher in the Rye and substitute Holden Caufield’s hunting hat for a baseball cap while we’re at it?

More importantly, though, is that by updating some of the seemingly inconsequential details in the novel, we’re cutting tiny threads that tie us to our past. It’s good to know that even though some of the mechanics of the turbulent transition that is puberty might have changed, the underlying hopes, desires and expectations are the same, generation after generation.

Traister, born in 1975, writes:

And while it may seem minor – so very minor, such a few small sentences in a 150-page book that’s just about as much as God and making your boobs grow as it is about periods – I’m actually glad for the sense it gave me that as recently as five years before I was born, girls had very different hassles during puberty. I’m glad I know a bit about what they were. I’m glad other young women know about some of the technology they can be grateful for (wings!) even if they, like me and many others, don’t share Margaret’s undiluted enthusiasm for the onset of monthly bleeding.

I said earlier that Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret was one of the first times I thought to myself, “Oh wow, you mean it’s not just me?” And here we are, these many years later, discussing this wonderful, compact and timeless little book on the forum where I now turn to be reminded that no, it’s not just me.

I’ve long intended to stock our bookshelves with Judy Blume’s books for the boys – I think they’d like SuperFudge, and Ramona. I’ll make sure to pick up this one too, if I can find a second-hand copy. They might never read it, but I know I will.

What do you think? Was it a good idea to make the book more relevant to generations who grew up with ‘wings’, or should we have left well enough alone?

We rented Garfield: the Movie for Tristan a while back. Beloved was in the video store, and thought it would be a nice innocuous choice, not as violent or annoying as say, Pokemon, but not as mind-numbingly boring as yet another Thomas the Tank Engine escapade.

Tristan loved it. He loved it so much that we have gone through several DVDs of the animated shorts on subsequent weeks, and have even profited from a dollar-store colouring book and a few library books featuring Garfield. Good old Garfield – nothing a mother of preschoolers could possibly find fault with, right?

It’s lunch time, and I’m cleaning up leftover cheese omelettes and peanut butter off Simon’s shirt. (“Bibs? We don’t need no stinkin’ bibs. Bibs are for baaaaaabbbbbiiiieeess.”)

As I wipe his mouth and hands, Simon wriggles to be put down. As I pull the tray away to liberate him from the highchair, obviously not quickly enough to satisfy him, he bellows, “Move, dumb dog!”

Oh Garfield, my old friend, how could you do this to me?

How much longer do I have to stare at this blank screen before I come up with an idea?

(sound of crickets)

Quite a while, apparently. Oh well, the lack of something to say has never stopped me before.

I’ve bookmarked a few new toys that might be interesting enough to mention. Since the pitchers and catchers were called to spring training this week (doesn’t the phrase “pitchers and catchers” just make your heart feel a little lighter?) and since baseball has always been my sport of choice, I present to you a blog I will skim sporadically but never follow assiduously, but am somehow happy to know it exists: the Major League Baseball Players’ Blog. For some reason, I can’t help but think of Bull Durham here, and wonder what kind of blog Nuke LaLoosh would write.

Baseball not your thing? How about an American Idol blog? I couldn’t find any contestant blogs (although I admit, I didn’t spend too much time looking – there are only so many moments in a lifetime) but I know you’re just itching to author your very own Idol blog. Go on, you know you want to – and someone needs to write about something other than Kevin, because there is no way he still deserves to be there nor have the largest tag cloud. I’m just sayin’.

And look! Once you have a few posts under your belt, you can get a hardbound copy of your blog published! (Confession: I am coveting this. One day I will do this.)

Speaking of published, did I tell you an article I wrote is being published in a trade magazine? Unfortunately, it’s not going out with my byline on it, but I wrote it and it’s getting published (if we can get the cursed thing through approvals, that is.) That counts, right?

And speaking of media (look at me, with segues and everything), did I tell you Andrea and I are going to be on TV again next week? We had so much fun with Leanne Cusack the last time we were on the News at Noon that Leanne asked us if we’d be willing to do an in-studio follow-up on blogging. From what I understand, and details are a little sketchy, we will be answering calls from the viewing audience – we’ll be bloggy experts! Cool, eh? More details to follow – don’t say you weren’t warned!

Oh, and one more thing (who said I had nothing to say?) that I wanted to share… if you like camping, KOA is offering a free night of camping on May 12. We did this last year, and although it was frigid and pouring a little cool and unsettled, we still had an excellent time. This year, I tried to book another one of those little cabins, but they didn’t have any available – but instead we got a “villa” with two rooms, indoor plumbing, a kitchen and an indoor fireplace! Not bad for FREE! We were so excited, we booked a second night and we’ll be camping for the weekend with my brother and his family again. Two families, a full weekend of “camping” in a fully serviced cottage, total price = $145. Not bad, eh?

So if I can come up with all this while having nothing to talk about, surely you can come up with something to comment about, right? Cuz I’m feeling a little comment-needy today. Will it help if I tell you I’m 1/8 Irish on my mother’s side?

I just noticed recently that the Day Out With Thomas we so enjoyed last summer is being held again this summer at the same place. It’s a seven hour drive from here, but only a two hour drive from my brother’s place, and just up the road from the city where I grew up. We’re in the midst of trying to decide whether we could possibly recreate the magic of our visit last year, and whether it would be worth the effort to try. I’m leaning toward yes, partly because I love a road trip (even with preschoolers, god help me) and partly because I know the boys will have a wonderful time.

And now we have two bona-fide train junkies in the house. Tristan still plays with his trains pretty much all day, and Simon has graduated from track-destroying baby-zilla to not only being able to drive the trains but being able to actually build his own track. He understands the magnets, and how to fit the track bits together. I don’t remember Tristan having that level of dexterity at age two, and he certainly didn’t have the recall or ability to name the 300 different characters that Simon has at this age. Then again, Simon has been indoctrinated since birth, so he had a head start.

Phantom Scribbler had a post a while back with a picture of her son’s wooden train collection all linked together in a single train, which inspired me to wonder exactly how many versions of Thomas the Tank Engine have migrated to us from the Land of Sodor. I’m not sure I want to admit to this level of abject consumerism and indulgence in public. We have:

– two wooden Thomases
– a wooden Thomas with gold paint
– a metal Thomas
– a Lego Thomas (and Percy, and James)
– a plastic Thomas the size of my fist with friction wheels
– a plastic Thomas the size of my shoe, where you push the conductor down to make him go
– a mechanized Thomas the size of a hot-dog bun that follows the aquadoodle scribbles (that one is kind of cool!)
– a plastic Thomas the size of a lemon that is really just a Thomas shell on a little engine thingee that also powers a Percy shell and a Terrence shell with a track that scoops up coal bits
– a breadbox-sized Thomas ‘suitcase’ carrying case
– a birthday-cake-topper wind-up Thomas.

That’s ten different versions of the same toy!! And it doesn’t even include the Thomas pillow, Thomas lunchbox, two Thomas T-shirts, Thomas hoodie and track pants, Thomas running shoes, half a dozen Thomas DVDs and videos, stacks of books and colouring books, and the Thomas backpack. Nor does it include the six Percys, five James, three Gordons, two Edwards and Annies and Clarabels, not to mention what I’m sure is close to 100 other trains name-brand and generic. And two (TWO!) rough-totes full of track and bridges and stations and whatnot.

We should qualify for some sort of award for that level of obsession dedication, no?

Blog has become so central to my life that not only is it an ongoing memoir and baby book, but it’s an appointment calendar and daybook, too. I tell you, it’s a helluva lot easier than keeping track of all those bits of paper all the time!

And while I’ve been enjoying keeping a record of some of the books I’ve been reading with my 10-pages-in book reviews (stay tuned, I should have a fresh one some time this week), I don’t review all the books I’ve read. And I can’t add them all to Library Thing, because I’ve been getting most of my material from the public library these days. And I didn’t have any other ideas on what to blog today.

I wanted this thread to be an ongoing list of books I’ve read, mostly for my own reference – but if you want to ask me about any book I’ve read, feel free to do so!

Coming soon

Beauty Tips from Moosejaw, Will Ferguson
On Beauty, Zadie Smith (queue #202)
The Historian: A Novel, Elizabeth Kostova (queue #102)
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt, Anne Rice (queue #26)

March 2006

Behind the Scenes at the Museum, Kate Atkinson (review pending)
White Teeth, Zadie Smith (returned to library unfinished and re-requested)
A Certain Justice, John Lescroart
Naked Conversations, Robert Scobles and Shel Israel

February 2006

How to Be Good, Nick Hornby
The Broker, John Grisham
High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
State of Fear, Michael Crichton
The Motive, John Lescroart

I’d go back further than February if I could remember that long ago… and ya gotta draw the line somewhere.

What are you reading right now?

I am not particularly good at transitions. (You are, I am sure, reeling with shock at this revelation.) While I like new things, when things are going well I am reluctant to muck about with them. I have been using the same shampoo and conditioner for at least ten years. Sometimes I buy the one for extra volume, and sometimes I buy the one for extra moisture. But it’s been the same brand for probably hundreds of bottles. Because it works.

Simon is no longer working. Much to my dismay he insists on growing, both physically and mentally. Every bed and naptime for the last five days, he has resisted going into his crib. He has cried, he has raged, and he has manipulated his commodious mother into rocking him to sleep every single time. Bad mommy. Clever Simon.

It is time, I acknowledge, to give up the crib. He hasn’t crawled out of it in a week, but it’s clear that he’s ready to give it up. I intuited this when he told me, “No more crib. Simon bed.” Sometimes, the subtle cues are obvious enough to penetrate even the haziest fog of denial.

And if he is ready to give up the crib, then (deep fortifying breath) maybe it’s time to give up the high chair as well. When does it end? Next thing you know, he’ll be four and a half pounds heavier, and ready to move into the booster car seat, and it’s just a half a step from there until he’s retired and collecting a pension.

To say that having two bullheaded strong-willed preschoolers in the house is an ongoing challenge is to say that the blogosphere has a few words in it… a serious understatement. But you know what? I’d freeze-frame it all and stay here forever. If I could, I’d do the Groundhog Day thing right now: the tantrums because the milk is in the blue cup instead of the green one; the constant testing (a university has less testing than our house these days); and, the exasperation of cleaning up the same set of toys over and over and over again (and why, for the love of god, do all the toys we own suddenly have 900 pieces each? Nobody brings another toy into this house that so much as breaks in half. One piecers only, all others need not apply, thank you for your interest.) I’d put up with the endless pestering of “now can you play with me?”, the capricious moods, the sparrow’s-first-fart wake-ups, and the infernal bickering – I’d do it all forever, if I could. Because I’m not so good with change. And while there are days they drive me to distraction, for the most part it’s good. It’s very, very good.

I look at them, these strange creatures that call me Mum (they’re not even in school, and already I’m no longer Mummy) and I never want it to change. I don’t want them to grow up into querulous ten-year-olds, nor petulant teenagers. I don’t want them to tower over me; I want them to be just the right size for me to fold my arms around them and scoop them up and make them a part of me again. I don’t want their downy cheeks to bristle, I don’t want their sweet milky skin to smell like musk – and I sure as hell don’t want them to smell like some other woman. I don’t want to watch them graduate, to move away, to fall in love and get married and have a family other than us.

But mostly I don’t want to let Simon have a bed because it’s easier when he’s in his crib and I know where he is. He’s a pest, that one. Nothing but trouble. And the idea of him wandering around and on the loose late at night when everyone is sleeping should scare the hell out of you, too.

A guy named Tom Locke was paying his bills one day, putting stamps on his stack of paid bills, when he looked at a $39 roll of unopened stamps (man, how much to American stamps cost anyway?) and thought to himself that $39 doesn’t get you much these days.

Then he began to wonder just what you could get for $39, or more particularly, how much FREE stuff you could get with $39 worth of stamps and a sense of humour.

The result is The $39 Experiment: Asking Companies for Free Stuff – and it’s hilarious! He wrote to 100 companies and asked for free stuff, and is keeping a running tab of their responses.

His letters are priceless. To Subway, he writes:

Dear Sir or Madam:I’m just writing to you to tell you that I hate Quiznos, and I hate that freaky sock puppet they used to have singing on their commercials. Just what I want – an ugly, mentally disturbed corporate mascot. Anyway, I eat Subway for lunch all the time. I love the roast chicken breast. Can I get some freebies? Free subs? Free chips? Free anything? If you’re feeling generous, I’ll take a free party sub. I don’t have a ton of friends, but that won’t stop me
from eating it! Thanks for everything!
Tom Locke, Subway enthusiast

To Quiznos, he writes:

Dear Sir or Madam:I’m just writing to you to tell you that I hate Subway. I hate Jared. He annoys me. So some fat guy lost a bunch of weight. Who cares? Doesn’t make their nasty, flavorless subs taste any different. Anyway, I love your Classic Italian. I put banana peppers on it to top it off. I usually get that chicken corn chowder soup, a mini chocolate bundt cake, and a bottle of water to finish the meal. Your food quite simply rocks. Can I get something free? Sandwiches, soups, coupons, shirts? Whatever you got. I love the freebies! Thanks for everything!
Tom Locke, Quiznos enthusiast

No response from either company yet. But he has received free lip balm from Burt’s Bees, coupons from Pfizer, and free pens and stickers from Pepsi.

I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve spent years in customer service, or just because I love free stuff, but I think this is the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages!

If you are particularly perceptive, you may have intuited recently that I have been unbearably cranky a little out of sorts. For about a week, I’ve been making a conscious effort to shake off this funk – but I was having a hell of a time doing it.

Then yesterday, I was driving through the drizzly, grey remnants of a freezing rain storm, and I felt a break in my internal cloud cover. It was as obvious as that; I just felt a little bit lighter, a little bit brighter, and I’ve been feeling better – more like myself – ever since.

So what made the difference? I think sometimes sadness just has to run its course, just like a virus. But, a few of these things might have helped:

I went to see the doctor yesterday about a spot on my arm. I’m fair skinned and freckled, and have had a lifelong love affair with the sun, and so one of the number one things I fear most in the deep dark part of the night is skin cancer. When I saw a rough patch with little pustules like I’d never seen before, I called for an appointment as soon as possible. You know what it was? Stress-induced eczema. (What is this stress thing to which you refer??) I’ve never had eczema before, nor has anyone in my family, to my knowledge. But I’ll take it over skin cancer any day!

I’ve been very hard on myself over flunking my French exam. I’ve spent the week cursing Trudeau and his bilingual utopian ideals every time I heard or read a word in French. Coincidentally, we had our last French class this week, and I was so demoralized I almost didn’t go – except I’m quite fond of the teacher, so I did. They had a nice little layout of snacks and goodies (that alone was worth the price of admission), and the big boss came around to hand out certificates of achievement for all the students, which was also a nice touch. The thing that restored my faith in myself, though, was a special award of distinction for the person who made the most improvement through the year – and they chose me. I was deeply touched and absurdly pleased.

And then of course, there are my adorable boys. They have been (searches for a word to replace ‘hellions’) a bit challenging lately. And for the love of all things holy, would it kill them to sleep beyond 5:30 in the morning? But last night we had one of those nights where I wonder why I find it so difficult to balance everything the rest of the time.

Simon, tearfully, having just crashed face-first into the carpet, in response to my question “What did you hurt?” : “I hurt… I hurt… I hurt … myself.”

Tristan, pushing Percy around a Lego track: “I am doing a very important job. This is important. Very very important. This is a very important task.” (pause) “It’s not so important.”

The wisdom of babes. He’s right – it’s not so important.

You’ll have to click quickly, because at the time I’m posting this you’ll have less than five hours to bid on the official “Rick Mercer Report Liberal Leadership Kit” on ebay. You might remember Rick Mercer from his campaign last year to wrest from me the “Best New Blog award” in the Canadian Blog Awards. (What, you remember it differently?)

His leadership kit, with a current bid of an affordable $16M (hey, we’re talking about national party leadership here!) includes a “fifteen minute consultation/conference call with the [Rick Mercer Report] writing staff to craft your campaign message” and “use of our colour printer for photos and such. Ink cartridge is running low on magenta.”

In other Canadian cultural icon news, although my job has been less than fulfilling lately, I’m glad I’m not working in the PR department over at Tim Horton’s. They finally announced yesterday that Canadian peacekeepers in Afghanistan will be able to get their morning double double after all, as Timmy’s has reconsidered their earlier position and will be opening a coffee trailer in Kandahar within the next few months.

Should have been a good day in the PR department, except for the fact that their infamous “Roll up the rim to win” campaign is getting some serious flack these days. The autoworkers’ union in Windsor is making noise because one of the top prizes in the popular contest is the Japanese-built Toyota RAV4, whereas in previous years it has been a Canadian-built GMC. (I’d link to the Citizen story on this, but their Web site won’t load for me these days.)

And then there are the two Quebec families feuding over a winning rim. A 10-year-old girl named Marilou dug a used Timmy’s coffee cup out of the trash bin at her elementary school, but found her fingers weren’t strong enough to roll up the rim. She asked an older schoolmate for help, and the girls discovered the cup was a winner – and not just a free doughnut, either. They won one of the 30 aforementioned RAV4s. At first, the girls were happy to share the SUV, as were their families, but things went bad when the fathers went to claim the prize and found only one could be declared the winner. The dispute remains unresolved.

All I can think of is the harried parent who stopped at Timmy’s that morning to get a coffee and pitched the unexamined coffee cup into the trash on the way to drop off junior at school, reading the morning paper the next day and realizing he or she had thrown away a winning cup. Yikes!

The damn contest has been running since last Monday and averaging two cups a day, I’ve rolled up somewhere close to twenty rims – and I can’t even score one of the 27 million free coffees or doughnuts. Cuz I needed a reason to drink more coffee. More coffee. MORE COFFEE!

Ed. note: I’m bumping this back up to the top in case you haven’t read about Annika’s Casserole Campaign yet (and if you haven’t, where have you been?) and because the COTA account is now active, so you can make a donation today.

Sometimes, you hear a story that cuts to the very core of who you are, what you’ve done in your life, and what you believe. Annika’s story is like that.

I just found out about Annika last week. Her mom, Moreena, writes a blog called falling down is also a gift. I’ve seen the blog title in a lot of blogrolls, and it has always resonated with me, but I’d never clicked through before.

Annika is five years old, and among other things, she’s had two liver transplants. Two. My dad had a liver transplant in 2001, so I know how sick you get when your liver fails. Very sick.

When I read Annika’s story, I cried. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be her mother, to go through everything they went through in the first two years of Annika’s life.

Annika is unfortunately sick again. Sick enough that she will probably need a third transplant. The real kicker, though, is that their insurance company has decreed that the family has already exceeded their $1M annual policy. In February. And Annika is still in the hospital.

So Phantom Scribbler, and Andrea, and a whole bunch of other wonderful people, have decided to do what they can to help. I want to help, and if you read Annika’s story, I’m betting you’ll want to help, too.

One of the ideas is beautiful in its simplicity. peripateticpolarbear said,

Normally, when someone’s sick, at least in my midwestern world, you bring them dinner, right? A casserole, a sheet cake, a salad made of iceberg lettuce and a tiny amount of carrots (I’m midwestern). And you know some nice lady from the church (meeting house, shul, etc.) organizes it all so the family gets food every night for a couple weeks? You know that lady, right–her name is always gladys and she wears cardigans?

Anyway, what would it be like if we spread a campaign for a virtual casserole campaign, and try to get families to contribute an amount roughly equivalent to what it would take for them to deliver a dinner to Annika (which would of course, include chocolate cake.) That way folks could give what is within their family’s means to do….most families that can afford internet can afford to bring a sick neighbor a casserole and a cake—how fancy those items would be would depend on how fancy your budget is. I don’t know. It could be a fun way to be a virtual community.

Could you spare a casserole for a family in need? I’m not much of a cook, and subjecting them to what would pass for a casserole at my house seems like heaping cruelty on the unsuspecting, but if they were my neighbours, I’d call the pizza joint at the corner and order them an extra large, with garlic bread and salad and a couple of litres of pop, and it wouldn’t cost more than $25 or so. I could spare that.

Giving is good for the soul. And you can’t put a price on good karma…