Category: Uncategorized

I’m taking a new approach to the whole Christmas preparation thing this year. Hey, American Thanksgiving has passed — I’m officially allowed to indulge in my Christmas addiction now!

Last weekend, I took advantage of a day of above-zero temperatures to hang the Christmas lights (and do a last minute raking and backyard poop scooping. What, you don’t count poop-scooping as holiday prep? It’s a gift to my springtime self!)

This weekend, I hauled out one of my favourite Christmas CDs, and put a pretty good dent in my Christmas shopping.

Previously, I’d haul out all the decorations for the house and the tree for an intense and exhausting day of holiday overkill, but this year I’ve decided to take a “ten minutes is enough time to hang two decorations” approach. (I have a niggling suspicion this will leave me with a half-decorated house come Christmas Eve. We’ll see.)

Which leads me to the point of this somewhat verbose introduction – my first contribution to the Winter Holiday of Your Choice Blog Extravaganza! Look, not only did I manage to put up decorations, but I remembered to take pictures of them!

This is the first decoration I hung up. I made it about five years ago, in the days when I could spend an entire weekend playing with my jig saw and paints and bits of crafty stuff and not worry about a preschooler tugging on my arm every eleven minutes. The snowmen used to hang independently around the house, but I bought the fake bough a couple of years ago and they make a nice quartet. They hang on a landing half way up the stairs, and the boys like to say goodnight to them as we pass them on the way up to bed each night.

And this one is a treat I bought myself on our blissful apple-picking adventure back in September. It was hanging in a shop window in Merrickville and caught my eye as we wandered past. Beloved herded the kids for a few mintues while I ran in to buy it – as soon as I saw it I had to have it. (Okay, so it turns out I’m not so good with delayed gratification after all.)

Last night, we went to our first Christmas party of the season. (Thanks, Bren!) It was with the same group of women (and men) I’ve mentioned before, and I simply do not see enough of them so it really was a fun evening. My only complaint is that our kids are *almost* of an age where we can leave them unsupervised – but not quite. Although I would have loved to sit in one place for more than three minutes and chat with my dear friends, I mostly ran around the house chasing Simon out of mischief and trying to convince him to eat bits of meatball and cheese cubes on the run.

Shopping, Christmas decorations and music, and even a party – can a weekend get any better than that?

Categories: HolidayBlogExtravaganza

Ugh. I’m having a bad mommy day. Tristan has a fever, not a bad one, but a fever nonetheless. And I’m at work. And I’m sending him to daycare. Bad mommy. Bad.

If it were Simon, I’d keep him home. But, Tristan gets fevers with such frequency that we’re a little blasé about them. Stomach virus? Fever. Getting a cold? Fever. Bumped his head? Fever. Doesn’t want lasagne for dinner? Fever.

So really, when he started heating up again last night, I wasn’t concerned. We kept an eye on him through the night, and the fever seemed to come and go, and is around 38C this morning. I have a pretty full plate today, and so does Beloved. To me, lethargy and clinginess are much bigger warnings sign than fever – at least for Tristan. Other than the fever he seems fine, and the fever is responding to the tylenol, so we made the executive decision to send him to Bobbie’s.

And I feel awful. Oh the guilt. I’m trying not to think about it, so of course I blog about it.

Matter of fact, let’s talk about something else.

Hey, I didn’t tell you about my awesome blogger coffee date this week, did I? In my quest to meet all the Canadian Bloggers Named Andrea (not really), I had coffee with Andrea from a peek inside the fishbowl. It was hard not to fawn over her, as there are just so many things to admire about her: she’s very quick witted, she’s been blogging in one form or another since 1999, she does all her own designs, she’s been published in real magazines and newspapers, and she’s nice as the day is long. I’m thinking about starting a fan club! (And no, this isn’t just because she said nice things about me first.) We’ll be working together in the new year, and I’m really looking forward to it. (Edited to add: and yes, Dave was there for coffee too. Dave is just as nice, but not as cool because he doesn’t have his own blog. Yet.)

Speaking of new things, I bought a pomegranate this week. I have to admit, I have previously been intimidated by this inscrutable fruit. I think I remember having some of the seeds at a friend’s house when I was a kid, but I wouldn’t know a pomegranate from a kumquat except that they are both funny words to say.

But you see, the big display of pomegranates in the grocery store came with little instruction books, and I coudn’t resist. A fruit that comes with directions – it’s like the grocery gods are speaking directly to me. I think this is an excellent new trend in marketing. I think EVERYTHING in the grocery store should have a little booklet explaining how to best open, cook, serve or compliment this particular product.

No more opening coconuts with a screwdriver (it really doesn’t work very well, and there is an elevated risk of puncturing your calf. Not that I know this from personal experience, of course.)

No more trying to make guacamole out of unripened avocados (even when you use a blender and then add half a container of sour cream to improve the texture and then have to add green food colouring, it’s still pretty much hopeless.)

No more saying, “Hot peppers? How hot can they be?” and then submerging your tongue into a half a jar of mayonaise because it’s the only thing you could find in the fridge to stop the volcano that just erupted in your mouth.

I’m all for more directions, but maybe that’s just because I need a little more help than the average bear.

Oh, and if you’re still reading, you might as well click over to the Canadian Blog Awards and cast your votes. (hint hint) It’s a new day, you can experience the thrill of voting for your rambliest Canadian blogger all over again!!

I think by now my affection for Tim Hortons is no secret. (Did you know Timmy’s has its own Wikipedia page? It was there I read about “the Gretzky” – a coffee with nine creams and nine sugars. That can’t be good for you. Is there still room in the cup for coffee after all that?)

I’ve tried just about everything Tim’s has schlepped on to the market, from caramel pecan chocolate chip cookies (to die for) to iced cappuchino (I just can’t warm up to cold coffee) to their garden veggie sandwiches (yum!)

I gotta draw the line on this one, though. New this season, hot smoothies. Okay, maybe the hazelnut and the butter cream ones would be okay, if you’re into hyper-sweet sticky beverages. I take my coffee without sugar, so I’m not impartial here, and I’ve never liked flavoured coffees. But a hot orange smoothie? Bleck!! What were they thinking?

Someone in the marketing department decided to take a run at Starbucks or something, because they’re also offering “flavour shots” in hazelnut, butter caramel, orange and raspberry. “It’s a whole new way to enjoy your favourite Tim Hortons’ beverage. “

Call me a purist if you must, but please keep your syrup away from my coffee. That’s an extra large with three milks to go, thanks.

I think it’s safe to say we’ve conquered the potty. It’s been a few months since he’s had a daytime accident, and even a few weeks since he’s had a nighttime accident (but he’s still in pull-ups overnight, just in case.)

Rather than rest on our laurels, we’ve moved on to conquer the next parenting hurdle, which I see as even more insurmountable: how to get Tristan to sit still at the dinner table.

Does anyone else have this problem? It seems to be getting worse instead of better. For a while, I was worried about hyperactivity and ADHD and all the other nasty things they accuse rambunctious young boys of having, but he’s more than capable of sitting for 30 minutes or more to do a puzzle or read a book or play with his trains. Or, ahem, watch TV.

The dinner table, however, is another matter entirely. I’ve even given up on worrying about what he eats. I’ll put out a little bit of whatever the rest of us are eating for him, but also some peanut butter on pitas or apple slices or whatever else I know he will eat so at least he’s getting something nutritious. I’m pretty sure his palate will expand over time if we don’t nag him about it.

But no matter whether he likes what we’re having or not, he will not sit for more than five minutes at the table. He gets on his chair, wiggles off it, tips it sideways. He reaches out and leans on the highchair and pesters his brother, and he tries to dangle off of Beloved’s arm or crawl into his lap. (He’s 38 lbs – that’s a lot of preschooler to have dangling off your forking arm!)

It has denigrated to the point where he just stands at the table, crams a few bites into his mouth, dances away, comes back, pesters someone, eats another bite, rattles his silverware, wiggles on and off the chair… you can see how it would become a little tiresome.

I’m trying to decide if I want to wage this war. I’ve tried the usual array of persuasive techniques, from pleading to cajoling to moral imperative to outright threat. Beloved has threatened to use his belt to tie Tristan to his chair, which I have some reservations about. (Don’t call child protective services just yet.) None of it seems to be incredibly effective and I’m frankly tired of arguing my way through dinner every. single. night.

My ongoing fear is the same one that underlies all my parenting anxiety – if I don’t “fix” it now, are we stuck with this behaviour forever? Or should I chill, call this a phase, and hope it’s a short one.

Any suggestions? I’m thinking Velcro pants and seat cushions…

Warning – I have ceded control over blog to my inner 14 year old girl. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Your Life is Like

Say Anything…

What John Cusack movie are you?

I have such a crush on John Cusack. There are so many other productive things I could have done with the last four minutes of my life, and yet when I stumbled across the “which John Cusack movie are you?” quiz, I couldn’t resist. And when the result was one of my favourite movies of all time, it seemed like fate was telling me to post about it. So I did.

Because you never know when John Cusack might be doing an ego-google, and then he’d come across my blog, and see what a big fan I am, and maybe he’s looking for a sensitive, witty writer for his next project, and he’ll love my style and realize I’m the only one for the job and I’ll have to quit my government job and work with him and Cameron Crowe to write the role that will win him his first Oscar. I see it as a “quirky celebrity meets obscure blogger and falls in love but that love can only be unrequited because she is married and has two kids” kind of film.

It could happen.

The inimitable Marla has drawn up a questionnaire for the Holiday (yatta yatta) Extravaganza. Holy crap, she writes harder questions than my Business Admin prof in university! After picking away at it all weekend, it’s about as good as it’s going to get.

If I could get away with it, I’d steal Pier One’s entire product line, because damn it, it should be mine.

I sometimes buy those Home & Style type magazine(s), because I lust after a house that looks like it was decorated on purpose and not by random acts of chance and afterthought.

If you came over to my house to play and broke my red crayon, I’d be a little bit mad at you forever.

The colour mauve should only be used in fungal remedy packaging or if human waste were to be redesigned.

The colour sunshine yellow makes my heart feel like it is full of happy kittens frolicking in a sunny, grassy meadow.

Golf makes me break out in gooberous pustules (or else I just don’t like it, but I’m too nice to say it.)

I might get sick or die if I touch or ingest polyester or look at ribbon geese.

Sponge Bob Square Pants gives me the heebie jeebies and I might need to seek therapy if I even think about it further.

I love the feel of high thread-count cotton sheets washed 100 times so much I have a primitive urge to stick some down my pants.

No one should have to watch me eat homemade shortbread because really If I were eating some in private, I’d be quite a pig about it.

I would rather chew tinfoil and shave my head with a cheese grater than eat egg nog and Christmas cake.

I DO DON’T follow recipes because I am hopelessly unimaginative when it comes to cooking and a little bit afraid of the kitchen.

For Marla, “White Shoulders” perfume will always smell like her laid-out dead grandmother. I feel that way about almost all perfumes.

If I could, I’d perfume my own farts and those of my loved ones with the scent of vanilla, burning leaves, raspberries, or clean babies.

I have TOO MANY /TOO MUCH OF bath salt/home spa thingees, and not enough decorative containers. (I have a serious container fetish – boxes, jars, vases, flowerpots, bowls, whatever.)

Gadgets are for deserving bloggers who have been extra good this year! (Ahem, yes, that’s me.)

When people have kind, sweet and nice things about me, they’re usually talking about (who cares what they’re talking about – whatever it is, I’m lapping it up like milk.)

I can’t be upset if people dis me about the fact that I am easily placated by shiny objects and pretty colours because it’s true.

If I could have any talent in the world, I’d choose to be able to stop time and use it to get more done in a day – then steal more time for myself.

You are given an hour and twenty dollars to spend in one of these places, childfree. Choose one, or write your own: (I couldn’t choose, only narrow it down to three good choices.)

• A flea market, where you might find neat treasures and still have enough left over for some home made baked goods from that nice granny’s table.
• A picturesque pub, where a couple of great drinks and a nice tip might lead to some interesting conversations.
• A craft show, because you really need to find a few more things made from twigs and yarn.
• A gourmet food store, because food for the tummy is food for the soul.
• A fancy and expensive boutique, because you’d rather have one lipstick from a great place than ten lipsticks from a dollar store.
• Wherever! Whatever! Just give the twenty dollars to whomever’s caring for the offspring so you can have more time to yourself!

And here’s the last chance to make sure that you’re not going to get a “Jelly of the Month” club membership when you’re expecting your bonus for a swimming pool: It is important to me that the items chosen for me are shiny or sparkly or colourful or yummy and really not terribly practical at all.(Examples: respect my Wal-Mart boycott, are vegan, aren’t made by child or sweatshop labour, can be stuffed down my pants)

And If I could suggest that you read only one post from my archives, this would be it: (Just one? What, you don’t reread the whole archive every week? Well, this one will do.)

And If I were to name the Holiday of my choice for this exchange, it would be: the all-presents all the time hedonism fest. (Please feel free to make one up – but this is your chance to say “Um, I’m Jewish but that doesn’t mean give me dreidels!” or “More Santa decorations please – I only have thirty-seven now.” or “Winter and gifts yes; religious denominations, no – if only all cards could be like those politically correct corporate holiday wishes!” if you want to.)

Categories: HolidayBlogExtravaganza

Can anybody tell me how to remove the grey border from around my banner? I’ve been tinkering with it on and off for months, and haven’t figured it out yet.

I’m going to put the CSS data in the post for you to see, but I don’t want to clutter up the blog with it, so click on the more button if you can help.

I figured out how to plunk the banner in there, but I didn’t change too much from the original template, so I think that’s what’s making the border. All I have for the actual banner itself is a div tag, the link and the image source. Here’s the CSS for the header:

/* Header

—————————- */

#header {

width:660px;

margin:0 auto 10px;

border:1px solid #ccc;

}

#blog-title {

margin:5px 5px 0;

padding:20px 20px .25em;

border:1px solid #eee;

border-width:1px 1px 0;

font-size:200%;

line-height:1.2em;

font-weight:normal;

color:#666;

text-transform:uppercase;

letter-spacing:.2em;

}

#blog-title a {

color:#666;

text-decoration:none;

}

#blog-title a:hover {

color:#c60;

}

#description {

margin:0 5px 5px;

padding:0 20px 20px;

border:1px solid #eee;

border-width:0 1px 1px;

max-width:700px;

font:78%/1.4em “Trebuchet MS”,Trebuchet,Arial,Verdana,Sans-serif;

text-transform:uppercase;

letter-spacing:.2em;

color:#999;

}

Any help greatly appreciated!!

On the way to the gym this morning:

“Bloody hell, I’m going to have to scrape the car. God, I’m sick of the cold already. Oh great, snow all over my seat as I open the door. Peachy. Now I’m going to have a cold, wet ass all morning.”

Grumble grumble.

“Don’t you even THINK about running out in front of my car. I swear, kids these days don’t have the slightest sense of self-preservation.”

Growl growl.

“How nice. Gas prices are up seven cents, and I forgot to fill up yesterday. Figures. Why does that always happen to me? Why can’t I catch a break?”

Snarl.

What? Oh, you’re expecting me to say something? Again? Aren’t you tired of listening to me by now?

Apparently not yet, as I was thrilled to notice the hit counter rolled over the 20K mark earlier this week. Hooray for us!

What, you want more substance? Good grief, you’re getting demanding. Okay, how about a cute Simon story to go with the saccharine dandelion story? Not so much a story as an observance that toddlers learning to talk can be the cutest creatures on the planet.

Whenever Simon wants something open, he says, “Open-the-door!” A clerk in a store gave him and Tristan some fruit roll-ups the other day, and Simon danced around waving it in front of me begging “Open-the-door! Open-the-door! Open-the-door!” much to the amusement of the sales clerk. “Open-the-door!” also means, ‘Please turn the page a little more expediently, mother, I’ve read this page three times already.’ And, ‘I’m feeling a little peckish, could you please open the fridge?’ It’s adorable, if I do say so myself.

Still not enough meat for you? Sheesh! Well, how about we talk about Canadian things, you always seem to like that. Oh, and you like it when we talk about books. Hey, I know, let’s talk about Canadian books!!

The Literary Review of Canada has published their list of the 100 most important Canadian books ever written. Not most popular, or favourite, but most important. From Jacques Cartier’s 1545 potboiler, Account of the Second Voyage of the Navigation of 1535 and 1536 (I’m guessing there were no editors to suggest snappier titles back in 1545) to Jane Jacob’s Dark Age Ahead in 2004, it’s a chronological list of 100 books that have shaped our literary and cultural landscape.

Only in Canada would a list of 100 most important books contain not just one but multiple royal commission reports, a geological survey, an encyclopedia, and a hockey how-to manual. Oh how I love this country.

That’s it, folks. That’s the bottom of my bag of tricks today. I can’t even think of a decent question. Consider it open mic day – go ahead and try your own ramble in the comments section. It’s surprisingly cathartic.

This Friday Ramble brought to you by sleep deprivation, stress, and the letter N (for Nancy).

The endlessly clever and resourceful Andrea and Kim have finally launched the coolest new Webzine on the Internet.

Go check out The Whole Mom. It’s a quarterly Webzine with columns and articles and even comics, but it also has a great big discussion forum too.

If you’re a mom with a brain, you’ll love it. Check it out!