Category: Uncategorized

Thanks to Colin at Ottawa Family Fun for this bit of silliness:

Not quite the $40M I am going to win from the 6/49 lottery tonight, but at least it would buy me a new car so I can ignore the transit strike! Any buyers out there?

(It kind of freaked me out at first, because the information page talks about Tristan Louis’ research on the value of links. Guess what Tristan’s middle name is? Louis, of course.)

I have a love-hate relationship with the bus. No, that’s not quite true – mostly, I just hate the bus. I know Ottawa has a really good bus system compared to some other cities, and the bus I catch half a block from my front door leaves me within a 10 minute walk to work. Even though two hours of commuting each day eats a big chunk of my already precious time, it does let me indulge in the morning paper on the way to work, and both a soduko and crossword puzzle, or a few chapters of whatever else I can lay my hands on, during the ride home.

Of course, I can also feel smugly superior to all those commuters sitting by themselves in their cars, wasting fossil fuels zipping past me as I shiver in the rain at the bus stop in the pre-dawn darkness, waiting for a bus that may or may not show up but secure in the fact that I am doing my part to reduce air pollution and improve the global environment. Wetly.

This morning, I am having my picture taken for a new bus pass they’ve introduced. The EcoPass lets you buy an annual transit pass through payroll deductions, saving 15% off the monthly pass price. I like the idea of saving a few clams ($144 a year on an $80 monthly pass), but I really love the idea that I’ll no longer be hunting for loose change to use as bus fare because it’s the first of the month and I forgot to queue up and buy my pass again.

The irony is that they’re talking about a transit strike some time in the near future. I’m sure the suburban commuter runs are not among the priority routes that will be staffed by managers in the case of a strike, so I’ve got to do some contingency planning this morning. While I kind of like the idea of working from home on the three days each week that the boys are at daycare and Beloved is teaching (a full eight hours in a completely empty house – I whimper at the mere thought of it), I don’t forsee a terribly productive day if we’re all stuck in the house together.

Maybe I can take a page from Ann’s notebook and head to the local Starbucks Tim Horton’s to get some work done. Now that’s a plan I can work with!

Do you rely on public transit? How is the transit system where you live? Anybody got room for a stranded commuter from Barrhaven?

True confessions time. Having children was not a completely altruistic thing for me. I had, in fact, not one but two hidden agendas.

First, I wanted someone to play catch with me. Beloved is an upstanding citizen, outstanding father and extremely patient husband, but he is not in any way, shape or form a sports fan. Oh how I miss the simple ritual of a good game of catch.

Second, I wanted someone to play board games with me. Beloved does get a better score on board games than on catch – last year, for example, he bought me classic Othello for Christmas, and feeds my habit with patient regularity. But I want more! One of the longstanding images I held in my heart when imagining my family at some future date is of all of us sitting around a table, eating junk food, laughing and playing board games like something out of a Milton Bradley commercial.

All that to say, I was thrilled when I recently brought Candyland home for Tristan, and he became instantly obsessed with it. I’d managed to miss this family classic during my formative years, and it’s a good thing, because we’ve played enough of it over the last three months to last anyone a lifetime.

I thought it was the game that has caused Tristan’s recent obsession with winning, but after reading Phantom Scribbler’s post this weekend about her son’s competitive streak, I’m thinking maybe it’s just an age/stage thing. I’m not an overly competitive person myself. I really do love to play much more than to win (those of you who have witnessed my stunning lack of athletic prowess in person will attest that this is a good thing.)

But Tristan really hates to lose. He will tolerate losing at Candyland only if we can play another game immediately. (My son, the optimist. I’m so proud!) I’ve treaded carefully, trying not to put too much emphasis on winning or losing, but it’s an uphill battle.

I think learning how to lose is as important as learning how to win. I have to admit, there have been a few times when it was tempting to literally stack the deck, smoothing his path to Candyland victory when I know there’s a tantrum ahead if he doesn’t win. But so far, I’ve resisted. I’m not even sure if I buy into the whole Timbits sports thing, where they don’t keep score for preschool soccer or hockey games.

Up until this point, as his parents we were pretty much in control of everything, but as he gets older I realize that I’m not the puppetmaster, somehow directing everything he says and does. I can set him up to do his best, but he’s got to do the doing – for better or for worse. I can model good behaviour, and I can rationalize with him to a point. But in the end, if he decides that winning is more important than sharing the opportunity to win then that’s his choice to make. It’s further complicated by my desire to ensure Simon gets a chance to win sometimes too.

Sometimes I do wish there was a parenting score card, though. I’d’ve scored bonus points for easy potty training, but minus two for too much TV. Bonus points for good manners, minus five because Tristan hasn’t eaten a vegetable in six weeks.

What do you think? Is it an age/stage thing, this obsession with winning? Am I being one of those granola moms when I try to play down the whole winning thing? Or is this just my neurosis du jour?

Edited to add: After wondering all morning if this was the most boring post ever and thus explaining the lack of comments, I have since realized that Haloscan is down. You can type your comments, but get a white screen when trying to post them. Phew, at least it isn’t personal!

Edited again to add a HOORAY for a clever blogger (found via Phantom Scribbler) who came up with a workaround. On Haloscan’s setting page, go to Beta and turn off the spam redirect feature. Comments will post, but the counter will not be accurate. Close enough!

Categories: Tristan Mothering

Lunchtime came and went during the meeting that would not end, and I’m starving and cranky and feeling entitled to a treat so I ask the cabbie to drop me off at the mall instead of the office. I’ve recently started working out three days a week again, so I’m also trying to instill a sense of self-discipline in my eating habits.

The perfect meal is free, has zero calories, is instantly available and tastes like heaven in a styrofoam box. As I make my way toward the food court, I am weighing (pun intended) the options to find something that balances fiscal prudence with calorie-counting and my insatiable sense of entitlement. The most evil (read: satisfying in the short term) alternative is the New York Fries poutine. Melty cheese-curdy goodness swimming in delicious gravy. With ketchup, bien sûr.

The least evil alternative is the new microwavable Soup at Hand I have stashed in my desk drawer. Perfect score on the financial aspect, not bad from a dietary choices perspective. But yawn. Plus, I know I’ll be rooting for a snack in an hour. I think about stopping for a bag of chips as a side dish, which while still within reason on the financial side, begins to seriously affect the validity as a low-fat option.

Then it occurs to me: popcorn! Soup first with a popcorn chaser – less than $3 and less than 300 calories. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. So I make my way over to the Kernel’s counter. Then another agony of indecision as I try to decide between the Buffalo Wings and the Low Fat Air Caramel. Oh evil choices, why do you plague me.

As the clerk regards me imatiently, I try to decide between spending the afternoon stuck with teeth that feel as though they are wearing sweaters because of the fuzzy coating of sugary caramel on them, or spending the afternoon tasting (and tasting, and tasting) the fading flavour of Buffalo Wings. It’s good the first time around, but by the third hour it gets a little stale.

“Excuse me,” I ask, my eyes scanning the selections I’ve read a hundred times before, “but what is Kettle Corn?”

“It’s a mix of sweet and salty,” the bored clerk answers.

It’s sweet. It’s salty. It’s sweet AND salty.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how another junk food addiction is born.

What’s your “I so deserve it” food treat? (What? You mean not everyone self-medicates with food? Okay, if not food, what’s your favourite little indulgence?)

Have you ever played the old game 20 Questions? Animal, vegetable or mineral – you know the one. Want to try playing against a computer? Warning, the computer wins almost every time!

Welcome to my latest Internet obsession, 20Q.com. You can play online or free, or you can fork over $15Cnd and buy the handheld version, which I spent a ridiculous amount of time playing in WalMart the other day. I read that it will be one of the hot toys of the season. Check out the reviews on Amazon – I’m not the only addict!

I found 20Q through an article in the local paper (the artificial intelligence behind the game was built by a guy who lives here in Ottawa) and haven’t been able to stop playing since. It’s probably a good thing the 20q.com link is blocked from my work server – but I could always stash a handheld version in my desk. Guess what I’m asking Santa for this Christmas?

Why are you still here reading? Really, go try it! So far, the longest it’s taken is 29 questions to guess “big toe”. It took less than 20 questions to guess doughnut, lobster, spam and chewing gum. It blows me away every single time.

If you want some insight into how the AI (artificial intelligence) uses your answers to build it’s neural networks, play the next generation testing text only version instead. After you play, the computer tells you how your answers matched up with its expectations.

Now, stop reading and go play! (Don’t forget to come back and tell me whether you loved it or not, though…)

You’re gonna laugh at me for this one.

You know what? This parental angst thing doesn’t end when you get them potty trained. After going through all that worry, there’s still even more things to worry about. Hard to believe, isn’t it?

We’re on the cusp of bigger things to fret over. I can’t believe I’m going to look fondly back on the day when the worst daily stress was how to keep him from splattering the strained peas across the kitchen and onto the dog.

(Do you see this fancy deke-and-feint thing I’m doing? Kind of dancing around, avoiding the topic. It’s cuz I know you’re going to laugh at me and I don’t want to get to it just yet.)

I’ve noticed that I have a lot of my own self esteem invested in my kids. I dress them in cute clothes because I see them as little extensions of myself, representatives of me. When people admire how adorable they are, how smart they are, how tall they are, I like to take at least a little bit of the credit.

I just realized that street runs two ways. When they are not entirely successful, it must be some failing on my part. Yah yah, I know, I know. Probably not healthy, they’re their own people, not possessions. Yadda yadda. Whatever.

(takes deep breath) I think Tristan is going to fail his level one preschool swimming lessons.

There, it’s out. Oh, the shame! A child of mine? Failing?? Say it ain’t so!

It was parents’ day at swimming lessons, so all the parents were in the pool with the kidlets. He showed us how to hold the kids to encourage the basic front and back floats, and he explained the criteria for passing this level. The troublesome one is that the kids need to be able to keep their faces in the water for three to five seconds, and I know Tristan (just like his mother, in fact) hates putting his face in the water.

I also have a whole new respect for the teacher. For four weeks, I’ve watched from the side of the pool as Tristan obeyed the teacher, waited his turn and listened to instructions. With me in the pool, it was a power struggle to keep him within arms reach while trying to listen to what the teacher was saying, and rather than float or blow bubbles on cue, Tristan just wanted to do his own thing.

The teacher said he needs to see the kids perform each task three times successfully, and with only four classes left and Tristan nowhere near keeping his face in the water for more than a second, it doesn’t look good. In crisis management mode, I started writing an action plan in my head:

1. Start desensitizing him to putting his face in the water. I got right on that one by holding his head under water and counting to ten. Three to five seconds of his own volition will seem like a cakewalk after a week of that.

2. Hire a tutor. Consider former Olympian athlete as personal swim coach. Wonder if Mark Tewksbury needs a job.

3. Sabotage other swimmers. Whisper to other kids that there are poopies and boogers and vegetables in the water, so be sure not to put your face in no matter what.

4. Start letter-writing campaign to the community centre manager, city councillor, local newspaper and Member of Parliament saying my son is being discriminated against for his water-phobia. Demand rules be bent to accomodate his special needs.

Okay, so I’m playing this up for dramatic effect. God help me, I’m not one of those parents yet. But there was a moment when I caught myself wondering what I could do to make sure he passes this session. A fleeting moment, I promise. Then I shook it off and remembered that we’re doing this for Tristan, not for me.

Damn. It’s not always about me?

Just when I think I’ve got a handle on it, I realize I still have a lot to learn about this parenting thing.

Categories: Tristan Mothering

It’s been a week or so since I’ve blogged about that LibraryThing, and you’d think I’d’ve run out of things to blog about it by now. No such luck!

I was over at Phantom Scribbler, and she and Julie and a few others started chatting about books in their Library Thing collection that nobody else owns, and how listing these lonely books might make a good meme. A meme AND Library Thing? I’m all over that.

Here’s five of my lonely books, ones that nobody else has listed in their collections, that I’d recommend to anyone:

1. Solomon Gursky Was Here, Mordechai Richler. I think anything by Mordechai Richler is worth reading. Richler is one of the kings of Canadian literature, and although this isn’t my favourite of his, I’m still surprised nobody else has it in their collection.

2. An Acre of Time, Phil Jenkins. This one, on the other hand, I’m not terribly surprised is obscure, but it’s one of my favourite books of all time. It’s the geological, sociological, historical and political history of an acre of abandoned field, about two kilometres away from the Parliament Buildings in downtown Ottawa. One of the most unique books I’ve ever read.

3. The Moons of Jupiter, Alice Munro. Alice Munro is my favourite author ever. Another titan of Canadian literature, she captures with uncanny ability the moments that we string together to make sense of our lives.

4. Nightwatch: A Practical Guide to Viewing the Universe, Terrence Dickenson. My favourite practical astronomy and star-gazing guide. Also conveniently Canadian, and by a (relatively) local author.

5. The Dixon Cornbelt League, and Other Baseball Stories, W.P. Kinsella. Might as well make this an all-Canadian list. Kinsella wrote the book on which the movie Field of Dreams was based. If you like baseball, or short stories, or quirky characters, or iconic stories about life in the small towns of Canada’s Prairies, you’ll love Kinsella’s work. W.P. Kinsella and Mordechai Richler are opposite ends of the same spectrum – one urban and one rural, one French and one English, one abraisive and hard to read, the other comforting as meatloaf and mashed potatoes on a cold winter day.

Categories: Books Memes

I got one of the oddest comments ever the other day (and that says a lot around here!):

Hello!
Did you know you’re a googlewhack?
(deleted – see original comment)
Matt 10.04.05 – 3:21 pm

I’ve been called a lot of things in my day, but being called a googlewhack was a first for me. Not sure whether to blush demurely or declare war, I did the sensible thing and googled ‘googlewhack’. I found out that googlewhacking is a game for people with FAR too much time on their hands.

You know how usually when you search for something on Google, and usually you get somewhere around 8,000 pages of returns for your keywords? Well, the gist of googlewhacking is keying in pairs of words that have no relationship to each other to find a pair (must be two words, no quotation marks) that return a single, solitary result. Here’s the googlewhack they used to find blog. I didn’t read through all of the rules (I have to admit, googlewhacking does not float my boat to the same giddy level of obsessiveness as, say, LibraryThing) but I did read enough to understand that by quoting the two search terms here I would skew future searches. It’s a wonder some of us ever make it out into the bright light of day, what with all the fun to be had on the Internet.

Speaking of crawling out of your parents’ basement into the bright light of day, did you hear they are making not one but two new television series based on Star Wars? One is a 3D animated series they have been working on since the spring, but producer Rick McCallum is now talking about a live-action series, set somewhere between episodes III and IV, that will feature a character “who’s been less highlighted up to now, but has been very popular with audiences.” Call me a purist, but there’s no place for Star Wars on the small screen. It’s been 28 years, give it a rest. (Gak. 28 years? Holy crap, I’m old.)

And now, to end our Friday ramble through the back 40 of what passes for my brain these days, I bring you two brags about my incredibly smart preschoolers. (Hey, my blog – my brag.)

First, Tristan: he was playing with his trains on my bed this morning as I was getting ready for work. He was half talking to himself, half talking to me, when he said “Time to go downstairs now. Abajo. That means down.” I had to look it up, but he’s right. I’m guessing this comes from Dora the Explorer. My mother credits the 2 hours of Sesame Street I watched each day as a kid with my graduation magna cum laude from university 20 years later. I’m happy just to have another justification for leaving the TV on.

Second, Simon: I commented on Andrea’s blog recently that Simon was nowhere near her daughter Frances’ ability to count, but instead loves to make counting grunts that in no way resemble actual words. I guess Simon was just waiting for the right audience, because last night at dinner he blew away not only Beloved and I but Granny and Papa Lou as well when without prompting he said, “One… two… fee… fou… fi… seeex… seben… nine… DEN!” (insert sound of four jaws dropping on to the table in unison)

Not even in school yet, and they’re both already smarter than me. I knew it was coming, I just thought I had a few more years. Man, I feel really old now.

I spent a good portion of one morning this past long-weekend sorting through the boys’ clothes, having finally capitulated to the fact that summer is over once and for all.

Even though there are two years between them, I can now mostly sort things directly out of Tristan’s drawers and into Simon’s – largely because I’m lazy and Tristan’s drawers are cluttered with stuff he grew out of a year ago.

Sorting stuff out of Simon’s drawers makes me a little bit sad, though. As I place each adorable 18 month sized pair of shorts into the carton, I wonder if I’ll ever be unpacking them to repopulate a third child’s summer wardrobe. I wonder if I shouldn’t just pass it all on to Noah, my gorgeous nephew, or Amelia, my daughter-by-proxy and possibly the cutest baby girl to ever wrinkle her nose at me.

Some stuff I do pass on, because so much was given to me and I like to be part of the endless churn of baby hand-me-downs. (Sometimes I wonder how the retail stores stay in business, what with garbage bags full of gently-used kids clothing being traded every day. Then I step into a store full of adorable jeans and bright striped jerseys, already reaching for my credit card, and I realize it’s suckers like me who keep them in business.)

But some stuff I just can’t part with, because I’m a sentimental sop. Like the green and black striped Kushie’s sleeper I bought for Simon over a year ago. When I first bought it, it hung on him like a potato sack, but he wore it until he resembled a big baby sausage whose casing was about to burst. And there is the reindeer sleeper that I bought for Tristan for his first Christmas. (For weeks, I imagined him crawling around amidst the wrappers and boxes and gifts wearing that adorable sleeper. That was the year we spent all of Christmas Day in the ER battling Tristan’s 105F fever.) I loved that sleeper so much that Simon wore it last spring, out of season for reindeers but no less adorable.

There are now at least five containers of baby goods stacked precariously in Simon’s closet. There are two Rubbermaid bins full of baby clothes and supplies like towels, blankets and burp rags. There are three, maybe four recycled Pampers boxes of outgrown clothes for winter in 12 months size through summer in 2T size. That doesn’t count the bouncy chair (those things don’t store well), the mobile, a plethora of gates, and more than one basket of rattles, links and chew rings… all of it being held in abeyance of the Big Decision. It would probably be easier if we would just make a decision and stick with it. But not yet.

Yesterday, Beloved dressed Simon in a striped GAP turtleneck that was one of Tristan’s signature shirts for two years, and somehow that shirt transformed my waddling baby Simon into a little boy. How did that happen? I never said it was okay for him to stop being a baby.

But he sure makes an adorable toddler.

Ack! Don’t have an original thought in my head lately, so I’m posting lots of filler waiting for the Muse to come back from getting that pack of smokes at the corner store. Hold on to your hats, it’s meme day yet again boys and girls.

But wait, first let me tell you my most excellent excuse for slacking off. You see, I have Somewhere Important To Go. (stands taller) I am meeting Andrea, one of my bloggy heroes, for coffee tomorrow – which will be today by the time you read this. Wicked cool, eh?

And now that you are so justifiably jealous of me this morning, let us continue with our meme. Renée, my Louisiana alter-ego, thought she had lifted this from me but she did not. It’s kind of like a tag in reverse, no? No? Oh well, I’m doing it anyway.

5 things I plan to do before I die:

1. Get paid for publishing an original work.
2. Spoil my grandchildren.
3. Go to Greece.
4. Colour my hair.
5. Get a piano and take lessons.

5 things I can do:

1. Converse in French – passably, not expertly.
2. Correctly punctuate ‘however’ and explain the difference between who and whom.
3. Clap with one hand.
4. Get up before 5 am on a regular basis and still be functional.
5. Eat foods so spicy they make other people weep.

5 things I cannot do:

1. Sing. Or dance. It’s downright embarrassing.
2. Leave well enough alone.
3. Remember how to spell ‘occasionally’ or ‘committee’.
4. Conquer clutter.
5. Resist memes.

5 things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. Personality.
2. Intelligence.
3. Sense of humour – the quirkier the better.
4. Kindness.
5. Really hot bod.

5 things that I say most often:

1. Bloody hell.
2. And your point is?
3. Sit Down On Your Bum NOW!
4. I’m SO blogging this.
5. What was I doing/saying?

5 celebrity crushes:

1. Evan Farmer (While you were out)
2. Ewan McGregor
3. Matt Damon
4. Johnny Depp
5. Harrison Ford

I’m supposed to tag five people now (well, seven, but I slacked off because Renée did) but I think I might be the last person on the Internet to do this meme so I’ll leave this one open. Join in!

I’ll be out having coffee with Andrea if you need me. How lucky am I?

Categories: Memes