My words are stuck

Even though I’m not a writer in the traditional definition of the word, I rely on the written word for my livelihood. I write communication strategies, news releases, web content, briefing notes and reports, among a long list of other things. My job is all about words.

The amount of finesse required and the level of care I take when stringing those words together varies day by day and product by product. If I’m writing e-mails all day long, not so much. But there are days when how I string those words together matters. Working for the government doesn’t give me a huge creative licence, but there is still room for artistry.

On the blog, I write every day. (Every damn day. It tires me out just thinking about it some times!) Even with blog, though, some days involve more effort and creativity than others. I’m not especially careful when I string together a meme, but I’ll often rework an anecdote for quite a while. The mechanics of good writing come naturally to me, but I like to pick at a first draft for at least a couple of minutes to reconsider the word choices and the rhythm and the resonance.

Lately, getting the words out has been a painful and difficult process. Whether I’m writing for work or for blog, for the past week or more the simple act of writing has been a struggle. Each sentence is an effort, wrested from some deep subconscious dungeon and dragged reluctantly to the light of day. Each paragraph is filled with false starts and abandoned phrases. My writing feels stilted and forced.

When it’s good, it’s very good. I love the joyous rush of being in the groove, of completely disengaging my brain from my furiously typing fingers and simply sitting back to marvel as the words assert themselves on the screen. I am my own biggest fan, and there are days when I go back and read some of the stuff that I’ve written and say, ‘Damn, woman! You can write!’ And then, of course, there are days like today when I look back at some of my finer writing and think, ‘That’s it, I’ve jumped the shark. I’ll never write that well again.’

It’s not a matter of being in a creative drought or lacking my muse; even when I know exactly what I want to say, the words themselves are the hinderance. Rather than flowing together, tumbling out in an enthusiastic and satisfying rush, the words are tangled and sticky and awkward, and each one has to be coaxed reluctantly onto the page. It’s exhausting.

Is there anything more excruciatingly boring than reading someone complain about how hard it is to string words together? Oh yes, definitely: writing about how hard it is to string words together.

P.S. On my screen, my sidebar seems to be taking a vacation in the sunny south. (Although it’s fine on the laptop at home.) I’m not sure why. It started doing that yesterday, but I haven’t added anything to it, nor do I have any content in the posts that would throw off the alignment. I’m hoping it fixes itself. Bad enough when the words are fighting back, but the technology is throwing a hissy fit, too. At this rate, I’ll be sending out blog posts via seminole semaphore signals by next week…

A new chapter in the caregiver saga

Today is the boys’ first day with their new caregiver. I think I can finally let go of this deep, anxious breath I’ve been holding for the past three months or so.

It’s been a melancholy couple of weeks, saying good-bye to our other care provider. She has been so gracious about the whole thing that I’ve been second-guessing myself for the last month since we told her that we would be switching. On the boys’ last day with her last week, she bought them each a little gift, and a little something for us, too, and she gave us a thank-you card thanking us for trusting her with our precious treasure. She’s a class act, that one.

I was in the middle of composing this post and about to note how well the boys are taking the transition when Beloved called and said Simon is now expressing anxiety about facing the new daycare by himself (Tristan will be in school this morning and joining Simon at lunch time.) My kids are generally pretty good with transition – much more so than me! – and I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets there. I feel for him, though. Bobbie is the only caregiver he’s ever known, and even though we’ve spent a while with Joanne and her kids in the last little while getting to know them, change is always at least a little bit scary.

Tempering my guilty regret of the last few days has been exciting news from the new caregiver. When we first spoke, she had mentioned the fact that her three-year-old daughter would be attending nursery school in the fall, and if I wanted, she could bring Simon at the same time. I have always wanted to have the boys in some sort of preschool program, but up to now it has just been too logistically daunting. Last week, Joanne called and said that there was one space available in the afternoon class, if we wanted to register Simon.

I am absurdly excited about this, and jumped at the chance. If I could have, I would have registered Simon for JK this fall; I think he’s more than ready. He was nearly beside himself with excitement when I told him that in September, Tristan will be going to afternoon kindergarten and he’ll be going to his own big-boy school. Joanne said it’s an excellent program with arts and crafts, beginner science, music and – be still my heart – pageants. (I’ve been just a little bit disappointed by the lack of pageants during Tristan’s first year of school. Bring on the pageants!)

Now I’m all choked up at the idea of both of my boys being in school. What happened to my babies? Can we slow this whole thing down just a little bit? From soothers to school registration in the same week – I’m not ready!

1000 Islands, 1000 pictures

I remember back in the day, when a weekend away meant throwing a change of clothes in a bag and a stack of CDs into the front seat.

This is how we pack for a weekend at the cottage with kids:

It was an altogether lovely weekend to be outside. When we arrived, it was in the low 20s and humid, but the air became clear and cool overnight – perfect for campfires, but just a little too cool to take advantage of the campground’s inground pools and hot tub. The little cabin has a playground on one side and on the other side a lovely little rock outcrop, perfect for climbing and for admiring the giant trilliums.


The boys seemed to grow up before my eyes this weekend. They were able to play independently, running in and out of the cabin without overt supervision. They’re finally at an age where I don’t have to hover over them, fretting that they’ll slip on the rocks or fall off a climber. (It helped, of course, that the playground is easily visible from the cabin’s many windows, and that there was always a spare adult around to keep a benevolent eye out.)
There was a wagon ride, an ice-cream social, and a community hot-dog lunch. It’s really a lovely little KOA. I’m as impressed with them this year as I was last year.


I was struck by the friendliness of the children on the playground. (And boy, were there a lot of kids! I’m sure the campground was close to capacity, at least for trailer and RV spaces. It was still on the cool and windy side for tent camping.)

I loved sitting on the edge of the playground, watching Tristan and Simon play with the other kids and listening to the conversations going on. I worry sometimes about Tristan’s sociability, because he doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends at school. But on this playground he was friendly and outgoing, and all the kids played together in one big gang. Tristan in particular seems drawn to the six-to-eight year old boy crowd, while Simon was a hit with the nine-to-twelve year old girl crowd. You’ve got to love a playground that comes with built-in babysitters!

Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture of the weekend’s other annual highlight, the family Texas Hold’em poker tournament. I really don’t know how the kids slept through the gales of laughter that reduced us to tears, gasping for breath. And for the second year in a row, my mother cleaned our collective clocks. She’s a shark, that one.

The best part? This is only the *beginning* of what promises to be a stellar summer.

To DVD or not to DVD

Two of my favourite bloggy peeps are going head to head on CBC radio next week. Andrea from a peek inside the fishbowl and Chantal from Breadcrumbs in the Butter are going to duke it out over whether portable DVD players are mother’s little helper or the devil’s spawn.

Myself, I’ve got no problem with them. I think they’re a fabulous way to keep the kids entertained on an otherwise long and boring drive. For some reason, almost every drive we take is in the neighbourhood of five hours, and even watching two kid-sized movies in a five hour trip leaves lots of time for colouring, word games (we’re working our way up to twenty questions), scenery-gazing and poking your brother. My only complaint is that the DVD player hogs the cigarette lighter and I have to get a splitter so I can use my iPod transmitter while the kids are watching a movie.

What do you think? Better yet, give your pro-DVD arguments to Chantal, or your anti-DVD arguments to Andrea, and tell ’em Dani sent you!

Doctor doctor

I’ve been feeling like crap all week, and chastising myself for not being able to shake off what seems to be nothing more than a cough, albeit a deep and juicy one. I’ve been sooooooo tired, though, and if I do anything more energetic than, say, lift a coffee cup to my lips, I’ve been left feeling clammy and yucky.

Since Tristan has been on antibiotics for a double ear infection all week, I thought I should cram in a quick visit to the doctor before our camping weekend. Kind of glad I did – turns out I have walking pneumonia. (!) Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about feeling bad! Funny how validating it is to have someone confirm that yes, you are actually sick.

I checked with Dr Google when I got home (a very risky business at the best of times, even post-diagnosis) and lookit that, my doctor with all the fancy degrees is right, the symptoms that have been plaguing me all week do sound like walking pneumonia.

That’s five trips to the doctor in eight days for the four of us – Tristan’s (almost) well-child annual check-up on Wednesday; a double-appointment to the after-hours pediatric clinic on Friday when we noticed discharge coming out of Tristan’s ear (and wanted to get Simon’s chest cough looked at while we were at it); Beloved went to a walk-in clinic for tendon problems in his thumb; plus my visit to my GP. (Sheesh! My last visit to the doctor before this was my d&c follow-up in November; my last visit to my GP was in August.)

Can I get a hallelujah for socialized medicine? The longest any of us waited was 26 hours, for my appointment yesterday. We paid nothing for any of the visits. I’ll get 80% of the drug costs back under my health-care plan at work.

(The boys have no idea what I’m writing about, only that mommy is too busy playing with the computer to pay attention to them. Again. But they’re sitting at my feet playing doctor with Simon’s doctor kit. Way too cute!)

Win your own Dangerous Book for Boys!

Yesterday, Fawn noted that the Harper Collins contest to win a free copy of the Dangerous Book for Boys is only open to Americans. I sent a note to Andi at MotherTalk (editorial aside: Andi is the nicest. person. ever!) and she confirmed with the publisher that yes, the contest is only open to US residents. Sigh. It’s hard being a Canadian sometimes. We can’t vote for your American Idols, some of the coolest online stores don’t ship to us, and you don’t let us apply to be contestants on Survivor or the Amazing Race.

BUT! The publisher offered me a free copy of the book to share with one of you. That’s a nice compromise, don’t you think?

If you’d like to win your own copy of the Dangerous Book for Boys (see my review here if you missed it yesterday), leave a comment on this post. I’ll leave it open through next Tuesday, May 15.

Book review: The Dangerous Book for Boys

It’s my great pleasure today to participate in the MotherTalk blog book tour for The Dangerous Book for Boys. (Disclosure: this means I get a review copy of the book and a $20 honourarium for playing along.)

Do you have any idea how to use your watch as a compass? Do you know the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb? Ever wanted to make a perfect paper airplane, or learn to juggle, or make a coin disappear? Ever been curious about the world around you and the things you are capable of doing? Then you must pick up, for yourself or the boy in your life, The Dangerous Book for Boys.

The Dangerous Book for BoysThis was a fun book to review. I’m already a minutiae junkie, and I love to know stuff. Useful stuff, esoteric stuff. That’s the kind of stuff that’s in this book; stuff to impress chicks with, and impress your schoolmates, too. And what a gorgeous book it is. Simply on a tactile level, it’s a pleasure to hold, to admire the old-fashioned typesetting and carefully rendered illustrations.

It’s not exactly a manual on how to be a boy, but rather an encyclopedia to satisfy the curiousity of the boy within all of us. The chapters are short, and follow no discernable pattern – much like the notoriously short attentions span of its intended audience. Each short chapter covers a different topic, including rules for common games (chess, stickball, poker and marbles), history and grammar lessons, science and nature, Shakespeare and poetry, and a generous list of how-tos, including how to build a treehouse, how to write in code or secret ink, how to make a go-cart, how to hunt and cook a rabbit (!), how to grow sunflowers and five knots every boy should know. And that’s not even half of it!

The book is evocative of those mythic endless summer days of our childhoods, filled (in my case) by riding around the neighbourhood on my bike, stopping to catch minnows and cray fish in the creek and climb the trees in the ravine and then playing hide and go seek with the neighbourhood kids until well after dark; the kind of day we fear that our children will never get to experience in our hyper-scheduled, overprotective world. How to be Huck Finn in the 21st century.

It’s an oddly practical collection of arcane information that seeks to satisfy a range of boyish curiousities and pique the interest of just about anybody who takes a moment to peruse the lovely, old-fashioned pages. We could all use a little bit more of this kind of knowledge, don’t you think?

Curious? Check out the Dangerous Book for Boys website, or watch an interview with co-author Conn Iggulden on the Colbert Report. The publisher, Harper Collins, is even offering a chance to win one of 100 copies. (Edited to add: the Harper Collins contest is open to US residents only, but I have one copy to give away! Leave a comment on this post before Wednesday May 16 if you’d like me to enter your name in the draw!)

I like to joke about my barely repressed inner 14-year-old girl, but this book reminded me that I also have a barely repressed inner 12-year-old boy jockeying for position just below the surface of my psyche. My inner boy not only loved this book, but issued a challenge to the rest of my sorry self. There are two things I’ve always wanted to learn how to do: a cartwheel, and to juggle. Klutz that I am, it’s probably not a great idea at this stage in my life to start hurling myself head-first at the ground. But right there on page 89, there’s a fully illustrated set of instructions on how to juggle. It’s high time I learned.

What have you always wanted to learn how to do?

Camping countdown

I’ve been spending a lot of time on the weather website these days. Okay, fair enough, I spend a lot of time over on the weather website to begin with, but I’m spending even more time over there lately. Environment Canada comes out with their updated forecasts around 3:30 each afternoon, so I’ve been clicking over once in the morning and again late in the afternoon to watch the weather trends for our free camping weekend this weekend. Since its been within the 14-day extended forecast, they’ve called for sun, rain, cold temperatures and moderate temperatures. Of course, last year they called for nothing but rain and it turned out to be perfect so why the hell do I bother?

Anyway, speaking of last year, you all gave me the most excellent suggestions on your favourite camping food, which I am continuing to mine this year. But of course, I still need you. We’ve got a three and five year old, plus our two year old nephew, to entertain for two days with no TV and (gasp!) no computer. There is definitely a trip to the dollar store on the agenda for this week, but you can only get so far with disposable crap and colouring books.

What are your favourite camp-type games?

A bloggable moment

I’m writing a quick e-mail, and Beloved happens to look over my shoulder at the monitor.

“Woot?” he asks, reading my first line. “What are you, an owl with a speech impediment?”

“Woot!” I say. “Sheesh, get with the lingo, dude. Woot is old skool now. Squee is the new woot.”

He lowers his head into his hands, shoulders drooping. “I’m married to a thirteen year old,” he sighs.

“This is a bloggable moment!” I exclaim brightly, clicking to open the Blogger dashboard.

He shakes his head in resignation and walks away muttering to himself.