Postcards from the Mothership

If I’d had a blog 10 years ago while I was traveling through Europe, this is what I’d’ve written today.

If the tiny, twisting cobble-stone streets winding around the canals is Amsterdam’s heaven, then its hell is definitely Centraal Station. It seemed innocuous enough at 8:30 yesterday morning when all I had to do was breeze through it. This morning, however, I thought I’d be smart and get my seat reservation for Sunday (2 days hence) to Koblenz. There’s only 50 people in line ahead of me. I had to wait in line to take a number! If I had a guilder for every backpack in this waiting room, I could fly to Koblenz.

My first night in Amsterdam was pretty calm. I wandered the streets for hours, from the crazy shops in tourist hell (they seem to love “The Tie Rack” here – I’ve seen at least four of them. Go figure.) to the residential and artsy streets near the Jordaan. I took a nice canal boat tour (cliché, I know, but nice!) and was actually asleep before dark. No, really Mom, I’m serious!

I’m sitting in a sidewalk café drinking a cappucino, after having finished a light supper of a salami-and-cheese sandwich on a crusty baguette with a beer and some sort of pickled salad.

I’ve found eating to be a bit of an inconvenience, partly because I’m shy about entering a restaurant and sitting by myself, and partly because the menues are all in Dutch, and I’m not ordering anything I can’t readily identify in a culture that prides itself on raw pickled-herring-and-hard-boiled-egg sandwiches sold from roadside stands as prolific as chip wagons in Ottawa.

It really is a fascinating city, this Amsterdam. It seems the tourists outnumber the natives 3 to 1.

From my hotel room, I can hear the carillons of the “Westerkerk” or West Church. It’s a huge, lovely old church with a tall tower called the Westertoren, for which this hotel is named. Oddly, the carillons chime on the half-hour every hour. For example, after the chimes, it bongs four times at 3:30 or nine times at 8:30.

One of the neatest things about Amsterdam is the furniture hooks on each canal house. The doors are so narrow and the staircases so steep that all the furniture gets hauled up with a pulley and goes in through the window. Every single residence in the old city has one. Just further proof to my building suspicion: you’d have to be crazy to live in Amsterdam!

Categories: Europe95

I have no idea what to make of this, but it’s got me quite unsettled.

We are keeping the boys in one day of daycare each week during the summer, partly for continuity for them, partly to ensure a steady paycheque for my darling daycare provider, and mostly because a kid-free day is good for our mental health.

When we stepped out of the house this morning to head over to her house, I found a garbage bag full of garbage (still tied up and bundled) on top of my car. I have no idea who put it there or why. I asked Beloved, who put the garbage out last night, if he knew anything about it (“why yes, dear, I always put refuse on the car in the rain – makes the day a little more interesting for the sanitation engineers.”) and he said that it was a bag from around the side of the house that he had put in our can last night at the curb. Except there was a branch sticking out through the bag, and I didn’t put any branches in our garbage – they have to go in those brown paper bags for composting.

This is such a silly little thing, but so weird. WHY would someone put a random garbage bag around the side of our house, and WHY would they or someone else take it out of the can at the curb and put it on top of the car? It’s creeping me out.

I heard the annoying teens from next door out there at around 11 pm last night, but they were just talking. I was going to holler out and ask them to keep it down, but decided against it. I didn’t hear anything more mischevious, but I guess it could have been them. And it could have been much worse – the bag could have been torn or dumped onto the car, or the recycling could have been scattered all over the lawn.

Ugh. I hate stuff like this. There must be something in the air. Yesterday afternoon, we went to Loblaws to pick up some prints of our Day Out with Thomas photos, and this weird guy got really mad when Beloved tried to go around him as he sat waiting to make a turn (we didn’t realize he was making the turn because he was just sitting there without his signal on.) The guy was giving Beloved the hairy eyeball as we parked in the “for families with children” spot, and yelled that he didn’t look “like no fuckin’ pregnant lady” when Beloved got out of the car. They barked at each other for a minute, then Beloved went into the store while the boys and I waited in the car. A few minutes later, I hear Beloved bellowing “Get the hell away from my car!” and I turn around to see the guy standing right behind the car. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was reading the sign and had nominated himself King of the Parking Spot Police for the day, but it still freaked me out. One of the clerks from Loblaws was on her break and had been watching the whole thing. When she saw him come out and approach the car with us in it, she came running over just about the same time Beloved started hollering. Very weird. He left after giving Beloved and the cashier a few choice words (the cashier was so cute, about 4 feet tall and 90 lbs soaking wet, telling the guy to mind his own damn business and what the hell was he thinking, coming after a mother with a couple of babies) and that was it, but it cast a bit of a pallour on the rest of the afternoon. Did I mention I hate conflict?

Parking lot rage and garbage rage – was it something I said?

Ten years ago today, I set out on one of my most wonderful adventures – a four week solo backpacking adventure through five European countries. Since I’m on vacation in the real world, I thought I’d pilfer from my own material and reprint some of the entries from my travel journal over the next month.

Categories: Europe95

The incomparable and extremely pregnant Jen from MUBAR has tagged me. Wasn’t that nice of her? And if she can play nicely in this heat while trying to keep up with the angelic terror that is Baby Girl and gracefully gestate her upcoming arrival, far be it from me to say no to her.

1. What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life? (Note: That I will admit to on my blog)

First, let me say that I have no shame, and I hide nothing from blog. Second, although I have done some incredibly stupid things in my life, all of my choices have led in one way or another to here, which is a pretty good place to be. Having said all that:

A. The all-time high on the regret-o-meter is not realizing I deserved better than my first husband, and letting him completely decimate my self esteem while we were together.

B. Quitting university to work full time in retail.

C. Recently, I regret showing Simon that you can fill a pail with sand, turn it over and yell “TA DA!” and made a sandcastle out of it, because he now upturns any container containing anything and yells “TA DA!” and I’m getting awfully tired of cleaning up cereal, snacks, dog food, toys, milk and anything else that can be sprayed onto a flat surface from a bowl.

2. At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?

Tough one. Tie between my boys, Beloved and my mom. Oh, and of course, blog and the Danigirl Board of Directors.

3. If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick up five people to dine with, who would you pick?

This would make for a really lousy dinner party, and I’d probably be so intimidated I’d be terrified to open my mouth to half of them, but I’d invite: Carol Shields, Carl Sagan, John Lennon, Mark Twain and my Granny (because she never had the chance to meet Beloved or the boys, and she would have loved them so.)

4. If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?

A. That anybody who ever wanted to get pregnant could, that anybody who wanted to be a mother would, and that anybody who didn’t want to get pregnant wouldn’t.

B. That organ donation demand never exceeded suppy.

C. That I could have a staff. Someone to decide what we’d eat at every meal (knowing intuitively what I yenned for each day), someone to prepare our meals, someone to clean the house, an accountant and a gardener. And a chauffeur for the kids, so I could drive a Miata everywhere.

5. Someone is visiting your hometown/place where you live at the moment. Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should avoid.

I’ve often lamented that Ottawa has no decent beaches, and the nearest waterpark is an hour’s drive away. Also, our local paper must have journalism’s most pathetic Web site.

Things to avoid? The Sparks Street pedestrian mall after 6 pm (yawn!) and the Queensway during rush hour in wintertime.

6. Name one event that has changed your life.

Once upon a time, somebody kissed me, and the repercussions from that kiss set in motion events that would completely alter the course of my life. Not unlike Sleeping Beauty, after this particular kiss I woke up, looked around and said, “Hey, something’s not right here.” Within five weeks, I had a new life. And it was good.

7. Tag 3 people.

Hmmmm…. (insert Jeopardy music here)

Yvonne
Suzanne
California K

Go get ’em!

Categories: Author DaniGirlPosted on July 21, 2005Categories Uncategorized4 Comments on It’s all about me(me)

I’ve given up. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Tristan will never in fact be potty trained. We will just have to contact Pampers and special order diapers in sizes 7 through 15, which should transition him into the adult-sized Depends. Hopefully, he will pair off with an understanding young woman who can take over his diaper changing from me when they get married, and they will live happily ever after. Because the potty training thing is not working out for us.

He’s almost three and a half. I have been fastidiously not pushing him, not making a big deal about it. I’ve even blogged about my resolve not to make an issue out of this. And we’ve done such a good job of making a non-issue out of potty training that it never going to happen.

It’s not that he doesn’t get the concept. He’s p’d in the potty on numerous occassions. (Note: I am using euphemisms not out of any sense of decorum, but simply because I don’t want that kind of Google traffic.) He’s done the other business on the potty a few times. He’s even been in the bathtub and told me he has to p and held it while I dried him off a bit and set him on the throne, so he understands the bio-mechanics just fine.

Yes, he uses the big people toilet. The boy is over 40 lbs and somewhere around 44 inches tall. He’s the size of a five year old. I think he outgrew the plastic potty a couple of years ago. We’re just barely able to strap a size 6 Pampers on him, and I have no idea what we’ll do if he grows anymore.

He’s just not interested. I even (gasp!) resorted to bribes. For a while, Smarties were doing the trick for us, but lately he’s gone a little blasé on the whole bribe thing.

Me (brightly): Hey Tristan! Wanna go p in the potty?
Tristan: No thanks.

Me (enthusiastically): Are you sure? You can have a Smartie if you p in the potty.
Tristan: No thanks.

Me (exhuberantly): And you can have THREE Smarties if you poop in the potty!
Tristan (considering): Smarties? Um, no thanks.

Me (deflating): You don’t want any Smarties? What about jelly beans? Mmmm, jelly beans!
Tristan (distancing): No thanks.

Me (desperately): Okay, well what do you want? Chips? Popcorn? A pony? A Camaro? What will it take, boy? What do you want from me? OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST P IN THE POTTY WILL YOU!!!!
Tristan: No thanks.

And so it goes. I have resigned myself to the fact that he may never, in fact, be potty trained. Because I managed to housebreak the dog, I still hold out hope that I’ll have some future success with his brother. But for now, I’ll be off to write a note to Pampers, pleading for some supersized free samples.

And you can bet the cost of those diapers will be coming out of his college fund.

The inimitable Cooper over at Been There is writing a feature article on parenting in our generation, with a specific emphasis on how blogs help us connect with each other. She is looking for interview subjects, but is on a very tight deadline – tomorrow! If you could take a minute or two to read her request (below) and write up an answer, I know she’s appreciate it. Here’s Cooper:

QUESTIONS: I am interested in why and how you started your blog and the benefits you have seen, with an example or two, especially in parenting; if you don’t have a blog, what value do you get from the blogs you read; the importance/significance of (mom/dad) blogging, from your perspective; and your opinion on how blogging plays out in modern day parenting. Any observations on the sometimes complicated nature of blogging, in terms of relating to people you have never met in person, as well as editing what you write so not to offend friends and family, would be welcome.

Cooper’s e-mail address is here.

Categories: blogging

I’ve been peeking in the referral logs again. I tell ya, there be some weird people walking around out there. I can only imagine how disappointed some of these people were when they found blog, based on their search criteria. Despite the inherent ick factor, my favourite google this month is “free videos of tickly feet”, followed by “100 things to do at Zellers.” I quit university to work full time at Zellers for a couple of years, and I can assure you, there are far less than 100 things to do there.

But why should I hog up all the fun? And why should I blather on, when other people are so much more interesting than whatever I’d post for your entertainment and edification. So here you go: here’s the contents of my referral logs (the search terms people used to find the Mothership) from June 19 to July 18. I’ve even bolded a few favourites for you!

postcards from the mothership 6.90% (editorial aside: I’m glad this was #1)
dani tristan simon 3.45%
danigirl 3.45%
camping with preschoolers 2.59%
mothership 1.72%
weights watchers nursing mothers how many points 1.72%
weight watchers points tim hortons 1.72%
proud canadian 1.72%
tim hortons barrhaven 1.72%
confessions postcards 1.72%
Time traveler s wife analysis 0.86%
time travelers wife 0.86%
time traveler s wife analysis 0.86%
boob are everywhere 0.86%
what the heck is CIO 0.86%
desperate to pee 0.86%
1971 topps raw set 0.86%
used lawn mower sales ottawa 0.86%
he talks with me and he walks with me 0.86%
touch my breasts new yorker blog nanny 0.86%
bugs bunny whats up doc what s 0.86%
weight watchers points eating out tim hortons coffee 0.86%
ottawa boobies 0.86%
lawn 0.86%
stay at home routine 0.86%
mamas ta tas 0.86%
points in tim hortons food 0.86%
TIM HORTON WEIGHT WATCHER POINTS 0.86%
harry potter barrhaven 0.86%
i lost 15 pounds 0.86%
old canadian postcards 0.86%
skimming ottawa 0.86%
strawberry shortcake baby cartoon 0.86%
embittered 0.86%
tim hortons weight watchers points 0.86%
critique of The Time Traveler s Wife 0.86%
amazing race charity 0.86%
women s boobs 0.86%
drilling fillings cavities my mouth 0.86%
Barrhaven Hair Stylist Ottawa
best doggie in the world 0.86%
kiss postcards 0.86%
hair design barrhaven blog 0.86%
tim hortons and points for weight watchers 0.86%
bugs bunny barber of seville wallpaper 0.86%
baby names boy Richard hyphenated 0.86%
Barrhaven BLog 0.86%
blog time traveler s wife 0.86%
Weight Watcher Points for Tim Hortons 0.86%
Carl Sagan autograph book for sale 0.86%
desperate to pee holding it 0.86%
Time Traveler’s Wife blog 0.86%
uchenna and joyce had IVF 0.86%
shell canada krispy kreme 0.86%
100 things to do at Zellers 0.86%
short flippy hairstyles 0.86%
tristan postcards 0.86%
canadian mommy 0.86%
CSS image map in Blogger template 0.86%
skim it pool 0.86%
makes her poop 0.86%
deacon bench for sale ottawa ontario 0.86%
granny girl short haircut 0.86%
krispy kreme convenience store petro canada 0.86%
free videos of tickly feet 0.86%
DANGLING BREASTS 0.86%
weight watchers tim hortons 0.86%
tim horton double cream coffee weight watchers points 0.86%
keeping kiddie pool clean 0.86%
milf stories blogspot 0.86%
pisces virgo rising 0.86%
blog 2005 pull-ups potty 0.86%
as sweet as candy Greek shirts 0.86%
an ounce of cure by alice munro 0.86%
yamaha soundproof booth 0.86%
pool skimming 0.86%
how many points are in a tim hortons bagel 0.86%
weight watchers points tim hortons coffee 0.86%
funny expecting mom postcards

There sure are a lot of people looking for information about doughnuts, boobs and the Time Traveller’s Wife out there. Glad I’ve found my niche.

What’s the best thing you’ve ever found on the Internet? Share your favourite links!

Categories: blogging

I’ve been a member of four or five gyms over the past decade or so, everything from the local community centre with five pieces of equipment, some freeweights and an ancient standing bicycle to the commercial gym I now frequent. Up until now, though, I’ve managed to avoid the phenomenon of the locker room shower. Unfortunately, since I live in the suburbs and workout downtown before work, showering at the gym is an unavoidable necessity.

Ick.

It’s not that I have modesty issues. Heck, my parents were nudists after all. It’s just such a holy pain in the ass to be organized enough to remember to pack everything into my bag in the morning, decide what to bring into the little shower stall, shower, get dried off and dressed and out, all without forgetting something and being elbow to elbow with a bunch of other people. My inner diva is not impressed.

The very first day I worked out downtown, I forgot to bring my towel. It takes a really long time to dry yourself off using those brown paper towel squares made out of recycled cardboard. The second time, I forgot to bring fresh underwear. Sigh. The third time, I remembered everything – and then forgot my hair dryer in a locker when I left. Luckily, it was still there the next day when I went back for it.

The showers in the locker room are really quite unappetizing. Dank, airless, unpleasant. I went out after my first experience and bought myself some shower shoes for the first time in my life. (And don’t get me started on shower shoes. I can see why some people call flip-flops ‘thongs’ because the human body is just not designed to have hardware crammed into its cracks. Why women wear thongs on their feet or their asses is a complete mystery to me… I can’t see how they can get over being irritated by them long enough to concentate on putting one foot in front of the other, let alone being a productive contributor to society. But I digress.)

The showers are on a kind of a pump thingee. You press the button, and get X amount of time. In my case this morning, you get four seconds of water. Four seconds. Count with me now: one buttercup, two buttercup, three buttercup, four buttercup. That’s how much time I had before I had to press the button again. That’s not enough time to wash an armpit, let alone to rinse half a bottle of shampoo out of unruly, sweat-tangled curls. I think I worked up more of a sweat trying to keep the water flowing than I did on the eliptical trainer.

There are showers here in the building where I work, but I am not sure I am in any hurry to see any of my coworkers naked. Not sure, for that matter, to share so much of myself either. It’s one thing to publish my naked insides onto the Internet through blog for all the world to see, and I’m okay with being naked on the outside in front of strangers. But do I need to strip in front of people I might later ask for a job reference?

Are you modest or an exhibitionist?