FOREVER FRENCH

heeelllloooooo - anybody there?

2010-09-30T21:04:00.000-07:00

I'm back - Inspired by a few things, I am feeling an itch in the finger-tips. I feel some stories brewing...let's see if I can get this spark going.

Beauty is Four

2010-05-30T19:39:00.000-07:00

What is your favourite part about turning four?
Bridget - my own desk and playdough

Now that you're four how are you different from when you were three?
Bridget - I'm taller

Now that you're four, what would you like to do?
Bridget - Homework

What is a four year old's favourite things?
Bridget - Candy, ice cream, fruit and corn

'pause

"Mama - do chickens pee?"

Happy Birthday - I love you Bridgy xo

reach for it

2010-04-23T20:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight, while going through the nightly ritual with Sophie which typically includes some back scratching, some hair twirling and stroking, a book and a list of math questions, I asked Soph why she liked math so much. True to the style of most seven-year-olds, the response was "'cause".

However, after a moment of silence, she said "I really want to do more multiplication and my goal by Tuesday next week is to finish my 100 questions". Wow. Hearing my daughter explain that she had a goal and a timeline to complete it was both amazing and inspiring.

I love learning and being in awe of my children - they are just such wonders.

wherever you go...

2010-04-11T20:41:00.000-07:00

We never really knew where Marmalade went. Grandma and I used to always wonder if the orange and white tabby cat that we saw bounding through the field, as we drove away from the farm, past the old drive-in theatre, might have been the farm cat we named together. We never found out, but Grandma used to say "I'm sure that wherever he has gone, he is happy". That was all that she needed to say to put my ridiculously sentimental and sensitive little heart to rest.

So today, April 11th, 2010, the day after my sweet and strong, little grandma passed away, I am thinking about those words that she said to me and believing (in my older but still ridiculously sentimental and sensitive heart) that "wherever she is, she is happy".

I love you Grandma.

Nand xox

BLINK...

2010-03-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

and then she was seven

Salt of the Earth

2010-02-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

You know what they say about people from the prairies? It's true. You really couldn't find more down-to-earth, hard working, humble and welcoming people than those whose back yards are fields of wheat and whose winters are spent skating on frozen lakes and rivers. I am proud to be the daughter of my prairie hero - my Dad. A retired RCMP, brother, son, Uncle, husband, Granddad and Dad, he is Prairie through-and-through.

I was lucky enough, in October of 2009, to be able to take a couple of days to join my Dad in Saskatchewan for my cousins wedding. Not only was it a beautiful wedding but in the 36 hours I was there, I packed in time with my grandma, visits with cousins, uncles and aunts, a trip to the old farm (that my Grandma and Grandpa had owned and run and I had known as a child) and many good chats with my Dad as we drove the Trans Canada to and from different events.

People who haven't spent time in the prairies often have some kind of idea that they aren't missing anything - they couldn't be more wrong. There is something so incredibly powerful and beautiful about the prairies. Whenever I am there, I yearn for more time - time to explore the little towns that haven't changed in 150 years and "pop" up every 20 miles along the historically rich CPR, time to walk through the fields of my Uncle and Aunts farm, time to explore the abandoned homesteads, time to watch all the wildlife that make the prairies their home.

One day, I promise to take my children to the prairies so that they too can be charmed by the people, the countryside, the smells and the sky that goes on forever. As you can see, I am proud to be a "little bit prairie".

sweetness is a three-year-old ballerina

2010-01-11T21:19:00.000-08:00

On Thursday of last week, Bridget enjoyed her first ballet class in her very own, new, ballet outfit and new ballet slippers. Not slippers soft and worn from her big sisters' use and not a slightly pilled ballet outfit, stretched a bit in the bottom because of Sophie's constant wear. Brand new everything.

I have been trying to be very sensitive to the role of "the second child" - especially when the children are of the same sex. It must be very hard to always walk in the shadow of a larger and louder older sibling. Bridget, with the perfect combination of sweet and strong, wants nothing more than to tell stories like sister, dress like sister, read like sister, have the same friends as sister - BE like sister. My heart catches a little bit when I watch the rapture on her face when she is watching Sophie accomplish something or tell a story that everyone finds funny. She just adores her sister.

When I told Bridget, after Christmas, that she might like to think about doing a class if some kind - she looked at me and said "just like Sophie taking ballet and gymnastics and soccer?". "Yes, you can choose anything you like and we will take you and be proud of you and take pictures of you and come to your recitals and final matches and closing presentations". All she did was flash me one of her incredible smiles and say "thank you, Mamma. I like you a lot."

Ballet was the choice. This was said with complete certainty and without hesitation. Two days before her first class, I made a special trip to two locations and bought a little pink ballet outfit and perfect little pink ballet slippers. When I picked Bridgy up from pre-school, I told her that there was something special in the car for her. She scrambled into the car and held out her little hands and closed her eyes. I put the package in her hands and told her to open it. Just as though she knew it was a moment that I needed to savour, she opened the paper wrapped around her new outfit very carefully and slowly (especially for a three year old) and then announced "thank you Mama, it is what I always wanted - but why isn't it from Sophie?"

I was a bit confused thinking that she meant "why didn't Sophie give this gift to me?" not realizing that what she actually meant, the sweet second child, was "it didn't belong to Sophie before me".

I promise, to both my first and my second - I will continue to try to make each of your lives uniquely your own and to nurture the love of such wonderful sisters.

New Year's Revolutions

2010-01-04T19:02:00.000-08:00

This is what Bridget thought I said - funny

BRIDGET
- Stay here with you, Mama

DADDY
-Exercise More
-Play soccer this year

SOPHIE
Make new friends
Go to the beach and swim
Stay home with Mama
Finish Math Challenge
Family trip to Vancouver Island
Make new food - cook new things
Have a nice birthday for Bridget and Me
Make Bridget 100 birthday cards
Read more chapter books

MUMMY
Teach Sophie to read really well
Read more books to the girls
Have more dinner parties
Plant a really amazing garden
Exercise more
Run the Sun Run
Find my new "calling"

Those bad things in your head

2009-11-24T21:19:00.000-08:00

Tonight at dinner, while each of us talked in our typical overlapping-everyone-talking-at-once style, I mentioned that I had not seen the notice that the school said they sent home about road safety around Sophie's School. Sophie quickly responded (at a pitch that I am convinced our good friends in West Van can hear) that the school probably didn't send the note home with the younger kids and only with the older ones who had "those bad things starting in their heads". Huh??? There was a pause in the action while everyone tried to figure out what Soph had just said. "Soph, what do you mean the older kids with the bad things in their heads? "you know Mama, the bad things that teenagers get in their heads - the things you told me about"....hummm...stumped on this one and clearly irritating Sophie by not remembering what I had told her.

"Maaa-maaa, the things that make teenagers crazy and make them do crazy things and not like their mummies and daddies"...OH, I remember now. "Soph, are you talking about hormones?". "Yes, that is what it is. You told me about those bad things that teenagers get in their heads that make them act crazy". "I did, you're right. But what does that have to do with you not getting a certain note from school about road safety?"

Logically - "Well, the school probably only gives the note to the older kids who are just starting to get their hormones and just starting to do bad and crazy things. You know, they would be the kids who need to know about road safety because they probably can't think about that with all the hormones taking up all the room in their heads. The little kids like me know all about road safety so we don't need the note. That's why I didn't get it I guess." Right. Of course. Its all about the hormones.

32 and a half

2009-11-08T20:59:00.000-08:00

That is how many more work days I have left in my 9 month contract - but I'm not really counting.

The end is in sight with my current position and though I would be the first to admit that it is not the right fit for me and it has been a rather challenging 6 months so far, I do know that I have learned plenty. All the better to take to my next "gig" - whatever that may be (I am hoping that with hands placed in front of me, in the shape of a bowl, "direction" will promptly be poured into them).

Here is some of what I have learned:

Commuting bites.
Skytrain travel smells.
Finding a new "business outfit" five days a week is hard.
Hand sanitizer is my best friend.
An effective and smart HR team is crucial and very beneficial.
People surprise me on a daily basis.
I am not 27 anymore.
Coffee after 12 noon makes me wiggy.
In-Design rules.
Databases are evil.
Gastown has great restuarants and stores.
Sephora is the best way to spend lunch when you take it.
Creativity and design are an essential part of my future career direction

ahh...not bad for the "contract girl"

HOME

2009-10-11T21:46:00.000-07:00

Today, Thanksgiving Day, was exhausting. It is drawing to an end for me as I know that I can't keep my eyes propped open much longer than it is going to take to write this post. It was a good day but a tiring one. The girls were at each other most of the day - arguing, fighting, yelling, crying - the works. At this point you might be asking " Where is she going with this? (psstt...she must be really out of practice writing these posts! She hasn't done it in a while!). Well the direction I am going and the intention I have for this post is to talk about one of the things that I am and will always be very thankful for. I am thankful for HOME. There really isn't a word to me that is more enveloping. More comforting.

I love that people will use "home" to describe the physical building in which they live - or the town they grew up in - or, even the country that they came from. Home means everything. It is how many of us qualify ourselves. Define ourselves. Account for our style, our accent, our beliefs.

Last weekend, I made a last minute trip to my Dad's "home". By this, I mean the town in which he grew up. The town where my grandma, cousins, aunts and uncles still live. Their home.

I loved the threads, though long and almost invisible, that still connect my Dad to his home. The beautiful prairie fields of wheat. The groves of trees all red and gold. The prairie sky that is a blue like nowhere else. Being with my Dad, sharing his memories of home made me feel that warmth of knowing that I am fortunate enough to also have a home.

Our home, filled with chaos and noise and laundry and dishes and yelling and laughing and goofiness couldn't be anything more. It is a sanctuary - the place that protects and keeps the people I love the most safe and warm and contained. Tonight, when I told the girls that they were going to have a special picnic dinner for Thanksgiving with a special movie, they were overjoyed (this special treat is purely selfish as it allows me to sit and eat a meal with my family in peace!) - however, Sophie said to me "Mama, are we going to hold hands before dinner and pray for Thanksgiving? Because I don't want to miss that part". I, of course, said that I thought that this was a great idea and why didn't she and her sister have a prayer with the grown-ups and then head downstairs to watch their special show. This was agreeable. So, as we all sat down to a feast of food and wine, we all held hands and offered up what each of us was thankful for. As we went around the circle, and each person shared their thanks, what ran through my head over and over again was "I am so thankful to be home, surrounded by my family". Home. We should all be so fortunate.

smells funny

2009-09-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

Today - Sophie's first day of "big girl school" (grade 1) - went off without a hitch. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

After the challenges we faced last year with Kindergarten, we were, admittedly, a little worried about how this day would unfold. Sophie appeared to feel quite comfortable with the idea of a new school, new friends and new teachers. I had been asking her for about 5 or 6 days if she was worried about anything and her answer was continually "no, mamma, I feel fine about school". Last night, the final night before the big day, as I was lying beside her, I asked her again "Soph, how are you feeling about tomorrow?".

Her answer was decidedly different this time. Her response was (and I quote) "I'm worried. I'm worried about the smell".

I had to think about this and I paused before responding. The smell? The smell of what? of whom? I could not imagine what she could be thinking about in her incredibly interesting brain. "Soph, what smell are you talking about?" - "The one you you said there was by the office.".

Ahh...of course. The smell by the office. Knowing Sophie and knowing that she does not miss ANYTHING, I tried to remember talking about her new school to someone and rather quickly remembered talking with her grandma about my visit to the school to register Sophie. I had been describing the smell as I entered the school and stood in the lobby. I am sure that Sophie heard me talking about "the smell" and that is what she remembered. What she didn't remember was that I went on talk about how the smell of the school reminded me of all the good things about school. It is that old school smell of old wooden floors, cleaners, chalk, books and children.

I finally responded to Sophie and said "Soph, are you thinking about what mummy was saying to grandma?" "Yes" she replied. "well, lovey, what I was telling grandma is that the smell is a wonderful, good smell and not a bad one". "Oh, really? that's good mamma because I wouldn't want to go there if there was a bad smell".

This is from the same child that didn't want to go to Sunday school when the room at the church was newly painted because she didn't like the new paint colour. It made her feel sick.

Ahhh....I love you Soph and I know you are going to shine in your new school with all of energy!

Departure

2009-08-20T22:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting outside yesterday, eating my lunch and soaking in the surroundings of my busy, downtown work spot, I watched a young woman, in her mid-20's come rambling up the steps towards all the "corporate lunchers" and start yelling "please, someone, give me some money or give me some food". She was clearly unstable and likely homeless and addicted but I was uncomfortable and uneasy as I nibbled on my salad that suddenly didn't taste very good.

How do we decide who is deserving of our "help" and those that will just be ignored or passed by? In a city fraught with homeless people, binners, addicts, junkies etc, I know that many of us have become immune to the pleading and the begging and the intimidating that we face when walking through the city. I am sad that I too have become one of those people, dressed in my corporate gear, taking some time at lunch to wander up to Sephora, who has mastered the expression that tells the person crying for help that I cannot hear them and am not going to engage. How utterly horrible is that? When I write that I feel terrible. That I could be one of those people who ignore the person begging for help and tell myself "someone else will help them out".

I read in the paper this morning that a homeless man, who lay on a park bench for 5 hours in the heat, started having convulsions and was ignored by people walking by. By the time someone did help (by calling emergency services) it was too late. The man, unnamed, died. What would I have done, if I had seen this stranger, in his dirty clothes shaking uncontrollably?

It is my goal to be more aware of how I treat these people; think of these people; react to these people. My husband who generally won't hand out money but will buy a person food and a drink, once took a homeless man into MacDonalds, bought both himself and the man a meal and then sat at a table with the man to eat. Nothing was said. No one spoke, but two guys from two different worlds shared a meal. I would bet that sitting at a table, with another person, eating a meal was worth more to that man that we will ever know.

Tomorrow, inevitably, I will walk at lunch and will be approached by two or even three people who will ask for money. The challenge for me will be to see what gesture I can do to make a difference. Even a little.

Summer Love

2009-07-26T21:28:00.001-07:00

When the weather couldn't be better and everyone is walking around looking like they have just overdosed on Vitamin "D", I can't help but think about everything that I personally love about the summer and then this leads me to make the very sincere pact that "I, Andrea Rathborne, do so solemnly swear, that I will never work, full-time through another summer". There. Written for all (three of you) to see and therefore set in stone.

Now, on to what I love about summer. In no particular order:

1) The smell of my children at the end of a good, sunny, hot day when their hair is warm and their skin is damp and their eyes are half-closed. They smell like the most delicious, baked coconut and sunshine bread.

2) The sound of the fan in the night when I wake up

3) The smell of a summer rain on the hot pavement

4) The crunchy grass under my bare, brown and earthy looking feet

5) The taste of berries right off the vine, plant, bush, tree...in all forms (in salads, sauces, galletes, jams, with cheese. I can't get enough berries.

6) The sounds of the crickets at night

7) The sound of waves outside a rustling tent that my whole family is asleep in

8) The sounds of gatherings. Friends, together, laughing, talking, sharing a story...

9) The warmth of my cat, Shirley, when she lies sleeping in a sunny spot

10) The squeals of my children as they run along the beach, collecting shells and splashing in the water

11) The satisfaction of filling a bowl with all kinds of veggies, grown in my very own garden

12) The anticipation and excitement as another weekend comes closer and our plans for another adventure start to fall into place

I could write endlessly on what I love about summer. Maybe I will just start here and then post again when I need a little reminder about how fortunate I am to live in this beautiful place.

Brass

2009-07-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

Quick and to the point.

By this time each summer, my summer hair (which may have to be styled liked my very dear friend...you know who you are!) looks like a polished trombone. That's right. I have Brassy hair. I can admit it. The question is, what can I do about it that won't cost me a fortune. Well, I believe I have the answer and I am going to share.

In a bottle of your favourite shampoo (it should be neutral in colour) add a few drops of both red and blue food-colouring and mix. Add the right amount of each to make the shampoo turn into a brilliant shade of violet.

Wash your hair as you normally would but leave the shampoo on for a little bit longer before rinsing. Voila (no, not violet) brass is gone. really.

now and then

2009-06-24T21:37:00.000-07:00

On Saturday night, almost a week ago, 14 thousand people gathered to listen to music, sing, yell and sway together for the Coldplay concert. Although I have always been a music fan I have always been a bit reserved when it comes to live concerts. So often I have gone to a concert with all the hype and fanfare only to feel some amount of disappointment - the band was too small to see because of where our seats were or the sound in the venue was terrible and everything sounded like a karaoke night gone bad or the band, despite their CD's sounding amazing, just really couldn't sing at all in real life.

This was not the case on Saturday. In fact, I am still walking around, humming Coldplay tunes and remembering how it felt to be with so many people who were all completely committed to the event. There was a special, electrical feeling to the evening that I can't quite put my finger on. Was it the warmth of the summer evening? Was it the gathering of old friends? Was it the music? the singing? the intimate setting despite the huge crowd?

Whatever it was, has left me feeling nostalgic. Thinking about my six or seven tapes and records that I played over and over again as a kid (Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge over Trouble Water, Blondie - Heart of Glass, Barbara Streisand and Barry Gibb - Guilty, Bee-Gees, ABBA and some Moody Blues). The black and white stereo system that my parents bought for me with the record player (with the bent arm that started the record up high and dropped it down to the turn-table) along with the eight-track player was the best $75 my parents ever spent. Thanks guys.

I was reading today about how our sense of smell is the sense that creates the strongest memories or connections to the past. I totally agree with this but would also imagine that our hearing and our memories connected to sounds or songs are also incredibly strong.

Ratty and I often play this game where we will rattle off what a song reminds us of. It is amazing the memories that will "pop" up when we hear a song from 25 years ago. We were in a store the other day and all of a sudden Ratty said "grade seven. rollerskating" because he had heard the cords of a song playing in Shoppers Drugmart (Eye of the Tiger). Both of us ALWAYS say, almost in unison "elementary school dance, slow song, shuffling side-to-side" when we hear any classic Air Supply song.

Twenty-five years from now, when I hear "and I will try, to fix you..." coming from some random music source, I am sure I will remember in amazing detail that night, June 19th 2009 when a bunch of old friends headed downtown on a warm and breezy summer night to watch, sing along and dance with Coldplay.

a list

2009-06-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

I think I have posted lists before. I am a list girl. love lists. This list is a "quicky". I just got home from a long walk and am in desperate need for a shower.

SUMMER LIST

get my yard, front and back, weed-free
eat as much as possible from our garden OR freeze, make jam or pickle the things we can't consume
take the girls strawberry picking and make homemade jam with them
create a fairy garden with the girls
make bridget's room into a "real" bedroom OR move the girls into the same room - upstairs
take an overnight trip to Seattle
get through my whole book list
finish my module 1 course at the Justice Institute ON TIME
paint the front porch
have a girls weekend(with my grown-up girl friends)
visit with friends from out-of-town
spend lots of time with my Mum
spend more time with my Sister-in Law and get ready for a new niece or nephew!
write a story for Bridget and for Sophie
take each of the girls on a "date" day
make a decision about what my life is going to look like as of January 1st (when my current job ends)
get accepted as a pager-person for the New West Police

Phew. Writing that made me sweat.

simplicity

2009-06-05T23:05:00.000-07:00

On a stinking hot, packed and slightly funky smelling skytrain ride home yesterday, I read this article (http://www.straight.com/node/223383) about this 30-something couple living the urban lifestyle who decided to move themselves from the hustle and bustle of the city to a half acre plot north of Pemberton to grow vegetables and live off the land. Nice. That was all I could think. I was completely mesmerized by the story.

The quote from the article " Urbanization is over, she told the Georgia Straight in a phone interview from Pemberton. At 32 and 35, the couple represent Canada’s ruralization pioneers: an economically and environmentally driven movement away from big urban centres" sent me into a fuzzy daydream about life beyond the city.

Not only have I always been secretly obsessed with people who leave everything behind to live with little, I have always had an idea that part of me really is a country mamma who would love to live a much simpler life. Growing up, I watched and read anything I could find about families who left their city life behind to build their own home, grow their own food and enjoy the company of their loved ones with gusto. My favourite books and movies (as a youngster) included Wilderness Family, Swiss Family Robinson, Born Free, Grizzly Adams all the Little House on the Praire books and a number of others that I cannot recall titles for (Disney did a lot of films in the late 70's early 80's around family units changing their lives by coming together and moving to rural settings). The theme that was consistent with all of these books and films was enjoying and being fuelled by ones surroundings, nature and simple pleasures.

Although I am not about to pick up my family and move them into a hand built homestead without electricity, running water or plumbing (don't worry Mum and whomever else may read this!), I do know that it feels important to me to have experiences that remind us of what it is like to live simply. Growing our vegetable garden has been a huge pleasure for me and since the girls are getting a bit older it is becoming more important to me to show them what we are cabable of growing and how good things taste when they come from the ground in our back yard. I get such pleasure in the summer months when I can gather everything we need for a gourmet dinner from our yard and garden including both fruits and vegetables. I get gidddy over my thriving and lush herb garden!

Being invited (how thankful are we!) to our friends island cabin to enjoy the rustic setting and the work that goes into daily activities like meal preparation, bathtime (in the kitchen sink for the children) or bedtime with light thrown from the gas lanterns in the sleeping cabins is always a treat. There is something so empowering about "hunting and gathering" even if it is not quite as rudimentary as it would have been years ago. When the boys row out in their little boat with their crab traps, those of us on shore, watch and feel a sense of anticipation for what we may be eating later that evening. Nothing tastes better than fresh caught crab. OR maybe it is just because we caught it. We did the work. We prepared it. Maybe.

In the end, I just know that reading about a return to a simple, rural lifestyle gives me a little wave of yearning, and a little space in my "bucket" that I will continue to try to fill in my own simple ways.

Worlds Colliding

2009-06-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

Two sisters with many similarities and many, many differences saw their worlds collide last night with a resulting lost front tooth. Granted, the said tooth WAS starting to get a bit wiggly, but as Sophie cried, holding her little tooth in the palm of her bloody hand she said "I feel like I have lost a friend". She clearly wasn't ready for the loss.

At a lovely family gathering and birthday celebration with a BBQ on the deck, Sophie and Bridget decided that the long, yellow slide in the back yard should be used in two completely different ways (of course). Bridget had decided that one should use a slide in the conventional manner (from top to bottom) and Sophie had decided that convention is overrated and she would crawl up the slide. The collision happened mid-slide. Bridget's head and Sophie's front teeth had a rude introduction and the result was two crying children, snot, blood, and a missing tooth.

The drama continued with Sophie not wanting anyone to see her and not wanting anyone to talk to her and the demand that she be taken home "Right now!" meant that we made a very hasty departure. Once we got home and got Sophies face cleaned up, Bridget in bed and the tooth in a small zip-lock baggie, we began the long process of convincing Sophie that her world was not SO different (even though I too felt that our world had changed and crying might feel pretty good).

In the span of 4 months my little girl had changed. A lot. Gone were her baby blond locks, replaced with a little, brown, Beatles-Do. Gone were her soft, round baby cheeks, replaced with a little narrow pixie face and finally, gone were her two, little, pearly white, front teeth, replaced with one wiggly solitary tooth and a gaping hole.

Lying next to Sophie in her bed last night, stroking her head and talking to her quietly as she poked her finger over and over again into the hole that had been the home of her tooth, I remembered very clearly when I had lost my front tooth and what it had felt like. I remembered being a bit scared and a bit excited all at the same time. I asked Sophie, very quietly "Soph, are you scared?". She knew what I meant and replied "I look like and idiot with only one tooth and I can't talk right. I sound funny".

"I know" I said "but it won't last forever and I think you are beautiful no matter what".

She closed her eyes, sighed and went to sleep. I sighed and watched her, thinking about my "little Soph" and how much I love her.

Courtesy

2009-05-28T22:43:00.000-07:00

This week I watched:

2 20-somethings give up their seats on the skytrain for older people
1 man hold an older womans arm so that she wouldn't tumble while standing on the moving (jarring) skytrain
1 man pry open the skytrain doors so that a young Mum and her toddler could get onto the train
1 couple move out of their seats for an older pair of people (who were clearly tourists)
1 lady pick up a pair of sunglasses that another lady had dropped (and hadn't noticed that she had dropped them).

All in all I witnessed 6 courteous acts during my commute this week. Nice.

Very nice.

Bridgets Day

2009-05-23T22:18:00.000-07:00

At the end of a VERY busy day with parades, scavenger hunts, pig decorating, cake, candles, presents, friends and family, everyone is either fast asleep or wearily cleaning up and hurrying off to bed. Today was Bridget's third birthday and, by request, she had a "Pig Party". I asked her tonight if she enjoyed her Pig Party and she said "Yes, but we didn't play pigs-in-blankets", to which I replied, "well, actually we ATE pigs-in-blankets when we ate those hotdogs today at lunch. You know, the ones that were wearing "blankets" of pastrey". Her response was appropriately disconnected when she said "next year, I want a duck party".

At least she has given me a full year to plan.

What I love about our Bridget

1) I love that she calls sleeves "sweeves" and Granville Island is "Grandma Island"

2) I love her laugh

3) I love how she snuggles into your neck

4) I love that she is fiercely loyal to her sister

5) I love "Bridget's World" and the stories that Bridget tells. She is clearly a storyteller beyond her years (ask her about going to Africa and listening to the drums and seeing the dinosaurs)

6) I love that Bridget knows exactly what she wants to wear and how she wants to wear it

7) I love that Bridget sings to herself all day long (like her Daddy)

8) I love that Bridget will tell someone she loves "You are the best Mummy/Daddy/Sister/Cat/Simone etc in the world"

9) I love that Bridget lights up a room with her smile and her twinkling eyes

10) I love that Bridget is our beautiful, smart, kind, loyal, funny daughter and that she is not afraid to be herself.

Happy Birthday Bridget. We love you.

Mummy, Daddy and Sophie

Dressing Mexican style

2009-05-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

ok, ok, ok....This blog is going to be long on practical and short on whimsical. I recognize, as I get older and older (don't like the sounds of that!) that most people fall into four categories when it comes to food.

1) Can "cook" and "cook" well without recipes
2) Can bake and bake well with recipes
3) Can bake and cook if following recipes
4) Can't cook or bake to save their lives

Me, I generally fall into category #1. I can cook fairly well and generally never use a recipe. I cook by taste and smell and texture and imagination. Being that I use my imagination when I am cooking I almost automatically exclude myself from the #2 Category. I am a lousy Baker. Recipes are not my friends and when it says 1 1/2 teaspoons of baking soda and I throw in a pinch and bit, it just doesn't seem to work.

Having said this, I have a couple of my own recipes that I have made up over the years that are now staples in our eating adventures. I have done my very best to actually put together some directions to make both "lazy day dressing" and "Mexican Beach Cheat"

Lazy Day Dressing
1/4 cup of olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1 large clove garlic (pressed)
3 tablespoons (approx) of plain yogurt
2 tbsp lemon juice
3 teaspoons (approx) sugar

Mix all of the above ingredients together (add more sugar or yogurt if necessary) and toss with mixed greens, toasted slivered almonds, halved baby tomotos, slivers of Red Anjou pear and shaved parmesan cheese.

*Any left-over dressing can be stored in a jar (with lid) in the fridge.

Mexican Beach Cheat
8-10 eggs
2 tins of refried beans (with or without chilles depending on your taste for spice)
wine chorizo sausage, sliced and slightly browned in a pan (remove from pan when browned and place on paper towel to drain any extra oil)
1 jar of Chuncky salsa
about 2 cups (total) of cheddar and monteray jack cheese (grated)

In a rectangular baking dish put down a good layer of refried beans. On top of the beans put a layer of chorizo sausage slices. Cover the chorizo with a layer of chunky salsa and then crack the 8 - 10 eggs on top of the salsa (move them around, gently, so that the yolks are evenly dispersed). Once you have the layer of eggs you sprinkle on the grated cheese. Put the whole dish (covered with foil) into the oven set to 350 degrees. Cook for about an hour or until the dish looks bubbly and hot all the way through. Before serving, turn the oven onto broil, remove the foil and broil the dish so that the cheese is slightly golden and the eggs are cooked through (you can push the cheese aside in one area and make sure the eggs are done). Serve the dish hot with warmed, soft tortillas, side dishes of sour cream and salsa and slices of cantalope with lime wedges. I have just made myself very, very hungry.

*This dish can be made the night before and placed in fridge.

Bon Appetit!

Mum

2009-05-09T21:59:00.000-07:00

On the Eve of Mother's Day, I want to write a little story about my Mum. Although she is at quite a distance at present, she is never really far away. As I did when my own daughter, Sophie, turned six, I have written a little list below of some of the things that I love about my Mum.

1) I love that my Mum always smells of warm hand cream and that her skin is so soft
2) I love the shape of my Mum's fingernails. I always loved to look at her nails when I was a little girl
3) I love the one tooth on the left-hand-side that sticks out, slightly
4) I love that whenever I think of calling my Mum, she was either waiting for my call or has already picked up the phone to call me
5) I love that my Mum calls me "love"
6) I love my Mum's cooking
7) I love that my Mum thinks that I am always too skinny even when I am far from it
8) When I was little my Mum would stroke my head when I was going to sleep. I still remember, clearly how her cool hand felt on my skin
9) I love that my Mum is just a little bit dramatic. It makes me always know where I came from
10) I love that my Mum loves me, unconditionally and with all of her heart and that I always know it

Happy Mothers Day, Mum. I love you.

Trousers, trousers everywhere

2009-05-04T21:12:00.000-07:00

My new life (day 15), with my new job (11th working day done today) is so very different from the life that I knew that I sometimes stop and actually have to think about who I am. And then I remember, I am now "Trouser Lady"

You see, for the last 10 years, working in a lovely little creative nest, nestled deeply onto the coast of West Vancouver, I have been locked away. Completely and utterly disconnected to "DOWNTOWN". Today, I am in the city center and I work in a building that houses some of the giants of DOWNTOWN (Vancouver Sun, The Province, Electronic Arts blah, blah, blah). It is as foreign to me as you can imagine and the biggest and most apparent change for me is that I now have to think very carefully about what I am going to wear each day. It is a curse.

I no longer have the option of throwing on my comfy and trendy skinny jeans or my casual olive denims. I have to wear trousers. Or skirts. And shoes that go with trousers and skirts. Oh how I long for my flip-flops.

Despite the fact that I have to go out and spend a fortune on new "trousers" there are some good things about working downtown. I am still discovering all of the unique and interesting little stores and cafes in Gastown. The seawall beckons me when it is sunny and warm. The harbour planes and cruise ships are constantly coming and going and the people are humming about with things to do, people to talk with, messages to send, ideas to twitter about. It is hard not to get caught up in all of the energy.

So, if I can get over my issue with trousers and the fact that I now have to share my morning commute with all the other people riding the skytrain (ok - this is another thing I have a hard time with. Since I was born with some kind of crazy sense of smell, the proximity of people on the skytrain (nose to back or worse) is really concerning. There are so many "sniffs" assaulting my poor nose on the train that I might have to take my friends advice and put two discreetly placed globs of Vicks under my nostrils each morning. Seriously.

Ok, so, this is a completely disjointed, rambling entry but I am tired and just really wanted to write something so that I don't feel that I am giving up on everything! (I have not done my on-line homework in over a week...I suck).

picnic

2009-04-26T20:53:00.000-07:00

So, here I am. Sunday night and about 10 minutes before I start the ritual of getting everything organized for the morning. A lot has happened in the last two weeks or so. Hence the reason I have not found the time to write on my Blog.

Last week, after being unemployed for 2.5 months, I started a new job. Phew. Just writing that gave me a tiny tummy ache. It all happened very quickly about two weeks ago. All in a matter of a few days, I had an interview on a Wednesday, was offered the position on the Thursday and then started the job just over a week later. The week between signing the contract and starting the job was filled with the kind of anxiety I haven't had since I was in high school preparing for exams and graduation.

I had kind of gotten into a groove with being at home and was even starting to like it. I mean, the looking for a job part was stressful and time-consuming but being able to make dinner every night for my family, picking Sophie up from school and having "Bridgy days" or meeting a dear friend each week for a coffee and some motivational and inspirational conversation had really become appealing. Despite all of my best efforts to ensure that I was prepared to go back to work, the Monday that I started was very, very hard and the combination of a full week and a completely new schedule left me completely and utterly exhausted.

There were a few good moments last week, despite all the griping I found myself doing. The most heartwarming and lovely moment came last Monday. My first day.

A friend, who somehow always knows what to say and do in tough times, turned up at my work, with a picnic basket, a tablecloth, wine glasses and a full lunch (this is the same friend who sent postcards to my work when I had returned after maternity leave). The picnic and the sentiment made everything ok that day. Things were different but still the same. The job was different, the location was different but the important things - the family, the friends - were still the same. That picnic was very symbolic. It represented all the comfort and security that I have and will always have despite the changes that are inevitable.

Thank you, Karryn. I am deeply thankful to have you as my friend.

Growing Pains

2009-04-11T20:23:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, the last day of school before the Easter Holiday weekend, I decided I needed to go to pick up my oldest daughter from school and have a word with her teacher. I wanted to chat with Ms. A about the relationship between Sophie and another little girl in her class (who shall remain unnamed). The relationship between the two girls had slowly, but surely turned into something unhealthy. Sophie, on a daily basis, talked about the behaviour of this other little girl and all of us found the stories both disturbing and upsetting. I had watched, quietly, long enough to have decided it was time to put an end to their time together in the classroom.

Upon arriving at school, I was met by the Principal, who had just come from Sophie's classroom. She was having a good giggle and explained to me (knowing that I was Sophie's Mum) that Sophie and another girl in the class had been playing "hairdresser". I didn't really understand what she was explaining, thinking that she meant that some of the children in the class (including Sophie) had been pretending to play "hairdresser". Since she found the event so humourous, I didn't expect that there was much more to the story than a couple of children displaying some creative thinking. I was wrong.

When I got to the classroom Sophie was standing beside the teacher with a look of guilt, remorse, and something else on her face. The teacher approached me and explained that Sophie and this other child (the aforementioned child that shall remain unnamed) had decided to cut one anothers hair. She went on to explain that she had not seen this happening until it was too late. When I glanced at the teachers desk, all I could see was a pile of Sophie's long, beautiful, golden hair in a huge pile. I swallowed, hard, and listened to the teacher say that she was very sorry and that she would be splitting the two girls up from that point forward. I then explained to her the irony of the situation, since I had been coming to the school to explain to her that I needed the relationship between the two girls to be dissuaded.

Leaving the classroom, with my defeated child, I was incredibly mad. How could this have happened? How could Sophie have made such a terrible decision? Hadn't we taught her to make good decisions? It was an awful, awful moment.

Arriving home and finally getting to look at the damage to Sophie's hair (she had been wearing the hood of her jacket since I found her in the classroom), I burst into tears. The damage was too great and I knew, in my heart, that all her hair was going to have to come off. I then began asking Sophie some questions to better understand what led to this situation at school. By asking specific questions, I slowly began to see that the story behind the incident was far more serious than I had anticipated. This other child, who had been slowly creating a control situation with Sophie had suggested that the two of them cut Sophie's hair. The other child had said she would cut a piece of her own hair (which she did) and then said that she would cut Sophie's hair. Which she did. close to her scalp, to behind her ear. I was horrified.

What had started out as Sophie making a really bad decision with another child, quickly became, Sophie being the victim of a bullys scheme. The anger that I had felt earlier was replaced with a deep sadness and hurt for my child. With an emergency visit to the hairdresser, many tears, and a very short haircut, I slowly digested what had happened to Sophie. At the very young age of six, Sophie had experienced her first encounter (and certainly not her last) with an unhealthy person, with incredibly destructive behaviour.

Our family (and friends), in this situation, created what felt to me, like a healing circle. Words of wisdom, words of encouragement, empathy, understanding and amazing support came from all directions. The hands of the family all reached out to Sophie and made her understand that this was a very sad incident but that she was even more beautiful with her new pixie hairstyle.

Sophie, with her beautiful little face and radiant nature, soaked up all of this support and rather than crumbling under her newly imposed look, she blossomed into wiser and stronger little being. As she has since she was born, she continues to amaze all who know her and I am incredibly proud to be her Mummy.

Yar-Bars

2009-04-05T19:55:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been in a store that sells individually wrapped "bars" that are, in fact, really good but cost you a months salary? These bars are often called "energy bars" or "goodness bars". Well, I have enjoyed these goodness bars when I have broken down and spent the money on them but about a year ago I decided that I would take a stab at making similar bars at home for a quarter of the price.

My recipe changes (slightly) each time that I make them (as it depends largely on what I have in the fridge/cupboard) but the basic ingredients stay the same. The bars or "yar-bars" (don't know where this came from) are loved by all that taste them and they are relatively easy to make.

1 bag small white marshmallows
2 tbsp butter
Approx 2 cups of either Special K cereal or Rice Crispies
Approx 2 cups Corn Flakes
1/2 cup dried cranberries (you could use dried blueberries or dried cherries)
1/4 cup flax seeds
1/4 cup toasted slivered or sliced almonds (more if you like)
1/4 cup diced dried mango
1/4 cup diced prunes
1/4 cup diced dried apricots
1/4 cup chocolate chips

* You could use other things like pumpkin seeds or diced dried apple etc

In a large (non-stick if possible) pot, melt the 2 tbsp butter over medium heat

when the butter is melted, add the entire bag of small marshmallows, stir constantly until marshmallows are melted (do not turn the heat too high as the marshmallows will burn).

Add all of the cereal and mix into marshmallows

Add all of the other ingredients BUT save the chocolate chips until the very end so that they don't melt too much.

Once all of the ingredients have been mixed in the mixture will be very thick and hard to "mix"

Take the mixture out with a metal spoon (if you run the spoon under hot water before transferring the mixture, you will find that mixture doesn't stick quite as much as it normally does) and press into the buttered dish.

Push the mixture down into the pan so that the final bars are quite compressed. Once the mixture is in the dish and pressed down, cover with a layer of saran wrap and refrigerate. Once the bars have cooled they are fairly easy to cut up into appropriate sizes.

This is such a good snack and depending on what you add to the bars you can increase the health factor and the kids still seem to like them because the first ingredient is marshmallows. 'Nuf Said.

Cat-number-four

2009-03-31T21:06:00.000-07:00

Bridget doesn't go anywhere without cat (see the ratty, grubby looking animal in her hand). Unlike Sophie, who never became attached to any one animal/blanket in her early years, Bridget adopted "cat" when she was about 1 and the rest is history.

Unfortunately, of all the small "stuffies" that she could have become attached to, "cat" is a discontinued product and not easily replaced. We are on "cat-number-four" and have only 2 more replacement cats before we are S.O.L. (both of the replacement cats are in a secret drawer and can be brought out swiftly in an emergency).

I have now taken to writing on the label protruding from cat's hind-quarters "if this ratty cat is found, please return to two-year-old and receive a handsome reward". The last 3 cats that have been lost have never found their way home despite postings on Craigslist so the promise of a reward will hopefully bring home the next cat that decides to take a jaunt.

The only part of the "Cat Chronicles" that we haven't yet figured out is what to do in the event that we burn through the remaining two cats (in the drawer) and eBay doesn't pull through.

Perhaps we will just have to put out a call for all "Beanie Babies, Tabbles the Cats" and see what we turn up!

My Prince

2009-03-31T20:01:00.000-07:00

Sophie - "Mamma, today at school, me and Sofia were pretending to be Princesses and we have long dresses and crowns"

Mummy - "Hmm...sounds nice"

Sophie - "And we already have our Princes too"

Mummy - "Really? You know who your Prince is?"

Sophie - "Maammmaaa, you know, my Prince is Luke"

Mummy - "Oh, right, that's right. Does Luke know that he is your Prince?"

Sophie - "He doesn't need to, I know so that's all that matters"

Sound insight from my six-year-old.

On being six

2009-03-28T21:19:00.001-07:00

Today is Sophie's sixth birthday. Like every year before this, I have said the same thing "Wow, I can't believe Sophie is ____. Tonight, sitting across from her at The Old Spaghetti Factory, I actually could believe she was another year older. I am amazed and in awe of how grown-up and lovely she is and, am dedicating this blog to some special things that I admire and love about my oldest daughter.

Some wonderful things to know about Sophie

1. Sophie taps her feet or fingers all the time, as though she is always listening to her own happy little song

2. Sophie knows sweet little things about all of her friends, including their full names, the names of their pets, their favourite colours and what colour their eyes are

3. Sophie will rub the top parts of your arm when she is going to sleep to find the "cold spots"

4. You will hear Sophie saying to Bridget almost daily "well done, Bridget, you did a really good job"

5. Sophie dances like no one is watching any time she gets the chance

6. Sophie loves watching hockey games with her daddy

7. Sophie will identify Dido, Madonna, Chris Martin, Michael Blueberry,U2, Fergie, The Beatles and a few others on the first note

8. Sophie asks questions that make everyone think

9. Sophie loves the earth and at six is very interested in what she can do to help "Reduce, Reuse and Recycle"

10. With a twinkle in her eye and an impish grin, Sophie makes everyone laugh

Happy Birthday Sophie, I love you.

Mummy xox

Bonus "Feel-Good"

2009-03-22T21:34:00.002-07:00

Strolling the shore of Long Beach on the West Coast of Vancouver Island is heavenly. It has all the elements that inspire poetry and novels. Miles of beach, wind, crashing waves, rocky outcroppings creating swirls and whitewater, diving seagulls and driftwood scattered in random patterns on the sand. It is a scene that I could sit for hours just absorbing. Nothing and everything happens when you are on the beach.
On Saturday, arriving on the beach, preparing for a long walk, one of the first things that both my husband and I noticed was the tangle of the ocean's finery (sea kelp, driftwood, shells, seaweed) on the sand and amongst almost every tangle, an intruding piece of plastic. We couldn't walk four or five steps without passing a bottle, a broken plastic cup, a plastic bag, the skeleton of a coffee machine, plastic food containers, broken plastic plates and the list goes on.
Neither my husband nor I were comfortable "Strolling" and pretending that we weren't stepping around a nasty plastic bag or a plastic Pepsi bottle. It felt wrong. This was where the thoughtlessly "tossed" bucket (yet another plastic item tossed overboard) became, ironically, our container to clean up the beach. A long, strong, stick put through the hole in the container created a makeshift "hobo-bucket" that we quickly filled not once, not twice but three times with garbage.
Our romantic stroll along the beach certainly took on a new look but it became a walk with purpose and I know that we both felt a sense of goodness as we made our way back to the car.
There would be more garbage washed up the next day, this was a certainty, but at least for one afternoon, Long Beach could feel proud for all her natural, unspoiled beauty.

http://www.naturalnews.com/022885.html

Nature's Detox

2009-03-22T21:06:00.001-07:00

With all that is going on these days (lay-offs, money concerns etc) I have felt the "pull" to ensure that I am at my fighting best. I have been inspired by friends and family and know that in order to be the best for my family, I need to take care of myself. One of the "pulls" I have been resisting (I have already had one mission abort) is the detox "Get your body working well again" diet. The last detox I tried to do was one that I really thought I could stick with. Sadly $100+ dollars later, I threw in the towel on the evening of day one! What a quitter!

So, I had recently been doing a little research and trying to figure out if and when I might try to do another detox. However, my research had been happening before I went away to Tofino with my husband for 3 days. Upon my return (this evening), I have decided that I have found the best detox available (to me). It is called the "getting-away-from-the-city-and-people-and-my-computer-and-being-in-nature" Detox. It works in all the ways that most of the detox diets I have researched, claim to work. It really does.

My detox includes the following in no particular order:
-sleeping in a cozy little cabin nestled on the shoreline (www.middlebeach.com)
-eating the most delicious, homemade, local foods (www.sobo.ca)
-watching and participating in community events (the Whale Festival Celebration)
-hiking beach trails
-breathing oxygen-rich, salty air
-talking (in full sentences) with ones spouse
-holding hands
-reading magazines and books whenever and wherever
-listening to the wind and the sounds of waves on the rocks

So, my detox of choice, which has turned out to be our annual trip to Tofino (sans children) is one body-purifying act that I know I can complete and not have the slightest sense that I might have to give up after one day. I think I could be on to something...

All in the family

2009-03-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

A visit from Uncle Ian and Aunty Pam is always a treat. Both girls adore our extended family and when they get a chance to be goofy with Uncle Ian, there doesn't seem to be anything better. The best part is, soon there will be a smaller version of my brother (and Pam) for the girls to "fawn" over and that will add even more appeal to the visits with family.

the future looks lovely

2009-03-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

A short, little note today as I am preparing for our carpet picnic (homemade pizza) and have three very excited people (this includes my husband) to take care of.

On Friday, Becky and her little cluster of Chalmers children came over for a visit. When five little children, including two romantic almost-six-year-olds, a busy and energetic four-year-old and a sweet and ever-watchful one-year old, come together there is always great excitement.

By about half-way through our visit Sophie and Clara decided to dress in their wedding finest and marry the unsuspecting Sam. According to the girls, Sam was the "Awful wedded husband" and would be married to both girls.

Watching Sophie and Clara standing side-by-side, giggling and laughing, I felt like I had a glimpse of the future and although I am biased, the future looks incredibly beautiful.

holding my breath

2009-03-11T09:51:00.001-07:00

A dear friend of mine, whose daughter was born three days after Sophie (but I budged and was supposed to let me friend have her long-awaited and overdue child first) very occasionally takes her daughter out of school for the day to have a "fun and free day". I loved this idea and thought that it made sense to allow a child, in their first year of school, to feel rewarded for their hard work and dedication to their new schedule. I also imagined that like a "mental health day" sometimes offered to employees, this free day for hard-working children could be a tradition carried through the life of their education. I imagined that this day spent with Mum (or Dad) doing something wonderful and fun would encourage their continued dedication.

Yesterday afternoon I decided that a day (today) spent with Soph would be just the thing that both her and I would enjoy (perhaps I was thinking that a day with Sophie would also take my mind off the daunting and exhausting task of looking for a job...).

We had finished dinner and were just about to go and put the girls in the bath when I said to Sophie "Lovey, I was thinking that maybe you could miss school tomorrow and we could have a day together doing something fun." She looked at me for a very long time, tilted her sweet little head to the side and said "Mama, I have school tomorrow and I don't want to miss a day because I learn a lot, but I'll do something with you on the weekend or next week because it's Spring Break".

My tail was immediately tucked between my legs and all I could say was "Of course. Well, I am proud of you for being so committed to school, Soph". The teachings of a five-year-old could never be more priceless.

Survivior

2009-03-07T20:25:00.001-08:00

Today I went to the first of more than a dozen long and intense training sessions for my role as a Victim Assistance Unit Volunteer with the New Westminster Police.

I was up at 6:30, out the door by 7:15am, buying my coffee from my favourite friend "Alex" (who always thinks that I look as tired as he feels. Note: Does he know that he looks like $&%*)# most mornings too?) and then arriving at the Police Station for 7:45. Sharp (as the police like to say). The day went well. I felt good about my decision to do this. I know this is something that I can be really good at but the best, or perhaps the worst, part of the day really has to be the feeling that everyone has when they are herded into a small room, asked to introduce themselves and to tell everyone why you are here. GULP.

This really shouldn't be a big deal but it feels like an enormous step in creating the image and impression that everyone will have of you for the rest of your training. The instructors have already told all of us that we are going to be "the best of friends when we are through with this training". Would anyone like to add anything else to pressure cooker?

In my own way and perhaps to make myself feel better, I put on my "glasses" and watch the whole thing unfold as though I am a character in the game of Survivor. We all know that opinions and impressions are formed pretty quickly when we are thrust into a scenario where we must get to know and trust a new group of people. We all create our own list of checks. Who looks the strongest? Who would I want to align myself with? Who sounds like they know what they are talking about without being completely annoying? Who looks like they are serious about the work ahead but has a good sense of humour? Who is passive aggressive?

As the day went on today, you could see the personality puzzle pieces falling into their rightful places and the "stranger" dance became a little less awkward. People started to share more and more of themselves. Showing the building trust in their classmates. It is good to watch people open up. It is even better when there is a common goal and you can feel and see that everyone is in the game of Survivor to make it to the end.

Generations

2009-03-04T20:58:00.000-08:00

So much of my life has been influenced by the wonderful female role models I have been fortunate enough to have as family. I have always had a profound connection with my maternal grandmother, who, although Danish, has lived in England since she was 18 years old. She is the same hero now as she was when I was a little girl of six, having tea with her in bed and telling her all of my stories and ideas.

Now that I am a mum of two little girls I appreciate, even more, the roles that various family members play in the world of children. My own children's connection to their grandmothers is something that I have watched develop and transform and I am always moved when I see the love and affection between the generations that I, myself, have always known.

Last summer, when I took Sophie to visit my Nin in England, we were lucky enough to have our trip coincide with a visit from my Mum and her husband. To be able to sit with my own daughter, my Mum and my grandmother was something I will remember, always. There is strength in family and if that strength could be measured, I am sure ours would be off-the-scale.

Blind Dragon

2009-02-25T09:56:00.000-08:00

"As one child put it “I dislike nicknames – people use them to imply your character…”. Managing a nickname is one of the more fateful of social skills. Nicknames can serve not only as thumbnail character sketches, of illustrations of quirks of personality and physical appearance, but as capsule histories too, selecting and amplifying some moment in the life course that stands out as striking."

There are just some people who seem to "collect" nicknames whether they intend to or not. I haven't spent a lot of time trying to figure out if it is the actual person (and personality) that "asks" to be given a nickname or if it is the name given to a child that determines the "nickname-ability" of the person. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

What I do know is that I am a collector of nicknames. Some I love and have been given in love. Others are funny and a laugh usually follows the delivery of the name. And still others, are names that make me feel a bit sheepish and a bit defensive. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the name highlights some character trait that I am not especially proud of. At one time, I sat down and created a list of the nicknames that I have collected. I had more than a dozen. Here is just a sampling:

Nand - the name given to me by my family and the only name my younger brother knew until he was about 6 (when he found out I had a "real" name). This name makes me feel loved and cared for.

Nandy - another version of the above

Annie - The name that my closest of friends call me and one that I relate to. This name gives me a sense of belonging and reminds me that I have a really wonderful group of people in my life

Peg - A nickname given to me by a good friend and former manager who felt that my appearance in the early 1990's was very much like that of "Peg Bundy" from "Married with Children". Almost 20 years later, I am still Peg even though I have lost the big red hair, and even bigger red lipstick.

Double A - Another name given to me by friends and co-workers that represented my initials (using my maiden name). To this group of friends and former co-workers, I am still Double A despite being married and no longer having AA as my intials.

Kid - A name my husband and I use for each other. Origin - unclear

Spatch - A portion of my last name (maiden) and one only used by a handful of old high-school friends

Pinenut - Yes, 'tis true. This is a real nickname. Coined my closest friend, who moved from Vancouver almost 10 years ago. Since we were so far away from each other, I would often tell her that I was pining for her. Being the crazy soul she is, she once said that my face shape reminded her of a pinenut and since I "pine" for her, she will call me "Pinenut". I have to admit, I kind of like this nickname since it is only my friend that uses it and it makes me feel connected to her despite the physical distance between us.

The last nickname is clearly related to the opening of this blog as it is a name that I am not especially proud of and it obviously acts as a "character sketch" for the person that is woken up each morning by her two lovely children and husband. Blind Dragon is the lovely nickname that my husband bestowed upon me between two and three years ago based on a combination of my physical appearance in the morning and my obvious demeanor.

The thing is, this name is appropriate. I have to admit it. The combination of my incredibly poor eyesight (I cannot see anything without contacts) and my terrible moods in the morning have earned me this name. Each morning our Queen-sized bed is overflowing with my husband, my two children (who have joined us upon waking up) and our cat. While some might think this sounds charming and wonderful, I couldn't me more cranky about it. As I toss my head from side to side, trying to see who is talking and who has their elbow in my side and I "crank" about still being tired and really wishing that I could have 10 minutes more to sleep, I can only imagine that short of the fire shooting from my nostrils, I couldn't look more like a "Blind Dragon".

So, while collecting nicknames is rather entertaining it is also a exercise in humility and today, after my cranking this morning, I am a rather humble dragon...

Shar Pei Complex

2009-02-19T20:02:00.001-08:00

I have been writing, lately, about being grateful and working very hard at being positive. I am taking a departure from that in this entry. I have a dilemma and it is trite and completely vain. I do not know what to do with the criss-cross pattern of wrinkles that have taken up residence on my forehead.

I kind of think I have three options:

1) Suck it up, stop being so vain and live with the lines that are me
2) Get myself a french woman's facelift - a solid set of bangs
3) Actually consider (gasp) Botox

I know, I know...Botox can you make you look like Nicole Kidmann (did anyone see her when she was on David Letterman? Yikes!) but I am not sure that I can deal with the grid that I stare at each morning. I just stare at my forehead and think about how smooth it appeared just 5 or 6 years ago.

I actually went to a Botox place about 2 years ago (they did free consultations) and saw a doctor who took one look at my forehead (when I was wrinkling it up as he had instructed) and he kind of made a face like "wow, or yikes" I said to him (after taking one look at his expression) "is it that bad?" to which he replied (ever so diplomatically) "Welllll, you do have a large number of very strong muscles in your forehead and they are very expressive". So. What the heck did that mean? "You would need a lot of injections to really take care of all of the individual muscles." "At least 25-30". Yea, not likely.

So, as you can guess, I went as far as a consultation and that was that. But, two years later, with the prospect of going to job interviews and hopefully finding myself in a new career, I am thinking that maybe 25-30 injections could be manageable. All of this deliberating certainly doesn't help since I am sitting here with my forehead all creased.

So, as horrible as this post may seem, it is what it is. I have a Shar Mei Complex and will continue to deliberate my options. I'll let you know when I make a decision!

needs and wants

2009-02-18T12:53:00.000-08:00

Today, on this sunny, crisp February day, I was lucky enough to be able to call up a dear friend, last minute, and arrange for a walk, some tea and some chats. Since I was feeling a teeny bit sorry for myself this morning (due to the prospect of more resume flogging and more interviews), this interlude with my friend came at a perfect moment. How fortunate I am.

Part of our conversation this morning, saw me (of course), telling a story about a friend that I had made many years ago who I still connect with every 12 to 18 months. The phone will ring and this deep, rich, rolling voice will say "On-dray-a, its me...". I love that voice and the image that is conjures up. In my minds eye (I have not seen my friend in many years as she no longer lives here) I see her beautiful smiling face; her flashing gold earrings and her colourful headdress and clothes. I can smell the unfamiliar but comforting smell of African spices.

Yet, the strongest memory I have of my friend was her ability to stay positive and happy with so little. I can remember going to the house of a family where my African friend was staying for a few weeks (she had given up her small suite in order to save money to go home to Africa). This basement suite, from the outside, looked rough and was in an even rougher part of town. When I went in to the little suite (I was helping my friend pack up her things to go home), I was met with that fragrant smell of traditional African food and the smiling faces of the family that lived there. They graciously welcomed me in and offered me tea and a seat. There were five people. All of them also from Ghana, originally. The father, a fellow in his early thirties, had been sponsored by a brother to come to Canada with his family and had taken the chance.

I was struck at that time but even more later in my life and certainly today, by the fact that this family, together, and healthy, appeared to need nothing more to be happy. The basement suite had two bedrooms, and so the parents were in one room and their three little children were in the other. My friend was on the couch until her departure. There was no TV, no playroom crowded with tacky, brightly-coloured plastic, no playstation. There was a simple room, neat and tidy with some books on the table from the library. One of the children, a little girl, took me by the hand to show me the room that she and her sibling shared. She was so pleased with the big bed that they got to sleep together on.

When I hear every day about our struggling economy and, I myself, look for a new job, I think about this family and about the smiles on each of their faces. Each of them willing to share the little they had. Each perfectly content.

Today, I am inspired by this memory. Today I am working on being content. Today, I am grateful.

Love and other good stuff

2009-02-14T20:36:00.000-08:00

On Valentines Day, and on as many other days as I possibly can, I try to be thankful for the love of family and friends. Its not hard to imagine that this is not always something I am successful at, but I do try.

Today, on Valentines Day, I spent some of the day feeling frustrated with the constant (and when I say "constant" I really do mean "constant") arguing between Sophie and Bridget. I also spent a good part of the day, loving my children, loving my husband, loving my family and loving my friends.

When my husband and I dropped the girls off at their grandparents this evening so that we could have an overnight to ourselves, I was reminded of how amazing grandparents are. (Our family has the added bonus of having three sets of wonderful grandparents!). I know I am gushing and this is a little sickly, but, "Its Valentines Day" and its all about the love everyone!

And Seriously, you know that grandparents are Rockstars in disguise when you arrive at their neat, tidy and orderly house with their granddaughters and on the table are 10 naked cupcakes and bowls of icing, sprinkles, cinnamon hearts and mini MM's for two small girls to go crazy with. Within five minutes of arriving, the kitchen had taken on a whole new look, the girls were covered in icing and most of the cupcake "decorations" had been consumed by Bridget.

And through all of this, Grandma and Grandpa had done what only loving grandparents would do. They had remained seated, tea in hand, smiles in place and watched...

That is love, and that is something that I am most grateful for.

Happy Valentines Day!

Morning Face

2009-02-11T09:33:00.000-08:00

It is only 9:34 in the morning but it seems that I have a bundle of things to talk about already. However, today, I feel like talking about how people look. How I look.

Each morning I have the same routine and I manage to get myself ready in all of 10 minutes while my girls are eating their bowls of cereal. Yesterday, however, I had a meeting downtown with a consultant and knew that for the first time in a LONG time, I needed to really pay attention to how I was presenting myself.

Since my job came to an end (last week) after 10 years, I find myself plunged back into the world of job interviews and meetings with people who will form an opinion, very quickly, based on just how I look. How scary is that? It is VERY scary and that is why I am writing this entry.

You see, we all get comfortable in a routine, whether that routine is our job, our marriage, our relationship with our own parents/siblings, or with how we dress, wear our makeup or style our hair. A shake-up in our world of routines can actually be a "glass-half-full" in a very surprising disguise and certainly does not have to be a crisis. A shake-up, if you will, creates strong feelings. Strong feelings create energy. Energy = Action.

Here is where I link this whole blog back to the title of this entry. When one routine in ones life gets "rocked" it sure is nice to have other, familiar routines to hang on to. One of my routines that I take great comfort in, is knowing that I have five things in my "Scrumping Bag" (this is my English Grandmothers description of a little bag that contains all the necessary makeup items one needs) that I use every day to make myself feel like I can face the world.

It is my belief that there are 5 makeup/tool essentials that each and every person can use to create a natural, sophisticated look; and for your reading enjoyment (insert smile here), I have listed them below.

1) Everyone needs a little pot of cream concealer. Concealer is your best friend. According to my husband (and said in the most loving way), when I get up in the morning it looks like "a raccoon sat on my face". Nice. Basically, this means that I have very dark pigmentation around my eyes. All the way around. Guess what takes me from Raccoon to "wide awake and ready to go?"Yes. Concealer.

2) Blush. A really good blush (pay a little more and get something that really works) combined with your strategically placed concealer creates the ultimate "fresh face". Personally, I like blush products by NARS.

3) Lipstick. A neutral, warm lipstick that can be used every day, is a must. My lipstick of choice and one that I cannot live without is Viva Glam V by MAC. It is very natural with a little shimmer (please, please opt for something with a whisper of shimmer. Matte lipsticks should be outlawed and look like you applied TREMCLAD to your mouth. Not flattering on anyone, at any age).

4) A great mascara. Everyone has their favourite and there are actually some interesting ways to apply mascara to create different looks (ie. sweeping lashes with mascara to the side to create more of a cat-eye).

5) A really, really good pair of tweezers. To me, tweezers, used properly, are the ultimate tool (threading, waxing, electrolysis all work too). I am just a huge fan of well-groomed (not over-plucked) eyebrows and how a persons face is altered by the look of their brows. This is a whole other Blog though...

On that note, I am signing off and heading to MAC to replenish my lipstick supply (Viva Glam V)...

Pickle Nuts

2009-02-10T21:49:00.000-08:00

I always find it interesting to listen to people and the words that they use. As an adult, the way I speak has been influenced, of course, by the people around me and by the work that I have done. However, I still use words that prompt people to say "that is totally something you would say" or "that so sounds like your kind of word".

I often think that the "colour" found in our conversations can be found in the words that describe, perfectly, what we are talking about but cannot be found in any dictionary. I like that we can still find ourselves able to inject colourful and descriptive words into our life and that we are not so "herded" and "moulded" that we can't use the occasional "shnick or niggle or dingle"

Children clearly take the cake with the colour of their chatter and I LOVE it...I have taken to writing down the things that both of my children have said so that I can remember, forever, the way our minds work before we hear "this is correct, this is incorrect". Some of my favourites are:

1) Dogpipes - This is what Sophie called Bagpipes; and why not? They do sound similar to some kind of animal being squeezed gently (or not so gently)

2) Yarden - This is what Sophie calls a yard that also contains a garden. This couldn't make more sense to me and I have now absorbed this term into my own vocabulary.

3) Pickle-nut- This is what Bridget calls the pickled onions you find in the jar of sweet pickles - and what a great sounding word that is. "I love those pickle-nuts"

4) Chickmunk - Of course it should be a chickmunk and not a chipmunk. What is a chipmunk, anyway?

I think I will take some notes when I am talking with friends and figure out which words really make me think of them. What colour do they play with in their conversations?

Comfort Food

2009-02-08T21:10:00.000-08:00

As with many people, when things are feeling a little uncomfortable or my expectations and hopes are being challenged, comfort food takes a front seat for me. Right in front of "getting-as-much-sleep-as-I-can-possibly-get-
with-two-young-children".

I was thinking today about what makes "Comfort Food" Comfortable? Seriously? Is there a universal list of food that, without trying, makes us feel comfortable or is it different for each individual? Since the 2009 year has not really been anything to celebrate thus far, I seem to be yearning for all that makes my tummy feel like it is sitting in front of a fire, in a cozy chair with a cat, a cup of tea and a good book.

I was thinking about what comfort food is to me and here are a few things right off the top of my head:

1) Beef stew
When I was growing up, Sunday nights seemed to be beef stew night. My Mum would start to make the stew in the afternoon and by 3:30 - 4:00 the house would be full of the most delicious smell of simmering beef, potatoes and veggies. I knew that we would have heaps of mashed potatoes to put our stew over and that following dinner it would be time for a bath, pajamas and Disney on the big, old TV set.

2) Cinnamon Buns
When I was growing up, my brother and I would be beside ourselves when we would find out that there was a big bowl with a damp cloth draped over it, sitting near the furnace, since we knew this meant that cinnamon buns with tons of sticky brown sugar and raisins would be in store for us the next morning.

3) Spare ribs and Caesar salad
When I was growing up, it was a special night when my mum would spend the afternoon preparing the most delicious, falling off the bone, spare ribs and her homemade Caesar salad. Not a word would be spoken at the table on spare rib nights. Which, if you knew our family, was not something that happened very often (as some of us kind of like to talk).

I am sure that by now you are seeing the pattern that is developing here. For me, anyway, comfort food, along with comfort sounds, comfort smells, comfort touches, seem to be intrinsically connected to my childhood; to my early years.

I am making it my goal, this year and for every year, to make sure my children have a very full list of comfort to draw on when they too are adults and finding that life needs a little "pick-me-up"

Blue Sky

2009-02-06T16:53:00.000-08:00

So, all 1 or 2 of my readers may have noticed that I haven't written on my new-found blog for a few days. I clearly haven't been in the right headspace. Sadly, on Tuesday, February 3rd, a beautiful, sunny, blue-sky day, I was let go from the company that I had worked for for 10 years. I had been through cycles of people being let go over the years and always thankfully and humbly avoided the dreaded "white envelope". However, on Tuesday, the white envelope had my name on it.
As I play and replay this day in my mind, I recognize that I most definitely experienced all of the emotions one might feel when they are let go. It kind of went something like this:

Disbelief
"What? Me? Really? Wow."

Anger
"Seriously, is this happening? After all that I have done for this company for 10 years?"

Sadness
"This is really sad. I so didn't want it to end like this. I am really going to miss this place and all of my friends"

Rationalization
"I get it. I understand why this had to happen. I know it isn't personal"

Confusion
"What do I do now? How does this work"

Hope
"Maybe this will be ok. Maybe this is the start to a new adventure for me. It will be ok"

I actually landed on "Hope" pretty quickly. Thanks to an amazing group of co-workers (or, former co-workers!), friends and family I have been able to get through this time fairly smoothly. However, the turning point for me, was when my two young children, in unison, yelled "Yippeee! we get to have a mummy day today, tomorrow, the next day and the next". How could you not hang on to hope when your ears are filled with this music.

Fried-Day

2009-01-30T17:10:00.000-08:00

I am starting to think that Friday's are cursed. But is it all in my head or are Friday's truly turning into FRIED-DAYS?
When I returned to work after my first daughter was born, I was fortunate enough to work for a good little company who understood and supported a flex schedule. I was able to return to the office for four days a week and then work from home for a few hours each Friday. This was perfect. With one child, this schedule fit like a glove.
Enter child number two and an office that allowed me to continue with this schedule upon my return. What a blessing...except that through a combination of factors, the Fridays of old have gone the way of the Do-do Bird.
I now have two children, neither of whom nap, who want my undivided attention on Fridays. They call it their day. And so they should. Except that the office now seems to lay claim to this day as well. The struggle to answer calls, write emails, ichat, update, confirm meetings, conference call while making grilled cheese, untangling elastics from hair, putting on shoes, wiping noses or bums seems to be getting the best of me.
Last Friday, I was down for the count and couldn't get myself up for anything...today, a week later, I found myself awake at 6:00am with a migraine to end all migraines and the knowledge that it was Friday. My day with the girls. Coincidence? Chance? I'm starting to wonder.
Sophie came upstairs at 2:30 to my darkened room and snuggled me, while trying to pop some medicine into my mouth and then she said very tenderly "you told me last night you were going to have breakfast with me and today we would have a playdate - But you didn't".
My head still ached but my heart strings were now twanging too....

mind the gap

2009-01-27T18:22:00.000-08:00

This blog is coming from the steamy, loud, rather damp bathroom in our little house. The girls are making potions in the bath and I am perched atop the closed toilet trying to get this blog written before the the arguing starts along with the the waterworks.

Once the girls were safely in the tub and before writing this blog, I quickly grabbed my toothbrush and did a quick post-dinner brush. I was reminded as I brushed my teeth, that on Thursday of this week, I get to pick up the whitening trays that I have had made at my dentist office. That's right, I am bleaching my teeth and I am as excited as I was when I got the gap in my front teeth fixed at the age of 16.

I have always been a teeth person. It is one of the first things I notice when I meet someone. Being a tooth-gal, the fact that my own adult teeth were far from perfect was a constant niggle in my teenage life. Sure, they were straight and not a terrible colour but they weren't sparkling white and worst of all, I had a large gap between my two front teeth. I willed that gap away from the time I was about 12 until I finally got them fixed when I was 16. Not only did I will that gap away but I resorted to some pretty new-fangled torture to fix the gap myself.

My favourite "fix" was when I would take little elastics and put them around both front teeth as tightly as I could and leave them overnight. In the morning, when I would take the elastic off, I would swear that I could feel that my teeth had moved closer together. They would always hurt a little bit. This was a good thing, wasn't it? It was strange that the gap didn't ever look any smaller. My other fix, not as saavy, but certainly something I thought made me look far more appealing, was the "chewed-up-piece-of-kleenex, tucked-between-my-teeth" plan. I was sure that with that carefully placed softened Kleenex between my teeth that everyone would see me with perfect ivory Chicklets not the "spit-gap" teeth that stared back at me every night in the mirror.

When I was 16 my parents, who clearly did not understand how horrible my life had been because of my teeth, said that I could have my gap filled with a new technique the dentist was doing. Within an hour of being in the dentist chair, my gap, my albatross, was gone. I could not stop smiling. When I returned to school with my new becoming smile it was all I could do not to smile at the water fountains.

The realization that we are our own worst critic was my lesson at this time in my life, since all the people I smiled at with my new teeth finally started saying "what are you smiling about?" to which I replied "My teeth!! They are fixed! Don't you see??!". The answers from every single person and even a couple of water fountains was "really? I didn't notice that you had a gap?!"

name that pig

2009-01-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

I was reading some Richard Scarry to my youngest daughter, when I came across something that made both of us stop and giggle. I had just started reading about Sergeant Murphy and his daughter "Bridget" (Richard Scarry "dogs"), followed quickly by little Sophie Humperdink (Richard Scarry "Pigs"). How was it that I had named both of my children after two animal characters in the same story in a Richard Scarry book?

Of course, this just got me thinking, again, about names. I think about names a lot. When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I would sometimes have a physical heaviness, a weight, knowing that my husband and I would have to choose a name that our child would either pour themselves into, or not.

When we named our first daughter the whole thing felt organic and easy. We just knew, when we looked at her, moments after she was born, that she wasn't a Scarlet or a Esme but she was most definitely a Sophie. It felt good to be so sure. It still feels good. Sophie loves me to tell her about all the names we had picked out for her. She "yuks" or "yums" after each name that I list off but always looks contented and impish when we finally talk about how she is our Sophie and has been our Sophie from the moment she arrived.

When I was about 5 months pregnant with our second child we had a list of names that we were thinking about. We asked Sophie how she felt about all of the names (for both girls and boys since we didn't know what we were having) and, true to form, she "yuked" and "yumed" her way through the list and eventually paused and said, "I am calling the baby, Bridget" and that was that. The baby, whether it had been a boy or a girl would have been called Bridget. Things have a funny way of working out and Bridget couldn't be more Bridget if she tried.

Oh, and I am thrilled to know that my children, AKA Sophie Humperdink and Bridget Murphy, a pig and a dog, will live forever in the pages of the Richard Scarry, Please and Thank you Book.

What's that on your face?

2008-03-06T20:11:00.000-08:00

When do you finally know or accept that something is over. done. no more.

You see, more than a year-and-a-half ago a blush (yes, this whole blog is about a blush) that I had used for more than 15 years, was discontinued. Now, I understand that products eventually run their course and are replaced or discontinued, but what I don't understand is how an International Company, can claim to have a Customer Service Department, when clearly, they don't.

As soon as the blush (True Complexion, Honey Brown Luster) that I had used for many years was no longer around, I went to the Revlon website and found an email address AND phone number for their Customer Service Department. I wrote and called. I wrote and called again. And, you guessed it, I wrote and called yet again. Nothing. Not even one teeney-tiny bit of a Revlon earlobe to hear me. If it was just me being a complete idiot and not taking the right approach to connect with the Service Department, I probably could have let the whole thing go.

See, the thing is, I am a makeup artist, or I used to be (BK, "Before Kids") and I had introduced "Miss Honey Brown" to a number of people, including my Mum and Sister-in-law. Like me, the notion of not having a perfect blush for those shimmery, smooth cheeks, was enough to create a wee bit of panic in all of us. Independently, both my Mum and SIL emailed and called Revlon's Customer Service department. Guess what?
...you already know the answer.

All of this, told and retold, still doesn't make me feel any better. Not only have I not been able to find another blush (my cupboards and drawers are full of "slightly" used but "not quite right" blushes), but I have no closure. I have not heard a human voice tell me "Sorry Miss, that product has been discontinued". Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, according to Revlon, it is.

2008-03-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

So, every morning, before I start my 55-minute commute to work, I get myself a coffee. It sounds so cliche, but I actually think about my coffee like someone might think about a prada purse or a coach bag. I get a little bit "giddy" when I actually think about the coffee I get to drink in the morning.

I think that it has not only been the coffee that I have enjoyed for the last 3 years but the whole experience that unfolds when I actually drive into a parking spot outside the Gas Station (that's right...I get my coffee at a Tim Horton's counter, inside a gas station).

You see, 3 years ago when my daughter was almost 2 my husband and I crunched some numbers, groveled, begged, sold some stuff on Criagslist and bought ourself a nice, old house in the Suburbs. We had lived in the city for over 10 years but only in rental apartments. We really wanted our own house where we could stay for 20 or 60 years.

So, we made the move to the suburbs and my morning coffee from a trendy South Granville Coffee bistro turned into a double-double from the Tim Horton's in the Esso Gas Station on the corner.

So what. Who cares where I get my coffee. Right?

Since going to the Tim Horton's for my coffee in the morning means that I stand in line with no fewer than 8, 16-year-olds on their way to school, I am always entertained. One of the most entertaining parts of my wait comes from my crazy idea that "hey, I don't seem so much older than them? Do I?". OR how about this one "I wonder if any of the 17-year-old guys think I am kind of cute?". WHAT? Am I crazy? It dawned on me the other day that I could actually, physically, have a child who is 17. Crap. I am not young. I could not pass for a teenager. I am 36 and have 2 children, a husband, a house, a job and a mortgage.

This thought alone, made my normally delicious large double-double taste curdled. Sour. It took my an entire day, and evening, to make myself feel better about this realization. I could have a 17 year old child. Its ok. I think I still look ok.

Now, here I am, the next morning, standing at the front of the line, ordering my coffee, and the Tim Horton's guy, Alex, looks at me as he passes me my coffee and says in the monotone voice that he has mastered, "you look about as tired as I feel". Seriously. He really said that.

Alex is probably 17.

He is also right. I do look tired.