I'm Just Sayin'

"Mister Harper, give me back my national daycare program, and I'll give you back your nose! Fucker!"

God, I love that picture. I have it taped on my locker at work. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Why is it my daughter can say she's full, "I'm soooo fuuuulllll" when she's eating something that's good for her, yet five minutes later she's "sssssooooo huuuunnngggrrryyy" when the chips, popcorn, or cookies come out?

OK, dumb question.

So, I pack the dishwasher like clowns pack their magic trunks - throw everything in, then shut the door fast and brace with two feet so nothing gets out. That's apparently the WRONG way. My husband packs the dishwasher like we're eating off Queen Elizabeth's Limoges, with maybe three things in there. That's apparently the RIGHT way. So why do my dishes come out clean, and his come out dirty?

How do pharmaceutical companies manage to make a gazillion dollars a year, when the side effects of their products often sound way worse than what you're taking them for in the first place. I mean seriously, a side effect like "bloody diarrhea?" What do you have that's so bad that you need to risk having that side effect? Ewwww!

If Tom and Katie had birthed a boy, would they have named him Elron?

George Dubya is now being described, in some circles, as the worst president of the last 100 years. I'm racking my brain to think of who was president back in the 1800's. I'd hate to be the guy who comes in as worse than Bush. Scary thought.

That's it. I'm out.

Only, the Lonely?

I took my daughter to a birthday party for one of her little daycare friends. Of the kids there, she was the only only child. One of the moms asked me if she was my only one, and when I said "yep" she answered back "wow, that's ... great!"

Isn't it amazing how one little ellipsis in a sentence can say so much?

Here are my thoughts on just what was contained in those little dots.

Wow, that's ... too bad! You must have some sort of strange and debilitating medical condition, because who would willingly choose to only have one child?
Wow, that's ... horrible! Your poor daughter will grow up lonely, spoiled, and strange.
Wow, that's ... incredibly selfish of you! How can you just think of yourself for such an important decision? Did you even ASK your daughter if she wanted a sibling?
Wow, that's ... unbelievable. Sometimes I wish I only had one. But it makes me feel too guilty when I do, so I think I'll look down my nose at you and cover my brief spurt of envy with a heavy dose of superiority.

There was another mom there, with three girls, all under 5 years old. I guess she looked happy enough, but she also looked incredibly tired. It makes me tired even thinking about it.

I don't think it's so rare anymore to encounter only children. For one thing, living where I live, daycare is not financially viable with two kids, especially one being a baby. I may as well not work. And if I was a stay at home mom, my children would either be dead or sold off within a year. So I think I made the right decision. I'm just saying.

Luckily for us, my daughter is incredibly well adjusted. She must get those genes from my husband, who I'm told was the original Gerber Baby when he was a kid - all smiles and giggles, no temper tantrums. My kid has her moments, but for the most part has always been pretty good. Which is fortunate, because I was a mess for the first year after she was born. It took a lot of time - and therapy - before I got to a point where I was comfortable with her and with my role as a mother. Gotta love post partum depression. Me and Brooke Shields, baby. Although I never considered ramming my speeding car into a cement wall. Brooke, you're all alone on that one, sister.

Do I ever have twinges? Not really. Sometimes I watch siblings play and think - actually, I know - my kid would make a great older sister. But I can't have a baby for her. She has her own womb for that. I look at my sister - pregnant with her second - and can't wait for the baby to be born so I can hold her. And then give her back.

So yes, I know in my heart I made the right decision. Despite ... those uncomfortable reactions from people.

Size Does Matter

Wouldn't it be nice to look like this? I mean seriously, I would bankrupt myself in clothing. I would own every pair of jeans there are. I would gorge myself on tight little t-shirts. I would never cover my stomach. In fact, I think I would walk around in whore-wear most of the time. Work, grocery shopping, whatever.

Can you tell I've been trying on clothes?

Surprise, surprise, I don't look like this girl. Actually, considering all the photoediting these days, she probably doesn't look like her either.

Imagine the exact opposite of this, and that's me. I'm about 5'8'' and a size 14 or 16 depending on the manufacturer. I have what's politely called an hourglass figure, and most of the time I don't mind. I like being curvy and looking curvy. If I were a car, I'd be advertized as "built for comfort, not for speed."

The only time I mind is when I'm trying on clothes. Not tops. In shirts I'm a size large normally, an extra-large if I'm lured into one of those cheap and cheerful tweenie kind of stores, and every once in awhile, when the stars and moon are aligned just so, I'm a medium.

It's pants that are the bane. The BANE of my existence.

First off, I'm considered "tall." How 5'8'' ever got to be tall for a woman is beyond me. Finding pants that don't make me look like I'm about to go off and build an ark is next to impossible. Especially since I also like heels.

Then, try and find a pair of pants that allow for baby-birthing hips, a definite waist, and some square footage in the backyard, if you catch my drift. They either fit in the waist and not in the hips, or vice versa. And heaven forbid a woman actually has some meat on her thighs.

I wish the fashion industry would actually wake up to the fact that women aren't shaped like men. And you can be a size 14 and still have a shape. And still want to wear all the cute clothes the size 3 and 5 girls get to wear. We just want them a little bigger. The same shape, idiots, just bigger.

Luckily for me, I love to shop. Lovelovelovelovelove to shop. I should be a professional shopper, but I doubt I'd make it because I'm way too bossy. "No, you really don't want that. You want THIS. Give me your credit card." So I'm usually able to find something, with a lot of hunting around. That way I'm not naked at work or anything. Trust me - no one wants to see that.

The 4-1-1

So, it's official. My life is boring. My life is SO boring, I actually make boring a three-syllable word. BO-HO-RING.

Here's the skinny.

Monday to Thursday look virtually identical. I get up at 3am - yes, you read that right, the crack of oh-my-fucking-God-it's-early. I'm at work by 4am, usually off work by 10am. God bless a job that pays me what I get paid for not doing a hell of a lot. I love the news business, even with the brutal hours. I'd probably do it for free. If I didn't have to get up.

Then I come home, eat, maybe read a little bit, watch a bit of TV, then have a nap. How depressing is that? I'm 36 and I need a sleep in the afternoons. Oh well, whatever works.

Then I get up and go to the gym. Even after years of working out, I still hate it. I love what it does for my body, but I still hate the physical act of exercising. And I still don't look like Eva Longoria. I think I'll demand my money back.

Then I pick up my daughter, come home, make dinner, eat dinner, play with the kid for awhile - yay for kids' board games - then herd her into bed. My husband usually comes home during this time, but sometimes he's late. Then I read for another hour or so, and it's off to bed by 9pm.

Needless to say "People" magazine isn't beating down my door for a 10-page spread.

Fridays can be different, in that I often skip my afternoon nap. I'll sometimes go shopping and for lunch and a movie with a coworker. It makes for a long day, but I get to sleep in on Saturdays. By "sleeping in" I mean 6am. Whee.

My husband and I often make Friday night our "date night." We eat together after the progeny has gone to bed, drink a little and watch TV. "What Not To Wear" is my current, and only, reality TV vice. Except for Dr. Phil. Whut wure ewe thinken?

Weekends are a frantic and futile attempt to do everything I didn't do during the week. I pay someone to clean my house, so I don't have to do that at least. But every second Thursday morning I frenetically "clean up" for the housekeepers. Stupid, I know, but I don't want them spending their time tidying, I want them to spend their time cleaning.

Tomorrow is a big adventure. I'm going shopping south of the border with some girls from work. Can't wait. I am a self-admitted shoe whore. Finding a good deal on a cute pair of shoes is, at times, better than sex. Admit it, you know it's true.

Open Letter

To the little bitch who passed me in single lane traffic - on the right - as we were driving through a school zone with a high school on one side and a daycare on the other.

You know who you are. In the crappy blue Chevy Cavalier.

Maybe you didn't realize it was a school zone. They don't make those yellow triangular signs nearly big or bright enough, do they? Or maybe the picture of the small stick figure on the front is too confusing. That cellphone conversation you were having also looked pretty distracting. You probably had to yell over the music, too - Mariah Carey, was it?

I just want you to know something. Karma is a real bastard. He's a big, fat, ugly bastard that loves to shit on people. And one other thing - he has a finely honed sense of irony.

So I pray to God you don't grow up and have a kid one day. A little kid that looks just like you, that's the absolute love of your life, that you'd die for and kill to protect. A little girl with long brown hair and blue eyes. A little girl who goes to daycare, a daycare that takes field trips. All it takes is one split second for that teacher to look away - maybe a loud noise, or one of the other kids falls down. A split second for your little girl to step into the street without looking. Maybe she's laughing at something someone else said, or just excited to be getting out for the morning.

Then someone like YOU comes barrelling along. Someone who's not looking out for little kids - maybe because they're on a cellphone, with the music just a little too loud.

Let me tell you - a car versus a little kid is no contest.

So slow down, wouldya, and have a little patience?

I obey school zones because my daughter starts kindergarten this fall. Because when your little girl steps into traffic without looking, I hope to hell it's ME behind the wheel of the car - a person who is looking out for little kids.

Sunday, Sunny Sunday

Wow, what a great day here. It's so nice to have a sunny Sunday every once in awhile.

Where I live, it rains. A lot. A whole lot.

Not that I did much in the sunshine. I have a whole front yard full of last year's bamboo that has to be hauled to the dump. I sat in my living room and looked out at it, and thought about maybe doing something about it. That's about it.

We call the bamboo area Fangorn Forest - after the ancient forest in Middle Earth that eats things. I'm sure small animals get lost in our bamboo every summer. Come to think of it, the neighbour's 4 year old hasn't been around in awhile. Hmmm ...

Maybe I could start a small bamboo business. Build rafts for people. Or decorative art. If they can pay a million dollars for a picture of a blue line with a red circle in it and hang it in the National Gallery, I can duct tape a few pieces of bamboo together and call it art. And charge an arm and a leg for it.

My kid is currently in the backyard playing with her grandmother. I'm trying to decide when a good time would be to start the bedtime machine going. With the time change, it's really only 6pm, and it seems cruel to call her in.

Screw it, life sucks sometimes. She'll have to get used to it.

One of these things is not like the other one ...

Ok, here's my first rant. Stephen Harper had to get up Thursday morning, root through his garment bag - which he may or may not have packed himself - chosen this outfit, put it on, looked in a mirror, thought "damn, I look GREAT!" , and then went outside. In public. In front of TV cameras.

Jesus Christ, this is the leader of our country.

The "Globe and Mail" described him as looking like the next Canadian Tire guy. I think that's pretty polite, considering.

I think MY best line of Friday morning was "we elected him Prime Minister, now we may want to nominate him for What Not To Wear."

Another thing. He has a whole ENTOURAGE of people with him. Are they all blind? Were they all hung over on Mexican margaritas? Did NO ONE think to say anything to the man?

Clearly his wife wasn't with him. I wouldn't let my husband leave the BEDROOM with that get-up on, much less the house.

Thank God he looked better at a news conference on Friday. I was ready to grab an image consultant and go down there myself. An emergency style intervention in Cancun - it would have been a chore, but I would have done it for the good of my country. I'm such a patriot. Sniff.

In the beginning ...

Wow, here I am. Blogging. Weird.

Not sure why I'm doing this. Some of my friends do. Actually, probably a lot of my friends do - in the dark, in secret, anonymously. Maybe I'll go looking for them ... he he.

I've been thinking about this for awhile. I've kind of felt like a lemming, watching all the other lemmings barrel over the cliff. I've been standing at the side, peeking over, thinking "man, it's pretty dark down there. Are y'all sure you want to go there?"

I guess this is my leap.

There will probably be lots of political commentary in this blog. I'm a journalist. Have been a journalist for 10 years. I love the news - can't get enough of it. Sick, I know. In fact, it's made me sick. I'm sure I'm a much more paranoid, anxious person because of it. You would be too if you heard about car accidents, fires, murders, and child abuse every day. Should probably be in therapy. Maybe this will help.

Ok, let's push "publish post" ... and see where it leads us, shall we?