I'm trying impress upon The Boy and The Little Guy that I have chosen to be home with them, that I'm not stuck here, that I'm very lucky to be able to spend most of my time with them and do some writing too. And if you ask The Boy, he'll tell you that Mommy writes stories, and she gets to stay home with her boys, and sometimes he'll even tell you that Mommy is lucky because of that.

Of course, if things were ideal, I'd like to do a little more writing. Well no, I'd like to be able to block off some time to write. I'd like to know that every Thursday morning I could write for two hours (or whatever). It would make me a little less conflicted at other times, when I feel the pull towards writing but the boys need me to play, or make lunch or whatever. But still, even my current jumble of writing, volunteering, mothering and wifeing (I needed to parallel the other words but that one just does NOT work) is very satisfying. My daily life can be like a chocolate cake with chocolate chips in it. It all tastes good, but occasionally there is a little extra burst of flavour - an hour of writing, a really focussed work session, a great walk with the kids, some time to meditate. Even without the chocolate chips it would still be good, but knowing they're in there certainly doesn't hurt.

I worry about pitching my life as lucky though, because myself and The Man work hard to keep things like this. Sure, the fact that he makes enough so I can be home and my work is not a matter of family survival - that is luck and privilege. But it takes work to keep that lucky position. And I worry that if the boys seem me as lucky for getting to be home with them, then The Man becomes 'Poor Daddy' who has to go out to work. And I don't want to perpetuate that. Sure The Man would love to be home with the boys all day too, but he also likes his work. He misses the boys but he is not suffering all day. (In fact, I believe that at work he gets to do things in the order he chooses, and he goes to the bathroom without company. Imagine!)

So I'm trying, as usual, to walk a line. To let them know that, even though we all get frustrated with each other sometimes, I wasn't forced to spend my days with them, they aren't holding me back.

My life is not a sacrifice to my children: it's a chocolate cake. And I'll eat every last crumb.

"I've been where you're hanging and I think I can see how you're pinned. If you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned."

Sisters of Mercy, Leonard Cohen

Reading Leonard Cohen's words makes me ache. His songs really hit me, his turns of phrase light something in my brain that makes me want to be able to write more often, to write better, to be a genius.

About a month ago I got a promotional thing from Chapters offering two opportunities I could not pass up. The first was to pre-order a copy of Cohen's new book of poetry 'Book of Longing' and if I was among the first to order I would get an autographed copy, the second was to write a letter to Leonard Cohen telling him what his work means to me and if it was received in time it would be bound, with a bunch of other letters, into a book and presented to him at an event in Toronto in May.

After reading the promo-email I scrambled for my credit card and ordered the book (it arrived this week, I had to touch the signature like it was magic and when the pencil smeared a little, my heart leapt in excitement) and I began thinking about what I would write.

It took me weeks to actually get anything down on paper, a combination of stagefright and busy-ness held me back. I sent it before the deadline.

And now I feel like a character in a fairy tale, awaiting some mysterious result. As if, presuming my letter made it into the book, Leonard Cohen is going to read it, realize that I alone understand him fully, and call me up to thank me for my letter.

Yes, I do know that is silly. Mostly, I just hope he likes the letter. I don't suppose you can ever get so famous that genuine appreciation for your work doesn't affect you? I hope not.

So I got 3.5 hours of sleep last night. This is not something I recommend.

It seems TLG is overly fond of the hours between 3 and 5 am. I, on the other hand, am not fond of those hours. In fact I was surprised to discover that they are still having 3 o'clock twice a day.

The fact that it is dark in the bedroom does not discourage him, he is as pleasant as he is at 3pm. He rolls over, does a yoga move (downward dog, of course) and then stands up on the mattress and toddles toward the headboard to cheerfully smack his hands or head against it. Meanwhile, myself and The Man are bleary-eyed and gravelly-voiced, trying to convince him that it is the middle of the night and that he just needs to lie down.

We even try two of our usual tricks, nursing and daddy voodoo (baby in arms, and a combination of patting, humming and bouncing that usually makes him drift right off) but they don't seem to work between those hours.

So we usually either resign ourselves to being charmed by TLG, and we complain to each other about how ridiculous it is to be awake at this hour if you aren't partying (privately or otherwise ;)) and we either wait him out or one of us (usually The Man, because I've often already nursed TLG twice while he slept between 12 and 3am) gets up and takes him downstairs so the other can sleep.

The kid's lucky he's cute, I hope this phase passes soon.

This may come as a shock to you, but I tend to both overthink things and to take myself too seriously.

This results in many weblog entries being started, but few being finished.

I also tend to start writing and get interrupted by a baby or start what is going to be a short entry only to have it grow into a rather long one. This leads to a feeling that I shouldn't bother to start unless I have a long time to write.

When this is combined with a couple of months of stress brought about by recurring minor illnesses, sleep deprivation, an unfortunate combination of opposing developmental phases on the part of my children and some unexpected writing opportunities, it means I hardly ever post. This annoys me and being annoyed with myself means I put pressure on myself to change things. This makes for more stress. I am not someone who thrives on stress.

I will not have time to fully develop all the thoughts I want to write about any time soon, but I want to post more regularly.

So I have developed an experiment:

Date: April 26th,2006

Objective: To increase the number of weblog entries produced by Mombie weekly Hypothesis: Setting the timer for each entry writing session will decrease the chances that any given entry will be a) long b) brilliant or c)over-thought, resulting in an increased number of regular, short entries on a variety of topics.

Materials: Mombie (brain, hands), Computer, Keyboard, CoffeeCup HTML Editor, Kitchen Timer, Time, FileZilla FTP program

Procedure:
1)Escape for a few minutes
2)Sit at computer
3)Load CoffeeCup HTML Editor
4) Open Index File
5) Copy "Entry" Code into file above last entry
6)Set timer for 10 minutes
7) Write until timer goes off
8)Save file
9)Close CoffeeCup HTML Editor
10) Open FileZilla FTP Program
11)Upload updated Index File

Results: To be determined.

Discussion: Mombie already uses timed writing for her other projects, it is hoped that the time limits on entry-writing will enable her to break her mindset about complications of producing regular weblong entries.

There's a certain pharmacist in this city who should be glad I live in a 'no-hitting' house and that I like to set a good example for my sons.

Last Thursday (the 6th) I woke up with a nasty, nasty flu, not of the stomach variety, luckily, but of the 'feels like someone attacked you in your sleep, my god how heavy is my head, I can't control my body temperature, why won't someone just shoot me and put me out of my misery' variety.

I staggered my way through Thursday, more or less keeping things on an even keel. Friday, my staggering was a little more pronounced and desperate for some relief, I went to the pharmacy at a local supermarket, hoping to kill two birds with one stone and pick up some medicine and something for supper.

The pharmacists were busy when I made my first pass so the boys and I did some grocery shopping and I returned. After a few minutes wait, the older, male pharmacist (yes, I believe these are relevant facts) came over to me. Our conversation went like this:

Mombie: (insert congestion related inflection)(sniffle) Hi, I was wondering if any new cold/flu medications are out that are safe to take while you are breastfeeding.

Older, Male Pharmacist: Hmm, well none of the over the counter medications should really get into your breastmilk in significant amounts...but, you know, I don't really recommend giving any medication to small children. If you brought him (pointing to TLG) in witha runny nose or whatever, I'd tell you to just leave him and let him get better.

Mombie: (ignoring unsolicited opinion on meds for kids) So, it would be safe for me to take an over the counter cold/flu remedy? Because I was under the impression none were safe during breastfeeding, that's why I asked about new medications.

OMP: Well, like I said, they are unlikely to get into your milk in an amount to do any harm, but I don't recommend any medication for kids. So, you're breastfeeding him (pointing to The Boy)?*

Mombie: No, the baby. The Boy is four, The Little Guy is 17 months old.

OMP: Oh, they both look younger than that.

Mombie: They were premies. Anyway, so you don't recommend me taking anything?

OMP: Well, you could take tylenol or ibuprofen. But you're not that sick.

Mombie: Well, I feel pretty awful actually.

OMP: (looking at watch) Well, if you were at work and couldn't do your job then it might be a good idea to take something.

Mombie: (insincere smile) I guess I'd better go pay for my groceries.

Ack, since when are pharmacists doctors? I didn't ask him to judge whether I was sick enough to deserve medication. And he said that the medicines wouldn't be harmful, so why did he have to go on to insinuate that it wasn't worth it if it was only going to make me feel better. I really felt that I was being reminded that Mommies must always sacrifice. What's feeling like 10lbs of crap in a 5lb bag when compared to the fact that my baby might accidentally ingest a little in my milk? I should be nobly sick, unwilling to take even safe medication, just on principle. I was half expecting him to tell me to offer my suffering up to god.

How dare he assume that because I was able to get to the supermarket that I wasn't sick? Ideally, I would have stayed home and rested, and avoided possibly spreading this thing but newsflash to OMP, mothers can't always just lie down and recuperate, sometimes they must just keep going. Especially if there is no one else available to care for the kids.

I'll bet he didn't stay up all night with his sick kids, presuming he has any, or he'd be a little less sanctimonious on the giving kids meds issue. Sure, you don't give them medication for any old thing, but if they are miserable, you give them something to help them feel better, to help them rest.

I hope I gave him this flu, and that he goes through the feeling of being out-of-phase, the tiredness, the congestion, the weird cough, the feeling like someone struck you between the eyes, the muscle aches, the upset stomach, the loss of appetite, the rushing sound in the ears, the inability to regulate his body temperature, the hoarseness, the sore throat, and then, the big finale: losing his voice for two days! And I hope someone looks down on him for seeking medication.**

Oh and I'd wish for him to have to care for a 4 year old and a 17 month old for 8 plus hours a day, and feed the 17 month old 2-3 times a night too , but that would be unfair to the kids.

Somehow, I don't think he'd make it.

*Okay, sure, some people breastfeed four-year-olds and OMP thought TB was younger but if someone is asking you about breastfeeding and they have a 17 month old in the childseat of their shopping cart, wouldn't your first assumption be that he was the child in question? gah.

**But I'm feeling much better now.

PS - I did take Tylenol, I know that's safe. And, yes, I went to the Titanic event while feeling so crappy. Mom and I had made my dress, the tickets (for charity) had cost a fortune, and The Man had already rented the tux. We only stayed for the dinner and then came home so I could rest.

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Some of us spent the evening at a Titanic themed event.

No, seriously!

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Just for the record...

April 4, 2006

I have not run away or quit.

The Little Guy has decided that sleep is a waste of time, and my brainpower is at a minimum. It's all I can do to drag my ass through the day at this point, so a thoughtful, coherent entry is beyond me at present.

I'll be back after I catch a few decent nights' sleep in a row (or adjust to the lack of sleep at any rate). Give me until, say, Friday? before you give up on me.

Also - Happy Birthday to Susan on the 1st and to my lovely and charming sister 'Aunt Neece' (the paradox) tomorrow, April 5th.

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I wanted to be amused, but it didn't work.

March 20, 2006

Following a brief sojourn into morning television watching, I have to ask:

Why is it funny for Madonna and her galpals (I hate that term but it seems to work in this context) to abduct men and drive them around in a van while gyrating at them in one of her latest videos?

If the genders were reversed it would never have been made. I understand mocking the dominant mores of our society, but flipping the gender of threatening sexual behaviour doesn't make it okay (nor does it make it less sexist). I was so seriously creeped out by this video, I can't believe someone said 'okay, and then Madonna and her friends pull these men off the street and the drive them around and force them to watch them dancing, oh and let's make the guys pull up their shirts and act ridiculous too' and that no one said 'wait a minute, that's horrible.'

Oh wait, I can believe that, I just wish I couldn't.

In other video news...while I appreciate that in 'Stupid Girls' Pink is taking a swing at Paris Hilton and her ilk, why did she think it was okay to casually mock bulimia* or at least bulimia like behaviours? And why, at the end, does the little girl have to choose between all the traditionally 'girly' stuff like dolls and the more traditionally 'boy-y' stuff like a football and electronics? Wouldn't it have been a more powerful statement if she had taken a doll under one arm and the football under the other? I don't think it is necessary to entirely reject the feminine in order to avoid turning out like Paris Hilton.

Now, I realize that I'm discussing music videos, which are not the last bastion of intellectual discourse and general good taste, but there's a difference in all things. Is there no hope for pop culture at all?

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On accompanying Obi-Wan to the supermarket...

March 13, 2006

Despite being a child of the seventies, I have only seen one Star Wars movie and that was Phantom Menace (I know, I know). It's not that I don't respect the place that Star Wars holds in the collective conscious of people my age, but I'm not a movie person anyway, and aside from Stargate, I'm not so much into sci-fi and blah de blah, a million reasons I've never bothered to see them. [Note: There is no need to offer to watch them with me. Don't you think I would have found the time and the means to watch them by now, if I was so inclined? Thanks for your concern though.] That being said, I played with Star Wars toys when I was a kid and I am familiar with the characters (as if it is possible to avoid familiarity with them!) but I am rapidly getting out of my depth...

The Boy has become addicted to the Lego Star Wars PS2 game, absolutely addicted. I'm talking playing the game while wearing a yarn ponytail and a housecoat (so cute!) 'like Obi-Wan' addicted. And, I, always being one to encourage indulging one's interests, bought him and The Man toy lightsabers last week (there's no point in having just one, right?). And that, dear friends, was the beginning.

The Boy brought the lightsaber to improv, he carried it all the way through the supermarket ("I promise not to hit any food, and no people either. Except bad guys. I will hit bad guys.") The Man had to bring his lightsaber to work with him, we had to discuss which 'grown-up-friends' would be good at lightsaber battles, it had to be placed next to him when he went to bed and it had to be put next to his placemat at supper. I had no idea I was creating a monster. Or a Jedi, if you ask him.

And don't get me started on the Chewbacca 'shooter' that The Man bought for him.

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International Women's Day

March 8, 2006

When is International Men's Day? Oh, how droll!

If you are asking that, trust me, you just don't get it.

March 8 has been decreed International Women's Day by the UN. It's a day to remind us how far we've come and how far we still have to go to achieve equality for women and men in this world.

I'll be back later with a longer post.

Here's a link to the local Women's Centre.

Note to the McCartneys - a debate means both sides get to express their views.

March 3, 2006

Okay, so this is the last place to have a political debate, especially one about environmental issues, because I'm not big into politics and I don't know shit about environmental issues. So this is not an attempt to start a discussion about the rightness (or wrong-ness) of the seal hunt, it is a complaint about how the McCartneys went about presenting their side of the issue.

I do however know that if I were to be on Larry King Live to debate an issue, I would be damn sure I had all the facts. And I would not interrupt the person who tried to give me further information, even if it meant softening some of my stance on the issue.

Tonight on LKL, Paul and Heather Mills McCartney were given 1/2 an hour to express their views, then the Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador, Danny Williams, joined them for 1/2 an hour but was rarely allowed to finish a sentence. That is not a debate, it is a program with an agenda. I'm so glad that Canadians in general and Newfoundlanders and Labradorians in particular are now going to be seen as those poor barbarians who don't realize how bad it is to kill seals.

Here are some pointers for you, Heather and Paul:

1) Any animals killed for food are generally killed in a farily gruesome fashion. Sure, we can seek a less gruesome way to kill them but isolating a single animal to save because it is cute (that seems to be their reason)is a little off.

2) Seals killed in the area are not just killed for their pelts, the meat is eaten too. If an animal is going to be killed for human consumption anyway, isn't it better that the whole animal is used?

3) If someone tells you that there is an overpopulation of animals, and those animals are starving due to that overpopulation, don't bring up 50 year old statistics to suggest that the person is wrong.

4) Don't generalize about every sealer, they aren't all aching to retire, if only the federal government would give them $1500 a year to do so.

5) Accept that you may not have all the information.

6) One film about a single seal dying in agony doesn't mean that every seal dies that way. That film could have been a set-up, the sealer could have been a bad shot, the seal could be the exception.

7) So according to you the prime age for culling seals is between 12-24 days. Even if that is true (it may be, I don't know), you can't assume that their life cycle is anything like a human life cycle 12-24 days may not be that young for a seal.

8) Referring to 'baby seals and their moms' is a pretty cheap way to appeal for sympathy for your cause.

You know, I'm sympathetic to animal rights activists to a point, but I have often found that they focus on a single aspect of their hot issue and they won't get past it. Yes, I agree that people are cruel to animals at times, and yes the seal hunt looks brutal. But I dare say slaughtering any animal is a pretty brutal process.

If you are looking for me, I'll be the one worrying about the people. I have a sister in charge of the animal issues.

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Film buff? Not so much.

March 2, 2006

I hardly ever watch movies. It is extremely rare for me to rent one, even more rare for me to be in an actual theatre, and I don't watch a lot of TV so I don't often catch them on the small screen either.

Somehow, on Sunday, I found myself watching both Starship Troopers and Demolition Man. And I liked both of them quite a bit.

I was even rather impressed with the way Starship Troopers avoided a lot of gender stereotypes - having all the troopers shower together without it being a big deal, having the ace pilot be a woman without anyone commenting on how she flew well 'for a girl' etc etc etc.

Then they encountered the fearsome brainbug. And took great pleasure in the fact that it was afraid. And had a jokey educational film at the end with someone thrusting a weapon or probe of some sort into the brainbug's mouth. I'm sure they weren't intending for the sequence to play out the way it did for me, but I wonder about the Freudian fears of the minds behind this.

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Adventures, great and small.

March 1, 2006

So yesterday, my friend Mark* left on his great adventure. He's going to Tanzania, and a bunch of other places and while I admire his adventurous spirit, I'm glad that I don't feel driven to explore like that. It wouldn't mesh well with my reluctance to try new things, my travel-related stress, and my tendency to worry. Mark will be chronicling his adventures here if you're interested. Actually, he'll be chronicling them there whether you are interested or not :P.

Today, the boys and I walked up to storytime at the library (an adventure in itself because it was snowy and The Boy wanted to pick up every snow lump we passed, and I was pushing The Little Guy's stroller on the snowy sidewalk.) and even though we were late, The Boy went into the storytime room all on his own (once Miss Yvonne acknowledge our knock and invited him in) and plunked down on a carpet. Why is this an adventure? Because when we were first going to storytime, I used to have to pry him off of me like he was a sock from a staticky load of laundry. Today's bravery is a good sign for next week's solo kinderstart session. I hope.

In other news, today was the day that The Little Guy learned to climb up on the living room couch, putting himself periously close to putting an eye out on the corner of the CD rack**. This may be the skill that splits my brain in half.

* Mark, I know you rarely read this, but in case this is one of those rare times. Have the fun, and be the safe.

**Using the word rack there reminded me of a funny story. The Man and I lived with his parents for a year while I was finishing my MA thesis and he was in school and the Christmas of that year, The Man's brother was home and hanging out in our room with me while I was tidying up. At one point I reached up to put something on the top of our utility shelves and The Man's brother said 'Hey, nice rack'. I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe that my brother-in-law would throw a comment like that at me with no previous joking or anything. Then I realized that he was talking about the shelves.

This story has been told more than once.

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