Last night I met my neighbours for the first time and dug up their garden area. It was wonderful.

It's funny how much horrendous crap I was told from others about these people. Worse, without actually getting a chance to introduce myself to those who were being gossiped about. Even though I know better than to believe a stupid word anyone said, I still become wary of this apparently "abusive, drunken, irresponsive, neglectful" family.

Last night I was berating myself for taking this long to get to know these nieghbours across from me. They are lovely, generous and have nothing terrible to say about anyone. My nieghbourhood can get vicious if you talk to certain people. In fact, for some of us, it's nothing better than a depressive hole that they are stuck in until they can peel out of here. For others, like the mother and daughter of the garden space I worked on last night, it is a wonderful place to live. Of course, it has its problems, but it’s a great place to raise kids in an incredibly expensive city.

The storage locker that I was told was where she was making her daughter sleep because she had kicked her out of her house?
Yeah, that's her study. She has a computer and a little television set up in there and its just her place to concentrate. I got to listen to a Much Music tribute to Sonny and Cher as I pulled weeds and racked leaves.

The mother gave me her carrot seeds that she received from her donation to World Vision. She also has a pretty good motherly handle on the "troubled teenager" and her boyfriend next door. Instead of yelling at these kids and dismissing them to an eventual homeless life on the street, she asked about their day, whether they went to school, what their field trip was like, etc.

Let's just say it was a bit of an eye-opener on the "informed opinion" of the people I normally come in contact with around my home.

I'm excited to start planting. I just noticed this morning that the pumpkin I planted eons ago has finally sprouted in a major way. Those things take so long to get themselves out of the ground. I've had feel-good butterflies ever since I saw the shoot and knew I was going to be able to plant this weekend.

Of course, I have this major paper to do as well so I have to be careful with my time. I also have to remember to plant when the small kids around the complex aren't outside playing or I'll have a ton of little "helpers" who will want to make "stweams" and "gussing wivers" through the space. I'm all for teaching kids to garden, but these little guys (3 and 4) need their own, isolated flower boxes. A garden space like this would likely be massacred.

Perhaps I'll try to make it more kid friendly though. After all, I've got to walk the walk.

Before I start this off, I need to say something about my last post. The very last paragraph was misleading. It seemed to show that I am actually the sole provider of Franklin's lunch, clean clothes and general well being. This is not true. In fact, when assignment deadlines loom before me, I can rely on D to take up the slack in the parenting department. He is the main maker of meals in the house - breakfast, lunch and dinner. He's also the one who has been doing the laundry lately as well (granted, I still re-fold every towel he folds. Otherwise, we'd only have space in the linen cabinet for three towels). In fact, as far as partners go, D is the grand master in my eyes. Even during our 9-hour car ride home when Franklin was only what you could describe as "giddy and fanatic", he was cracking jokes and making me laugh.

So, everyone raise his or her glass/coffee/beaker to D.

Okay, back to my insignificant ramblings...

There are people across the way from us who have prime gardening space. This is what it looks like right now:

I have asked permission from half of the space to garden and I suspect that the other half will not care what happens to it either. Things are getting a little late but I figure we can still turn over the soil and plant something nutritious for the earth. Wouldn't be nice for it to look like this?

I'm such a dreamer.

Looking at this unused space reminds me of purple pen's analysis of parenting as a reflection of your gardening habits. I understand that most of what she's saying is with her tongue firmly in her cheek, but it reminds me of how powerful gardening can be for people who have no prior experience of a nurturing environment.

The Lifecycles board I used to belong to, and felt inadequately prepared for, has an extremely good program for teaching children to grow their own gardens at school. I so much wanted to be apart of this. They so much wanted someone else to be apart of this - someone with clout and connections I suspect. Unfortunately, clout and connections are not I.
I bowed out somewhat awkwardly and now I wish to at least volunteer. However, their volunteer support is dismal. In fact, a year before I became a board member, I applied to volunteer three times and no one got back to me. Yet, I'll try again.

Funny enough, speaking about volunteering.... I'm currently researching for a paper on identifying and developing strategic issues for volunteering in Canada. I'm looking at how to increase the number of volunteers and volunteer hours by 10% over the next three years and how to minimize the barriers preventing individuals from volunteering. The basis on the paper is the "Environmental Scan on Volunteering and Improving Volunteering" by the Canadian Centre for Philanthropy in 2001.

If anyone has ides or experience in this matter - or have something to say about their volunteering experiences, email me! I'd absolutely love to hear what you have to say!

D and I have returned from our trip with an incredible desire to leave this city. Of course, Victoria's such a great place; full of jobs that I want but can't have, overflowing with houses that we'd love but can't afford, and spilling over with people we used to know, but have moved away.

So, I was off trying to finish my coursework and surf the net for job opportunities in the Okanagan at the same time. I started out very excited about it... until I delightfully told a neighbour of mine, that is. Apparently, I'll "never find a job" and the housing market is "just as bad" and it's "very hard to find any friends". I know that a measure of someone's unhappiness can be how unhappy they are for you and your happiness, but holy fcuk can we get any more negative?
I'm choosing to think she's just an unhappy woman who doesn't see how good she has it. I'm also choosing to think she doesn't read this, but if you do...

Hi There. Just a thought, tone down the negativity a bit. Think of the children - especially me.

However, this will make her smile: there's a job that I have been wishing for a long time - and it's in Salmon Arm.... and it's paid well.... and it's...wait for it, wait, waaaitttt.... requires a MASTER'S DEGREE, which I do not have.

I refuse to get too negative though. I don't want to be one of those people - hint hint.

I'm going to email my most charming email I have ever emailed in the whole wide world of emailing emails and tell Mr. "Master's Degrees Are Where It's At" that there are very qualified people who want to learn learn learn and may not have that Master's Degree they so covet because they were too busy living a life, having a family, earning money...

While we're complaining...
I am thinking here that my Please Everyone way of life "isn't working for me anymore" (to quote a really annoying person I used to know). Where did I read that as a blog gets more popular, the less the author is willing to write his or her own views on a subject for fear of upsetting anyone? I'm not sure. It's funny, I've been worried about that from the beginning and I don't think I'll change but... I need to change who I look to for support.

There are people in my life, my neighbour for example, who wish me well on the surface but really could care less about how I make my way through life. In fact, I almost suspect that any success on my part gives them serious heartburn. I always assumed it was an unspoken understanding with these people that although we enjoyed each other's company in many ways, if A, B or C were not in the picture we would steer clear of each other. I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm calling it quits. I've been told "No" and "You can't do that" and "What your saying just isn't possible" too many times in the last 3 years or so for me to have the time to entertain people who ask me stupid questions and make insanely passive aggressive comments only to try and undermine my hopes. I'm sick of it.

I think most people come to this realization in their early twenties but alas, I'm emotionally stunted in the Everyone has to like me, if only on the surface arena. I have too many friends that I am so truely happy for and too many people I genuinely respect to bother with this anymore.

Crap. I'm negative now. Hell, lets be honest. I started out this post pretty negative, didn't I? I have to stop writing in this thing when I need to rant.

I just feel so stuck right now. I have so many things I want to do but I feel like there are a dozen things pulling me down. I don't need the fcuk-balls in my life as well.

Whatever. I have to get back to my homework. I need to finish Franklin's lunch. I need to get some laundry done for work and daycare. I need to look over some work policy. I need to stop trying to change people who like being rat bastards.

Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy

Noooooooo, Not you Daddy!!

Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this Take this

Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that Give me that

Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that Nooooo, not that, that

Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy

Glad to be home.
Kind-of wish we had left him back there.

Right at this particular moment my father is watching The Score with D. My mother is reading, "In the Company of Cheerful Ladies", one of those No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels. We read the first one for our last book club. I didn't get a chance to finish it but I think I'll pick it up soon.
I love our book club by the way. These are seriously great women who are interested in, wait, this may shock you... READING THE BOOK. Don't get me wrong, I love drinking wine and talking about porn as much as the next drunk woman, but sometimes, when my life is insanely busy and I put in a consistent effort to read the books other people have recommended to me and then get there only to hear others just shrug off the entire reason for the groups existence... I get a little, how does one say? "Perplexed".
However, these women seem interested in reading the book AND talking about other things.

You see I've been to both kinds of these gatherings and I was just about to throw in the towel when this group came about.

I've been to the drunken slobber of an excuse for a book club as well as the type of club where people bring notes. Yes, that is what you read, bring notes. Now I realize Soul Mountain isn't the easiest read in the world, but notes are a little too much for someone who is currently trying to juggle three lives in her toddler free hand.

Anyway, now we are reading Alias Grace - timely, considering our infamous and acquitted serial killer, Karla Homolka, will be released from prison next month.

I remember when her trial was taking place 12 or so years ago. I was one of the only people I knew surfing to get through the publication ban. I became addicted to finding out more and more about the case and what had happened. I was also desperately trying to find copies of the torture videos. I can't believe I was doing that. It's funny what I was able to stomach back then and what I would in no way shape or form be able to handle now. Or more accurately, it's funny what seemed like fiction is now a potentially horrific reality now.

I still have a downloaded floppy of some scary racist manifesto that was so, so easy to find and yet incredibly terrifying. I was astounded that people actually felt comfortable about printing stuff like that in public. Of course, back then I was in a cloud of political correctness and it didn't occur to me that there are parts of the world that thought certain races were still only play toys for their amusement.

Ugh. I didn't expect to write about that today. This post was going to be about taking Franklin to Margaret Falls. I suppose I'll save that for when the pictures are downloaded.

Over the past two days I have rejected numerous invitations to watch Amelie, protesting that my lack of study time does not allow me to sit down and passively entertain myself. Even though it is a show I've always wanted to see, I have to argue in favour of "oval mapping as a process towards identifying strategic issues" by Thursday and I want to be prepared.

As a result, my mother and D set out to watch it tonight as I went over what my grade 8 social studies teacher used to call "mind mapping" - something utterly incomprehensible and inefficient in my eyes. Give me some lined paper, a sharp pencil, and silence and I'll give you nicely ordered notes that will quickly and thoroughly get the whole process over and done with.

Ah well. Oval mapping / mind mapping. The world is still turning on its access so everything will be okay in the end. Deep Breath. (Franklin told me to take a deep breath earlier this evening as I tried to put the lid on his sippy cup. Cheeky little bugger)

I still ended up watching the majority of Amelie. Personally, I'd like to see you sit in another room while that beautiful soundtrack is playing and read about arrows in and arrows out.

Deep Breath.

Not much is happening out here besides the fact that I think I'm melting. 32 degrees Celsius today. In Victoria, temperature like that would cause massive sickness - of the mental health variety..."Hi, Boss? I can't come in today, I just need one of those, you know, mental health days? I need to hang out by the ocean and celebrate life. You understand."

Celebrate Life.
Humph

Deep Breath.

I checked my email and hidden among the 60 or so spam messages since yesterday evening was a cute surprise. I've been invited to join a flickr group that celebrates breasts.
"No face, no genitalia, must be FAV'ed"
I have yet to check out this little gem. I also have one question, when do I get the invitation to celebrate my vagina? I wonder if that'll be allowed.

Amelie's Breasts

.

We have arrived.... but I am not able to log on to my account as I left the address at home.

Actually, I left a good many things at home, but this is the only thing I actually need.
Who needs diaper wipes? Not I!

I am getting the comments, I just can't approve them - just so you know.

Holy Mary of Thirst, it is dry up here. My lily white skin is taking a beating.


Sheila, I'll be emailing you soon if I don't get this figured out. Yes, once again from your needy, flake of a client who says she will write reviews for your site and then when she finally gets around to it forgets how to log on to the bloody thing...


So, so sorry.

Jeez, I'm glad I can at least post with this flickr do-wad.


EDIT: Okay, figured it out. I always figure it out when I'm about to leave the whole mess behind. Funny how that is.

Still though, not able to log onto the bookfetish site...

If anyone gets that song title, don't admit to it here.

We're off on holiday (hint hint).

As a result, I'll be posting less frequently (read: not daily). We'll be in Slamm'in Arm / Fish Appendage / the North Okanagan to visit Taita and Jido and Grandma and Grandpa and Little Mountain. Ahhh, how I miss Little Mountain.

Not that I don't miss the relatives, it's just that Little Mountain doesn't give a rat's ass what I'm doing with my life.

On that note, you probably will see me posting everyday.

Better days and get aways
Are so nice 'cause when I am with you
You're the crescendo to that melody, that melody I love

La da da da da da da da da da

Better days and get aways
'Cause every day is a holiday with you

Earlier this month D and I started talking about about travelling again. We used to discuss going to another country to live and work when we were first married. However, things happened and plans changed... and then we had Franklin and our life became a little too all-consuming with a baby.

Franklin is 2 and half now and we sort of feel like we are finally in a position where taking him to another country to live would be okay. The prospect of selling everything and living out of one trunk for the entire family appeals to us quite a bit.
We looked up a bunch of organizations which had job postings in other places

Of course, we wanted to make sure that these areas were safe enough to raise a child.

"He wanted to be there because it was the best place to raise his kid," said Phillippe Sahnoune, a former colleague.

We thought that before Franklin got to school, it would be a wonderful experience for him. I believe that the opportunity to be a minority at some point in your life is a good one. There isn't much chance of that as a white boy in Canada.

Four attackers stormed Siem Reap International School near the famed Angkor Wat temples at around 9 a.m., grabbing children and making demands for money, weapons and a vehicle. They told police they decided to prey on foreign children because they thought their parents were rich.

We thought it would be such a beautiful experience - just the three of us, together, learning about a new culture and contributing something meaningful to the world.

Maxim "was born here in Victoria," Griesser said, "and, gosh, he was everything they ever dreamed of, everything they ever wanted."
"Their lives really revolved around their son.".

We wanted to teach Franklin to be open to other cultures and strange experiences.

"They shot the child while we were trying to negotiate their demands," said Khieu Kanharith, Cambodia's Information Minister. "We did not want them to have guns because guns could spark other problems. That's why we agreed to give them only money and a car."

We wanted to be open to other cultures and strange experiences.

Police say one of the hostage-takers told them the little boy was shot in in the head because he was crying too much.
But Maxim's father has told the Toronto Star that he thinks the shooting was accidental. After talking to one of the teachers, Martin Michalik says his son was killed during the shootout with the military SWAT team.

When we see other places in the world with other children growing up in such terrible conditions, it makes me want to help instead of ring my hands and then turn off the television to go outside and play at the beach.

Although hostage-taking for money is a common occurrence in Cambodia, Mr. McDermott stressed the tragedy was an isolated incident.

"This is a very safe community. It never has any problems, especially for Westerners," he said by telephone. "It's quite an anomaly. It's obviously a random act."

This world is such an angry and scary place sometimes.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say something incredibly ridiculous and hope that someone, somewhere will say,

Hey! I know what you mean!
I totally understand you, man.

I am an English major. I read a lot. I talk a hell of a lot. So you'd think, with my use of the English language, that I'd understand the nuances of the odd cultural phrase now and then. It's not like I was born into a family that only spoke Ukrainian at home and I was home schooled in the middle of the wilderness. I went to school and socialized. I have a mother who was born in Canada.
However, I have a father who is Lebanese.
I am blaming him for the fact that my entire life has been spent saying things like,

"We're having a Lu-Al party at work today. Do we have any pineapples?"

I can recognize the word Luau, I can spell it, I even know the origin of the bloody word. But I can't say it because I have always thought it was "Lou - Al".
D laughs at me.

I also say things like "carnigan", when it is actually read and spelled, "cardigan".
as well,
"Hang up the Light"
"Turn out the phone"

- and about a dozen other English-as-a-second-language mistakes that D finds so amusing.

The other day, a woman I know said, "I sure hope the penny has hit", meaning that she hoped that the message has become clear. Apparently, the saying goes, "I hope the penny has dropped".
I had no idea that what she had said was incorrect. "Penny hit", as in the penny hitting the skull. It made complete sense to me.

This was humorous to everyone else in our vicinity though.

I don't know this woman but I am aware that although she was born here, her parents are immigrants. Could this actually be a second generation immigrant thing or am I just one of those people who babbles on and on without really listening to what I'm saying...

Wait, I DO know what I'm saying. I know so much that I actually tried to correct D on the Carnigan/Cardigan pronunciation. Yes. I actually did.

Does anyone else know what I'm talking about?

So, if you listen to my Mother and my Mother-in-law, we were almost washed away in a torrent of tsunami induced mayhem.

Last night, D and I decided to watch the third disk in the third series of Six Feet Under. You could almost call it a date. I was so hot after reading his latest blog entry that I would rather have jumped him with a stick of butter and some Harvey's Bristol Cream... but I had made a promise.
As well, the night before last was a frenzy of paper editing and blog justification so I had already cancelled our pathetic excuse for romance as it was.

I tore myself away from my homework and sat down next to my literary master in order to watch this show. The phone rang and he didn't even answer it because it was "our" time - so that's romantic, right?

- but he had rented the first disk, not the third
- so he had to take it back
- so he wasn't going to bother renting another one as it was getting late
- so he decided to walk down to the rental store instead of taking the car
- so I decided to call my brother back and talk about house prices for a couple of hours.
- but I checked the messages before dialing....

TSUNAMI WARNING

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh, everyone run up the mountain and huddle with water bottles and power bars until daybreak!

Seriously though, I have to admit to making the first call to my mother - who subsequentially freaked me the hell out by listing all the things to put together in an emergency pack, when I should get ready to leave, and how crazy mob mentality can get when in times of emergency.

Then I called my Mother-in-law because really, when your heart is beating that fast why not call your mother-in-law?

Then I called every friend I knew who didn't have a mother/in-law like I did.
I felt that if I was freaked out, they had to be freaked out with me.

Then the tsunami warning was lifted and I got calls from every single person I had called. They felt the need to tell me that "The Tsunami is Cancelled", as if it was some sort of elective surgery or something.
"Sorry, due to budget cuts and bed space, this tsunami will have to be cancelled."

I tell you though, if I thought these grandparents of Franklin had been pushing for us to move away from the Juan de Fuca fault line before, I had NO IDEA OF THE EXTENT TO WHICH IT COULD SOAR.

So, I've been checking out job postings in Edmonton because honestly? I didn't need any help whatsoever in the freak-out department. I'm ready to leave.

House prices
Lack of job opportunity
Lack of family support
EARTHQUAKES AND TSUNAMIS...

What is there to stay for?

Oh yeah, this:

.

I can't explain it, but I have this picture on my office desktop.

For some reason, that craving I get for chocolate (or pretty much anything sweet) that comes a little while after my sensible lunch, and lasts all afternoon, is somewhat satisfied by looking at truffles and other assortments of goodies that are not within my immediate reach. The very site of it calms my deprived mind.

Nevertheless, I suck at diets.
Usually, it only becomes an incessant goading in the back of my mind for me to eat more, more, MORE. I know that in a month or so, the cravings will be gone. I know I've done this before. I know I'm stronger than this...

As well, I am aware that a lack of sleep will cause weight gain, that skipping breakfast is more harmful than you think, that my body desperately needs more water, and that for the first time in my life, exercising is not a part of my regular routine...

but Lordy, I WANT THAT CHOCOLATE!

Hey.

Insanely busy at the moment - not that you need a reason. Haven't I read in about a billion blogging etiquette lists that one need not excuse one's absence from one's blog? That it's tedious? That I am allowed to have a life outside of my weblog?

Well, that's all well and good but my God, how hard it is to write a little thing here and there about your life for family and friends? How difficult would it be to make a list of the type of questions Franklin asks as I'm trying to get out of his room so he can go to sleep and I can desperately try to salvage my stakeholder analysis from utter damnation?

"Mommy has to go to sleep, Franklin. Mommy has to do the dishes. Mommy has to shorten a verbal diarrhea excuse of a paper from 2318 to 1500 only to discover after sending it to her professor that it's maximum limit is 2000."
Hell, now it's one t-i-g-h-t paper. This paper is as tight as my teenage ass while I applied to every. single. university. in. Canada. On the bright side, one of the talents of a public servant is to be able to write briefing notes which are short and to the point. Of course, another talent is to be discrete.

One out of two, I suppose.

Now I'm off to do naughty things with my husband - because I'm boring that way.

Here, look at this site on urban exploration. It could be the one of the cooler things I have seen on the net that didn't have to do with people writing about books they've read (Thanks Heather. I think I was the only person alive that wasn't reading this).

Back when I was living out of a backpack and hadn't collected the vast amount of Thomas the Train paraphernalia under our roof, I went caving in Budapest. It was an experience I will never forget. You'll have to remind me to tell you about it sometime - about the no turning back, can't give up, remember to wear your underwear when you're climbing under the Blue Danube with 15 other young men...

Here's a photo:

(with borrowed underwear - those suits were ripped in the crotch)

Franklin was speechless. There was nary an "All Aboard" or "Toot Toot" during our visit to the BC Forest Discovery Centre in Duncan. We went with his best-est friend, Max and his best-est Mom, Hayley.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we may be the COOLEST parents in the world - at least to our little guy.

Thank-you.

Thankyouverymuch.

I'm seeing a lot of cute little babies on flickr these days.

This little guy is one of them. Owen is his name.
Owen!
Man, I wish we had thought of that one. I was rooting for Atticus myself, but alas, D vetoed it. Tell me, who wouldn't want a son named after Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mocking Bird? I almost got Harper Lee though - also a cool name.

Owen. I love it. Even with the Throw Momma off the Train image running through my head.
OOOOOOOWWWWWEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNN!!!!!!



This is another little cutie, Theya.

My friends Chair and J made the name from a variation of my sister's name, Thuraya - a Persion name for Stars and Planets. In fact, there is a very cool star cluster called the Pleiades, which in arabic is "Thuraya".

I have found one other Theya in the world. She looks mighty interesting.

Charlotte - so sweet.

I absolutely LOVE that smile. Franklin did the same thing and it became a challenge to get a photo that didn't have his face all cheesed up like that.

After awhile, he just kept the "CHEEEESSSE" sound but could have cared less about us taking a photo. In fact, at 2 and a half, he's definively Cheeeeesed out.

This photo makes me want to start Franklin in summer dresses.
Elijah

Man, this little guy will have such a fun life. He has an older sister that looks like she will lead the world someday.

This little one's family lives in Victoria. You can see also go his Dad's website, kflood.net

Look at that bottom lip! How perfect!
Bunny

Nevermind the fact that this child looks like an angel, her Mother can take one amazing child portrait! Of course, I would love for this woman, Jaime (aka dockmaster), to take photos of Franklin.

One of her best photos was featured on the flickr blog.
So, of course, I sometimes find myself pining for those days when Franklin was also that small.

Tell me, how much are you loving the overalls?
What a cutie.

Chomp.

or, "How you know you are living in on the Westcoast"

I'm at home today writing a stakeholders report for my place of work. Franklin is at daycare and Dickson is playing squash for the afternoon.

- because we are bad parents, that's why.

Spring is quickly turning to summer and I don't know much about the school system but from the sound of the park behind me, the kids around here aren't attending. Is there some kind of Pro-D day going on?

About two minutes ago, there were three children discussing how fast they can ride their bikes through the pathway. One particularly socially inept child started taunting the other two by telling them that their Moms don't make enough money to buy them real bikes and so she could beat them in a race "anytime, any day, anywhere". Of course, I would have tried to point out that she was about two years older than these other kids, but whatever. I'm just the eavesdropper with 5 assloads of childhood baggage.

Instead, one of the little boys perked up and said, loud and clear.

"Anna, you are going to have some real bad karma."

Right.
There are six years olds who berate their bullies with Buddhist philosophy behind my house.

Only on the Westcoast.

So there's clearly a new kid in town. He's mean, he's lean and he's a fighting machine. I swear, if I hadn't been told that toddlers can be "terrible" about A GAZILLION TIMES, I would begin to think that there might be something seriously wrong with my child - in terms of requiring an exorcism.

However, this is considered "NORMAL".

When you ask him to do, oh... I don't know.... pretty much ANYTHING... he will automatically say "NO!". Even if it is something you know he would love to do and he has been waiting until the weekend to do it (such as go to the B.C. Forest Museum to ride trains) he will STILL say "NO"... but then say "YES!" after a moment of thoughtful reflection. This is a "Yes" like a "Hey! You've finally got something worth while to suggest, Parent. How utterly surprising and refreshing!".

When you ask him, as he's romping on the bed all naked and fancy-free, if he has to go pee and he says "NO!" and yet you TOTALLY see the "chubby" forming and you TOTALLY KNOW that he's about to pee, and yet you just aren't sure because maybe (just maybe) he's really.... excited?... AND THEN HE PEES!
And then he LAUGHS WHILE HE'S PEEING!

All quite normal.

When you're winding down and settling him into blissful sleep and it's starting to get too hard to keep your own damn eyes open and he squeals out just as you are closing the door,
"OOOHHHHH MOMMY, I'M HURTING!" and you rush back in... and he GIGGLES!

Normal.

Yeah, more like psychotic. This phase in our lives is all about the mind games... and he's TOTALLY WINNING.

This really boggles my mind.

I was standing in Chapters yesterday (I know, I know, Monro's Books would have carried it as well) after a particularly friendly ear irrigation, and finally read that article I mentioned awhile ago.

Incidentally, ear irrigation? Yeah, not the most pleasant experience in the world. Either you need an extremely entertaining family doctor or you need to drink heavily before the procedure - ensuring everyone is entertaining, including yourself (I have an entertaining doctor, not vodka).

There it was, my name in Canadian Family (for the life of me, I can't find an official website). I used to read this magazine when I was 13 years old and babysitting for my neighbours. I learned all about carrot peel and lime jell-o salad. Actually, the recipes look really good in this May/June issue (because honestly, I wasn't a big fan of the jell-o dish).

All those people were mulling around me reading about George Bush, wedding dresses and The Arcade Fire and I wanted to run around squealing, "HEY! LOOK EVERYONE! I'M IN A MAGAZINE!"

Perhaps I should be more cool, collected, ho-hum and la-dee-da. I realize that this is only a little article and it's not like they sent someone to come over and photograph me or anything. I'm not Heather (and really? Thank God, because quite frankly, that kind of exposure is scary. You're a strong woman, dooce).
However, when have I ever been calm or collected? Ho-hum and La-dee-da are definitely not parts of my personality. I'm tickled. Hell, my blog is only a little hobby and an actual journalist saw fit to write about it in print media.

Yay me.
Yay all "Mommy Blogs".
You know what? Yay all Moms in general (now that we're handing out the applause).

Thankfully, this is my webpage and I get to talk about the things I am most proud of, like my son and my partner and my painfully slow but steady progress to a job which fills me with excitement and joy. So, along with all of those things, I get to show you this article and say a big HELLO! to everyone who is dropping by.

Hello!

Oh, and by the way, that is not a photo of me and that is not my son. We don't look that polished. In fact, we aren't polished at all.

Nice picture though. Cute kid.

As of today, Dickson and I have been married for 7 years.

Wow.

I'm not even that itchy.

We had a strange courtship.
Considering how I am one of those people who tests and researches the shit out of everything before I venture in, the two of us leap into each other (ahem) at first sight.
Yes, sometimes this happens.

In a world where everyone lives together before they enter into a marriage, we lived in different provinces.

We wrote love letters.

On our first date I told him I ate my snot, only watched live football games for the alcohol, and farted on his stomach.

He called me an angel and a flower.

7 years.
It's not easy, but it's wonderful.

Happy Anniversary, D.

Apparently, I was farting in my sleep this morning and it woke you up.
My gift to you.

.

Friday morning, on the way to daycare, I was parentally stumped.

First, I should explain how racially white Victoria is.
Victoria is white. Very white. In fact, most of the diversity occurs on the university campus through the international student population. This means that Franklin doesn't get a whole lot of experience with people of a different race around the city. Yes, the daycare is full of different languages, but the children are still pretty much the same colour.

I'm sure you see where I'm going.

On the bus route, there is a French immersion school very close to the university. This school has, what seems to be, quite a diverse group of students - at least in terms of skin colour. I thought that Franklin had noticed the differences in many of the students before. I didn't think he thought it was so curious, actually. We have friends who are different racial colours. I suppose I thought that, even though the city is awash in paleness, we had given him as much exposure as possible.

However, that morning a young boy with extremely dark skin was sitting across from us. Franklin was mildly interested.

"Mommy, that boy has black skin"
"Mommy, that boy has black ears"
"Mommy, that boy has black hands"

So I asked him what colour of skin his hands were, and his ears, and his face.

"White"

I then moved onto the shirt he was wearing, his hat, his shoes... In retrospect, I made it into a lesson on colour identification rather than an opportunity to talk about diversity. I suppose I was a little embarrassed in a politically correct way. I realize I wasn't able to get into great detail on the bus, that I couldn't pull out a naked lemon or anything, but how else should I have handled it? Any suggestions?

Incidentally, while searching the Internet for suggestions, I was surprised at the amount of racist hate literature there is out there. I expected a moderate amount, but it's quite scary.
(I'm not linking to them in case you are wondering. They are easy enough to be found)

"What are you doing, Mommy?"

"I'm studying, Franklin. What are you doing?"

"I'm reading my book. What are you drawing, Mommy?"

"I'm marking down the important parts of my book"
Thinking: Ah man, this can't be good. Now all books will need "marking down" in this house. Crap. How do I get out of this one?

"Do you need any help, Mommy?"

"Sure Franklin, would you like to help Mommy study?"
Thinking: Now I know this isn't the direction that I wanted to go with this...

"Yes, Mommy. I want to help you study"
He takes the pencil out of my hand.

"Okay Franklin, you can help Mommy study in her SPECIAL STUDY BOOK. This is a SPECIAL book for studying, Okay? SPEEECIIIAAAL"
Thinking: I'm such a dork. As if any of the finer points are really getting through here.

"Look Mommy! I'm studying too!"
He's "marking" my book with great enthusiasm.

Close Up

Mental note:
All first editions and signed copies of literature are now placed on the TOP shelves.

When we first made the decision to bus it to work I thought I was going to have a bit of a struggle to get out of the house in time for the bus every morning.

In reality, it hasn't been that bad (I'm knocking on all the cardboard I can find, in lieu of wood). Frankly*, the bus is a lot of fun for us. Franklin keeps hoping for a double decker but with the summer here and school class attendance so much lower, it's rare. Nevertheless, most of the bus drivers are pretty enthusiastic about his fevered display of the car/magnifying glass/sticker/what-have-you item he has chosen to take to daycare that day.

*I used to say and write that word so often. Now it seems odd. "Frankly, Franklin prefers frankfurters"

All in all, the ride is much less stressful. We sit together and talk about everything we see. I'm not trying to talk to Franklin, fix my hair, listen to the CBC and drive all at the same time. I'm sure after reading that last sentence; D has decided that I should no longer be allowed to drive alone with our son. No worries, dear. I'm exaggerating. In fact, your son is in somewhat absent-minded, but definitely capable hands.

Speaking of being absent minded...
Right after Franklin was born, D and I were discussing a trip I was to take in the van with Franklin while D was at work. What I would have to bring, what time I had to be there, etc... Then, just as aside, he actually felt the need to add,

"I don't think it is a good idea to leave Franklin in the car while you pop into a place to do some chore or get a quick little purchase."

Yes.
He said that.
And we aren't divorced.

Good thing the kid talks and walks now or I'd forget him everywhere.