About 4 years ago, an old friend of mine had a baby and it wasn't going well.
She mentioned uncontrolled crying (on her part) and thoughts of throwing the baby out the 3rd floor window. She knew she wouldn't throw the baby out of the 3rd floor window, but My Lord she thought about it.

I asked her what she thought it would be like, as I hadn't had a child at that point. She mentioned things like rocking in her expertly picked out antique rocking chair and gazing lovingly at her baby as the afternoon sun went down and homemade soup sat bubbling on the stove.

Based on her expectations and how things were going for her then, I thought I could somehow get a grasp on what a newborn would be like. After Franklin was born, the not sleeping and the crying and the body that still doesn't belong to you would have all been more manageable if my breasts weren't rock-hard globes of fire and pus.

Nevertheless, I do think of those days fondly. I knew that whatever happened, I could handle it. I bit through the pain, I woke up for each feeding and I kept going on (and on and on and on). For me, this young baby was a clean slate and something I knew needed only the most basic things. I could handle that.

What I knew I would be scared of is the parenting we are at now; the less basic, more complex issues that make me feel like there is no opportunity to do anything over, there is no rewind button. Either I get it right or he is subliminally horrified for the rest of his life. Our first memories are formed at around his age. He's three, he's asking questions, he's noticing things, he's feeling so many emotions - sometimes it seems he's feeling them all at the same time. I want to create the most well-adjusted human being I can - but I worry I don't have much to give.

I'm not well adjusted.

I know I haven't jumped on the Parade of Pain bandwagon much compared to others and apparently, this pisses off a few people. It is not my thing. There are issues I deal with daily (especially these days it seems) but I choose not to write about them. Please don't think I'm criticizing people who write about their more personal trials. They are who they are and I am who I am and well… why do I have to write more about that than I already have?

Everyone has his or her issues.
Everyone thinks they are screwing up their children. I'm sure I'm not screwing up mine any more than the average over-anxious mother. I'm just saying that these days I'm hyper aware that anything D and I say or do could be one of Franklin's very first memories.

Very. First. Memories.

That's so important.
I find it hilarious that it's only now that I fully realize that yes, we are raising a human being.
He's a human being.

Hopefully, he will be fully functioning.

First off, I have no idea what has been going on with my bandwidth. My host provider seems to think I may be popular. I however, know that this is not true.

So so so very not true.

- and I'm not saying this in an annoying, "ooooh, I didn't study for this exam" and then get the bloody thing back and find an big honking A+ all over the place and then show it everyone and repeat my lack of preparation and obvious mental genius...

Yes, Tamara - that means you - you grade 7 exam fibber, you.

You know, this post was not meant to happen. In fact, I am supposed to be drinking horrible coffemate coffee in a hotel by the Vancouver airport while Franklin falls asleep/jumps on the bed.
We had intended to actually l-e-a-v-e the island and experience big city mainland life for the weekend. My parents were going to Vancouver and we were going to hop along for the free hotel room and visit.

Everyone was asking what we were going to do in Vancouver.
Last week, an uber-cool co-worker went over and came back looking all worn out and tired in an I-partied-all-night-and-I-don't-know-what-time-it-is sort of way. I believe she took part in some vintage shopping as well for she has been sporting some extra nice stuff ever since.

Ah, the life.

I started to tell all these single, unencumbered young'ins that we were planning a trip to
The Science Centre!
The Sky Train!
Stanley Park!

I watched their eyes start to glaze over at "Centre"...

Lame-o, Ada.
(Okay, don't tell me it's not lame. For parents yes, it's awesome when you see your child's mouth drop open and drool come out because he's so astounded that he's riding inside a REAL LIFE TRAIN, but to 26 year old uber-chicks, the skytrain isn't where it's at, okay?)

However, the trip was not meant to be.
Snow, and my father's instance on never flying unless he is required to traverse a large section of ocean water, got in the way. The Coquihalla highway was too dangerous.
I'm actually impressed with my parents. Usually, their sense of immortality is not unlike a teenager's. They will drive through anything, in any weather and with no sleep while blaring whatever's playing on the CBC.
(Okay, this is usually only my father's sense of immortality. My mother sits next to him because I think she thinks if she's there, when they crash and they are trapped in an upside down vehicle, she can punch him until the paramedics arrive.)

I was watching the web cam all morning until I got the thankful call that the trip was off.

So now all we had to do was tell Franklin.
All week long we had told Franklin about the beluga whale, the science centre, the sky train, Taita and Jido....
All week long he had asked us about the hotel room...

On Thursday night we turned off the TV, the computer and the stereo so that we could have his full attention. We sat him on a stool in the living room and began:

"Franklin, do you remember our plan for the weekend? Do you remember how we were going to go to Vancouver to visit Taita and Jido... in the hotel room?"

"Yes.... let's play with the Tonka puzzle!"

"Okay Franklin, but we need to tell you something. We are not going to Vancouver this weekend. There is too much snow over the mountains and it's not safe for Taita and Jido to travel on the roads to come and see us."

D and I were prepared to show him the web cam of the highway and get my parents on the phone so that he could deal with his expected disappointment. So, what did our child say to this?

"Okay... lets play logs with the crayons!"

"Yes we will play, Franklin. But, is there anything you want to ask us?"

"Yes"

What is it, honey"

"Can we play now?"

Such trauma.
Sometimes I think the only ones who have trouble with change in this house are the parents.

I don’t know what’s going on with my son but I think I may have driven him over the edge.

Lately, whenever we have looked at a picture of him somewhere he will pause, look at the picture and then turn to me in a quiet and thoughtful voice,

“Look Mother, this is your child”

I am slightly perplexed at this behaviour.
When he was small (and I mean small enough to fit into a bread box small) I would tell pretty much anybody I had the joyful chance to engage into adult conversation, that my son was really, truly a 45 year old man who had recently been reincarnated as my baby. Yet, I would add that the whole process didn’t go through as planned for his 45 year old memory was completely intact. This small infant was really a frustrated man who sucked on my bleeding nipples all night and looked at me with disappointment and horror as I tried to make him laugh/smile/DO SOMETHING, DAMMIT.

I don’t know if I had some kind of depression or baby-blues after giving birth, but I do think I went a little wacko. I can truly say that there were times when I actually believed that this was possible.

Now, as Franklin is in the habit of introducing Mother to Child, I am starting to think that perhaps the 40 year old man hasn’t really disappeared. In fact, he’s now 48 and getting pissed off that we still make him go to bed before the 11 o’clock news.

I've just been driving around listening to an interview with Peter Robertson of Chevron on the BBC World Service.

There is something about driving around and listening to talk radio that relaxes me. When I was in university.... okay, when I was of the age that is more socially expected to go to university and was distracting my way through an English degree, I would often drive around Edmonton and listen to the CBC and the BBC. I saw a lot of Edmonton this way. I saw a lot of the construction and I liked to check back once and awhile to see the changes. I even remember getting lost in what would be the neighbourhood of my future in-laws - North Edmonton is a maze to me.

My boyfriend at the time wasn't as fond of my late night exursions - not because he thought I might run into danger or that I would get into a accident on icy roads, but that as we had agreed to share my car, and therfore each pay for half of the gas, it meant that he was paying more than he used.

He was extra thoughtful that way.
Ah well, it doesn't matter.
I was stupid enough to date such a "thoughtful" guy.

Nowadays, I feel quite guilty. Gas isn't cheap and radios can be listened to at home. However, there's just something about listening to the radio and wandering through the city.
I realize the irony here. I'm driving around in a car, listening to a guy talk about his responsibility to his shareholders, the remarkable "improvment" Chevron has made to the society and culture with their presence around the world and whether or not his company should have plans that span for generations, not just for the next 60 years. According to Peter, technology will save us.

I'm listening to him justify his lack of research into renewable energy while I drive around listening in order to relax. In essense, I'm showing him that I need his product as much as he's betting I do.

I need to start walking more.
I need headphones.

So... Valentine's Day...

Franklin and I arrive at preschool and there are little paper bag mailboxes for little valentines all around the library.

Crap.

I felt like that time I brought him to Sporty Tots in his rubber boots. Get. It. Together. Mother.

Seriously though? There was some kind of notice sent around with all the kids names on a list so that parents could choose to participate in Valentine's Day.
We didn't get this.
How could I miss this?
I didn't miss it.
It wasn't there.

But you know if it was, I'm betting D and I would have thought, "Nah, it won't be a big deal. This is preschool for God's sake. Who does this kind of thing at preschool?"

Apparently, everyone.

We're both pretty down on this whole exchanging Valentine's cards thing. The cheap Scooby-Do commercials to drop in every box sounds down right insane. They get enough of this crap in the media everywhere we go, do we have to buy it for them/succumb to it too? I want to avoid the pleading store requests to buy cheap merchandising just to "be like everyone else" argument for at least 2 more years...

However, a few of the children made their own Valentine's cards and wow, some were really sweet.

So, when I was called at my office to pick him up, I thought we could just make Valentine's Day cards that afternoon and bring them the next day. However, Franklin was pretty sick - fever, throwing up sick - so there was no wax crayon shaving going on.

Instead, I demonstrated what I was doing and he watched me and directed me as to the colours and shapes.

It was a group project. We're pretty proud of them.

P.S. If you try this at home, it's just the ol' wax crayon shavings between wax paper and iron it all to melt. We learned that a little shavings go a long way. Too many and the shapes are hard to cut out.

Usually, D and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. I didn't get anything for him, anyway.
My work celebrates the day (and frankly, every Western holiday) in a BIG way so by the time I'm at home, I'm Valentined out. I feel like a humbug though - he got me roses.

crap.

It's not that I'm un-romantic. My work is a little too much for me though. Pink, red and chocolate everywhere. I was asked to bring red lipstick to kiss a wall so we could have red lip prints as a part of the decoration.
Do you think it's strange that I refused?
Is it odd that I don't want to bring every Western holiday up to the scale of ludicrous?

I don't mind that others get all crazy over the holiday. If they want to pick one day of the year to celebrate the people they love, that's great - but it's my workplace too, man. Let me do my work in peace.

It's not just Valentine's Day - so don't think I'm bitter about love. They celebrate (and I growl at) St. Patrick's Day, Hallowe'en, birthdays, Christmas... I want a place to go to do my work and be social - professionally. I don't want to be told what colour to wear or which day will be Goodie Day and who likes to eat what.

I've baked more times working in this place than I have in my entire life.
I've gained 10 pounds since I've started the job too - so obviously, I don't boycott the food.
Heh.

Don't get me wrong, I love working where I do. It's not the most challenging work but it has potential. I also like the people - hard-working, honest, no politics and very little gossip. My work also provides me with one of the best daycares in the city so there's that too.

There's that because today Franklin had a fever of 103 degrees and it took me less than 5 minute to pack everything up and run down to get him. There's that because I can now go back to spending my lunch hours with him - when I'm not in class at that hour (which is another huge plus).

Okay okay, I'm willing to withstand the tulle, the tiaras, the red, pink and fun fur, the valentines hearts and chocolate and a bit of weight gain to work with great people. They are a little wonky, but I like them.
However, I'm still not kissing cardboard displays with lipstick smeared on my lips. A girl has to draw the line somewhere and I require that my kissing surfaces are warm and soft... or at least smooth.

Happy Anti-Valentine's Day everyone.

I have a midterm tomorrow and I have a firm conversational knowledge of all the material that will be asked of me... but nothing more.
What this means is, if you were to ask me what "crisis of accumulation and spatial fix" meant while we were sitting in a pub and there was someone more knowledge at the table (who was obviously too drunk to answer this question themselves), I would be able to hold my own without causing the previously mentioned expert to snort something incoherent and shake their head in an uncontrollable manner.

I have no idea why I'm excited about this.
I think I get high on academic pressure situations.

My God. I have a prof who is most likely quite adept at searching for people on the internet. If he were inclined to go searching for my name, I wonder how difficult it would be to find me. Back when I had that weird legal trouble that I will still not mention because there is/could be/who knows whatthefcuk is going on with that in the works, I attempted to remove any mention of my last name and this website.
Regardless, it's out there.
I can't avoid it.

There is no such thing as an anonymous website.
whoopee (lower case)

Of course, this begs the question, "Why on earth would the man be googling one out of his 60 or so students?"
Yes, I know, I'm shaking my head too.

I'm also excited because come September, D goes back to school to study something he's talked about for the entire time we've been together. He's only recently found a school which will teach him the skills he wants to learn and low and behold, it's here in the city.
See? We were living here for some asinine reason!

Whoopee (upper case)

Every once and awhile, I start to see my life in a series of steps to the future. During these times, I don't feel the need to make plans, reassess my life, or fantasize about what I should or could or might drastically do.

I'm not fantasizing.
Well, not about my life.

Really, it figures that I make fun of people who concentrate their entire existence on celebrities and other pop culture propaganda from the US and then I get wound up in the costs of blogher and thus become ridiculous in a similar fashion.

Kudos to the somewhat snotty email to me this morning that was well-deserved:

I believe you were invited to Northern Voice last year and did not attend saying that you didn't have the time or the money. Did you think about going this year? What's so terrible about a Canadian blog conference? Do you think you're cooler? It's in Vancouver which would not be a plane ride at all.

You know, my mother reminded me about the conference a while ago but even the nanoseconds it took to rush over to the site to see about tickets wasn't fast enough. It was sold out.

Northern Voice is this weekend and I'm not there.
I would have loved to go.
I'm sorry I am missing it.
I am a gigantic idiot.

I'll bet breebop is there, and darrenbarefoot and ponzi and well, not jenandtonic or drowinginkids or chair...
Granted these afore mentioned blogs are not as close to me as the latter, I would still love to meet them - especially Briana.

I will definitely try to go next year.
It's not all about Vancouverites, right? ... and if it is, I can wear black and carry a cell-phone like the best of them.

(I'm just not sure if I can walk as fast)

So be warned.

I have a mid-term next Monday on this book. It’s an excellent book - was a tad dry in the beginning but I have begun to appreciate what it has to say. I suppose it’s like realizing your crusty co-worker isn’t all that bad and that her humor is just a little dark with a side of extra - and then finding out she runs a S&M club in her basement.

Of course, not that I know of anyone who does this… or that I even frequent such establishments.

Anyway, I digress.
Why am I digressing when I have such precious moments to spend with you? Simple, because that’s what this whole website is about, digressing the pants off my life.

Lets see, what did I not get to tell you while snot plugged up all crevasses of my brain…

Franklin had his first dentist appointment on Saturday. We go to this team of doctors who are surfers and who also happen to have gone through dentistry school. I believe they may live on the island primarily to surf. In fact, I think the whole “dentistry thing” is merely side hobby.
They all talk like surfers too - very funny.
Most importantly, they are cute, which helps when one of them is telling you about an impending root canal.
"Crown the sucker, buddy! Just keep talking to me with those blue eyes!"

Most importantly (ahem), the check-up went well. His teeth are excellent, his funky mutant tooth/teeth will most likely grow into two and he has charmed the pants off of everyone there. I think the dentist is my son’s hero.

It could be worse.
It could be the exterminator.

We also went to the Royal BC museum – D’s Mom, D, Franklin and I. Quite frankly, I’m surprised we saw anything other than “Manfred the Mammoth” in the Natural History Gallery. At one point, two very official looking men in suits were discussing something most terribly important in front of his beloved mammoth and Franklin gleefully skipped up and spoke in his super fast information chatter,

“Thisisamamoth... Thisismanfred… Heisfromtheiceagemovie... Thisismanfredfromtheiceagethisisamammoth”

All the men heard were,

“This (mummer mummer)... Mammoth (mummer mummer)… is from the (mummer mummer)… Ice Age”

Both suits turned to me and nodded approvingly like I had taught my little wonder child all about the Mesozoic Era and prehistoric life when, in actual fact, he watched a cartoon while I drank coffee and tried to remember what Portugal looked like.

I should have been a teacher.
Clearly, I have skills.

I'm really sick.

Hence, the lack of posting.

I just made a hero's appearance at the mall to get thread and the only thing that made the trip worthwhile was the crowds. The crowds make enough noise to hide my terribly satisfying snort of snot right up my nose and down my throat.

yeah.
gross.

When D and I first met it was a pretty large experience. I tried my best to screw it up in my own special way, but even I was aware of how crazy it would be to not spend the largest amount of time as possible with this person.

Some of the things I did with him are funny to look back on. At the time, they were meaningless, but it was as if I had some sort of relationship godmother making sure I took the right steps to show exactly who I was and what I wanted to be.

One of those steps was putting a copy of Germaine Greer's "The Madwoman's Underclothes" in his pack before he left for home. I don't remember why I did this. I wasn't thinking, "You must know that I will not be a SAHM" or "I do not care if you have clean socks and a prepared lunch every morning". I didn't even think he needed to know my stance on underwear or pornography. Yet, the book meant something I think. It meant I wanted him to think and be aware that there was more to me than the small amount of time we had so far to get to know each other.

No matter what you may think of this Greer and whether she could even hold a candle to the likes of more prominent feminists, this time in my life, when I knew (and was scared) that I had met someone I would love very deeply, is what I thought of when I heard that Betty Friedan had died today.

I am married. I am a wife. I have a son. However, I am married to a man who sees me, not a wife. I have a son who has tea parties with his dinosaurs. I work fulltime and study at university. I will be the bread-winner in the house come September and no one bats an eye at this decision. I think it would be safe to say, I am growing to my full human capacities.

Also, I'm happy. I think much of that has to do with Betty.
So, I just wanted to say thanks.

You know, I have actually done this exact thing.


Blogher seems to be gaining momentum. When Chair contacted me to ask if I was going I nonchalantly replied, "I'm really not that interested". Then, when she mentioned that she thought it was in San Francisco I thought, "Blogher Schmogher, but hanging out in SF would be a most excellent time". I thought of my brother who lives there (free bed), I thought of a road trip down (alone!) and I thought of meeting people I read everyday (and not in an I read your work and analyze it academically. Therefore, you scare the living shit out of me with your big brain way). Blogher was quickly becoming an extra bonus to a mini adventure that was forming in my mind as I tried to concentrate on the Thailand Bhat and shorting stock.

I started to run up and down the Blogher site reading this and this and this and this. I started to imagine what it would be like to be in a room full of people who don't think I'm a needy exhibitionist but rather, someone who enjoys writing in a form that is conducive to such dynamic communication.

Then I kept thinking of this post and thinking... I might actually like blogging.
Blogher might actually be a large experience for me.
Blogher was not only on the same continent as I was, but on the same coast.

This was no good. This meant I wanted to go.
You can see where this is heading.

I bought a ticket.
I'm a university student, work full time and have a family.
What was I thinking about? - that I was a university student and therefore, score!
Student Discount!

I wasn't thinking about that potentially free bed moving to the East Coast in the Spring, or that D was heading back to full time school in September. I also didn't think of my marvelous talent that consists of immediately turning people off on first impression ("cold, snobby bitch" is a phrase I hear often).

I can't go.
Crippling bitchiness aside, the money just isn't there.

Of course, there's always Gocco cards to print. The Birth Invitations sailed out in a flash...
- but to raise the $800.00 to get there without having to camp out in the nearby airport each night?

Yeah, not bloody likely.

okay, here we go...

4 jobs you've had in your life:

- waitress/server/bartender
- bookstore... everything
- nude model
- university psychology department guinea pig

4 movies you'd watch over and over again:

- bleu
- solyaris
- shadows and fog - or pretty much any woody allen movie
- mindless mining - or anything by shekar dattatri

4 places you've lived:

- quebec city (birth)
- northern bc (childhood)
- central bc (adolescent angsthood)
- edmonton (university)

4 tv shows you loved to watch:

- eight is enough
- the nature of things
- the bionic woman
- snl

4 places you've been on vacation:

- western europe
- hungary
- tunisia
- greece

4 websites you visit daily:

- http://enbridge.com (it's an assignment)
- http://gateway.uvic.ca/index.html (ditto)
- http://www.indymedia.org
- http://www.economist.com

4 of your favorite foods:

- pita bread dipped in diet coke
- sardine and olive pizza
- vanilla soy and strong coffee
- week old black licorice

4 places i'd rather be right now:

- in front of a computer... no wait....
- reading in bed in the middle of the day
- tofino
- in the middle of a forest, alone (see post below)
- in a budapest bath house with my friend, Jen

and most importantly:
rest in peace, Sid

It's quiet.
All I can hear is the trickle of the fish tank, the hum of the computer and my typing.

There is no child upstairs "singing my life with his words" at the top of his lungs.*
There is no television playing behind me.
There are no dishes washing and no music playing ever so quietly through headphones that I'm not supposed to hear.

Only the blissful sound of silence.

I love this.
I can write 500 assignments on geo-economy and local governments in this atmosphere.

I remember sitting in the front seat on a ski trip one winter. The rest of the team was quiet and it was only my coach and I traveling down a small highway with snow shooting straight at the windshield in small white pins. The rest of the world was completely blank and void of life. It was so peaceful. I remember telling my coach that night that I didn't really want to be a racer but that I prefered to live in a cabin, in the middle of a forest, totally isolated.
My coach was surprised at this - not that I didn’t want to be a racer (he had mentioned a year earlier that I analyzed things too much to really let my skies go), but that I wanted to live in silence.

People who meet me assume that I like action. I suppose, when placed in a hectic situation, I tend to get excited like the rest of the adrenalin junkies out there. However, silence is heaven. Silence gives me the space to think the thoughts that are yelling at me on the inside. It also gives me the focus to get things done. Silence is… golden.

This is why you will get emails from me at 3 in the morning and comments on your blog at 4. I need silence.

This isn't a Mom thing.


* I've been singing a little Roberta Flack to him before bed these days. "Hush Little Baby" was gettin to me, man. There are only so many mocking birds and dogs that don't bark that I can take in a lifetime.