Yes, an alternate universe!
Stay with me.

In this alternate universe, the "Happy Kid" post never happened.
That's right.
It neeeeeever happened.

In that alternate universe, there is a post lamenting the fact that I have lost the last three April entries. This means that this alternate universe is devoid of all things connected to dirtyolive and strawberry karma, space obsession or poop.

When I am at work, I see the post lamenting the other posts. Supa and my sister see this universe.
When I am at home, I see “A Happy Kid” and this little dribble you are currently reading – as does Barbara, Jess and Andrea.

Can someone, with more geek skill than I obviously have, explain this to me? I recently changed nameservers. Is this the problem?

Regardless, I know you are all breathing a sigh of relief that this is the side of the universe that still is privileged to read such incredibly "been there, done that" material.

The “been there, done that” is a teasing reference to a woman who may mistakenly think I am angry with her for presuming that I, with the one child, is so sufficiently fascinated with my life that I will post anecdotes on the internet about my son but which anyone who has already had a child has.... “been there, done that” and oh... yawn.
Yaaaaawwwwwn.

I’m kidding, Jess.

There is no way on earth that I would be angry with you for speaking your mind on your blog. I didn’t feel like you were slamming me - or my one child family. You were talking about what it feels like to be a family with four kids in a world where people seem to think one or two children are enough, for whatever reason.

If I were mad, I wouldn’t be talking about it on the net.
I would be marching right up to your blessed doorway and snapping my fingers like an idiot. Ha. Yeah, right. That would be funny though.

Seriously, I'm not mad.
I understand it is all part of the mother debate going on and the big hubbaloo surrounding that infamous book. To me, it's not only exclusionary because the world (including the blogosphere) seems to concentrate on the single child families - although I can see your point.

If you are going to start commenting on who is excluded in the mother who works versus the mother who stays at home, then lets open the picture to both the multi family households and the women who work because they have no other choice. You feel there is little choice to be a SAHM because of the size of your amazing family. I feel there are far more who do not have the choice to stay at home OR have more children due to simple finances.

(And here, my other friend, Charity will scoff at my constant beef with our society’s invisible classism, which seems to range from Thomas the Tank Engine tales to crappy social commentary best seller books.)

So this book, from what I've learned, is a personal account of many wonderful women and their somewhat different ways of raising their children. Apparently, even Naomi Wolfe feels it is a great representation of “real women everywhere”, which actually surprises me.

You see, the working versus SAHM debate doesn’t exist in my everywhere. However, I have a feeling that Naomi Wolfe lives in a vastly different everywhere than I.

In my everywhere, most families can’t afford to have another child - with or without childcare. There is still a face-off in my everywhere, but it is not this way because women are defending their choice, but out of frustration, insecurity and “the grass is greener” envy of ignorance.

In my everywhere (and perhaps, for Jess), the women who have more than one child do not have a choice to work or not to work. The debate is thrown completely out the window. Thrown out that same window is the feasibility of childcare for multiple children – multiple meaning two or more. Infant care, toddler care, after school care…. Yikes.

In my everywhere, some women weren’t even ready to have one child and now they are doing it alone. SAHM? According to many in society, this is the role of a “nurturing mother” (excuse me while I roll my eyes). If this is the ideal, then why are single mothers on social assistance so vilified? Why does our government try to limit this opportunity? There seems to be a narrow image of a SAHM and I object to this.
(Incidentally, I absolutely love the stupid factoid they give about mental and verbal development on that linked site. Yes, lets makes the “other side” feel like crap too. Yawn)

In my everywhere, there are families who would love to be able to adopt a beautiful child without a stable home but are stopped due to their financial status. Today, I felt like crying as I watched a thirteen-year-old girl testify against her adoptive father’s sexual, physical and mental abuse. SAHM? Working Moms? Who cares! There are children out there who just need a loving home.

What about the Dads who want to stay at home? I have one. I’m sure there is a hell of a lot more. Is that even a question? Nowhere in literature or on the internet do I see this debate. Dads? Stay at home? They don’t bond with their children! They do sporty stuff! They are adoringly removed! They pat heads and straighten collars!
They don’t wake up in the middle of the night! They don’t wipe the noses, bums and tears! They don’t worry about food groups and chemicals and if Jimmy knows how to share.
If I make more than my partner, why is it odd that I would be the one at work? What if I (gasp) enjoyed working and knew my partner would prefer to stay at home? From my experiences, I find it hard to believe those who try to tell me that there is a wire inside mothers that isn’t present in fathers that make staying at home more of a desire for women.

In my everywhere, we are all doing the best we can and yet, everyone thinks that everyone else is doing a less thoughtful, less stimulating and less nutritious job of raising their children.

To me (in both universes) the “right choice” isn’t really much of a choice – either way.

When Franklin first started to talk there was a lot of imitation and pronunciation of every word under the sun. Everything was "What's that?" What's that?" What's that?"

It was entertaining at first and normal routine by the end.

"What's that?"
A squirrel

"What's that?"
A duck

"What's that?"
A tree

"What's that?"
A Shoe

"What's that?"
A pimple - look over there! A moose!

These days, it's a whole new slew of questions, but now they require more concentration:

"What does Custom mean?"

"What is a Gypsy?"

"Where are the leprechauns?"

"Why is my hair curly?"

"What are genes?"

It's a funny feeling, being my son's main lexicographer. I'm beginning to feel like Dr. William Charles Minor. His definitions will forever be tainted with our feelings about the environment, manipulative consumption and society's treatment of the mentally ill as we answer his questions as to where the garbage goes, why commercials seem louder in the movie theatre than the actually movie and the reason for the man walking down the street yelling and punching the air (ironically).

I know this is part of parenting, showing your children your views of the world, but isn't another large part of parenting the ability to let them think for themselves? My parents were good at that. I say this because I always thought they were wrong (har). Perhaps, in time, Franklin will understand that D and I don't know all the answers and that we are doing the best that we can with what we know. Perhaps I'm just jumping ahead of myself.

However, this absolute trust in our definitions of things can be hard. The other night, Franklin asked me the following question:

"What is an army tank for, Mom?"

That's such a loaded question.
It's one that I know will bring on so much more,

"What's war?"
"What do soldiers do?"
"What do they do fight / kill / destroy?"

I have a choice here. I can be obscure and evade the question with a vaguely true definition, or I can face it head on.

I evaded.

"Army tanks are big vehicles with strong treads so they can drive over a lot of rubble and dirt"

"What's rubble?"

See, that line I can handle.

rubble n. 1. A loose mass of angular fragments of rock or masonry crumbled by natural or human forces. 2.
a. Irregular fragments or pieces of rock used in masonry. b. The masonry made with such rocks.

Except that my "masonry" was brinks and bits of building. However, I forgot that I was talking to the patron saint of all things inanimate.

"Why do the buildings fall down?"
(worried)

"Oh, some building fall down, Franklin. It's a good thing. This means construction workers can come in and build new buildings."

"oh"

"Are there army tanks downtown, Mom?"
(There is a lot of condo construction going on in our city)

"No, Franklin. Not yet. We don't have that kind of rubble."
(worried)

Okay, that title is embarrassing.

Whatever. I write a blog. It's a mommy blog. It's about nothing but the amount of snot in my son's nose and my disasterous ability to convince everyone that I want my son to be gay. I should be BEYOND embarrassed by this point.

Anyway, Easter is coming. My family has always decorated Easter eggs for this holiday. It was always a treat for me, not just for the opportunity to be creative but to spend time with my family in an environment where they are all concentrated on an activity yet still felt the need to talk talk talk.

My family talks. It's especially funny because when they are concentrating, be it on a puzzle, an oversized Christmas colouring book, or Easter eggs, the conversation is really odd. It's a distracting conversation that results in all of us actually thinking a bit longer than normal before we speak - which is an interesting phenomenon for us.

I have always enjoyed this dialogue. In fact, now that I think about it, I should have brought over a few more boyfriends in these situations. The first time D met my family was at Easter time and although I believe he spoke about 5 words (Nice, To, Meet, You, Good-bye) he at least felt safe enough to stay around for the long haul.

Anyway, my point is that Easter is coming and I thought I'd post some easily-found-elsewhere methods of dying your eggs naturally - just in case you don't think of looking for it yourself (now, how holier than thou is THAT?)



Add tap water to come at least one inch above the dyestuff. This will be about 1 cup of water for each handful of dyestuff. Bring the water just to a boil, and then reduce the heat to low. Let simmer about 15 minutes or up to an hour until you like the color obtained.

Pour mixture into a liquid measuring cup. Add 2 to 3 teaspoons of white vinegar for each cup of strained dye liquid. Pour the mixture into a bowl or jar that is deep enough to completely cover the eggs you want to dye. Allow the egg to sit in the dye water overnight if you want the colour to be really deep - but make sure you store the soaking eggs in the refrigerator.

You need to use your own judgment about exactly how much of each dyestuff to use. Except for spices, place a handful (or two or three) into the saucepan.

Eggs colored with natural dyes have a dull finish and are not glossy. After they are dry, you can rub the eggs with cooking oil or mineral oil to give them a soft sheen. Rubber bands and waxed crayon are good for making designs, as are sponging the colour before it has dried.

Blue: canned blueberries, red cabbage leaves (boiled), grape juice

Brown Gold: dill seeds

Brown Orange: chili powder

Green: spinach leaves (boiled)

Greenish Yellow: yellow delicious apple peels (boiled)

Grey: purple or red grape juice o beet juice

Lavender: small quantity of purple grape juice, violet blossoms plus 2 tsp of lemon juice, red zinger tea

Orange: yellow onion skins (boiled), carrots, paprika

Pink: beets, cranberries or juice, raspberries, red grape juice, juice from pickled beets

Red: lots of red onion skins (boiled), pomegranate juice, canned cherries (with syrup), raspberries

Violet or Purple: violet blossoms, hibiscus tea, small quantity of red onion sins (boiled), red wine

Yellow: orange or lemon peels (boiled), carrot tops (boiled), chamomile tea, celery seed (boiled), green tea, ground cumin (boiled), ground turmeric (boiled), saffron


What kinds of methods have you guys used?
Any other ideas?

I can hardly wait to get everything ready only to start with a gusto and then see Franklin get preoccupied with a vehicle and leave me to do it all by myself.

Yippee.

Early last week, Franklin and I (okay, mostly I) got so excited about worms and dirt that we (okay, that was also primarily me, again) thought it would be cool to make Compost Art.

We saw this sort of thing while perusing other compost photos on flickr and Franklin (really, it was him!) wanted to make the same picture. I wish I could find it again so I could give credit where credit is due. Really, we didn’t think this up on our own. It was a teacher’s curriculum thing-a-ma-gig.

Anyway, I showed this photo set to a couple of co-workers - partly because I was proud of my budding scientist/artist and partly because the other day I was lamenting that there didn't seem to be any courses to take over the summer and too many people for my comfort told me I can now spend more time with my son.

What the...?

Really now, everyone. Do people actually picture me ignoring the little precious while I slave away at the computer or my text? These bags under my eyes are precisely because I spend every waking minute with my son – those that aren't taken up by work or preschool.

I know, I know... it wasn't meant that way and I should just say,
"Yes! Thanks for that wonderful and thoughtful insight into my personal life!”
But alas, one of those apparently concerned for the well-being of my son is my mother and when in the presence of my mother, I whine and complain. This seems to be my official role (sorry Mom, you are just such a good listener – especially when the phone cuts out and I realize that I’ve been talking to a blank void for 5 minutes).

Another part of me is all up in the,
Look!
Mothers who work do things with their children, too!
It's not all left to the preschool/childcare!
Really!
He’s not an accessory!
Look!
Attentive Mother walking!"

It’s ridiculous because there have been certain events that have taken place the last few weeks that have “Mother” written all over it. I’m clearly a Mother and I realize this. So, why do I care if you know this? I certainly don’t have to justify it to my working co-workers, do I?

Why?
Because mothers are brutal and insecure and as I have a hard time relating to the brutal and insecure, I tend to want to either stomp them with my feet or gain their complete adoration. You see, the world isn’t filled with people like this and while I really really really wish it did, I will continue the stomping and gushing.

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.

I have tried over and over again to edit that last entry. There are a number of things I've tried to change - word order, spelling mistakes, profanity (I'm a good Catholic girl) and nothing is working. The version in MT looks the way I want it to but this doesn't seem to translate to the actual webpage. I've even rebuilt the entire site and nothing seems to work.

So, I have to live with it.
It's killing me.
You have no idea.

Thanks for all the help with the sewing machine and income funds. The acid taste is still there but I think it may have a bit to do with stress. There's a bit of stress in the job these days. It's nothing that can't be managed but as my co-worker so aptly put it, "We're up as far as we can get and we're slowly slipping backward". It's a matter of too much work for too few people - half of which have no idea what they're doing (I'm one of these clueless ones).
All I think about these days is the job. It’s quite funny, really. I have a job that, for most people, would be great. It does not really require overtime and isn't very stressful - there are no dying babies in our vicinity. As a result, many of my co-workers find it perfect. It's moderately well paying and allows one to go home to a family and not be thinking of your day all that much.

Cripes. If I'm thinking this way with such a la-dee-da job, I might as well become a surgeon.
(Dad, I'm kidding. Don't get your hopes up. Your medical magazines made me nauseous and all those years of saying I wanted to be a ophthalmologist was only to get your approval).

Okay, enough of the childhood confession, what about Franklin?

This weekend, we went to Franklin's first organized weekend sport "thingy". D and I have both been very athletic. Well, D is still athletic. I am not. We had always assumed that our children would be coordinated and athletic as well. It's not that I'm dying to become a soccer Mom but aren't kids who are invested in their bodies supposed to stay away from drugs?

Sometimes D and I wonder if Franklin may be more of a "stay at home and read books/play with my trains" sort of kid. It’s not that we're disappointed; it's more that we're a little surprised. Of course, we haven't given him a whole lot of opportunities. Well, no longer! He is now enrolled in a program that is supposed to introduce him to a variety of sports. From this, we figure, he can decide what he wants to do in the future and we'll just follow his lead.

I'll wait until all of you older, more experienced parents stop laughing before I proceed.

Still waiting.

Done?
Okay.

Our first Saturday was entertaining. Franklin has a cough that sounds like a ferryboat crashing through the docks. As a result, we slept in and leisurely made our way to the rec centre where we were to meet his friend and commence with the "You will do a sport instead of play Warcraft all day in our fictitious basement" training.
So we were horribly late.

Also, he was in his rubber boots. I'm such an idiot.
No wonder he doesn't do sports, he has inherited some drastically faulty equipment - his parents.

The most entertaining part of it all? His complete lack of concentration. There were two year olds that were able to follow direction better than our child.

I was thinking back when I was ski racing and what held me back. I was as strong, if not stronger than most of my competitors. Yet, I would screw myself up somehow. A sport psychologist came to talk to each member of our team and he told me I had a fear of success. Now that I can look back on those years, I know what was the problem. It was my lack of concentration. If I had the concentration that yoga, maturity and desperation gave me during labour, I would have been I racing champion. Of course, I think I wanted to have the labour over and done with more than I wanted a gold medal so perhaps it was a combination of success and concentration...

What all this navel gazing is supposed to point out is that Franklin's apple is most definitely short on concentration. I'm about to go search out books and websites that will help me help him - if this problem continues in later years.

Someone tell me it's just a three-year-old thing because I will believe this.
My attention deficit disorder may be completely unrelated, right?

Three year olds.
You talk to them, and they utterly ignore you. You ask them to do something, and they do the opposite.
I don't care if he is 30 some odd pounds. I'm willing to stretch open my vagina and suck him right back in there.

I've been posting my little heart out all weekend and nothing was getting published.
I was a frustrated writer - without the romantic crusty bread, gobs of red wine and love letters collecting under my door.

I even did a minute-by-minute post of our illustrious prime minister getting jeered at the Grey Cup.
Gomery Scmomery, let the guy get excited about dropping the damn coin.
Man, watching his smile of delight turn to a grin of nervous commitment was so sad.
I hope his mother wasn't watching.

What else did I do this weekend?

Well, I watched The Fifth Estate and although I was really too exhausted to post, I ended up jotting this down:

Evelyn Martin - helping people who want to die, die.
I never used to understand this. I used to think that if you're suffering but coping, there is something to live for. If other people can cope with your same disease or affliction, you just need to find the same kind of strength. If you're laughing at some point in the day, you have a "duty" to keep going.

Interestingly, I have changed my opinion dramatically since raising a child. You'd think I would be more inclined to believe that there is even more to live for but no, this is not the case. People are so very very (very very very) different. What one person can accomplish easily / with difficulty / with the up most dedication / with much suffering but still willing to cope... is a completely foreign ability to another person.

We aren't the same.
I understand this now.
Perhaps I'm only now getting the concept of empathy.
Sad.
I'm 32.

I really do think that there are people who understand when they can't live anymore. I'm sad that there is such taboo regarding the self-preparation for death. I'm also sad that I will most likely be one of those dorks fighting tooth and nail before I'm condemned to eternal.... I don't even want to think about it.

I'm not talking about terminal illnesses. I'm talking about depression and pain that can be treated by drugs.

I worried a bit about posting this.
My parents are in the health profession. What will this mean to them? I don't even know their opinion on this other than what the Catholic church would say.

Blogs are a funny thing.
They are public and no, they don't belong to the writer. I don't live in a bubble.
Individualism only goes so far and then its just selfishness.

I've slowly come to that conclusion too.

Yes, this is where I do it.
Sort-of.

I don't actually know what the hell I'm doing. I have noticed that since my little "legal trouble", I have been dancing around the overly dramatic topic in an effort to not actually talk about it because it is simply stupid and quite frankly, still a making me a little paranoid. Since returning, I have not been what you could most accurately say a "big fan of blogging".

It's not that I'm thinking of quitting, it's just that blogging and I have a different relationship now. It's a colder world. People are out to get you, people you don't know, people you may have bumped into once or twice (hopefully, just once) and let me tell you, that bump? IT WAS A SMALL ONE.

SMALL, SMALL as in REALLY REALLY REALLY SMALL
S-M-A-L-L.
As in below the average in size or magnitude.

Back to the people thing:
People you don't know, people who don't know you, people who think you are a get rich"somewhat more comfortable" scheme in a two year delay sort of way and people who do not see you as your loving family and friends see you.

As well, there are people whose lives are so wonderfully screwed up in their privileged and condescending way that they take pleasure in your suffering (or become vindictive in your triumph) and tell people insanely strange things in order to make themselves feel better.
I really hope everyone is feeling better.

I'm feeling better.
The "small" "legal" issue is gone and the condescending privilege is a joke.

and now... after that obscure rant above, the slow and shy climb back into the arms of my blog can begin. Now I can return to tell you insipid things about myself in an effort to gain your readership friendship and understanding so that someone from some strange land will call me up and tell me,

"Hey you, dirtyolive woman! I like the cut of your jib. Let's write something and make a decent amount of money on people's bad taste of childish poop humour and sadomasochistic honesty!"

Then I'll adopt a couple of kids and start a decent daycare for support needs children while redesigning the world so that mass transit becomes infinitely cooler than riding around in that ridiculous automobile.

Yeah.

...oh, and Mom?
You left your pantyhose here. Should I send them in the mail?

This evening D took Franklin and I out for dinner to a friend's house. I phrase it this way because it's really how it felt. I'm such an anti-social twerp these days that my partner has to take me out to meet people or I'll hole up here forever.

"These days"... yeah, that part is a lie. I think I've always been anti-social and twerp-like. The difference is I was better at hiding it before. I think it padded my ego to pretend that I was comfortable with everyone.
In fact, there are very few people I feel comfortable with and fewer still that feel comfortable with me. Once I feel that I've found acceptable company, the "vagina", "penis" and "Proust" words start to flow from my mouth - along with, "You know? One time? At band camp?..."
Instant popularity.

Tonight, while 7 perfectly fun and entertaining adults sat around a kitchen table drinking homemade plum, blackberry and grape wine, I played "Ring-Around-the-Rosie" with Franklin and built lego sheds for lego trains. It's wasn't that I wasn't interested in talking about stripper aerobics and nipple clamps, I just seem to have a three-year-old attached to my psyche. He has the ability to turn up my anti-social twerpness level to "Emergency: Hazard to Society".

To be honest, I've felt more and more uncomfortable in crowds since Franklin was born. Perhaps I'm just out of practice. I find that I say the stupidest things and I never laugh at the right places. It's embarrassing. Really, I'm embarrassed at how uninterested and out of touch I feel with people my own age.
I'm sure I'm hilarious company.

The thing is that I thought this would only happen if I were a Stay at Home Mom. I always thought I was more of a social person and that staying at home would kill me when perhaps it would have been best. At least then I wouldn't have to force myself to be jovial and social when what I really feel like doing it settling down on the couch and reading about Victoria's sewage treatment facilities. That way, when I recap what I said or how I acted in my head later on, I wouldn't have to cringe at the memory of the strange faces that were made as I delightfully told my very polite audience about Lawrence of Arabia's apparent sex life.

I CAN"T BELIEVE I SAID THAT.

There's a blog (and a book) that I read (and have read) called City Comforts. I don't go there often - in fact, I have to admit with my life as busy as it is right now I don't visit many blogs very often. However, this afternoon I dropped by and read a bit.

This is what I missed:
"Oh for a measured conservative not constantly trying-on costumes."
I watch local governments quite a bit. I am particularly interested in how federal and provincial governments dance with/around/on top of/underneath local government. I watch George Bush in this respect as well.
It's all quite interesting (in a removed and cold sort of way); this New Orleans "tango".


Blog-roll Issues:

I really need to add more representative blogs to my blog-roll. Contrary to my earlier post, it is missing about 50% of the blogs that I read and includes about 75% that I don't.
Actually, I think I may just take it down all together. I was telling a friend of mine that I'm too much of a guilt ridden Catholic girl who-just-wants-everyone-to-like-her, to have a blog-roll. There are people I haven't read in months over there. I think about clicking the link, I really do, but I never get to it. There always too many other things to look at when I have the precious spare time to sit down at the computer for pleasure.

I was going to say there are also people over there who's blogs annoy the crap out of me, but that would be rude because everyone who reads this is reading with themselves in mind (or perhaps I'm the only self-absorbed who does this...) and I could potentially get a lot of people wondering if they annoy me and then get angry that I would think such a preposterously insane thing, and then just not care... that, or think I'm a bitch for saying such an annoying thing in the first place.

... I was going to say that....

And what about the people you know, but haven't linked to - are you expected to link to everyone you know who writes a weblog? Are you rude to not do so?
On that note, should you ask for permission before you post a link - especially if it's a personal, family orientated blog?
What's the etiquette on those emails requesting that you link to their blog and why do I find many of those so uncomfortably brazen?

Anyway....

While I take my gigantic foot out of my mouth...
Anyone read the news over in Bosnia lately?

Today, the daycare spent the day brushing the rooms and toys with toothbrushes soaked in bleach. When I explained to people that I'm not a "career woman" today because our daycare is doing their yearly cleaning, the judgmental Stay AT! HOME! Mom (aka SA!H!Ms) at the park looked me straight in the eye and asked if that's the only time they clean.

Personally, I like to imagine today is more accurately the date all the teachers get together, drink scotch, roll around the floor and imitate the brats children under their care.
It's more of a cleansing of the soul, if you will.

In Franklin's case, this imitation will no longer involve all that screaming. Thankfully, he has been trying extremely hard to curb his behaviour and all of his teachers are supporting him. However, at the end of the day he sounds like he's been watching Dr. Phil as he tells me about how certain children "hurt his feelings", "make him feel like screaming", and how he "feels like kicking the truck" ("Mom, what does hurt my feelings mean?")

Of course, SA!H!Ms do this scotch thing everyday as well so ultimately, they are more superior in every way and if I was a "Good Mother", I'd be a bleaching drunk too.

I should add here that there is about a 73 mile wide crevasse between what, for me, is the difference between a Stay At Home Mom (SAHM) and a SA!H!M. My own mother was a SAHM and I love her for it. I think women who stay at home are wonderful as long as they are wonderful people. I'm sorry, but just because you are a SAHM, it doesn't automatically mean you are Wonderful Mother of the Year. In fact, just because we shell out the money we do for the daycare we have, it doesn't make us awesome either. When you start telling me I'm deficient in my parenting skills because of the well thought out and personal decisions that we've made for our child then, in my eyes, you have leap over the 73 mile crevasse and landed in SA!H!M territory.

*I'm linguistically wiping my hands, snapping my fingers and making that "Z" movement in the air" right about now because really, the one mother I know that is the most judgmental about staying AT! HOME! stays at home because she has no choice. I'd like to call bullshit on this chick's "tsk tsk"ing but to tell you the truth, staying at home with children is hard and I pretty much feel pity (and a smidgen of "Ah, get over yourself" spite) for someone in such a situation when they are clearly NOT happy.

For those who don't live in British Columbia, there is a provincial election coming up on May 17th. Along with this vote is a referendum on electoral reform. The specific issue is whether or not BC should adopt a form of the Single Transferable Vote (aka BC-STV).

Okay, don't stop reading!
It's not as dry as you think. It's even quite interesting - and could be brought to an election near you some day. Stay tuned for a while longer.

Politics in British Columbia are amusing - as long as you don't live here. We tend to go back and forth from right to left in major swinging, revengeful and punishing elections.

Fast Ferries? Abolish the NDP party!
Dissatisfied with health care? Abolish the Liberal party!

For as long as I have lived here and paid attention to politics, I have never seen a provincial election in which there was a somewhat even representation in the house and there has always been some sort of political spanking come election time.

This is where the BC-STV comes in (well, it comes in for a variety of reasons but hear me out).
Right now, we have a system called "First Past the Post" (FPTP), also called Single Member Plurality. There's one elected official representing each electoral district and voters vote for one candidate only. Whoever gets the most votes wins and gets to be the Grand Poop-a-poop, also known as your Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA). It's as old as the big maple tree in your back yard, which drops so many, leaves that raking the damn things up gives you blisters.

In BC, people seem to vote in order to keep out another party - you may have heard of it as "strategic voting". If they can only vote for one slimy politician, they will vote for the lesser evil out of the two (or three, as the Green Party seems to be coming around more often). Strategic voting is frustrating. People don't vote for the candidates they believe in; rather they vote against the party they don't want (spank spank). On the other hand, this type of voting produces majority governments - something that is more efficient and effective when dealing with issues that need to be dealt with quickly and smoothly.

This new electoral system, the BC-STV, give you the opportunity to vote for as many candidates as you want in order of preference. The number of votes needed to win to be the grand Poop-a-lator is calculated with a mathematical formula called "electoral quota". Your second, third and fourth selections are transferred to determine who gets elected. There is an animated explanation which explains it quite well by the Citizens Assembly. This way, you vote for the candidate (or candidates) you believe in, and there is more of a link between MLAs and the people who voted for them. As well, the popular vote a party receives is more proportional to the number of Poops-paas it elects. In other words, if you vote it can be for the person you want to represent you. If that person doesn't get in, you can still indicate whom you would otherwise like to lead.

Now, I realize that this may create minority governments, but how bad is this? Bureaucratically, kind of scary - yes. Representation ally, really exciting! What about the input that our federal government had to accept in order to pass the budget? Liberal fiscal management with a nod to NDP social values. How bad can this really be?

Someone said to a friend of mine that the whole federal NDP and Liberal agreement was terrible. If a party didn't win, why do they get a say? This is really sad I think.
Okay, should the care of our country have to do with representing all areas and using everyone's strengths and weaknesses, or does it all boil down to whomever wins, gets all the spoils? Do you actually think one party has all the answers to every issue?

Please, if you're voting next week, look into this before you vote.
I could go on and on about how it works and I'm worried that I'm not being very clear.

Here are some websites:

www.gov.bc.ca/referendum_info

http://www.direct.ca/news/fair.voting.bc/

http://stvforbc.com/

http://www.bcelectoralreform.ca/

Here are some sites that explain the system (animated even):

http://citizensassembly.bc.ca/resources/flash/bc-stv-full.swf

www.positiveeffect.ca

http://www.demochoice.org/dcballot.php?poll=BCSTV

Articles and blogs with info that explain it much better than I:

Common Ground

Polymorph

Dean Rushes the Vote

Chunky Ji's Journal

Lotus land - nervous politics

Aptenobytes

Usually I'm not one to try and convince anyone to do anything that is not in there nature to do. I am a pretty fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gal so anyone who tries to push me to do anything is usually faced with an immense amount of apathy or some pretty defensive resistance. For me, things get done when they get done and I have my personal priority system which decides this. In fact, unless I'm travelling, I always seem to have about a gazillion balls flying in the air at once. I suppose I like it this way - either that or I'm a passive masochist.

Nevertheless, for years I've been on a little private mission for everyone I know, many I don't, and an increasing number who probably wish I didn't... to get informed and vote.
Canada's federal election is on June 28th and it is going to a close race. Most people expect there to be a minority government and, without going into an explaination on the electoral system of our country, if this were to happen our government will not be very decisive and therefore, probably not very effective. Of course, this last sentence is debatable for some people will not mind a minority government. There's pros and cons to just about everything.

I could go into the last time the election race was this close in Canada, or how the Rhino party narrowly missed their opportunity to pave Manitoba, and the difference between Joe Clark and the prospective leaders we have today... but I won't.

However, I would like to really, really encourage you to go out and vote. There is too much apathy around voting these days. It's easy to feel like your vote doesn't count, and even easier to make the excuse that if you are not informed, then it is probably more responsible not to vote. But I have to say, if you've got the time to read my boring posts a couple of times a week, you have the time to take a look at the party websites and examine some their platform ideas.

Please try to do more than passively listen to the CBC, watch the debate, or base your decision on one platform idea you hear in passing. Try and look at the ideas and the people behind these ideas. It's too close to leave the voting up to people like me and a handful of Albertan retirees.

I'm not saying that you should vote to avoid a minority government, I'm just telling you to vote - strategically or with your heart.
Vote. Please. Your voice matters.

(and that's my public service announcement for the year - thanks)

For the past couple of days I've been thinking quite a bit about parenting. A theme keeps coming up with many people I've been talking to lately. I have wanted to get it down here for awhile but I've been so busy - which has been frustrating. However, last night, D and I got to go out on an actual date together. We had a great long talk about Franklin, when we first met, more Franklin, moving to Edmonton or anywhere else, more about Franklin, and finally, we talked about Franklin. How can we not talk about our amazing kid?

What has been coming up recently is how easily our little idiosyncracies and the way we have been brought up can be passed on to our children. I have this immense amount of respect for a woman I know who did not have a very good childhood yet, her adult children are beautiful people. She has such a good relationship with them and she has consciously made the decision to change the pattern that she had inherited from her Mother.

Being a Mom now, I am starting to understand how our baggage from our own lives can sneak into our parenting in the smallest ways. To be present enough every day to change ingrained behaviour takes an immense amount of energy - especially when you are dealing with a lifetime of negativity.

I also have a friend who is raising a teenager and is noticing that the parenting she is dealing with now is incredibly different than the basic mode of providing and guiding that I do with Franklin. It seems that with a teenager it is not so much what you tell them but what you do yourself. I know this is true for parenting at any age, but a teenager doesn't really want to listen to your words of advice very often. It must be so scary - to have to let go and hope they have been listening to you all those years. I remember advice my parents gave me when I was young and as I went through university, but my teen years? I must have had a thick wad of cotton stuffed in there. Apparently, nothing they said would have any relevance to what I was going through - jeeeez!

I also have another friend who is preparing to have a baby and she is having all these thoughts about her own baggage, and how she wants to raise her child free from it all. You can't free yourself entirely from it of course, it makes up who you are, but to be conscious of it is such a strong step in the right direction. To blindly step into parenting thinking that you've either dealt with everything or will be able to hide it all from your kids is ludicrous.

I still find myself checking my emotions when I think someone is a bully to Franklin, or some old biddy tells me he's a "hefty" boy. I even check myself when they tell me how intelligent and advanced he is in something. I don't want him to think we value him for any specific reason other than that he is our son and we love him. I never thought that could be so hard.

my yoga instructor this morning:

"Those who can see the in-action in action
and the action in in-action are very wise indeed."

just something to think about...