Enjoying a gorgeous summer Saturday.


Fought our own "existential snobbery crisis" and natural self-loathing instinct to mingle with the hipster/yuppie masses at the Carp Farmer's Market. Bought some beautiful fresh corn, incredibly tasty venison pepperettes and fantastic mini-cheesecakes.

Took the long-suffering whippets for a good run where they had the opportunity to chase two of the world's stupidest pigeons. Pigeons with exactly the same colouring as our dogs weirdly enough. They literally almost got run over by our male dog, taking flight only shortly before our much smarter female headed their way with tasty murder on her mind.

Someone finally crashed for a late afternoon pack-nap.

Put a fresh batch of cloth diapers out to dry. Seriously, how beautiful are they? Is that not a pretty sight?

Creating a mini desert.


I've been playing around with trying to create an inexpensive succulent terrarium with some glass containers from Value Village but they were never quite what I wanted. A couple of weeks ago I found this little one for $2 at the fabulous Dollarama. Some decorative sand and a couple small plants from Walmart later I've got my own little piece of desert beauty, sans scorpions and rattlesnakes.

Now, if only I could find a cheap livestock tank to convert to a swimming pool, I'd achieve perfect contentedness. For a week at least.

Happening upon this board-book on sale for $3 last night at Chapters.


One of the many, many nicknames we have for this kid is Smidge or Smidgen. With her first birthday coming up next month (Holy shit! Where did that year go?) this will make a perfect addition to the gnaw-and-chew library.

A rousing game of "Grab and Toss the Mushroom" (as invented by my husband).


This was supposed to be her morning nap. However no one ever warned me that morning naps always coincide with morning poops. Thus ensuring your sleepy child will be reinvigorated for at least another two hours. Thus skipping the morning nap altogether. Joy. Ah well, at least after her poop she was in a much better mood and having lots of fun playing.

The few brave nasturtiums that survived the post-planting late frost apocalypse this spring.


I'm definitely not a flower person. I especially don't like cut flowers. I find them somehow morbid and wasteful. I am very fond of nasturtiums however. They're hard to kill, chaotic, beautiful and edible. What's not to love? Sadly this year very few of the seeds I planted have bloomed. I suspect they didn't enjoy the last cold weather snap we had. But maybe I just pissed-off the flower gods this year.

Added bonus: the nickname for nasturtiums is "nasties" - how perfect is that?

Reading through the phenomenal entries for the "Worst Children's Book.. Ever" contest. Some examples:


@SmolderingInk: The Best Things to Drink Are under the Sink

@AVgrl: Ashley Has Two Daddies, and They’re Both Going to Burn in Hell

@Juniperjenny: The Magical World beneath the Tarp on the Pool


SlushPile Hell via Daddy Types.

Before:



After:



Despite the long history Eddie and I have (or perhaps because of it) I decided I needed a change. A change involving some taxidermied animals.


I love it. You'll have to trust me but it looks even better in person. The rooms in my house are way too damn small to allow a decent picture to be taken.

Spent the weekend at an amazing old cottage from the 1800s on a lock in the Rideau Lakes.


Why is it that relaxing is so damn tiring? I seriously need a nap.

Maybe it's the 6 year old trapped inside me but I really get a kick out of all the hype and hubbub that surrounds potty-training.


The potty-training industrial complex itself is incredible: the special singing training seats, the many many advice books for parents, the special pull-up quasi-underpant diapers with wet-detection sensory technology, etc., etc.

Beyond a doubt though, my favourite part is the books for kids. Some are obviously meant to be silly and entertaining - what kid doesn't think bodily functions are funny at some point? But I also derive a perverse pleasure from the more serious books for kids (as though most children would be convinced to poop on the can by reading a scientific treatise on defecation) or even better, the people who think that the funny books aren't funny.

Case in point, this review from School Library Journal for book "The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts": "Kindergarten-Grade 1-A simplistic explanation of human and animal flatulence. The text adequately tells how gas is formed and its characteristics, although it overlooks the role of dairy products in its formation. A basic diagram shows the passage of food and air through the body. The drearily colored, amateur line cartoons depict a family of no particular race and zoo animals with sound balloons, such as "BURP!" and "BAAROOMM" being emitted from both ends. This bodily function that is the source of so much schoolyard humor may be of interest to youngsters, but they won't glean much information from this mediocre presentation."

Gold. That review alone has convinced me to add this book to our collection. A collection that in truth currently only includes the brilliant "Who's in the Loo?". A book that never fails to make me smile every time I read it.

God, I hope my kid thinks these are funny someday or else I'll look like quite the weirdo with my fart-poop library.

Babies and oversized sunglasses.


You just try not to smile. I dare you.

I don't want to get in the habit of posting too much about decor porn but this house and in particular this kitchen has my tiny heart going pitter patter.


Seriously, since it was posted I must have gone back to bask in its perfection about 25 times. It is the first house I've ever seen that I would move into without changing a single thing. Except perhaps the cat. Not your fault kitty but you make me itchy and sneezy.

A beautiful cool rainy day and the much-anticipated arrival of my very own green bin!


I am so excited to finally get a green bin. Seriously, I'm like a kid at Christmas. Most of my neighbourhood has had theirs since last year and for some reason a few of us in one section of the street didn't get any. Ever since living in Halifax which has a superb composting/recycling system, it's killed me to have to throw out food waste. For months I've had to stare covetously on garbage day when everyone else gets to put their shiny bins on the roadside for pickup. No more. Next week I get to join the club.

Ordered this poster from Debbie Carlos the other day.


When I first saw the images from her "Human Nature" series they totally struck me. I had to cut myself off at ordering just one. Especially since the price is so reasonable. I wish other artists would offer their work in such an accessible format.

I loved her explanation of the images as well:

"The first time I took pictures of the animal displays at Chicago’s Field Museum, I did so purely out of interest in animals. Framing my photos so as to imitate nature photography seemed natural in an environment where the animals, long dead, are themselves placed and positioned in scenes that recreate their habitats. Once I developed my negatives, the significance of the human world, science, and ownership seemed all of a sudden very apparent in the life-like death of the creatures on display. The murky quality of the lighting and the dark desaturated tones of the exhibits, convey a sensuality and romanticism at odds with the sense of stagnant death that lingers in the cracked skin of 100-year-old taxidermied animals and birds strung up as though in flight with fishing line. Inside the museum, nature is labeled, classified, and static, turned into an object of knowledge. These photos attempt to capture the mystery and romance of this very pursuit—the sincerity of the scientific endeavor, the pathos of its visible failure, and the beauty of the attempt to engage with nature."

Made these very tasty mini cakes that I found on Pinecone Camp.


This recipe is exactly the type I like: quick and simple, very few ingredients, everything goes into one bowl, no fancy equipment or techniques needed, easy to tweak and basically idiot-proof. The kind of recipe I could make a million times and still enjoy.

I substituted apricots for plums for part of the batch and they were both excellent. I also added a bit of vanilla to the mix and I think almond extract would also be really good. I think they'd also be tasty with a dollop of jam or preserve in place of fresh fruit.

Edited to add: tried the recipe again with a mixed berry jam and it was brilliant!

"... life on Earth is all transient and we're all just here to fuck about and enjoy ourselves and not be a dick to our kids..."


This statement by a brilliant and hilarious woman perfectly sums up the life philosophy to which I wish to subscribe. I may need to get this tattooed somewhere on myself. As a reminder. For the next time I catch myself thinking that I really need to vacuum again.

Between the breastfeeding exclusively for 10.5 months, climbing 2 flights of stairs all-day-every-day carrying her majesty and The Gap's comically liberal use of vanity sizing - apparently I'm now a size "0". Whatever the fuck that means.

All I know is now I have an extensive work wardrobe that hangs off my ass badly enough that I can't wear any of it and look respectable. I wish I could revel in dropping the weight a little more but I fear that my impending return to the veal-fattening pens (thank you Douglas Coupland) of Cubicle Farm will quickly result in my ability to fill my old clothes out again.

For the first time ever, my kid spent the whole night in her crib.


I'm pretty sure she would have been ok doing this a lot sooner but I'm weak. At fuck-knows-what-time AM when she wants to nurse, I hate sitting there half-unconscious waiting for her to finish eating. I'd much rather just grab her and stagger us both back to bed. My laziness has been working well for us for 10.5 months but now she's of the habit of sitting/crawling/rolling/kicking in her sleep and that's just not cool. I've dumped men for less problematic bed-sharing habits.

We both slept better last night than we have for awhile. But I sure did miss waking up with her snuggled next to me.

Lunch with friends at Little India Cafe.


The best naan I've ever tasted served fresh, buttery, charred and hot. Seriously, I dream of this naan. Dirty lustful dreams.

Damn, now I'm hungry again.

With apologies to Mike Monteiro (when I pay off that student loan I promise to buy an original), this painting makes me smile every time I walk down the stairs.


Also, is it weird that I'm more satisfied with my house when I see it in photos than I am with it in real life? I think a steady diet of shiny shelter magazines and decor blogs have made me a house-anorexic. I blame the media.

My husband spotting this book tonight at Chapters.


If the title weren't perfect enough, the silhouette of the bugs would have won my heart.

And, as though I needed something more to make me happy, doing some goggling, I found a review of the book over at Boing Boing. A review which contains perhaps one of the best sentences ever written in the English language: "Nasty, Brutish and Short has got everything you need to satisfy your sciento-prurient interest, from two-penised spiders that tear one organ off at mating time so they can keep up with their mates to crazy spiralling duck-penises to savage bowerbird love-battles to bisexuality in beetles to sea slug aqua-orgies."

This book is definitely going on my wishlist.

Yup, tackling that goal of reading more non-fiction one bug sex guide at a time.

A beautiful happy mess.


I tend to be a tad on the obsessively tidy side of things. I could care less about invisible stuff like germs or scrubbing just for the sake of scrubbing. I'd rather keep my place neat than do a deep clean. But I like things in their place. To the point of compulsiveness. I can't handle visible clutter, it makes me twitchy. And sometimes angry. Because I know that I'm the only one it bothers, I try not to be a complete bitch about it too often (you'd have to ask my husband whether I'm successful or not).

I was worried that it would be hard for me to let things go when I had kids. I really don't want to be the Mom who's always yelling at them to put their stuff away. That's a good situation for no one.

So far though, it's been ok. In fact, I think we have a fairly good symbiosis going: at 10 months she loves to make a mess, and I don't mind putting things away just so she can make a mess again. The fact that she's freakishly adorable does sweeten the arrangement as well.

Zucchini!!!


My poor mini-garden has been taking a beating in this heat wave but this morning I spied this little trooper making a go of it. I have never been so excited about a vegetable in my life. Let's hope he gets some company soon so I don't get too attached and have trouble when it comes time to eat him.

Yes, "him". I have issues with anthropomorphism. And forming emotional attachments to inanimate objects. Sometime I may decide to talk about my rocks but I'm not sure I'm ready to go there yet.

Knowing that when I leave my daughter to return to work it will be with someone completely devoted to her.


I've been on maternity leave since August 10, 2009 and it officially ends on August 3. I am endlessly grateful to live in a country that financially and legally supports parents to be able stay home to care for children for the first year of their lives. But somehow it's still not enough.

My daughter is starting to get a sense of humour. Her babbling is beginning to sound conversational (despite it likely being a conversation about how wonderful the dogs are). She's on the cusp of walking. Already she's become one of my favorite people. And now I have to go back to work.

Even before we were married, when my husband and I planned our future together we decided that if we had children, we would make the financial sacrifices so that he could stay home with them. He quit a secure, well-paid job to move to Ottawa. A town with almost no employment opportunities in his sector, especially for non-bilingual people. My job is fairly secure, pays well and offers a top-up for employees on parental leave. It makes a tonne of sense for me to be the working one.

Of course, when you fall in love with your kid, all the sense in the world doesn't make separation any less difficult.

Finding a bag of Swedish Fish I picked-up at Ikea and forgot about. Mmmmm, breakfast.


Added bonus: how great is it that I got them at Ikea?

My sweet sweet blessed bedroom air conditioner.


I live in a place where today's high of 33 C had to be upgraded to 45 C to account for the humidex. Yes, I live in a city so inhospitably ghastly humid for at least 4 months of the year that scientists had to invent a numerical equation to describe the misery.

It makes you feel like drinking shots of astringent just to feel as though your pores can breathe for 10 seconds. It makes you sweat just thinking about putting underpants on.

It balances out nicely with the winters where the wind chill has to be factored in to capture the temperature at which the tears forced from your eyes by the wind freeze to your face.

Lovely place our nation's capital.

First swim of the year in Meech Lake. Glorious.

Dr. Halpern my new parenting guru:"The baby will talk when he talks, relax. It ain't like he knows the cure for cancer and just ain't spitting it out."


I'd heard about the twitter feed but never got around to checking it out. Then I heard Justin Halpern interviewed on Q (can't find direct link to interview, I fail as googler) and decided I needed to read the book. I was not disappointed. The above quote in particular has been timely wisdom for me.

My family places an immense amount of importance on children learning to speak at an early age. All the kids spoke before they were a year old and it was considered a clear sign of our superior intelligence. I grew up not questioning the importance of early speech. It was just assumed that when/if I had kids, they too would be giving long oratories under a year. Then I had a kid... and a couple minor epiphanies.

The main epiphany being that speaking early and being considered "intelligent" do not guarantee a happy and satisfying life - something I truly value my child having. Not exactly rocket science I know, but a pretty big paradigm shift for me.

Another epiphany was that, although I adore my kid, I'm not sure I really care about what she has to say before she's a year old. I think we communicate pretty well right now: she cries and I urgently try to find the source of the need or discomfort and fix it. It's amazing how much they can tell you without using English. For example, I already know she finds our dogs a million times more entertaining than her parents. Frankly, I'm not sure my self-esteem will be able to handle having to hear her talk about how great they are all day.

So yes, Dr. Halpern, crusty, foul-mouthed, loving Father: the hero of my parenting liberation.

I am also looking forward to applying his wisdom regarding toilet training: "You are four years old. You have to shit in the toilet. This is not one of those negotiations where we'll go back and forth and find a middle ground. This ends with you shitting in a toilet."

While in the shower, listening to my husband and daughter waking up together laughing and playing peek-a-boo. Knowing, without a single doubt, that I chose the right man to marry and make beautiful babies with.

Drinking a vanilla soy latte from my (current) favourite mug on Canada Day.


Oh Canadian Tire, thank you for merging patriotism with a near-perfect shopping experience.

Edit: This post was not sponsored by Canadian Tire nor endorsed by them in any way. If however you represent Canadian Tire and would like to be advertised on this site, I would be highly amenable to such an arrangement. Provided, of course, that I would be remunerated in large-denomination Canadian Tire Money.