I'll preface this by saying that I generally avoid acknowledging "Hallmark" holidays like the plague.


A plague of sentimentally-driven consumer insanity.

However, this year I've finally found something that makes me want to celebrate Mother's Day: a (free!!) Ottawa Urban Wild Tour about wild food in conjunction with the annual Jane's Walk.

Seriously, someone pinch me.

Urban foraging + urban planning = extremely excited Sid. I'm losing my ever-loving nerdy mind.

I feel the Mother's Day connection is mere coincidence and my sweet husband would probably go along with this without much prompting but! nonetheless! I could not be happier that I've found a very personal way to spend a day celebrating my role in birthing and attempting to raise an entire human being.

Now let's just hope it doesn't fucking rain the whole time.

I've discovered a drawback to breastfeeding.


Yesterday, the kid had one of those (thankfully very rare) really crappy nights. She had major issues falling asleep and there was lots of seemingly inexplicable crying. With real big heartbreaking tears. She didn't have a fever or any other signs of illness or injury. She'd eaten a good dinner. She didn't seem to have any sniffles or other obvious indications of teething. And, most tragically, the boobs were not an adequate source of comfort.

This was an extremely unnerving development.

For almost 20 months, boobs have been the answer to all life's parenting dilemmas. Baby crying? Try a boob. Baby bored? Boobs are entertaining. Kid refusing to eat all solids except blueberries? Thank the gods that boobs make nutritious protein-containing foodstuff!

However, I've come to realize that as a result, I have little else in my parenting repertoire. Nursing is the only trick in my bag. Well, nursing and more recently Sesame Street DVDs and iPhones.

I imagine that bottle/formula-feeding parents are forced to develop a diverse range comforting tricks and techniques far earlier. I'm sure it doesn't make those first few months of parenting easier but at least they get it all out of the way at once. That and sleeping through the night too apparently. I seriously envy that.

Thankfully last night, some Sesame Street, a hit of liquid ibuprofen (for good measure against teething) and some snuggle time with Daddy finally did the trick.

Scary though it is to face my own parenting limitations at this time, I'm trying to look at this as a good thing in terms of progress towards weaning. Heaven knows that after nearly 3 years (!!!!) of using my body to grow another human being, I'm about ready for a break. In truth, after the boob-fail last night I was incredibly relieved to be able to pass her off to her Papa while I headed back to bed to grab some sleep. And, despite the minor bruise to my ego that I am no longer the be-all-and-end-all source of comfort, I know it's a sign that she's headed in the right direction towards independence.

And hopefully moving out of the house before she's 30. Please.

Images from a roadtrip to Toronto for Easter.


I'd like to give credit for our survival to: iPhones, portable DVD players and hours of vintage Sesame Street.

I've been living in my house for 4.5 years now so I think it's safe to say that I will never be happy with it.


It's also become very apparent that it's not the house, it's me.

Don't get me wrong, the house has it's limitations: the rooms are very small, it doesn't get great light; other than the decent hardwood floors it is utterly devoid of architectural features; the kitchen is poorly-located and overly-doored; there's only one tiny bathroom; no closets; the yards refuse to grow grass; etc (I know, I should be a realtor). But in all, it's a solid little house and it's been very good to us.

One problem is that I never intended to stay past 5 years. This house was meant to be a stop-gap, a way-station on the road to a different town. I didn't want to go too crazy (yes, peacock blue and black wallpaint aside) personalizing it because it would all need to be painted over, fixed-up and sold in a few short years. And then recently, I was shocked to find myself making decisions based more on logic than emotion and guts (I know, it's almost as though I'm becoming an adult or something) and so, we're staying. For at least another 5 years. Paying off some bills and raising babies (well, just one for now). In theory, this should make me more comfortable with making some changes to the house based purely on what I want.

But even now I can't decide what to do with it. I think I just want it to be something it's not. Or rather perhaps something I'm not capable of making it. I want it to be interesting but livable. Sophisticated yet artsy. Warm and inviting but not cluttered or messy. Coherent and cohesive yet not matchy-matchy. And, thanks to the interwebs, I have a head chock-full of beautiful ideas and very little practical notion of how to execute them. Obviously money is also a factor. And I already feels as though I've wasted far too much trying to turn the place into my ever-changing Platonic ideal using massive doses of Ikea and spray paint.

It has dawned on me more than once that my lack of contentedness with this house and frustrations with it's shortcomings are so obviously an extension of my own personality and issues of self-perception. Did Freud cover this aspect of projection anywhere? Our Homes: Our Selves. I've often felt as though my current "self" is a temporary one. Waiting for another cooler, smarter, more-confident me to come along and take over. And it's just as unlikely that this will happen to me as it is that a house with beautiful old fireplaces and high ceilings located somewhere in Canada without winter (but with jobs) will come up for sale in my price-range.

I know I need to find some contentedness, for me and the house, but I have no idea where to even start looking. I am however fairly sure that it's not at Ikea. And, despite my most fervent desires and impulses, it's probably not with more black spray paint.

"Whereas South Dakota has decided that God determines where and when life begins, regardless of the desires of the female vessel in which it incubates, South Dakota must also recognize those instances where and when God has determined life should not begin. Erectile dysfunction medications such as Viagra and Cialis may facilitate the beginning of life in situations where God’s will did not permit reproductive tumescence.

The Male Reproductive Medical Non-Interference Bill will ensure total submission to God’s plan. According to this bill, any male afflicted with Intelligent Flaccidity (previously known as erectile dysfunction) must wait 72 hours from the point at which he would ingest a reproduction-altering drug and seek counseling before he may receive such a prescription." ~ Kathy Cacace


A take on equality in reproductive rights that I adore.

I'm having a list-y sort of week. My brain is craving organization and control these days apparently.

I'm not much of a "bucket list" (too negative) or "life list" (too positive) sort of person but there's definitely a bunch of things I'm interested in doing, at some point, preferably while I'm alive. I also think that life is too short to be contented with dreaming not doing so I really want to make these things happen:

• Go to art school. This is a somewhat weird one given that I spent 8 years in post-secondary and in hindsight hated much of it. Plus I'm just a tad bitter about the student loans I'll be paying into my 40s. But really, I love learning and I wish I'd done a better job of balancing my education and exercising another part of my brain other than the "memorizing things for short periods of time and then promptly forgetting everything" part. That part got real buff, especially in Biochemistry 300. Hell, I have whole classes that I've forgotten I ever took. Reading my transcripts is always entertaining for this reason.


• Spend a year travelling around North America. I've lived in several places in Canada (Victoria, Calgary, Halifax and Ottawa) but there's so much I haven't seen. I want to get a vintagey RV, fix it up to look like a Canadiana-style log cabin (moose antlers, hook rugs, plaid bedding, an taxidermied beaver or two, the smell of a Canada Goose roasting in the oven, etc.) and go see everything. Preferably spending the winter somewhere warm. Like Mexico or a desert. This is a plan we're actually considering for my next year of parental leave. Because I'm crazy enough to think that living in an RV with a newborn and a likely-toddler would be kinda awesome.


• Learn to speak another language at least quasi-competently. Preferably Spanish. Or maybe Scots Gaelic.


• Spend some time working on a farm. Not only do I want to experience work that's guaranteed to be rewarding and physically-demanding, I want to spend some time learning about taking care of a farm before I get my own because ultimately I want a chunk of land and a bunch of animals someday soon. Ducks, pigs, goats, sheep, barn cats, farm dogs, a Shetland pony, bees, etc. Also, I need some practical learning on gardening because I am utterly clueless in that regard.


• Build my own strawbale home. And maybe a barn for the menagerie. Years ago I fell in love with this beautiful and practical style of building. I also love the idea that I could actually design and build a house myself. By hand. Maybe while living in the Canadiana-RV. On my chunk of land.


• Learn to make really good homemade booze. Last year I met a wonderfully interesting couple through a friend and had the life-changing pleasure of sampling their carrot wine. Seriously: wine from carrots. Who knew? It was incredible. I must learn how to turn carrots into wine. I may actually attempt to make this couple my life-mentors. Starting with the carrot wine.


• Become self-employed. This may actually be the least practical/feasible idea on this list since I've spent most of my adult life ensuring I possess only the skills to work for someone else. And I have no idea how or where or what to do. Start a business? Go freelance? Do I have a passion or interest that could actually pay bills? Am I too lazy/unmotivated/apathetic/etc. to make self-employment feasible?

I'm sure there are/will be others to add to this list eventually but I think these are all the main ones I've had kicking around in my head for a while now.

If I know one thing about successful retirement, it's that it's important to maintain a sense of purpose.


Everyday on my walk to work, I pass by a parking lot for a small stripmall. Oddly located, about 10 feet into the middle of the lot on the right, is a fire hydrant.

The owner/caretaker of property on which this packing lot sits has obviously gone to great pains to attempt to prevent people from backing into/over this hydrant. It's bright yellow. It's had a post and a flag attached to it. There's a brick wall (reinforced with wood and extra cement blocks) in front of it. It's not subtle.

And yet, every barricade attempt eventually fails. At least once a month, someone backs over it. Mostly the wall is just knocked-over but some days, like today, the driver apparently gets up sufficient speed and determination to take the whole thing down.

And, every single time, I see the owner/caretaker out fixing it. Dude has to be at least 80. He looks like Rip Van Winkle's grandfather. He's all stooped-over, slowly and painfully hauling and re-arranging those cement blocks back into a wall-like shape while affecting a certain quiet, resigned, Zen-like demeanour. Again and again and again.

It seems like attempting to protect the hydrant is his goal. His mission. His reason to live. As long as the hydrant keeps getting backed-over by assholes, his work will never be done.

There's something kinda beautiful about it really. I hope that I can find my hydrant some day.

"It’s not every day that a sitting president takes cues from a sex columnist who once licked Gary Bauer’s doorknob."
~ Benjamin Dueholm on Dan Savage

A great line from an excellent article about this generation's answer to Ann Landers.

I consider Dan Savage to be one of my gurus/heros. In particular, I think his book about marriage, "The Commitment", should be mandatory pre-marital reading for everyone.

Another great line from the article:

"In ways that his frequent interlocutors on the Christian right wouldn’t expect, Savage has probably done more to uphold conventional families than many counselors who are unwilling to engage so frankly with modern sexual mores. “A successful marriage is basically an endless cycle of wrongs committed, apologies offered, and forgiveness granted,” he advised one very uptight spouse, “all leavened by the occasional orgasm.”"

Is it considered gauche to talk about how much I adore my kid? Too precious? Too cliche?


Seriously though, she cracks me up. My mother sent her some jean overalls the other day. And they looked adorable on her. For the 5 whole minutes it took her to figure out that she could unsnap them. Then it was like a tiny toddler reenactment of the Full Monty followed by much comedic waddling about with her pants around her ankles. Refasten and repeat.

Years ago I used to listen to the radio show "Loveline" late at night out of Seattle. One of the hosts Adam Carolla had some amazingly wise insights into parent-child relationships. In particular I remember that he once said something to the effect that as a father of a daughter, your main goal is to keep your kid "off the pole". If you accomplished this, you'd done an ok job.

I'd say that based on her early predilections for pantslessness, my husband has his work cut out for him.

Yes.

It was -2C this morning plus a wind-chill and, like a little kid with a new toy, I decided to wear my shiny new Vibram FiveFinger KSOs to walk to work. And my mittens.

I'm not going to lie: my toes were numb with cold. But it made my walk a ton of fun so it was totally worth it. I'm super-excited to go for a run today and really try these puppies out.

I love this photo set, and this pic in particular.

All the sweet cuddly nursing pics are great but there's something so fantastic about the styling in this one. The look on her face is perfect. It says to me: "Yes, I have a child on my tit. And your point would be?"

Brilliant.

Via Marvelous Kiddo

Sometimes I fantasize about going back to university and doing a PhD in Anthropology.


My field of study would be human cubicle culture.

There's just something so fascinating about how this particular environment seems to encourage a special sort of deviant behaviour. Stuff like: zealous hording of scarce office supplies; aggressive protectiveness towards ones favourite pens/chair/stapler/etc.; feelings of anger/resentment/violation when "your" lunch storage spot in the refrigerator is stolen; harbouring semi-homicidal feelings regarding the office loud-talkers/annoying-laughers/smelly food-eaters/etc.; cubicle-specific activities such as prairie-dogging; the unique laws of proxemics in office environs (i.e., my personal "hula hoop" encompasses my entire cubicle); the fine art of appearing to work harder than you are; etc.

However, my personal favourite aspect of cube-culture are the passive aggressive notes posted anonymously. In particular, the ones beside toilets such as the one above. Now, admittedly, there may be a French-to-English translation issue with that sign but I (sadly) wouldn't be surprised to hear that someone on my floor had actually tried to flush a sock.

I profoundly regret that I never took a picture of the sign in my previous office's washroom that said something like: "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie." Nobel laureate gold that one.