The interwebs are just throwing out all sorts of good stuff this week.
From an old Slate article on co-sleeping:
"According to Ferber, the trouble with letting a child who fears sleeping alone into your bed is that "you are not really solving the problem. There must be a reason why he is so fearful." Yes, there must. Here's one candidate. Maybe your child's brain was designed by natural selection over millions of years during which mothers slept with their babies. Maybe back then if babies found themselves completely alone at night it often meant something horrific had happened--the mother had been eaten by a beast, say. Maybe the young brain is designed to respond to this situation by screaming frantically so that any relatives within earshot will discover the child. Maybe, in short, the reason that kids left alone sound terrified is that kids left alone naturally get terrified. Just a theory."
via Hunter-Gatherer
6.30.2011
From great article about Dan Savage, my favourite family advice guru:
"The point is: priests and rabbis don’t tell couples they might need to involve cake play in their marriages; moms and dads don’t; even best friends can be shy about saying what they like. Savage wants to make sure that no strong marriage ever fails because an ashamed husband or wife is desperately seeking cake play — or bondage, urine play or any of the other unspeakable activities that Savage has helped make speakable. If cake play is what a man needs, his G.G.G. wife should give it to him; if she can’t bring herself to, then maybe she should allow him a chocolate-frosted excursion with another woman. But for God’s sake, keep it together for the kids."~ Mark Oppenheimer for NY Times
Who knew "cake play" was even an option?
Man, those damned mandatory sex education classes taught me nothing useful.
"The point is: priests and rabbis don’t tell couples they might need to involve cake play in their marriages; moms and dads don’t; even best friends can be shy about saying what they like. Savage wants to make sure that no strong marriage ever fails because an ashamed husband or wife is desperately seeking cake play — or bondage, urine play or any of the other unspeakable activities that Savage has helped make speakable. If cake play is what a man needs, his G.G.G. wife should give it to him; if she can’t bring herself to, then maybe she should allow him a chocolate-frosted excursion with another woman. But for God’s sake, keep it together for the kids."~ Mark Oppenheimer for NY Times
Who knew "cake play" was even an option?
Man, those damned mandatory sex education classes taught me nothing useful.
Want to weigh-in on the latest debate raging amongst my family and friends?
The new-to-us vintage orange sectional: fab or fug?
Note: In making your decision, please attempt to ignore the photobombing, clashingly-apparelled, Sesame Street-engrossed toddler.
6.29.2011
In other news, I will never complain about childbirth again.
"Astonishingly, the femal spotted hyena urinates, copulates and gives birth through her pseudopenis. When she gives birth to her first litter, the posterior surface of the female's pseudopenis tears and leaves a long patch of bright pink scar tissue. Although we hyena-watchers find this very handy for determining whether a female has ever borne a litter, the tearing must hurt like the devil." ~ Kay E. Holekamp for NY Times
"Astonishingly, the femal spotted hyena urinates, copulates and gives birth through her pseudopenis. When she gives birth to her first litter, the posterior surface of the female's pseudopenis tears and leaves a long patch of bright pink scar tissue. Although we hyena-watchers find this very handy for determining whether a female has ever borne a litter, the tearing must hurt like the devil." ~ Kay E. Holekamp for NY Times
Not sure how I came across this blog but the author does an eloquent job of articulating some of the best arguments in favour of decriminalizing/legalizing assisted suicide (a topic about which I happen to have some strong opinions):
"We don’t allow our legal system to punish people with the “cruel and unusual”. We don’t let tax-cheats be whipped, we don’t chop off a thief’s hands, we don’t lobotomize blasphemers, and we don’t castrate perverts, yet we expect those with medical afflictions to bravely tolerate far, far worse for much longer… until they die from it in fact. We also accept that it’s unacceptable to torture people even if “good” might come of it (let’s skip the debate on its efficacy) like stopping a terrorist attack or finding a kidnapped kid. Yet somehow not only do we force those with certain illnesses to spend the rest of their lives being tortured, we ensure that this torture be as effective as possible by putting up legal blockades to ensure they can’t get proper treatment for the pain under the false and irrelevant premise that narcotics might fall into the hands of addicts. Things that everyday parlance calls “a fate worse than death” is not deserved by those we brand as “evil” yet no one blinks at the idea that those who the dice-throw of life handed the right disease be gifted with said unacceptable fate. It’s perverse and sickening and inhumane… Inhuman." ~ Zentastic
"We don’t allow our legal system to punish people with the “cruel and unusual”. We don’t let tax-cheats be whipped, we don’t chop off a thief’s hands, we don’t lobotomize blasphemers, and we don’t castrate perverts, yet we expect those with medical afflictions to bravely tolerate far, far worse for much longer… until they die from it in fact. We also accept that it’s unacceptable to torture people even if “good” might come of it (let’s skip the debate on its efficacy) like stopping a terrorist attack or finding a kidnapped kid. Yet somehow not only do we force those with certain illnesses to spend the rest of their lives being tortured, we ensure that this torture be as effective as possible by putting up legal blockades to ensure they can’t get proper treatment for the pain under the false and irrelevant premise that narcotics might fall into the hands of addicts. Things that everyday parlance calls “a fate worse than death” is not deserved by those we brand as “evil” yet no one blinks at the idea that those who the dice-throw of life handed the right disease be gifted with said unacceptable fate. It’s perverse and sickening and inhumane… Inhuman." ~ Zentastic
6.28.2011
6.24.2011
6.23.2011
Yet another reason to love the iPhones.
During the day when I'm at work, my husband texts me sweet pictures (and occasionally some not-so-sweet screaming videos) of the kid. These glimpses into their days makes being away from them a bit less difficult.
Or, in the case of the screaming videos, makes me very grateful I married someone with more patience (and less sensitive hearing) than myself.
6.22.2011
This post is going to launch me into blogging fame and fortune.
Because, who doesn't love even a mediocre before-and-after post?
I know I'm excited since I need a good reminder of how much I've actually accomplished since the fucking to-do list never seems to get any shorter. Home ownership: as fast as you fix things, more shit falls apart. Good times. But enough of my bitterness.
Are you ready for the big reveal?
This was the front door when I bought the place almost 5 years ago:
And this is the front door now:
I know you can almost make out my address. Please refrain from stalking me. I have an aged 30 pound dog and a perpetually-teething toddler I can throw at you in self-defense.
Ok. Ready for more Moderate Ghetto Home Makeover (TM) excitement? Let's move on to the backyard.
This was my backyard 5 years ago:
Let your eyes feast on that beauty for a bit. Linger on the shipping pallet deck, the bounty of natural dust/dirt and the toothpick/particle board melange of a "fence". I feel that the original landscaper had been inspired heavily by the Sydney Tar Ponds. Exquisite.
And, this is the back yard in it's much-less-likely-to-give-you-cancer-but-not-quite-done-yet state (we still need to: paint, get a new back door, finish the deck on the side, grow vines up the lattice/over the pergola, put in a paver path, fix the dead spots on the lawn where the dog insists on peeing each and every fucking time she goes out even if she's been walked 5 minutes before and, install a hammock):
And yes, the toddler gnawing on her fist and screaming at the cameraperson is now an integral part of the landscaping and will be included with the household appliances when we eventually sell. I took real estate law, once something becomes a "fixture" it legally comes with the house. Suckers.
Because, who doesn't love even a mediocre before-and-after post?
I know I'm excited since I need a good reminder of how much I've actually accomplished since the fucking to-do list never seems to get any shorter. Home ownership: as fast as you fix things, more shit falls apart. Good times. But enough of my bitterness.
Are you ready for the big reveal?
This was the front door when I bought the place almost 5 years ago:
And this is the front door now:
I know you can almost make out my address. Please refrain from stalking me. I have an aged 30 pound dog and a perpetually-teething toddler I can throw at you in self-defense.
Ok. Ready for more Moderate Ghetto Home Makeover (TM) excitement? Let's move on to the backyard.
This was my backyard 5 years ago:
Let your eyes feast on that beauty for a bit. Linger on the shipping pallet deck, the bounty of natural dust/dirt and the toothpick/particle board melange of a "fence". I feel that the original landscaper had been inspired heavily by the Sydney Tar Ponds. Exquisite.
And, this is the back yard in it's much-less-likely-to-give-you-cancer-but-not-quite-done-yet state (we still need to: paint, get a new back door, finish the deck on the side, grow vines up the lattice/over the pergola, put in a paver path, fix the dead spots on the lawn where the dog insists on peeing each and every fucking time she goes out even if she's been walked 5 minutes before and, install a hammock):
And yes, the toddler gnawing on her fist and screaming at the cameraperson is now an integral part of the landscaping and will be included with the household appliances when we eventually sell. I took real estate law, once something becomes a "fixture" it legally comes with the house. Suckers.
6.16.2011
Apropos of something:
"“We’re confusing our own needs with our kids’ needs and calling it good parenting,” Blume said, letting out a sigh. I asked him why he sighed. (This is what happens when two therapists have a conversation.) “It’s sad to watch,” he explained. “I can’t tell you how often I have to say to parents that they’re putting too much emphasis on their kids’ feelings because of their own issues. If a therapist is telling you to pay less attention to your kid’s feelings, you know something has gotten way of out of whack.”"
~ How to Land Your Kid in Therapy
"Similarly, my 12 year old son could not seem to remember to go to his first period class prepared. The teacher actually suggested that it was my responsibility to make sure he brought his pencil to class each day. When I told her that I disagreed, that my responsibility was making sure he went to school with all the supplies he needed but something as simple as bringing a pencil to class was my son’s job, she suggested I go to school with him and make sure he got to class with his pencil. I had laughed, but she wasn’t joking."
~ Chris Jordan at Alphamom
"He recalls attending a psychoanalytic conference in Honolulu in the early 1970s where an analyst from Taiwan reported on a case of a man who had slept with his grandmother until the age of twelve. The fact that the man was a general in the Taiwanese army suggested to the Asian analysts that such a sleeping pattern was incidental. The American analysts insisted it was pathological, despite his successful military career."
~ Ann Winger at momfilter
"“We’re confusing our own needs with our kids’ needs and calling it good parenting,” Blume said, letting out a sigh. I asked him why he sighed. (This is what happens when two therapists have a conversation.) “It’s sad to watch,” he explained. “I can’t tell you how often I have to say to parents that they’re putting too much emphasis on their kids’ feelings because of their own issues. If a therapist is telling you to pay less attention to your kid’s feelings, you know something has gotten way of out of whack.”"
~ How to Land Your Kid in Therapy
"Similarly, my 12 year old son could not seem to remember to go to his first period class prepared. The teacher actually suggested that it was my responsibility to make sure he brought his pencil to class each day. When I told her that I disagreed, that my responsibility was making sure he went to school with all the supplies he needed but something as simple as bringing a pencil to class was my son’s job, she suggested I go to school with him and make sure he got to class with his pencil. I had laughed, but she wasn’t joking."
~ Chris Jordan at Alphamom
"He recalls attending a psychoanalytic conference in Honolulu in the early 1970s where an analyst from Taiwan reported on a case of a man who had slept with his grandmother until the age of twelve. The fact that the man was a general in the Taiwanese army suggested to the Asian analysts that such a sleeping pattern was incidental. The American analysts insisted it was pathological, despite his successful military career."
~ Ann Winger at momfilter
Until I was in my early 20s I had no idea that my mother was terrified of snakes.
When my brothers and I were kids growing up in the wilds of BC, we regularly brought home impressively large garter snake specimens for my mom to admire. One time my brother found a real beauty about 3 feet long. When we dragged my mother out of the house and down the driveway with our excited screams, she was duly impressed both by the size of the snake and the size of the poop it took on my brother's arm. [Fun fact: snake poop is incredibly hard to clean off (it has a tacky, tar-like quality) and has a nasty smell that lingers for days.]
Only in hindsight do I now realize what an amazing actor my mother is. And how badly she didn't want to pass her own phobia of snakes on to her children.
I guess at some point we were old enough that she (subconsciously?) decided she could let down her guard. I found out about her fear rather abruptly when we were out jogging together. A small snake that had been sunning itself on the path moved quickly off the trail to avoid being trampled, passing directly in front of us. My, normally quite stoic, mother screamed, jumped several feet straight up into the air and then attempted to climb up me to get away from the long-gone snake. It was an impressive display.
After she climbed down and caught her breath, I had a chance to contemplate the trivial but nonetheless stunning realization that my mother was afraid of snakes. Really, really afraid of snakes. And I had never even had the slightest inkling. I was impressed at the time but even more so now that I'm a parent.
Although I totally reject the propaganda that every tiny thing a parent does is critical to their child's development, knowing that someone is modelling their future life behaviour at least in part on mine has definitely given me a few self-conscious, self-critical moments. What are the things about myself that I would deem unhealthy or undesirable? Do I even possess the self-control or discipline to be able to repress or hide these things? (Hell, is my lack of self-discipline something I can avoid passing on to my children?)
Obviously I'm biased and very likely blind to the worst of my own faults but the two main things I wish to avoid passing on to my kids are: my total inability to be disciplined with money (I'm not a gambling addict or anything but sticking to a budget is beyond me thus far) and my frequent tendency to make bitchy, grumbling comments about people in daily life (e.g., the lady ahead of me in line at the grocery store having the long conversation with the cashier about whether they carry garlic butter, not garlic spread mind you, butter). I know these aren't exactly confessions of extreme evil but they are things that I really don't like about myself. Things that as a parent I want to be able to make a conscious effort to not seemingly endorse as "good" behaviors to my kids.
Perhaps my mother's fear of snakes wouldn't have transferred to us regardless of her behaviour. Certainly, other undesirable things she didn't worry about did make the generation-leap (e.g., nail biting). But, by repressing her snake phobia, she taught me something I do think is key about being a parent: any attempt at self-improvement in the name of being a better parent is laudable.
That said, it'll be a dark day before I give up the drinking, borderline-obsessive need to rearrange furniture and entirely-justified phobias of lint traps and putting my hands in cold, dirty dishwater. After all, it's important to teach children to be human too.
When my brothers and I were kids growing up in the wilds of BC, we regularly brought home impressively large garter snake specimens for my mom to admire. One time my brother found a real beauty about 3 feet long. When we dragged my mother out of the house and down the driveway with our excited screams, she was duly impressed both by the size of the snake and the size of the poop it took on my brother's arm. [Fun fact: snake poop is incredibly hard to clean off (it has a tacky, tar-like quality) and has a nasty smell that lingers for days.]
Only in hindsight do I now realize what an amazing actor my mother is. And how badly she didn't want to pass her own phobia of snakes on to her children.
I guess at some point we were old enough that she (subconsciously?) decided she could let down her guard. I found out about her fear rather abruptly when we were out jogging together. A small snake that had been sunning itself on the path moved quickly off the trail to avoid being trampled, passing directly in front of us. My, normally quite stoic, mother screamed, jumped several feet straight up into the air and then attempted to climb up me to get away from the long-gone snake. It was an impressive display.
After she climbed down and caught her breath, I had a chance to contemplate the trivial but nonetheless stunning realization that my mother was afraid of snakes. Really, really afraid of snakes. And I had never even had the slightest inkling. I was impressed at the time but even more so now that I'm a parent.
Although I totally reject the propaganda that every tiny thing a parent does is critical to their child's development, knowing that someone is modelling their future life behaviour at least in part on mine has definitely given me a few self-conscious, self-critical moments. What are the things about myself that I would deem unhealthy or undesirable? Do I even possess the self-control or discipline to be able to repress or hide these things? (Hell, is my lack of self-discipline something I can avoid passing on to my children?)
Obviously I'm biased and very likely blind to the worst of my own faults but the two main things I wish to avoid passing on to my kids are: my total inability to be disciplined with money (I'm not a gambling addict or anything but sticking to a budget is beyond me thus far) and my frequent tendency to make bitchy, grumbling comments about people in daily life (e.g., the lady ahead of me in line at the grocery store having the long conversation with the cashier about whether they carry garlic butter, not garlic spread mind you, butter). I know these aren't exactly confessions of extreme evil but they are things that I really don't like about myself. Things that as a parent I want to be able to make a conscious effort to not seemingly endorse as "good" behaviors to my kids.
Perhaps my mother's fear of snakes wouldn't have transferred to us regardless of her behaviour. Certainly, other undesirable things she didn't worry about did make the generation-leap (e.g., nail biting). But, by repressing her snake phobia, she taught me something I do think is key about being a parent: any attempt at self-improvement in the name of being a better parent is laudable.
That said, it'll be a dark day before I give up the drinking, borderline-obsessive need to rearrange furniture and entirely-justified phobias of lint traps and putting my hands in cold, dirty dishwater. After all, it's important to teach children to be human too.
6.13.2011
On Friday I experienced a momentous event: I went out, at night, without the kid or the husband.
I think it's been almost two years.
Which hasn't bothered me as much I would have thought it might if you'd told me ahead of time that it would be that long.
An old friend from high school was in town playing with a band at the Elmdale Tavern (love it) so I dragged another agoraphobic mom-friend out to try Hintonburger (review = meh), drink Strongbow and stay out until almost midnight! I'm still recovering.
I had a really good time but I have to say that my favourite part of the evening was having a gander at the gentrification process in Hintonburg. I lived there about 5 years ago before I bought my house and things were just starting to get cleaned up. Now there's all sorts of cool places to eat, interesting shops and pretty sidewalks. The best indication of a neighbourhood in transition: a boutique baby store located next door to a head shop. Awesome.
I do have to question the artistic value of the fire hydrants though. Really? I normally support art, even art that I don't particularly like, but I'm just not getting these at all. I get the vibe that I'm not alone in this.
6.10.2011
These photos of New York in the 70s are amazing.
As is picked-up in the comment section, several things really jump out: 1) the number of kids playing all sorts of sports/games in the streets without an adult in sight and 2) no fat kids.
Though I'm very likely guilty of viewing these scenes through a lens of nostalgia, I can't help thinking that we as a species lost something important when we cleaned up the crime/garbage and hid the children indoors.
Via Kottke
As is picked-up in the comment section, several things really jump out: 1) the number of kids playing all sorts of sports/games in the streets without an adult in sight and 2) no fat kids.
Though I'm very likely guilty of viewing these scenes through a lens of nostalgia, I can't help thinking that we as a species lost something important when we cleaned up the crime/garbage and hid the children indoors.
Via Kottke
6.08.2011
We've been crazy-busy with home projects lately.
As a result, the "before & after" blog-fodder is coming along nicely but I don't have proper photos or time to do witty write-ups yet.
In place of real blog content, please enjoy this picture of my kid hanging out in her bike seat on one of our innumerable trips to my beloved Canadian Tire.
6.02.2011
On Monday (hereinafter referred to as: The Most Beautiful Fucking Day Of The Whole Fucking Year), I took a day off from work.
We spent the morning sleeping in and noodling about the house/backyard. We had bacon and pancakes for brunch. In the afternoon we went for a long beautiful bike ride along the river to a tiny park where the kid got to break in her new flip flops wading in the water and poking things with a stick. Came home and hung out in the yard while the kid played in more water. Made a tasty dinner from leftovers that we ate on the deck while the kid ran around enjoying some naked freedom. Ice cream for dessert and reasonably early bedtimes for all.
I would not be exaggerating at all when I say that it may have been the best vacation I've ever had.
Which got me thinking about makes a good vacation. Because lord knows that I've had many, many bad ones. You know, the ones that involve: lots of travel; tons of travel-related stress; too much time rushing from place to place; spending way more money than you wanted to spend on things you don't want to spend money on; far too little time doing/buying/eating/drinking what you actually want; crappy weather; etc.
In contrast, my ideal vacation would include:
- Low cost.
- Good friends and/or family.
- Minimal travel.
- Decent weather.
- A noted absence of biting bugs (or any other aggressive wildlife/locals for that matter).
- Spending most of the time outdoors.
- Lots of good food and leisurely cocktails.
- Spontaneous afternoon naps.
- Interesting things to do or explore at a leisurely pace between cocktails and naps.
- Casual exercise in the form of long, slow bike rides, walks and/or swims.
- Relaxed communally-prepared meals.
- After-dinner boardgames and/or music around a fire.
We have no plans to go anywhere this summer so I'm making it my goal to incorporate as much of the above as possible on a daily basis for the next few months.
However, it should be carefully noted that at no time will the words "stay" and "vacation" be combined into one word. Do. Not. Do. It.
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