Nice Try, Guys

Wow, I am im-pressed. Seriously, I did not think you had it in you.

I mean, I knew y'all were sneaky, but this? Is really, really super sneaky.

Oh, don't act so coy - I know you paid off Michael Ignatieff into trying to force an election just so you could get me to move back to Canada.

Yeah, I'll admit I was pretty angry last year when I discovered I wasn't allowed to vote in the Canadian election because I wasn't a resident and because I didn't have a planned re-entry date/address to which to return. It definitely gets my goat that, despite being a citizen of the country (of which I am reminded so frequently every time I try to cross the border back into the US), I don't actually have any say in what goes on there.

To be sure, I don't live there right now. But people I love do. People whose lives impact mine do. And maybe I will be back someday - who knows? My right to Canadian universal healthcare should I return is the only thing that allows me to sleep at night, knowing that I'm one pre-existing condition away from having zero coverage down here.

And I am certainly more than a little perturbed by the logic that says my citizenship is not enough to allow me to vote if I live abroad, but if I lived in Lebanon and found myself the victim of airstrikes, the tax dollars (to which I still contribute, I might add) about which I have no say would be spent rescuing me.

So I can see where y'all would have been thinking that the fires of my rage, not active but still smoldering under the ashes of the past year, would be stoked by another election call in less than a year and that I would be so fed up that I would high-tail it back to Manitoba, hitting the voting booth along the way.

Because.

My friends and family taking up a collection in order to bribe the current leader of the Liberal Party to attempt to force an election less than a year after losing the last one is much, much more plausible than the thought of him calling this election because he thinks he will win.

There's no possible way he's looking at the current political landscape and seeing a road to victory charted anywhere on it. Anyone with eyes can see that this is doomed to failure.

The problem with an election right now, as he surely must know, is that in order to oust the Conservatives, he needs a really big carrot and an even bigger stick:

1) Carrot - a party in such previous disarray as the Liberals needs a charismatic, vibrant, unifying leader who speaks hope and truth and inspires the desire for change (see also: the current president of the United States)

2) Stick - a party with such inertia as the Conservatives will fall only if its leader is so terrible that even its own members want to distance themselves from him, not to mention the undecided (see also: the previous president of the United States)

Ignatieff must surely be aware that he has neither. He is untried, untested. Full of piss and vinegar, to be sure, and doing his best to look like David to Harper's Goliath, but ultimately he hasn't had enough face time nor has he washed away the lingering traces of the Disaster that was Dion from voters still suspicious of whether the Liberal Party has any strength at all right now.

To be sure, he's correct when he says that the current government can't be trusted to deliver its promises, that it's wasting taxpayer dollars, that it's embroiled in petty political fights for the sole purpose of shoring up power.

But this? Equals business as usual in Canadian politics, doesn't matter who's in power.

And constituents, particularly those suffering from the tremendous voter fatigue that infects voters in Canada over the past number of years, need to hate their leader more than they hate going to the polls.

There are lots of people who want Harper gone. But they didn't vote for him last time, either. What Ignatieff needs are the Conservative and NDP votes from last time around. And there simply hasn't been enough time for those people to have enough buyer's remorse to get the numbers he needs out to the polls.

(Of course, Mr. Flip-Flop "I'll back whoever I think will invite me to the 24 Sussex Drive Christmas Party" Layton may have finally lost the last bit of credibility he had, so perhaps the Liberals'll gain a few former-NDPers...)

So, while I admire the lengths to which you've all gone, I really suggest that you very nicely ask for your money back, and give Parliament a bit longer to stew in its own juices. Because, while I'm sincerely flattered, I care too much about Canada to allow such a tremendous gesture on a personal level be so devastating to the Canadian public at large.

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Can't Blog...Busy...

...blowing up words:

Okay, so I'm not only frittering time away playing geeky typing games.

Slowly, but surely, we're figuring out the homework thing. White binder comes home on Friday and is returned on Monday with the previous week's Math and French. Red folder comes home Monday to be returned the following Monday with English. Yellow folder comes home Friday and should be returned on Wednesday with printing. Powerpoints and online activities are available on the website; weekly homework assignments are posted on the various wikis. Print out one (1) copy of each word study per week and return in aforementioned red folder. Library books come home on Friday: three (3) each French and two (2) each English, to be read in addition to the powerpoints listed above to a minimum total of 15 minutes per night at least 5 (five) nights per week.

Fall seems to have arrived today, so I can finally indulge my baking/soups/carb-loading instincts. Everybody's got their chrystanthemums out (is this just a MN thing, or is it Statesy-wide? This time of year, everyone buys these heeee-yoooge pots of mums and has them decorating their doorsteps).

(Aside: I do not. PM + potted flora = a dead plant and a waste of $$.)

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Vendredi V - The People on the Bus Go Up and Down

I saw the nicest girl on the bus the other day. A woman boarded and asked the driver how much the ride would cost after she produced some sort of discount fare card. He said, "75 cents," and she began to rummage around in her purse. She pulled out some bills, then turned to everyone and asked, "Anyone got change for a dollar?"

(Which? Makes you either really, really frugal or really, really hard up. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be watching my pennies so closely that I'd ask perfect strangers for change in order to save a quarter. Given the current unclaimed currency that gathers dust on the dryer post-pocket sorting, I realize I pretty much have no idea.)

No one ponied up immediately, so the driver motioned her on. She sat down, and a girl sitting in the front quickly got out her wallet. She found some coins and, smiling, passed them to the newcomer. Then, when the lady tried to make the exchange, the girl waved her off and said, "No, no, that's okay."

Not two minutes later, when a young family toting two preschoolers and a collapsible stroller boarded the bus, this same girl was up and out of her front-row seat and moving towards a less accessible back-of-the-bus seat before both sippy cups had made it on.

(This in stark contrast to the loser teenager who nonchalantly occupied his disabled/elderly/not-for-healthy-young-bucks-unless-there's-no-one-else-on-the-bus prime real estate while the mother of the children stood and tried not to fall over at each frequent stop.)

She was my bus hero that day, a welcome sight on a commute where I have few opportunities to witness similar acts of greatness.

I don't know what it is about bus culture. Something about it tends to invite rudeness - perhaps it is the forced intimacy with strangers, the sweaty heat of late, the strange position of being alone and anonymous while your thigh brushes up against someone else.

And man, was it ever a week to give Miss Manners a run for her money. I give you:

Top 5 Rude Things I Heard On The Bus This Week

1. "WHAT THE ^&% ARE YOU DOING?!?!? WHAT THE &%* IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!" This yelled from the back of the bus to the bus driver, who had the audacity to drive away from a requested stop after looking in the mirror and not seeing the now-understandably-irate man who decided only after the fact that he wanted to get off.

2. "So, like, there he was eating tacos without any cheese or sour cream, but he had parmesan cheese, so that seemed really strange, but also at the same time kind of cute, you know? and how he didn't want to come over because he'd be all sad to see my dog and then have to, you know, put him back into my bedroom..." I suppose that one can't really blame young people who seem to think that once the bus gets going it's time to pull out their cell phones. So much condemnation is levelled these days at those who talk/text/put on make-up/eat/read the newspaper while they drive their cars that they must see themselves as model citizens for pursuing these activities while under the capable care of a designated driver.

Plus, given that phone booths have gone the way of the dodo, I can see how one might confuse one long metal cylinder with the other. Except for that part about how a phone booth allowed you to have a private conversation, while a bus simply ensures that the entire bus has the pleasure of finding out about last night's craaaaazy party - oh YEAH!!

3. [...] Silence today, from the woman who pretended to be so deeply engrossed in her book that she failed to notice the rest of us standing in the aisle, looking down with contempt at her purse. Which had a seat to itself, while the rest of us tried to plant our feet firmly so we wouldn't topple over when we hit highway speed.

4. "Crunch, crunch, crunch." Confession time: I HATE being around other people eating cereal. The drinking of milk from the bowl is awful, and I have to avert my eyes and think about other things than their adam's apple when I see someone do it. Worse than seeing it all is the sound. I cannot handle that schmauksy sound it makes. Worse than the sound? The smell. Worst cereal smell?! CHEERIOS. Which the girl behind me was noisily eating for over 15 blocks on Tuesday. The sound was bad enough, but smelling her post-mastication-Cheerios-chasing-coffee breath alllllmost did me in.

5. "pshhhhhhhh" Hey buddy. Those AXE commercials where one spray leads to nubile, sweaty, scantily-clad women descending upon you with hunger in their eyes and nostrils flaring appreciatively? That's called MAR-KUH-TING. That doesn't really happen.

And the bus on a hot day when I can't open the windows because the lady in front of me will frown at me because it is messing up her hair and I've got 30 minutes of my ride left is NOT the place for you to make a quick addition to your sex appeal right before getting off and leaving us with the long-lingering reminders of your machismo.

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What Would You Do?

So, let's say you're running out the door to head to work. It's 5:50 am, so it's pretty dark in the garage.

You place your coffee and the container with your favourite on-the-go breakfast (one peeled, hard-boiled egg with a bit of salt - perfect protein in a snack size!) on top of the car and think, "heh-heh, better not forget that they're up there!" while you stow the rest of your career-woman's baggage.

You reverse down the driveway (hypothetically, of course) and head down the street. A few yards into the drive you hear a tiny clunk and, remembering your earlier premonition, quickly glance down. Coffee mug? Check. Egg?

Not so much check.

A glance in the rearview mirror provides nothing but more darkness, so you do a quick U-turn. Your lights pick up an upside-down container...and...a few feet further on...an egg.

Sighing, you go outside to retrieve the mess you made. The container is unscathed, but the egg? Quite scathed. Like some biker-meets-road misfortune, pieces have been torn off, and there's gravel embedded in the raw flesh.

You hop back into the car (all of this totally in theory) and continue on. Then you think about how that egg was your breakfast.

And how you're trying to eat healthy these days. And how the only food available for purchase at this hour in the building where you work is greasy breakfast sandwiches or baked goods. And how even if you vow to yourself to get the yogurt parfait or the reduced fat blueberry muffin at Starbucks (which is healthy in the same way as saying, "I'm totally going to choose the butcher knife because the cutlass and the machete are way too dangerous to handle" is safe), you will probably end up getting the deep-fried-major-glazed-apple-fritter.

(Like you always do.)

And how this forlorn, beat-up, road-rashed egg is pretty much the only thing between you and lunch.

What would you do?




(I totally ate it.)




(However, as mentioned, I remembered my mug - huzzah! So I rinsed the egg off with a bit of coffee, and it was good as new. Well, not really. But I got the gravel off.)




(Well, not really.)

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So Much for Playtime

In the summer before my last year in the Faculty of Education (which ended up being "last" in a different way than I thought), I was informed by the Powers That Be that I could not, in fact, take my remaining three academic credit hours as I had planned during the upcoming school year.

This certification year, they told me, was exclusively for student teaching and, as it was on an entirely different schedule than regular classes, I was not allowed to combine them.

(Because, of course, three years in university had not yet fitted me for that intricate task of figuring out my own schedule, and it was totally out of the question that I take an evening class in addition to my day-time duties.)

Scrambling, I checked out the summer schedule, and found a psychology course - Organizational Behaviour. Excellent! A few class discussions on why people go all Lord of the Flies in the absence of clear authority, the odd test or two, and I had it made. The Husband even signed up, too, figuring it would be a great way to polish off one of his Arts requirements. Plus? Doing something as a couple...awww.

The Husband wasn't able to make the first class (but who cared? We could tag-team such an easy class if we wanted to, right?), and so it wasn't until the first break that I could phone him (from - old crone that I am - a pay phone - who uses pay phones anymore?):

Hey, how's it going?

Do you have the school calendar in front of you?

Uh yeah, why?

You need to find any other class that I can possibly take instead of this psychology course. And I mean ANYTHING.

Uh, there's Calculus I. By correspondence.

Perfect! It can't POSSIBLY be more work than this one.

Unfortunately, Organizational Behaviour was being taught by a Ph.D. student that summer. A student who clearly had forgotten undergrad work levels and determined that there was no reason we couldn't read a textbook's worth of material each week, prepare a paper, and come ready to discuss the mountain of reading.

It was either take this class or keep my job (hola, Smitty's!). So I chose Calculus.

I am wondering if perhaps The Girl's third grade teacher is also a Ph.D. student. How else to explain the following requirements:

- 15 minutes of reading every night
- Timed reading of each week's powerpoint every night
- Practicing the week's spelling words every night
- Nightly math worksheets
- Math flash cards to prepare for timed tests

All to a suggested total of 45 minutes per night. The above does not include her English reading, either.

Now, I'm all for helping my child learn. Education is a partnership between parents and teachers, and I want to support her in her Journey to Knowledge. But is it just me, or is this all a tad EXCESSIVE?

It doesn't help that last year's teacher didn't believe in homework, and so assigned the bare minimum. Homework was a sheet or two of math each week, which The Girl did on the bus ride to school because we forgot about it pretty much every time.

Oh, and we're also supposed to read to The Boy every night. 30 minutes preferably, but 10 minutes at the bare minimum.

And I'll bet you can just imagine how well all of this is going over around here. Lots of crankiness, tears, and "I hate homework! This is stupid!"

(The Girl and The Boy aren't terribly pleased either.)

Methinks I should just enroll them in Calculus instead. It couldn't possibly be any harder than this.

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School Daze

Aaaaand, they're off!

Quick, guys, smile - the bus is coming! Who cares if you're centred?!

And thus it all begins again.

I love back to school. The promise of new backpacks, shiny notebooks, special first day of school outfits (speaking of which, could she possibly wear any more colours?).

Summer's end is so bittersweet. On the one hand, I'm sad to say good-bye to those hazy, lazy, long warm days.

On the other, I heave a sigh of relief that we're finally back to routine. The loosey-gooseyness of holidays is fine for awhile, but I'm a creature of habit, as we all know.

The kids both had good days for their first day of school yesterday. The Boy woke up and announced, "Thanks, Mom, for signing me up for school!" He came home a little deflated from this earlier height of excitement, reporting that he had "been shy." The Girl also seems to have had a good day - she listed off all of the former compadres she'd played with on the playground and I was reminded about what a social butterfly she is.

(Also: how hard those first days are. If I seem distracted right now, it's because of a MAY-JOR meltdown behind me. Terrible mom, that I am, for not letting her have enough honey on her pancake. [Also terrible? Not grocery shopping for three weeks so we're totally out of staples like pancake syrup.])

(Also also? We're having pancakes for dinner. Sigh.)

Nonetheless, a beginning of fits and starts is still a beginning and it is so nice to be starting this big edu-ma-cation machine up again.

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Who's Running This Show, Anyway?

[door opens, PM comes in, sets down her luggage]

WHAT the...!

[looks around in shock]

I am positive that when I left on my unannounced hiatus, I told you Blogger Elves® to post regularly. And now just look at this place! It's filthy! It's stale! It's all [hands waving in air wildly] COBWEBBY!

This is just perfect. Juuuust perfect. What do you think all four PGT readers are thinking now?! They're thinking that I just up and left, that when my kids were gone to Grandma's for two weeks that I simply abandoned all housekeeping duties (including, but not limited to, bathroom cleaning, laundry, and/or blogging).

That I haven't cooked anything harder than a frozen pizza in two weeks. That I've tried all sorts of new restaurants, gone to a movie, and walked leisurely down by the lake more times than I can count.

That The Husband went on a business trip last week so I had even less interest in doing anything and descended into a languid stupor of Old Dutch and Terry Pratchett.

[...]

DON'T give me that. Yes, of course that's all true. But they weren't supposed to know about it! YOU were supposed to maintain a presence over here in this corner of the internets, not lie around drinking and thinking of good blog posts without actually writing them. Like me.

HARUMPH. All I know is, this is the last time I leave you guys in charge. Next time, I'm hiring an intern.

[grumbles, picks up broom, starts sweeping]

Want something done...do it yourself...stupid elves...thank goodness school starting next week...back to normal around here...grrrrr.

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