Public Notice

Please be advised that the author of this blog is currently experiencing some technical difficulties, namely a massively-increased workload at her place of business.

Said increase has resulted in an inability to post regularly or to return any non-time-sensitive emails sent by well-wishers and fans.

We apologize for this inconvenience and will return to our regularly-scheduled programming as soon as the storm that is the "to-do list" passes.

Sincerely,

The Management

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May Long 2.0

Coffee's on, kids are watching Wishbone (a show with terrible production values, and I'm not sure how well it works to have a dog play Romeo in Romeo and Juliet, but I have to respect a show that tries to translate classic stories so that kids can understand them), and The Husband is still snoozing.

A quiet weekend on all accounts. My mom's email this morning alerted me to the tornado yesterday - yikes! We didn't even know about it; at one point in the afternoon the sky darkened and it got pretty windy, but it passed over us about ten minutes later. So no worries about these displaced Canadians.

Today promises to be equally tranquil. Once the coffee pot's drained, we'll think about lunch and maybe the park. We've promised The Girl we'll take her to the new Narnia movie, so popcorn here we come!

Ooo, Saddle Club's on now....

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Horrid Henry

Before there was Pokemon, there was Horrid Henry.

It used to be that the only thing The Boy got excited about was reading "Horrid Henry" every night - a book about a particularly naughty young boy. It was the first book he memorized and he giggled his way through the entire rendition of HH's unsuccessful attempts to get rid of his new and particularly unwelcome sibling.

Although we've left the book behind lately in favour of Pikachu et. al., there are times when The Boy's inner HH definitely surfaces.

Feels like one of those days today. There's been a ban on Pokemon cards at school since several weeks of increasing frustration on the teachers' parts due to children huddled over cards during lessons finally culminated in a vicious physical attack prompted by a deal gone bad.

(That my son was the victim of this attack is beside the point, but nonetheless we were glad when the cards were banned.)

At least, they're supposed to be banned. Today I picked up The Boy and his teacher handed me a set of purloined cards, liberated from The Boy's clutches earlier in the day. Initially I assumed he'd been given them by an older child, but a long interrogation session on the car ride home revealed that he had surreptitiously snuck them along at the prompting of another child.

Well. We've had a number of discussions on this topic. The Boy knows full well that he is *not* supposed to bring them to school.

(He also knows he is not supposed to throw rocks - see previous Audi- and limousine-related posts - yet I was still required to make good on my threat to take away forever two of his precious cards after *yesterday's* rock-throwing incident. But I digress.)

So, he was informed that by proving himself untrustworthy where Pokemon cards are concerned, said forbidden fruit would be placed atop the refrigerator until after Memorial Day.

The usual hysterics ensued, with several items being thrown from the backseat. I answered his "I hate you, stupid Mom!" with "Good thing I loooooove you enough for both of us" but reminded him that throwing things at the driver is distracting and can lead to an accident.

But when the toque came flying to the front, I had had enough. I stopped the car (2 blocks from home) and said, "since you are not interested in riding safely in this car, you will now walk home." So I followed a sobbing boy at .25 miles an hour down the back lane.

Being a good mom, I soothed with chocolate milk and a snuggle. But today makes me very glad we don't have another baby on the way - if *my* little Horrid Henry had a chance, that baby would be successfully "lost" for sure.

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An Open Letter to the Bus Driver of Route 663

Dear Sir:

When I shut my computer off at 3:00 and race out the door in order to catch the only bus that will get me to the school on time, it is not only knowing the workday is over that prompts my smile. No, my grin is also elicited by the knowledge that within minutes I will be catching a glimpse of the proud conveyor of humanity that you commandeer so faithfully every day.

I admire your assertive, yet gentle, manner of approaching the curb - waiting patiently yet silently demanding the attention of the would-be jaywalkers who quickly move aside to let you pass.

Your kindness and respect towards those who ride your serpentine chariot is unparallelled. The particular care you show towards disabled persons is inspiring; you never make those in wheelchairs feel hurried and always lend gracious assistance. I remember well the day you watched the visually-impaired man waiting at the stop with some concern until finally you left your seat, went to him, and made sure that it was not your bus for which he waited.

And you extend that respect to the rest of us. The rowdiest, loudest entrants are greeted with the same "how do you do" as the weary office-workers. You never fail to announce "our next assigned stop is the Louisiana Avenue Transit Station" with the pomp and circumstance such a pronouncement deserves.

(Yet there's nevertheless some submerged cheek. Although your stately carriage is reminiscent of Morgan Freeman, that saucy ponytail suggests there is more than meets the eye.)

Anonymous bus driver, you bring to me daily a renewed belief in the goodness of humanity. The solemn "Thank you, ma'am" that wishes me well as I leave your haven of order and kindness never fails to remind me that decency, kindness and courtesy are amiable partners on any journey.

Hail to the bus driver, indeed. Hail to the bus driver, bus driver man.

Yours sincerely,

PM

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Vendredi V - Oh Baby, I'm So Tired Edition

One of the crappy things about living in America is that when all your Canadian friends are gleefully looking forward to and enjoying Canuck-only holidays, you're stuck at work with nary a celebratory drink in sight.

Well, no sitting mournfully at my desk for this girl on May Long - we're taking the day off and going away for the weekend like proper Canadians! (Which, of course, has the delightful effect of giving us *two* long weekends in a row.)

And boy, do I need a weekend away. I realize entirely that my petty problems pale in comparison to those of much of the world, particularly those living in Burma and China right now. Nevertheless, it does feel as though this break has been a long time coming:

Top 5 Reasons I Am Glad for My Upcoming Weekend Retreat

1. We're still down to one car. The Husband has solved the problem (we think) and the requisite part arrived today. After a less-than-successful siphoning attempt which led to no actual fuel transfer and a mouthful of diesel for him, he thinks he now knows how to go about Le Grande Fix-it. But it hasn't been easy as our lifestyle is definitely of the "two-car-family" variety.

2. I am very, very tired. The result of having only one car means a logistical juggle in which I must be AT the bus stop (not running towards it) at 5:30 am. Add one or two somewhat late nights in a row and I have to work to keep my eyes open. In fact, I was so tired that last night I dreamed that Victoria Beckham moved in next door and we were chatting about how she was hungry all the time and that our kids had lots in common and should play together.

3. Work is getting crazy busy. There's the usual plus an annual event that has me scrambling right now with no real end in sight as once the big stuff is done my boss goes on mat leave and I get to fend for myself for three months.

4. The Husband travelled this week. Just overnight, but we allll know that even one short trip sends the house (and its occupants) plummeting into chaos.

5. I'm the mother of *that* child. You know, the one who throws stones at cars (again!). The one who gets into a fight at school (in his defense, he did nothing to provoke the maniacal attack). The one whose fight over Pokemon cards at school has led to a preschool-wide ban on the coveted cards. The one who has a behaviour chart at his before-school program. You know - *that* one.

Sigh. Hotel hot tub, here I come!

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Mother, Not Mother

Sometimes when we're out for a walk in the evening, The Girl will look up at the stars and ask me to tell her again the story about how she is my wishing star baby. And so I tell her, "before you were born, Mommy and Daddy were waiting a very long time for you. We were very sad because we wanted a baby very badly. One night I saw a shooting star, and I wished that I would have a baby. A few weeks later, we found out that you were growing inside me - you were my wish come true!"

The Girl loves this story. But honestly, it's not my favourite. It reminds me of how desperate we were to have children - so desperate that my longing for a baby swam just beneath the surface and emerged at the slightest provocation. Of how frustrated we were that things were not working according to plan. Of how painful the journey to parenthood can be.

Infertility is nasty business. It renders one totally helpless in the face of "natural" processes that refuse to work the way they're supposed to, despite nightly knocking-up of seemingly far-less-deserving teenagers in the backseats of Chevys. It elicits anger against God, the universe, and all other pregnant women proudly displaying their effortless fecundity. It sucks the joy out of sex and reduces miracle to mechanics and spontaneity to obsessive calendar-counting.

Our journey through infertility was short and ultimately ended with a couple of fabulous bio-kids. But not everyone's journey ends that way. Some end after years of waiting helped along with medical intervention. Some end with adoption. Others end with a decision to remain childless. Few end without tears shed along the way.

Those tears make me question the usefulness of a manufactured Hallmark holiday celebrating motherhood. I know of few women whose journeys towards motherhood have not involved copious tears, whether they be over yet another period that dashes the dream that *this* is the month, over the doctor's final diagnosis that biological children will not be in the cards, over the rocky road towards adoption. Or worse, over the graves, whether they be physical ones surrounded by fellow mourners, or unmarked, psychological ones known only to the grieving parents.

And so today, while I'm achingly grateful for the misshapen, glue-covered, clumsy-yet-beautiful works of art that proclaimed "Happy Mother's Day" to me, my heart bleeds for all the mothers around me:

For the mothers whose babies were (or continue to be) long in coming.

For the mothers whose babies were here for far, far too short a time.

For the mothers who never dreamed they'd be raising their babies without a partner.

For the mothers whose babies brought, through no fault of their own, debilitating depression.

For the mothers whose sweet dreams of what motherhood would be like bore so little resemblance to what became difficult reality.

You forgotten mothers are in my thoughts and prayers today. May it be a day of comfort and peace for you; if not possible, then may it be over quickly.

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