May 31, 2020
January 05, 2017
F*** you, 2016
On November 8, 2016, we had to say good-bye to our faithful dog, Montana. Later that evening, Donald Trump won the effed up US presidential election. It was a shitty day. Overall, many would agree, 2016 was a brutal year.
Although our hearts remain broken over the unexpected loss of Montana (and the election), we decided to make things brighter for ourselves and a shelter dog by adopting a new furry friend. Meet Nearly Shedless Nick, a boxer mix (maybe) from West Virginia, who came into our lives via an Ontario rescue organization.
June 04, 2016
Farewell, Ferris
In March, just shy of his 11th birthday, Ferris was ready to go. It broke our hearts, but we did the right thing and said good-bye. He was not a smart dog nor an obedient one, but he was as sweet and good-natured as could be. We miss him dearly.
January 05, 2016
The Shrinking Herd
It is now 2016. My blog is like a time capsule; even the links to other blogs lead mostly to sites long abandoned. Of course life has not been standing still; the minutiae of its days are either forgotten or, pointlessly, captured on Facebook.
Some lives have ended since I last posted. I lost two uncles in 2014, unexpected deaths that still pain me greatly. In the photo above, Molly and Trooper are pictured, but they are no longer with us. Ferris, amazingly, is still around, but at ten and a half his days are numbered.
I have been off work for a few months due to vision problems, and my time on the computer is necessarily limited. With weeks and weeks at home on my own, one might think that I had ample opportunity to organize my house and my life. Not so, as domestic issues have left my mind too muddled to allow me to bring order to my physical and mental space.
Motherhood has proven to be tougher than I ever anticipated. After emerging from my post-partum depression a few years ago I thought the worst was over, and perhaps it is, but I am encountering issues with dear Kai that make me regularly question my ability to cope. I will cope, though, for him. That is what moms do.
My age is 42, "the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything," according to the late author Douglas Adams. He was joking, of course; in his mind, the number held no special meaning. I can't say that it holds any meaning for me either, as reaching this age has not brought me any closer to definitive answers. I still struggle with the question, "What should we have for dinner?" It would seem that 42 years have barely brought me closer to adulthood. I fake it well: career, marriage, house, child; all of that belies the immature mess in my brain. Don't believe me? Well you are a poo-poo head.
In conclusion, I think we can all be grateful that I no longer blog. I'm done rambling now. It's time to snuggle with Ferris while I still can.
August 12, 2014
February 04, 2014
One year later
So, you're cool if I only post once a year, aren't you? (echo... echo... echo...) I have abandoned my blog, not for lack of interest but lack of time. Mental disorganization plays a big role, too. There are so many thoughts in my head competing to be priority #1 that I can scarcely express myself at times. Becoming a mom has messed with my brain.
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret motherhood at all. I just miss my mind. At least it served me well while I had it. I think it did, anyway. I don't really know. I forget.
Right now it's kindergarten registration time. That's tougher than it sounds. I am juggling multiple contingency plans as I try to navigate through the catch-22s of poorly aligned education and daycare systems. Someday Kai will laugh at me when he hears how much I stressed out over arranging a junior kindergarten placement. He'll have no idea unless he becomes a parent -- nay, a mom, which isn't likely.
I need a break, a massage, a vacation, a stiff drink, a whole whack of me-time. I won't get most of those things. Understand this, though: I wouldn't trade parenthood for anything.
February 04, 2013
Boring as hell to you...
...but vitally important to me. Here, in no particular order, are things I love about Kai, things Kai has done that made me laugh, and things I hope I'll never forget about Kai's toddlerhood.
At two
Kai went through a phase of "five" fanaticism. The number five was the best number. It was worth watching the clock-radio display until a five showed up -- or, better yet, TWO fives! For several consecutive weeks, every single night after finishing his bedtime bottle Kai would twist around to stare at the clock, remarking excitedly whenever the numbers changed.
Kai occasionally enjoys being playfully contrary. If I say something is high, he'll say it's low. If I say dark, he'll say light. When I told him he was a big boy he corrected me, saying, "I'm a LITTLE boy. A CUTE little boy."
One day our ketchup bottle sputtered as I squeezed it over Kai's dish. We don't have ketchup often, but whenever we do Kai will remind us that "Ketchup toots."
At 26 months
I administered ear drops and Kai's reaction was to inform me that "It pops in my ear.... like a balloon." I don't know if that's word association or a comparison or maybe a simile, but I'm thrilled that my two-year-old can make it.
The first time Kai encountered egg salad was at my parents' home. His reaction: "Nana, what stinks?"
Kai paused during dinner, reached across the table toward Scott and said, "Hug Daddy! Daddy too far!" Scott obligingly stood up and moved within reach. As Scott opened his arms for a hug, Kai turned his attention back to his plate and said, "I'm eating, Daddy."
At two and a half
Actual conversation with Kai:
Kai (eyes watering): Poop.
Me: Are you pooping?
Kai: Yes. (grunts) It's a hard poop, Mommy.
Me: Tell me when you're done and I'll change your diaper.
Kai: Change my diaper, Mommy.
Kai (in a fresh diaper): I want to eat prunes in my rocking chair.
Kai has reached a stage where he spontaneously tells me that he loves me. I found it heartwarming... until we pulled into an Esso station and he exclaimed, "I LOVE gas!" Nice to know that I'm right up there with petrol.
Kai was studying the word "Minigo" on his yogurt container and, turning it upside down, he remarked that the small "g" looked like a 6. He then asked where the seven was. I said, "There's no seven, Kai. You're looking at the 'g' upside down so it _looks_ like a 6, but there are no numbers on your yogurt." Kai pointed at the expiration date – June 7 – and said, "There it is!" As I praised him for his keen eyesight and observation skills, he said, "YOU were talking about NO seven." I'm surprised that he wasn't shaking his head at me in exasperation.
After a diaper change, Kai decided that he did not want to wear pants or socks. Since it was comfortably warm in the house, I obliged. When I asked him shortly thereafter if he wanted a hot dog for lunch, he replied, "I want a hot dog with no pants and socks. I want to eat a hot dog in my diaper."
My usual term of endearment for Scott is "sweetie." Evidently this has not escaped Kai's notice. Recently, while I was clearing the dishes, I heard Kai call to me from the dining room, "Sweetie, take me out of my high chair."
We tend to shop at Loblaws, which Kai pronounces "Bloblaws." One day we opted instead to go to the appropriately named No Frills. For those who are unfamiliar with the chain, its logo features a pair of bananas. Kai had been pleased about the prospect of grocery shopping, but when we pulled into the No Frills parking lot he exclaimed in horror, "Not the banana store! I want to go to Bloblaws!" Much to my surprise, Scott pulled out of the parking lot and headed straight to Loblaws. It turns out that Scott hates the banana store too.
One day Kai's daycare phoned me at work to report that Kai was sick. When I arrived at the daycare to bring Kai home, I found him sitting on the floor with flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Staff told me that he had been lying on the floor most of the morning, had a slight fever and was so congested he was struggling to breathe. As I bundled Kai up in his hat, mittens and winter jacket, he asked where we were going. I explained that I had come to take him home since he wasn't feeling well. He was quiet while I strapped him into his stroller and wheeled him out the door and across the yard of the daycare. As we passed through the gate onto the street Kai yelled out, "Yay! I'm better!"
At 34 months
At my niece's birthday party there was a small bouncy castle that could safely fit about four children. To facilitate turn-taking, my brother would ring a small handbell every few minutes so that the jumping kids would know to come out and allow the next group of kids to go in. Kai was eager for his turn. When he spotted the handbell unattended he ran over, rang it, and quickly returned to his place in line. Sure enough, it worked.
I usually read Kai two stories as part of his bedtime routine. The other evening I decided to make up my own story. I began, "There once was a wonderful boy named Kai." Kai interrupted, saying, "I don't want to talk about me." As you can see, that makes one of us.
At two
Kai went through a phase of "five" fanaticism. The number five was the best number. It was worth watching the clock-radio display until a five showed up -- or, better yet, TWO fives! For several consecutive weeks, every single night after finishing his bedtime bottle Kai would twist around to stare at the clock, remarking excitedly whenever the numbers changed.
Kai occasionally enjoys being playfully contrary. If I say something is high, he'll say it's low. If I say dark, he'll say light. When I told him he was a big boy he corrected me, saying, "I'm a LITTLE boy. A CUTE little boy."
One day our ketchup bottle sputtered as I squeezed it over Kai's dish. We don't have ketchup often, but whenever we do Kai will remind us that "Ketchup toots."
At 26 months
I administered ear drops and Kai's reaction was to inform me that "It pops in my ear.... like a balloon." I don't know if that's word association or a comparison or maybe a simile, but I'm thrilled that my two-year-old can make it.
The first time Kai encountered egg salad was at my parents' home. His reaction: "Nana, what stinks?"
Kai paused during dinner, reached across the table toward Scott and said, "Hug Daddy! Daddy too far!" Scott obligingly stood up and moved within reach. As Scott opened his arms for a hug, Kai turned his attention back to his plate and said, "I'm eating, Daddy."
At two and a half
Actual conversation with Kai:
Kai (eyes watering): Poop.
Me: Are you pooping?
Kai: Yes. (grunts) It's a hard poop, Mommy.
Me: Tell me when you're done and I'll change your diaper.
Kai: Change my diaper, Mommy.
Kai (in a fresh diaper): I want to eat prunes in my rocking chair.
Kai has reached a stage where he spontaneously tells me that he loves me. I found it heartwarming... until we pulled into an Esso station and he exclaimed, "I LOVE gas!" Nice to know that I'm right up there with petrol.
Kai was studying the word "Minigo" on his yogurt container and, turning it upside down, he remarked that the small "g" looked like a 6. He then asked where the seven was. I said, "There's no seven, Kai. You're looking at the 'g' upside down so it _looks_ like a 6, but there are no numbers on your yogurt." Kai pointed at the expiration date – June 7 – and said, "There it is!" As I praised him for his keen eyesight and observation skills, he said, "YOU were talking about NO seven." I'm surprised that he wasn't shaking his head at me in exasperation.
After a diaper change, Kai decided that he did not want to wear pants or socks. Since it was comfortably warm in the house, I obliged. When I asked him shortly thereafter if he wanted a hot dog for lunch, he replied, "I want a hot dog with no pants and socks. I want to eat a hot dog in my diaper."
My usual term of endearment for Scott is "sweetie." Evidently this has not escaped Kai's notice. Recently, while I was clearing the dishes, I heard Kai call to me from the dining room, "Sweetie, take me out of my high chair."
We tend to shop at Loblaws, which Kai pronounces "Bloblaws." One day we opted instead to go to the appropriately named No Frills. For those who are unfamiliar with the chain, its logo features a pair of bananas. Kai had been pleased about the prospect of grocery shopping, but when we pulled into the No Frills parking lot he exclaimed in horror, "Not the banana store! I want to go to Bloblaws!" Much to my surprise, Scott pulled out of the parking lot and headed straight to Loblaws. It turns out that Scott hates the banana store too.
One day Kai's daycare phoned me at work to report that Kai was sick. When I arrived at the daycare to bring Kai home, I found him sitting on the floor with flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Staff told me that he had been lying on the floor most of the morning, had a slight fever and was so congested he was struggling to breathe. As I bundled Kai up in his hat, mittens and winter jacket, he asked where we were going. I explained that I had come to take him home since he wasn't feeling well. He was quiet while I strapped him into his stroller and wheeled him out the door and across the yard of the daycare. As we passed through the gate onto the street Kai yelled out, "Yay! I'm better!"
At 34 months
At my niece's birthday party there was a small bouncy castle that could safely fit about four children. To facilitate turn-taking, my brother would ring a small handbell every few minutes so that the jumping kids would know to come out and allow the next group of kids to go in. Kai was eager for his turn. When he spotted the handbell unattended he ran over, rang it, and quickly returned to his place in line. Sure enough, it worked.
I usually read Kai two stories as part of his bedtime routine. The other evening I decided to make up my own story. I began, "There once was a wonderful boy named Kai." Kai interrupted, saying, "I don't want to talk about me." As you can see, that makes one of us.
November 29, 2012
October 20, 2012
WTF, WHO?
The World Health Organization (WHO) really ought to know better. Or, perhaps they aren't as "with it" as I had believed. I was shocked to learn that WHO only removed homosexuality from their list of mental illnesses in 1990. It's 2012: Time to wake up and realize that trans people aren't sick, either. Won't you sign this petition?
September 09, 2012
Two
Today, Kai turned two. I was unable to prepare any sort of celebration, as, true to my nickname, I have hurt myself again and I am laid up with a bad back. Nevertheless, Kai did have the chance to enjoy a birthday cupcake.
Kai is wonderful. Sure, he is already a typical two-year-old, with tantrums and a premature sense of independence, but that's just one facet of his blossoming character. He's an observant, polite, funny, affectionate, bright and happy little boy. Earlier today, while at my parents' house, he began walking down the street. My dad asked him where he was headed. Kai replied, "Park. Hurry." I might not have been able to give him a party, but he knows how to make his own fun.
Kai can count and he has been reciting the alphabet for quite some time. His vocabulary and comprehension amaze me. He is able to connect concepts, remember details and express himself to a degree far beyond what I would expect for his age. My capacity for loving him knows no bounds. I love watching him play, try new things, and squeal with joy; I love holding him and reading to him; I love seeing him off to sleep at night.
Happy birthday, my dearest boy.
Kai is wonderful. Sure, he is already a typical two-year-old, with tantrums and a premature sense of independence, but that's just one facet of his blossoming character. He's an observant, polite, funny, affectionate, bright and happy little boy. Earlier today, while at my parents' house, he began walking down the street. My dad asked him where he was headed. Kai replied, "Park. Hurry." I might not have been able to give him a party, but he knows how to make his own fun.
Kai can count and he has been reciting the alphabet for quite some time. His vocabulary and comprehension amaze me. He is able to connect concepts, remember details and express himself to a degree far beyond what I would expect for his age. My capacity for loving him knows no bounds. I love watching him play, try new things, and squeal with joy; I love holding him and reading to him; I love seeing him off to sleep at night.
Happy birthday, my dearest boy.
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