Patience Is A Virtue

Charlie Shake: 2 parts odds and ends, 1 part mom-patience

There are times when I question the hypocrisy of my never-ending patience for the children I teach and my serious lack of patience for my own 2-year old son.  Is it because he is my progeny that I expect him to be compliant and obey my commands at all times?  Is it because I get paid (or will when I get a job) to be patient with the children I teach? I don’t think so.  Why is it that I get so flustered when he goes limp noodle and throws a tantrum or when he decides to take all the tampons out of the box in the bathroom and line them up down the hallway like railroad ties?  Why is it that I can’t smile and shrug when I notice he’s taken every piece of folded laundry out of the basket and strewn them across the room?  Why do I blow a fuse when he puts all his scrambled eggs inside his glass of apple juice when I turn my back for two seconds?  I think I need a reality check.  At times like these, I think: he’s healthy.  I’m healthy.  He’s curious, learning, experimenting, testing the boundaries.  These are all really good things.  Why should I care that he’s a Tasmanian devil leaving ripped, dismantled, wrinkled and wrecked things in his wake?  

I suppose it is because I find myself unable to catch up with the messes that present themselves in every corner of my house and instead of laughing about it, I let it put me in a crabby mood.  Today for example, there are puzzles everywhere.  The dishes need to be emptied out of the dishwasher for the next load of crusty ones to go in.  Charlie’s clothes are all over the place and he’s removed the entire contents of my pantry and put two items per kitchen floor tile like a grocery store checkerboard.  When I open the lazy susan to find my coasters, can opener, plastic cling wrap and a pair of socks inside my empty juice pitcher, I feel my shoulders hunch tighter.  Maybe I do need that Eucalyptis roll-on anti stress stick I was given.  If only I could find it.  As I empty the contents of the pitcher to put the items back in their respective places, Charlie comes around the corner protesting wildly.  “No, mama.  Benda.”  He takes the items, returns them inside the pitcher and puts on the lid.  Suddenly he begins to make a blender whirring sound.  “See? Benda.”  Mr. Messy is a genius.

To Spanx or Not To Spanx

control-top pantyhose or how to lose a customer in ten seconds

Its my sister-in-law’s wedding in less than a month.  I am known for procrastinating and so the other day I ran to the local mall to look at a dress.  I couldn’t deal with the uncertainty stress any longer and wanted to wipe it off my to-do list.  I left Charlie with a sitter and had all the time in the world to go to every store and look at anything that tickled my fancy.  I went to the first store, a rather upscale boutique with ladies wear for the 40-80 set.  It has knit dresses and accessories, embellished pant suits and some formal wear for charity dinners, etc.  I don’t know why on earth I decided to go there first, but I did.  Well, no, actually that is a lie.  I probably did because I wasn’t in the mood to negotiate my body into a too-short number made for teenagers.  Post-baby body does not like change-room lighting, let alone that sinking feeling of not being able to get a dress over your hips or, once over your hips, done up properly.  So Aritzia, H&M, Forever 21 and Garage were all out of the question and I knew I’d be dishing out a pretty penny for something suitable that didn't show the bottom of my butt cheeks if I decided to cut a rug on the dance floor.

I knew that I didn’t want to buy anything at a department store because they depress me and the change rooms are always old and dirty and the staff is never that helpful.  Honestly, I once found a maxi pad in a change room at a department store.  I also didn’t feel like hunting through a vast section of mock neck sweaters in every colour of the rainbow before finding “the dress”.  

So I chose this place and decided to take the salesperson up on her offer when she greeted me with, “Good afternoon - can I help you find anything in particular?”  I told her, with a rather pained look on my face I'm sure, what I was looking for and she led me to the back of the store that housed a small selection of what appeared to be tastefully chosen semi- and formal wear for the season.  I immediately gravitated to black because its slimming and lately, I’ve been trying to buy basics that can be worn over and over and refreshed with different accessories.  I chose 3 shortish black dresses in different cuts and sizes.  Its been a while (oh, and a baby) since I bought any dresses.  I made the grave mistake of picking up a 4 which was my size upon graduating highschool.  Was that really 10 years ago? Somehow it is permanently etched in my mind that I am still that size.  Wishful thinking I suppose.  The saleswoman, laser eyes and all, swept in and handed me an 8.  “This is better.” she smiled with a half-pitying, half-sincere grin/grimace.

She led me to my change room and pointed at an array of higheels in varying heights to borrow should I like to see my leg “lengthened” in the mirror once in the dress.  I guess I have stubby gams.  I looked down at my shoes, black Nike hightops and wool socks.  Bad choice for dress shopping.  Don’t ever get me started on the hairy legs.

Too lazy to remove my shoes, I slid my jeans off over them, and put on the first dress.  After wrestling with it to sit properly, I took it off before opening the door to show the saleslady, even though I knew she was waiting to see it.  With the second dress on I was happy.  “Need a zip?” she telepathically asked me.  After I was zipped up, I received the nod of approval from her and shockingly, liked what I saw in the mirror.  The dress was comfortable and quite cute.  I’m sure any fashion mag would approve of its LBD status.

She mentioned a promotion that if I spent a certain amount I’d receive $50 off and so, math not being my strong suit, I opted for a pair of blingish diamond studs to finish off the outfit and bring my tab up to discount-approved status.  As I walked up to the cash feeling quite happy and lucky that I'd found my beloved dress at the very first shop I entered, the woman whispered to me, “You know, we do sell Spanx.”  I sputtered.  “Oh, yes. I’ve heard those are, ahem, effective.” I said, taking out my credit card.  “Shall I include a pair?” she asked. “Barely black are attractive for evening wear.”  Had I said what I was really feeling in that moment, which would be sure to voice a peculiar mixture of shame, saddness, rage and a vague being-bullied feeling, I would have probably made a bit of a scene.  Something along the lines of, “Pardon me?! Are you suggesting that I have a muffin top that needs hiding? Are you implying that I look ok, but that I have unwanted bulges that would benefit from a little harnessing? Well I NEVER!” I would slam the dress down (or maybe even drop it on the floor) and storm out of the store, stomping across its fabric with my high tops as I left.  This is something I visualized doing in the time it took me to swallow hard, keep a fake pleasant smile on my face and sign for my purchase.

I guess my problem is, I find it really hard to take public suggestions on how I might conceal the fact that I created, housed, birthed and fed a human being using my body within the last 2 years.  The fact is, your body doesn’t bounce back perfectly like it appears to in every celebrity magazine and this fact is hard to accept.  When others point it out, well, its pretty infuriating and also heart-sinking.  I’ve tried to rationalize her suggestion, like maybe, regardless of the customer, its her job to upsell Spanx to everyone.  I mean, even if Alessandra Ambrosio was shopping there, would she recommend Spanx?  Oh, I hope so.  I guess this enraged, internalized reflection is probably due to years of body issues and body-image issues, but I felt the need to write about it because, well, its not going away.  Though she stamped "final sale" over my receipt in red ink, she might as well have stamped "saggy maggie" right in the middle of my forehead. 

Caspar Babypants and Being Half Of A Creative Couple

brimming with creative potential

My son is watching every single conceptualization of “The Wheels on the Bus” ever video recorded and posted to YouTube on my iPhone.  Now he’s watching one in Japanese.  Atleast he’ll have a multicultural appreciation before JK.  Also in the background is Mighty Machines on the TV (Google the theme song now to share in my pain).  Upstairs, I’ve left Caspar Babypants playing on the CD player.  Energy conservationists we are not.  This is a recipe for ADD in the making if I ever saw one.

I’m writing today about Caspar Babypants.  Well not JUST about him, also about his wife, Kate Endle and well “artsy coupledom” and how darn aspirational it is.  I’m no mom blogger product endorser, but Caspar Babypants, if you’re not familiar, is a children’s musician/ entertainer also known as Chris Ballew the chrome-domed, former frontman of zany 90s band The Presidents of the United States of America.  “Peaches come in a can, they were put there by a man in a factory downtown.”  You might remember that little ditty.  Well, he’s reinvented himself after marrying and having babies and he’s amazing and prolific.  If you’re a parent you know the typical playlist: Yo Gabba Gabba, Justin Roberts, Elizabeth Mitchell, Frances England, Dan Zanes, (oh, and likely Sharon, Lois and Bram and Raffi are still in heavy rotation).  Well might I suggest you add all of Caspar Babypants albums to the virtual jukebox?  I’m not getting paid for this because my site traffic is laughable so I assure you I’m not part of his marketing strategy, I’m just a fan.  His original songs are hilarious (bug in the cuff of my pants, poor little broken truck, poor dust bunnies, my flea has dogs) and catchy (still singing small black ant and not annoyed by it).  And his wife is pretty darn amazing herself.  She’s a successful artist whose work has made it all over the place (to greeting cards, children’s books and just so happens to have graced all the covers of her hubby’s albums with her adorable collage art).  What might their house be like on a typical Sunday morning? I’m envisioning kids wearing newspaper pirate hats, feet warm inside hand-knit wool slippers in rainbow colours, they climb inside a cardboard box to eat their organic pancakes while dad plays his latest tune on a vintage bright green guitar and mom cuts out paper samples to collage the kitchen wall in owls.  Anyway, in my mind its the stuff of a Dwell center spread or a feature on Moomah.

This brings me to the actual point of this blog post which is: aspirational couples (those who I aspire to be like).  Couples who (publicly at least) are creative, artsy and successful and just authentically good at what they do.  I find this very inspiring.  Its all very artificial potentially.  I’m aware that their personal lives may be a shambles and for all I know they can’t stand the smell of each other’s breath, but their public personae as a couple is simply irresitable, and so that is why I find them aspirational.  They have that “thing”.  I consider myself somewhat creative and my husband very much so, and while we have careers that bring in the bucks, I think deep down, many of us are still trying to find that perfect-world scenario where you love what you do and make money doing it; when work doesn’t feel like work anymore.  Not rich and famous, that’s not the goal, but making ends meet (plus a little for an authentic espresso machine from Faema).  I’m not saying that every couple should try to become Paul and Linda and form Wings.  I’m just saying that if you and your spouse happen to have that particular sensibility then, well, embrace it and support each other embracing it.

So with that overly-philosophical point murkily made - here’s my dream dinner party guest list of some inspiring (and yes, famous) creative couples:

Chris Ballew and Kate Endle

Bono and Ali Hewson
Rufus Wainwright and Jorn Weisbrodt

Trudie Styler and Sting

Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin

Diana Krall and Elvis Costello

Tracey Stewart and Jon Stewart

Luke Doucette and Melissa MccLelland

Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner (ok, maybe they’re not around anymore, but this is a dream list)

Zoe Kazan and Paul Dano

Jay-Z and Beyonce

Who would you add to your list?

Items That Might Develop Into Blog Posts*

* My father, a columnist, has this funny thing he gets published every so often which is called "Items that Might Grow Up To Be Columns"  I stole this idea from him.  These are a collection of fleeting thoughts I've had of which I'll probably pick and write about at length, but not right now.

Oh! So that's a bathtub ring!

Why is everything always strewn so willy nilly?

Are those tiny jumping spiders bed bugs? Oh my god.

My son is going to be a garbage man.  That boy is just too interested in sanitation and disposal to become anything else.

Why are there always so many crumbs?

I wonder if I were to put a baby gate at the entrance of Charlie's room if he'd just sit there peacefully while I nap?

Why do people have to report you when you want so badly to run into a store and grab diapers when your son has finally fallen asleep in the back seat of the car? Its called windows slightly open for ventilation and a car alarm PEOPLE!

All he does is take puzzles apart, why can't he put them back together?

How do you calm your anxiety and stop being a worry wart if you're basically a nihilist?

Why can't I be one of those people who has a label maker and likes using it?

Rolling With It

you can choose to freak or smile 

There's a dark and a troubled side of life;
There's a bright and a sunny side, too;
Tho' we meet with the darkness and strife,
The sunny side we also may view.

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life;
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way,
If we keep on the sunny side of life.

Tho' the storm in its fury break today,
Crushing hopes that we cherished so dear,
Storm and cloud will in time pass away,
The sun again will shine bright and clear.
Let us greet with a song of hope each day,
Tho' the moments be cloudy or fair;
Let us trust in our Savior alway,
Who keepeth everyone in His care.

-Ada Blenkhorn

if there’s one resounding lesson i’ve learned from being a mom for a little under 2 years its that you just have to roll with it. yeah, I’ll admit it, this new realization probably has something to do with the Stress Multivitamin my mother-in-law recently bought me (I get the message, thanks mom).   you can’t cling too tightly to the way you were and you shouldn’t try to be something you’re just never going to be.  for instance: I will never ever again be a size 2.  Dukan diet or not.  and i am never going to buy a jogger stroller and join the running club like the other fit mom’s I see around my ‘hood.  the likelihood of that is akin to me taking up heli-skiing. Um...no.

i’m now almost totally okay with going out into public spaces with smears of food from Charlie’s mouth or fingers on something I’m wearing or in my hair (peanut butter makes a fine pomade).  actually, if I remember to brush my hair and put on earrings that is a bonus.  because gradually, I think my priorities have shifted from me at the epicenter of it all to someone much more important, my son.  sure i have bitter days where I long to sleep in, or be uninterrupted while I surf the net or go shopping at a regular pace instead of Operation: buy a perfectly fitting swimsuit without trying it on and without having a 22 month old a) hide under a rack in a department store or b) scream his head off.  I do miss them, but i’m getting used to la vie nouvelle.

yes, there are puffy stickers all over my couch cushions.  all the cloth napkins that were folded nicely in the linen drawer are now the comforters and duvets of all of charlie’s stuffed animals, and the contents of my pantry are lined up (railroad-style) along the floor tiles of my kitchen (Thomas the Tank Engine is a very useful engine - he can pull 9 chicken stock bouillon cubes at a time!)  these may seem like annoyances but really they’re all just signs that my child is gifted and a divergent thinker.

today at a local pancake house we sat and shared a plate of kiddie cakes and after each bite charlie decided he’d share one with the floor. “Dit” he’d say (his version of “dirty”)  “That’s right.  It IS dirty when you throw pancakes on the floor.  So why do you keep doing it?” I asked, smiling sheepishly at the tsking waitress.  “Ants.” Charlie replied as he pointed out a small black ant crawling across the table.  “Ants yike syr-dup”.  See? He’s not only creative, but also concerned with the surrounding habitat.  Pests or not.  I left the last bit of pancake there for our friends before paying the cheque.

Before vs. After

Today I was doing my usual "Charlie is napping" routine (make a coffee, surf the net, maybe go #2) when I visited People.com and noticed an intriguing quote by Pink, the singer, who had her first child, a daughter called Willow, last year. She said, "We have no idea what we did before having Willow."  She must have amnesia.  Is that just one of those things people say because the masses expect it of them?  Here's a reminder for her.

Things We Did Before Kid and Haven’t Really Done Since - MOURNING Header	Things We Didn’t Do Before Kid - WELCOME HOME
Watched movies (start to finish, in one sitting, usually not rated G)	Share our bed with a squirming, kicking, restless leg creature
Went out for dinners (and didn't need a high chair)	Go for bike rides
Spent money on ourselves	Play trains
Slept in (I mean, past 6 am)	Roll on the carpet
Had long showers or baths (or if not long, at least had them)	Talk to strangers at the grocery store or in any line quite frankly
Took uninterrupted bathroom breaks	Cut sandwiches into 4 crustless triangles
Read a book	Kneel on the floor for 3/4 of the day
Blow dried hair, did makeup	Hunt for spiders with a "tish-oo"
Read the paper	Laugh hysterically when things spill or break
Follow fashion trends	Kiss boo boos better
Made elaborate meals	Get tackled with hugs and kisses
Went to bed late	Spot school buses, tractors, lawn mowers, dump trucks, taxi cabs, police cars and fire trucks
Had a conversation during daytime hours without whispering	Read the same book over and over
Listened to loud music loud	Listen for airplanes, train whistles and sirens
Yelled at each other with abandon	Run outside when Canadian Geese are overhead or when the Garbage/ Mail man has arrived
Made up passionately	fold 9-million pieces of laundry only to have them dumped out and spread around the floor promptly afterward
Got drunk	fought to remove a small wet person from a bathtub