The lesser of two evils

Q: Which is worse?

1. Taking your six-month old to the hospital for tests, tests that hurt him and cause him to scream bloody murder while your husband waits outside the examination room so you are alone in your desperate attempts to calm your wailing child and, let's face it, you are crying just as hard as he is. Tests you could not warn him about or explain so you feel terrible that he has been ambushed in this way.

2. Taking your almost 2 1/2-year old to the hospital for tests, tests that hurt him and cause him to scream bloody murder and ignore the Dora playing on the TV, the stars on the ceiling, the cheery murals on the wall, and the desperate attempts by both parents to calm him down. Tests you tried to prepare him for, but couldn't say "they are going to hurt," so instead you said the doctors had to take pictures of his tummy, we could see the fish in the waiting room, and mommy and daddy would be there the whole time, and we can have chocolate milk after it is all over, so it won't be so bad.

That was my day yesterday. The good thing is, although I feel like a raggedy, wrung-out washcloth, Charlie is fine. Fine except for a bum right kidney that appears to be getting a little bit worse. If we were to evaluate his kidneys, his left would get "exceeds expectations" and a nice, fat raise, while the right kidney would get "unsatisfactory" and an escorted trip out of the building. And while you can live your whole life on just one kidney -- as my friend DB found out after an ultrasound at the age of 32 -- the nephrologist (a kidney specialist for the uninitiated. Not the quack science of measuring heads to determine personality as I used to think it was. What is that called anyway? I really hope it sounds like nephrology or else I'm looking pretty dippy here. And I'm using the word dippy to boot) would like to ensure that the good kidney stays good and the bad kidney, well, doesn't get worse. So that means more meds. Ugh. And while I was all bright-eyed and upbeat in the nephrologist's office, now I'm all weepy and deflated.

And I should feel relieved that it isn't worse. Or life-threatening. And I am. And thankful. And I really should follow Charlie's lead here, because today he's his usual chirpy, happy self. In fact, he was fine the moment he saw the fish in the waiting room. And hey, we can walk in and walk (or skip or run) out of CHEO (Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) with our child, and that my friends is a blessing all on its own.

Yet another transcript

Scene: In the CRV en route to Tim Hortons

Me: Charlie, what's my favourite drink?

Charlie: Hmmmmmm. Water?

Me: Yes, I do like water, but what else do I like to drink?

Charlie: WINE!


The answer I was looking for was coffee because lordy, I have an unhealthy love for my Timmy's fix, so much so that Charlie can rhyme off my coffee order on command -- XL, 4 milk, 1 sugar. At least my son does not view me as an over-caffeinated coffee addict, just a wino. But a happy wino at that.

What not to wear

If you decide to wear a floaty top -- one that is nice and fitted at the bustline, skims your post-baby stomach pouch, and drifts oh-so-flatteringly to your hips -- to Gymboree with a two-year old, be prepared for everyone to assume you are pregnant.

I'm not though. Yet.

Is it that obvious?

The Scene: Family dinner at my MIL's this past weekend.

Charlie (loudly): Mom, is that YOUR WINE?????

Me: Yes Charlie.

Charlie: Are you going to drink it?

Me: Yes Charlie, I am. (Takes sip.)

Charlie: Now you are HAPPY!!!!

Ya ya yoto! Ya ya yoto! Ya ya yoto to go!

That's what Charlie is yodelling from his crib right now (see above). It makes no sense, but he still belts it out with gusto. He should be sleeping so I can post now that we're back from dial-up land. So, to be quick, I had a lovely week away. Charlie was surprisingly good humoured the whole time and only recited our address once per day (something he does when he wants to go home). I had lots of newborn baby snuggling time with my new niece. And I got a night in Toronto on my own. Hurrah! My hair is a decent multitonal brown hue, not blonde, the split ends are gone, the bubble tea was yummy, and I had the best girls night out complete with fancy cocktails and my new, pointy-toed gold shoes. Just what I needed!

All that you can't leave behind

Charlie and I are off to the MIL's tomorrow. HS is joining us at the end of the week for a family friend's 90th birthday party. My MIL is making nine birthday cakes, one for each decade, so I am totally psyched about going. (Just an aside, I never used to care about sugary snacks, but I've found that since I had Charlie, I crave sweets. I was always a salt/grease kind of girl, but I found that while I was breastfeeding, the only thing I wanted was SUGAR. Specifically, my mom's awesome ginger snaps. She gave me the recipe, and I've tried to make them, but it's just not the same.) And my MIL agreed to take Charlie overnight so I can make a quick trip to Toronto to go out with my friends. Because I do have friends! Just not where I currently live. I am leaving for Toronto on Wednesday morning and coming back on Thursday afternoon, and here's what I would like to accomplish:

1. Colour hair.
I have yet to find a decent colourist in Ottawa. So JF (who is a make-up artist and knows these things) recommended a guy. Let's hope he understands what "I'd like to stay as close to my natural hair colour as possible means." My natural hair colour is dark brown. When I said that to a colourist in Ottawa, she gave me bright blonde highlights. They were verging on orange, it was that bad. Luckily they've faded somewhat. And if the June Plan goes ahead, then I'm gonna need something to cover the grays for at least three months. Hey, there's something else about me: I'm going gray. Seriously gray, and I blame my dad. He went silver at 22 for crying out loud.

2. Get a hair cut.
Done! I have an appointment on Thursday.

3. Pick up new bras at GapBody.
Why did it take so long for me to figure out that you only need flesh-tone bras? I really could have used that advice many years ago! The Gap makes a lovely, lightly padded (so key nowadays) plain bra in the perfect shade of nude. Gotta stock up!

4. Get a jerk chicken sandwich at Food Savvy.
So, so yummy. And the eggplant sandwich is delish too.

5. And some butter chicken and naan bread from Rasoee.

6. And while we're at it, how about a chocolate croissant from Bonjour Brioche?

7. And definitely some proper bubble tea. You can't find good bubble tea in my 'hood.

8. Meet former colleague for breakfast.

9. Drop by H&M. Mommy needs some new clothes. Oh, and Charlie could use some shirts too.

10. Hit Carrot Common for some organic baby bodywash and bubble bath. The parabens in my bubble bath are giving me the heebie-jeebies.

11. Oh, and while I'm at Carrot Common, drop by Erietta, just to take a look.

12. And I really want to see what's new at Hardware, Kol Kid, and Bergstrom.

13. Maybe someone from book club is free for coffee?

14. Or my friends from work might be available for lunch?

15. Or I could squeeze in a drink with JF, AW, DW, KB, or KH before my event on Wednesday night?

Sigh.

I miss Toronto.

Portrait of the blogger as a hairy, double-jointed, magazine addict weirdo from the grocery store

I've been tagged by scarbie doll over at Martinis for Milk for a meme that reminds me a lot of a drinking game I used to play, y'know back when I used to drink socially instead of gulping a glass of whatever's handy in front of the computer after Charlie goes to bed. We called it the Shame Game. Get a group of people together, drink, and each person has to reveal something that is a teeny bit embarrassing, but not illegal or disturbing, to admit in public. For example, one of my best guy friends admitted that his favourite TV show was Gilmore Girls. Another friend copped to getting his rights and lefts confused on a regular basis. Fun, no?

But anywho, since I loves me some memes, here are the rules as per MFM.

1. Reveal six weird facts/things/habits about yourself and then tag six people. (SIX!)

2. Leave a "You're Tagged!" comment to let the people you have tagged know they have to reveal six things (or the entire blogosphere will explode and it will be their fault).

3. Leave me a comment letting me know that you have completed your mission (if you have chosen to accept it!).

Here goes:

1. I'm addicted to magazines. Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, you and everyone else. No really, I'm crazy addicted to magazines. I adore shiny paper. So addicted, I gave up buying them for lent. That was hard, but not too hard because I already have 11 magazine subscriptions (lucky for me I have many enablers who buy them for my birthday), and I buy about four others per month. When I'm not buying US weekly. Or mooching O magazine and People from my mom. Or saying, Yes! Please send me the new Blueprint magazine! Oh, and I know when they will hit the newsstand too. Yep, it's getting a bit out of hand.

2. I have double-jointed thumbs.

3. I was so hairy as a baby that my aunt told my mom she would get me a case of Nair for my 16th birthday. I still battle the hirsute factor, but thankfully the tufts of hair on my shoulders, that my mother likes to fondly describe at family gatherings, are gone. Alas, poor Charlie, it looks like he takes after his mom in the shoulder hair department.

4. I met the man I married when I was 18 (he was 16!). And we've been together ever since, if you ignore a couple of month-long breakups back in the mid-nineties. I guess this isn't so weird, but whenever I tell people this fact, they usually look totally gobsmacked.

5. I have a weak spot for top-40 pop songs, especially anything from the 80's-90's. And I will sing along to said cheesy music in the grocery store and even dance. I make excuses like, "I'm just keeping Charlie entertained," but I used to do this before he was born.

6. If I have a dream and HS is in it and he's being a jerk, I'm always a little mad at him even after I wake up.

Since I know of only one other blogger who reads my site, I'll tag Mommy Abroad.

I must be out of my mind

HS and I were at the hockey game, so I thought, what the heck. Here's a fun way to shake up your husband. I leaned over and whispered seductively, "Speaking of hockey, what would you think if we pulled the goalie?"

Ok, so we haven't pulled the goalie. Yet. We've merely traded him in for the back-up player. Besides, there is no way I want another winter baby, so I still have until June to really make up my mind, sort things through, and obsess. We'll see.

I have a longer rambly post about the whys/why nots that are continually fighting it out in my brain, but Charlie is waking up from his nap, so in the meantime, here's a link to a dead easy recipe for tilapia that I made last week. So yummy! And so good for you! And you don't even need the herbs they call for. I sprinkled on some dried basil and smeared a few of those frozen parsley cubes (my sister uses dried parsley flakes) on top, and ta-da! Something other than pasta for dinner! Whee!

Check it out at Everyday Food.

What I like about daylight savings

All the dads at the park with their kids after supper.

The best of the best of bridge

You know what? Baking isn't all that hard. I'm not talking about homemade truffles or petits fours here, but in my pre-SAHM life, homemade baking seemed somewhat magical and spoke of things that never made it into my shopping cart: butter, flour, vanilla extract. But after a few wedding showers (a somewhat embarrassing seven), I am rather well equipped to whip up all sorts of sugar-laden goodies. (That and I got one of those fab KitchenAid mixers from a guilt-ridden HS soon after we moved here from Toronto. Alas, no matter how well a mixer can whip, stir or mix, it doesn't really make up for the isolation of moving to a new city. You can't bake away depression people!) In addition to the requisite cookware, I received a lot of cookbooks, including one of my mother's favourites, The Best of the Best and more!. This book is part of a series of cookbooks from The Best of the Best of Bridge, sort of the penultimate collection, spiral bound and 313 pages of recipes from my childhood that bring to mind cozy blankets, fluffy pillows, and hot chocolate: pure comfort. So after snagging a bag of overripe bananas for 99 cents, I decided to make the "Best-Ever Banana Bread" for HS's coworker who just had twins. And she already has a two-year-old. Basically, my nightmare -- what would happen if we decided to go for a second baby -- come to life. But, um, well, HS and I couldn't resist, and let's just say I'm going to the grocery store for more bananas to assuage my guilt. She has twins! And a toddler! And she had a c-section! How could we? Because it is the Best-Ever Banana Bread! And it wasn't hard! And Charlie could even "help" a bit until he tried to stick his hand in the mixer. So delicious with a melty pat of butter. And even better the next day! Such dense, sweet goodness! But really, if your recipe starts with a cup of butter with two cups of sugar, you know it's gonna be gooooooooooood.

Here's the recipe.

La belle province, part I

The last time I visited Montreal, I was 18, and it was March Break. Although I told my parents I was going to see what McGill was all about, the real reason I wanted to go was to drink. You see, the legal drinking age in Quebec is 18. (Is it still? This was, gulp, 17 years ago.) The legal drinking age in Ontario? 19. So two of my best friends and I hopped on a train and spent three days sleeping, eating, hanging out at the Peel Pub, and making frequent trips to the depanneur for Wildberry coolers and (gasp!) peach Durangos. (Ugh. Peach flavoured beer. I know they don't make that crap anymore. Good thing too. I once got a wee bit hammered on Durangos -- probably three -- at a bush party and ended up kissing a guy in a field and then desperately tried to ignore him for the rest of my last year of high school. That was the same bush party where I spotted HS for the first time from across a blurry campfire and thought "Garwsh. He's cuyoot." before heading off into said field.)

But I digress.

Needless to say, I've been taking advantage of my legal drinking status for many years now, so even though I no longer look at Montreal with the boundless energy and salivatory anticipation of an underage drinker, I felt it was high time to go back for a visit. Sober. For the most part anyway. And since Montreal is only two hours from Ottawa (despite what Mapquest says), it only made sense that when March break rolled around this year, my sister and I should go for a quick shopping trip, sans le bebe.

It was so much fun.

We arrived around lunch, so we beelined it to Schwartz's for some tasty smoked meat sandwiches. There was a line-up out the door, but it moved quickly. And here's a tip: don't get the lean smoked meat. This is no time for diets. Go for the full-fat, or if you must, medium. Such savory goodness! And less than $5! We also had the Cott's Black Cherry Sodas, because I thought That Is What You Do at Schwartz's. I'm sure there are people out there with a taste for such things, or perhaps fond childhood memories, but really, byech. Carbonated cough syrup. Sort of like a virgin Wildberry Cooler.

Then we went for a stroll down St. Laurent and some shopping. This was my favourite store. Such flirty, fresh clothing! So many pretty dresses! With shoes to match! So perfect for spring! But did I buy anything? Sadly, no. You see, whenever I go shopping, I want to buy Clothes For The Life I Do Not Have. I have no need for a cute, flowery Ben Sherman shirtdress because, realistically, I'll wear it once and then it will be fall. Shopping these days depresses me, so instead I buy for Charlie. But this trip I promised my sister that I would buy something spring-y for me. And I found the perfect thing here. I tried on a buttery soft, thin, chocolate brown leather jacket. It was as if it was tailor-made, it fit that well. And I looked good, if not somewhat chic. ('cause, damn, Montrealers are terribly fashionable. Does everyone in this city get briefed by Lucky magazine? I even saw someone totally rocking the tricky leggings look that is all over the mags this season.) But alas, although I had found the perfect item for me, I could not justify the $750 price tag. Not with the balance on our line of credit.

Wow. This post is getting long. Still more to say, but I need to finish my freelance work. Part II to come soon, I hope.

Honestly, our neighbourhood is quite clean

Egads, I have a lot to blog about. But it is a lovely, lovely day here in Kanata; the snow is melting, the park play structures are dry-ish, and the sun is warm and marvelous. Charlie and I spent the morning at the park, and dammit, it's good to be back outside. So many thoughts to write down: my new niece, why I have the hates for Orillia's hospital, my brief trip to Montreal, my obsession with finding a hat that doesn't make me look like Kim Mitchell, and lattes! at Tim Hortons!

But since Charlie is waking up, I will leave you with a sweet little ditty that he composed this past week.

(To the tune of "She'll be coming 'round the mountain.")

There are seven dirty diapers on the street. Um-hm.
There are seven dirty diapers on the street. Um-hm.
There are seven dirty diapers, seven dirty diapers, there are seven dirty diapers on the street. Um-hm.
Yay!!! (tambourine flourish)

I have a secret

No one knows about this blog.

Ok, duh, of course people know about this blog. It's on the Internet fer cryin out loud. But I haven't told anyone I know about this blog. Not even HS. Odd, no?

And now I feel I really should tell him, but how do I explain why I've kept this a secret since November? I don't keep secrets from HS, and I know he'll be supportive and all that, but still.

I just wanted a space to call my own, where I could spew out the stuff that rattles around in my head, without thinking about an audience. And someplace where I could practice writing blurby bits, to see if maybe, just maybe, I could string together something a little more complex than my usual daily conversations with a two-year old.

What to do?

To the woman who cut me off in the grocery line-up

While your one-metre sprint to get to the checkout before me was quite impressive, I'll bet you were regretting that decision when Charlie decided to unleash all the possible misery of a grumpy two-year-old at the highest and loudest pitch possible. Did you not see that my son was already trying to climb out of the cart as we beelined for the checkout? Did you not hear him screech "IT'S TIME TO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"? Luckily the woman behind me did not give me the Stink-eye of the Childless. Luckily she understood and sympathized and wondered aloud when temper tantrums end because her daughter is 3 1/2 and showing no signs of giving them up. Ugh. Oh, and Charlie was up at 4:15 a.m. today.

Only only only only only only.

The sky is flecked with signs of hope

I probably shouldn't decree this to the Internet, but dammit, life is good these days. I had a fab but quick trip to Montreal to do some shopping with my sister, I went out to a hockey game, a friend is about to adopt a baby boy, my SIL is about to have another baby, and it's raining. Yep, rain. Not snow!

What I love about Ottawa

It's freezing rain here in Ottawa today, and already I have seen two salt trucks on my street. Two! And I live in the burbs! Man, this city knows how to deal with winter. Unlike, say, Toronto with its devil-may-care, I'm-sure-it-will-melt niavete. Oh sure, it will call in the military, but clear the side streets on a regular basis? Um, no. I never saw a plow on my street. Not once. And I lived in the same neighbourhood for three years.

Something to add to the CV

After dealing with/managing/negotiating with/staring in disbelief at the crankiest Charlie I've seen in a long time -- whose reasoning and wants were so irrational and dada-esque it took my breath away -- I thought "I'm learning many skills I could have used in my last job."

Although I doubt I could have distracted my boss with chocolate milk and Dora the Explorer.

The best way to watch the Oscars

Fire up PVR. Pause live TV just as the show starts.
Give toddler a leisurely bath. Feel no pressure to hurry him through his bedtime routine.
Order chinese food.
Read "Blueberries for Sal" twice.
Put toddler to bed.
Food arrives. Pour a gigantic glass of Cave Spring Reisling. Heap plate with food.
Unpause the show an hour after it starts.
Watch the telecast. Fast forward through all ads, musical numbers, technical awards, and most acceptance speeches. Pause again to clean up dishes and brush teeth. Hop into bed.
Catch up to live telecast just before best director is awarded to Ang Lee.
Sit through the last half hour live.
Feel like you've made efficient use of your time since you didn't miss Jon Stewart, the designer outfits, Jennifer Garner's near slip on stage, or the look of shock on Jack Nicholson's face when Crash won for best picture.
Realize your love for your PVR.
Go to bed.

Pasta!

Yesterday I made this for the family. Charlie actually ate it without complaint. HS LOVED it. Our totally gracious guest loved it too (but she's so gracious, she may have had two helpings just to be polite). And I thought it was awesome in that tastes-like-mom's-1970's-cooking kind of way. I only used mozzarella cheese, and I had a small strip of the pan without ground beef for Charlie. So yummy! So easy! And the best part is I found it in the comments in Julia's blog . She is very smart and funny and her spicy shrimp pasta is the BEST pasta recipe I have ever made, bar none. It's spicy, but in a harmonious layering of intriguing tastes, not in a render-your-tastebuds-inert, way. And it's easy! And perfect for entertaining! And you really don't have to use a cup of olive oil, so don't be scared. (I have used both 1C and 1/4C for this recipe, and it was delish either way). My stomach is rumbling just thinking about it. Time for some ziti leftovers!

Yet another reason

Going to Florida cost about $2000 LESS than Club Med. Even with all the shopping.

And that's it about Florida, I swear. You might start to think that I'm some freaky buzz marketer or something . . .