It's Getting Draft-y In Here...

A random selection of bits and bobs floating through my otherwise too-tired-and-fuzzy head... found in draft files and thrown together. I know. But there it is.

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If a food writer says your baby is delicious, should you worry? I mean, will I some playdate find her basting him and tucking an apple in his open mouth?

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Every month, Toronto Life magazine features the story of one real estate hunt and usually, purchase. March's? Made me kind of go whaaa? Here's "the story," as they call it in the mag, of the couple involved, quoted from the mag:

Last June, the couple bought a house in Bedford Park but soon decided they wanted a second property and a less conventional domestic relationship. The plan was for him to live mainly in one home and her in the other, with their teenager and six-year-old having full bedroom set-ups in both. "We don't need to be together all the time just to prove we're committd," Kirby says.

Okay, so putting aside my first reaction (ie. how ridiculously much money it would take to own and maintain two properties in those areas for what seems completely unecessary if the story they are giving is the whole story), I found this a bit off-putting - it is his comment, I think, that did it. Here's the thing - I don't think people live together to prove anything - what kind of a relationship would that be? The fact as I see it is that I live with Misterpie for the same reason that I'm committed to him - quite simply, I like him.

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Is it the delirium talking when you notice in the middle of the night that in the Galli family, it would be not "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," but "Boutros-Boutros, Boutros-Boutros, Boutros-Boutros" and you think it might be a bit of ridiculous overkill?

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People I saw last week:

Walking down the Danforth, a major pedestrian street as well as a major city artery, I saw two men standing talking, nearly toe to toe. Make that, nearly hat to hat, as both were wearing large-ish Stetson-type cowboy hats. Which you don't see much 'round these here parts. Scanning down, they had on buttoned shirts, snug jeans, and cowboy boots, as befitted your urban cowboy. But here? Among the Lululemon and batik? How strange.

And on the subway (god, I miss people-watching on the subway!), a woman, a larger woman, wearing deep purple jeans and a ribbed sweter in shades of purple and white. It didn't look abd from the back, if a touch dated, but whatever. But then she turned. From the sides of her waist, the pants dipped down and the shirt rose up, leaving a wide exposed flesh belt, including her bellybutton. Now I am typically torn when I see this sort of thing between being a bit horrified that they would have made such a poor choice for their figure (I mean, where are Stacy and Clinton, and has their work meant nothing?) and being somewhat amazed and impressed that they don't seem to care what people think and feel they look just fine, thank you. And here, same thing. Torn.

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Real posts are in the offing, but require time, which is in short supply.
Meanwhile, have I mentioned I have a new gig? Check it out - now I'm a sweetmama! They have dubbed me the Book Fairy over there, and after last week's intro post, I will be reviewing weekly startiong tomorrow, so if you are looking for what's new and good in picture books, stop by and see.

No Less

I am made so sad by the California decision on prop 8. It's not my state, it's not my country, even, but it's a state that many people think of as a land full of loosey-goosey liberals types, a place for people who find other areas too constraining, and for a state with that kind of reputation to uphold this ban on gay marriage can only say to other, more conservative states that even the more "open" states think it's not okay. And it is. It's okay. It's more than okay. It's love, and shouldn't we support that, celebrate that? Shouldn't we say that anyone who is willing to take on another person, look past their flaws and human foibles and promise to love them and make their little part of the world a better place, shouldn't we applaud that?

There have been lots of people talking about their take on gay marriage as the vote and then the court challenge have moved along, with lots of different reasons why they think gay marriage should not be granted. The religious arguments, I don't agree should have a place in this age, even though America is a country where religion has long been embroiled in politics much more tightly than should be according to the theory of government embraced in their own founding documents. The fact is, we live in an increasingly secular time, at a time when more and more religions are represented among the populace of any one country, and to give over control to one set of religious beliefs is a little dangerous at any time, but in today's society is also allowing a smaller than ever slice of the populace to decide for the rest. Not only unfair, but also a little scary. There is perfectly good reason for the supposed separation of church and state.

Some people argue that it is tradition, convention, that a marriage be between and man and woman. True. It is also convention and tradition that women stay at home and raise children, that parents have a say in whom their children marry, that better schools are for the rich alone, that fathers can beat their children and teachers apply the ruler or paddle. It has been the way of human evolution for milennia now that old ideas and practices give way to new ones, sometimes based on new discoveries, sometimes based on societal shifts, and yes, there has always been resistance, but eventually, the last few people to hold onto the old ideas are labeled bigots and hatemongers. I think we have come to that point on this issue, and it is time to stand up and say that gay people are no different, deserve no less, and that yes, society has opened its eyes and hearts to that by now. It's been quite long enough coming.

And finally, those who argue that allowing gay marriage will somehow diminish their traditional marriage... This one, I just simply don't understand. How does it do that? Just by exisiting? Do you feel the same about marriages that were once considered different or unusual - marriages between people of different races or religions? Does anything that is not the same as you make you less somehow? And... how? I just don't understand.

You know who I think belittle marriage? Not gay spouses. Spouses who cheat. Spouses who abuse. People who enter marriage so lightly that their marriage lasts for mere hours because it was all just a joke, a prank to start with. People who remove their ring for a night on the town, those who don't honour and support their spouses. People who hop in and out of marriages so quickly, it's like a wedding is the new first date. I'm not just talking about people whose marriage looks different than mine, I'm talking about people who don't take their promise seriously, and who don't take their partner as a partner, not an accessory. That belittles the importance of marriage, if you ask me. After all, only you can truly diminish your own marriage, so if you want to protect the sanctity of it, stop worrying about what othr pople are doing and pay attention to whatever vows you may have spoken.

But people who are fighting just to have a deep love recognized, to be able to do what heterosexual couples have been doing for ages, to make a commitment, a promise, in front of the people they love, in front of friends and family, to be recognized as a team, a pair who intend to work together to support one another? That is not belittling marriage, that is exalting it. That is showing people who would take the idea of marriage for granted just how important it is to them.

How can someone else feel right about denying them that? This makes me sad for California, and proud of living in a country where we have decided some while ago that it is no big deal, that people should love, that we should allow people to come together, rather than trying to keep them apart. To those worried about the implications, I say take a look at the countries who have allowed and honoured marriages between same-sex couples for some time now. The fabric of society has not rent - if anything, we have more people in more solid couples for the weight of the solemn vows they have spoken.

Biscuits in the Oven

Biscuits in the oven, gonna watch 'em rise
Right before my very eyes.

On the first hot day, I put the Bun in some shorts. And the pudgy legs? Hoo, boy, the legs...

I tried to sneak up on them...

He caught me.
"Whatchoo lookin' at?"

"Oh, those legs?"

"They are kinda great, aren't they?"

Shh... don't tell him I snuck in an aerial shot when he wasn't looking!

I'm not sure photos even really do them justice, but I tried, for the sake of kgirl, who professes to love his chubby, chubby legs. Often.

Stockholm Syndrome Would Be Welcome

This past while, my Bun's schedule has been in flux, with his naps moving around unpredictably, meaning that my timing regarding trying to feed him is often wrong, and resulting in my formerly easy baby screaming for at least an hour every day. Not just crying, but screeaming like I am pulling out his toenails, one by one.

Now I don't know about you, but I have never been able to bear the cries and screams of my own baby. It makes my head ring and scream and vibrate, throws every system in my body into full panic mode, and I can feel the tension ratcheting upwards with each cry. it doesn't take long before I reach breaking, the point where cartoons show the top oppping off the thermometer and mercury spouting out. Only with me, it's my head popping off.

It's like an emergency steam valve, but the release of it scares me a little. My reaction to the flood of stress chemicals and adrenaline comes out more in fight than flight, and often ends in me screaming or shouting, sometimes with some gesture done with more force than needed - not really a violent act, but an action done with violence. The slamming down of a tray, the pounding of a hand on a table. Never directed at my child, but still not something I would be happy to have him seeing. This impulse, or momentary loss of control makes me feel like a terrible person, and the next second, as the stress and the anger that it manifests as flee, I am left shaken and miserable, weeping and caught between castigating and justifying.

I tried, today, to withsstand it better. I don't want this to be my way, the blowing up under pressure, so I tried to keep myself in check, to pretend not to hear, to see if I could prevent the pressure gauge from registering the screaming. The creaming so loud that it rattles fitting in the house at times, and certainly batters my eardrums with its volume. I tried.

I had tried at noon to feed him, but his screams soon told me he was clearly too tired to deal, so I fed him some milk instead, and he fell asleep. Shortly before 2, he awoke, refused food, and we went upstairs for a bit. He began to get screamy about 40 minutes later, so thinking perhaps he was hungry, as he ought to be, I took him downstairs and tried to fee dhim. I got a small amount into him, but he soon overtook me with his screaming, and I couldn't do any more. Was he tired despite his recent nap, hungry but unwilling to eat for some reason, some other thing I could not divine? No idea. But I tried.

A couple of times, I stepped out the front door for a moment to stand in the sun and warm breeze and try to lose myself in an imagined tropical isle while he wailed inside. I felt bad, still, abandoning him like that, but I reminded myself that the goal was to try to avoid a meltdown, and tok a moment to try to restore some degree of calm. I tried a few more times to feed him, tried keeping him company, but finally decided that this was getting us nowhere, and began to clean him up, which produces only more screams. At one point the thought occurred to me that it was a good thing I had Pumpkinpie to live for to keep me from doing something rash. I didn't try to define what I meant by that. The screams went on, crashing on my head one after another. Finally lifting him from his chair and feeding him more milk, he passed out again.

I put him in his stroller so I could go out and run a few errands while he slept, and sat down. I found myself feeling numb and assaulted, on the verge of tears, not having it in me to get up and get going on those errands. I went to the bathroom to get myself ready to go anyhow, and was shocked at the face I saw before me. Where this morning I had looked fresh and well-rested after a decent night of sleep, now my hollow eyes were red-rimmed and empty, deep smudges standing out below them. My chin quivered and lips pinched against the onset of tears, and my hair stood up at angles from what had been a smooth coif. I looked like I felt, haunted and beaten.

I can't go out like this. My errand will remain undone for another day, milk stockpiling and likely to go to waste in the fridge for a lack of freezer bags, check undeposited. I can't go out like this, nerves shattred and raw, knowing I am likely to begin crying in the street as the stress ebbing away leaves me wrung out. Instead, I am eating an ice cream sandwich (what weight loss goal?) and pouring this out to you, because I just don't know how to deal with this any longer. How to lkeep it together, how to withstand the attack on the sense that is a crying baby. I just don't know. The fact that I have to go out soon to have dinner with friends is reducing me to tears again, as I have nothing left for that.

I know I can't be alone, here. I know I am not the only mother who doesn't know what to do with the screaming, who reacts badly despite loving her child. I just don't know how to redirect the reaction, how to stop the steam from building. I need advice, technique, something, since I'm not getting the holiday that I really need. So tell me - how did you handle this? And tell me, too - it's okay to leave your child screaming for a few minutes while you try to collect yourself if you've left him somewhere safe, right? You're not scarring them by abandoning them in their time of need? And is it okay to wear earplugs to help drown it out, in hopes I won't react so severly if the volume is lesser? (That sounds like a joke, I know, but I'm actually seriously considering it in the event that it might help.) I just need some help to get through this until we figure out his new schedule or whatever it is that I am not getting about his needs right now.

Shifting

My dad got married last week. Opapie, I mean , not biodad. The dad I grew up with, who along with my mom and later my sister, formed our family. It was... strange.

Lawyerlady is very nice, his new wife. I really like her, and I am glad for him that he has found someone - I think he really deserves a chance to start over and find happiness with someone after putting in so many years making sure things were okay with my mom. He continues to support and include hr, actually, and I can't imagine that just any woman would be okay with that the way that Lawyerlady is. Maybe that's just part of being an older couple and knowing that no one that age comes without some kind of baggage, but I am glad for it, whatever the reason.

Still, I felt some trepidation about how I was going to feel about this when it came down to the moment, because when my parents finalized their divorce some years back, I was surprised to find myself upset, even though I knew it was the right thing for all and had been a long time coming. And I was right. During their short and simple service, watching Lawyerlady beam at my father, hearing him speak his vows in the soft voice he uses only when he feels the most tender and happy, I cried. Not just tears of joy, but tears of some pleasure at the occasion mixed with tears of stress from this past week's normal stresses letting go and riding th coattails of the other tears, and also, vastly overtaking the other tears, tears of sad wistfulness. Tears of not wanting to let go of something precious.

It's believed that all children of divorce, if I can even be called that when they split the year I was thirty, want their parents to get back together and hold that secret candle of hope in them. I think people would assume that that was the reason for my ambivalence here, the reason that the bitter is at least in equal measure with the sweet as I watch my dad walk into this new life. It's not, not really.

It's not that I wanted or secretly hoped that they would get back together and we would be a happy, normal family again. Normal had long since fled our lives, and it would in fact be eye-rollingly ludicrous given the years of weirdness and crap that brought them to this point.

Rather, it is the snapping of one more strand of the fraying rope that binds us together, our family tiesin ever greater likelihood of being stretched so far as to break apart entirely. It is the feeling of the rock solid foundation of my childhood turning to shifting sands, leaving me standing on nothing, soil eroding away from my roots, and it leaves me feeling decidedly wobbly.

Vindication

So one of my pet peeves has been the high degree of trust and reliance on wikipedia, not only among kids, but among adults, too, who often use it as a go-to source without looking for other confirming sources. The fact is that anyone can contribute to it, and while many articles are in fact written by people with knowledge in a field and well-documented and so on, it is not to be counted on without backup. It's just not reliable and authoritative enough for that.

One of the major things that we library and info types teach people who are going to go out on the web is to valuate their sources. This even counts for print media, though to some lesser degree, depending on the type of source you are using, but especially for electronic sources, since they are so unchecked in most cases. So before I will believe a wiki page, I follow a few of the related links or footnotes, and check in on a few other pages from more obvious reputable sources to see if they concur.

Seems my caution is not seen as necessary by everyone, and shockingly (to me), it's not just grade 5s who are too lazy to do proper research. Check this article from the Toronto Star.

And because articles disappear after a short time, I've excerpted the first part, with the important part:

Reuters

DUBLIN–"When I die there will be a final waltz playing in my head," Oscar-winning French composer Maurice Jarre once said, according to several newspapers reporting his death in March.

However, the quotation was invented by an Irish student who posted it on the Wikipedia website in a hoax designed to show the dangers of relying too heavily on the Internet for information.

Shane Fitzgerald made up quotes and entered them on Wikipedia – an encyclopedia edited by users – immediately after Jarre's death was first reported on March 30.

The 22-year-old sociology and economics student at University College Dublin said he had expected blogs and perhaps small newspapers to use the quotes but did not believe major publications would rely on Wikipedia without further checks.

"I was wrong. Quality newspapers in England, India, America and as far away as Australia had my words in their reports of Jarre's death," Fitzgerald wrote in an article in Thursday's Irish Times newspaper.

Seriously. Does this prove my point, people?! I think I can get off my sopabox now.

Schadenfreude

When I discovered that I was expecting a boy, one of my good blogger friends (was it you?) gave me one singular piece of advice: buy a bunch of baby washcloths, and every time you change a diaper, lay one over the penis. Every time. I was assured I would be thankful for that advice. And I was.

Misterpie was reckless, and despite my passing on that advice, changed bareback for the first week - only to be peed on twice, once full in the face. He came around.

And we've been using those washcloths ever since, delighted occasionally to have them catch a would-be shower and contain it to the change pad, washcloth, and sometimes baby clothes. But the Bun has grown, and become wilder, more adventurous, and, well, more grabby.

The other night, as I changed him, he grabbed the washcloth right off his business and promptly peed up my arm in the middle of the night. I was unimpressed, but still, it was at least just an arm.

Then last night, he again grabbed his washcloth from his lap, waving it triumphantly in the air, bringing it to his face to inspect, crowing his pleasure with his own antics as I worked to clean up a messy behind, no hands free to retrieve it from his grasp. And he peed again - full in his own face. Sputtering and crying out in shock and anger, he was decidedly not pleased.

And as for me - is it terrible to admit that I took a little pleasure in his displeasure, having been on the receiving end of the ame a couple of nights before?

Don't you all think

that I ought to have this pillow?



It is pretty awesome, and awfully pie-like...

Though I doubt Misterpie will concur and see it as a necessary purchase, sadly.
(I know. My life is SO hard...)