When I was younger, I always thought that Labour Day was the same as New Year’s Day. It didn’t make sense that the new year officially started in January. September was when the new school year begins, when my birthday happens, and when life resumes its normal pace after a lazy summer. And I loved all of that!!
I still love September, and I especially love the start of fall, my favorite season. Why is fall my favorite season?
The return of reasonable temperatures that are seasonally appropriate (I’m looking at you, June 2011). I’m not one who enjoys extended periods of warmth.
Windy, rainy days that don’t make you feel bad for staying home and watching a movie and enjoying some comfort food.
Wearing sweaters, skirts and tights. I <3 tights.
Walking the dog down a path framed with coloured leaves.
Labour Day, Thanksgiving, Remembrance Day. The long weekends!
An inevitable IEEE trip somewhere (this season there are two trips: Jersey City and Mississauga).
The start of school, classes, clinics, etc.
The return of loved TV shows and the start of new ones.
Winter is something to look forward to still, not swear at while in the middle of it.
Darker evenings mean an easier time getting Baby J to sleep, and darker mornings mean a tad more sleep. For now.
Planning for Christmas. Ya, I said it.
Hallowe’en! (Full disclosure: I’ve never been a huge fan of Hallowe’en, but having a kid makes it more fun this year.)
The return of the pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks, and knowing that Peppermint Mochas are coming soon!
Fall running. I don’t like getting too sweaty, and hate wearing shorts when I run. Fall temperatures take care of that for me. :)
… SO many more things that can’t be verbalized.
… and what do I have to show for it? A healthy, happy baby boy who seems to be reading the development charts and following them perfectly. A dog who is a bit jealous, but is learning to live with less attention. An awesome hubby who has become an excellent, patient father. A house that’s no cleaner or more organized than it ever was pre maternity leave, but that’s okay, as long as the laundry gets done. A bit of a tan from those few sunny days we’ve had that I can stroll with Baby J. A better appreciation for SAHMs and anyone undertaking childcare professionally.
… and what do I miss? Sleep (I’m getting some and I’m not complaining, just being honest). The ability to have a margarita without planning around it (breastfeeding is awesome is so many ways though). Work (yes, a bit). Travel (soon to be rectified, hopefully).
… and what surprises have there been? How quickly the months have gone by. How slow some days can seem. How interesting it can be to just watch Baby J from day to day. How much love and pride I can feel for my family. How a sunny day makes so much difference when you aren’t in an office. How great coffee can be after a difficult night. How different things actually are. How little some other things have changed.
… and what do I have to work on for the next six months? Patience (especially at 5am). Organization. Taking advantage of those quiet moments to get things done or do nothing without feeling guilty. Reaching out and staying connected to friends. Learning to ask for help. Learning to say “No”.
]]>(Anyone else can too, but it’s not your birthday.)
]]>Let’s see if this works, shall we? A boy and his giraffe…
]]>For those who wonder, daytime TV is seriously lacking - talk shows, soaps, reruns (though Spike DOES show a lot of CSI, which I enjoy) are the typical fare. But the ads definitely target “older adults” (walk-in tub anyone?) and moms. And despite my self-proclaimed superior intelligence, I find myself affected by the ads in ways I wouldn’t think of. I’m starting to care about how my house smells, and what germs are lurking because I’m not using the right anti-bacterial wipe. But besides pushing a certain product, advertising offers subliminal pushes as well. All the actors are, well, skinny, and well-dressed, with perfect kitchens and living rooms and gardens. And while I know they are actors on a set, some part of my brain is now more worried than ever before about these things and how inadequate my house and housekeeping skills are, and how I look (granted, I am carrying “baby weight”… Maybe I’ll blog on that too). It makes no sense, yet it’s getting to me!
I only hope that logic can continue to prevail, or that the weather stays good this spring and upcoming summer. I plan on switching off the TV and enjoying real life, commercial-free.
]]>I have no hesitation in leaving Baby J for a few hours, providing he’s in capable hands (which he certainly was in the above cases). I’ve heard of new parents who go months before leaving their child for a social evening. I’m far too logical for that. I mean, I wouldn’t be going too far or for very long (not that breastfeeding would allow that) stop they’d less of a chance of missing an important development, and in case of emergency there’s not much more I can do that Nan can’t.
Not that I’m dissing those who can’t bear to part with their little people. I kind of envy their resolve. And not that I don’t question my bond with Baby J when I can go out for a few hours and come home to a happy baby who didn’t notice I was gone. But I’m okay with that.
And I’m not completely rational. Please don’t ask when we’re moving him to his crib. :)
]]>(Well, really, it’s because we listen to it first thing for the traffic updates, and I’m generally too lazy to turn it over afterwards).
Jian Ghomeshi hosts ”Q”, which is self-described as “an energetic daily arts, culture and entertainment magazine that takes you on a smart and surprising ride, interviewing personalities and tackling the cultural issues that matter.” It features a wide variety of topics and guests - most famously, the show featured Billy Bob Thornton, who was on the show to promote his band but got… a bit upset that Jian dared to mention his OTHER career. Here’s the YouTube video of what went down then.
But an interview yesterday caught my attention, with journalist Pamela Paul about the state of the personal and business call these days. You can listen to the interview here. But the general gist is that, for most adults in the working world:
Personal calls have been largely replaced with texts, emails or instant messages with the exception of a predictable set of intimate contacts (parents, spouses, children). The ring of an unexpected call can cause anxiety - the first thought is “What’s wrong?”. Non-routine personal calls are normally set up as “phone dates” in advance, and the negotiation is done over electronic means.
Business calls are also rare without first setting up the groundwork via email; sending a quick note via email is the expected, indicating you plan to call at a certain time to discuss a certain topic, with the basics of the discussion contained within.
No one checks their voicemail when they have Caller ID.
This describes my communication style to the letter. ”Back in the day”, I was a bit of a phone addict, like most teenage girls of my era. I was even slow to catch on to the SMS trend. These days the only people I actually call, and who call me, without some electronic communication first, are my mother and in-laws. Like the interviewer suggests, at home I think of phone calls as almost intrusive - Why are you calling me? I’m busy (probably not, but still…)! Send a note and I’ll respond on my own time! Unless it’s something urgent, I much prefer the one-way communication methods of text, email or IM, and their non-threatening nature. Not sure if you want to respond? I don’t know if you got the message, so you can take your time. One thing we DON’T have in our household is Caller ID, the philosophy being “If you didn’t leave a message, it mustn’t have been important.”
At work, I normally will send an email to a contact outlining as many details of an impending call as possible, to avoid miscommunication of important facts and details as much as I am trying to avoid the actual call itself. Business calls have their own set of rules with respect to small talk and negotiation, and I haven’t learned all the rules yet. If we can hammer out the facts via email, that’s just fine by me. If we can’t do that, I’d prefer a face-to-face meeting over an hour-long phone chat.
For a while, I thought my behaviour and thoughts regarding phone communications were anti-social and unusual (I’m finding more and more that I am an introvert, but more on that some other time). So this interview made me feel better about myself. But do I feel better about where our society is headed? Will we lose the art of conversation, or gain time once spent chatting inanely about the weather and vacations? Should the ring of my home phone bring on panic instead of curiosity?
]]>I have a lovely new little baby boy (let’s call him Baby J), and need another outlet to describe just how lovely he is and post countless pics that are practically indistinguishable from each other.
As a result of (1), I am on maternity leave and have a lot more free time than I used to… when I’m not eating bonbons and watching my soaps, of course. Wait, I can do that AND blog, because I can multi-task.
Partly as a result of (2), I don’t chat with as many people who don’t wear diapers as I used to (at least, I assume most of my co-workers and colleagues don’t wear diapers. Note, I have nothing against people, young or old, who do wear diapers). I can’t influence others with my intelligent opinions and witty insights in person, so I need to harass the general public via the internet.
Referencing (3), though I’ve tried, I can’t be all that intelligent-sounding in 140 characters (a la Twitter). I’m hoping to sound more intelligent when allowed more words. Hence the move back to “rambling”.
Because I secretly hope to someday get a book deal, or influence a movie plot, or at least get some free swag for shamelessly selling out and writing positive reviews for something… anything… I’m not picky.
I say all that knowing full well that until this week, I was hesitant to say “I AM a runner” and put myself in a category with elite athletes and amazing, inspiring people. I’m just a chick who “jogs” 3-4 times a week at a rather slow pace. My dad can walk faster than I run. I didn’t quite get it, didn’t quite feel like a runner.
But two things happened this week. The first was on Sunday at about 9am. We rose and met our running group. It was a wet and windy morning, and I did my first 10km run. Again, not very fast, but time does go quickly when you have good company (which I did!). But the 8km mark took us past a lake and the wind reached across the lake and smacked us upside the head. We soldiered on. And we made it back upright and smiling. But from wet socks and siggy sneakers I got the worst blister I’ve ever had, on the arch of my foot. Can you say ‘Awkward’? I did along with other choice words.
But that, knock on wood, is my first major running affliction. And I ran through it, and survived it, and treated it, and ran again 6km the next day. And I thought, “Now I get it.”
The second thing happened tonight. As I’ve learned recently, hill repeats are a tried-and-true way to improve your performance. You run it the way a chld runs toward an ice cream cart - as fast as you can and not stopping until you reach the target (in this case the target is the top). Unlike the kid running for ice cream, the sweet reward is not when when you stop. It comes days or weeks later, when the training pays off. And before that, hills are not fun.
And tonight, I got it. I was being pushed, literally (nudged by coach John) and though I thought my legs were about ready to give up on the fifth go, I kept givin’ ‘er. I was thinking about crying. Instead I kept running. And made it without collapsing or crying.
I’m proud. And I do believe all I said first off in this post. Anyone can be a runner. It’s not a club. But being something and feeling like you are can be two different things. I’m glad I’m now both. :)
]]>As the Catholic church and the Vatican hit the news with increasing frequency, I’m questioning what role religion plays or should play in my life. I do think the notion of “love your neighbour as yourself” is the best philosophy to live by, and I think churches as organizations can do great things. I just wish that they would do more of those great things and less discriminating based on random interpretations of Bible scripture or how things gave always been done.
]]>I have one HUGE task left to do that I don’t really wanna do, but sooo want to get to the end of. My Masters thesis. The bane of my existence. The thorn in my side, and main thing that keeps me awake at night (though I sleep fairly well, to br honest). One thing I do have goals for, fairly ambitious ones. And on Friday I need to submit a form asking for an extension. Admitting that hey, I’m not as quick as your average bear doing a M.Eng, but I declare that I AM going to finish. If they’ll let me. Maybe they won’t approve my extension, in which case I’ll have a great cry and move on.
But let’s be positive. I am making thesis progress, slowly and painfully. I am taking time for me, and cutting back on taking on tasks that aren’t worth the aggravation they cause.
]]>But I can somewhat relate to the whole hoarding problem. Has someone (or your inner voice) made you feel guilty for letting food go to waste? Or throwing away something that you might use in future? Have you bought something you didn’t really like or didn’t really need because it was an amazing bargain? I’ve done all these at some point. There is no real logic behind it. Now take those minor feelings, multiply them, and you’ve got yourself a hoarder.
I don’t think I’ll make “Hoarders” a regular part of my TV watching, but it’s a good reminder to keep buying and “keeping” in check. And to clean a bit more of the basement.
]]>It’s up to us to grab the moments that matter before they pass us by and tear them open like a gift, blow them up like a balloon to fill all possible space and bounce them around, float them along, play with them and around them. I just finished watching “Groundhog Day”, and one thing I had forgotten about is how much Bill Murray’s character Phil grows, once he realizes the gift he is given - the gift of time, the chance to live each day knowing that there’s another one coming and it will hold exactly what he expects and he knows exactly how to make a difference.
I don’t have resolutions this year. I don’t even have concrete goals. I am trying to make time my friend (my bitch?), to tame it, organize it. I find too much of my time is spent doing Stuff I’d rather not be doing, and while I accept a certain amount of this is necessary in life (unless I’m independently wealthy, then screw it), I’m growing selective about what Stuff occupies my extra time. Or at least, I’m trying to. At the very least, I’m figuring out that saying “No” once in a while hurts someone a lot less than I imagine it will when I’m running through reasons not to say “No” in my head. The Stuff that occupies my time should first and foremost be good for me and the folks I love/like - I’ve started running again, trying to spend more time being social with family and friends.
We’ll see how it goes, hey?
]]>It seems like we were fated to have Wesley in our lives, as it took him two tries to stay here. Our first encounter with Wes was in late fall 2004, when we temporarily hosted him while Beagle Paws searched for a new foster family for him. His previous family could not keep him in their apartment; anytime they left him alone to get groceries or even go to the laundry room, he would howl mournfully, disturbing the neighbours. Since the foster family did not have a car and we lived close by, they walked him to our house to see him off. He needed to a home with constant company or another dog, something we could provide for the short term, but not something we were really interested in providing on a longer basis because of April and her alpha dog needs. During his weekend stay, Wesley proved to be a great beagle, but his non-neutered status posed a few interesting situations with April.
Once in a while after that, we would check the Beagle Paws web page to see if Wesley had finally been adopted; he had not. In March 2005, we got a call from Beagle Paws. They needed a more permanent foster home for Wesley, who was now living with an older couple and their dogs and cats. Wesley was now neutered, and we felt he and April could happily co-exist until he found his forever home. We quickly discovered that they could, providing Wesley was not kenneled during the day while we were at work or at night while we tried to sleep. Upon kenneling him, it was the first and only time we could identify that mournful howl that had gotten him moved from his other foster homes. So at night he took his place next to April, right by our feet.
Though we didn’t officially adopt Wesley until December 2005, he was part of our family long before that. Everyone loved the little dog with the sad Eeyore eyes who said very little, did not seek attention but loved receiving it, occasionally said “Arrroooo” to let you know he was there, and sought treats as if he was starving (trust me, he was not). Wesley did suffer from separation anxiety. Shortly after we departed with out suitcases to go on a two-week holiday in 2006, our dog-sitters Chris and Kerry arrived to find long strings of rug trailing from Wesley’s mouth. When extremely anxious, he ate anything he shouldn’t (books, important papers, rugs, clothing, human food, etc.) and was prone to “accidents”. But all blame was absolved when you looked at his face; you could tell that he didn’t mean it, he was just worried that his humans weren’t coming back.
It is hard to pin-point Wesleys age. When he was first listed for adoption in fall 2004, he was thought to be 3-4 years old. When we started fostering him in March 2005, his age had been bumped up to 6-7 years old (which I directly link to his neutering :) ). On our first visit to the vet as Wesley’s owners in January 2006, the doctor estimated that Wesley was about 9-10 years old. In many photos, he has been mistaken for being a young dog because of his expression and enthusiasm (usually because someone is holding a treat in an attempt to get the photo). Before arthritis became a big problem, his jaunty walk was almost puppy-like.
Prior to being rescued by Beagle Paws, Wesley may have had a rough life. We’re not certain, but were told he was found covered in tar when he was taken into Beagle Paws custody. We found this out when getting his medical history for the vet when dealing with a paw puncture that would not stop bleeding. When they shaved him to get rid of the tar, his anxious nature led to a nose bleed that was not easily stopped. The source of the bleed in his paw puncture was thankfully not his anxiety but rather the artery he had nicked, which was treated by a new girlfriend, Dr. Laite. While fixing that, they removed a strange growth on his paw and he spent two weeks poorly maneuvering around the house with a lamp shade collar.
Wesley was no stranger to the vet or the lamp shade collar. He suffered constant annoying ear infections, and upon the recommendation of the vet, had aural reconstructive surgery to remove the bend in his ear canal. This reduced the ear infections, but did not eliminate the need for frequent ear cleanings, with “ear dirt” of the likes we have never seen on April. He also had arthritis, for which we did not seek treatment; a semi-regular glucosamine and lifts on the bed and couch seemed to do the trick.
In May 2007, Wesley quickly became very sick. He stopped eating, started vomiting, and lost all energy. We were very worried. An emergency visit to the vet and some tests showed that his liver function was quite poor. A weekend stay at the vet’s office with IV to boost his fluids did the trick to fix him, but we left armed with a daily vitamin, special food, and a warning to stay clear from commercial treats. In the process, Wesley had found a new girlfriend - his vet, Dr. Wilson.
Despite his health troubles, Wesley enjoyed his quiet life. He became quite animated and pranced around when we returned home from work, if we were heading out for a walk around the street, or when he received one of his special treats (veggie biscuits from the vet’s office). He slipped and slid on the hardwood while trying to stand and eat, or jump off the bed (he could never jump on the bed), or if his nails needed a trim. He enjoyed curling up on the couch or his bed, following us around to see what we were doing, and just being around his people.
Over the last four months of 2008, we noted a decline is Wesley’s health and activity levels. Walks were kept short, and eliminated in colder weather (his hips could not keep up with his desire to get around the street). He stopped going down the patio steps to the backyard, and would spend a lot of time waiting at the corner of the house to come in after a visit to the backyard (instead of at the door) or just staring off into space. He slept a lot more, ate a lot less, and lost weight. His rapid decline over Christmas led to another trip to the vet on January 2, 2009. There we received confirmation that something was wrong - a tumour in his throat that would eventually block his windpipe. Wesley spent his last few weeks enjoying all-day love and attention from all his fan club members on Christmas vacation, and his last few moments pigging out on some “forbidden” treats and quietly cuddling in the arms of the family who loved him. He was about 12 years old.
]]>I send and receive a number of emails over the run of the week. Work email, IEEE email, social emails, responding to emails telling me how to enlarge things and get money from a dead guy’s Swiss bank account. It’s all good. I’m a big fan of email over actually talking to people. But not all emails are created equally. Not even emails written by the same person on the same day. And some email habits really drive me nuts. Maybe I’m old-school. Let me share with you some of my email driven angst:
Emails sent without subjects. I cringe everytime Gmail says (no subject) for the subject to an email I’ve received. I don’t CARE if the email is a one-liner asking me about my weekend plans. Or if you only email me on one topic, therefore there’s no need to explicitly state the subject. I don’t care if you forgot. The subject line is there to be filled in. I like to know what’s inside. I like to look back on the subject and determine what your email was about. And usually, if I’m replying to a no-subject email, I fill one in. You may not notice, but it makes me a little happier.
Emails with more than one topic. I’m a bit… OCD about filing my email. I love Gmail and how it allows me to tag one email with multiple labels. But I’d prefer not to have to do that. Personally, I’d prefer two separate emails with well-crafted subject lines.
Emails not written coherently. It’s a informal form of communication, but it’s only communication if both parties are communicating. If I can’t understand you, it’s not really communicating. I’m not talking good grammar, or full sentences. Re-read your email from the point of view of one who did not write it… can you understand what you are trying to get across?
SPAM from myself. Do you get this? It’s happening a lot on my school account. And I’m not seeing a damn cent from it. Argh.
That is all.
]]>I like grocery shopping. I like making the list, and then ignoring the list as I load up on ice cream and cookies and whatnot. But there are a few things about this semi-weekly outing that drive me nuts:
People who bag bananas. Bananas come pre-bunched. And in peels. WHY do you need to further protect them by putting them in a plastic bag? A plastic bag, I might add, that is good for practically nothing once it is done transporting your precious bananas home. Really. They’re not that fragile. They survived growing on that tree out in nature, and the truck from Belize to here; they’ll survive the ride home. Oh, and I hold this same grudge for people who bag one apple, orange, green/red pepper, etc.
The lack of grocery selection in the grocery store that sells me motor oil. Okay, I don’t buy motor oil. Someone else takes care of that for me. :) But if I did, would I buy it whilst buying my strawberries and Havarti? Probably not. Some probably find it handy or convenient. But when I need andouille sausage or dried hot peppers, it’s frustrating to know that the store doesn’t have it, but hey, they have Monopoly and a large selection of light bulbs.
No one knows where to find the toothpicks. Toothpicks fall into a category of goods that the fine folks who organize grocery stores don’t know how to handle. So they don’t. Instead, they place them randomly around the store in hopes you will buy other things while looking for them.
SUV-sized carts. I’m generally not interested in buying groceries to fill my bomb shelter. Why is my cart sized specifically for that purpose? The basket is too small. The cart is too large. Oh, for a happy medium.
That is all.
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