Three Bright Stars

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2007-08-16T12:19:00.000-06:00

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The Naming Game

2007-08-15T05:40:00.000-06:00

Daniel doesn't talk yet - not with words - but it couldn't be more clear what he is saying. When you have a moment with him on your lap facing you, he touches your face and says, "mmm," which is part question, part demand. He pauses briefly for your answer, and touches your face again, somewhere else.

We immediately understood the game. We have it down like experts now. He indicates something specific, nose, cheek, hair, ear, mouth, eye, tapping it lightly, and we name it as usefully as we can. It's language development in action, because we're both doing the same thing, he with his fingers, and me with a word.

At first, the rule of the naming game was touch, then name. Very soon, and I mean the third or fourth time we played, pointing became an acceptable substitution for touching, and now we're naming towels, soap, tap, hippopotamus. Not long from now, we'll have named actions as well: pick me up, let me down, feed me, give me that.

If Daniel is a good example, babies don't work on something, like crawling, walking, or naming, until they get it. Something seems to turn on in their brains - or they worked it out fully there first - and they just get up and do it. One day, he didn't point and ask, and the next, he did. Isn't that just the thing?

Pay it Forward at Tim Horton's

2007-08-12T12:50:00.000-06:00

While we were out and about yesterday, we went to the drive-thru at the Tim Hortons just south of Whyte Ave. Husband allowed space ahead of us so traffic could flow through the drive-thru line-up. A woman came from the other direction, pulled a u-turn and cut right in front of us! Husband waved his arms with his best mime of "What the hell?!" while I gave the icy female stare until she noticed me in the rear view and laughed. I sarcastically said, "I bet she doesn't even pay for our order." When we got to the window to pay, the Tim Hortons person said, "the woman ahead of you says sorry for cutting in line and she's paid for your order." I immediately tossed my note of her license plate in the garbage and forgot all intentions to key her car. Husband says this has happened to him or us a couple of times before this.

Today, another woman was turning onto the drive-thru lane ahead of us, and waved us through before her. Since she got there first and was just being nice, I suggested that we should pay for her order. After some hemming and hawing, Husband finally capitulated, saying, "I guess we can pay it forward this time."

I had to laugh at this, since neither of us is a big fan of the concept, and Kevin Spacey makes us both a bit queasy. Nevertheless, pay it forward we did, and hopefully to good effect.

It strikes me that this Horton's Forward Payment is the perfect beneficent crime. When someone pays for your order, you didn't know they were going to pay until you get to the till, so you didn't have a chance to pad your order with extra donuts or a couple of sandwiches for later. The one who paid has already sped off ahead of you, so you don't have much chance of finding out who thought you deserved a charitable carb-load. It's an anonymous donation with the unconfirmed presumption of generosity and gratitude at either end. I guess that's a good.

It doesn't work quite so well when you block the person in the drive-thru until they get out of their car and thank you for your kindness, though. That way leads to awkwardness.

A Dish-Boscher for my Birthday!

2007-08-11T07:22:00.000-06:00

My birthday came early this year with the delivery and installation of my new Bosch dishwasher. My old dishwasher was having problems of an unspecified nature, leaving a cruddy film on the dishes that, on busier days, I called "clean dirt." This left Husband in a more or less constant state of unsettlement when it came to using the dishes.

Isn't it fine?

It cleans dishes to a beautiful sparkling shine!

Our Garden Savanna

2007-08-10T11:13:00.000-06:00

When the delivery guy brought that package up to the front door, he didn't realize I was watching him through the front window. He eyed our front yard warily, no doubt searching for the path to the door. Not seeing it, or perhaps not seeing me, he brazenly tromped across the grass to the front door.

I had been having a bad day, and to be honest, had already snapped at several telephone marketers and Husband, whom I had misidentified as a telemarketer. When the guy left, I started imagining revenge scenarios involving the shamefully unmown quality of our lawn.

There must be a tiny jungle ecosystem in development out there in our long grasses. Possibly, a tiny version of the Cretaceous is thriving, with feisty little velociraptors, and maybe a tyrannosaurus or two. These tiny voracious beasts must have torn ruthlessly at the alarmed delivery man's trousers, even as his shoes got caught up in the long grassy vines. By the time he got to the car, scraps of his shoes were barely clinging to his feet, and the bottom two inches of his pants were torn to ribbons, like the It's man's from Monty Python.

I think next time he will take the path of civilization.

But all this makes me think twice about ever mowing the lawn. Do I need to subject an entire ecosystem to trauma and death just so my neighbours will stop using the Lawn Comparison Index to feel superior? Perhaps it must be done, and the resulting extinction event will herald a new age of creatures whose necks will escape the onslaught from my mower.

Today in the Mail

2007-08-09T16:59:00.000-06:00

Husband's musical score arrived today. He has noted the joyous occasion in his blog, but has not elaborated to my satisfaction. To Husband, the main point is that the score that arrived is indeed the hardcover full score, and not some singer's pocket score, which only has the "It's Easy to Fake" guitar notations scribbled by a half-blind music undergraduate above a rough translation of the lyrics.

For me, the main point is that Husband's physical reaction, when he opens the parcel, is to go into a euphoric shock that looks something like what happens to Wal-Mart shoppers in the Roll-Back commercials. Sufficiently recovered, he explains that his heart is still pounding half an hour later.

While I am, of course, happy that the purchase has succeeded (if the pocket score had arrived instead, it would immediately have been embedded with force into one of the walls, where it would become part of our modern art display, "Failed Transactualizations"), I am starting to worry that a person's cardiovascular system can only take so much.

So I have laid it out clearly, although the details still need to be refined. When Husband reaches a certain stage of life at which the risks of mail-ordering outweigh the benefits, such purchases will no longer be allowed. My reasoning is something like, "you gotta live, man!" To which I think Husband will reply, "If you call that living...."

Bears!

2007-08-07T21:10:00.000-06:00

Here's a funny moment. We're driving through the West Edmonton Mall parking lot in search of major home appliances. It's hotter than I'd like, but Husband has given me a reprieve from Howard Stern, so Herbie Hancock's Butterfly from the album Thrust was playing. Daniel was drifting from sleep deprivation, and, as it turns out, so must I have been, because in the middle of what must have been such a calm moment for Husband, I asked, "Can you eat bear?"

Immediately realizing what an insane question that must have seemed, I didn't catch the exact phrasing of Husband's reply, which was something in the realm of, "If it's dead, you can eat pretty much anything." I quickly explained, with a laugh meant to represent never having lost sanity, that I was glad because if I shot a bear with a .45 while camping, I would very much like to keep the carcass, freeze the meat, and sell the pelt. Realizing this was still not representative of a sane conversation, I added that I would of course have to research butchers who could handle bear.

This whole scene comes out of two visions colliding in my brain: the still-vivid memory of taking target practice with Husband at the Wild West Shooting Center on his birthday, and the thought that my sister-in-law and her family had probably just returned from their week-long camping trip. See? Totally sane. In my mind, we are attacked by a bear that looks like one of Daniel's teddy bears ("Kodiak Bear," the souvenir teddy bear from Japan), and I save us with my new found knowledge that for a semi-automatic to be useful in the clinch, you need to have your clip loaded in advance. And: load it a day in advance, because your thumb will need like a day to recover afterwards.

Husband assures me that I have said much less sane things to him in the past, so he wasn't phased by it at all. That's what makes for marital bliss!

Blueberry Bran Pancakes

2007-08-06T09:35:00.000-06:00

There's nothing like running out of all kinds of food staples, and not bothering to replace them, to get the creative juices flowing in the kitchen.

For a few months, we've been giving Daniel bread and jam during one meal of the day. I suddenly had the thought (having run out of bread) that some other tasty but more healthy alternative might also fit the bill. I checked the fridge and pantry: we had a crate of blueberries and plenty of brown flour and other baking supplies. I could make bread (and I did), but that didn't address those blueberries.

Blueberry bran pancakes! With blueberry syrup! It was the only sensible solution. These pancakes have always come out burnt pan-muffins in the past, so I altered the recipe, and here's a winner:

The pancakes:

1 cup brown flour
1/2 cup wheat germ
1/4 cup vanilla sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 tbsp cinnamon

1 egg
1/4 cup canola oil
1 1/2 cups milk plus 1/2 cup milk reserved
1 cup blueberries

Combine the wet and dry ingredients separately first, reserving the 1/2 cup milk to add if the batter isn't the right consistency. Combine wet and dry ingredients, getting the batter to a thick but pourable solution, not over-mixing, and adding the blueberries last. In Alberta, I think you'll always have to add that extra 1/2 cup of milk.

Cook on a slow burner: I set mine on 3. Makes 12-16 delicious pancakes.

The syrup:

1/2 cup vanilla sugar
1/4 cup water
1/8 cup honey
1 tbsp + 1 tsp corn starch
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 cups blueberries

Whisk the liquids together, then take a small part of the mixture in a separate bowl and make a corn starch slurry. Add the slurry back into the mixture, and add lemon juice and blueberries. Boil in a pan 5-10 minutes, until you like the consistency, or use the microwave for 3-4 minutes. The syrup will thicken when cooled.

This makes 3-4 jars of syrup, so be ready to boil a few jars to fill.

Diaper story alert: These pancakes work wonders in that department, what with the whole wheat flour and wheat germ. Says husband: "This is much easier to clean up!" For that reason, these pancakes are a new staple in our home.

First Professional Haircut

2007-08-02T12:39:00.000-06:00

Here it is:

Husband says he looks about 5 years old now. He's only 18 months, I'll remind you, in case you thought we waited until he was teased in kindergarten before ever cutting his hair.

Did he enjoy the salon experience? No he did not, even though they have flat screen TVs playing Disney movies, bubbles for people to blow, chairs in various shapes of automobiles, and stickers and lollies as treats for afterwards. That's way better treatment than what I get, which is hair pulled, a head full of bleach, and left under a noisy hot air lamp for half an hour.

The stylists collaborated in using electric clippers instead of scissors, which they thought was a very clever and efficient choice, but which I think might have been a mistake for two reasons: first, they create a terrifying sensory experience, and second, I like his hair a shade longer. Daniel cried piteously through this hair cut.

I think we'll have all these details worked out for next time, and generally Haircut Day will be an event to look forward to. There is a bakery right next door, so I can whisk my disgruntled stylin' little youth directly to the cupcake display after his hairy ordeal. Daniel is holding the head of his Hawaiian bear cookie in the picture.

"The Wikipedia Story" on BBC 4 Choice

2007-07-31T08:57:00.000-06:00

This topic tickled my interest in a way I dimly recall from the "pre-political awareness" era of my education, so many many years ago. Topics of importance to me now are often soaked in the sour milk of political debate, just contentious enough in simultaneously boring and annoying ways to put everyone off the track of real intellectual progress. The democratization of knowledge and of knowledge-gathering, though, is cool, and might amuse you too.

In my mind, the arguments for and against Wikipedia always last about two seconds, in which I think, "you don't know and can't trust authors.... but who defines authority, anyway?" And then I remember that no intellectual should ever quote from any form of encyclopedia in any case (since encyclopedic knowledge is considered common and general), and call the whole thing off.

The podcast got me thinking more deeply about the comparison between online and book-form encyclopedias. Here are a couple of highlights that might get you listening to the program (which is only 27 minutes long):

"All information on [Wikipedia] is as important as any other piece of information. The intellectual foundation of Wikipedia, then, is an intellectual anarchism, a radical intellectual relativism: everything is miscellaneous." (Andrew Keen)
If you correct an article that is particularly politically contentious (something on environmentalism, for example), you may trigger a "revert war." Someone else can click to revert the article back to its previous state, after which you can revert it back to include your corrections, ad infinitum. This can discourage experts, who prefer not to engage with idiots, from submitting their knowledge to the pool, even though their knowledge is based on scientific research.
There is no way to distinguish between exceptional and misleading Wiki articles - but you could make the same argument about early Britannica articles.

Before you get too excited about contributing the contents of your noggin to the sum of human knowledge, consider my plight: apparently, some asshole in my neighbourhood has been abusing his Wiki-privileges, presumably inscribing Wiki-graffiti on pages that interested him, thus having himself and, well, me, excluded from the democratic process of Wiki-intelligence-gathering. Many thanks, you big nerd.

Some Movies Unsuitable for 1-Year-Olds

2007-07-27T13:30:00.000-06:00

I thought I had a good idea, putting a Pixar movie on, instead of TV, for Daniel to watch while I scrubbed some pots. It's not like he really watches, anyway. It's just a moving picture with sounds, which holds his attention for a few seconds at a time, and might distract him from throwing all my kitchen tools down the stairs.

I chose A Bug's Life, thinking, "Pretty!"

Within two minutes, Daniel was crying and running to me. Remember the part when the grasshoppers arrive, and the ants run chaotically screaming into their nest? And then the grasshoppers burst through their ceiling and bully the ants mercilessly? And finally the boss grasshopper brings out the insane leashed grasshopper, which terrorizes the baby ant, who makes sounds like a toddler in fear?

Husband: "What are you going to put on for him next? Dawn of the Dead?"

Tears in the bath

2007-07-26T17:26:00.000-06:00

Husband came home early today, and I think we'll go out to pick up a new summer outfit for Daniel, so we can adequately display the cuteness at the family function tomorrow. I also just took advantage of a spare moment to have a bath - much better than showering, from Daniel's point of view, since he can keep an eye on me without getting a vicarious hair wash.

So funny, though, washing my hair! I think it reminded Daniel of how he feels when we wash his hair, which is a combination of panic, misery, and betrayal. So when I leaned back to rinse, he started crying for me! But it all turned to fun and cuteness when I dripped some water on his hands and pointed out how my hair moves in the water - something I remember always fascinated me as a child.

He followed me to supervise the drying as well, and took advantage of that opportunity to flush the toilet several times, and burrow into the bathroom cupboard, lining the nail polish at the front, stacking the velcro curlers in the middle, and rejecting everything else onto the floor. That eventually had to be brought to a stop, and he cried again, even as I explained that while he is very young and living with us, he really won't want for much, and there will be little call for tears.

But I was really wondering: how long before I can paint his toenails? I do have some quite manly shades.

Stating Facts

2007-07-24T07:21:00.000-06:00

I've been holding back, but now I really must complain. (I learned this trick from my brother-in-law, who explains that "I'm not complaining: I'm just stating a fact." So indulge me while I calmly and evenly state a few facts.)

It's just too freaking hot! For too long! Add to that I'm large with general discomfort, and I haven't been getting much sleep lately. Apparently, though, even when I can't sleep in the marital bed or in the spare bed, I do find the couch rather comfortable. I had heard of this in pregnant women. I actually had about two and a half hours all bolstered up with cushions, and one side of my back feels better for it. I feel quite cheerful, and plan to take advantage of Daniel's naps today to add to my sleep tally.

In happier news, the Weather Network promises a break in the weather today and tomorrow, so maybe I can get out for a walk. Even if not, Daniel is a joy to watch all day. He seems on the verge of speaking (this morning, he said "da da" more deliberately than usual), he babbles incessantly, points at things and makes verbal gestures that we are sure we understand, and plays charming rounds of "hit and bite" with the cat. As I type, he's engaged in his new favorite game, at the end of which everything he can lift ends up at the bottom of the stairs.

I'm pretty sure he can't lift the cat yet... perhaps closer supervision is required.

First ever blog review!

2007-07-23T10:55:00.001-06:00

Check out my first ever blog review, in which I apply the rating 4/10: POOR.

It's fun writing blog reviews! As I sail through this period of hysterical exhaustion, I think I might do some more reviews, just for fun, on this site. If you think your blog is the shit, leave me a comment, and I'll totally review if for free. Because I miss grading papers, obviously.

Cloth Diapering Update

2007-07-11T06:22:00.000-06:00

While unsuccessfully stalking an old friend from elementary school through Facebook, I discovered that I'm not the only crazy person in my (potential) circle using cloth diapers. I feel compelled to write again about my experience with this particular mania.

When I wrote before, I was using a wet-pail system, keeping about a foot of water in a small locking pail. I mixed hot water with some baking soda and added about 15 diapers over 2 days.

Although soaking eliminated stains and odors very well, I found it messy to transfer the diapers into the washing machine, squeezing noxious toilet water out of each diaper. I also got tired of carrying the pail down to the laundry, back upstairs, and pouring the water down the toilet. If I wasn't such a sissy, I would undoubtedly continue with the wet pail, because the product is superior to that from dry-pailing.

But I'm a sissy, and we dry-pail. After 2-3 days of collection, the ammonia smell is quite overpowering as you transfer the diapers to the washer. However, the pail is light, and you can load the washer in a few seconds, so I took that trade-off.

Also, I quickly found the solution to the poop problem. When I used a diaper service, they encouraged me to leave everything in the diaper and trust their washing process to remove all foreign matter (and they did a fantastic job). But when you're looking after this at home, you don't want to revisit 2-day-old fecal matter. The solution: use diaper liners. They are very hard to find, probably because there's only a niche market for them, but Toys R Us sells them, and I bet other specialty baby stores would carry them too. I cut mine in half to make a roll last longer, and prepare all my clean diapers with a cloth soaker and a diaper liner in the "poop-catcher" position. At diaper changing, just flush the liner and toss the diaper in the dry pail - no scraping required.

In the wash, I still use the same recipe of an appropriate detergent (no bleach or enzymes, to protect against diaper wear and diaper rash), baking soda, and vinegar instead of fabric softener. However, I've been repeating the vinegar rinse when necessary, and occasionally double-washing a load, you know, for the freshness.

And finally, I did the calculations, and it costs a third of the price if you make your own diapers instead of buying the store brand. This is especially important since you'll need three or four different sizes from birth to toilet-training, and you don't want to pay $300 per size. I used white flannelet, with six layers in the diaper and four more in the soaker, some elastic for the legs and front, and Velcro fasteners - 35 diapers is plenty, since you'll need to wash every couple of days anyway. The total cost was about $100, with material left over for the next batch. I'm very happy with the price, quality and ease-of-use: you'll pay about $100 per month for disposables, and you still have to deal with the poop and disposal.

Oh, and one last thing: since my babe has been sleeping through the night, maybe from about nine months, I put him in a top quality disposable at night. I have found that while the cloth diapers reduced diaper rash and discomfort during the day (you do have to change them often to keep them dry), I couldn't do anything to prevent hours of wetness during the night. Poor quality diapers aren't an option for me, as I noticed some gel beads on his skin in the morning, and that can lead to serious diaper rash in the long run. It's all a trade-off, doing the best and causing the least harm.

A Few New Tricks

2007-07-09T18:12:00.000-06:00

I've been out of commission for a few weeks with a head cold and hoarse throat from complaining about it. While I was languishing, Daniel learned a few new tricks:

He's very good at understanding and complying with simple requests, like, "Where's grisly bear? Go get him!"
When you remind him, he turns around to crawl backwards down the stairs.
Watching TV the other day, he imitated a kid kicking his legs while in full tantrum. I have thrown the television away.
Today, while I was changing his diaper, he put his index fingers in his ears and smiled up at me. I swear I wasn't saying anything bad!

I'm also having an ordeal with the dishwasher, on which more later.

Christmas Time Is Here

2007-07-09T11:18:00.000-06:00

I have a new post up at TopBlogMag. It's all about how worried I am about having a brand new babe in December, and still also coping with the season. To check it out, click on the image below, and then scroll down past the enormous header. Just keep scrolling - I'm there, I promise:

And now I really must bake some cookies for freezing, and then put up the tree.

A complex request

2007-06-26T13:27:00.000-06:00

This morning, I was in the living room, watching Daniel tour about the house, stopping in his bedroom and the spare room to pick items up and place them - often in surprising places where I'll find them a week from now. On one of his rounds, he brought his orange tiger sandal out, showed it to me and sat down. He placed the sandal near his foot, made a "putting it on" motion, and looked up at me.

So of course I put it on (on the right foot), gave him a "you're the smartest" hug, and told him to fetch the other sandal. He toddled off, and a few minutes later - you won't believe this - he brought out the second sandal. You should have seen the look on his face, walking around and around the house with both sandals on. I'm pretty sure that was the first time Daniel had a multi-step desire, and went through a complicated process to realize it.

He's just that smart!

YouTube Bitchiness

2007-06-21T11:29:00.001-06:00

I guess I'm feeling better, because I just had a good yell at people commenting on my YouTube video of Daniel's First Feeding. I've had two comments in total, 100% of them negative. It could be that people who comment are generally going to be negative: "You really shouldn't feed him that. It could kill him, and besides, YUCK! I wouldn't feed that to a starving stray." All I really need now is some advice on how "you shouldn't hold the spoon that way, unless you want to choke him, and you're probably going to cause MAJOR DENTAL ISSUES for him in the future, so that's good parenting."

I'd just love to know whether those people breastfed all 8 kids for 3 years each while on a strict vegan diet, living in a tent in harmony with nature, and taught their kids three languages (plus sign-language), involving them in at least 5 brain-stimulating extra-curricular activities, and NEVER CROSSED THE THRESHOLD OF A DAYCARE, even out of curiosity. Importantly, after all their exemplary efforts, are their kids well-adjusted, polite, annoying little geniuses? If not, can they please button it?

Do you smell that web-ozone wafting from your computer? I feel a blog storm a-comin'.

Summer Storm

2007-06-14T15:33:00.000-06:00

Do you ever have the feeling like you're so tired that your face is on fire? I'd better get over it, because I have a party to look stunning at tonight, and drinking is verboten. VERBOTEN!

I walked down to the mall to pick up some items for father's day, and for this party, and the way was lined with lilac bushes in bloom. You could smell them all the way, just hanging in the air. It seemed like a rare thing. There's that mean kind of thunder now, so I guess the air will be changing in a few hours, the lilac layer mixing up into the stormy layer. Are those the technical terms?

Hurry, Eat The Hedgehogs

2007-06-09T09:19:00.000-06:00

I was sitting at the computer reading up on Paris's prison tantrum, listening to Daniel play behind me, and occasionally turning to watch - my usual morning routine. I thought I was paying pretty close attention, but guess what? Total failure on the parenting front. When I turned to check him again, his face was coated in chocolate. Because I had the thought, "He'll never go for those hedgehogs! There are too many steps: opening the box, grabbing a hedgehog, eating the hedgehog.... even I don't have the effort for all that."

So now I have to muster the effort to launder several treasured stuffed toys and linens, and steam clean a large section of carpet in the guest bedroom. LESSON LEARNED.

Best Chocolate Chip Cookies EVER

2007-06-08T16:25:00.000-06:00

Cousin Garret came over a while ago to bake his chocolate chip cookies, with hilarious results. This is genuinely Garret's recipe, so you can forward complaints to him. I think you'll agree he is the next Martha Stewart. The video has been sitting on the right margin of this page for a few days now, and I guess one of us should list the ingredients.

3/4 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tbsp milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 cup chocolate chips
1 cup pecans

You can, of course, change the type of candy and nuts added. Walnuts are a good choice, and we discussed using a caramel candy. As you'll see in the video, you want to scoop this dough in large scoops to get a chunky cookie: otherwise, you end up with a thin Cookies-By-George style of cookie (not a particularly devastating result). If you want smaller cookies, I'd make a thicker batter (add more flour) and use fewer chips, perhaps of the mini variety.

Delicious!

My Currently Boring But Pleasant Life

2007-06-07T17:30:00.000-06:00

I'm in a phase of basking in the glow of some really great weather. I took a new route downtown this morning, and got there in about half an hour, which gave me time for a coffee and slice banana bread. Daniel loved the banana bread, and did his joyful expectant wiggle between slices.

Then, we hit the deli for liverwurst (what else?), and went on to the library for books with more pictures than words. I have a real system for choosing books these days, since Daniel is almost always hitting the wall by the time we get to the library. I just crack it open, and if there are more than 15 words on a page, that's a reject! Who has patience to read more than that?

Then, back home (snapped this pic on the way) for a nap and a quick check of the nest: we have five, not three, eggs! I must find out what bird has made her home there. Then, intrepid, into the garden with Daniel and the pitchfork, overturning dirt and picking worms to amuse the boy. There's every indication we might have veggies this summer!

The Word from the Garden

2007-06-06T07:00:00.000-06:00

The crab-apple is only in full bloom for two days, but it is spectacular while it lasts! The petals fall like snow from the tree all at once.

I was just thinking about cutting back a dead vine from my garage when I noticed such a perfect little bird's nest in it! I assumed it was empty, but left it so I could show Husband. The next time I passed it, a tiny birdie fled the scene! And since then, she has laid little blue speckled eggs, and survived quite the thunderstorm. If you don't know where to look, you'll never find her. She sits on her eggs, calmly eyeing me when I peer in at her. The dead vine stays.

I have an ornamental thistle, which has dark blue "flowers," but it died fairly quickly last season, so I wasn't sure it would come back. Here it is, with the most sumptuous foliage, and very promising buds.

And finally, the vegetable garden is mostly clear, which is as much a shock to me as to the weeds, which must have felt quite safe there, since I usually even forget to mow the adjacent lawn, concealed from my view by the garage.

Dreaming of Ronald

2007-05-31T16:55:00.000-06:00

Don't you hate that sleep state where you've decided you'd like to be awake, and you're conscious, but now you're getting re-involved in your dreams, and before you know it your brain has authorized the release of whatever paralysing agent we humans possess, which usually prevents us from trying to fly like panthers?

So I'm drifting in and out of a McDonald's dream (no, smart ass, not a nightmare), in which I'm trying to explain to my sister-in-law that fully 62 million customers have enjoyed McMeals, no, not 50 million, her ticker must be out of date, and I actually had the thought, "oh Christ, am I paralysed again? Shake your arms. You're paralysed, thinking of McDonald's. Well done."

I don't know why I am so alarmed by the feeling. After all, it must happen every night. It must save my life, or at least my dignity, every night. You just can't go running bare-assed through the street after carnivorous teddy bears which are held aloft by birthday helium balloons. I know that. I just don't appreciate any conflict between my myself and my unconscious. When I say "shake your arms," I wanna see some shimmy, that's all.

Random Observations

2007-05-28T19:44:00.000-06:00

Have you been listening to Dennis Miller lately? You can subscribe to his show, or just download old shows for free. Without ads, it runs an hour and a half, and it's a very pleasant listen.

How long do you think it will be before Rosie's meltdown is a literal melting down, with her face dripping off like warm wax? This clip from The View will help you judge.

I can't get Christopher Hitchens' Fox interview re: Falwell's death out of my mind. Hannity was so non-plussed.

Beautiful Brown Bread

2007-05-28T19:41:00.000-06:00

I'm not very good at the whole video production thing yet, so bear with my incompetence, friends. In the future, I'll move faster, have better lighting, make logical cuts, and layer some snappy music in the background. For now, I have this offering: a slow, poorly lit, illogically composed and dull-sounding feature of me baking bread.

But, damn, this is good bread. It's the only bread I'm allowed to make anymore. Experimentation has been disallowed.

Dry ingredients:
3 cups brown flour
2-3 cups white flour
4 1/2 tsp yeast
1 1/2 tsp salt

Wet ingredients:
1 2/3 cups warm water
1 egg
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup honey

Rise it twice, and then bake at 350-375 for 24-27 minutes. I use the higher temperature and include the preheating time in my baking, leaving the bread in after the final rise to avoid a collapse.

With bread, it always pays to use the best ingredients you have available: good quality flour, a good fresh egg, and some nice local honey gives my bread the best flavour. If you're out of honey, brown sugar is an acceptable substitute, the darker the better. I sometimes add some molasses to add some depth of flavour when my ingredients are sub-par.

Too Many Tristans

2007-05-25T15:49:00.000-06:00

I can hardly contain my excitement! I tried to announce this a few days ago, but it wasn't ready yet. Now, it's ready! It's:

TOO MANY TRISTANS

which is what Husband's CD shelf and iPod suffers from.

OMG you're going to love it!!

On Joining Facebook

2007-05-23T13:30:00.000-06:00

Husband: "I don't get this. What's the point of it?"

Wife: "It's a social connectivity tool."

H: "What's the point of that?"

W:"You can connect with old friends, like from school or your job."

H: "Why do I want to do that?"

W: "Just to get in touch with friends. You can look people up from your high school graduating year."

H: Priceless look of confusion and disgust - "What the f*** do I need friends for?!"

I'm pretty sure he was joking. He joined anyway.

Technicalities...

2007-05-21T13:17:00.001-06:00

Just a couple of points of interest:

1. If you like to read this, or even if it pisses you right the hell off, will you please fuel my blog? All you have to do is click on the firey sign that says "Vote for me on Fuel My Blog" to the right of this post. It's a one step deal - not irritating at all! And then you can just click on the back button to get back to my blog, where you will want to spend many a long minute checking out point #2, below.

Oh, and please click on that Fuel My Blog thing every time you visit, as you can register a vote every day, and it really makes me feel like a star.

2. I am finally getting around to transfering videos from tapes to computer. Who knew all you needed was a firewire connection!? I'm slowly editing video of Daniel's cuteness from June 26, 2006 onwards and posting them on YouTube. I'll post one video to the right of this page, and you can view it right here.

If you want to see more videos, just head on over to my YouTube and go nuts.

And as always, I love to read your comments! LOVE IT!! Please write to me! i'm so lonely....

Shampoo, Then Condition

2007-05-17T07:15:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, Husband complained about the quality of our shampoo, saying that we should get some more, since his hair had acted funny that day. I was disappointed, since all I have is NuSkin, Bumble and Bumble and Pureology, which should all be fantastic quality.

I asked him if he tried using conditioner once in a while, just to tame the beast, and he reacted with disgust, as he usually does when I suggest that he try girlie things like moisturizer: "That stuff gunks up your hair." I offered to help him apply it, with my most alluring, "I'll get in the shower with you," but apparently there's nothing sexy about being a girlie man, so that was a bust.

Then, this morning:

"I did put conditioner on yesterday. That's why my hair was strange. I thought it was shampoo."

"It works better if you shampoo first, then condition."

"I'm going to use my method of hair-washing, if you don't mind."

"Choosing a random bottle and hoping for the best?"

The Teething Demon

2007-05-16T14:58:00.000-06:00

I was so afraid my little angel was turning into a demon child, like all the other demon children I see in the grocery store, whom I always assumed were sorely neglected by their career-oriented parents, and had emotional trauma as excuses to tear screaming down the isles, arms outstretched, deshelving goods left and right. Of course this would mean all those children were also freaks of nature, and not at all poorly affected by their mothers who always have perfect manicures and call out parental phrases like "You're not acting like you want to go to the park" from behind a cell phone.

He was just teething! So I'm not a bad mom at all, as my infrequent showering habit, 3 inch roots and roughly clipped fingernails attest.

But for a few days, he put us through the ringer. I thought the Age of Whining was upon us, which was wholly demoralizing since I'm sure the Golden Age of Whining arrives with the advent of speech, years in the future. Husband and I are determined not to encourage it, so we alternately ignore it, and speak against it with a firm voice and serious face. Of course, being the mom, listening to whining all day long, and having my limits, goddammit, I would occasionally try comforting. It never worked.

And now, like magic, our boy has returned to us, cerub-like and charming as ever he was, and with two little tooth buds on either side. Here, our little charmer turns his charm on the cat, with endearing results.

Canadian Living Is So Strange

2007-05-09T22:13:00.000-06:00

I just got my June copy, and I always enjoy going through it. But I almost always find a few odd tidbits - I'll show you what I mean.

The first one's all me: The "Reader's Tip" is to use an electric kettle instead of a stove top one to conserve power. I use an electric kettle because it conserves kettles and stove tops. My last stove top kettle ended glowing red, with a nifty blob of metal congealing on the stove top. I used to get migraines frequently, and the whistle bugged me, so I left it off - and forgot about it. And that's how I nearly blew up my neighbourhood. My tip: don't grab a glowing metal object with your bare hands.

The second: Canadian Living provides family situations and solutions in their Life: Your Kids section, so I often check the 0-5 years page. This month, the situation is: "You're newly separated, and when your five-year-old son stays overnight at your place, he cries for his mother." It took me a triple-take to decipher this sentence. I got snagged on the first clause, thinking, separated from what? Is it really okay to say "newly separated" and assume that the first interpretation of a general audience will be "from your wife"? Really?

And once you've recovered from that shock, here comes the sucker punch: you, the separated married person, have a five-year-old. A general Canadian audience idenifies with this? And it's just like falling off a log? I don't believe it. I can believe in blue-gloved social workers who appear out of magic wall-doors, but not that your basic parent identifies with putting his or her five-year-old through this torture.

And the capper, which adds a bit of mystery, is that the boy is crying for his mother, which means you're either his father or his lesbian other-mother. I don't think you're the latter, but I also don't think there are many straight men reading Canadian Living, collecting tidbits about fashion and imagining cooking a different meal tonight. And this got me thinking: is it possible there's any manipulation going on here? Does CL have an agenda of some sort? Are they using narrative technique to...

I'm starving. STARVING.

Rickets on the Brain

2007-05-06T18:39:00.000-06:00

Lately, things I have attempted to feed Daniel, which he has examined, laughed at, and dropped on the floor, causing me to have a migraine:

soup, any kind, which he used to love
toast and butter
bread and butter
chicken nuggets
hamburger
scrambled eggs
fish sticks
potato Smiles
mashed anything, which is forcibly ejected
cheese

I'm going to blame my failure as a mother on the local health nurse, who instructed me to give 4-5 sippy cups of milk. I thought this was wrong at the time, but I complied, because I'm a weak-minded IDIOT. I have since stopped giving Daniel milk every time I look at him, and guess what? He's back on a solid diet. He eats a few chicken nuggets, or sausages, or fish sticks at a time. I can't wait for his diaper "results" to mirror this return to normal!

Sometimes, I can't express enough irritation about nurses. I have had great experiences with them, but I've also had three or four who had a solid agenda, which didn't fit my situation, and I could just kick myself for following their lead at those times. The "force the witless pre-labour woman into an epidural, and chase it with a cesarean" is one, and the "all breastfed babies will contract rickets" is another.

And does anyone else have a sneaking suspicion they are testing you for something without telling you? Like, if you give the wrong answers (wrong number of cups of milk, for instance), the wall you thought was solid will slide open and social workers wearing bright blue rubber gloves will haul you off in a dirty straight-jacket and provide your son with a "rickets-free" lifestyle? Does anyone else check the walls for secret doors? At some point, you just have to say, I'll take my epidural with a grain of salt, and judge my baby's hunger my very own self. Thanks for the advice. Good day to you.

Cuteness Update: Cute New Tricks

2007-05-04T21:16:00.000-06:00

I realize that I'm repeat-o girl here, but my boy is one! He has a limited repertoire, and everything in it is CUTE. Maybe a year from now, Daniel will have enough of a vocabulary to start repeating choice phrases from the Howard Stern Show in the grocery checkout line, but for now, he's still babbling, blowing raspberries, and laughing at the wall, so let's all enjoy it while it lasts. The finger-pointing, head-shaking and tut-tutting can wait.

The latest trick: he's learning how to - I don't even know the name for it. That funny noise you make by humming and waggling your lips up and down with your fingers. That. I started demonstrating it for him, and he almost immediately raised his hand to his lips to imitate me. It's been almost a week, and today, he spontaneously added the hum. So cute! When you see it, you have to try not to scream too loudly, because that can cause a startle-cry.

I missed this part, but I have it on good authority that during the bedtime ritual, Daniel waggled his fingers over Daddy's lips, causing hilarity. Daddy gets different cuteness than me. It has to do with the difference in relationship, where Daniel starts to whine, and Daddy snaps, "Oh cut that out. That's not convincing at all," and I'm hovering in mid-lunge, defying gravity, just stopping myself from swooping in for the save. And then Daniel stops crying, looks a bit embarrassed, and turns to another activity.

I'm late in reporting this one, but he also spontaneously waved bye bye to Husband and me as we left for the theatre. "Can you say bye bye? Paul and Judy are waving bye bye to you!"

Watch Movies - Have Fun

2007-05-02T07:30:00.000-06:00

If you're a movie lover and anything like me, you got sick of getting stuck for two hours with a turkey - it's bad enough in the comfort of your own home, and hell in a theatre. Your thoughts, "I spent money on this - and I could be doing LAUNDRY," drown out the movie's soundtrack.

It took us a while to get organized, but we're finally making use of the solution. It's called RiffTrax. Mike Nelson, of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 fame, gets together with one or two of his MST buddies and cracks jokes at the movie. You download their commentary and play it together with the movie. It's easier than you think to sync the riff track to the movie, and suddenly you've rescued the evening! Where the movie is good, you can enjoy it, and where it drags, or turns corny, RiffTrax are right there agreeing that your intelligence just got insulted.

We've rediscovered XXX, X-Men, Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Aeon Flux, turkeys all, in their own ways. (I have a soft spot for anything X-Men, but the riff track was still funny.) And guess which magnificently gay movie has just been added to the list: Casino Royale! I can't wait to rent it. I don't remember anticipating a movie screening this much. I'm like a tiny tiny child again.

I wasn't sure I'd love RiffTrax this much, since I almost always fell asleep during MST 3000, to Husband's endless frustration. Enjoying the movie a little helps to get into poking fun at it. I've taken Husband off guard with my enthusiasm! Good to know there are still surprises, ten years later.

A Hard Man Is Good To Find

2007-04-30T07:07:00.001-06:00

top blog mag

I've decided to do some writing for TopBlogMag, just for fun. This week's assignment was to think of a cliche and make it the title of the entry. Of course, as soon as I thought of this title, it was impossible to write about anything else! I hope you enjoy it, and I look forward to reading your comments.

I'll wait a week before posting the original piece here. In the meantime, go to TopBlogMag for this post, and while you're there, check out the other featured bloggers. You might see another one you like!

Do Something Right, Mom!

2007-04-25T09:14:00.000-06:00

The little monster has been resisting his morning nap. You can tell he needs one by the fact that you can't do anything right. Don't just leave him there to cry! with his head on the floor, and his eyes all droopsy. What are you, heartless? Don't pick him up!! That's not the right way to hold him! His diaper needs a change - DON'T CHANGE HIS DIAPER!!! Those are the complaints of a tired little toaster.

But it doesn't necessarily stop in the crib. He'll just wander around in there, chatting away, or crying, or rocking back and forth for over an hour. I must admit, these days I've used his naps to get a little shut-eye of my own, so this little rebellion is getting the better of my will to live. He's doing it right now - sapping my life's energy.

I guess that's just being a mom. And I'm not really complaining.

Can Collectors Model Good Parenting?

2007-04-24T15:07:00.000-06:00

You know how every picture of a Bigfoot sighting is blurry and open to scientific interpretation? That's how I feel about all the photos I have taken of Daniel playing Babyzilla with his new Thomas set.

Yes, we "caved" and bought a starter set on Saturday. I use guilty quote marks because I have a sense of wrong-doing and impending doom about the purchase. After all, Daniel is only one, and he mostly uses the tracks to practice his throwing technique, sometimes stretching himself to practice his clubbing technique on the cat.

The Thomas set is educational! It's going to be all kinds of fun! It's made with real, sturdy, everlasting wood! My internal dialogue screams these facts to drown out the ever more assertive voice that says, "Look, lights and sounds! A Christmas tree set! Ooo, I wonder if they have a Cadbury car." (There is a Dairy Car.) So the train set is for us, the parents who leaf through the 2006 Yearbook, Volume XII, drooling ever so slightly, adrenaline surging with the anticipation of spending just a little more than we can afford.

When we were in the store browsing through all the novelty Thomas and Friends accessories, Daniel showed an interest in these quack-along ducks . We must have thought, "Daniel has to get something out of this trip" when we added it to our order. (Mamma duck leads two ducklings in a wobbly parade, singing "quack, quack, quack": most entertaining!)

But I'm sure little Daniel will cotton on quickly to the fact that mommy and daddy can't resist buying him some mountain track and a singing caboose. He'll learn that if he requests the item by its LC number in the catalogue, he stands almost no chance of not getting it in the following week. Because we would like to express our love by instilling in our son a compulsive need for genuine collectable toys.

Thomas the Train: Let Your Feelings Be Free

2007-04-21T08:23:00.000-06:00

Recently, we were in Chapters, where they have a Thomas the Tank Engine set for the toddlers to play with. Daniel was pretty tired, but he watched from a distance with patient curiosity, fascinated by the two other kids playing with the trains. One of them, a girl, was soon hauled off after a meltdown, "I want to! But I want the! NOOO-oooo!" leaving room for Daniel to put his engineering talents to work. He loved to grab the cars, wave them around, and watch them on the tracks.

Now, it's clear to me that Daniel doesn't yet identify model trains with real trains. Neither does he watch Thomas on TV, so he doesn't know the characters. I wasn't careful about which cars belong where: I just slammed them together. The other toddler, maybe a 4-year-old, noticed as I showed my tired, confused baby boy that "this piece (blue) sticks to this piece (red)," and stuck a car in front of an engine - MADNESS!

The older boy must have recoiled in horror at my creation: one train made up of multiple characters' parts assembled in the wrong order, a monster. Daniel was already losing patience for my lessons when the older boy reached forward, said "you have to use the same colours," and fixed our abominable train. Poor Daniel took a couple of seconds to register that no one would let him play! before his face crumpled and he started to cry helplessly.

It occurs to me that this nosey, bossy little brat probably corrected the little girl as well. As I whisked Daniel out of the store, I reassured him that sharing was a crock, and that when it comes to assembling toy trains, you should let your feelings be free.

So we're going to Kites and Other Delights today to check out their Thomas collection.

Hormonal Insanity, as usual

2007-04-19T09:12:00.000-06:00

But this time, they're on my side! I'm considering sitting around waiting for the big crash, but gosh darn, it's such a beautiful day to clean the toilets! And change the scum-encrusted shower liner! And launder the sheets! And iron some clothes! Including baby clothes! I really must take advantage of these opportunities.

Just so we're clear about the insanity, it is currently snowing, like a blizzard, and I'm planning an hour-long walk, plus maybe another couple of hours for grocery shopping, depending how that first hour treats Daniel. It's the same weather that has kicked my locale in the groin repeatedly for about six months now. You think oil revenue is the reason Albertans love global warming? Have you ever been here? Plan a visit. It is NOT like Texas. We live for the dream that, a few hundred thousand years from now, our descendants will operate vineyards, wearing t-shirts in April.

But I'll be hopping and skipping down the street, listening to Mark Kermode's stand-in Andrew Collins complaining about Wild Hogs, and then, because I have nothing else, CBC's Best of Ideas show about how misunderstood translators are. Daniel will be dressed in his freshly pressed alligator shirt, snug in his Pooh rain gear, covered with the plastic rain cover. He's going to have so much fun!

Daniel Miscellany

2007-04-14T21:46:00.000-06:00

Daniel’s new most endearing trick: When he wakes up, especially in the morning, he tosses everything out of the crib, including sleeping bag and sleeper, if they unzip from the front. One day, not a warm day, I found him smiling up at me in only his diaper, and had to wonder if I had forgotten to dress him for bed. We now zip him into his sleep bag backwards to prevent this.

Then, he gets on all fours and rocks back and forth. At first, he used to accompany this with a steady “mm-MMM-mm-MMM.” Now, he’s figured out the resonant frequency of the crib, and just rocks back and forth until, one day, he’ll explode right out of it.

Also, if I hand him a piece of chicken nugget when he’s already working on one, he reaches out his little hands and gently taps and caresses the nugget, kind of laughing at me. “This nugget? This one right here? This is a nice nugget. Is this one for me?” Baby’s fingers are like a cherub’s, until they need to pinch a tiny piece of your skin, or reprogram your stereo using the remote control. But when I want him to pick something up, say, a piece of chicken nugget, he just points, taps, and laughs.

It’s also hysterically funny to empty the cat’s water dish on the kitchen floor, lie on your stomach, and gently pat the puddle, pat, pat, pat, slowly, with deliberation. After watching me do this a few times, Daniel’s bound to add it to his repertoire.

Update, before posting:

Ugh, this sucks. Wanna read it?
Sure! I hope I don’t hurt myself rushing to get over there.

Gayest movie you took your kids to see

2007-04-11T16:58:00.000-06:00

Husband called spontaneously yesterday and offered to take me out to a movie. He knew I needed, needed to see 300, ever since I watched the teaser and the preview online fifty times, read the entire official website, dug out all my classics textbooks to review how cool the Spartans were, and resumed reading Thucydites, which is a surprisingly nice read.

I was ready for disappointment, though, having been severely grossed out by Frank Miller's other work, and then hearing that people thought it made a comment on the current Iraq situation. A glimmer of hope remained from Mark Kermode's review, which labeled 300 as the gayest movie of the year, full of men and their oily oily chests.

Kermode was the most accurate! There's no way you went into battle without covering those delicious abs, unless you were trying to out-gay your opponent, and against those Persians, forget about it. Xerxes took the gay cake.

They didn't earn an 18A rating for gay content, though - not one bit. Disney movies have just as much "sexuality" content. The movie was 18A because the camera lingers lovingly on scenes of horrific brutality, including two beheadings, several dismemberments, trademark blood spattering, and several (although not enough, proportionally) female nipples. Even more shocking than all that, a family with several children who looked to be 12 and under were sitting next to us.

Really? You want to have these discussions with your 8-year-old in the van on the way home?
"That man wasn't hurting the lady - she was making happy noises" and, "They killed all those babies to make their society strong and healthy," and my favorite, "Both the bad guys and the good guys cut peoples' heads off, but you should never cut anyone's head off."

Or just get your sexuality content from Disney. The Frog Princess should abound with it!

Easter Egg Fight

2007-04-10T08:29:00.000-06:00

Someone better post something about their Easter weekend debacles. I'll get the ball rolling:

After a surprisingly successful egg hunt for Daniel, clever beyond his year, we trundled into the House of Festivity late but brimming with Easter cheer. The house was already packed, and I was surprised to notice many guests I'd never seen before. They weren't relatives. I'm sure they were hobos who just wandered into the house from the street. I don't know where they came from, but they were the rudest people I've ever celebrated the resurrection of Christ with, I can tell you that.

In my family, this particular event is most famous for its "Egg Fight." Usually, this is just another term for "jarping," the civilized cracking of each other's decorated eggs to allocate luck for the year, but this Easter, with all the hobos involved, the Egg Fight took on its literal meaning: eggs flyin', grown men cryin'. The air was thick with both.

I managed to shield Daniel from the airborne eggs, while he laughed hysterically at all the grown-ups howling, "why raw eggs? WHY!?" Someone must have tipped off the cops (we have MANY friends and relatives in the service), because before long, the local detachment had arrived in full uniform, lights and sirens ablazing. I was relieved until I noticed through the living room window that they already had their pepper spray out. Even before they entered the house, one of the officers had shot a tazer line through the open front door, tasering my dad, just to clear himself a path.

Miraculously, an egg landed right on my lap in front of Daniel, who immediately picked it up and cracked it on the family dog. And that was the perfect end to a perfect Easter Sunday.

Note: The above is ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. Here's what actually happened: We arrived early at my inlaws, ate chocolate, played scrabble, and left early with a tired and grouchy baby, entirely missing lunch and the egg fight. There were only two cops at the event, only one in full uniform.

"Did you see her gun?!"
"No."
"She was in full uniform!"
"She can put you in a choke hold."
"So can I!"

My dad wasn't there at all, and has never been tasered in his life. No dogs were egged.

LibraryThing

2007-04-06T08:20:00.000-06:00

I understand I have too many books. They are going moldy in my basement. Some of them are on shelves, but many are in stacks on the floor, where the pages wave in the damp. I love many of my books, but I also loath many others, such as anything by Deleuze and Guattari from my literary theory class over a decade ago. I despise many of those artifacts of postmodernist study, which I didn't understand at the time, and which I now perceive as a humourless prank by the militant professor against the unsuspecting undergraduate. I hate them, but it makes me sick to throw them away. Because they're such pretty little gems, with bright, shiny covers and carefully chosen fonts, representing literature. I have the big book crush.

But I don't read much related to my field of study anymore. No time for that. I read board books and picture books, some of which I own, and others which I borrow, seven or ten at a time, from the library. These books are often designed for the literary parent: Wolves is a metabook, containing its own library card, and an overdue notice in the back cover. Although the book-in-the-book ends with the implied vicious beheading of the rabbit, the narrator reassembles the crumpled and torn pictures to create a civilized meeting between bunny and (vegetarian) wolf. Daniel doesn't appreciate the cleverness of this narrative. He loves to pat the "puppy!" while I am reminded that I still have a brain, and although it is often "idling," such a book may thrust it "ON!" at any moment.

I found this LibraryThing a few months ago, and I think it'll be fun to keep a record of Daniel's reading materials. And since I can resist a neat widget as easily as I can discard a postmodern masterpiece, I present you with five random books, formatted to most please the bibliophile: big, shiny covers with bright pictures, representing literature.

But you do miss the musty smell of a stacked-and-forgotten book.

How to Clean Your Humidifier

2007-04-03T16:24:00.000-06:00

Like me, you probably had no idea you should clean your humidifier, since you didn't read or save the instructions, and the warning pictured below is helpfully located where you'd only find it if you were already cleaning your humidifier. Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook tells me to refer to the instructions to clean my device, but it's just a humidifier! Like anyone saves those instructions!

Step 1: Take your device apart. There's probably a locking mechanism, which might have a screw in it. Don't remove the screw: the lock probably swings right open. Removing the screw will only cause mo' problems.

Step 2: Don't Panic. That crusty stuff you can see is probably not dangerous. It is a mineral deposit from your hard water. If you have never cleaned your humidifier, it might have formed a deceptively flakey-looking rock in the bottom of your reservoir. Use full-strength Lime Away or CLR to get rid of it in stages, if necessary.

Step 3: Clean with bleach. The stuff you can see is harmless, but there are fiesty microbes lurking in the stagnant waters, which need a firm burning out. Remember that bleach is corrosive, and will also burn your hands unless you wear gloves. Rinse the tank with a diluted bleach solution.

Step 4: Reassemble all parts, wipe surfaces dry, and attend to your child, who has probably blackened his eye on the corner of the coffee table while you were worrying about microbes.

That's all there is to it! If you have left your machine running for a year or so, as I did, the mineral deposit will be stubborn. No one will fault you for leaving the device uncleaned until the crust blocks proper waterflow and causes a flood. If you've only left it for three months or so, the deposit will wipe away easily. And now you have a most pleasant activity for this afternoon.

Welcome Cosh Readers

2007-04-03T15:24:00.000-06:00

I have just realized that a couple of my ten daily readers must have found me through my good friend Colby Cosh. This forces me to emerge from under my desk, where I have been sobbing uncontrollably for a month, and post something, anything. I promise to do so tomorrow.

And if I can summon the will, I'll also continue posting to News For Moms, in which I cite news-to-me about things relating to housewivery, and sometimes take annoying but not shocking turns at politics. So stay tuned!

Daniel = CUTE

2007-03-14T08:44:00.000-06:00

Do you know who's the cutest in the world? My baby Daniel. Do you know why? It's because as I'm feeding him breakfast, he tilts his head entirely sideways and looks at the spoon, like, "I could eat that if it was also sideways." And when I changed him this morning, he said, "da, da, dad," and then I said, "dad" and he said "dad" and I said "dad" and he said "dad," so it's not just a fluke, he's really saying "dad"!

And then he charges after the cat to give him his daily well-intended happy-thrashing, and the cat just allows it. Now that's double cuteness; more cuteness than the average housewife can bear.

No Blood, No Tears

2007-03-06T14:36:00.000-07:00

My baby is getting smarter, and I'm not quite sure how to handle it. In the morning, after breakfast, when I put him down to tidy up the kitchen ("tidy" = move the dishes into the sink, where they might form a crust before they get moved again), he immediately looks stricken at me, pushes a fat lip and starts to cry. If I let him follow me in the kitchen, he does this terribly cute whimpering, gently pulls the cupboard doors open and lets them close, whump, whump, whump, before looking up at me with a wobble and breath-taking happy-sob. This kid has my heartstrings in his pocket (and nothing else - why do they make pockets for 1-year-olds again?).

So I got down on the carpet with him and rolled around for a while, which got him laughing. Just when it was starting to cheer me up, he was off and playing on his own! So I did the only thing a sane mother can do in that instance: I pulled out the shears and gave him a haircut.

I've tidied his hair before, but not in a while, and it was nerve-wracking back then. Here's what I found out: Daniel is more calm than before, and let me cut his hair pretty efficiently, as long as I followed him around the room and let the hair fall where it would. I got a pretty straight fringe, and even tidied his baby-mullet with a few layers. No blood, and no tears! Yay for me!

Unless I count my blood. Those shears were sharp, and those folds of skin on your knuckles are so tender.

The moral of the story must be that you can save money by cutting your kid's hair, but you might need first-aid, and will definitely have to hire someone to sort through the crusty dishes and treat the blood-stained carpet.

Cats and Clothes Make You Happy

2007-03-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

I'm not handling being a woman very well at all. Mood swings are stupid. Hormones are driving me crazy. I feel like a buffoon even writing this.

So here's what I found out this weekend:

I can't drink more than one martini without sending myself to a drunken me-party. Corollary: Once I'm attending a me-party, it's very easy to drink one more martini. Additionally, when I'm drunk, I mistakenly think no one can tell.

Sugar cookies are from the devil, and you should only eat them if you hate yourself.

Fabricland is an excellent place to vent creativity; one day soon, I'll have clothes that fit perfectly, and a new skill.

Pretty things and new clothes are gifts from heaven.

Doo-ooce, you are so cool

2007-03-01T10:27:00.000-07:00

Ms. Armstrong has been doing this for 6 years, and she's rich beyond my wildest imagining. Why? Because she has an entire medium-sized town reading her blog every day. This is very appealing to me - not the daily public humiliation part, the regularly paying the mortgage part.

Do you think I could make a monthly pay cheque with this website? Not sure? I have an idea to test it out: use the email button at the bottom of this post, and email this to everyone you know.

This is going to be so much fun! Okay, everyone email... NOW.

A relatively good article

2007-03-01T07:07:00.000-07:00

I had an argument with my cousin yesterday afternoon about the "relative" and "probable" existence of the coffee table, ending with my invocation of one of my favorite false memories from university, in which grip Dr. English by the back of the neck and repeatedly run her into the desk: "How - real - is - it - now?" Sweet, sweet false memories.

This image has obviously kept both of us awake through the night, me bittersweet, reliving scenes of missed opportunity, my cousin anxious I might be slightly less than compatible with society. This article was in my inbox, with the hurried, "I don't agree with it, and you don't have to read it, and maybe you should just delete it anyway," of a man genuinely fearing for his well being. I haven't read it all, but I did get to:

As an argument, [realism] takes the form of a demonstration:
"This [table] (bang!) is real. This (bang!) is no mere social construction. Talk cannot change that it is or what it is. See how its reality constrains my hand (bang!), forcing it to stop in its tracks. Hear the inevitable result (bang!) of the collision of two solid physical objects. Need I say more?"

The tone after that is all wrong, and this simplicity cuts both ways, but there is pleasure in every "bang." I should probably read the whole thing, but then I get all caught up in that passage again.

Touche, coz!

2007-02-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

You have never seen Kiwi so relaxed. This cuteness lasted about 10 minutes, and attendance wasn't compulsory!

2007-02-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

As promised, here is the final product, with the glass and hardware. Isn't it superfine?

Another little milestone

2007-02-26T11:23:00.000-07:00

From 26-02-2007(1)

Daniel's chewing on a spoon and staring at the phone, which has daddy on speaker. He's leaning on my shoulder with one hand, staring and chewing, sometimes giving a little babble, when all of a sudden, I shift (the world shifts) and he isn't leaning on me anymore. The seconds tick slowly - at least three - as I wait for him to fall, ready to catch him, and then I realize: he's standing! What a thing. I've been used to his constant touch, weight, pressure, and without it I nearly fell on him.

This is good. A milestone. He can and does repeat it. It's not as bad as the sudden rejection of my breast. I'm not upset. I just didn't realize how each milestone is another mile away from me. But he's only a year old, and only two milestones away, by my count. Many, many more to go. He can't, for instance, cook his own turkey soup. He needs me for that! (Right now)

I write to you, - and then?

2007-02-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

"I write to you, - and then?
What more is there to say?

Now, I know, it is within your power

to punish me with disdain!

But if you nourish one grain of pity

for my unhappy lot,

you will not abandon me."

This was my first encounter with Tatiana's famous letter scene in Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin, performed at the Met yesterday, and enjoyed all over the world in the theatres. After being disappointed by our bush-league offering, I'm so grateful that I can watch, in the relatively relaxed theatre setting, the likes of Anna Netrebko and Renee Fleming performing live. Think about it: I'm deep in the deepest hickland, listening to some of the best performances in the world. Husband tells me there are other great opera houses - in Italy, Germany, France, maybe London - he implies I shouldn't be so awestruck. But these are little tiny concentrations of brilliance peppering the globe.

The performances generally start at 11:30, and can be 3-4 hours long, so I'll always pack a lunch. If you get there early, you get little glimpses of the opera house, including the audience, orchestra pit, set preparations, and backstage activities. The countdown is exciting, a pregame warm-up. As the counter reaches zero, someone appears to introduce the piece to the theatre audience before the curtain rises. Then, during intermission, the stars are interviewed as they exit the stage, so we see them out of character, and out of breath. Anna Netrebko charmingly gave an enthusiastic grin, bounce, and thumbs up as she left the stage, clearly riding the high of a successful performance. We saw her in her dressing room as well, interviewed by Renee Fleming in an honest and amateurish style that appealed. During the intermission to Eugene Onegin, I was relieved to see that Renee Fleming and Dmitri Hvorosdovsky, are quite friendly off stage (even though Onegin is a devastating romantic lead - both insensitive and, fleetingly, shirtless).

If there's an upside to never having had access to this level of performance before, it must be that I have so many new operatic experiences before me. Barber of Seville is next. You should go too.

Tea and Scones - go on and make some

2007-02-24T15:55:00.000-07:00

1 and 3/4 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
5 tbsb cold butter
1/2 cup milk
salt to taste

Mix the dry ingredients, then cut in butter with your hands - really mash your fingers in there. If you have claw-hands when you're done, you did it right. Clap the cramps out with authority, sending forth clouds of flour (to be swept up before bed), pour in the milk, and stir gently, with some finesse, until you have nicely moisened clumps of flour. Dump the whole mess on a clean counter - I never did need to flour it - and form it together somewhat tightly. Now fold, press, and form repeatedly until the dough combines with some elasticity. All that folding gives you nice layers, and with the butter and baking soda, each scone will rise high, and split right in half without effort on your part.

Cut with a scone cutter, or a right-sized glass, and cook at 370 for 15-20 minutes. I suppose you could finish with a milk wash, but I didn't.

Annoying politics

2007-02-23T07:28:00.000-07:00

I've thought some more about that article, and here's what I came up with: there's a lot wrong with it! I won't annoy you with the annoying details. My hair needs a wash.

Update: Others had similar problems with the article - not that they or I disagreed wholesale. The topics of modernity and civilization are interesting to me, and not irrelevant to the topic of motherhood. For one thing, there's nothing more enraging than having your deep thoughts about, you know, the whole civilized world interrupted by a crying baby. I STILL want to write about that article, but, and I'm not kidding here, I have a pile of laundry at my feet, a baby about to wake up, and an opera to get to in some negative state of malodour.

New Squirm - help

2007-02-23T03:03:00.000-07:00

Something with this essay on modernity doesn't sit well with me, but I can't put my finger on it right now. Andrew Sullivan seems to hesitate as well. It's too damn long for me to read in the dark at 3am! I'll tackle it again later, if I have the free time, but in the meantime, does anyone else have know why this article makes me squirm? I know I'm a little in love with American-type values, but I don't think it's just that - I'm used to that squirm, I'm over it. It's more basic, as in where those basic values come from... and I'm at my limit again.

Pull out those phones, and let's get chatty!

2007-02-22T08:33:00.000-07:00

The risk-therapy provided by cell phone gossip is

particularly important for the reserved and inhibited English

I am...

2007-02-22T06:33:00.000-07:00

You are George Orwell

Paranoid and Cynical. You are able to understand society and the human psyche quickly and easily. You are depressed a lot of the time, because you are clever enough to see what is really going on in the world.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Thanks to Rootietoot for the link!

At least now I can say my existence is important, and if someone says, "why? what makes you think you matter at all in this world?" I can hand them my copy of "Why Orwell Matters."

Not funny?

Actually, I'm depressed right now because I think that quiz randomly assigns the user a flattering icon, which they can't resist publishing on their own page, thus generating lots of site traffic and advertising money. The whole thing is (probably) a great big scam, and I'm not like Georgie in the least.

I'm going to start my own quiz site right this minute. I'm going to start thinking about it.

It's Alive!

2007-02-20T15:26:00.000-07:00

Daniel got a new Tickle Me Elmo Extreme, the spectacular convulsing robot toy, for his birthday. We've entered the age of frighteningly lifelike toys. Daniel freaked out, of course, and I'm sure he took some unconscious cues from me. I'm such a sissy: just opening the box had my adrenaline pumping! It has a flap that, when opened, screams, "Elmo tickles! Elmo ticklish! in here. Ah ha ha ha!" It took me a few days to adjust to Elmo's voice to understand what he was saying - like adjusting to a Northumbrian accent - so during the gift opening, I was certain there was a tiny person inside enduring some unknown torture.

My husband insisted that Daniel needed to "come to terms" with the toy through repeated exposure, which he has. Today Daniel is quite willing to pat Elmo on the head, and soon he'll figure out the other features of tickling and posing the toy.

But it still looks strangely lifelike to me - and the robotic element is very impressive. Elmo bends over with laughter, rolls over backwards, onto his front, kicks his legs, and then gets back up. Even when it is off, it looks alive, standing relaxed. The first night, I left it on the windowsill and gave myself the wiggins walking through the kitchen for a glass of water. I'd half believe a world domination plot based on children's robot toys.

New Blog Links

2007-02-20T09:01:00.000-07:00

I've determined a need to separate personal blog topics from more newsy or political topics. I'll set up a regular search pattern for mom- or family- related news, and post it here:

http://newsformoms.blogspot.com/

You don't have to remember that, though. I'll link to it from this page, which will be my main blog.

Also, I have caved and set up a Flickr site. I don't know why I resist these new-fangled technology things. I feel as a mom I have to protect the home from any new and potentially useful ideas. I'll link there too, and folks, isn't this a great way to share family photos? I feel so, just, you know, dumb.

Playtime in New Outfits

2007-02-19T18:30:00.000-07:00

Daniel's First Birthday

2007-02-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

Love's a bitch

2007-02-16T21:12:00.000-07:00

You don't really get how dependent kids are until you have one. If you're a parent of character, you'll have paralysing anxiety about your inadequacy to protect your baby - and then seek medical treatment so you can better protect him. So heavy is the burden, and so willingly assumed, that I can't believe I'm reading this about one little girl who's mother's former partner wants to use her as a pawn. Thank goodness Supreme Court Justice Jill Parrish thought that wasn't such a great idea.

And it turns out this isn't just a gay rights issue: the lesbian partner broke the mother's heart. At least she loves the little girl "as much as I possibly could love her".

Sell all your clothes and...

2007-02-16T19:11:00.000-07:00

All the scrimping and saving that went into this project is nothing - NOTHING - to me now. See how the cabinets are cut from a single piece so the wood grain continues through adjacent doors? The doors and drawers are slam-proof too, which will be irritating for whichever one of us is making a point during an argument.

I'm trying hard to hold back here. No one cares like I do that the curvaceous wood strip on the counter's edge perfectly ties the laminate to the maple units. Let me just say: if you are riding the renovation fence, sell everything, turn off your heat, and commit to a diet of mac and cheese, and DO IT.

I have to give a big shout out to these guys. Jade did an amazing job on the counter top, and I understand he works magic with concrete as well. I'll post the final product next week.

Wholesome Snacks

2007-02-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

"I wonder how much toilet paper Daniel ate today."

"Probably a whole roll."

"Uugh..."

"At least his butt will be clean."

"Charming."

Odin Vs. the Garbage

2007-02-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

Since I obviously have no control over my cat's bad behavior, I'll just sit back and take photos. I promise not to take the same approach to parenting.

Cheer up, Sports Fans!

2007-02-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

I had a minor accident with my website, involving a total lack of direction and self-confidence. I am informed by people much smarter than me that I suffer the dread cabin fever, and need fresh air, exercise and a change of scenery post-haste. I will take my camera to document that the world has not fallen away from me.

My previous posts (minus your insightful comments - sorry) will, I hope, be recovered and reposted ASAP, although if you are reading this, you aren't the person who can help me do this, since you have just replaced your computer's cache of my blog with this way less compelling one. Way. To. Go.

Cold Hard

2007-02-13T09:28:00.000-07:00

It's so cold that ice has formed on the inside surface of the plastic window sheath, which I put there to help save money and increase home comfort. All these glistering little crystals, each a perfect little symbol of my winter entrapment. I can't leave the house in this weather: I tried. I bundled Daniel in every clever little winter cuddly thing I have, put him in the SUV of strollers, the one with the huge ATV tires, and walked - and froze, in sequence, his nose, his hands ... nothing else yet, but I can't risk freezing any other part! Not only am I a shut-in, but the winter will invite itself inside and make a frosty home with me, all my best efforts be damned. My hands and feet are cold, I'm shivering as I type this, and those ice crystals mock me with their beauty. (Daniel sleeps in three layers, blissfully warm and unaware, as he should be. And as I should be.)

I must be on that side of fate at the moment. Maternity cheques no longer stoke the account, and I'm feeling the special pressure of unemployed uselessness. Several projects have promised to give purpose (this website included), but most have backfired, at least for the moment. Am I a good cook? A good housekeeper? Accountant? Mother? I am not, and I am cold.

Salmon Fried Surprise

2007-02-12T12:12:00.000-07:00

The surprise is that this meal assembled itself almost without my intending it to be so. I eat a lot of food that way, but this time it's not cookies, iced cream, bread and jam, or the other culprits of mindless eating which have rounded me out. This time, my subconscious directs me to healthful omega-3 fatty acids, and in a healthy portion. I'm slightly smug with it.

Remove the skin from your salmon fillet. Flour, egg wash, and bread it in bread crumbs, which you must grind from stale bread and freeze periodically, as I do. Pan fry in olive oil, taking off the heat but leaving the lid on for several minutes, giving the salmon time to think it over. Drizzle the sauce on last. Healthy eating is this easy?!

Sauce:

mayonaise
mustard
herbs (rosemary, as I had no dill)
orange juice, squeezed
salt and pepper

I was going to cook this in the oven with the sauce (and without the bread), but this happened instead, I guess because I'm hungry and this was more convenient. The oven should work too, maybe at 350c for 15-30 minutes.

Wine Review: Chateau Roc Taillade Medoc 2002

2007-02-11T19:04:00.000-07:00

I'm no wine expert, but I feel a need to start cataloging wines as I sample them, purely as a memory aid for myself, and perhaps as an aid to local readers, who may stumble upon identical wines in local stores. As an amateur taster, my descriptions will probably not be detailed enough for the real connoisseur, but how many of them are likely to read my page?

I keep hearing that red wines are good for me, and since migraines are in remission, I've given this one a try. It is light and fresh, very palatable and easy to imagine with almost any food - especially summery foods, maybe seafood and salads. I'm not complaining (never complain about a nice wine!) but this could be less dry, with more body. Having said that, I'm about to down my second glass (Jason's untouched) in preparation for this week's new offering of Battlestar Galactica.

I had a Fetzer Valley Oaks Merlot with dinner last night, for which I have the same non-complaint - just a little too soft and thin for me.

Tic Tac Toe

2007-02-10T09:55:00.000-07:00

For the record, these are the three bright stars of my blog title. There's a silly story: when I was little, I had a giggle-fit pretending to point out each of the three bright stars of Orion's belt, and then drawing a line through, as though winning a game of tic tac toe with them. I think this was the joke only I got, playing tic tac toe with the stars. It still gives me a little heartswell thinking about it!

OMG Applesauce

2007-02-08T20:48:00.000-07:00

Is there any recipe that a knob of butter won't improve? I made this in the slow cooker, and Daniel eats it up.

apples to at least 1/3 full, peeled and cored
flour, cinnamon, nutmeg to coat
dash saltbrown sugar
knob of butter

Cook on high for an hour or two, until it's applesauce when you stir it. I'm telling myself if I'm heavy on the spices and light on the sugar, all will be good.

Homemade handwashed diapers are a go

2007-02-07T10:06:00.000-07:00

This is one of those "I'm so impressed with myself" moments. Homemade cloth diapers, all washed and cared for by little old me, saving a good handful every month. I'm told you shouldn't use a wet pail - no one does anymore - but I'm old-fashioned, so I'm giving it a try. Here's the secret recipe:

water in pail
1/2 cup baking soda
tea tree oil
dirty diapers

Just add love! And by love, I mean that willingness to handle baby remainders, which is a mother's fond duty.

I don't have a tea tree, so I am using a few drops of mint. Every time I lift the diaper pail lid, I got a pungent whiff of invigorating freshness. The diapers themselves do not smell minty after the wash, for which I use this dangerous-sounding recipe:

small amount of Woolite or Sunlight Free
baking soda
vinegar in the rinse

"Won't this make a baking soda volcano?" you ask, recalling that class from grade 4. I hope so, as Martha Stewart informs me this will help keep my drains clear.

Drying is a problem. My diapers are super absorbent, and at first it seemed to take two hours, plus a good airing. Add a dry towel in the drier to shave an hour off, and then leave the diapers over a heat vent, or other fan, for more drying if necessary.

Edmonton Opera performs Pepto-Bismol dance to sold out crowd

2007-02-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

The Edmonton Opera has had serious challenges in the past few years. In 2003/2004, financial difficulty forced a reduction in the season from four to three performances – and in 2006/2007, that reduction holds.

No music lover wants to see the EO fail, or disappear. We want opera to gain in popularity and put on a lavish four operas. We want to be overwhelmed by powerful music, captivated by life-affirming narrative, challenged by innovative direction. One assumes the Edmonton Opera shares similar ideals.

So why did the entire opera cast break into the Pepto-Bismol dance at the end of Act 1 in Gioacchino Rossini’s The Barber of Seville? I wasn’t even sure I saw it clearly, since the singers’ gestures were muted, as though they were aware the pop-culture reference was misplaced in Rossini’s comic masterpiece. But other audience members noticed.

I’m aware my criticism colors me a snob – but really, I’m not. I love live performances, which often inject witty anachronisms to “liven up” age-old operas and make them appealing to modern audiences. Done right, such directorial license is one of the pleasant surprises that keep audiences guessing, laughing and thinking.

But this was neither funny nor intelligent. When the cast reached for their bottoms for the “diarrhea” part of the dance, there was silent shock and confusion from the audience. The Pepto-Bismol ad is thematically irrelevant to the story, in which Almaviva employs several disguises to woo the confined Rosina. As they danced the dance of indigestion, the cast sang that they were “reduced to insanity” by the wild events that had just taken place. No nausea, no diarrhea, not a word of gastrointestinal difficulties of any kind. Even a deliberate post-modern misreading of the text makes a tenuous connection at best.

Ignoring the chorus’ performance of the Macarena immediately after the Pepto-Bismol dance, there were other more confounding problems with the production. The orchestra was lackluster and poorly coordinated, with the wind and string sections off in their timing. As well, Theodore Baerg, as Dr. Bartolo, could not pull off his famous rant promising to confine Rosina away from further outside contact. His voice faded below being audible twice, indicating vocal problems that should not be so obvious to the audience.

The Barber of Seville is a fast, funny, highly entertaining opera – a riot of a masterpiece – all on its own. Edmontonians love their opera, and the performances are often sold-out. But the quality of the performance – and of directorial choices – shouldn’t be allowed to slip this badly.

The Edmonton Opera needs to address its basic performance issues – have more exacting standards for directors and conductors, singers and musicians alike – before taking risks injecting post-modern elements of questionable relevance to the story. Their audience will thank them.