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10 things i will do if the sun comes out


I am bargaining with you, sun. If you blaze out this dreary day, I will do a lot of things…in your honour! Yes, ma’am. Yes, sir. I will, indeed, in this order:

  1. go back to that fair trade chocolate and homemade ice cream shop on Dundas Street and get a scoop of lemon ginger sorbet. First things first. And yes, I will share with Elsie.
  2. pull the weeds in my mother’s garden AND split a hosta. I’m told splitting plants takes a certain boldness. The sun will make me brave.
  3. sit in the kiddie pool with Elsie and sing songs about your grace, sun. I will, I will. The lyrics are on the tip of my tongue already. Tip of my tongue, tip of my tongue…
  4. find a coffee patio and drink a big ‘ol soy latte (and not begrudge the extra fifty cents or the painful gas that will ensue—soy is difficult to digest, you know?).
  5. return to the kiddie pool for a lunch time offering of toast. And yes, I will share with Elsie who also has a fondness for warmed up carbohydrates.
  6. lie out sunscreen free for a healthy fifteen minutes to get my day’s portion of vitamin D with one hand lingering in the kiddie pool for that Florida poolside feeling.
  7. be generally overflowing with gratitude all day.
  8. teach Elsie to give hugs. Fine, we’ll do it in the kiddie pool. We’ve already had our first tutorial and it went very well. She’s very advanced.
  9. wash the car. What the hell! I see other people do this act when the sun is out. And sometimes when the sun is not out. I don’t understand the urge, but I want to. Yeah, baby, the impending sun is making me crazy. Wild. Crazy. Don’t get in my way. I have a silver Honda to sluice.
  10. turn ten cartwheels in a row and then celebrate the disorientation. ‘Cause if I get to this point and the sun is still blazing, I will be looking for a way to fall head over heels.

So do we have a deal?

sweet deluge


First off, Happy Canada Day! Happy July! Happy sweet summer, which is starting off very wet.

But I like rain. In fact the rain seems to be bringing a drop of calm into our household. Diluting the stress maybe.

For example, Elsie was successfully ‘babysat’ this weekend, which meant Simon was able to come to my Vran and Gertie show baby free, which meant I could actually concentrate while performing. Imagine that?

Thank you, rain.

I successfully shut off the over-active-worrying-mother part of my brain for an hour! More than an hour. Three hours if I were to be precise. Which I think I’d like to be. Three hours and thirteen minutes.This is a feat worth talking about, particularly if you know that Elsie doesn’t have the reputation of being the most easy going baby. She has scared off many a potential babysitter with her cries.

When she’s good, she’s oh so good, but when she misses her Mama, some might call her horrid.

Well not her so much, but her wailing. Which is kind of her?

I am relieved. I think we might even be entering a new ‘easy going season.’

Yesterday at our ultimate frisbee game, we passed her off to people so we could go play, and she didn’t make a peep. In fact, one of our teammates said, “Is she always this chilled?” Yes maybe no. Okay no. Never. We are equally flabbergasted.

Maybe it was the novelty of the rain and sitting under an umbrella with the Cheerios and the boy. All new things. (I have yet to introduce her to umbrellas—I prefer to makeshift with delicate silk sweaters. Or Cheerios or boys for that matter.)

Thank you, newness.
Thank you, big umbrella.
Thank you, Cheerios.
Thank you, Henry.
Thank you, downpour.

lemon sucker


I am posting this video particularly for my father who is traveling much of the summer and likely in need of a ‘nieta’ fix. Interestingly (or possibly not at all interesting), babies sucking on lemons is quite a popular YouTube posting. I watched ten videos myself, as well as ‘Monster Baby’ (a baby standing in his diaper and cackling like a monster) before I persuaded myself to go to bed.

Then I cursed myself for wasting so much time. All the things I could have done instead of watching babies suck on lemons. Curses YouTube and late night brain fog which keeps me clicking instead of brushing and then sleeping.

Which brings up an important point since I myself posted one such ‘baby-sucking-a-lemon’ video. Um. If you’re reading this and suddenly feel convicted about what you might do instead of watching Elsie suck her first lemon, I bless your departure from this site. Go be productive. Or sit with your cat. Or drink a cup of coffee and enjoy blissful silence. Yes. Do. Or what the hell, go suck your own lemon. And then write about it. Always write about it.

On the other hand, if you’re looking for distraction click here, here and here. And then finally spend some money here. I can keep you busy.

koodo love is pseudo love


I think the Koodo phone sales guy was flirting with me. I’m always a little surprised by flirtation because I feel like such a Mom (and in no way a MILF)…with the stains on my clothes and the greasy hair. Apparently that’s hot? Anyway, Koodo phone sales guy, Jordan, says: “Do you work out like nine times a day? Like are you constantly getting down and doing crunches? I mean I just can’t figure out how that baby can be yours.” Right. Well admittedly, I was taken aback and then, of course, flattered. I mean, you do a new mother’s heart good by talking about her solid core. You really do. I muttered something about my exercise regime and doing gymnatics when I was eleven, which seemed to give me permanent biceps. I don’t think he listened, more just stared at my, um, “core,” which was kind of uncomfortable. Fortunately for baby. My baby. The baby that is all mine and most definitely belonging to my body, Koodo boy. Elsie can change the mood on a dime by 1) screaming 2) cackling like a witch (yes, she does!) 3) violently removing articles of clothing. In this case she screamed and arched her back, a signal that she was prepared to hurl herself out of the stroller if I didn’t come to her rescue NOW. Time to revel in flattery officially OVER. At which point my own mood shifted abruptly as well to something more along the lines of: “NO MORE TALKING, JORDAN!!!!! YOUR HONEYED WORDS ARE NOW OLD AND ANNOYING. DO YOU SEE THE BABY READY TO FREAK OUT?!!!! GET ME MY PHONE BEFORE I FREAK OUT BIGGER.” Yeah something like that. Everything must end.

do you see what i see?


elsie-muskokas

cockatoo kicks baby’s ass at PJ’s


Dear Elsie,

Last week we did our first ever indoor mother daughter mall walk. (Yes, we did the outdoor mall in California. The breadth of experience I have exposed you to gives pause, eh, Elsie Pants? You’re welcome.) Two complete tours of the indoor mall to be exact. We might have stopped at one except for the buckets of rain which made the run to the car seem preventative. You particularly enjoyed PJ’s Pet Store, which is going to be our new special place come summer when the Toronto humidity has me on edge. At which point we will head to PJ’s and hang out with the budgies and the adorable puppies in kennels the size of our shower, who according to PJ’s proud proclamation receive ‘a reasonable amount of exercise’…and all the weird people that frequent PJs. Don’t worry, we’re not weird, just them. And by them I mean, for example, the well dressed man with the Lululemon satchel engaged in a sick love affair with the green cockatoo. He stroked and whispered sweet nothings to said cockatoo for a WHILE before he noticed us. We were of course staring at him and not the other birds which threw him slightly off kilter. He straightened up really quick, trying to act all nonchalant with, “This is a nice one, eh Ma?” Enter ‘Ma,’ who proceeded to step over your stroller to meet her own warbler for a two o’clock rendezvous. Lesson learned: Birds trump babies (even cute babies) in strollers at PJ’s Pet Store. Mothers beware.

Next time we grace the gerbils with our mother daughter love?

Love, love Mama

simon says the winner is…


MC!

MC is the winner. I’m declaring it. No edits, no drafts, no revisions. Done is done. Send. Cookies have found a home. Yes. The satisfaction I feel in this moment. The chewy chocolate chip pecan cookies belong to her.

Wait…maybe I’m making too much of this. Actually, this could be a chapter. Fuck eroonazole.

YEAH!!!! FUCK EROONAZOLE!!!!

student-piggybank-headline-contest

Okay, return to quite wretchedness and scientific objectivity.

Amy was the runner up with the fashion comments. (You don’t want to know the crazy things I find to wear when writing!) But MC’s comment particularly speaks to the desperation I feel at 3:30 AM when my inspiration has left me…but I force myself to keep going. I have taken to talking to myself in those wee hours. Don’t be scared, Rebecca…or Elsie for that matter. Papa is a little crazy. But it will pass, I’m sure. What can I say? I’m good company…and so is little piggy.

it’s caption time…yes…yes…yes!


It’s time for another caption contest! So…what caption should be scrawled across this picture? This time Simon will be the judge. Know that your comment could be just the thing that keeps him from crawling under his desk and weeping from the anxiety of it all. He is looking for humour! Oh yes, and the winner gets cookies—the kind Simon eats by the handful in his writing prison. Chocolate chip pecan. Chewy.

Winner announced next Friday. So get those caption juices flowing, ’cause the weary science man needs you. Readers, you never disappoint.

p.s. Check out previous caption contests here and here.

a beautiful smelling playpen


“Can I give you a title?”

“Sure.”

Long pause. ‘Way too long pause.

“WHAT?”

“A beautiful smelling playpen.”

“A beautiful smelling playpen?”

The silence confirms his selection.

Thank you, love of my life who is curled up on the single bed in the tv room. (We’ve been sleeping in separate beds ever since Simon started going to bed at 4 AM ever since he decided he writes most productively during the very wee hours.)

I think his title might be referring to the tragedy that occurred in our bedroom this morning, when I knocked over my beloved Ginger Ciao with the sleeve of my robe, spilling its precious contents all over the carpet. He was not witness himself, but heard the cry!

The playpen part, I’m not so sure. Perhaps the juxtaposition is a metaphor for my life.

I am sad, but reminded that Ginger Ciao is just that—a beautiful smelling essential oil named Ginger Ciao—and nothing more. I don’t need to smell so delicious. Elsie and the tired science man will love me regardless.