Bibliomama

A few days ago I was at Farm Boy and they had a bunch of maple smoked salmon, which I love, so I picked up a package even though it didn't fit anywhere on the menu for the next few days, and I try not to buy things that don't have an immediate use, so they don't go bad and get wasted. I stuck it in the refrigerator. A couple of days later I was getting something out of the fridge and I happened to glance at the package and saw, in teeny-tiny letters, the admonition to "keep frozen". Agh! I looked at it. It was vacuum-sealed! I was under the impression that you could vacuum-seal things for hundreds of years and open them after nuclear winter had passed and they would be fresh as a veritable daisy. It must still be good. It didn't look bad. I couldn't quite bring myself to crack it open, though. Rotten fish smell, plus the admission that I had bought something without having a clear idea of when and with what nutritious side dish it was going to be served..

photo credit Creative Commons License I often don't feel like I fit in. Okay, I almost never feel like I fit in. I've heard that this is not uncommon, so possibly if I got together with all the people who don't feel like they fit in, I'd fit in with them, but I suspect not. When I was little I was a weird kid who read too much. The one or two times my mother tried sending me to summer camp were not pretty. Usually she would pick one that my sister was the right age for, so I was a little too old, too uncoordinated for sports and too shy for games. On the upside, the counsellors felt comfortable cursing around me since I was the oldest camper. Eventually my mother let me stay home and read. High school wasn't wretched, but it wasn't great. I was sort of on the fringe of the second-tier popular people, which meant the in-crowd sort of treated us like mascots or pets (upon reflection, total outcast might have been preferable). University was great, actually --

So is it more lame that a) my husband gave me an ergonomic snow scoop for Valentine's                                 photo credit  Day OR b) I freakin' LOVE it? I have a faint suspicion that my book addiction may have been transmitted to my son -- something about the way his pupils burst into flame as he grabbed my shirt, lifted me a foot off the floor and snarled "we are going to Chapters to get volume two of Diary of a Wimpy Kid RIGHT NOW!" I feel fat today. I also feel stupid for worrying about being fat -- it's the gift that keeps on giving. I keep wondering when and where all this stupidity got started. Can you imagine that first cavewoman turning to her husband and saying "Hey Ug, does this tiger skin make my ass look big?" We walked into First Choice at that golden moment today -- it was empty, and right after my kids' butts hit the haircutting chairs a bunch of people walked in (I did manage not to thumb my nose at them and go nah-nah-nah.

photo credit I've been feeling a bit constrained by the daily routine lately, so we used this long week-end to shake things up a bit. A very little bit. Friday I took Angus to pick up his first pair of glasses which are so freaking adorable I just want to squish him every time I see them, which is fine with him because he agrees that he looks smashing. Then I took the kids to see Coraline (not too taxing, but I did have to brush my hair and wear a bra, which is how I measure degree of difficulty for most tasks). Then we let Angus sleep over at his friend Jon's house and skip hockey at 6:30 on Saturday morning (well, I did, and accepted the attendant fall-out). Saturday we went out to Smiths Falls to visit the great-grandparents for Valentine's Day and Eve's and Great-Nana's birthdays, and there was much making of merriment and Wii-playing by all ages and little pink cupcakes and musing over the in-laws that drink and the in-laws that don't (or worse, drink only

Eve just informed me that she measured herself at school and she's nine feet tall. At least I won't need the stool to reach stuff on the top shelf any more. She has also determined that the number one thing her father is best at is farting, and the number two thing is sleeping. Respect and unconditional love -- nothing like it. As we were leaving for the movie theatre yesterday, I told the kids to grab their DSes since we were going to go early because it was a PD day and I thought it might be crowded (it wasn't). Angus said "do you want me to bring Brain Age for you?". I said "Why? Do I seem particularly stupid lately?" and he said, "well, you haven't been playing it much lately. Just saying." Humph. I've discovered something quite useful. When Matt tells me he has to go away again (next week, for example), if I mope and list all the things that I have to do and all the reasons everything's going to be SO much more complicated no

Valentine's Day. The higher grades were allowed to bring change and buy Hershey's kisses a few days ago. They addressed them however they wanted, and then they were delivered today. Angus gave all his to all his female teachers, past and present (that's my boy). Then he came home today and said "some sixth-grade guy named Dawson sent me a Hershey's kiss. I wonder why." ...? Apparently a lot of the local schools are going to have different start and end times next year for some reason (something to do with the buses, or saving money, or saving money on the buses). Considering the furor that was generated earlier this year when our school had to close one afternoon senior kindergarten class and move fifteen students to the morning, I'm anticipating a backlash of epic proportions. Personally, I'm girding my loins for an exhausting round of hiding my head in the sand, missing all the public meetings, waiting until it's a done deal and then complaining

I'm feeling a little lost in my life. Sometimes I feel like I know exactly who I am and what I'm doing (whether or not I feel like I'm doing it well is another story). Sometimes I wake up feeling like I've been partially erased during the night. My outlines are all blurry. These are the times when I think hey! I need to train for a marathon! or hey! I need to buy a two-hundred-dollar glass bead making kit (and then hide it under the spare bed for the next five years) or hey! I need to get a job! And I run off in seven different directions as if complicating the hell out of everything is the answer, when in reality I should just clean out my laundry room or give away the eighty percent of Angus's closet that he hasn't worn for three years or play my poor neglected piano which gets even less action than my husband. And the stuff. What's with all the stuff? I don't think of myself as particularly materialistic. Our cars are old and crappy, our couch cushio

Yesterday Eve and her friend from next door (her name is Victoria but Eve usually calls her Fictoria, which amuses me; it makes it sound like she could be imaginary) were picking dolls to take next door to play with. Victoria had a girl doll and Eve said "but don't you want a boyfriend?" Victoria said no, and Eve said, "well, too bad you're gonna miss out on all the love!" photo credit Don't you feel like all the restaurants and retailers in the world are saying that to everyone that chooses not to observe the massive fromage-fest that is Valentine's Day? I know this isn't fresh or original, but I was just talking to my best friend on the phone and I suddenly realized I hate Valentine's Day even more than I thought I did. For single people, it's a giant kick in the teeth from a world that already bombards them constantly with images of cutesy couples and nausea-inducing nuclear families. For newly coupled people it's waaaay too m

Some strange process seems to take place in my brain whenever a slip comes home for a field trip or a class event asking for parent volunteers. I don't really know why. Generally I like to think I'm fairly clear-headed as far as self-knowledge goes. I don't buy clothes that are too small thinking I'll lose weight and fit into them. I don't invite more people over for dinner than I can comfortably cook for. I don't buy a bag of cookies unless I'm prepared to personally eat every single one, should it be required of me. So what is it about those pink or green slips of paper that suddenly renders me incapable of remembering that I am a grumpy, unpleasant person who doesn't like noise, or crowds, or children (apart from a fairly narrow selection)? No, now I'm suffused with visions of myself as a serene and patient dispenser of knowledge and guidance, surrounded by sweet, laughing children looking up at me worshipfully (I know -- I have got to check what

The Necessary Beggar by Susan Palwick Magic! This book is magic. It's the kind of book where you just want to give the author a Nobel Prize and let her rule the world because she just gets how it's supposed to be. Her book "Flying in Place" is a riveting, heartwrenching story of a young girl in a horrifying family situation. It was the kind of really good book that's really hard to read -- and I didn't even have children when I read it. The Necessary Beggar is quite a different book. The family in question is colourful and close-knit, and they come from a world called Lemabantunk (bit of a mouthful). Their world is primitive by many of our standards, but beautiful and enlightened -- most people spend a year as a Mendicant, a sacred beggar who lives by the kindness of strangers. Weddings include the Ritual of the Necessary Beggar, which is a reminder of civic duty and a fertility rite, reminding the couple that they must welcome their children as 'squall

Day three: still wandering around beaming at everyone like a deranged birthday clown. I think people who walk by me are starting to swerve away, probably so they don't get any happy accidentally sprinkled on them. Today at gymnastics I felt like I had the wittiest, funniest, most intellectually stimulating conversation with the other Moms, with just the right amount of profanity to make us seem hip (we probably talked about Hugh Grant's butt and lunch room duty - who cares? Perception is everything). Actually, watching Eve's skating lesson made me a little sad. When she refused to try I found it hilarious. She would stand motionless on the ice, gesturing madly at the instructor ("Do you know how wobbly these things are? Do you know how slippery this stuff is? You people are the most unreasonable tyrants I have ever encountered!!") This could last most of the hour, and I found her sheer tenacity sort of admirable (with the added benefit of seeing my husband's h

So today, apparently, I do love mankind (woman, child, human-kind). It was sunny, and I went to the gym so there were endorphins (and giddy disbelief that I actually got there) in play. But it wasn't just today. Last night at dinner at my Mom and Dad's, I drank as much wine as my Dad (and if you knew my Dad...) just so I'd have an excuse to hug them and say I love you guys before I left. At the gym, I was looking around picking out everybody's best features (great hair...nice arms... friendly smile) and then I went down to get groceries and someone moved their cart for me to get by and I almost wept with gratitude. What the hell is going on? Today I realized it wasn't January any more, so maybe that's part of it; the realization that spring will come again, and everything will thaw out. Partly it's that Matt just got back after being away for almost two weeks, which always makes me feel weird. But I think sometimes this just happens. I remember in high schoo