It's all going to hell.

None of the old tricks work.  If we could afford a nanny, I would hire one just to do changes.  I don't have the mental tools to deal with this.

Zuul's no longer content laying still for a diaper change.  The arsenal of toys and random items off the change table no longer preoccupy her.  I don't know how to put a diaper on a moving child.

And to think, I complained about the first few months.  At least she was an immobile lump then.  

Subversive Dad started the challenge.  Yes, I'll blame him.  It's just easier to have a scapegoat.  He informed me that he leveled up is the toddler game by performing his first diaper change on a standing toddler.

Not to be outdone, I stopped making Zuul scream by trying to keep her pinned down and attempted this myself.  Now we created a monster.  She thinks it's a game, and she's winning.

I admit, 90% of the time now, I have no idea if her diaper is secured before I wrangle the rest of her clothes on her.  Disaster is imminent.  The last diaper change, it was nothing short of a miracle that nothing leaked as one fastener was on her sweatshirt rather than her diaper, leaving it half dangling in the breeze.

So, I need pro tips.  Is there anything else I can do to get her to stay still for a diaper change?  Or should I just let go and let god?

Oh, and she's taken to biting knees now too.

The tide has shifted.  No good can come of this.

Unsolicited Advice and Opinionated Diatribe

This is the best children's toy for one year olds ever made:

Ever since Zuul started walking, I immediately found she wasn't happy sitting for very long.  Shopping with her in tow suddenly became a problem.  She complained about being in the stroller and she squirmed when I wore her.

Enter the trike-stroller.  As soon as I strap her into it, she becomes a Woo Girl, with the exception of the booze, of course (although there is a handy cup holder in the back on ours... Just saying mom & dad.) Once we move, she starts smiling, woo-hooing and waving and is content to sit quietly in there until she gets tired.  Try taking her out too soon and a tantrum is imminent.  

There are a variety of models from various manufacturers.  The one pictured above is the one Grandma and Grandpa picked up for her birthday for I think about $80 on sale.  The drawbacks are that the little basket in the back will collapse if filled with heavy items and, while there is a uv screen, there's nothing to protect from the rain, making rainy day errands even more miserable because it stays home.

The one's I've seen say from 9 months and up.  Like a stroller, it's equipped with both bars and a seatbelt harness to hold the wee one in and will grow with your pre-toddler/toddler, eventually transforming to an independent tricycle.  

Money well spent.  Good job, Grandma.

Homeless

As of the end of this week, we are officially no longer home owners.  We are, technically, homeless, although we're cozily nestled in Subversive Dad's parents place for as long as we need to (or, more accurately, until we drive each other crazy).

I have mixed feelings about this.  It's a bittersweet feeling as that condo held a lot of great memories.  It was our first owned home, a place I had complete freedom to paint and renovate as I liked.  We brought home Ghost, our first dog together, because we were finally living somewhere without dog restrictions, and we had Zuul.  

Home is somewhere int he background, Ghost, Zuul and I are breaking the law in Old Mill Park.

With the arrival of Zuul, it became clear that we had outgrown our first home, but the area was perfect for first time parents.  Everything we needed was a short walk:  parks, rec centre, library, groceries, toy stores, clothing stores, doctors, dentists, optometrists, restaurants, EVERYTHING.  I was content in this little bubble of convenience as it catered to my incredibly lazy nature.  

Then opportunity knocked.  Subversive Dad took a job on Vancouver Island, which meant an actual house would be affordable and we'd be close to family.  Zuul would get to grow up with cousins and her grandparents, something I missed out on in my childhood and desperately wanted for her.

We've been here since December, and while Subversive Dad loves being back home, I'm suffering from a bit of culture shock. 

While we don't have all the conveniences we had in Port Moody, most things are a short walk away, but I do miss little luxuries like sidewalks, enclosed dog parks, paved nature trails, mountain views and buildings with character.

We had a date night on Saturday, cocktails and appies at a chain restaurant who's Vancouver hours I was familiar with, so I was confused when we left at 10:30 p.m. and staff was locking the doors.  Driving through town, I noticed all the bistros we passed were empty at that time, but Wal-Mart is open 24 hours.  Alrighty then.

Aside from the drivers that seem intent on killing us, everyone's really chatty and nice.  It's a place where random acts of kindness are the norm, where I've witness scary looking teens bravely call out peers when they say something not very PC, where the Green Party are actually respected and hold ridings.  This is the kind of utopia most modern day parents would dream to raise their children in.  On the other hand, the chit chat also slows things down considerably at check outs, which has tested my yuppy patience more than I want to admit.

So, now that the Mainland chapter of my life is closing, we have some choices to make.  Will we buy a proper house as we had always fantasized about, or will we rent for a while until fate decides for sure that Victoria is really where we are meant to be?  There are pros and cons to both situations.  At this point, all I care about is having a place to call my own again, to once again be in full control.  Not that I don't appreciate all that the family has done for us, but it's true when they say "you can't go home again.". I'm really hoping that once we're in our own place again, whether paying a mortgage or rent, I will finally feel settled and can fully embrace Victoria and all it's sleepy quirks.

Port Moody will always have my heart, but home is wherever Subversive Dad and Zuul are, and that's what's important.

I miss this boardwalk more than anything, even though I always feared Ghost would pull us into the inlet.

Sunday Confessional

Subversive Dad and I went to Milestones last night for cocktails and appies.

I'm pretty sure the milestone was that their spinach and artichoke dip was celebrating an anniversary as well.

Paying the price today.  

Worst appetizer ever.

Do you wanna stay up all night, up all night!

Zuul gives no fucks about her mom and dad's anniversary.

She woke up after midnight, screaming.  This went off and on until 4:30 a.m..  She had some moments the night before as well, so the first thought that came to mind was that she's cold.  She outgrew all of her warm pj's all at once and all I could find to replace them were summer sets, which makes sense, seeing we're towards the end of May, but the nights have still been chilly.  

I waited 20 minutes, a la Ferber, and covered her up.  This did nothing.

My next thought was that this was sleep regression.  Time to implement tough love.

I waited 25 minutes.  She squirmed out of her sleep sack and her baby quilt and was siting up, screaming.  Put her back in her sack, nursed her, put her back to bed, but she was still wild and wide eyed.

Waited thirty minutes.  Time for a blitz .  Diaper changed, baby Advil administered, rocked and lullabied.  She was having none of it.

By 4:30 a.m., I gave up, brought her to bed and whipped out a boob.  She stayed asleep in our bed until I woke her up at 7.  She slept.  I managed to perform a miraculous balancing act at the very edge of the bed with my eyes closed.  Cirque du Soleil, I'm available!

It wasn't until well after breakfast that I finally saw it.  The second tooth.  Of course.

I have a theory.  Sleep deprivation due to teething is the only reason why the amber baby jewelry business can survive.  I know because, despite my better judgement, I almost bought her a necklace this afternoon.

I was able to rationalize the dangers behind buying her an amber bracelet or anklet, yet had convinced myself the necklace would be safer somehow.

I snapped out of it.  Amber is a hard rock.  A pretty one at that, with a sweet smell because it's petrified Mesozoic era tree sap, but that's all it is.  There is zero science backing up the theory that it softens and secrets anything that stops pain.  I know this.  I did my research, but, OMG I'LL DO ANYTHING TO STOP THE CRYING!!!

Baby teeth.  You are on my shit list.

Anniversary Day

Today marks the day Subversive Dad and I became a couple.  I'm proud to say a really good one for eleven years.  There have been far more ups than downs, and the downs have been hardly significant. 

We are the A-Team of unmarried couples.  He's mostly Hannibal, the mastermind, with Faceman's good looks.  I'm pretty much Murdoch, with a little BA Barachus, but mostly batshit like Murdoch.  Together, we're the yin to each other's yang.  We'll need to remember this when Zuul hits her teens, I'm sure.

Last year was our big milestone ten year anniversary, and I remember being bothered that we couldn't do much to celebrate.  Zuul was only a couple of weeks old and I was still recovering from a c-section.  We were both extremely sleep deprived and my hormones really toyed with my sanity.  To be honest, I don't remember a thing from last year.  I don't remember gifts or cards or anything.  It was hardly a blip on the radar.

It finally occurred to me that Zuul is the ultimate milestone anniversary prize.  Sure, we could have gone to Paris, rent a sky writer, bought some fancy jewelry, maybe even had a wedding, finally, but that's not our style.  We've never needed grand gestures.  We celebrate the little things, and last year, the little thing was our newborn baby, graduating from couple to family.  Perfection.

So, Happy 11th Anniversary, Subversive Dad.  I love you, but I'm not making you any more gifts.

Boys In Cars, Part II

Ahhhh.... Warm, sunny days are back.  With that come the boys of summer, cruising around with their windows down, on a sugar high from their umpteenth Super Big Gulp.

My spring/summer wardrobe is very limited due to the majority of my clothes being in storage still.  Luckily, I came to our temporary residence with all my nursing tank tops.  I was wearing one when I ventured to the mall, pushing Zuul along with me I might add, when a young man sped by yelling "I CAN SEE YOUR NIPPLES!"

I almost looked, but then I remembered that Zuul's been pulling off my nursing shawl and pulling down my tops for quite some time now.  I have gotten past modesty a while ago, like many other nursing moms.  Why should I care if my nipples were showing?  I realized, I did not, and charged forward without a glance down.

This is a strange moment for me.  I am officially an extended breastfeeder.  I have a parenting label - labels I had been trying to avoid, but after all the problems I had Zuul's first weeks, oddly proud.  I'll be damed.  

As for the boys of summer who yell weird shit out their cars, I bet his nipples were showing too.  Alas!  Common ground.  

Sunday Confessional

List this under "Things I Never Thought Would Excite Me", but the highlight of my last two days has been good, solid, easy and quick to clean poos.

Correction to "Into The Blanket Fort"

We sit down for dinner last night and the first words out of Subversive Dad's mouth was "Your blog is wrong."

"What did I do this time?"

"We weren't backed into.  She hit us head on."

Of course I missed the finer details.  When I heard the words "We got hit by a car.", they just repeated and amplified in my mind.  You have to excuse a mother for being unable to listen very well under those circumstances.

This doesn't make the story any better.  If anything, it makes the driver that much more careless and the danger my family was in that much more alarming.  It also makes Subversive Dad all the more a superhero.

Zuul never got touched because of his ability to very quickly foresee the danger and move her out of the way, quickly.  And I thought my amazing ability to predict menstruation was all that and a bag of chips.

It doesn't change the fact that this story should never have needed to be written to begin with.  Had the driver remembered to look both ways before attempting to pull out of the driveway, this would be part two of "Boys in Cars" instead, (because something funny did happen to me a few days ago, but excuse me while I forget to laugh for a little while).  So focused was she on oncoming traffic, she didn't even look right for pedestrians once.  And it bothers me that it took a Bruce Lee move to get this dumb-asses attention.

This does nothing for my rage.  Back under the blanket cave we go.

Into The Blanket Fort

First, they're both ok, but Subversive Dad and Zuul got hit by a car Tuesday evening.

By "hit", I mean Subversive Dad was backed into while walking with Zuul-in-stroller.  While he couldn't avoid the hit, his spidey senses were tingling, and he just knew something utterly stupid was about to occur.  So, he took the hit, and managed to push the stroller out of harms way.

I convinced him to take Zuul with him to the polling station, just a few locks up the busy road from us.  It was Provincial Election day here in BC, and we are not ones to take our voting privilleges lightly.  I had made it there and back, unscathed, so thought nothing of it.  I forgot to take into account that he was going during rush hour, with just a little over two hours left until the polls closed.  Combine this with a driver-centric town, with hardly any real sidewalks, and people that seem to have never seen pedestrian in their lives, and we have the perfect storm.

The idiot didn't even look behind her as she tried to back out onto the road.  Who the fuck does that?

Zuul was untouched, just shaken by dad's yelling.  Subversive Dad is nursing a bruised elbow and achy bicep and shoulder, not from how the car backed into him, but from how he drove his elbow into the car in rage, and to get the driver's attention, since yelling, flailing and baby cries failed.  He estimates he delivered about $1,000.00 worth of damage to her vehicle.  Neither of us condone property damage, but never underestimate the instinctive rage of a parent who just managed to save their baby from being run over, taking the hit in the process.

By the time he was done yelling at her, she drove off in tears.  I think she got off really lucky, but not nearly as lucky as I am that I still have my family, all in one piece.  My partner, my hero.  My daughter's hero.  To lose either or both would destroy me.

Since we moved to Langford, I have seen my life flash before my eyes more times than I can count just walking across the streets.  It's a huge problem here.  To say I'm angry and put off by this part of town is putting it mildly.

So, Zuul and I will be hiding under our blanket forts for a while, pretending we're back in our cozy little bubble in Port Moody, where we only had to worry about the gang war and the odd black bear encounter.

My First Born for Negitoro Maki

The trouble with having a baby in the early days of May is that your first Mother's Day becomes a write off.  The combination between recovering from child birth, fatigue, cluster feeding, worry and stress... don't expect much from anyone, especially yourself.  I was already having most of my meals in bed since the 8th of May anyway, so the joy was already gone, and going out with a newborn is just scary and overwhelming for both parents.  I know Subversive Dad was a hot mess as well.

I did have one demand, however, 9-10 months in the making.  I was having some motherfucking sushi.  

Being responsible to a fault, I followed those recommended food restrictions diligently, so my once weekly indulgence of maki rolls and unagi nigiri was avoided.  

This was hell.  Vancouver is a very sushi-centric city.  There's no escaping temptation.  I missed many dates with friends and coworkers because they were going for sushi.  It was so hard to be good for the sake of a healthy fetus.

So, my first Mother's Day, Subversive Dad picked up a tray full of sake maki, unagi nigiri and, my absolute fave, negitoro maki and inhaled it while watching, you guessed it, Game of Thrones; Zuul nested cozily in her swing next to me, in my pj's and bathrobe that I had been my uniform since getting home from the hospital.

I couldn't have asked for a better first Mother's Day.  It was absolute bliss. 

Mmmm...... Maki.  

Amazing! Subversive Mom Keeps Baby Alive Full Year.

A year ago yesterday, my little girl made her earthly debut.  I can't tell you exactly what time though, and, because of that, I'm worried I'm already starting to forget important moments about my pregnancy and her birth.

I can tell you it was after 11:11 a.m..  I had an unplanned C-section... one I really did not want.  So, I was making myself feel better about our decision to evict Zuul, Alien's style, not with the normal justifications of "for our baby's health", but because I figured, if I had to have one, it would be cool if she was born at 11:11.

There's a theme to this.  Let me back up a moment.

August 27th, 2011:  I was a little late by the time my birthday rolled around.  I'm never late.  In fact, I could narrow it down to the hour shark week would commence.  This is not an exaggeration.  We all have hidden talents and mine is the ability to predict menstruation.

Never one to be irresponsible, and also one to obsess to the point of anxiety induced insomnia, by 3:00 a.m. I had decided that I would head over to the pharmacy on the way back from Ghost's morning walk and pick up some pregnancy tests.  I actually managed to hold my morning pee the entire walk, stop at the store and return home, even though the package told me it wasn't necessary.  But, as an obsessively responsible individual, I needed to be sure.  So, it hurt a little when I peed on a stick.

Minutes later it would come up positive.  Guess I won't be drinking.  Happy birthday?

That was a Saturday, so first thing Monday morning, I made my responsible trip to the doctor to confirm pregnancy, but by this time, I already had an app that estimated a due date of May 5th, 2012.  Fuck yeah!  Cinco de Mayo birthday!  I know better and remind myself that it's just an estimate, but my doctor ruined my optimism for my Mexican drunken holiday baby dreams by estimating a May 7th due date.

Haters be hatin'.  I was having either a Jedi baby on May 4th, or my little Mexican Pride baby on May 5th.  My doctor could suck it.

Despite a couple of migraines, my 1st trimester went off without a hitch.  We opted against finding out the sex of the baby just to troll friends and family.  The rest of my pregnancy was easy breezy.

May 4th passes without even a contraction.  There was no Jedi mind tricking to be done here.  Bummer.  May 5th was equally disappointing, despite a couple of days of walking while eating spicy foods and trying to induce orgasm --- my best efforts between extreme irritability and fatigue.  Just as well.  Despite my Mexican lineage, her father's is French, so celebrating Cinco de Mayo is done quietly on my end while Subversive Dad mourns the loss of Puebla.

Nobody knows my geeky fandemoniums like my Twitter peeps, so, come Sunday, May 6th, we were joking about how ironic it would be if I went into labour during Game of Thrones.   I kid you not, my first hard contraction came during the intro theme music.   If I remember correctly, it was even the episode where Davos saw The Red Woman queef a demon.  Mother of Dragon's, this baby will have to wait until the show's over! 

And she did.   My contractions were too far spaced and inconsistent in their intensity to say I was in pre-labour.  Figures.

I got to sleep relatively well.  The contractions came and went, but subsided enough for me to get a good night's rest.  By the time Subversive Dad's alarm went off, they picked up again, but nothing to get excited about.  Still the ever anxious first time dad, he asked if it would be ok to go to work.  I said walk the dog and get ready and we'll play it by ear.  He walked Ghost to our local branch of the giant green-logo coffee company, where the baristas asked if there was a baby yet, when I called his cell to let him know my water broke, and, with it, my first complication.  Meconium.  I'll save you all that don't know what meconium is the google search.  She shit in my uterus.  Not even out yet and she's already grounded.

I won't bore you with the details from here on out, because it's pretty typical.  While my birth preferences leaned towards not having a c-section or an epidural, (Subversive Dad fainted when the needle went in my spine which was just the moment of levity I desperately needed) it had been 24 hours since my water broke and I was refusing to dilate further than 3-5 cm.  Not wanting Zuul to be harmed from swimming in her feces, she came out of the emergency hatch.

The first few months are always tough for new parents, but Zuul really was an easy baby.  And now, in a flash, she's a toddler.

So, Happy Birthday, Zuul! Stay sweet and the sleepless nights and poosplosions will be forgiven, but shitting inside me has scarred our relationship, I'm afraid.

Subversive Mom: Super Ninja Secret Agent

I think my best accomplishment since becoming a mother is my ability to tidy up in our shared room while Zuul naps in her crib.

While it's perfectly normal, and often advisable, to do chores while the toddler naps, everybody underestimates the stealth required to do everything in an unpredictable sleep period, especially right under sleeping child's nose.  Things often go bump, there are outside noises, and sneezes and coughs happen.  The odds are stacked heavily against the clumsy person, which is what I was pre-baby.

What I think I'm like.

But I have overcome those obstacles these 12 months.  I have managed laundry, bed making, sweeping, meal prep, dusting, showering (airplane showers, of course.  You know, under the wings and the cockpit.) and have figured out the household acoustics to be able to vacuum the playroom, all within earshot of Zuul.

What I'm really like.

I have ducked and hidden behind furniture when she stirs, as babies are restless little sleepers, I have aborted missions upon feeling that all too familiar tickle in my throat - the warning of the coughing that about to occur, and mine sure is loud and vicious sounding for someone so petite (I'd add "and demure", but who am I kidding).  I can silently mouth "FUCK FUCK FUCK" while I writhe in pain after stubbing my toe for the umpteenth time on the nursing chair.  I can even, on occasion, get a little me time afterwards if she naps well.

Who I think I'm like.

I feel so confident about this skill that I may just add it to my resume.  You never know when sneaky and invisible, cat-like agility might be required from an office manager.  It might even allow me to level up to Executive Assistant --- assuming I ever go back to my old career path.  I'm still secretly hoping I can pad our family's income upcycling furniture, street-side selling our organic produce & free range eggs (A very competitive market in the Greater Victoria area, southwest of Langford especially.)

Who I'm really like.

So today, May the Fourth, I'm celebrating my graduation from Padawan to Jedi, of course.

Who I think I'm like.

 May the Fourth be with you.

Who I'm really like.

Sunday Confessional

Zuul's both sick with a cough and cold and cutting teeth right now. I caved and started using Baby Vaporub on her for naps and bedtime. Of course, I do sing Soft Kitty to her while I rub it on her chest.

How Geek Parents Woo Each Other --- A Tumblr Repost

I posted this last night on Tumblr, and got great responses, (including strip Magic rules), so didn't want my Blogger readers to miss out.

***

Conversation last night:

Subversive Dad: “I can’t watch Game of Thrones with you anymore.”

Me: “Why?”

SD: I started reading the books. I don’t want any more spoilers. Plus, the books are better than the show so far.”

My heart skips a beat.

Tonight:

SD: “I know a card game we can play together.”

Me: “Does it involve stripping?”

SD: “Not really, but I’m sure there’s a way to make that work.”

Me: “Is it Magic The Gathering?”

SD: “Yes. I started playing with the guys at work and it’s not that bad. There’s a free iPad app as well. I can start you on the “Death and Decay” (or something like that) pack since you love zombies and evil.

Me: Cool!

And, here I am, waiting for my Magic: The Gathering app to download while I do my nails and blog, so we can learn and play together.

Twoo wuv.

Lil' Ass Kisser

When Zuul woke up from her morning nap today, I took her upstairs to say hi to grandma, as she hadn't seen her yet.

Grandma met us at the top of the stairs and energetically greets Zuul while bending forward for a kiss, which Zuul offers emphatically.

Subversive Dad sees this and watches Zuul offer second and third sloppy baby kisses. He's a bit hurt because the rest of us have to beg for kisses, but Zuul's no dummy. She knows grandma is responsible for ALL THE THINGS! A good majority of her new books, toys and clothes appear on an almost weekly basis --- and this kid knows how to play grandma's shopaholicism to her advantage.

Subversive Dad gets a surprise though. Zuul leans towards him. He leans in expecting his overdue kisses. Unfortunately, Zuul's misunderstood. It was his toast she was after, nothing else.

Subversive Children's Programing Analysis

We're big on TV in this house, no matter what the experts say.   I pay attention the the kids shows I let Zuul watch, and the good majority are either quite educational or encourage physical activity, but, I admit, some I am giving the side eye of judgement to.  Here's why.

Toopy and Binoo:

Normally, I'd be very excited about an openly gay interracial couple on Treehouse, but Toopy's a bit of a self centered ego maniac, and 90% of the stories would end quickly if Toopy would just let Binoo talk. I can't help but believe this is an unhealthy, controlling relationship. Nothing I want my daughter influenced by.

Handy Manny

As a Latina woman, I had my issues with this show at the beginning. Really, Disney Jr.? A Mexican handyman? Not the town lawyer or doctor? HOW STEREOTYPICAL!!! But then their song "Hop Up, Jump In" came on and made me jump up and salsa, so all is forgiven.

Max and Ruby / Stella and Sam

OMG, Where are the parents? And, more importantly, where's the adult supervision?

I guess I might be projecting a bit. My brother and I were latch key kids. He is also almost 7 years younger than me, so I did a lot of "watching my brother". And, by watching, I mean I stayed in and watched TV while he ran around the neighbourhood.

 I developed bratty brother senses though. I always knew when he was up to no good and ran to his rescue as one in charge should be, but it doesn't take away that we were both far too young to be left at home without any adult supervision many a time.  But, enough about me being a shitty underage babysitter and my parents making terrible child care choices.

In the case of Max and Ruby, Ruby is clearly raising her little brother. The grandma appears every once in a while, but Ruby has obviously been thrown into a parental role at a very early age.  I assume her parents are doing time for running a meth lab.

As for Stella, does anyone else find her weirdly obsessed with her little brother?  Why doesn't she have friends her own age?  I find her isolation from her peer group to be concerning and sad.

Thomas and Friends

It's not you, it's me.  OK, it is you.  See, you have caused delays and confusion, so I need to move on.

Where Max, Ruby, Stella and Sam reminded far too much of my childhood, Thomas reminds me of an ex-boyfriend (or two). 

What a bunch of hypersensitive, whiny and overly competitive bunch.  (Never mind the creepy factor).   I wish I could dump the show, but Zuul has taken quite a liking to it, and her cousins are obsessed.  At least it's not Twilight.

Maybe Thomas & Friends are preparing them for the hostile work environments of their futures?  Maybe Zuul will realize they're not that great and throw a drink in their creepy train faces.  A mom can dream.

Sunday Confessional

Excuse me while my Canuckistani shows...

I've been using behavioral techniques from Poko on myself to help control my own anger issues.

Hug a monkey, hug him tight, hug him 'til you feel alright.

All better.

Halftone Humiliation - CSI Lechter edition

I was shooting the shit on Twitter last night while the tv way on in the background. The remote was on the couch across from me, and I just couldn't get enough elves, dwarves and hobbits to join me to go get it, so I just let whatever crap was on next play.

I didn't even know they're running a tv show based on Hannibal Lechter. It was just so CSI-ish, so it didn't really captivate my attention until there was a dinner scene.

That when I discovered the whole appeal of the show. During a dinner scene, I was left playing the game, "PORK OR PEOPLE?", and I was hooked. This is the only reason I would watch this show. I might even make a drinking game out of it somehow.

Pre-Toddler Wrestlemania

Changing Zuul these days goes like this:

Put together outfit while Zuul pulls all the clothes out of reachable drawers and laundry hamper, mixing up dirty with clean clothes.

Pick up Zuul and put her on change pad. Get pj's off while she tosses all the clean diapers around.

Put on clean diaper. Put on her undershirt, sing to get her to stop crying. She doesn't like having anything pulled over her face for even a second.

Put socks on. Reach for her top. Put her socks on. Pull top on, while singing. Reach for pants. Put socks on. Get pants on. Blink. Socks are missing and presumed digested. Give up on socks until we have to go out.

Put Zuul in crib or playpen and pick up all the clothes and diapers off the floor. Realize this will be how her bedroom will look like until she goes to university or Europe. Get her out of baby jail, wrangle pants back on. Accept my daughter may be a nudist.

First World Problems

I was taking a little down time to window shop on Etsy today. Because a girl can dream, I was reviewing all their Mother's Day jewelry suggestions. Wow, are there ever some beautiful and unique family birthstone rings. Excuse me while I wipe my drool.

Sadly, I will never have one. Not because money's tight or anything like that, but because my little family's stones would make one ugly ass ring. Zuul's an emerald, Subversive Dad is a pearl and I'm a peridot. Each on their own (well, maybe except mine), a lovely gem. But combined, no. Not even the most ironic hipster wasted on Pabst and downers could bring themselves to wear such a garish gemstone combination on any part of their body.

In fact, when Subversive Dad decided he wanted to propose to me, he thought it would be cute to get me a custom ring combined with both our gem stones. In theory, this was a very sweet thought, and had we been born on any other combination of months I would have been gushing and proud.

The jeweler politely redirected him with a touch of brutal honesty. If for any reason (aside the obvious ugliness factor) Subversive Dad decided he did not want the ring, the jeweler would never be able to sell it. Luckily, Subversive Dad regained his wits and remembered the ruby hint I dropped. If I ever meet the jeweler in my lifetime, I will kiss the man for not letting that horrendous mistake happen.

And now with an emerald amongst us, there still is not one attractive combination.

So, all sentimentality aside, I have to pass on that kind of family keepsake. Woe is me and a crappy May, June, August mismatch.

Well, Crap. That Ferber Guy Was Onto Something.

Baby sleep training achievement unlocked!

Gained normality points and spent them with my wee family downtown. The naps were compromised, but we were rewarded with zombie messiah day purchases of a Fraggle and a Dr. Suess book for Zuul, essential oil and day of the dead socks for me, and Mexican food (or as I like to call it, "comida") for all three of us.

So here are the boring details.

I gave it a full two weeks. Towards the end of week one, I started having doubts, so I tweaked a couple of things.

For one, like many normal children, she protests her naps, even though she is clearly tired. I can't blame her. It's daylight and there's living to be done! We'll sleep when we're dead, I always used to say. However, I need to get shit done and start feeling useful again. So, down she goes, twice a day. Often, she only cries for a few seconds then falls asleep. Other times, she plays, cries for a minute, then goes to sleep. I get anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours to myself twice a day to shower, do chores and have some me time.

At night, I changed the routine to nurse her before story time. The biggest reward is we get to look in each others eyes when I sing her a lullaby and watch her smile. The last three nights in a row she doesn't even let out a peep when I put her in her crib. She just rolls over and dozes off.

The others modification I made is with night nursing. We are down to one midnight feed, if she asks for it, five hours after her bedtime feed. So, if she fusses before 1:30ish in the morning, we do the 20-25-30 minute waits before we attend to her. The longest she's complained for has been 19 minutes before she just goes back to sleep. But if it's been more than 5 hours, fuck Ferber. I just get up and feed her then pluck her back in the crib. We're often not up for more than 10 minutes. She might start stirring at 4:30 a.m., but the last three mornings, I haven't heard a peep from her until around 6:30 a.m. or later. It's been glorious.

Oh! And Subversive Dad even put her to bed once and that didn't freak her out at all!

The sad modification I had to make, however, was kicking our dog out of the bedroom at night. While we were going through the first few cry it out days, Ghost would go to her. It's no surprise, I guess, that dogs don't understand or respect Ferber's methods. As cute as it was to see my beloved canine try and console our baby, it just overstimulated Zuul, making matters worse. On the plus side, I feel like a celebrity with a bodyguard out front my door each time I get up for a pee.

Aside from sleep, the other results are overwhelming. It may or may not be coincidental, but as soon as she started getting the right amount of sleep for her age, the milestones are being hit like rapid fire. She now chases Subversive Cat and her cousins around crawling, started clapping, cruising while holding onto things, waving hello and goodbye, high fiving, and mimicking. We're not saying any first words yet, but she understands phrases like "Where's mama, daddy, grandma, grandpa?", "Come to mama." and "Can I Have a kiss?".

So, I happily eat humble pie, Dr. Ferber. Now I'm looking forward to my first real date night. If only my laziness about pumping didn't supersede that.

I'm pretty sure I've used up all my wishes with my Diaper Genie since Zuul started solids.

Sleep Training Captain's Log: Chapter Two

Stardate -309798.22523465235

While the morning nap was a success, with only a minor stirring 38 minutes after Zuul went down (then fast asleep again for a whole hour), the afternoon nap attempt was a complete failure.

She didn't seem tired at 2, our regular p.m. nap time, so I nursed her at 2:30 p.m. and put Zuul in her crib, awake, at 2:45 p.m..  For a second, I thought I may have won, as she rolled over, but stayed laying down as I walked out the bedroom.  But, about 5 minutes later, the tears started.  So, after 3 minutes of crying, I went in, stayed two minutes and left.  There was no consoling her in those two minutes.

The tears continued off and on, but, after 5 minutes straight of bawling, I went in.  It stank as soon as I opened the door. 

I couldn't remember what the book said about diaper changes, but I couldn't imagine a full and stinky one could be very comfortable, so I changed her.  When I put her down again, she broke my heart into a million pieces.  She curled into a foetal position, her face and cry clearly had "Why are you doing this?  I don't understand." all over it. 

Fuck you, Ferber.  Fuck you.  What you ask is too much for a mother to bear.  It is completely unnatural to ask us to leave our babies in that state.  However, I did it.  I left her, confused and broken, at risk she'll hate me forever, growing up to become a shattered and insecure shell of a human being.

It's clear by now that she's onto me.  The crying continued, stubbornly, for 10 minutes, but there was fatigue in her cries.  I tiptoed quietly to her room, creeped open the door, and, sure enough, she was lying down, eyes closed, transitioning from crying to sobbing.  I don't say a peep, move a muscle, even breath.  She's going to fall asleep!

And that's when the dog decided to slam open the door, shoving me in the process and plop down into her bed.  The gig is up.  The noise made Zuul open her eyes, the sobs turned back into red faced howls and she pulled herself up to standing.

I picked her up and snuggled with her in the glider.  Mother consoling child and vice versa.

Onwards to a miserable evening and the true night time test at 8.

Sleep Training Captains Log, Chapter One

Stardate -309798.87576103513

Today is the day I cave and try Ferber's "controversial" (yet ever so popular) sleep training technique per his updated book "Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems".

Ferber is one person I decided had to be the meanest "expert" on earth.  Like many, and before Zuul was even a glimmer in my eye, my opinion didn't come from reading his literature, attending his seminars or talking to other parents that tried his technique; no.   It came from the one time I watched "Meet the Fockers".  I had made up my mind I would never, ever be so cruel to ferberize my child. 

Weary, and desperate for a date night, here I am. 

I have to admit, for all my earlier convictions, a small part of me is hoping the Ferber method fails so I can feel right about my early parenting decisions.  Of course, my desire to get at least 8 hours of sleep myself and for Zuul to start getting the proper amount of sleep she needs trumps the need to be right.  I'm not that petty.  Ok, maybe just a little petty.  Juste un petit peu.

We're starting with the 3-5-10 minute waits between cries today, and I've also got the double whammy of trying to get her to disassociate booby time with falling asleep.  Per grandpa's sage advice, but against Ferber's, I'm starting it at her first nap.  The hope, if you can call it that, is that, if she doesn't fall asleep during her naps, by bedtime she'll be so tired that she'll sleep through most of the night.  Sound's good.  WHAT COULD GO WRONG?!?!

It started as expected.  I went in for my first two-minute visit to her after 3 minutes of crying, and I listened to her cry herself hoarse.  "Please don't puke." is now my mantra.

I already heard grandma asking what's going on and grandpa upstairs saying "she's sleep training".  "Oh.", grandma says compassionately.

At least they've got my back.  I know others that are in similar endlessly temporary living situations have not been so lucky with their in-laws.

I just get back to the den from my second visit at the 5 minute mark and they both come down to visit me. While the heavy crying (Oh, mighty Thor, please don't let her puke.) is killing me, they are keeping me distracted by telling me their war stories.  I explain my plan to just go get her if she's still screaming at 10:16 a.m., which would mark the 10 minute wait and the 1/2 hour limit to trying to get her down for naps (another Ferber thing).  By 10:12 a.m., she has stopped  crying and is catching her breath.  By 10:25 a.m., silence.  I dare not go in to see if she's really sleeping or if she's managed an escape out the window.  For a 10 month old  who's not walking and just grasping standing while holding onto things, this would be an amazing accomplishment, so I'm going with sleeping.

Could I be so lucky?

Sunday Confessional

I completely ignored my cat yesterday for a good half hour, because I was so sure it was one of Zuul's toys that was meowing.

As bad as I feel for my mistake, all I can add to that is too bad cats don't have batteries that can be removed.

Subversive Cat in our younger, child-free days.  We were just able to know what each other was thinking without saying a word back then. 

But you said 'Cookie'!!!

THIS IS A VERY CONFUSED DOG:

Zuul's 9-10 month span has been filled with milestone after milestone. Babbling, self feeding, crawling, tantrums and now climbing.

Of course, I realized I may have a problem early on when I'd say "let's got for a walk" to Zuul and the dog would jump and run to the door.

Oops.

But now I'm constantly breaking my dog's heart.

"Come to mama.... I was talking to Zuul, Ghost. Go lay down."
"Climb up! Come on, you can do it! .... NO, DOG! GET OFF THE COUCH/BED/ME!"
And the most heartbreaking sentence of all;
"Would you like a cookie?"  It's like psychological torture worthy of a lambasting from all the animal rights activist groups.

I guess I could be more specific and not actually say cookie, but, "would you like a banana flavoured rice rusk, Zuul?" doesn't have the same simplistic ring. I'm also sure "cookie" is easier to learn and say for a border-line toddler than "rice rusk" or "wagon wheel shaped treat".

I could also treat my dog like the older sibling she is and start being fair and making sure to give their treats at the same time like one would in a multi-child household.  However, that's just one more item I need to remember along with bibs, sippy cups, wet wipes, toys, baby... Never mind the amount of times I've almost handed the baby cat food instead of cereal the morning after a sleepless night. I know it's just a matter of time before I mindlessly give my daughter a beefy bone shaped biscuit.

Of course, Zuul and I could just get used to a big white dog leading by example. That's a nice spin on things, isn't it?

Sure beats saddest dog in the pacific west coast.

Irony

Irony is running to move potted plant, filled with dangerous stones to choke on that crawling baby is aiming for, only to knee her in the head in the scramble to save her.

Sunday Confessional

As I hear Zuul come close to making real words in between all that baby babble, I started to become a bit concerned with watching my own language and also have been contemplating making a baby/child friendly playlist, weeding out songs with explicit lyrics.

I was discussing this with Subversive Dad as we pulled into our street after a drive yesterday, only to find Ghost in our bedroom window, up on our bed to get there, and pulled off the blinds in order to improve her view. That's when the tirade of filthy language poured out of me, Zuul in my arms, absorbing every four letter word.

Today I realize, who the fuck am I kidding.

And it's only 9 a.m.

While we had an excellent night of sleep last night, we had an after breakfast (thank jebus) diaper failure of the foulest nature unseen since solid food introductions. (Note, must buy more Borax).

Then this diva in the making decided the clean up attempt was the ideal time to show off her new throwing herself backwards tantrum skills.

That early morning challenge was then followed by finding that the dogs decided that Zuul's new baby bowling pins made excellent chew toys---toy fluff all over the den. Into the playpen we go until that's taken care of.

So, yes. The idea this meme offers is a good one until vodka o'clock.

Boys in Cars

I’m walking the dog tonight, when a car full of young men pulls up and roll down the windows.

“Hey, cutie!”

Aw geeze, I think to myself. It’s been a while, and I’m in my dog-walking-in-the-rain-gear, but my make up was on nice, so, maybe? I don’t like it when guys do this, especially at night, but this might be my first genuine cat call, post baby.

“You out for a pee? Oh you are a pretty pup, aren’t you.”




You hear that?

That was the sound of my ego shattering.

Sunday Confessional

I caved. I bought a parenting book.

Let's put it this way. Guess who lost all her fucks to give along with sleep last night?

If you guessed this blogger and company, you are correct.

Coincidence? Nope. Needless to say, nose deep in THAT sleep training book today. Didn't want to go Ferber with Zuul, but, suddenly, he seems like my Obi-wan.

Goodbye, instinctive, baby led parenting pride!

Unsolicited Advice and Opinionated Diatribe: Have Daughter, Become Outspoken Feminist Edition

Don't let the title of this chapter fool you.  I've always been loud about women's issues.  But having a daughter, and watching the world suddenly go to shit has made me louder.

As for politics, I thought I was in the know, but, for eight years before getting knocked up, I actually got a gig for a government relations company that was a real eye opener.  During my stint, I got to see British Columbia elect it's second female Premier.  I didn't think this was a big deal, until I started paying attention to her interviews, her twitter feed, her Facebook page, etc. as part of my job duties.  As a smug Canadian who's had decades of complacency with the right to vote easily, socialized medicine, same-sex marriage, abortion rights and strong female political leaders, I thought sexism would be low on my radar.  I thought wrong.

Now, Zuul's here and shit just got real.  From sexism to slut shaming, victim blaming to all sorts of stupid coming from all angles, I got my flame thrower on and nobody's safe.  Be warned.

Enter my new Tumblr crush, Madam Premier, who screen captions sexist commentary directed at female politicians, mostly Canadian and from all political leanings, and comments about it on her blog.  This chick (see what I did there?) is my new hero.



From Madam Premier's blog:

"A collection of vulgar nastiness and extremely explicit comments about the female Premier of BC, whom this forum commenter thinks the gender of is a “novelty”."


Don't get me started on the cougar/MILF thing.  I missed the interview from a couple of months ago, but I don't know who I was more upset by, the moron that asked her if she considered herself to be a MILF or a cougar, or that she responded with anything other than side eye and scowl or by answering a la Hillary Clinton,  "Would you ask a man that question?"  I feel like playing along she failed all women in power.

But, that's not the point of this blog. The point is, for our daughters' sakes, we need more people like blogger Madam Premier, who fearlessly calls sexism out. Hopefully, by Zuul's generation, we'll finally do right by each other. Shamefully, we're still fighting this battle in mine.

***

Update: End of blog rewritten because I hopelessly fail at technology. But it has nothing to do with being pretty, chubby or having a vagina.

Sunday Confessional

When I decided to cut my hair, there was only one way I wanted it. Pixie short like Zuul's. Didn't quite work out that way, but I'm coping.

I've already been thinking about which hair colour I want to try next, and I want to try and dye it the same golden brown as Zuul's. I love her shade and, quite honestly, I'm a little bummed of everyone saying she looks like everyone but me.

This is incredibly Joan Crawford of me, isn't it.

Unsolicited Advice and Opinionated Diatribe: Sleep, baby. Sleep.

Zuul's 8.75 months now, and sleep is a battlefield.

While I can't seem to get her to stay asleep at night for very long anymore, I have found that my iPad is the best tool, next to my pacifying tits, for getting her to fall asleep, even if for a very short time, using the following:

The Baby Music Box app from 7 Druids.

This is a free app with some additional, ad free features for purchase. I have not purchased them though. For some reason, the creepy stuffed giraffe, orca, monkey and teddy bear, floating through space with either a simple music box tune (similar to those used in far too many horror movies) or hippy nature sounds seems to be enough to lull my little one to sleep. I manage to counter my own heebie jeebies by imagining the pull cords are anal beads, which makes me giggle like a 12 year old boy.

In The Night Garden.

WTF is this? Mugglef*ck#ng magic! That's what. I've seen terrible reviews about how these kinds of baby-talking tv shows (reminiscent of Teletubies, I'm told), are terrible for babies. 'Something, something, bad for language development, tv is the devil, blah, blah, blah', don't give a rats ass. All those squeeks and farts over, I'm assuming, a narration by a relative of David Attenborough puts Zuul in a sleepy place and that's all that matters.

iPad Photos Slideshow with Music.

I may be creating either a megalomaniac, an Internet troll or a veterinarian doing this as my iPad photos are filled with pictures of Zuul, Subversive Dog and memes I save for future use, but I'm ok with that. Set that shit up on dissolve, throw on a little Esperanza Spalding and watch her drift away.

So, if you, like me, are going through the wonder weeks or sleep regression, and own some sort of tablet device, I highly recommend giving these a shot.

Sunday Confessional

Whatever drugs the creators of In The Night Garden were using? I want them.

Goodbye, frumpy mom.

I have decided:

- I am done with looking the part of broke new stay at home mom. I will be typecast no more.

- I am mostly saying this because, as strong as I think I am, my scalp is my Achilles Heel. I love my baby girl, and would not hurt her ever, but every time she pulls my hair I want to pull hers back. The thought is there. Pain makes me go to dark, sinister places, I guess. Places I have not been since kindergarden. There can be only one solution --- pixie cut.

Tomorrow, I will be dying my hair (or attempting to) a fun bright purple. This weekend, over 10 years of long hair is getting lopped off.

This may also inspire a domino effect of wearing make up again, doing my nails and maybe even working out.

Or, I will be forever regretful and still look a disaster and Zuul, Subversive Dad, dog, cat and society as a whole, will all reject me. I could become The Phantom of Vancouver Island, living in the notorious pentagram shaped tunnels that run under Victoria, playing haunting songs on Zuul's Elmo keyboard I will take with me.

Regardless of the outcome, the mom hair is coming.

Subversive Parent Double Standards

My 'one good thing today': Grandpa had time to watch Zuul while I had a little shop therapy.

We're presently living near a high school. Walking home from my baby escape, I noticed a sign posted on a telephone pole.

"Don't like homework? I DO!!!"

Then the details to get homework done for a cost.

Now, Zuul is no where near school age, so I have a while to worry about such shenanigans. But, I had to ask myself, if I busted her paying someone to do her homework, would I be upset? Yup! Grounded 'til grad. Big life lessons regarding cheating and responsibility.

But if she were the one who offered to exchange homework for money? The responsible parent in me would, of course, reprimand. I have to admit, though, I'd be a bit proud of her entrepreneurial spirit and that she actually likes homework. Certainly not a trait she'll be inheriting from me. I would probably even start asking her for financial and career advice.

I've seen a lot of things, man.

The 80's original Nightmare on Elm Street's;

Three out of four Paranormal Activity's left me with such a bad case of heebie jeebies that I freak the hell out if anyone stares at me for too long (ok, that might be social anxiety at play, but creepy movies are creepy);

I've also survived a few real life holy shit moments, standard crap really - big wildlife close calls, near car accidents, venomous insects, even a sketchy gun situation.

But nothing, NOTHING has had me more on edge than watching my baby attempt to go from a seated position to her belly on her own near hard objects.

I am psychologically unprepared for a mover.  It's coming.  She is diving from seat to belly now and pushing herself backwards, and gets pretty far that way too.  I know I should celebrate this milestone, but, really all I can think is floors, walls, toys...

BUBBLEWRAP ALL THE THINGS!!!!

Meanwhile, I'm off to Costco to buy antacid and whiskey by the crate.

Sunday Confessional

We were with our nephews this weekend -- ages four and two.  They love to play rough with Subversive Dad.  This evening's game he was a tiger.

The four year old hollers "Subversive Aunty!  Subversive Uncle's trying to eat me!!!" in which I damn near replied, "Yup, he tries to eat me too."

I guess I must be finally gaining my mommy filters. Don't know if I should be proud or sad.

About a dog.

As a geeky fan girl of author Neil Gaiman, I've been heartbroken for him and his family upon learning about the death of his dog, Cabal. Like Mr. Gaiman, I too have a big white dog that looks an awful lot like Cabal, so, yes, I may be projecting a wee bit. However, I do feel like I know this dog because, well, I'm a fan girl who follows all Neil Gaiman's blogs and has collected many of his books since I was 17. Cabal has been read about often and, like many of his characters, has found a place in my fan girl heart.

I'm not ashamed to say that I love my dog like I gave birth to her myself (although I'm glad I didn't. She's from a litter of twelve and her mom's belly was a saggy mess like that Kate Plus 8 chick pre-surgery. Do not ever want.). Unlike Neil Gaiman, my dog didn't teach me how to love (I owe a Prairie Dog that credit), she did teach me how to be a parent. If it wasn't for SubversiveDog, there wouldn't be a Zuul. Calm down, National Enquirer. Of course, Subversive Dad played a major part, and Zuul is not part canine, but it wasn't him that convinced me it was time to become a mom, it was Ghost (not Subversive Dog's real name).

"Ghost" and I the day we brought her home.

We brought Ghost home when she was 10 weeks old. We knew we wanted a German Shepherd, and fully intended to rescue one from a shelter (which I strongly advocate, despite). However, researching the breed, Subversive Dad learnt about White German Shepherds and told me about them. "Wouldn't that be cool?", he asked. "Duuuuuuude." was probably my answer, which is West Coast Geek Girl for "Hell yeah!". The next day at work was a slow one, so I google "White German Shepherd" and fate intervened. A breeder not too far outside town had a litter about ready to go to new homes. We're responsible, made sure this wasn't some shady puppy mill, met the litter and the breeder twice and came home with Ghost. The breeder cried. Puppy mill owners don't cry when a pup leaves, unless it's tears of joy when counting their wad of I'll gotten cash. I'm a good judge of character and this was a woman that let herself get attached, and who could blame her.

Puppyhood, like infancy, is overwhelming. We had our share of sleepless nights, of health scares, of boo boos and behavioural challenges (some we're still working through.). My life forever changed as, like any new parent, my mornings were for the dog, then I'd rush home to spend my evening with the dog and my weekends were also devoted to the dog and quite happily, I might add. Our vacations include Ghost. I protect her and she protects me. And while I know our time with her will be brief, as it is with most any pet, save a tortoise or a parrot, we don't talk about that. It's been decided that 'that' can't happen, as unrealistic as we may be. I have been refusing to see Ghost as mortal as the reality is unbearable.

Then it dawned on me. Subversive Dad and I are great pet parents. We would be great people parents too. I was quite content living my child free by choice lifestyle, but Ghost filled a void I didn't know I had, and she opened my eyes to the fact that there was another void that needed attention, and quickly, seeing I was in my late 30's. It was time for Ghost to become a big sister, Subversive Dad agreed, and Zuul entered our life the very next year.

"Ghost" babysitting "Zuul".

Today, I'm contending with the same challenges most new parents with dogs have and that is I'm filled with guilt that I just don't have the time I used to have for Ghost as Zuul takes up most of it. I wonder how other parents juggle older children and a baby because I'm finding it incredibly difficult giving myself to my baby, my partner and my fur children. So that's probably why Neil Gaiman's painful account of not being able to be there for Cabal at the end is hitting me so hard in the feels.

So, Ghost is getting some extra snuggles, as I try and make up for 8 months of mediocrity. She's still my dog, my sidekick, my bff, my heart, my hero and my pride, even though I have been a little distracted lately with a new pack member and, dare I say, more easily frustrated with her anxious dog shenanigans. Despite her separation anxiety, her refusal to listen to me at times or to leave our cat alone, I love her so much and she is such an important part of who I am as a person and as a mother.

And, on the obscure to nil chance that Mr.Gaiman and his family were to read my internet unfamous blog, I know there are no words of condolence anyone can say right now, especial random strangers. I Just want to thank you for sharing Cabal's life with all of us. He certainly was one of the best and I feel lucky to have known him through your words and pictures.

"Ghost" and I, on vacation in Pacific Rim Park.

Sunday Confessional

90% of my blog posts are written while nursing - the long sessions that involve getting baby to sleep.

So, technically, I write my blog topless.

Boom chicka wow wow.

Wait. No.

One good thing about today

I unfriended someone on Facebook today. I know that sounds like a bad thing, but let me assure you, it was a very good thing.

I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I will say something if somebody is an asshole in any way, shape or form, but my hope is that it becomes a teachable moment. It's been my experience that the person being an asshole usually has asshole influences in his/her past and they have an a-ha moment. Most of the time redemption is made, and the world is all rainbows and sunshine again.

The day I friended my old high school acquaintance on Facebook, I was actually excited. We had one of those epic teenage tales together that I still love to reminisce about. We also were both bullied and had a rough childhood. I know he floated around the foster system which isn't easy. He's also a proud gay man, which explains why he was bullied in our suburban high school. So, knowing that, I gave him lots of chances. My acquaintance, however, turned out to become quite the racist.

While I've butted heads with him before. I hoped, if anything, a reminder of how hurtful he was being by comparing racist comments to homophobic slurs that something may have absorbed. I made excuses for him (see above) and gave him another chance.

Today his status update was along the lines of "nothing ruins a meal faster than when someone at the table next to you decides to cut their child's nails while you're eating. No surprise that they were 'ethnic'.

Now, by the time I saw the update, someone else commented that there really was no need to add the 'ethnic' bit. People of all shades, from all cultures, of all classes and all sexual orientations are disgusting and thoughtless at times was one of the points made. His response was that he believed he was being polite enough by not mentioning which ethnicity they where.

Well, with that "justification" I was done. My response, "this is about the 3rd or 4th time I've given your comments the side eye. This ethnic person has had enough. Adios, cabron!". And I clicked unfriend. And when the box popped up that asked if I was sure I meant to unfriend him, I did not hesitate to click YES.

It would have been easy to just unfriend, but when it comes to bigotry of any kind, things need to be said. In this day and age it's inexcusable to allow this bullshit to slide. With that said, actions do speak louder than words, and sometimes quickly distancing yourself from people like this is good enough. I know I don't want to be demonized by simple association, especially if blogging makes me Internet famous someday.

So, I am proud of myself for taking a stand in my own way. This is the kind of mother I want to be. Lead by example, etc.

This is my good thing of the day.

In which we welcome 2013

Ah yes. Another January 1st has come and gone. However, this year, instead of nursing a hangover somewhere in the Greater Vancouver area, I'm nursing a 7 1/2 month old, a cough (me and Zuul's second virus in less than 3 weeks. Don't get me started.) and doing both from my in-law's basement somewhere in the Greater Victoria area. Subversive Dad is gearing up for his first day at work at his new job. Needless to say, 2012 was a very big year in the Subversive Family household.

Being a relatively sluggish day that January 1st is for many, I had the opportunity to read through some of my social networking forums. Catching up with strangers on the Internet I've become so fond of over the years. Reviewing some of the obligatory New Years Resolution threads, I came across one post where someone said her resolution is to write down one nice thing a day about her day, even if she had a really shitty one.

Interesting.

I'm not one for resolutions, but I am a Carpe Diem type and, when I like something I hear, I like to give it a try without the pressure of labeling it anything. The move to Victoria has been more challenging for me, mentally, than I thought it would be, so I think this is something I need to adopt in order to stop scrutinizing the negative and so forth. I need reminders now, more than ever, about the good reasons I committed to such a huge change for my little family. (Although, would it kill people to say 'oh I'm sick, so let's wish each other and our babies holiday greetings from a distance' around here? Sick, twice, in three weeks!! Ok, I'm done.)

So, to get things rolling, today's good observation is that Zuul handles being sick like a champ. She's not extra whiny or needy. She still smiles after every cough and sneeze. She still only cries for the usual reasons, wet/dirty diaper, tired or had a tumble. I am lucky to have an easy baby.

Happy New Year, everyone.