Posted by Kimberly on July 1st, 2006 — Posted in Kipple, iVillage, My Addiction, Sanity and the Solo Mom
Happy Canada Day!
Around here, it’s not about the Barbeque–not a good idea on a eighth floor balcony–or the fireworks–that’s the August Civic Holiday. Around here, it’s all about the books.
Admittedly, a lot of occasions around here involve books. Birthdays, Christmas, the monthly arrival of the Scholastic catalogue (cut off for two whole months! sob)….a lot of opportunities for the book buying. But Canada Day is a little different.
Canada Day books give me the opportunity to ensure that The Ladies develop an appreciation for and pride in the literature of their nation. We have a tonne of books in our home. Books on shelves. Books in baskets. Books in boxes. Books on the bed and under the couch. It would be easy for really great Canadian authors to be overlooked in this avalanche of children’s literature, and that would be a tragedy. So each year, I take this opportunity to celebrate my country by celebrating its literature.
Over the years, we’ve amassed quite the collection of Dennis Lee, Marie Louise Gay and Phoebe Gilman, among others. This year we’re adding to our Marie Louise Gay collection by expanding the world of Stella with a Sam collection for Regan. While Sabrina still enjoys picture books, she’s a full fledged reader now and to celebrate, she’ll get her very first Classic Canadian Novel this year: Jacob Two Two Meets the Hooded Fang.
Some of it’s prizewinning, some of it’s not, but I hope either way, it serves to help my children realize that there is a wealth of wonderful literature in the world, some of it in their own backyard. It’s a reminder I need too sometimes, so I include myself in this tradition as well. In addition to books for The Ladies, I treat myself to a new piece of Canadian fiction each July. This year I had been planning on The Penelopiad, but when I saw this, I just couldn’t resist.
I’ve been a Gordon Korman fan since I could read, which coincides pretty well with as long as he’s been writing. The Macdonald Hall Series, Bugs Potter, and Don’t Care High all hold special places in my heart. As a child and young adult reader, Gordon Korman’s world, filled as it was with crazed, improbable, hilariously funny situations, over the top characters, and plots that had just enough nuggets of reality to allow you to suspend disbelief and jump right in, rocked mine. But then I grew up and so did he. And as I struggled to find my place in the adult world, Korman seemed to be struggling to find his adult voice in the literary one. Sadly, as often happens with childhood friends, we lost touch. Until I saw him sitting on the shelf–in hard cover, no less—and decided to give our adult relationship one last try.
I’m so glad I did. I respect an artist’s need to stretch and challenge himself, but the serious yet formulaic vein he’s been working in for the past few years has really not beeen the best showcase for Korman’s talents. Korman is a master of the fish out of water scenario. His most memorable stories often centre around a normal guy surround by capital C characters who constantly disrupt his life by sucking him into their zany antics. Leo Carraway, the Young Republican suddenly thrust into the world of a group of middleaged punk rockers on a comeback tour fits this mould perfectly, and takes it to the next level. Leo is not some boy caught up in high school shenanigans; he’s a young man coming to terms with himself and living life as an adult for the first time, and his perspective on the events that take place reflects this. While the themes of self-discovery and personal growth through extreme circumstances are fairly whitebread in the world of young adult literature, the vehicle Korman chooses to tell his story is not. This is no tale of a wild and crazy band trip complete with accidental rockstardom and idiot jewel thieves or a story of a high school election prank run amok. In Born To Rock, the basic premise centres around the consequences of sex, drugs and rock and roll–or what happens when you find out that you’re the product of a one night stand between your mother and the Angriest Man in rock and roll.
Heavy stuff, but told with that signature Korman style. It seems that after some false starts and experiments in other genres, Korma has finally managed to meld his comedic instincts with his maturity as a writer. Where he used to be manic, he’s become wry. From the opening line, “The thing about a cavity search is this: it has nothing to do with the dentist,” Born To Rock elicits smiles and chuckles, as Leo narrates the events that lead to this watershed realization. This is classic Korman, but it’s a young adult novel with a grown up twist. The themes are more mature, the characters, even the minor ones, are fully fleshed out, and the plot, while returning Korman to his zany roots, doesn’t demand nearly the suspension of disbelief as some of his earlier work. Like his original fans, Korman’s talent has finally grown up.
So, even though he’s not technically a Canadian writer anymore, I can’t think of any other book, or author, that could have possibly made me as happy to be Canadian as this one did this weekend.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 28th, 2006 — Posted in Diva Girl, Kipple, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
Nothing charts the growth of a child quite like the progression of a school year. Sure, there’s the marks on the doorframe, the lost teeth, the birthdays….All great markers of the passage of time. But there’s something about that movement from the first day of school to the last that captures the seemingly plodding yet ultimately fleeting nature of childhood.
Older children are different than babies and toddlers. With the wee ones, everything is new and breathlessly anticipated, so the changes are dramatic. With big kids, there’s a subtlty to the changes; it’s a more cumulative effect. All those moments pile up unnoticed thoroughout the year, and then suddenly it’s right there in front of you. While you were busy with the day to day business of life, your children were busy growing. The freshly scrubbed, slightly uncertain child who was sent to school back in September has, by June, become infinitely more confident, if somewhat more worse for wear. Baby fat gives way to planes and angles, freckles sprout, and shoes are outgrown overnight. All major changes, but made someow minute in their enormity. Babies are often watched with a microscopic intensity, while kids are often looked at without really being seen. It’s nice to have moments like the last day of school that encourage us to stop and take notice of the changes our children have undergone over the past year as they progress towards adulthood.
Yesterday I dropped my second-grader off at school, just like I have for an endless parade of mornings; in the afternoon, I picked up a newly minted third-grader.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 23rd, 2006 — Posted in Uncategorized, Kipple, Scarlet Letters, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
I didn’t expect to see the moving van this morning. I’ve known about the move for months, and I knew that today was the day, but even so, seeing the movers busily carrying items out of the house as we walked by on our way to school came as a shock. Suddenly, the reality that there would be no more Thursday playgroup meetings, no more keeping each other company during seemingly endless assemblies and school performances, no more playground playdates, it hit home. Susan is moving. Today.
They say that it takes a village to raise a child, but in this age of far flung relatives, overpacked schedules, and stranger danger, it often feels more like being stranded on a desert island. I’m very lucky in that I do have a village–a wonderful network of family and friends who provide both emotional and practical support. And for the past three years, Susan has been a very important part of my village. She’s one of the best moms I know. And not in the way that makes you feel like a bad mum in comparison. She’s an incredibly grounded woman, and it gives her a patience and empathy as a mother that I often envy. It allows her to communicate her high standards and expectations to her children in ways that make sense to them. However, she also yells at her kids sometimes, and occasionally contemplates her escape plan when the pressures of raising three small children just seem to be too much to bear. Knowing that even the best mums feel like that sometimes did a lot to make me feel better about my own failures as a supermom. In fact, knowing that even the best mums drop the ball sometimes inspires me to stop beating myself up over all those times I’ve failed to measure up, and just get on with the business of doing better.
We met on the first day of Senior Kindergarten. Sabrina was new to the school and after she was ushered inside by the woman I would come to know as the Kindergarten Mussilini, I was left standing alone in a corner of the playground as all the other mommies caught up after the summer apart. Susan came over and introduced herself. I didn’t know then how much I would like Susan or what an important part of my life she would become; I just knew that I was grateful to her for reaching out to me. Over the years she’s been a shoulder to cry on and a friend to laugh with as we work our way through this parenting journey as well as an invaluable support.
Susan is one of those rare people who possess a true generosity of spirit. When Regan was born, she organized a food shower and delivered over a week’s worth of homemade frozen dinners to my home. More than once when there was an unwieldly project to deliver or I was too sick to walk her, she’s picked Sabrina up and driven her to school, even though she lives across the street from it and I live out of area. And she genuinely listens to people when they talk to her. You never get the sense that she’s not truly present in the conversation; you do get the sense that she is honestly interested in you and in what you have to say. I am a better person for having had the gift of her friendship.
We’ve built a strong friendship based on mutual respect and understanding in spite of the fact that we are in some ways very different people. .Susan’s a fairly traditional woman while I’m…not. And she has a calm and soothing presence whereas I tend to be more voluable. It’s helped that for all their differences–she’s a stay-at home mom who’s been married for going on 15 years whereas I, in addition to parenting solo, have been out of the home for either school or work for Sabrina’s entire life–when you scratch the surface our lives have some fundamental similarities: Our older children are the same age and have been “best enemies” since kindergarten–on any given day they are either joined at the hip, or at each other’s throats. We had our last babies the same year–two little girls who would have gone to kindergarten together in a few years.
I knew I was going to miss her, but until I saw that truck this morning I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss her. I feel like my village just got smaller.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 16th, 2006 — Posted in Diva Girl, Kipple, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
Friday: I allowed Sabrina to skive off school again; her sister was going to see Barney, and I didn’t want her to miss out. And took her shopping. And bought her a new outfit. That she got absolutely filthy at the birthday party I took her to tonight.
Then I asked her to help out by picking up the myriad craft supplies she had strewn about the livingroom. That’s when the screaming started.
I’m trying to keep my cool about it all and recognize that maybe the problem is that I’ve been too nice lately; in not wanting her to miss out, I’ve said yes to too many things and overloaded her system. And seven year-olds aren’t exactly known for their longterm memory skills or their gratitude. But in all honestly, while I don’t subscirbe to the martyr school of motherhood, I’m finding the total lack of appreciation a bit hard to take right now. Especially since I’m not getting any presents on Sunday.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 13th, 2006 — Posted in The Ladies, Diva Girl, Kipple, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
It all started with the fieldtrip. And not just any fieldtrip. Oh, no. The Big! Year End! Trip! The vaguely educational but really just an excuse to run around the park and play in the nifty splashpad trip. I don’t know what possessed me to sign up for yet another fieldtrip this year. Between the library walk that took place in a torrential downpour and the train that backed up, leaving me trapped in a tin can full of hyper seven year-olds for a millisecond longer than infinity, I think I’ve done my time.
Yet, there I was a 9 am, boarding the bus with a horde of overexcited first and second graders and a few other suckers…uh, parents. Aside from a serious caffeine withdrawl on my part, the trip to the park wasn’t too bad. School buses are always noisy; it’s the nature of the beast. But it wasn’t unbearably so. The kids were excited, but in that restrained way that characterizes the start of a trip when the threat of missing out due to bad behaviour still looms large. The trip home? Not so much. The trip back home was characterized by an unbridled enthusiasm for the day’s events, coupled with a laissez faire, “what’s the worst that could happen now?” vibe. The ride home was “The Wheels on the Bus,” and “Jingle Bells,” and god help me, “The Song That Does Not End.” All sung at top volume by 60 some odd children and amplified by the fabulous acoustics of the tin can on wheels.
In between, there was a field trip. There were Science activities (”When are we going to the splash pad?” “Can I have a snack?” “I wanna go on the climbers!”) There was a picnic lunch (or, more accurately, a Lunchable picnic). And then, finally there were activities–Climbers and Animals and Splash Pad, oh my! I only had to climb to the top of the giant spider web twice to rescue stranded children, and Diva Girl only dissolved into tears once when she wasn’t awarded line leader status based on the fact that her mom was the mom in charge (I’m so mean!), so all in all I’d say the day was a success. Exhausting, and stressful in the way that being responsible for someone else’s children always is, but all in all a great day.
A day that, much like that damned song, seemed destined to never end. Because after the fieldtrip, there was The Summer Sizzler–Sabrina’s school bbq fundraiser. Had I realized earlier these two events were on the same day, I never would have signed up to work at this event Of course, then I never would have discovered a hidden talent for spinning candy floss.
How many moms does it take to run the cotton candy booth? Well, if it’s the booth I was working at, 3. One to take the tickets, one to handle the sticks and push the button, and one to do the actual spinning. Which is not as easy as it looks. After two and a half backbreaking hours spent bent over a a hot drum of spinning sugar, I have a whole new respect for carnies.
I was also covered in the the sticky pink fluff–not eactly the casual yet put together look I generally try for at school functions. I was a little embarrassed by my turn as Flossie the Candy Monster until I looked around at a gym filled with children holding cotton candy sticks and heard my daughter proudly telling a group of her friends, “My Mom made that you know.” That made the whole long day worthwhile.
Some days in motherhood are just a long slog of getting it done. Some are magical. When I got up this morning thinking about everything else I had on the go this week and how this day was essentially wasted, I thought this was going to be a grit your teeth and bear it kind of day. Instead, it was a reminder of how wonderful it can be to just surrender to the rhythm of motherhood sometimes.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 5th, 2006 — Posted in The Ladies, Kipple, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
“This stuff smells like summer,” Sabrina tells me as I spray Bactine on one of her many mosquito bites.
She’s right. Even in the dead of winter the sharp, antiseptic tang of the spray immediately brings to mind the feeling of playing outside on a warm, sunny day, each knee wrapped in its own protective covering of gauze. The smell of Noxema conjures a similar sensation in me, evoking memories of sunburns past as soon as I open the jar.
When I stop and think about it, there are a few smells, sounds, and tastes that can immediately call to mind the elisive feeling of a perfect summer day for me, no matter what time of year I experience them.
In addition to the medicinal smells of Bactine and Noxema, wood smoke sends a little tickle of memory through my mind whenever I happen upon it. Woodsmoke is my first camping vacation–no parents, no rules, just me and my friends hanging out in the woods. I wasn’t a big camper as a kid, and I’m not one now either, but the smell of woodsmoke always makes me nostalgic for the freedom of that first campfire.
Whether it’s at the height of a summer heatwave, or in the chilly autumn days before they move off to greener pastures, the screech of seagulls always stirs in me a strong desire to hit the beach. The heat of the sand. The roar of the waves. And the pure indugence of french fries soaked in ketchup and vinegar, eaten with a toothpick while watching the sun set over the lake.
Grape Crush is the drive-in. I haven’t been to one in years, but that first sip sends me hurtling back in time to a nest in the back window of my parents’ station wagon every time. The excitement of peering around my father’s head to see Herbie, Benjy, and the Apple Dumpling Gang; fighting with my brother for control of the cooler and therefore the snacks; the struggle to stay awake long enough to discover the mysteries of the “grown up movie.” All those feelings and more are wrapped up in the sweet grapey taste of that purple nectar.
These are the sensations that define for me the experience of “summer.” The tastes, sounds, and smells that remind me of my childhood even as I create a whole new host of sense memories with my children. I wonder if years from now the taste of a banana popsicle will call to mind sweltering walks home from school or the scream of peacocks will return Sabrina to the park where she spent countless school fieldtrips and visits with Gramma and Grampa. I already know that she’s got the smell of Bactine covered.
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Posted by Kimberly on June 4th, 2006 — Posted in Diva Girl, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
Back when I wrote for dotmoms, I put up a post detailing the issues involved in celebrating the birth of a holiday baby. Suffice it to say here, I have learned through experience that a)I feel like I should be including an apology for adding to the holiday stress along with the invitation, and b) I should not expect a good turnout for the party. So this year, Sabrina and I decided to try a little experiment, and we postponed her party. For six months.
In addition to the holiday season, winter parties are at the mercy of the weather. Sure, you can plan a tobogganing theme, but that will pretty much guarantee no snow. And unless you want to budget about an hour for tying and untying laces bookended by roughly 15 minutes of actual ice time before your guests start complaining about the cold, I do not recommend the skating party. Moving our party to the nice weather allowed us to take advantage of one of our city’s landmark attractions, a nursery rhyme themed fun park that is a summer rite of passage for every child. I was still somewhat at the mercy of the weather–I changed the date once due to an intense storm system, and the actual party date occured the day after the heatwave broke, but they still got to see the animals, play on the structures, watch the shows, and, most importantly, spend an hour in the city’s finest splashpad. One little girl was so eager not to miss out, she attended in spite of the fact that her broken arm kept her from participating in many of the activities.
If only because of the fact that every girl Sabrina invited came, I would call the experiment a rousing success. The fact that every single one of them appeared to be having the time of her life, and not once did anyone express boredom, balk at participating, or cry, was just icing on the cake.
I was a little worried about how the Diva Girl would handle this rather unorthodox approach, but she did great with it. I didn’t, as I had feared, have to spend the past six months hearing about her party ad nauseum. In fact, aside from revisions to her invitation list necessitated by the vagaries of second grade playground politics, I hardly heard a word on the subject. When all was said and done, I think she actually liked spreading her loot out over the course of the year rather than having it all over with in a two week orgy of gift wrap.
And boy, did she get loot! A seven year-old girl’s Nivana of birthday goodness: A Groovy Girl. Polly Pocket Jewelry Maker. Clickits. Bandana Creations. She’ll be crafting until her next birthday. If her sister doesn’t get to all those shiny beads first. Even if she does, it’s only six months to her birthday.
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Posted by Kimberly on May 31st, 2006 — Posted in The Man I Didn't Marry, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
Nine years ago today, I didn’t get married.
I was supposed to. The church was booked, the hall reserved. The menu was set and the flowers were chosen. The invitations were printed and addressed, but never mailed.
I didn’t exactly leave him at the altar, but it was close.
I knew the Man I Didn’t Marry for two years before we dated. And we dated for three years before he asked me to marry him. I wore his ring for a year before I gave it back, five weeks before the wedding.
Leaving that relationship wasn’t an easy or capricious decision. It was incredibly hard, and made more difficult by the fact that I did love him, and he was (and is) a good man. He wasn’t abusive. Or even mean. He made it clear that he loved me. But in the end, none of that was enough. Sometimes, it’s not.
Eventually I realized that the person I would become if I became his wife was not a person I wanted to be. I couldn’t do that to either of us. Become someone I wasn’t, someone who would make both of us miserable, simply because I wasn’t brave enough to face the truth and bear the consequences. That, much though we both wanted it to be, it just wasn’t right.
So I did possibly the hardest thing I have ever done in my life: I told him I wouldn’t be marrying him afterall.
It was the best decision I have ever made. I wouldn’t be the person I am now, or have the life that I do, had I ignored what I knew to be true and just gone through with it. I like who I’ve grown into over these past nine years. I am very close to being the woman I knew I could be, the woman I knew I’d never have a chance to be if I had said, “I do.” I can imagine my life many other ways, but none of them appeal to me. This, right now, is where and how I want to live. I have no regrets about not getting married. I’m sorry the man I loved was hurt in the process (and that my parents lost their deposit on the hall), but it was the right choice to make. It was so right, it really wasn’t a choice at all.
To quote Norma Kelly in Chicago (which I bough myself as a little present today) : “Oh, I’m no one’s wife/but oh, I love my life/and all that jazz!”
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Posted by Kimberly on May 26th, 2006 — Posted in The Agony and The Entropy, Kipple, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
It wasn’t like I was unaware. I was paying attention. I was watching where I was going. I saw it sitting there. I even stopped for a moment and considered the ramifications of my actions.
And then I vacuumed up that Polly Pocket horseshoe without an ounce of pity or remorse.
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Posted by Kimberly on May 23rd, 2006 — Posted in Diva Girl, Kipple, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat, iVillage, Sanity and the Solo Mom
“What did you learn in school today, Sabrina?”
“I learned that Dylan has head lice!”
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