Another birthday came and went, but maybe I don’t hate birthdays anymore…

This year’s birthday, like that of three years ago was a bit of a non-event. Okay, a complete non-event. In fact the day went by so fast that  we ate a frozen pizza standing around the kitchen island, I had to open my presents on the fly, and we didn’t even have time for cake. “Slow” was not in the vocabulary this year.

However, as I reflect on the year, while I seemed to have not personally accomplished as much as I wanted to, I am aware that, in this day and age, I’m lucky to be healthy, happily married and have three great kids.  This year, I know of five people who died of cancer — all in their mid-forties.  So of course I always think: if they can succumb, why can’t I?

With that gloomy thought in mind, I’ve taken a new stance on birthdays: as grim as it may sound, I now think, I’m lucky to be healthy and active, have a great family, a roof over my head and food on the table. As much as I would still love the proverbial helicopter to whisk me away on some fantastic birthday voyage, I do have to put a dose of reality back into my expectations. So, as uneventful as this year’s birthday was, at least….it was.

Happy Valentine’s Day to me, myself and I

I’ve never been a big celebrator of anything — so the minor “holidays” like Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day and Valentine’s Day don’t even come up on the radar. In fact I forgot to send cards into school with my kids this year. Oops. Uber-mom I definitely am not.

I understand we need something to celebrate in the middle of winter if only for the excuse of a party. There does seem to be an extraordinary amount of pressure on the men to cough up some little gifty to the women. The reverse doesn’t seem to be an issue, which I don’t think is fair. Having said that, I didn’t even get my husband a card.

But I have the best Valentine’s Day planned ever: My husband is taking the kids to his parents’ place for the weekend and I’m staying home! I get a whole weekend of silence, no demands, no dinners, no laundry, no driving kids to four million destinations, no sitting in cold hockey rinks, I get to get up when I want, eat what and when I want, watch grown up movies for a change….sigh. The Family Day weekend is my one weekend off every year and I look forward to it. So, I will raise a glass of wine to my husband and children, as I sit in peace alone, either staring at the fire or watching a movie, perfectly content with my aloneness and enjoying just my own company for a change.

Dear Premier McGuinty, cell phone users say: “Save us from ourselves!”

The other night I was at a dinner party and we got to talking about cellphone use in the car and how it drives everyone crazy when the person in the car in front of them is talking on their cellphone — or worse, using their Blackberry.  

Everyone around the dinner table admitted that even though they hate it when someone else uses their cellphone while driving, they all do it too — and not the Blue Tooth kind with the droid-thingy attached to your ear — but the real one that leaves you with only one hand on the wheel (don’t even get me started on driving a stickshift while talking on a cellphone!).

I asked one of the guys: “Do you think driving while using a cellphone should be banned?” And he said “Yes. Absolutely. I know it’s wrong but I do it anyway, and I wouldn’t if I knew there was a law against it.”

I said, “So the thought of causing a crash or even death isn’t enough reason for you not to do it?”

He said, “Um. No.”

There you go Premier McGuinty. Everyone knows it’s wrong, but no one’s willing to give it up unless there’s a law behind it. Hurry up and pass it will you?

Bah, humbug, I hate Christmas.

Okay, so maybe that’s bit of an exageration but it’s definitely not my favourite time of year at the moment. I actually like the holiday, the food, the anticipation in my kids’ faces, their excitement is contagious — it’s also very loud and rambunctious and a lot of things get broken in December, even before the big day.

So here’s what I don’t like: the work. Plain and simple. If all I had to do was bake and cook I’d be okay. I like to cook and I love to bake so those parts of the holidays are fine. What I don’t like is shopping. I don’t like the crowds, I don’t like carrying heavy bags and overcoats around, slopping around in boots. You say, “Haven’t you ever heard of on-line shopping?”

I have. And I’ve used it — but either the gifts don’t get to the intended people on time (Thank you — NOT — Amazon.com), or when they do arrive a few items have been back-ordered. I really am better at choosing gifts in person. Also, I’ve tried online shopping with Toys r Us, but they’re always out of stock of the popular items so you still end up running all over the city trying to find what you’re little one really really wants.

I hate all the plastic. I hate the plastic toys that the kids play with for two seconds and then they either break or the kids lose interest. All that energy consumed in an item that ends up selling for 50 cents at the spring garage sale.

I hate decorating. Actually that’s not completely true. I don’t really mind decorating that much (after all I’ve been using the same decorations for about 15 years — maybe it’s time to update our theme), I hate undecorating.

I hate wrapping Christmas gifts.

Let me put it this way: I would love each of these tasks if I still didn’t have to carry on my regular life of working, being a mom and running a household. I guess I figure that I’ve already got a full cup without adding a few extra drops of work. The extra stuff leaves me sleep deprived and grumpy.

Now, when I’m older and no longer covering up my premature gray hair — I will look back on these times fondly, remembering a lively household with laughter and shouts of joy. I will have forgotten the late nights cooking and wrapping. I will remember loving going to each of my three kids individual winter concerts which I currently sit through restlessly, checking my watch and the program, counting down the minutes until they’re over and thinking of all the things I have yet to do.

The other day a friend of mine told me her cousin has already finished her baking, shopping and just has to get the tree. I hate her. And then I remember: her kids are in university and she has time to do these things again, and as soon as my kids are in university I will have time to be that organized. Until then, I should just learn to deal with it — because these days will be over faster than I think.

Crisis? What Crisis?

I’m not sure if it’s just that husbands protect their wives from the brutal truth of what’s going on in the world, or maybe some people just truly aren’t affected by the current economic downturn (through which some of us — ahem — are having a hard time sleeping), or maybe they simply don’t care, but still and all, it boggles the mind…

The other day I was having a discussion with some women I happened to meet at a function, so I didn’t know them very well, but from the conversation it was clear that they were all “a touch above” me — as the antiquated expression goes. There was plenty of chatter about three kids at three different private schools and how could one possibly not have a nanny who drives??? I know, I sound bitter, but when one of them said they took a girls’ weekend to Bermuda and they flew in a tennis instructor from England I feel I’m allowed to be.

The conversation faded — after all, I couldn’t add anything to it except maybe that I, myself, might be making Hamburger Helper for dinner that night (I actually hate Hamburger Helper and would never cook it– but it brings home a point). So, as the lull in the conversation increased and everyone looked at each other awkwardly, I said, “I have a friend visiting from out of town. She’s never had a good meal here — can anyone suggest a reasonably priced restaurant? You know, something hip and trendy, fun, not too expensive?”

That helped. It got their “spending juices” flowing, and one said enthusiastically, “How about Susur?”

“Um,” I said a little hesitantly, “Susur closed awhile ago. And besides, even if it were open, it’s like $95 a plate plus wine. I’m looking for something a little more down scale.”

“Oh, I know, North 44,” said someone else.

Now, if you know Toronto, you know that North 44 ain’t exactly cheap. I don’t believe you walk out of there for less than $200 for two. So again I said, “No, that’s not it: something less expensive.” Honestly, you’d think I was asking about diamonds or something — I mean, there isn’t such a thing as an inexpensive diamond, but restaurants, let’s face it — restaurants run the gammit from a great little noodle shop for a $5 lunch to, well, Susur for $250 for two. — Yes, I know it’s closed.

So, anyway, the restuarant suggestions keep coming at me: Centro, Scaramouche, Jump. All great restaurants, all completely out of our league — I know this for certain as I’ve been to a few of them — when somebody else is picking up the tab.

I stopped trying to correct them, because apparently Centro’s is a bargain for these ladies, smiled and nodded and gave up. Clearly these women are oblivious to any economic downturn, so I wish them luck and I really don’t think they’re going to have a problem making a reservation at North 44 or Scaramouche.

The disappointment of “To-Do” Lists

I used to be an avid follower of FLY Lady. I still like some of the tips and secrets she has but I have to be honest and say that I find the whole site a bit manic. I received between 10 and 20 message a day in my in-basket. I felt an enormous amount of pressure to clean, clean, clean and tidy and organize — and as much as she swore it was quick and painless, it was usually a good hour out of my day. Too much for me.

However, I have kept a few habits. One Friday a month I remember to clean out my purse (it’s supposed to be once a week). One Wednesday every once in awhile I remember to clean all the green stuff out of my fridge (leftovers that probably didn’t start out green!).

Another thing I have tried to make a habit of is writing down to-do lists — so that I will have the satisfaction of turning them into “ta-da” lists (a FLY Lady expression). Sigh. It rarely works, even though over the course of my 13 years of motherhood I’ve learned to shrink that list to what I believe is a reasonable amount for one day.

Today for instance I had nine things on my list. Some of the items were 3 minute phone calls — in theory. But between unexpected phone calls and a service call, I got one of nine things cross of my list. I guess I set myself up for disappointment  — or, actually, if truth be known — stress! All I know is, if I hadn’t had a “to do” list, I wouldn’t have had to be disappointed by the lack of “ta da’s” staring back at me.

There is a lot of birthday angst out there!

Since I wrote the post “I hate birthdays — especially my own” it has been my most searched blog topic, BY FAR!!

So, what does that say about us? Why do we hate our birthdays so much? As a kid they represented fun, games, food and presents.

But once we grow up and the thrill of the fun and games wears a little thin, they seem to represent, as my father used to say, “another birthday, another year closer to death.”

Birthdays, like January 1st, offer us a chance to take a look at the year we’ve just had. Do we all look back on the year we’ve just had and see only our failures or goals left unattained? Do we only look at the negatives of the year? (In my case this past year has been chock-a-block full of disasters, my father’s death being the main and unexpected one).

Do we disregard any of the positive things that have happened, no matter how small they may be? I’m pretty sure that’s what I do. I have a bad habit of focusing on the unaccomplished and disregard any accomplishments I’ve made.

Plus, I have to say, I do have that nagging feeling down inside that I am that much closer to, gulp, the end.

I welcome any comments you may have as to why we all seem to hate our birthdays so much as we grow older.  What are our expectations? How can we change them? Or what can we do to start liking our birthdays again (other than ignoring them).

What if George Bush is a closet environmentalist?

Fifty years from now when global warming is under control (it had better be or we’ll be living like they do in The Terminator), the history books might very well point to George Bush as the greenest political leader in 2008; the one leader who took the bull by the horns and said “Let’s cut those CO2 emissions and let’s do it now!” No really.

In my mind, President Bush actually cares about the environment, but he just can’t own up to it. It would be wrong! It would go against all he stands for: money, power, greed. So maybe he figured that the economic downturn a few years back would actually help curb CO2 output and then he wouldn’t have to implement any Big-Business-hating restrictions on CO2 emissions. Plus he wouldn’t have to invest in alternative energy R&D which would help his strapped government coffers. He’d look like a good guy to business and feel that green glow in his heart, and let the economy curb CO2 emissions on its own.

Unfortunately, despite the economic downturn, 2007 CO2 emissions increased in the US. Huh. Go figure. You try your hardest to lower emissions through a crappy economy, but they increase despite your best efforts.

But George isn’t one to stay down. I figure he just had to step it up a bit. So he completely backed off the whole banking thing, thinking “if the downturn didn’t curb emissions, I guess we’ll just have to squelch the economy altogether.” And, as the stock markets imploded and he took the $700 billion bailout bill to Congress, he must have felt safe in the knowledge that the complete and utter collapse of the markets will surely curb CO2 output.

Only time will tell if President Bush is a genious or just, well, you fill in the last part.

Siblings with Rivalry — and lots of it!

I admit it: I was one of those people who, before having kids of my own, thought smugly that once I was a parent my children wouldn’t

• have tantrums in public (or at all)
• watch TV
• eat french fries
• argue with me
• fight with their siblings.

Ahem. I would have to say that 12 months into parenthood, the eldest was doing all of the above except the last one and that’s only because his brother wasn’t born yet. But pretty much the minute our first son was born and my heart strings started a-tugging and rational, objective behaviour took a back seat to emotions.

To this day it amazes me how easily I can give a friend a few reasons for why their kids are misbehaving, or at the very least, help her find a few ways to get to the bottom of their behaviour. But with my own kids it’s a completely different ball game; the clarity just isn’t there and my emotions take over big time. Take sibling rivalry as an example.

Our middle child was a middle child even before he was a middle child. High maintenance extraordinaire, this kid takes the cake. He craves attention, good or bad, particularly from us, his parents. He loves to start fights with his brother and sister, particularly his sister. The parenting courses and books all say:

• Look for the motivation behind the behaviour.
• Treat each child the same; don’t make one the bully and the other the victim or they’ll start falling into those roles.
• Spend time with each kid on his own to give him the attention he needs.
• When the rivalry starts, ignore it — unless it starts to get too dangerous then separate the kids and send them to “different corners” to cool off. But don’t take sides.

Our #2 son tends to start a fight whenver he’s either bored or wanting his parents’ attention. When he’s fighting with his brother it’s easier for me to ignore it no matter how physical they can get. The boys are roughly the same size, and I figure they’ve got to learn how much is too much.

But when #2 and our daughter start fighting my tolerance is low. He’s twice the size of her and I worry about him being too rough. But I have to say, even though she’s usually screaming her head off and crying in pain, the minute I pull him off her, she starts laughing. I have also seen her start picking at him quietly in order to get things rolling. So I can see that it’s very much two-sided and I have to do what the parenting experts tell me and let them work it out.

My emotional side doesn’t think my children know when enough is enough. But my rational side does, and I’m just going to have to clear out of the way earlier and ignore my daughter’s tearful moanings when she comes to me saying her brother beat her up because she didn’t give him any gum. Chances are she waved the gum in his face like a matador waves a cape in front of a bull.

I’m learning to build my own tolerance to the fighting, but I still give in (and therefore prolong the fighting), more often than not.

Quote of the day (from a greeting card I used to have on fridge): “If the kids are alive by five, I say I’ve done my job!”

I’m already seeing the effects of the economic downturn: the hand-me-down clothes fountain has dried up.

Okay, so maybe it has nothing to do with the collapse of the stock markets, but whatever the reason, up until this Fall I have been fortunate enough to have a kind friend give me her cast off clothes. I’m not proud, I’ll take what I can get — and since her cast offs are nicer than anything I could ever afford, I’m more than happy to oblige! I was introduced to new friends: Eli Tahari, Hugo Boss, Anne Klein and Kate Spade. We’ve become very good friends, these designers and I. Plus I’ve also discovered Theory and Prada.

Unfortunately, the clothes fountain seems to have dried up because I haven’t received anything in six months and although I’ve hinted that I’m running low, there hasn’t even been a trickle of a sweater or scarf. Maybe she’s just finished purging ten year old clothes, things that just weren’t right or didn’t fit, but there’s nothing coming! It’s therefore time for me to open my wallet and go out and buy my own. Only here’s the thing: these clothing lines are expensive when you buy them new! Yikes. Theory pants come in at around $300, and that’s nothing when you look at Prada. But I feel like Seinfeld when he travels first class for the first time: “I can’t go back to ill-fitting, no name clothes, I just can’t!”

I’ve tried dropping hints like: “Isn’t that a pull in that Prada sweater?” It didn’t work. I tried “Those pants are looking a little short on you,” but her response was “They’re capris.” Rats, I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.

So, here I go, back to the old non-descript clothes I wore until my friend’s generousity intervened. Yee ha.