"She Likes...Horses...and Tomatoes"

Very recently, Catherine, Erin, and BubandPie all wrote posts about body image. I'm not to quick on the draw here, but I thought I would 'weigh in' with my two cents. That's right, two cents from the pudgy girl.

I started writing this post in my head over the weekend and even put a few thoughts on paper, but at the risk of it being the longest post ever in blogging history, I think I'll just go with whatever is in my head right now.

I've never been a 'little' person. I think at birth I was average, but nevermore after that. I'm not fat, certainly not obese, but I'm not skinny either. In my small elementary/junior high school, I was always the biggest girl in the class. That had it's advantages at certain times: believe it or not, I never had the 'picked last for sports teams' problem - I was undeniably suited for defense, be it hockey, soccer, or football (and I loved it - it was my 'in' with the Boys). And although kids at those ages can be unbelievably cruel, they mostly won't mess with you when they know you can kick the crap out of them.

When I got to high school, I was already interested in boys, but whether because of my actual looks or just the way I perceived my looks, I was never hotly pursued by any boy. Okay, maybe one, but I wouldn't use the word 'hotly'; I would say more 'warmly' and then just when I was starting to think he really liked me (and at the same time realizing that I didn't really like him at all), he dropped a mutual friend off at home after my birthday party and they kissed. And that was the end of that. (Not of my friendship with the girl....you can check out her blog at......okay, okay, she's very likely cringing because I told her I would never let her forget that and I still haven't, so I won't put up a link - I'm nice like that).

My weight and how I thought of myself didn't change all that much in high school. I grew a little taller and dressed a little better, but I still always felt like the Fat Girl in the group. Don't get me wrong, I had plenty of friends, I was involved in choir and student council and I even played JV basketball for one season, but I was never truly comfortable in my own skin no matter much I excelled at any of those things (though I'll exclude basketball from the 'excelled at' category because it quickly became apparent that I was not cut out for a high school career in sports; choir was my niche).

The summer after high school I met my first 'real' boyfriend. Looking back now, I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking - he was rather geeky! But he was 'handsome' (at the time), he was musically gifted, and he was five years older than me which made him a good catch in my barely-out-of-high-school world. Whether he was actually legally blind or truly didn't care what I looked like, I'll never know, but I can't recall him ever once commenting on my looks. After almost six months, we broke up because he was all those aforementioned things, and he was spineless and whiny so I'd had enough.

Throughout my college career I fared much better. I had oodles of guy (and girl) friends and whether or not they thought I was pretty didn't much matter to me. I just enjoyed their company. I've never officially 'dieted' so I wasn't losing any weight, but I felt better about myself simply because I knew that they liked me because I was fun and cool and had a wicked-awesome-sarcastic sense of humour, of course.

Then my fourth and final year came along. There had been times in the previous three or four years that I hadn't felt well, but it hit with a vengeance early that school year. I was sick. I would eat a piece of toast for breakfast and be 'full' for the entire day. Lunch might occasionally be a tomato or a tortilla with just plain tuna inside. I finally stumbled upon my 'Dinner of Champions' when I mixed a plate of cooked potatoes with a hard-boiled egg and added a little s&p. It was flavourless, but I didn't feel horrible after I ate it, and I could keep it in me for a reasonable amount of time. I lost 35+ pounds between November and March.

It was at the beginning of this fourth year that I met the man who I now call Husband. He met me before I started losing any weight and we were 'dating' before I started losing any weight. I still remember when I told him I was sick and that I was being tested for all these diseases and nobody could figure out what was wrong with me. I felt horrible. I cried. He told me he loved me. He was still telling me he loved me more than a year later while he sat in the Pre-Op. room with me waiting for the nurse to wheel me away to surgery. The point is, he loved me when I was a size 16 and he was still loving me when I was a size 10. It has never mattered to him what size I am. He tells me (maybe not quite often enough to satisfy my girly tendencies) that I'm beautiful even when I complain that I'm ugly and I'm having a 'fat' day and everythingandeveryoneintheworldisuseless.

The surgery only fixed part of the problem. The 'mystery' was solved and I was only officially diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome about a year ago. I've gained back some of that 35+lbs, so I'm now relatively comfortable at a size 12 - at least on the bottom. I got me the family hips, so I get to be a pear-shaped woman! Ooohhh....And until this whole pregnancy thing happened, I could happily buy a small tshirt.

This pregnancy though, has been liberating for me. I started off by losing an entire pants size and I still don't quite 'fill' my maternity pants (we laugh when I do my 'Elvis' dance trying to keep them pulled up). It's the first time in my life when medical professionals have ever looked me square in the face and said, "EAT!" Even going so far as to 'prescribe' two of those canned supplemental beverages per day, emphasizing that they did NOT mean SlimFast. (Just FYI: I've not followed that advice. Those drinks taste awful and do we look like we own a money tree? I think not!)

For once in my life I'm allowed to have a belly that sticks out over the top of my pants. I'm supposed to be round in front and gain weight in my arms and my thighs and my butt, and though I've not gained nearly as much weight as I'm 'supposed' to, I FEEL GOOD. I love how I look. Very rarely do I look in the mirror and gasp at my roundness. Instead, I look and I'm pleased with what I see. Because I'm pregnant and damn it, I'm hot! I wish all my friends could see me now! (This is probably that part of the post where I should be including a picture of my pregnant self so you can all congratulate me on my hotness in the comments section, but alas, the house photographer is at work. Too bad.)

Having said all that (and it feels good to have said it), I do wonder how I'll feel about myself after the Mystery Baby has moved out of the womb and into the nursery. I'm sure I'll have my share of crappy self-image days just like all new moms. Either way, I know Husband will still love me and will still call me beautiful.

This leads to an interesting observation though and I'm sure you've noticed it in having read all of this: why does our self-image so thoroughly revolve around what other people think of us? Why is it so different for a girl to have her beauty validated by some random boy when her parents were likely validating it all her life? We all know the opinions of strangers and even friends and family shouldn't matter as much as our own. Many of us know that our value and self-worth isn't about how we look at all, but rather about our identity as its found in Christ. Yet, we're still caught in that validation trap. (I'm wondering out loud here; I really don't have much to offer by way of explanation).

Interestingly enough, with all these body image blog posts still whirling in my head, this past Saturday, Husband and I attended our first ever pageant. Oi. Vey. This was a pageant in a town of maybe 500 people to choose their Little Miss, Pre-Teen Miss, Junior Miss, Teen Miss, and Miss representatives for the 2007 pageant (read: parade) season. We went because the daughter of one of Husband's coworkers was competing for the Junior Miss title. She displayed her dance talent well (albeit in a very disconcerting costume), she is beautiful, and she won. All of the girls did well. We found ourselves (to our horror) rather sucked-in by the end. We had our favourites and knew who we hoped to see win in each category (two categories only had one contestant so that made it easy). With the exception of the coworker's daughter, we sure wouldn't have won any bets because even in the Little Miss category, the cute little brunette who likes horses and tomatoes lost to the tall, skinny, blond and annoying girl who "would describe herself as tall, skinny and pretty," and who, they forgot to add, 'has an ego the size of Delaware.'

What drove me crazy wasn't the pageant itself, but rather the idea that simply by doing a little dance, answering one question about 'Life in (Small Town)' or your favourite subject in school, followed by the casual-wear competition and the evening gown competition can net you a year of flowers, parade appearances, and other assorted privileges. It's just silly. And has it not just reinforced that the slim girls with the nicest clothes win?

Before my wee rant here is finished, let me share with you three of my biggest weight-related pet peeves.

1) I hate when people assume that because I'm 10, 15, or even 20 pounds over my 'ideal' weight, I must hate myself. I must absolutely dread looking in the mirror every morning and I must've already come up with at least a dozen different plans to end my weighty agony by suicide. Does it ever occur to you that I might be well aware I'm slightly overweight, without your stares or comments to remind me? or that I might even be well aware of it and not ready to kill myself because of it? Did it ever occur to you that I don't spend every waking minute thinking about my weight and how I look in the size 12 shorts I have - compared with your exact-same-pair of size 6 shorts? I. am. not. a. monster.

2) It drives me crazy when people say 'Oh, you're not fat' or 'Oh, but look at you, you're so skinny.' Regardless of the fact that I'm pregnant and I'm supposed to look like this, I'm no idiot. I know I'm not fat, but I also know I'm not skinny or tiny or any of the 10 other adjectives you can use to describe me in a way that you hope will earn you brownie points while simultaneously boosting my weight-related ego. Really. I'd rather you just not say anything at all. Or how about just saying, 'Hey, you look really nice today.' Or 'Wow! Those pants make your ass look fabulous!' Please, do not patronize the weight-bearing woman.

3) This has got to be the weight-related pet peeve that most makes me want to slap some women: DO NOT complain about your weight in front of your young daughter(s)! I once saw an episode of Oprah where she was interviewing young girls with eating disorders. She talked to one young (and VERY normal-sized) four year-old who was convinced she was "FAT!" The core problem? Mom talked nonstop about how "fat" she was and how she should be counting her calories so she wouldn't end up fatter and looking like a bloated cow, etc. Every idea this mother had about her weight was being absorbed by the little girl without the mother even realizing it.

I have nothing against health-conscious moms. I know one or two of them. They have eating standards for their families that will, I'm sure, some day put me to shame. But they don't obsess about their weight or their children's weight; they are simply mindful and careful about what they eat. And their children are healthy confident children.

I have no new conclusions or observations to add here. I don't read People or Cosmo or any of those magazines and I sure hope I can dissuade our children from ever reading them. They are, at best, good for a laugh every once in a while, and at worst, trash. Even the Victoria's Secret catalogue is a lark (yes, hello, I'm married now - I can shop at Victoria's Secret without shame). I have to laugh when I can plainly SEE just how airbrushed most of those pictures are!
We eat as well as we can afford to eat and we're not unhealthy people. We exercise without as much regularity as we should, but we're trying. When the Mystery Baby comes our goal is to avoid refined sugar at least until she's two, but we're not going to deprive her of it forever; a kid should have the luxury of a good piece of birthday cake or a cookie now and again.

And that's all I have to say about that, at least for now.

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In other news, we can now hear the Mystery Baby's heartbeat with the stethoscope Husband gave me for Christmas! Very cool!

My ultrasound on Monday went well. Husband talked to the Radiologist after I left (how handy to have an 'in' and not have to wait a week for results) and everything looks normal and simply related to the "joys" of pregnancy - and the expense of needless tests. Good grief!

We are celebrating our fifth anniversary on Friday so we'll be gone all weekend. No posts from me until next week. See you then!

A Different Sort of Appointment

I'm hesitant to post anything about this, but since a good portion of you are my friends (whether in real life or just in the Blogosphere) and I usually get this feeling that you love me, I think I'll talk about it. (Also, I don't want you to think that I'm just posting about it to get sympathy....except maybe deep down that's really what I want....)

Anyway, I had a regular prenatal appointment yesterday. Everything with the baby sounds/looks fine. I'm "quite nice and round" but courtesy of my "lagging weight gain" will be getting yet another ultrasound in two weeks (if anyone's counting, that'll be my fifth). Yes, I was 'this close' (thumb and index finger mere millimeters apart) to getting the "EAT!" lecture yet again. I'm trying, I'm trying! (A very humourous conversation about bra shopping ensued. I'm convinced that in another lifetime, my Midwife and I would've made excellent roommates.)

Then my appointment took a different sort of turn when I mentioned a wee lump I found in my right breast earlier this week (April's almost over - have YOU done your self-exam this month?). My Midwife poked around a bit and asked a series of questions. I guess my very cheerful and positive answers were the wrong ones because I'm going in for a breast ultrasound on Monday afternoon. She said it definitely did not feel like anything mammary-gland related . So there. That's it. I'm not super-worried, but it's still 'there,' you know? On the back burner of my thoughts. If you're so inclined, thanks in advance for your prayers.

Oh! I almost forgot! After said appointment, Husband and I were both having a hankering for a Slurpee. We have no 7-11 anywhere around and have had no luck hunting down a slurpee/slushee/whateveryouwanttocallit since we moved here. Yesterday though - oh what glee! What excitement! On our way to the gas station, we passed the Dairy Bar - the queue at the Dairy Bar. Hooray! We had our first swirl cone of the season and guess what else! Wait for it....we weren't even wearing jackets! FINALLY!

Oh! Oh! Guess What!? Guess What!?

It's SUNNY out!

It's 13 degrees (CELSIUS) outside!

AND, the mail guy was wearing shorts! (Accompanied by a very funny 'safari' hat.)

AND, I saw two robins on the way into town this morning.

AND, to celebrate the official arrival of spring (FINALLY!!), we ate strawberries with whipped cream on angel cake last night. Yum!

Hold On to Your Socks!

I know, I know, the colour is all different. What have I done? How will you cope?

In the interest of some of my "Older" readers who have been expressing concerns about their inability to read the blog properly because of the black background, and in the interest of ME having the same complaint, I've decided to change the colour scheme. These changes aren't set in stone; I might change the colours again, so prepare yourself.

In other news, I know a lot of you out there like to cook, so this is your chance to pass along some tips and recipes. I have this plan wherein I'm going to try to make a bunch of casseroles or meals that I can put in the freezer to be pulled out in the days following the Mystery Baby's arrival. If you have a good suggestion or recipe, you can email it to me: brenhamm(at)U2email(dot)com. Or you can just post a link or web address in the comments section.

(NB: I've already got turkey lasagna, turkey pot pie, and vegetarian chile in my Freezer Dinner repertoire, and we don't eat pork or much red meat.)

Consider this your contribution toward the promotion of our Postpartum Sanity! And also be warned that if I don't get at least one suggestion, I might revolt and not post anything new for weeks, and we can't have that now, can we?

Put 'Em Up, Suzuki!

So the other night, Husband was working diligently on finishing up our state taxes. The forms were a pathetic mass of confusion and when he finished inputing all the data, he was done for the night. Well, he shouldn't have stopped there. He maybe should've finished reading about all the things the need to be sent in with the tax return. So we only discovered last night that we also need to include copies of our federal tax return and several W-2s (like Cdn. T-4s). So we started to print it all off. The printer ran out of ink. Consequently, I had to drive Husband in to work today so I could pick up more ink. Then when I go to pick him up, hopefully I'll have printed all the right papers and we can get everything in the mail.

Only, you know how large "surprise" amounts of snow make me really grouchy? Well, I peeked out the window and THIS is what I saw:









For the love of all things sunny and spring-like?!?!?
If David Suzuki was standing here right now? I'd kick him in the shins!

Hold the Pink...

...and the frills...and those heinous little Brain Cell Destroyers that some mothers feel compelled to strap around their girls' foreheads in a futile attempt to make sure other people identify them as "GIRL." (Other than killing braincells, do those things actually serve any purpose? Even with a fake flower half the size of Pluto, I doubt it's going to work as well as a helmet.)

So. Yes. "It," our Mystery Baby, revealed herself with an ultrasound picture even I can't construe. We're maybe still a little disappointed because some of you know how much we had our collective heart set on a boy and I in particular, had been holding on to a shred of hope these past two and a half months while we waited for this last ultrasound. But God has been working on us (as usual) and we are now really quite okay with a girl, maybe even a little excited, though we are, in general, stumped for a first name (you can't name a girl Ben so we'll have to put that one on the back burner for next time).

Also, we are not in the mood for any "I told you so's!" or "I knew it's!" so kindly keep them zipped up for now.

And we're seriously serious: No pink.

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In other news, check out Erin's answers to my interview questions. They're funny, sweet and beautiful, all at the same time. And I got to talk to her on the phone today. How lucky am I??

They're Alright!

So I went to my very first La Leche League meeting last night. Incidentally, it was the very first meeting ever in our area (which would explain why when I tried finding a local meeting online a month ago, the closest group was three hours away). There were four of us that showed up. I'm the rookie, the other three actually hang out all the time and they all have kids. Two of the women gave birth only 7 weeks ago. We talked about the benefits to Mom & Child from breastfeeding, which I had heard the majority of before, but it was good still to hear the discussion and opinions of these other moms. The meetings are once every month and the best part? These mom are really cool! I LIKED them. There is definite Friend-Potential (tm) here and I am excited! So there are several reasons why I will go back:
1) Combined, these three women have roughly 15 years of experience between them (the group leader, who just finally had a girl, also already has FOUR boys!), so there should be no shortage of advice to draw from.
2) I like them and I think they liked me too. They kept saying things like "you aren't seriously due in June?!" and "you are SO tiny!" With compliments like that, how can I NOT go back? (Maybe I should be taking some pictures so I can look back on how 'tiny' I was during pregnancy....) Also, two of them get together every week to scrapbook and after meeting me once, they already invited me over tonight. (Except tonight is the 5th installment of Childbirth Ed. so that's where we'll be. *sigh*)
3) They fed me. Chocolate chip pumpkin bread and zucchini bread. Yum!
4) They are funny. <- I can tell that because we laughed a lot.

There's a little bit of rigidity in their view of breastfeeding as far as I'm concerned, but I think I can handle it. I understand that some women don't want to still be breastfeeding when their children are old enough to talk. I also understand that some women can't breastfeed for one reason or another and I refuse to look down on those people because the decision to breastfeed in the first place is personal. We already have a good idea of what we want to do and what goals we want to set for ourselves and I don't see myself being negatively influenced by these women because I'm just stubborn like that. So that's your update on that.

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This morning I woke up at 5:15 when Husband's alarm went off (for the first time anyway). I could hear the neighbour down the street revving the engine of his truck a billion times before he leaves for work. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I would get up and look out the window and there I would see the view that greeted me outside my bedroom window everyday from birth until I went away to college. As I so often have throughout this pregnancy and since we moved here, I laid there craving that familiarity. I can close my eyes and see all the houses on My Street. I can see them as they were when I was three (let's face it, I can barely remember that far back sometimes, nevermind to infancy), then five, then 10, and so on. I can see all the cosmetic transformations of each; when the house across the street got a repainted fence (it's always been the same colour), when the house in the corner had the pool filled in after more than two decades of pool parties and laughing, screaming, wet children, and when my friend LeeAnn's Dad finally finished building her Cabbage Patch Playhouse, subsequently the Ultimate Archie Comic Lending Library. I can remember when the tree in front of that playhouse was only six feet tall. I can remember when the evergreen tree on our own front lawn was planted.

Now when I go home, I see how all the trees have grown. I am constantly amazed at how tall they've become. Where they used to be too short to give any comfort from the hot summer sun, they now stand towering over the backyard, shading backyard barbeques and blocking out noise from the park behind our house.

My relatives celebrated Easter at my parent's house this year. My cousin had her little boy there and he got to go out to the park to play. When we talked, we remembered how we used to go out there to play when we were little and they would come to visit. The toys in that park haven't changed since my infancy. Oh, they've gotten new paint and new dumps of sand around their bases, but the structures are still the same. The same slide that we played on and dumped rocks down (and fell off of), is still making kids squeal even now. There's still a summer program every July at the paddling pool and they still use the baseball diamond for little league games. When I walk through the park in the summer, I can still see remnants of forts we built in those trees when I was eight; or maybe they're just remnants from last summer and a new crop of eight year-olds. And thinking about all this makes me long for a place where we can be content and planted. A house our kids can grow up in. The sense of security that comes from watching a neighbourhood grow and evolve.

We don't have that here, but maybe some day.

One Tuesday a Month

So the celebration of Easter weekend is over for another year and here's hoping you all had a wonderful Easter. I was lucky enough to get a phone call from Home wherein we played 'pass the phone train along' and I got to talk to all my relatives. Such a good treat!
Then on Sunday - "springtime" in Maine does strange things to people - we got not just one but TWO invitations for lunch after church! We accepted one from Lester (well he asked first). His wife is down in NC visiting their daughter who just so happens to be due with her first child in June - just like me - so we already have a connection. Lester had leftovers already in the oven when we got there and we had a great time. An unusual, but perfect Easter celebration.

Tonight I'm going to my very first La Leche League meeting (meetings are the first Tuesday of every month). Erin over at Whitekirk (check soon for an updated post from Erin because I just sent her some interview questions) assures me that LLL participants aren't breastfeeding nazis, and the lady I talked to on the phone yesterday did sound quite nice. I'll let you all know how it turns out.

We haven't caught any mice in the last couple of days. Maybe they're away for Easter. Otherwise, nothing else is really new around here. Sorry to disappoint. We spent Saturday working on our baby registries. It was fun and we only have, supposedly, 10 weeks to go! We have so much painting to get done! Yikes!

The Continuation*

*Or: "Sure, B&P, Make Me Get All Insightful and Such"

Before I continue with BubandPie's interview which I started yesterday, let's pause for a note to the Mouse Family:

Hah! You dastardly rodents! We have no idea how many of you there are, but you're one less this morning than you were yesterday! We defy you, evil miscreants! (Seriously though – the cupboard under the sink? What were you expecting to find there? Are you really looking for soap? Is it spring cleaning time for you then?

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Okay, and moving right along. Yesterday, I said I would come back to this question:

2. What do you perceive as the biggest cultural difference between Canada and the United States? If I could tally all the time I actually spent thinking about this yesterday, I think we'd all be shocked. I even used some of my Talking Out Loud to Myself in the Shower Time (tm) to mull over some ideas for an answer. Finally, as I was drifting off to sleep last night, the answer finally hit me. And then I spent about five or more minutes just repeating the basic idea to myself, hoping I wouldn't forget it by this morning. I didn't; at least not entirely, and I was even awake at 6:30am making notes which I will now try, haphazardly, to string together, knowing I am about to offend at almost all of my American readers.

So, in a nutshell, the biggest cultural difference I perceive between Canada and the U.S. is their differing approaches to the idea of what ‘being Canadian’ or ‘being American’ really means. So my answer begins by going all the way back to Grade 9 Social Studies to draw on the age-old comparison of the Melting Pot (U.S.) versus the Mosaic (Canada).

[I should pause to put my answer into context here. I was born in Canada. I am Canadian and I always will be (but I don't say 'eh' and I hate watching hockey). I have no desire to ever become a U.S. citizen. (I will not pledge allegiance to a flag not my own, particularly when I disagree with the whole idea of pledging allegiance to anyone/thing not God.) I grew up in Manitoba and lived there until I got married. That was in 2002. Husband and I lived in Central Washington (state) until last September when we moved to Maine. So I've only lived in the U.S. for just under five years. I am quite obviously, biased.]

Melting Pot Vs. Mosaic: In general, when a new immigrant comes to Canada, he or she must be in possession of some English language skills. If not, I think it's usual for some sort of classes to be provided to facilitate language acquisition. New immigrants are not expected to come to Canada and immediately abandon their own culture and immerse themselves in "Canadian Culture." Rather they are encouraged to retain their cultural beliefs and practices (religious traditions, etc), because this is what makes the mosaic beautiful. All these cultures coming together, presenting a united front, while still maintaining their individuality. (This is one of the main reasons, I suspect, that so many big cities end up with so many excellent ethnic restaurants). J So to be Canadian truly means to be unified in our diversity.

In the United States, on the other hand Americans generally expect that new immigrants will quickly assimilate to American culture: Retain your culture-specific beliefs and keep your traditions alive, but do that on your own time; in the day-to-day sense, just try to be American. You’re not Caribbean or Jamaican or English or African or Mongolian anymore; you’re American. Period. Yet when I observe how this plays out in ‘real life,’ I think Americans are deceiving themselves. I think the overall picture turns out the same, but with regard to certain cultures, gross exceptions are made.

For example, in the town where we lived in Washington, the population was made up primarily of Hispanic immigrants – legal or otherwise – and thinking about the way they are catered to makes me ill. School district employees are strictly prohibited from asking any students about their legal status and I believe as of last year, a new unwritten rule came into effect: all new hires in the S.D. had to either be bilingual or be certified to teach ESL. And that’s the case with most jobs in that whole county: non-bilingual applicants need not apply. So unless you speak Spanish and English, you’re hardly qualified to do any job that might actually enable you to make ends meet. Call me crazy, but if I moved to France (heaven forbid!), I wouldn’t expect the whole country to learn English just to make my transition easier. I would expect to have to learn French. All manner of services are provided to these immigrants that require hardly any adaptation on their part whatever. I could get into a whole host of other issues I have at this point that pertain specifically to immigration, but that doesn’t really answer the question, so I’ll save that rant for another time. So while America may view itself as the melting pot, reality would suggest that at least for Hispanic immigrants, the melting pot ‘rule’ doesn’t seem to apply the way it traditionally has when assimilation was expected and necessary.

In addition to the idea of the mosaic vs. the melting pot, there are some other unique ways that each country gives its cultural impression. There's something about Canada that makes it seem smaller, maybe more close-knit. (Our landmass is certainly not smaller than the U.S., but our population is.) When you travel abroad, finding another Canadian is like finding the perfect cup of coffee on a cold day or getting a package or your mom’s baking during finals week. It’s a relief. It’s refreshing. It’s a taste of home. It doesn’t matter what part of Canada they come from, the very fact that they’re Canadian has already solidified a bond that can’t be broken. They could be opposite from you in every way, but because they’re Canadian, you feel like you could talk for hours. You’re on the coast of Scotland lamenting that it’s windy and cold and you forgot your touque; your new Canadian friend knows exactly what you mean.

Being Canadian means our Canadian ‘cultural’ icons - mounties, touques, poutine, beavers, killer whales, mountains, igloos, ketchup chips and Pirate cookies - seem almost universal. While every province seems to have its one particular claim to fame, Canadians are much quicker to draw on common icons. Poutine may be 'native' to Quebec, but every Canadian knows poutine. Every Canadian knows what an igloo is. Americans make fun of Canadians for always having to prove we're different, but it seems to me like Canada has been bandied about by the U.S. for so long (I actually thought I would see a fight once when a friend of mine and I met an American who, in actual fact, called Canada "a little America." <-EK: ask JK if he remembers this in Cambridge...), we've developed a general defensiveness. We Canadians have banded together to defend our Beloved using whatever common bonds we can come up with.

In America, I can't discover anything similar. While every state does for sure have its claim to fame, there isn't much that everybody has in common. Washingtonians can grow apples, but forget about growing citrus trees. Disney World is perfect for the climate of Florida, but transplant that to Maine? It becomes a tourism disaster. You can mention a lobster roll to an Oregonian and all you’ll get back is a puzzled look. Cultural icons in America come across with a distinctly more regional flavour.

Then there is, of course, the issue of friendliness. I cannot address the issue of cultural differences between Canada and the United States without mentioning this important characteristic seemingly inherent to one country but decidedly lacking in the other. It’s difficult for me to explain it, but I'm sorry to say, it's true: to be Canadian is to be friendly. Certainly, there are pockets of friendliness in America and we lived in one of them when we lived in Washington, but in general, I have definitely found Americans to be less friendly than Canadians. It's not that the average American will look at you and wrinkle his/her nose, it's that the average American will only go so far as an acquaintance. Greeting you in the store or on the street is one thing, but actually inviting you into his/her life is a completely different story. Traveling across Canada, there’s just this sense that you could stop in any little town and strike up a conversation with the local gas station owner or waitress. My experience in America is vastly different. You walk into a restaurant and if you're 'not from around here,' the eyebrows go up and the stares can be unbearable. Nobody seems to care much about finding out anything about you. It's more of a 'You're upsetting the delicate balance of locals here, so what can I do to get rid of you faster?'

It’s almost like Americans are more suspicious of outsiders. While Canadians seem generally more ‘curious,’ whereas Americans seem generally more suspicious. I don't know if there is any one specific reason for this behaviour. It's possible, that America is still suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder associated with 9/11. Since I didn't live here before that, I don't know if there's been a change. It’s not that I think Canadians are naïve, but I think we feel like we have less to be suspicious of. We don’t have as many enemies roaming around out there (at least not that we’re aware of) so we’re not as ‘afraid’ of strangers. (While I can think of exceptions to this rule too though; you can observe the same dichotomy of behaviour when you compare a rural vs. urban mentality, it doesn’t change my general observation.)

So I think that about covers all I had to say about that. If you’re still with me and haven’t fallen asleep yet, kudos to you! It’s taken me – off and on – since noon to write this today.

Now if anybody wants to be interviewed by ME, let me know in the comments and I’ll come up with five questions – because I suspect thinking up questions would be much easier than answering them.

Note to B&P: I haven’t written any sort of essay or paper in since college. Did I pass??

Aha!

AHA!! We got you, Vile Vermin! (bwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaa) Well, okay, we got ONE of you! The bravest one! But why the plastics storage cupboard? Why the kitchen utensils? Why the cutlery?

I was going to go further into my diatribe about Climate Change and the CBC today, but I'm being interviewed by one of my favourite bloggers today (see below) and I'm excited! She sent me questions and I get to answer them, it's very simple. But before that, I will at least attach pictures of our Return to January "wonderland." Today's predicted accumulation is 12 inches - approx. 30 cm - and this only started after 7am this morning. Before that, our lawn was almost completely bare. Oh Winter! Please! Please! Go away! Alas. On to the interview!




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1. How is it that reading mama-blogs (or mine, at least) has not scared you away from parenthood altogether? Mostly, I've tried to keep my expectations of parenthood realistic, so I understand that it will be difficult, but I'm also encouraged when I read the sweet stories and the funny stories and I get glimpses of how rewarding it can be. As well, perhaps by Godly intervention, I didn't start reading them until after I got pregnant, so it was too late. :)

2. What do you perceive as the biggest cultural difference between Canada and the United States? Sure, start me off with an easy one and segue right into THIS question. I'll come back to it. In fact, I think I'll come back to it tomorrow.

3. Do you have your baby names picked out yet? Are you interested in doing an in-code baby-name poll on your blog (in which you devise historical and literary clues for the names that you’re considering, which we decode and then vote on)? (I’ve been dying to do this again ever since Veronica Mitchell did her poll at Toddled Dredge.) Answer to Part A: Yes and no. The boy's name was never really up for much discussion so it's been picked out for about three years already. Any names for a girl are at this point still only in the thought stage. We've thought of several but nothing sounds 'right' to me yet. Answer to Part B: I hunted around to see what Veronica's poll looked like so I could be sure I was understanding correctly, but I couldn't find it. However, being that the names we've thought of aren't ones I can connect to anything literary or historical (except my formative years which could hardly be considered worthy contributions to the annals of western history) and at least three of them are simply spelling variations based on cultures near and dear to our hearts, I think my readers would lose interest in that poll faster than they lost interest in my dream interpretation contest. I would, however, be willing to accept submissions for possible girls' names and then open it up for discussion or voting. I'm not sure there are enough Stranger readers out there to make it very fun though.

A fun alternative could be if you, B&P, pretended that you were pregnant again (perhaps also a funny trick to play on your husband?) and then you could set up your own poll. Having the advantage of being well-read AND English professor would certainly make for an intriguing poll.

4. What trait of yours would you most like to pass on to your child? I so wish you meant a physical trait, but I'm sure you don't and that would be too easy anyway; I'd choose my hair. On the personality end of things, that's a tough one. I don't mean that to sound conceited - like that I have far to many fabulous traits to choose just one - but you are asking for 'a' 'trait', singular. Hm. I'm sure, should the Mystery Baby inherit this trait (and with my family history at work here, it's pert near guaranteed), I will regret saying this at least once a week from now until the Mystery Baby's adulthood, but I'm going to say my stubbornness. (My Mom is either laughing right now or starting to pray...)

Over the last several years, I've grown to truly appreciate my stubborn nature. Perhaps most people would call me crazy and say that being stubborn is a bad thing, but I'm convinced it can be both a good and bad thing. It's a bad thing, for example, if your house is burning down and you're too stubborn to jump out the window. But if your stubbornness causes you to refuse to back down on convictions based in Truth, I see that as a great advantage. I'm probably missing the right word to really describe what I'm trying to get at, but I want this child to be discerning enough and then stubborn enough to recognize a pile of bullsh*t from a mile away and refuse to believe it; to be stubborn in pursuit of whatever goals God lays before him/her. I hope that makes sense. It does in my head.

5. What is the best television show on TV right now? Do you mean 'right now' as in just this minute or 'right now' as in being broadcast on TV in this general time period of 2007? At this exact moment, there's nothing good on because PBS no longer comes in well enough to see a picture, CBS is generally crap no matter what time of day it is and comes in so poorly, people are hardly distinguishable from fuzz; and CBC is complete fuzz today also, presumably due to the weather. In the other 'right now' category, I'm really not sure. A year ago, it would've been ER, but we don't get NBC anymore and haven't seen a new episode since last October. Now I suppose I'll have to pick something on CBC. We very much rely on The Rick Mercer Report to fill our political satire needs, but the British import Hustle is also like watching a mini movie every week. What's going to win out today though, is Coronation Street. I'm not sure it's really the 'best,' but it's the one I most like to watch. (Again, my apologies to my Uncle Robert.)

Why I Hate Almost All of April

So remember how I said that March didn't really go out like a lamb? And remember how I said that it was windy but relatively warm and sunny outside last week? And remember how that meant that we hardly had any snow left on the lawn - or anywhere for that matter? And then remember how when we went to bed last night it was snowing and this morning it looks like winter has come all over again? (No, I didn't remember that either.)

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
*pulls out hair*

I can't take it anymore! I am so stinking sick of winter! But 'funny,' this: last night on CBC, since they can't go more than two minutes without some CBC personality mentioning those insidious words "climate change" or "global warming," they began a new series discussing how climate change is already affecting the world. (They also listed three benefits of it; one being that tourist season will last longer now. Okay....) So after a half hour segment about melting polar ice caps, intense flooding in BC's Lower Mainland, and that dubious critter the Pine Beetle, we cut to commercial. When we come back, there is poor Claire Martin (who's job is undoubtedly now hanging by a thread after such an incongruous forecast) all set to give the forecast; a forecast which consisted primarily of well BELOW seasonal temperatures, frigid weather (for April), and copious amounts of snow, not only in the prairies, but also in parts of Ontario, Quebec, AND the Maritimes. They didn't even show the northern territories (there were probably blizzards everywhere)! I'm sure there was some producer in the back saying "Martin! Cut it short! CUT. IT. SHORT!"

I wish somebody would start explaining why global warming is causing it to SNOW in Northern Maine in APRIL.

On top of that we were finally looking forward to not having to buy so much heating oil so that for once, we could get through a month and nevermind the ends meeting, they could at least see each other. Evidently no dice.

And on top of that: this will probably seem quite minor to most of you, but having been sucked into the propaganda machine that is the CBC, we have found ourselves in the strange position of actually caring about the characters on Coronation Street. (Yes, Uncle Robert, I'm sorry...) Truly at first we hated it, but then because there was nothing else on....AND NOW, oh stupid stupid NHL! Oh I can't stand hockey! (I know, I know - what kind of Canadian am I??? One who hates watching hockey, that's what kind!) A once-a-week triple header on Saturday night is already too much, do we have to preempt Coronation Street for the NHL playoffs until JUNE?!?!

June. Not 'the end of April' or 'the beginning of May,' but JUNE!

[Is there a reason why they never show lacrosse on CBC? The national channel, you'd think, would be interested in promoting Canada's official national sport. ]

I'm going to drown my Coronation Street blues in orange juice and early Easter candy. Then maybe I'll spend some time plotting my takeover of the CBC.

The First Post of April

I feel like I haven't posted anything new in weeks, but it hasn't even been a week. We took my SIL to the airport on Friday afternoon and she made it home safe and sound. We also did some hunting around for supplies for the baby announcements but didn't come up with much. It seems those Scrapbookers are taking over the world and now craft stores only cater to them. They can't even provide a decent cheap paper selection for the rest of us. We were also able to replenish our rather sorry looking spice rack, using up all the small bags left in the bulk food department while we were at it.

Now it's back to all things regular. We did a lot of cleaning and little projects on Saturday. We finally got some more boxes unpacked which is always enough to make me feel good. Saturday and Sunday also saw us blessed with plenty of sunshine, but more than two days in a row would just be a travesty, wouldn't it? So now we're back to grey and cloudy with wind. Last week was CRAZY windy. March came in and OUT like a lion - no lambs in sight.

Thanks to Beck over at Frog & Toad for the inspiration that is making our kitties alternately very happy and very upset with each other. I'm hoping to find another box today so we stop the turf war. As you can see, our Girl, Bean, does NOT fancy being disturbed in her new house.

I'm sure there were other things I was planning on blogging about today, but my brain has been having much difficulty functioning in the last two days! Oh wait! I remember! Childbirth Class. Whoa! I can't believe I almost forgot the update! For last week's class, we ended up not having the cool teacher we did the week before, AND we ended up having to watch the other video (yes, the one we had been promised we could skip). Thankfully, this video was MUCH more benign than the first one; they took great pains to cover up anything offensive. It covered different methods that various women used to get through their labour pain. The most disturbing was the moaning which made it sound like these women were giving birth on the campus of some cult in Southern California.

Then we practiced the breathing. It's not getting any better. She didn't give us any review at all. And then she started the music. Call me crazy, but listening to music that only reminds me of a funeral durge and the scene in Amadeus where they're transporting his body through the streets in a horse-drawn cart and then dumping it in a mass grave, doesn't exactly inspire either relaxation or focus. Then it was all over. So maybe this week will be better.

Also (boy, now I'm remembering all sorts of things), yesterday I had a rather bizarre experience. We were over at our friends' house for a Pre-Easter Egg Hunt and Egg Dying Extravaganza (and strange hollow bunnies that tasted like gasoline) and we were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying the spoils of the hunt. I had my left foot resting underneath the chair on one of the chair support bars. I dropped something on the floor and got up to get it, but I couldn't move my leg. From the knee down, I could FEEL my leg (it wasn't quite painful enough to cry, but I sure couldn't quit laughing at the absurdity of it), but I couldn't bend it back to a normal un-gimped-up position. It was the strangest thing! We were all baffled and it took several minutes of Husband massaging my leg and foot before I could bend it back to normal and stand properly. Maybe my leg had gone numb from so much chocolate. It seems better today though. Weird.

Wednesday

Since it's been a few days, I figured I should at least let anybody who cares know that I'm still alive, just preoccupied this week. My SIL is visiting from WA, spoiling the cats, and in general, being good company in my boredom.

Oh, and also in case you're wondering, she heard "scurrying" in the ceiling in her room. So our mice 'friends' are migrating. Grr.....

In the meantime, check out some of the blogs over there in the column on the right. They're bound to be more amusing than mine this week.

They're Still Here.

Yes, THEY. I read this horrible note about mice this morning that said that mice are usually born in litters of five or six and can start reproducing at the ripe old age of SIX WEEKS!! So now I'm freaking out just a bit because I'm quite sure I heard at least three of them last night -practicing Greco-Roman wrestling this time - but not once did they make it down to the kitchen, to the anxiously awaiting trap by the cat food bowl. Which is leading us to wonder if they ever were really coming down to the kitchen. Maybe they're just getting into a cupboard and we haven't discovered the hole in the BACK of the giant pretzel bag...no, I'm not stopping to check.

At the risk of this becoming a blog completely about the horror-show that has become living in our house, I shall relate an anecdote that occurred last night. It would've been funny if it happened to anybody but us. Alas.

When we first moved into this house, we only had one key. Subsequent attempts to have extra copies made proved futile when at least five keys later, we still didn't have one that worked. Wife kept pressing Husband to get a completely new doorknob and lock system. Husband kept insisting that we would wait until spring. (So, isn't it ironic that yesterday was the first day of Spring?) Last night, we left the house for our class. I was getting in the car, Husband had just closed the door and then I saw it, the look of horror as it dawned on him: My KEYS!!!!

Believe it. It's true. He locked the only house key we have IN THE HOUSE. It was the first time I actually used his middle name. In the middle of our driveway. Potentially in front of our neighbours. So I fumed the entire way to class. Lucky for him, after we got home and after he had already spent 15 minutes out in the cold trying all the main floor windows, I remembered I had a Mystery Key on my keychain. Could this be one of the useless keys we had made? I wonder that I never took it off the keychain. So he tried and tried for at least 10 minutes and in His mercy, God allowed the key to work. Lucky us. Particularly Lucky Husband.

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Moving on to the Childbirth Ed. Class because I know that's why you're all reading today. Last night was infinitely better than last week. We have a different instructor for the next three weeks. She was great. She handed out the notes at the beginning of class (handy for me because I could actually scribble my own thoughts on the page - and cross out the part about bringing a video camera to the birth - ugh!). We went through the notes. Then we went up to the OB floor and had a tour of the birthing center and all its wonders. Then met a woman who had just given birth on Monday night. Then back downstairs to the classroom where we debated about practicing breathing because there were people there last night who failed to show up last week and thus came unprepared to practice. So the instructor talked about who should be allowed in the delivery room and when we should call people (lucky us, it doesn't matter who we call, they won't be rushing down to the hospital. Says who? 3000 miles, that's who). Then we were finished. Oh and the best part? We're skipping the video next week so we can have more time to practice breathing. Yes, that's right, SKIPPING the video. Not 'postponing' but skipping. Hooray!

In addition to the decidedly more bearable nature of last night's class, I made an amazing discovery. "Mrs. Perry" and I got chatting in the bathroom. And do you want to know how much God rocks?? Do you?? I know you do because SHE'S CANADIAN!!!!! "Mrs. Perry" is Canadian! In fact, from right across the border. Married for six years in December, due the week after we are, AND from the same town we live in!!! Could I ask for more? It's highly doubtful. She's teaching full-time right now, but after the baby comes, she's finished with working. Oh I SO hope there is some friend-potential here. I hope she likes to walk. She's rather on the prim and proper side, but she seems to like to laugh, she's really quite nice, and they look like the types that just might fancy a night of games! So rejoice with us, pray with us that we might've finally found some friends!

Okay, Who's the Snitch?

Well we've been putting out the traps for three days now and still nothing. So I can only assume some smart-alec gave the mouse the heads-up and he's on to us. On Sunday night the noise was horrible! I still can't decide if he was practicing hurdles or performing Riverdance without the music. Evil cretin! I just want some sleep for crying out loud! Then on Monday night, the crack must've been wearing off because except for a few actual scurryings after 1am, we didn't hear him at all. Last night, we heard him run back and forth a few times but never once did he venture into the kitchen. I'm relatively certain at this point that he's set up surveillance on the cat food bowl. And he's obviously had experience with these mouse traps before. Argh! (When James talked about perseverance, do you think he was also referring to catching mice? Is this developing character??)

In other news, well, okay, it isn't really news - sometimes I'm just not that bright and it irritates me. I'm not sure if it's the extra hormones that are making my brain function below is normal capacity or if I really am this dimwitted sometimes. The second installment of our Childbirth Ed. Class is tonight so I decided to take a shower and wash my hair today before I started painting. After I finished painting, I was cleaning up and changing back into clothes that actually fit and I looked at my hair and gasped.

"*Gasp* Oh my hair....!" There was a nice patch of yellow right on the very top! So instead of washing my hair and putting on a bandanna, which would've been the smart thing to do, I just pulled it back and somehow, SOMEHOW, I managed to get a nice, very noticeable dusting of yellow paint right on the top of my head! Then, in my continuing display of retarded brain function, I grabbed a WHITE washcloth to wash it out. WHITE!

This is particularly embarrassing since I took that IQ test on CBC on Sunday night and actually scored 126 which I was quite excited about. (I think Husband didn't know he'd married somebody quite so smart. Does this mean he has to listen to me more now?) But I probably don't need to tell you that it was the logic category in which I scored the lowest.

Anyway, as mentioned above, tonight is Childbirth Education Part 2. I am not excited. Tonight we actually have to bring a pillow and lay on the floor to practice our breathing. (This is helpful in the long run. This is helpful in the long run....) So meet me back here tomorrow for my in-depth analysis - because I know you're all interested.

Bump In the Night, Part Two

Pardon the fact that this picture is a little blurry. We put out two of those little traps last night. Note the fake cheese which Husband later smeared with peanut butter (a waste of good peanut butter if you ask me).

And you're all asking: 'Did you get him? Did you get him? Did you get him?'

NO! Dangit! No! I was falling asleep with my ears peeled for the most remote of mouse-like noises, jumping every time the fridge made the slightest of noises or the pipes murmured and finally couldn't keep my eyes or ears open any longer. We never heard a peep from that stupid mouse all night!

So I have two theories about that:

#1) Saturday night's Mouse-Madness was actually the mouse stockpiling food to shove in his suitcase for an upcoming trip to Mexico, which he left for (in a hurry) sometime while we were at church yesterday morning. Or,

#2) He was gone last night to meet up with his crack dealer and we're in for a doozy of a night tonight.

Either way, I am so CHEESED that we put out traps and everything and didn't get to enjoy the ecstasy of hearing The Snap! *sigh* I suppose we will have to try again tonight. Wish us luck!

Bump In the Night

It's 5am and one of the things you would NOT expect me to be doing at this time of morning is blogging, but Husband is on call and just left and I've already been awake since 3:30 and now I'm sitting here with my wee bowl of dry miniwheats blogging the post I've been writing in my head for the last hour.

This post, however, will be accompanied by yet another disclaimer: Mom, we DO want you to come and visit in July, so DO NOT read this post. If you continue to read, I'm afraid your mind will be made up that we're living in some sort of slum that you will never set foot in. So consider yourself forewarned.

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One of the things Mystery Baby will not lack in his/her early childhood is books. Though we possess no actual bookshelf for the nursery, we do have at least three boxes of children's books just waiting to be devoured by curious little eyes. [At this point, I'd like to note that my brother and I must've (<- spellcheck wants to change that word to Gustave) been raised well because although some of the books are rather beat up, I have yet to come across a single crayon or marker scribble in them.] One of the books that is a favourite of mine (not sure if this was true when I was little, but it's true now) is a book called What Was That? I was going to post a picture of it, but seriously, it's 5 in the morning; work with me here!

Anyway, the book is about - great, now I'm getting my animals mixed up - I think it's about a bear who is being put to bed and he hears all these noises around him. His mother explains that it is just all the other little baby animals getting ready for bed too. It goes on to show several little animals being tucked into their various animal beds by their mothers, as each of the bears' siblings reassure him that it's nothing to be afraid of, just other little animals getting into bed. The pictures I remember in particular are the little spider (I hate spiders, but the ones in the book are at least cute) and the little mouse, complete with matchbox bed. If I'm remembering correctly, the story somehow ends with all of the bear family in one bed and the bed breaking and all the little animals we've seen getting ready for bed look up in alarm at their mothers and say, "What was THAT?" (It's a very cute book, published in the 70s. If you can find it at the library, check it out.)

What's the point of my relating this story? Oh yes, wouldn't you like to know. It started actually a couple months ago. We were sitting in the living room one night and there was this noise in the ceiling which, naturally, being unfamiliar with the nuances and sounds of oil/hot water heat, we attributed to the pipes that heat our house. The cats were very curious, but seemed satisfied with our pipe explanation (yes, of course they understood what we were saying). Well at present, because we're just finishing painting upstairs where our permanent bedroom will be and because we just started painting on the main floor in the room where we have been sleeping, we are now on the futon mattress on the living room floor.

Three nights ago, I was awakened by the sound of scurrying, no rampaging, little feet in the ceiling. Oh. Great. We have a mouse. No big deal, I thought, as long as it's in the ceiling and not on the floor, I'm okay. It did keep me awake for at least two hours though. Then again tonight. More rampaging. I don't know where it got it, but I swear this mouse is on meth. (I know Jerry, of Tom & Jerry fame, often scurried, but he often crept too and why this mouse can't creep, I have no idea.) This time, however, 'our' 'little' mouse 'friend' made his/her way down the wall to the kitchen. We must've moved something since last time it came down because I'm quite sure I heard it collide with the recycling bin. (Now, we have a MOUSE. And it is a BIG DEAL.) Then it raced back into its hole and up the wall and across the ceiling. And back and forth.

Andbackandforthandbackandforthandbackandforthandbackandforthandbackandforth AND SO ON.

All this since about 2am this morning. Calculate with me, that's THREE hours ago! So I woke up. Then I woke Husband up so he could hear the noise and be assured that I'm not crazy, we really do have an unwanted house guest, but he naturally, after agreeing that 'yes, we have a mouse,' went back to sleep quite soundly. I on the other hand, laid here tossing and turning and fuming because that stupid mouse would not quit moving! ARGH!!! So I had a few bathroom trips, I blew my nose as loudly as I could, I coughed a few times, and I finally turned the fridge water dispenser light on, all in an effort to scare the mouse away, because by this time, I'm wide awake and Mystery Baby is awake and redoubling its rib-kicking practices for what I can only assume is an upcoming dance extravaganza (or judo lessons), and now? Now I'm hungry to boot! I can't rightly put into words how much I hate getting up to eat in the middle of the night.

Fine, so I scared it enough that it didn't come down into the kitchen anymore, but that didn't prevent it from continuing it's antics in the ceiling. I have to conclude that this is a mouse that has obviously been here for a while. Anything that can run around in a ceiling that fast without running into something must know its way around. Then again, about 45 minutes ago, I heard what sounded like a mouse colliding with pipe. So either it finally woke up ANOTHER mouse that whacked it with a pipe to slow it down for a while or it just blinked for a nanosecond and ran into it on its own. What I'm secretly hoping happened is that it ran into the pipe and cracked its little skull wide open and its now laying in a bloody heap somewhere up in the ceiling. Unless that would mean that we'd be smelling rotting mouse in a few days, in which case, I'll revise my hope to either of the first two possibilities.

I know I shouldn't be afraid of a little mouse since in reality it's probably as big as my thumb (I said "in reality"), but it sounds as big as a pack rat! Sleeping beside a Husband who sleeps as soundly as mine does isn't quite as comforting as it could be either. I sleep with my back to his so I feel like we're both on the offensive, ready to ward off any mousely danger in the night. But any sudden movement has me jumpy and terrified that I'll roll over and wake up staring into a pair of beady little black mouse eyes. *Shudder*

At any rate, I'm guessing the mouse is stealing food from the cat bowl in the kitchen. At one point in my semi-conscious musings, I'd devised a plan to rig the bowl with a little bell to be sure, but I think just setting up the mouse traps Husband brought home the other day will be sufficient. The traps are hilarious. They come with fake cheese. You just pop up the little piece of fake Swiss and that's supposed to drive the mouse wild. I guess that means our mouse has fine night vision but a truly pathetic sense of smell. Husband said we'll add peanut butter just to be on the safe side.

- 'You mean, in case the trap doesn't work, it'll stick to the peanut butter?'
- 'No. Mice are supposed to be mad for peanut butter.'
- 'Oh. I hope they like organic.'
(Do you sometimes amaze yourself at the depth of conversation you can have with someone at 4 in the morning, even though you know that someone won't ever remember saying those words when they wake up?)

What I can't understand is that we have one of those plug-in rodent getter ridder things. You know, the device that emits a high-pitched noise that's supposed to keep mice, etc., at bay? I wonder why it quit working? And won't it be funny when someday, somebody goes to redo the living room ceiling and finds a hoard of cat food up there?

Anyway, Husband will set the traps tonight. The traps have two settings, Sensitive and Firm. Screw firm! I want one tiny claw to set that thing off. Oh I can hardly wait for that glorious snap! Will I feel bad? Maybe for a second. Then hopefully I'll fall right back to sleep. As for now? I think I'll go work on that online Sudoku I saved before bed and wait for Husband to get home. Church attendance isn't looking promising this morning.

Am I Glowing, or Just Embarassed?

* Disclaimer: This post may not be suitable for all ages. Read on at your own discretion. (Yes, Mom, if you're having lunch, put it down or come back later, because I'm really going to write 'those' words and say 'those' things on my blog - because it's my blog. So there.)

As I mentioned yesterday, last night was our first Childbirth Education class. As usual, we were the last people there - unless you count the two couples that never showed up. They were REALLY late!
We got to sit all Montessori-style which was fine except the half circle was too big and it didn't feel very intimate at all. We went around with introductions so fast that we didn't catch any names and for some bizarre reason, some people didn't even bother introducing themselves.

There are eight couples altogether, including two others from our town. One couple we actually saw in December down in Bangor at the maternity store. (She looked uncomfortable at all the same spots as I did and laughed at all the appropriate times, so maybe there's some friend-potential there.) The other couple from here reminds us of a professor we had in college. They seemed really friendly (not that we actually talked to anybody) and since, again, we didn't actually catch any names, we now affectionately refer to them as The Perrys. (You're laughing now, aren't you EK?) I should point out that the only time I actually talked to anybody was during the three minutes I was standing in line in the bathroom during our five minute break and all we talked about then was whether or not all the stalls were truly full.

Of the eight, we're at the end of the line as far as due dates go (only two of us are due in June, everybody else is in May and three have the same due date!). We're also one of only two couples who don't know the sex, only we don't know because Mystery Baby (ahem...seriously Child!) isn't cooperating; the other couple doesn't want to know.

So there's the preamble. We started the class with the teacher introducing herself (I couldn't really hear her name either but it might be Patty). Her voice sounds just like our old Postmaster and next-door neighbour, Toni [Can I just put in a plug for Toni here? She's the greatest Postmaster ever and she and Ron were truly two of the best neighbours ever! They should visit here and hold 'How to Be a Good Neighbour' seminars]. After we had gone around mumbling our introductions, she started right in talking about symptoms and what we'd all been feeling. The list ended up being pretty short, as I would expect it to be when nobody knows anybody else and who's going to admit to having an unbearable problem with flatulence, constipation, and lack of ability to pee on the first date?

Then she talked about pre-term labour and associated symptoms as well as when to call the doctor or come to the hospital. After that, we went right into The Breathing. I can't even write about it without laughing, as I couldn't keep a straight face when we were supposed to be practicing last night either. We learned four different methods (though I wish we would've gotten the handouts before the end of class so I could take notes) and I don't really remember any of them today. I do remember the Cleansing Breath part though - but I was laughing to much for everything in between. (I suppose I'll have to work on this focus thing before June, no?) Then we started in on the "Hee Hee Whoooo" breathing, the Dr. Seuss breathing, if you will. Aside from not being able to see the point of this type of breathing whatsoever, I'm not even sure I could keep a straight face using the HHW method - even if I was really in labour! On the bright side, hardly anybody could keep a straight face through this breathing practice - except for this one couple who looked more tightly wound (and significantly less fun) than a jack-in-the-box. Their expressions were like STONE.

And I should've been thankful for the retardedness of the breathing exercises, because it only got worse. After we all recovered from the breathing, it was time for The Video - Hello, Baby!

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND PRIVATE! I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT!

Aside from finding it very unhelpful at this point (I've learned much more from hearing the stories of friends, who are not also showing me pictures), I was also mildly offended and it brought back horrible memories of Grade 10 Biology and The Miracle of Life only multiply that by three. I realize it's all 'real' and these are the 'facts of life,' but really, I consider myself well-read enough to know - without seeing - how and where exactly the baby comes out.

Sidebar: As some of you may know, I have a terrible aversion to bodily fluids. I'm not as much of a neat freak as you would imagine, but if I can avoid touching any bodily fluids (barring unintentional contact with my own), I will. It just grosses me out! SO MUCH! And of course, this video was FILLED with them. ACK! You're all laughing at this point thinking about the idea of ME + My Aversion + Mystery Baby and how it can only = Complete Disaster. However, I have faith that God is merciful. Not merciful in the sense that Mystery Baby will never pee on me (one of my friend's kids already did that so I'm almost over that hurdle) or drench me with projectile vomit (*shudder*), but merciful in the sense that there's some hidden part of me that will allow me to deal with Mystery Baby's grossness; a part of me that may remain hidden until sometime around the end of June.

Moving on, what sort of woman allows herself to be filmed in the most vulnerable moment of her life? It was the 80s. I'm sure they weren't in it for the money. If they could interview those moms now, I wonder if any of the three of them would regret having 'shown' their private parts to millions of women (and MEN)? Or would they only regret those horribly heinous 80s haircuts? And what about their children? Let's just say that Hello, Baby was filmed in 1985 (I tried to find out the date but without looking very hard couldn't find anything). That would make those kids about to turn 23 this year. So those kids could potentially be in the parent-to-be boat themselves. And what are they to think when they get to their Childbirth Ed class and the instructor pops in Hello, Baby. I hardly doubt a single one of them would proudly announce: "Hey, that's me! Being born! In all my bloody, bodily fluid-filled glory! And that? That's my Mom's vagina! AND her down-there hair! Aren't I lucky that my birth was immortalized for generations to come?" Is it really any wonder there isn't a NEW version of this video?

While some of the class actually did appear riveted by the video, there were a few of us who finally, and conveniently, found our ability to focus - on the window, the blinds, the spot on the wall, or those weird chairs in the next room - anything but the actual birth of those babies. Yick! On top of all that, where was the screaming, the swearing? I didn't hear any of that! It was edited to look far to easy - especially that first lady with the super-horrid feathered haircut, and her creepy husband Jim, whose narration was so monotone, he could've been doing commentary at a tiddlywinks competition.

******************************
My Afterthought: Sometimes I feel like maybe I'm not taking this whole pregnancy seriously enough; it's a possibility. It isn't that i don't see this process as a miracle - though it's taken me at least six months to get to that point - but humour is my coping mechanism, and if I'm not allowed to laugh at ridiculous breathing techniques, or be horrified by gross and cheesy 80s birthing videos, I think I shall greatly hinder my ability to get through this. So laugh with me...and be thankful YOU didn't have to participate in the production of Hello, Baby.

On A Rainy Wednesday

Per the title, it's raining out today; and I mean RAINING. The temperature has been above zero (always in Celsius, people, always in Celsius) since Sunday so our hoard of snow has gone down considerably. No complaints here. Only, my pessimistic side says, 'no way can this last.' So I checked the forecast and sure enough, snow is predicted by the end of next week.

'In like a lion, out like a lamb' blah blah blah. My wise friend Erin says it better: "March is mean."

so I'm trying out a new recipe today. Low fat tropical muffins. The only sugar they have comes from the coconut in the recipe, and I suppose the naturally-occurring sugar in the pineapple. But as they're finishing up baking, they smell low fat. I'll let you know how they turn out. I should be happy about the no sugar part because I'm sure I'm getting a cavity. It would be my second in almost 28 years. Just breathing in with my mouth open is hurting my poor tooth - I can't actually figure out which one - but one of those upper non-molar types.

Tonight we have our first Childbirth Education class. I'm a little nervous. It always catches me a little off guard when I sit in the clinic office surrounded by other pregnant women. Suddenly I'm not alone, which is good; but suddenly...I'm not alone. What do you mean I'm not the only pregnant woman on the planet? What do you mean it's not all about me?

I'm really hoping that we'll meet some new people and maybe - *gasp* - even make some friends as a result of these classes, but the idea of having to hang out with another hormonal pregnant woman...just knowing how bad I've been....makes me cringe just a little. At any rate, I'm sure I'll come home with lots to blog about.

For those of you stuck at home tonight, CBC is airing Stand Up in Kandahar at 8 EST. Five Canadian comics entertain troops in Kandahar, just in case you couldn't figure that out from the title. We're bummed that we're going to miss it especially since we saw clips on the news last night and it actually looked funny. Then again, it is the CBC so there's a 90% chance we'll have opportunity to see the show again by the end of the week.

Muffin Update: I don't think it's just my sweet tooth talking; these muffins NEED sugar. They LOOK nice but yikes! We'll see what Husband says when he gets home.

A Conversation...

...that took place Saturday night.

Me: Wow, we've been painting all day. I wish we'd gotten a movie for tonight; I'm kind of bored.

Husband: Well, Unlucky Joe is playing again tonight.

Me: *Silence*

*Sigh* My husband, the Comedian.

Friday Night in Dullsville

Oh, whoops. Did I erase the entire post? And the comments too?
Hm, I guess I did. Too bad.

*Sigh*...and then there was one...

It all happened so fast. I don't think I'll ever really understand the science of it....

We have (nope, make that HAD) these two really great Corpell's Water mugs. A couple years ago when we were Home for Christmas, everybody got Corpell's mugs from my Uncle because he works there. Well, actually, Husband and I didn't start out with any, but whiny pleadings of 'hey, where are our mugs?' netted us these two fabulous mugs. The perfect size for any hot beverage.

So this afternoon, I was making myself a cup of Neo Citran (thank goodness for Canadian cold remedies) to assuage some of the symptoms of this nasty cold I picked up courtesy of my holiday in MB. I added the drink mix right when the mug came out of the microwave which resulted in a volcano-esque explosion of mix and boiling water. So I grabbed the other mug and poured the first mug's contents into the second. Then I ran water into the first mug to try to salvage some of the undissolved powder and pour it into the 'new' mug. Alas, the water I used was too cold and as you can see from Photo Evidence A and B, the mug is now destroyed.

Ah, cruel world!

And my dear Corpell's mug (or was it Husband's Corpell's mug?), how I shall miss you....

**

So I'm in my 25th week of this here pregnancy and we still have no idea what gender this Mystery Baby will be. Thus I've been thinking a lot about names lately. If it turns out to be a boy, the name is pretty much decided on already (at least if you ask me). On the other hand, if it's a girl, I'm close to concluding it may never have a name. Well, at least maybe not the day it gets here. If we do pick any of the names currently in the running, I'm not sure she would ever forgive us for giving her a name nobody can spell; a name she might not even be able to spell until she's got a couple of years of school under her belt. On the other hand, as I quickly learned after Husband and I got married, she'll spend all of her unmarried life having to spell her last name for people anyway (yes, that's a 'Y' not an 'I') so what's one more un-spellable name?

I'm a fan of the name Ava, but there's already an Ava in the family - even if she is a third cousin who lives on the other side of the country and whom I've met all of once. I also really like the name Avery. But what if the girl turned out to be really short? How much would kids make fun of a short kid whose name means 'Elf Ruler' (I know I would)?? Rory is another cool name, but the likelihood of any child of ours being born with red hair is slim. Then there are traditional names like Sarah and Megan that I like (and incidentally when I was young, I was friends with two sisters named Sarah and Meghan), but Sarah just seems too plain (and in our case, not tall) and Megan has too many spelling/pronunciation variations to sift through - as in the case of the aforementioned friend Meghan whose name I had constant problems spelling and I'm still not sure I've got it right.

A couple of months ago, some friends of ours had us over for dinner one night and we played a rousing game of Scattergories after dessert. When the game was over, Wendy decided to invent a new game called 'Name Bren & Husband's Baby,' using the letter die from the game. Suffice to say, with suggestions like Enrique and Pedro, we will not be going back to those friends for real suggestions. So here's your chance. Unlike my Dream Interpretation Contest (which is going on official hiatus until I have a dream worthy of sharing and because of such decidedly underwhelming response*), this is not a contest and you won't actually win any privilege of naming the Mystery Baby. You will, however, get to offer any and all suggestions - serious or otherwise - for our general amusement.

As a bit of interesting but useless trivia for you, I had asked a friend for name suggestions a couple months ago. She already knew the pick for a boy's name, but it was almost creepy when her two suggestions for girls names were exactly the two at the top of our list. Hm...I wonder if between her teaching, prep, grading, and running schedule, she's also a hacker??

*My cousin is still bugging me that I never posted a winner, so I'll tell you today that I think it will have to officially be a tie since there were only two submissions (seriously, you people....). KB wins on the more serious, thought-provoking level and Cousin C wins on the preposterous, politically-inspired level. So hooray for winners; give yourselves a pat on the back!

** Is it pathetic that I wrote all this about names and then posted it without giving it a title? Oi vey, woman. Oi vey!

Brrrrr....

Having just arrived back from a blissful holiday in Manitoba, you'd think I would be all fresh and ready to go, but even though it was a short week, it was full and I'm tired. Monday morning I slept in until noon. Today I was actually up by 9:30 (I won't say how many times I beat the snooze button though).

I won't bother with all the little details of my trip. Suffice to say, it was wonderful. I got caught up with a friend and my brother on each of my lengthy layovers in Toronto, checked out my best friend's fabulous new apartment (she even made me supper!) I got to see some Aunts & Uncles and one of my cousins. There were also at least three marathon phone calls with friends I was supposed to go visit, but since it was snowing and the roads were bad that never happened. I helped my Dad out at work and had lunch with Mom & Dad and three of the ladies Mom does hair for. And of course, Grama (yes, that's how we spell it in my family - so there!) and I did lots of shopping for the Mystery Baby, which I might add, hardly moved at all for the entire week. So except for catching a nasty cold and all that ridiculous snow, the trip was great!

We spent Saturday night in Moncton (where I flew in) and bummed around there on Sunday. We even took a trip to the ocean (pictures to be posted later) which was rather disappointing.
Alas, now we're back to our stinks-like-oil house, painting that seems like it will never get done, absolutely frigid temperatures (down to -38C with the windchill; that's -36.4F for anyone who doesn't speak Canadian), and to top it all off, the cats have been pooping under the stairs in the garage that go down to our already scary basement. So now Husband has to rip up stairs to clean it out. And darn it if the price of oil didn't skyrocket while I was away! ARGH!!!

BABY UPDATE: We had another appointment yesterday and I had the best talk with my Midwife. We just talked for almost an hour about everything. Husband came after he was finished work and we got to hear the heartbeat again which the MW said was good and strong. Mystery Baby has hardly quit moving since Saturday morning (I guess it was time to hear Dad again) and the MW was happy to hear that too. Also, thanks to a week of Mom's cooking, my pregnant-weight is back on track and I don't have to try so hard to eat any more. Hooray!

I don't mean to just bore you all with the minutiae of my life, but let's face it, there's just not much else going on around here. This is life in small town isolated America. I need some ideas for posts although I've got multiple pictures I need to get up here one of these days. For now, I'll try to stay warm and maybe go eat some lunch.

On Assignment in Manitoba

I wasn't going to post anything this week since I'm on 'holidays' in Manitoba, but this,

THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!!!

I mean, I like snow as much as the next person (....from Florida...), but since my flight landed last Saturday, according to my calculations, it has not stopped snowing for more than 45 minutes (and that number's up 15 minutes from this morning)! (Yes, I have taken some pictures but I won't be able to download them until I get back to Maine.)

I do realize this is part of life in Manitoba; I remember it well. This is the time of year when that age-old communal lament resonates throughout the province: 'Why, for the love of all things good, do we still live here?!?!' And yet, even as the utterers of those lamentations trudge along sidewalks knee-deep in snow or shovel the snow on their driveways onto piles already eight feet high (for the third time in the same day), something compels them to stay. Perhaps it's because their ancestors are from here and they figure since those people survived, what kind of weaklings would they be if they couldn't tough it out for one more winter? Maybe Manitobans and other Prairie-Dwellers are born with a special gene that enables them to forget the ugliness of the weather from one winter to the next. Or....maybe they're just crazy. Whatever it is that makes Manitobans stay here year after year, I salute you all.

You're crazy, but I salute you anyway.

P.S. I don't know how many of you have seen that new PC vs. Mac commercial, but isn't it hilarious?