“You look like you’re having deep, introspective thoughts,” says David. We sit with Rissa, waiting for her first university tour. “Hmmmm…?” I am, indeed, lost in thought – imagining a future where my daughter is not a daily presence. “You’re looking very deep,” David continues. I snort. “What?” “All I can think now is that…
It might take a village to raise a child, but God forbid if you actually attempt it in North America. Parenting in the new Millennium seems to have taken on the Three Monkeys approach: See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Parents have become myopic helicopters hovering over their children’s playgrounds, test scores…
“Do you think we can take tasteful pictures of my breasts?” David perks up. “Most certainly.” “For public consumption?” “Pardon?” “You know, for my blog…” “Ummmmm…” His mouth opens and closes. “Don’t get me wrong. I am ALL for your breasts being on display. But… why do you want to have tasteful breast pictures on…
If I’m walking funny today, it’s because I’ve been well and truly fucked. $13.38 folks. I spent $13.38 on 1.365 kg of gluten free flour.* I thought I was doing the right thing, I really did. I thought that buying all purpose, gluten free flour at the Bulk Barn had to be cheaper than getting…
“I’ve figured it out!!” I exclaim. “You have? That’s great!” says David. “Figured what out?” asks Rissa. “It’s ‘take-a-chance, take-a-chance, take-a-take-a-chance-chance!” “Runh?” from Rissa. His interest now piqued, David stops mid-sandwich prep. I clarify. “I’m playing ABBA on repeat in the car. I’ve never been able to sing along with the boys’ part for…
A beautiful child is ahead of me in line at the Big Box store. She is approximately 7 years of age, dark hair, striking blue eyes. Freaking adorable. I find myself inclined to smile simply because of her incandescent beauty. And then I hear her scream/whine this: “I want TWO Kinder eggs!!!” The tone…
I do a double-take as I open my elbow. Since when does the skin there look like a plucked chicken? Like a really old, plucked chicken? Freaking ANCIENT. “Whoa! What the….? EEEEEEEEEEEW!“ “What are you doing?” asks Rissa. “Look at this skin!” “What about it?” “My inside elbow looks 90!” “No it does not.” “Sure…
Rissa and I love IZombie. We love when Liv cooks the brains each episode. We love when Major’s personality transforms after eating mind candy. We love the theme song, the bad puns, the comic panels. And then Blaine says, “I was singing Hallelujah… the Jeff Buckley tune…” Which is when I lose my shit. “COHEN!! …
CRASH!!! “What the???” David, Rissa and I all turn towards the laundry closet, from whence the sound emerged. When had we docked a ship back there and how had it broken free from its moorings? “What was that?” We all look at each other, on the cusp of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spocking for who…
WARNING: This post doesn’t pull any punches. I need a table set up in my home, under the most natural light possible, where a team of aestheticians clad in neuroscientist’s glasses can groom me every morning. This finding hair on my face, chin, neck, legs – breasts – at inopportune moments has got to stop….