When did this happen?

My university roommate once told me that for a while, her younger brother was calling their mother “Old Yeller”. She, her sisters and Mom could not figure out how he knew of the movie or the main character’s name. Finally they asked him, “Tyler, why do you call Mom Old Yeller?”

“Because she’s old and she yells at me.”

He was five.

I haven’t been called anything so offensive, and frankly downright ageist, yet, but regularly hear that I’m really, really mean, or unfair, and often when no words carry the weight of the fury they’re feeling, simply, “I hate you Mom.”

Also, I’m not sure if my kids understand age. Naveen still thinks it’s all cyclical for some reason. He’s always starting conversations with, “Mom, when I’m weally, weally big and you ah a little boy…” or “Someday when you ah in my tummy and I’m the Mommy…” Deaglan on the other hand, could use a few lessons on regression; that kid can count too high for my liking. Sometimes he’ll ask me how old I am and if I’m feeling particularly girlish and extremely non-premenstrual, I throw caution to the wind and ask him to guess. It goes without saying I’ve finished the better part of a glass of wine at these times.

Lately I’ve thought about my age and mortality more than ever before. I’m trying to come to terms with the idea that I’m “middle-aged”. I mean when did this happen? And while I’m on the subject, where does the kid at the bank get off calling me Mrs. McNamara? Do they not teach simple psychology at bank telling school? Mrs. McNamara = I’m now irritated and defensive. And also? I hate your stupid tie. On the other hand, Kim, in a flirty tone that implies you think we’re close in age = unsolicited calls to your manager raving about your customer service skills.

Have a nice day my ass.

It’s not like I’m on a crusade. I don’t buy anti-aging creams or lotions. I don’t fantasize about Botox. And it’s not for the reasons you might think; it’s not because I don’t believe they work. I’m just too cheap to spend the money and too afraid of the unknown side effects.

A cheap coward.

Also, a part of me hopes to be able to just get on with it. Get old but still have the energy I’ll need to live my life. Get old but deal with it in some semblance of grace. Except when it comes to my hair. I will not deal with grey hair with grace. I will fight those greys right up until the end.

Fight them, do you hear me?


Speaking of aging, Shaune had a birthday at the end of January. He had the nerve to ask me how old I'd be this year. I didn't dignify him with a response. Seriously. How rude. Just wait till next year when he turns 40. He won't be feeling so smug.

I had a bit of time to write a second post today.

Shaune took Deaglan to a birthday party. It left me and Naveen together at home. Here's what I made him for lunch. He'll only eat "snack plates". You can put just about any combination of  his favourite things on it, just make sure you address it properly. Snack plate. Not lunch.

Revelations two

During a recent business trip, I sat close to a woman who had a near perfect head of hair. I couldn’t stop staring at the glossy black curls, loose and beachy, sort of Jennifer Aniston on the rebound yet structured, well formed - , so that I puzzled for longer than I should be willing to admit to you, whether she’d employed a wide barreled curling iron, hot rollers or the newly revived sponge curlers everyone has been discussing.

And for God sakes, I wondered, what kind of miracle hair product had she used?

I watched with utter fascination (and unreserved envy) as the day passed; her flawlessly coiffed mane wore no signs of resignation. A few times I shushed Shaune out of my head. I could imagine what he might say about the length of her bangs; the hazards of knowing a person too well, I guess. He’d likely give me his very unfashion forward opinion that she was in desperate need of a trim; maybe make a clever joke about sheep dogs.

But at dinner, even after we’d walked several Toronto city blocks to the restaurant, a windy cold evening with which I took no chances, my hair pulled haphazardly into a ponytail, this woman’s hair rolled elegantly off of her shoulders, unchanged, smug, pristine.

I asked her, finally, what the secret was, admitting even to myself that my 10 hour preoccupation with this stranger’s hair might be a teensy bit excessive.

Friends, this is my very long and winded way of telling you that I have added a fifth style to my hair repertoire!

You see, up until now, I toggled fairly consistently between straight and curly (which is a very fancy way of saying left to air-dry with a touch of mousse) and also ponytail and messy bun (by which I mean: ponytail pulled halfway through). 

And it’s never been documented anywhere that I know of, but I do believe sometime after Deaglan was born and just before I came back to work after Naveen joined us, I may have broken a regional record for most days donning a ponytail.

Braggy I know. But true.

Anyway, apparently like Dorothy, I had the power all along; because while for years now I’d been using my flat iron to straighten my hair, in one flashy blindsiding second this woman – Jillian – gave me the stunning news that it can also curl it.

I love epiphanies. If you ask me, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with an A-ha moment.

It was like that a few months ago when I took a long hard look at my cleaning routine. I’d been struggling as any full time working parent often does. Every week I crammed all my cleaning and laundry to-do’s into one Sunday afternoon. I vacuumed. And I scrubbed. I folded.  And I put away.

But by Tuesday morning the house always looked like we’d been raided by the feds searching for an illicit stash of heroine.

I remembered that a few months back, Shaune had subtly dropped into conversation that while growing up his house was always tidy. Naturally, I took this very, very personally and questioned the foundation of our marriage, considered whether this was the right time to get in touch with a Divorce Attorney. 

But then the next time I saw Fran, my mother-in-law, who I adore by the way, I asked her outright. “How did you work full time as a nurse and keep the house clean with four kids?”

“I got a lot of my cleaning done in the early mornings before everyone else was awake.”

A-ha!

So for two months now, I’ve been getting up 30 minutes earlier than usual and cleaning the main floor of the house. It’s changed my life. I can’t tell you how much happier we are. The messes still get made, in fact Naveen actually thinks we live in a landfill, evidenced by the way he eats toast and casually drops the crust on the floor without skipping a beat, and I still do laundry and a more thorough cleaning on Sundays. 

But I have to admit I no longer cringe at the thought of someone ransacking our house mid weekday. Sort of like that wearing clean underpants in case I die today rule.

The kids on Sunday evening after they'd been bathed and clothed by Shaune. You'll want to note their mismatched pyjamas, matching pieces for which were in the very same drawers he got these.

Looking good on my terms

A woman I periodically see at the gym stopped me in the cafeteria at work today. She told me I looked great and asked if I’d lost a ton of weight. 

I had to resist the urge to throw my arms around her neck and cuddle her.  I’m not kidding, I was so grateful for the compliment that my nose twitched to nuzzle her neck.

The truth is I’ve been working really hard at the gym and at the table for some time now.

Let me tell you, it has not come easy. And to be completely honest, I haven’t shed that many pounds. The changes have come in the form of toning and reshaping. I’ve been weight training three times a week (a class called Bodypump), and running and cycling the other days.

It took me about four months to cement this workout schedule. I fought myself the entire time. At the beginning I’d let just about any excuse deter me from going down to the gym:  

Not enough sleep?

Too tired.  

PMS?  

Too emotional.

Reruns of Parenthood again? 

Too distracted – how can I be expected to work-out not knowing if Jasmine and Crosby are back together?

And on and on.

But then I began loving it, really needing to get those workouts in for my sanity’s sake.

I’d always been into exercise of some sort – my metabolism had dug its heels in early -  by the end of my adolescence, refused to budge unless I took drastic measures. I've always gained weight easily and was up 60 and 50 pounds with Deaglan and Naveen respectively. 

 I’ve always struggled with body image. 

I remember being seven years old and conscious of the small soft rolls of my stomach. In grade five when skin tight RoadRunner jeans were in, I yearned to have a rear end to fill them out. In university when all the girls I knew were aiming for Kate Moss waifish-ness, I was looking to specialty shops for bras that gave me enough support.

But after I had my boys, I changed my mind about what I wanted to look like and why. I stopped with the nonsense of coveting what I saw on TV and magazine ads. I decided I wanted to look good because it felt good. I decided I wanted to be healthy so I could live long enough to do all the things I’d been dreaming about. 

And yet even regular exercise wasn't giving me the changes I wanted. 

Up until this point, I'd avoided addressing my eating habits. Oh it's not that I was feasting on fast food and milkshakes everyday. On the whole I'd say I  ate okay - always brown rice, whole wheat bread, whole wheat pasta, green salads, chicken, salmon and fruit.  But I had to admit I was now in my forties and maybe I needed to cut some of the pasta and bread out, replace them with raw or cooked vegetables and beans. I could no longer indulge in the pizza we ordered for the kids once a week, could no longer consider wraps from McDonald's a healthier choice those nights we were just too tired to cook. 

Because I didn't want to flirt with idea of losing the weight and getting healthy anymore. I wanted to actually do it. 

So I started making healthier choices at every meal. I shifted my thinking about what constituted a meal, embraced the notion that rice, pasta or potatoes didn't have to be on my plate just because I'd grown up believing they did. I began giving all vegetables a chance - not just the ones that fit neatly into my idea of a salad.

I'd likely not be a good candidate for one of those before and after shows - my progress has been slow and gradual and I've certainly got a longer way to go. And I've made friends with the realization that I'll always have to exercise and eat right to maintain a healthy weight. 

In fact I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with running all the time. 

And there's also this: I've never felt I had to trim down to gain my husband's approval - he says the nicest things all the time about how I look (believe me I've suggested on more than one occassion he consider asking for a stronger prescription for his glasses).  And whenever I lament that attaining a flat stomach would require major surgery, I look at those boys of mine and know that a bit of a belly is a small price to pay for such heavenly gifts. 

Fashion blogs to my rescue

I think about my wardrobe a lot. I mean all the time.

Truth is, Monday comes in a hurry and it’s no small task coming up with five outfits for the work week. Five ensembles that make me feel good.
And thin.
Oh and confident
But comfortable too.
Modest, stylish, age-appropriate yet current.

Let me tell you, for me, this is a job in itself.

From the looks of my closet and jam-packed drawers you might think there shouldn’t be a problem. Shaune is of this mind set. He wears a shirt and tie to work every day in the winter and a golf shirt the company provides in the summer. Each morning he chooses from six or seven dress shirts, a dozen or so ties, and always pairs them with black pants. He then slips into his black loafers, company jacket and off he goes.

It’s just not that simple for me.

For one, I like clothes; I like them a lot. Finding an affordable dress in a flattering cut can improve my mood for an entire day. A new scarf gets me downright giddy. And also, I’m not evolved enough in social situations to feel wonderful on the inside even when I’m not happy with how I look on the outside. Don’t get me wrong, at home with the kids, sweats and a tee shirt suit me just fine. I’ve had some of my favourite  compliments on my lounge-wear.

But at work, the dress code is semi-casual. And although people have taken this to the outermost edges of its definition, sometimes to frightening places, I mostly wear dresses, skirts or pants, cardigans and blouses, heels or boots and always earrings, bangles and scarves should they be called for.

Lately though, I started feeling tapped out, wearing the same few items in very mainstream ways. Shopping for new stuff was the only way I could think to add depth to my get-ups but since daycare and before and after school programs are leaving us virtually penniless each month, I turned to the internet.

And it delivered.

I discovered the world of fashion blogs. Did you know there are stylish, savvy young women just giving away this information for free on their blogs? Talking about colour wheels and scarf tying? Posting daily pictures of what they’re wearing, shopping tips and how to take advantage of thrift stores?

Oh glorious day. I finally have a stylist!

But be warned my friends, most of these women are childless and thin. Most have not witnessed first-hand the ruins birthing babies can leave behind. Don't get caught up in Oh I'm not gonna look like that in those pants. Because I'll be honest, I did search for a 40ish, slightly chubby, short Bengali woman offering fashion tips but to my great disappointment came up empty.

Here are a few of my favourite sites.

Wendy's Lookbook - this enviously thin, beautiful woman also created several tutorials on youtube. I just love this one circulating on Pinterest.



Kendie everyday - I found Kendie's blog first. I love her taste and she shops in places even I could afford. And hooray, she also incorporates thrifted items into her outfits.

Good life for less - this lady offers great colour matching advice and I don't mean matchy-matchy.

Feathers and freckles - I am stunned (and inspired) by the amazing pieces this woman finds in thriftstores!

M loves M - I want to hate Mara because she's tall, gorgeous and put together, but I can't help but find her adorable.

9to5 chic - This woman's wardrobe is completely out of my price range but to-die-for nonetheless.

Keeping my ego in check

We had Deaglan’s birthday party at our local children’s museum last week. It was the first time we invited friends; up until now we’d celebrated his big day with family only. And I didn’t want to have ten kids and their parents over to the house.

We picked the Super Science package where TJ – a teenager working for the museum performed a few basic science experiments, with the birthday boy as his assistant. Because the audience was four year-olds, the highlight was definitely the rocket ship built out of an empty film canister, Alka-Seltzer and water. At one point when the TJ blew up a balloon with baking soda and vinegar, the kids sat unimpressed waiting for the climax.

“Should I do the rocket again?” he asked seeing that the chemical result of mixing baking soda and vinegar was lost on these young thrill seekers. He regained his magician status when he showed this tough crowd how to make slime from corn starch, food colouring and water.

There was pizza and cake and lots of spilling. I was reassured that expensive though the party was, I wouldn’t be spending half my day cleaning.

And also? Most importantly, I learned that I need to stay out of Shaune’s sightline when he’s got the camera. Because it’s not doing me any good to look at some of the shots he got of me.

 I just realized they spelled his name wrong. Still the cake got a good deal of oohhing and ahhhing.

 So this picture isn't too bad. I guess I need to outline the rules of catching me in a shot to Shaune. Rule number one: I must be photographed with a cute baby well placed on my body. Does he need this reminder every time??

 Is anyone benefitting seeing me from this angle? I'd say no.

 Shaune, you couldn't have aimed the camera a little more to the right? Awww C'mon!!

I will say that looking at these pictures keeps me grounded and humble. There's no chance I'm feeling smug or better than you!

Did I mention I'm 5'2"?

I wish I could capture the scene we have each day as I’m getting the kids into their outdoor gear. I’m sure you would drive straight to my house and award me some kind of a trophy for not giving my children away.

I’d videotape it, although I’d not only be implicating myself as the crazy woman I turn into but it’s a full body job – my legs are needed to restrain Naveen while my hands put on his socks and shoes.

I’m not kidding.

And don’t even get me started on the laps around the house I do to catch Deaglan, threaten him with the worst punishment I can think of that won’t require intensive psychotherapy when he’s a grown-up, till finally, I can sit him still long enough to get his arms into his coat.

I have no idea why I’m not thinner than I am.

I mentioned something like this to Shaune yesterday – that I’d gained a few pounds lately. And you know what my husband said? Brace yourself because you’ll be relieved to know that although he does the cooking around here, he’s not perfect. He goes – “maybe it’s all the treats you eat at work.”

Can you imagine the nerve??? I mean how dare he??

Well I know it’s the treats but I was very comfortable in my sugary little cocoon of denial, thank you very much. How can I be expected to make it through the afternoon at work without chocolate almonds? Is it my fault that on Tuesdays our coffee cart only has one Sweet Marie square and if I don’t get there at just the right time I miss out?

And in all fairness to myself, I thought I was working-out just enough to break even. I even calculated the number of minutes I’d need to run, to afford each afternoon's pick-me-up. I was no math major but I really thought I had a foolproof system.

But then I had to go and remember that we needed batteries for the scale when we were at Canadian Tire last week. And just like that Cold-Hard Truth slapped me across the face.

Seven pounds since June.

 Every time I doubt that they look alike, I get reminded that they actually do. On the left is Deaglan just shy of a year old. Look at how similar their little cheeks and mouth are.

Little punks, it's their dreamy cuteness that keeps me from holding grudges.

An apology to my body

In grade 12 my friend Lesley and I tried to go without food for two weeks. We wanted to shed a few pounds. A few years later in first year university, I limited myself to two small bowls of clear broth a day and plenty of exercise. We were all trying to look like Kate Moss back then.

And I didn’t even have an eating disorder.

This was typical stuff most of us young women were doing. Waifishness, protruding hip bones and concave tummies were all the rage. We sighed enviously at anyone who could go long periods without nourishment. Most of us hated our bodies and were quick to point out our problem areas without provocation.

I’ve smartened up, made friends with myself. I’ve realized finally that I am not this body, cannot be defined by my soft convex stomach. My tired and disobedient breasts don’t have the power to change the world.

I am not this body but this body is all I have.

These days, I speak soothingly to my flabby arms; thank them for holding my babies even when they are exhausted. I send admiring thoughts to my uterus for the miracle work it performed. I am in awe of this imperfect, disproportionate frame that holds me, like a sweet loyal dog, never failing me even when I sullied it with my thoughts, relegated it to the back of the line, poked fun of it in public.

I am ashamed of how I’ve repaid it for its devotion; cringing every time I passed a mirror, heartsick if it gained even one pound, denying it when all it wanted was one measly hot fudge sundae.

I am not this body but I was put in charge of it. And I am on a mission to take that responsibility seriously.

I'm pictured here wearing the necklace Deaglan toiled over for several days at daycare. For a few days I wore it to and from the daycare and without fail every single time he asked me if I LOVED my new necklace.

My worries and my mantra

The only way I feel comfortable enough to have a shower when it's just me and the kids is to put the baby in the crib where he can't really hurt himself and crank up some tunes. Anne Murray's There's a hippo in my tub was a favourite in our house growing up and I've taught both kids to love it. Naveen will quite literally stop whatever he's doing as soon as I press play and Deaglan knows almost every word by heart.

Lately the three year old wants to get in the crib with the baby. After a few mishaps (he pulled all of the animals off the wall adjacent to the crib one time, and was jumping so hard the baby fell over another), I only allow it if I'm in the room to supervise and after I've given a stern lecture about what is and isn't acceptable crib behaviour.

These boys bring out a multitude of emotions in me on any given day. Often Deaglan refers to Naveen as his baby. He'll say Mommy, I love having a baby. I don't have to tell you how that makes me feel. But then this morning, after three days of watching me give Naveen all of my energy because he has a virus, Deaglan advised me to let the baby play outside by himself so a bad man could steal him!

Almost daily I wonder how families with more kids than we have, do it. I shake my head in awe when I think about the stay-at-home parents for whom this is a permanent job.  I will be heading back to work in June and with that in mind I try to soak it in most of the time, look forward to the break being at work will give me some of the time, and struggle to do my very best all of the time.

And that looks different each day.

I registered Deaglan for junior kindergarten. He'll be going in September. I try to keep my mind on today because thinking about all of the changes to come can make me feel like I'm drowning. He's still in diapers to some extent (he won't poop in the potty - we've offered chocolate, money, even a trip to Hawaii), still uses a soother for naps and bedtimes. He eats non-stop between the time he gets up and the time he goes to bed - how will I ever pack enough food into a lunch box? And don't even get me started on the fear I feel thinking about weaning the baby from my breast long enough to  leave him at the daycare that first time.

I know this is all normal. I don't miss my before-kids days. I'd rather be sitting here looking at these beautiful boys, worrying about their futures. I would rather feel like I'm going to pull my hair out because Deaglan just crumbled the yoke of his hard boiled egg all over the carpet. I'd rather be so tired that when Deaglan asks me to play, I suggest a game called "bedtime" where mommy has to lay on the floor and pretend she's asleep. I'd rather be nursing a child, or pulling a new crawler off the stairs for the hundredth time.

This is where I want to be.

And totally unrelated but equally exciting? I finally removed the last of the nailpolish from the pedicure I got for Shaune's cousin Carla's wedding in July!

This is my entry for Mama Kat's prompt - finding the balance, how do you manage?

Who really is the biggest loser?

I don’t usually get worked up about what’s going on in celebrity culture – mostly because I can’t relate to them and likely they wouldn’t be very interested in my little life. But when I read this article about what Jillian Michaels said about pregnancy my face heated up a little and at first what was a tiny niggle of irritation bloomed into a “I’d like to give her a piece of my mind” kind of annoyance.

I think what bothers me most is that she gets paid (probably an unjustifiable amount) to coach people into shape. People of all shapes and sizes. Many of whom have given birth to children. That the thought of pregnancy seems to repulse her makes me wonder how much credibility she has lost with some of the contestants. I mean isn’t the best part of being coached by someone like her the fact that she used to be overweight herself?? That she has walked in these people’s shoes??

It’s sad to me that such a public person, with some clear responsibility in the realm of body image and self-esteem has decided to make such a lazy comment about one of - if not the most (in my opinion) - important job a woman will ever do.

Because you know what? Even though pregnancy is unpredictable and scary and can wreak havoc on your body, it is at the same time beautiful, and magical and full of grace. And not because I am a pregnant woman writing this but I find the pregnant body awe-some. And I find carrying a child in my uterus to be a joy and one of the greatest honours.

So I have these two things to say to Jillian:

In the end I hope that you don’t decide against having children only because of this fear of ruining your perfect body. Because honey, age will ravage all that you have worked hard for.

And…

Being an adopted person, it’s slightly insulting to think that someone might have thought they were ‘rescuing’ me. I’ve rescued before but only from animal shelters. And even then that dog and that cat have given me far more than I could ever give them.

For me

I don't spend a lot of time doing my make-up. I get my hair cut and coloured about every four months.

I do have my eyebrows and upper lip threaded every two weeks but this is a preventative measure more than anything. Maybe even a public service. The world doesn't need anymore unibrows I don't think. And I believe mustaches really only look good on the likes of Magnum and the Marlboro Man.

I like to dress well. It's business casual where I work. I love a good deal and rarely spend over $20.00 on an item of clothing unless it's a suit or a coat. I have no problem shopping in thrift stores either.

I may have a problem when it comes to accessories though. I adore earrings, necklaces, and bracelets. Not diamonds or gold or even silver. I prefer, wood, lucite, beads and plastic.

I did two things yesterday just for me. I'm not a martyr by any means. I know how to treat myself well. I just don't do it all the time. But yesterday was different.

I was tired and down all afternoon. The thought of being at work for eight more weeks felt like years to me. I looked at my vacation records and realized I had enough days to take some extra time off leading up to my due date. I sent my team and manager an email telling them that I would like to make my last day of work three weeks before the baby was to come. I want some time to myself to get things done and just be.

I then called Shaune on the way home and told him I was going to stop off and get a pedicure.

And I did.

The unnatural

I was thinking about work today on my way home. Not about my workload or the politics or my paycheck.

Just about the idea of going to a place for most of your waking time, away from your family, where you are expected to be on your best behaviour, be productive, dress half decent, sit in a chair for hours and hours, and get along with all the people around you.

I'm not knocking my job - it's where I am right now with the amount of education I was willing to pursue.

I saw a documentary on Google a while ago. It focused on what it was like to be an employee for the company. Admittedly it looked and sounded incredible. They offer things like free food, bringing your pet to work, financial planning classes, a gym, $12,000 a year education allowance and an awesome retirement savings plan.

I found this quote on Google about Google:

“The goal is to strip away everything that gets in our employees’ way. We provide a standard package of fringe benefits, but on top of that are first-class dining facilities, gyms, laundry rooms, massage rooms, haircuts, carwashes, dry cleaning, commuting buses – just about anything a hardworking employee might want. Let’s face it: programmers want to program, they don’t want to do their laundry. So we make it easy for them to do both.”
Eric Schmidt, CEO Google

It made me wonder what the ideal working conditions really are. When I first went back to work I was devastated to leave Deaglan. I felt sick all the time as if by being away from him, I was not fulfilling my life's purpose. I cringed thinking about how his needs were most likely going unmet all day at the daycare.

But slowly, week-by-week, I adapted. I found myself enjoying the freedom to finish a meal, go to the washroom by myself, have hours at a time where my clothes were snot-free. And then I got back into the swing of the business and it felt good to be productive in another way if you know what I mean.

Still, I wonder if it's natural. Being somewhere else for most of your waking hours. Sitting at a desk. Wearing an underwire bra and heels. Away from your family. Stifling emotions that easily peak in this place. Getting along.

My best side

We’ve probably taken close to 10,000 pictures since Deaglan was born. I think it must be a side effect of parenting. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great to be able to look back and see a week-by-week growth chart of our baby. I know that already there is so much I have forgotten and he is not yet two. We were lucky enough to get a bunch of gift certificates from family which enabled us to kick in some extra and invest in a really good camera. And it’s been such a great tool to document this wonderful new avenue of our lives.

However, a pitfall of this has been that I am in so damned many of these pictures. This is mostly because Shaune likes to be the photographer. But here’s where I would rather not have the minute-by-minute reminder of what I look like when I’m not trying to pose. I mean I only share the odd picture of myself on this blog - odd meaning it is a rarity when one turns out not so bad. But believe me most of the shots are BAD. The sad thing is that I can’t blame it on Shaune’s photography skills because the ones of Deaglan are usually awesome.

A few weeks ago Shaune took a real eye-opener. I felt like Elaine on that Seinfeld episode where they keep making fun of the size of her head and she stops and says – could I maybe not be as attractive as I think I am? It’s not that I think I’m some sort of a beauty queen but this particular angle that Shaune seemed to have captured just right was like a slap in the face. My immediate reaction was to want to burn the outfit I was wearing but more than that, have a serious chat with my better half – which by the way was definitely not caught in this particular snapshot – and ask him why he would take such a picture and more importantly why he would let me venture out of the house if such angles were possible!?

In the spirit of full disclosure I’ve included some of these classics for you here. If you ever felt that in the past I was carrying airs or being snobbish in any way, comfort yourself with the knowledge that I had no business doing so.

From the front I thought this outfit was alright. I think Stacey and Clinton may have a point
about needing the 360 degree mirror.

Again with the rear shot - Shaune???

I was determined to have not even one nice memory of our day out with Thomas!

This could have been okay had I said "cheese" instead of "constipated"

I don't even know what to say about this one.




There's no reminder like this one that I need to start watching what I eat.

And these were just the presentable ones folks!

Practical magic

Did I ever tell you about my threader? Her name is Suk (pronounced Sook) and she runs a “for women only” spa. My dentist Pam told me about her one day last year as she was checking over the work the hygienist had just finished in my mouth. I’ve told myself that she was just making casual conversation and not giving me much needed advice. But it turns out, it was one of the most useful conversations I’ve ever been a part of.

Anyway, I love Suk. She’s around my age, from India, has two of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen, is recently divorced and is the best eyebrow shaper I have ever had.

Her tiny little shop doesn’t have air conditioning or a comfortable waiting area. Often when I enter the shop, there are several people standing around awkwardly because the four black anomalous chairs are taken. She has posters of some of India’s most famous beauties – Aishwarya Rai, Rani Mukherjee - on her wall, offers beauty products I had never known existed – did you know that turmeric is really good for your skin? and you can get things like a henna tattoo or an ayurvedic facial.

Her clientele are a wonderful exotic mixture of East Indian, Middle Eastern and Canadian women ranging from the ages of 12 (hey us dark skinned women didn’t luck out in the facial hair department and the onset of puberty only made this more obvious – you should see my prom picture if you want to get clear on what a unibrow looks like) to 70. Just today an ancient tiny Indian woman shuffled in with her granddaughter leading her by the elbow to have her chin threaded.

And threading is Suk’s specialty. This is a really healthy, green and inexpensive alternative to waxing. The speed and accuracy with which she removes the hair has me worshipping Suk as if she was the second coming reincarnate. I told her a while ago that if she ever thought about moving out of this city, I would easily pack up my family and home and follow where she was going. And I know that I’m not the only one that feels this way. Last month she went to visit some of her family in India and you have never seen so many uncomfortable looking brown women walking around town being mistaken for Magnum P.I. We simply will not go to anyone else now that we’ve found her.

One of the difficulties Suk faces as the result of being in such high demand is that all of her clientele will only accept her services. She has hired a second person in the past but people will absolutely not trust their eyebrows, upper lips or chins to anyone else.

We have a wedding to go to tomorrow – actually all three of us are a part of the wedding party. (I’ll post some pictures of Deaglan as the ring bearer next week.) And so I called several weeks ago and couldn’t get an appointment till this morning. There were 15 people ahead of me all waiting patiently to have Suk work her magic.

It’s funny how such a small thing like your eyebrows being a bit unruly can make you feel so unattractive and incomplete. I usually walk out of that salon with my head held high and my back just a little straighter.

Oh and the best part? It costs me just $12.60 to have my eyebrows and upper lip done!

Has anyone seen my integrity?

Well I did it. I crossed the line from being idealistic mom to do-whatever-it-takes-to-get-the-job-done mom. I mixed Deaglan's antibiotics with vanilla ice cream to get him to take it.

And I don't feel as sinister as I thought I might.

After wearing most of the dose to work this morning - penecillin and violet sheer don't go as well as you might think - I brainstormed all day, a plan to pull the wool over my own child's eyes.

Go ahead. Throw your stones. Tell me that the properties of the antibiotics become ineffective when mixed with sugar (okay please do tell me if you think this could be true - I'm not as fearless as I'm trying to seem right now), judge me harshly if you must. I can take it.

Tall glass of water

I went out for a drink with friends after work. I haven't done that in a long time. We went to a newer spot down the street from work.

All the servers were very scantily clad - poor things. It can't be comfortable working like that. If I've worn the wrong bra or too tight a sweater to work, I am tempted to go home and change.

These young gals were in skirts that were little more than what looked to be lycra belts and teensy weensy itty bitty tank tops. I don't think any of them had eaten for well over a month - none of them weighed more than 80 pounds.

It reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Elaine notices that all the waitresses at the diner they frequent have large chests and look alike. She is convinced that the owner only hires good looking women with nice racks and wants to prove this by trying to get hired. When she applies she is told that they are not hiring at the moment. When she confronts the restaurant owner and accuses him of discrimination against plain flat-chested women (her) he looks at her puzzled. I don't know what you're talking about, all of these waitresses are my daughters.

Well the servers at the cafe tonight weren't related but sure did meet certain criteria. Very young. Very thin. And very attractive.

I'll go back to this place because we got great service and the atmosphere was fun and the decor was beautiful. But I can't help wonder if these young, thin, light women ever look at each other and say - hey how come none of us is chubby or male?

Some cold hard truths

I have a lot of belly fat. It’s where I always gain my weight. I’d never had a flat stomach in my life, even when I was a little girl. But after gaining 60 pounds with Deaglan it’s not a very pretty sight. I’ve always been curvy, never worn a bikini proudly, always have a hard time finding a top and bottom set that would even fit my proportions. I’m an apple not a pear.

A few years ago a confused woman at work consistently had me mixed up with another brown girl. Only this other brown girl was a pear not an apple. So when the confused woman would see me at the gym, working out (we have a convenient workout centre right in the building where I work outfitted with the latest equipment and classes and costs ten bucks a month to use) she would grab me by the shoulder and say: You look so great – you’ve lost so much weight! I didn’t embarrass her but I knew that she meant my butt looked smaller. The brown girl she had me mixed up with has a large bottom, I have a bigger mid section but almost never gain weight in my rear. So this unfortunate visually challenged woman thought that my workouts were paying off because my butt looked smaller. This went on for some time and I won’t even go into the “all brown people look alike” discussion but I’m sure you were thinking the same.

A few years ago I used to really focus on my abdominals and let them stand in the way of how I saw myself. I’ve always hated my figure. Especially here in North America, it’s harder to feel physically acceptable when the idea of beautiful has been tall and thin for so long. Technically I’m the opposite of that. Short (just over 5’2” – for a while I was telling everybody that I was 5’3” but it’s just not true so I stopped) and on the verge of chubby (132lbs – boy the honesty is pouring out of me now!). I think I might have been a big hit during Marilyn Munroe’s day save the skin colour.

But something surprising came along with Motherhood. Acceptance. I still want to be a healthy weight and look good in clothes but I could care less if I have flat abs or can fit into a size four. The thought of working to fit into a bikini sounds exhausting. I have no problem wearing a ponytail for 12 days straight and unless I’m at work prefer flat shoes or runners to heels any day of the week.

I have to say motherhood aside, a part of this definitely has to do with feeling happy about my life and a part of this has to do with the fact I lucked out in the husband department. He almost always finds me attractive (even on those days I wish he wouldn’t – you exhausted moms know what I’m talking about here!).

Last summer, wearing any sort of a water-activity garment was out of the question but I really have to consider my options this year since we have one of those wading pools which will be so much fun for Deaglan if not for his mom.

I saw this bathing suit at a local department store and have seriously considered trying it on.