Red Writing Hood - Tradition

When I was younger - probably twenty years ago, my mother gave me a book which over the years I have replaced several times. I loved it so much that I would often gift it to a friend if I felt she too might love this book. Then I would buy myself another because I couldn't stand to be without a copy. 

This book changed my inner life. I began thinking in terms of writing. Back then I wrote in journals. It was memoir-type writing but there was something so private and serene about it that really hooked me. Like the author, I often found myself in coffee shops and diners, writing in my notebooks.

I wrote about nothing. Just whatever came out. It was therapeutic, documentative, self-preserving and especially to that young me, very romantic. I haven't picked up the book in a few years but I know exactly where it is downstairs. I love the simplicity of the exercises and the way the author weaves in her personal story of writing.

I've treasured this gift my mother gave me. I've never told her how much. I hope to pass it onto one or both of my kids. Maybe it will give them permission to sit in a cafe and write one day.

I saw this interview with the author of that book, Writing Down the Bones, and wanted to post it for my entry in the Red Writing Hood promt Tradition.

Terrible two's or not

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there are many moments of deep sighing these days in dealing with the antics of the local toddler.

Yesterday I had to give Deaglan a time-out for opening a second gift from under the tree. He had already opened one, something I couldn't bring myself to get worked up about because, after all, he's only almost three.
But I explained, in detail, the process: how we wait until Christmas morning, after Santa has come to open the presents.
This boring explanation could not trump the heady buzz he must have felt opening that first gift and hitting the jackpot with a Thomas the train bath toy. So he went for it again while I was distracted in the kitchen.
And today we went to see Santa at the mall. Because Shaune and I get creeped out by mall santa's, we weren't planning on taking the kids unless they brought it up, but we were already at the mall, and there was no line-up and that new-parent bug took over. We even paid the eleven bucks for the five by seven print we could have photoshopped ourselves for a fraction of that price.

After we left the mall, Deaglan had a million questions:

• When was he going to get his station (a three vehicle -police car, ambulance and firetruck - parking garage he fell in love with a few days ago)
• Was Santa going to that store to get it?
• When would Santa see his goats (I explained for the tenth time that they were reindeers)
• Why couldn't he have his station now

And the fiction you find yourself weaving about the north pole and the elves is RIDICULOUS.

I know that they call this phase he's going through the terrible two's but I have to say, it's a lot of great stuff too.

The joy he gets from substituting every other word with poop, pee and stinky bum/feet/armpit - well it's hard to always remain neutral and discouraging. And the fact that he asks me all the time if I think he's funny, kills me. 

Last night before we started reading our last book at bedtime, he looked at me and said Mommy, I'm going to be funny now. And sure enough he was.

This is my entry for Pour your heart out. Check out some of the other posts.

Remind me Monday

It's deep freeze cold outside. Biting, blowing cold. I have a few minutes to myself and feel torn. There's a lot of housework to do but I don't want to do it. I'm sipping on hot chamomile and reclining in my favourite chair. I should be wrapping gifts while the kids are napping. But that would require effort. I'm enjoying the quiet. No one asking me
to play.
Or make them something to eat.
Or change their diaper.
Or hold them because they are teething.

I should call some people back.

But it's just a few minutes so I'm going to quiet that other voice. I'm telling it to take a hike because I don't want to clean

or fold
or wrap
or call. I just want to sit here.

Sip and Recline.

I want to keep these few moments for myself.

I'm joining my friend Ratz in Remind me Mondays.

Nobody does it like Nancy and Tracie but here's what I came up with.

I read this post a few nights ago and promised myself I would try a similar one. I really need a bit of levity today. It's dim outside. The baby has been up even more throughout the night than usual and we've been snowed in for going on a week.

Here are the yays and boos of my last week:

Yay: I've finally started to feel a bit of the holiday spirit.
Boo: Much to Shaune's silent horror, I've been turning just about everything into a Christmas craft. Did I mention that I'm not artsy in that way at all?

Yay: Deaglan is doing great with the potty training and is in underwear most of the time meaning we're saving on diapers.
Boo: Either I need to improve my butt wiping skills or invest in some darker coloured Fruit of the Loom briefs.

Yay: Naveen is thriving, he's healthy, hitting all the milestones and recently started eating cereal and some baby food.
Boo: This healthy little nightowl is now teething, so is awake even more throughout the night and to top it off, his poop smells like he's been eating hotdogs and skunk pie.

Yay: I bought an awesome advent calendar from Costco a few years ago and this is the first year Deaglan is really into it. We filled it with hershey kisses.
Boo: I've already had re-stock the hershey kisses once and it's only the 10th of December. Sadly Deaglan had nothing to do with the disappearing kisses.

Yay: We've been doing a lot of fun holiday baking with Deaglan.
Boo: I'm eating cookies for breakfast lunch and dinner and am possibly suffering some sort of sugar-induced rut.

Yay: My friend asked me to be a bridesmaid in her upcoming wedding and we chose dresses a few weeks ago.
Boo: My plan to be back to my pre-pregnancy weight by May and thereby have the dress taken in isn't going so well. Cookies and kisses.

Yay: Deaglan is becoming more and more articulate.
Boo: He has stumped me several times this week when negotiating:

• a later bedtime
• why he should be able to eat dinner in front of the TV 
• why he should be allowed to eat cookies for breakfast (this one didn't take too much ingenuity - he caught me red-handed)

Yay: Deaglan is asking a lot of healthy questions about life.
Boo: He insists that he will have a vagina when he gets big like Mommy regardless of my numerous explanations to the contrary. (Wrong on so many levels - first of all Mommy is not big)

Yay: I'm on maternity leave which means I'm saving money on buying new work clothes for the season.
Boo: If I keep up my current diet, the only pants I'll be fitting into are Santa's and he needs them.

My wonderful real life friend Lesa's mom Sharon made the Christmas ornaments for the boys.

Sexy vampires make me want to vomit

I have no tolerance for vampire stories. I refuse to read novels about them, won't watch any of the twelve thousand new TV shows about teenage 90210 vampires and wouldn't dream of paying ten bucks to see beautiful twenty-something British actors biting each other's necks on the big screen.

I will be so bold as to say I hate the vampire movement. It bugs the crap out of me. Some people will accuse me of being a realist, of lacking imagination, even of not being fun. But I don't care.

I prefer drama of the mortal world. I like law and order. I mean I really like Law and Order. All through my adult life, my roaring twenties when I thought I was the first person ever to discover the beauty of Van Morrison and wearing Doc Martens made me anti-establishment (please!) I have watched this show. In my early thirties where I saw myself as some sort of sophisticated urbanite because I ate expensive food and drank good wine and into my late thirties where I've finally started to uncover the me I like, I've always loved Law and Order.

There is something simple about the formula. A person discovers a body. The cops come in, take cues from the crime scene to uncover what happened. The lawyers prosecute those responsible. There is nothing glamorous. There is no plot. We rarely get a personal look into the bedrooms or even the kitchens of the characters unless it is crucial to the story of the crime. And my favourite part?

It's real.

In Dick Wolf's world, there are no gratuitous sex scenes, no seductive teenagers committing the crimes to drive up ratings, no superhero detective named H swooping in to save the day, wearing clothes he likely couldn't afford on a real life cop's salary, no solving the crime within the hour time frame, no good guys always winning. The bum on the street, looks like a bum on the street, not a beautiful guest actor with strategically placed 'bum' makeup above his eye.



And the story unfolds as it would in life. In his memoirs, Stephen King says that he rarely ever writes a novel with a preconceived plot. He starts out with an idea or situation and then lets the story uncover itself - he likens it to digging up a dinosaur skeleton. Done right with the appropriate tools, he says, the story will show itself.

It's not unusual for the DA's office to lose their case on a tiny technicality. Sometimes the person we spent 45 minutes blaming for the crime ends up being innocent. Children die. Women get raped and don't get justice. Innocent men spend ten years behind bars. People are refused medical care because they can't pay.

Real life. Ugly and messy.

I'm participating with Mama Kat using the prompts simple and bold. Check out some of the other entries.

My kind of Monday

I'm linking up with lowercase letters for miscellany monday and also keeping in the spirit Ratz created with her post Remind me Monday.

• We're snowed in over here. I'm on maternity leave and home anyway, but Shaune is loving the extra day off considering he's been busting his butt six days a week going to school and work since September.

• Deaglan in typical toddler fashion is either always in tiny Fruit of the Loom white briefs or his birthday suit. We often ask him to please get his clothes on but he just looks at us like we're nuts. It's hard not to love seeing a tiny boy in tiny briefs.

• I'm sort of getting in the spirit but I'm not sure Shaune's all that thrilled. You see, I have absolutely no artistic ability (like none people) but am loving creating things from scratch for the season. I'll have to post some of my masterpieces in a later post and you can be the judge. I'm taking Shaune's polite silence as an indication that I shouldn't start selling anything on Etsy just yet.

• I know I've said it before, but I just have to say it again. I could just eat Naveen's double chinned, pudgy baby deliciousness right up.

Hope you're having a good Monday and don't forget to count your blessings!

Believers

Christ, I  thought, why did I open the door for this lunatic?

"Ma'am, we’ve been talking with your neighbors about what can be done to assure that there will be employment and housing for everyone. Do you believe that it is reasonable to expect that human governments will accomplish this?" she says.

Naveen on my hip is squirming now.

"Sorry, what?" I ask, hoping the baby will come through for me with some loud crying.

"Do you believe what we teach from the Bible, namely, that we are living in ‘the last days,’ that soon God is going to destroy the wicked, and that this earth will become a paradise in which people can live forever in perfect health among neighbours who really love one another?"

"Listen, we're not really into religion. At all." Now I'm bouncing the baby, hoping she'll see how busy I am.

"Many folks tell us that. Have you ever wondered why people like me volunteer to make these calls even though we know that the majority of householders may not welcome us?" she's now taking out a pamphlet .

Damn it, she has an answer for everything. It was the bloody snow outside and the cold look on her face that made me even answer the door. Plus she had on a pair of buttery brown leather boots worn on top of black leggings. Can they wear nice boots and leggings? Shouldn't they have to wear a sign or something?

"I should have just told you upfront, I'm not interested in this - uh, your religion." I say. Why can't the phone ring for the love of God?

"Let's not talk of religion. Most people would like to have the kind of government that is free from corruption, one that provides employment and good housing for everyone. What kind of government do you think can do all of that?" She continues completely ignoring my protest.

"Listen, I'm sorry but I don't want to talk about this. I appreciate what you're doing. But I have to go pick up my son from daycare." I say, relieved I thought of something tangible.

She smiles and looks at her watch.

"At 9 A.M.?" she asks.

Now I'm getting pissed.

"Okay, I've been trying to be polite. I am.not.interested in this."

Finally, I can see she gets it. She starts buttoning up her beautiful red wool coat wrapping what looks like a creamy black cashmere scarf around her neck. When the hell did Jehovah's Witnesses start looking like this?

"Maybe I can leave this with you." She says, pushing a pamphlet toward me.

"No, I don't want that." I say, bordering on rudeness now.

I closed the door and even though I was rattled, I couldn't help but notice how calm she stayed until the last minute. What the hell kind of brainwashing were they doing over there that this attractive thirty-something woman was happily willing to have the likes of me practically spit in her face all in the name of religion?


This post was motivated by the Red Writing Hood prompt: Trapped. Click over to read some of the other entries.

Post script: This is a work of fiction. I have nothing against any organized religion. I do however get irritated with door-to-door soliciting of any kind. Except little kids trying to sell cookies or wanting to make money raking leaves or shovelling snow. It helps if they're really cute too.

Besides, I can see a JW a mile away and usually run to the back of the house with the baby and like a coward pretend I'm not home.