Greetings, y'all.
So computator seems to be pooched again, which means I am back to blogging via iPad. Which is ALL SORTS OF FUN what with the typing by touchscreen, having to manually enter all HTML formatting and complete inability to add pictures unless I go into work early and upload pictures after the fact.
Have I mentioned the meddefluerking auto-correct? ALL SORTS OF FUN
So the lack of pictures means this post about weekend road trip that Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Good Blog Alias™ (yeah, about that.. I really should come up with something because that takes way too long to type) embarked upon is going to be a "use your imagination" type thing.
at least until I can add some pictures.
Basically, the agenda consisted of leaving early morning with a tank of gas, a tent and a cooler of road-snacks and heading east towards the haliburton highlands, exploring various trails and towns, and looping back next day with a stop in Peterborough for breakfast. Easy peasy. The tent was actually a backup plan since the actual plan was to sleep in the car, something I've found convenient on past long trips. I'm pretty sure he might have preferred the ground.
(aside from a stop in Orillia for groceries and gas) our first stop was Bancroft, a town I spent a lot of time in as a kid when my maternal grandparents had there house there. I had two goals here.. Buy Chelsea Buns from the local bakery, because ohmigord YUM, and seek out the Musky Bay Resort, a seasonal trailer camp that had been owned by my aunt Shirley and Uncle Stan years ago, and where I would spend two weeks with my grandparents every summer, fishing and boating and hanging out with my cousin Jaime, the only cousin my age I ever got to see with any regularity. The campground had been sold years ago, after Stan passed away. We had looked the place up and between some sketchy satellite imagery and my own fuzzy memories were able to find the place, not without overshooting the entrance at least once. I wandered in and introduced myself to a lovely Eastern European woman named Yvonna, one of the new owners who had just recently taken over. I got the impression that the previous owner had let the place go quite a bit. The grass grew wild around a number of empty trailers and around the main house. The store where Stan and Shirley sold bait and penny candy was empty. But here and there were signs of improvement... Two new docks sat at the shoreline, and Yvonna showed where they were renovating the three old rental cabins that sat at the shore adding bathrooms where previously there was only one communal shower/toilet for all three cabins.
As we walked, i pointed out where my grandparents trailer sat and where we held horseshoe tournaments and family reunions at the front of the main building. As bittersweet as it was to see the place in a state of disrepair, I felt a good deal of gratitude towards this quiet polite woman and her family for keeping the place open, and their efforts in reviving it. It's funny though. Musky Bay had the distinction of being one of the last old-fashioned, mom-and-pop run family campgrounds and as much as it pained me to see the place deteriorated, it would have pained me as much, if not more, to see it turned into some kind of posh yuppie resort.
at any rate, I thanked Yvonna for showing me around and pledge to return and see how they were coming along with the place. We got back into the car and headed back toward Bancroft and onto our next destination, Egan Chutes Provincial Park.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
My own childhood bullying tale - or - I'm not fucked up because of how my parents raised me, but how other parents raised theirs.
Today I felt like crying.
No, no. I'm okay. Nothing to worry about. Just feeling bittersweet. Accent on the bitter, I guess?
It started with a Facebook group. *shakes fist in Mark Zuckerberg's general direction* A group called I GREW UP IN AURORA.
I did, you know. Grow up in Aurora, I mean. Aurora, Ontario. Some of those closest to me may be familiar with the sneer of derision that usually comes with mention of the place.
I'm not actually a member of this group (update: I totally lied. I am). My mom is, because she did too. Grow up there. That may be too simplistic. I think my mom merely lived there. It'd be safe to say her actual growing up was done in the neighbouring town of Newmarket, which according to the stories of adolescence I have been regaled with over the years, was a far more rad place than it's neighbour to the south.
A friend of mine who lived in the area for roughly the same period of time (although we didn't meet until years and years later) once remarked that in Aurora, you'd drive down streets where people had paid tens of thousands of dollars on landscaping, only to find nothing but junk inside.
At the time it seemed an apt metaphor.
Gosh, I sound pretty bitter, don't I? Why all the hate, you may ask?
Interesting question, that. I'll get to that.
So yeah, because the Mighty Zuck seems to think everyone needs to see everything that everyone does, I caught a link through this group to a photoblog which had, amongst its many posts, photos of the school I attended from grade 1 to 3, which was shut down a few short years back.
It's a tremendous and beautiful building, having first served as a high school (where my grandfather attended) and later used as a primary school for grades 1 through 6.
Seeing the photos was a bit of a head-trip. I, myself, have not stepped foot inside in over 20 years. When they closed Wells Street, there was an open house to commemorate it's 100 year history. The few photos in this woman's blog brought forth a rush of emotion - first, the visceral reaction I generally get when presented with classical architecture. I'll be the first to admit, I have a bit of an obsession with older buildings.
Second was a flood of memories of the relatively brief but formative time I attended Wells Street Public School.
I was a painfully shy, and oddly intelligent child. A little awkward, a little chubby. More interested in the planets and ocean creatures than Barbies and My Little Ponies. Eager to please, eager for others to like me. A prime target for bullies.
Third grade was when the two 'popular' girls in my class decided that that year was the year I would have no friends, no fun, no joy whatsoever. They began to taunt me, promising friendship then ripping it away, with mocking laughter and cruel, cutting, remarks. They made it well known to all that I was social poison. Not only would they not be my friend, but anyone who did befriend me would also be outcast.
Two of my best friends would whisper when no one was looking that yes, they were still my friend, even if they put up the act of shunning me as well.
I could hardly blame them. I had already saw the devastation these two popular girls had wreaked in my own world. I couldn't let that happen to my friends as well. My third friend managed to escape the social stigma of being my friend simply by benefit of being a boy. The threat of expulsion to loser-land was lost on the boys in my class... they were just happy to join in on the fun.
In the evenings, I would cry inexplicably. I was always crying. My parents would ask how my day was, what was wrong. In a quiet voice I'd insist that my day was fine. Nothing happened. I was okay. In tears, but okay. My sister knew what was going on.. She wrote me letters from the exchange house in Germany where she was staying that winter, telling me she loved me and making empty but appreciated threats to beat the 'little bitches'. My parents continued to wonder why I was upset all the time but refused to open up to them.
I guess that has just never been my way.
I have no recollection, perhaps I've blocked it out, but I've been told that it got to the point where I was skipping school. This was how my parents found out about these girls and how they had been tormenting me for most of the school year. The one girl lived down the street from us, with her grandparents and her mother who was single and worked full-time, relatively unheard of in 1980's Aurora. Her mother was devastated and truly remorseful that her daughter was capable of treating another kid this way, and blamed herself. The other child's mother, who had attended high school with my own mother, simply sneered. She had taught her daughter to be tough.. it wasn't her problem if I was "such a fucking wimp."
I see these pictures of the school and I remember not just its immense empty halls, but I remember walking them, sad, and scared and angry. The staircase in the second photo from the bottom is the same staircase where I would sit after being sent in the hall. Heeding the advice of "ignore it and it will go away", I would close my ears to the whispered taunts until finally I would lash out in anger and frustration, only to be scolded and sent to the hall for causing a disturbance. I'd sit out there and cry and wait until I was sure my face was no longer red and my breathing had returned to normal.
Even then, I had a tendency towards 'The Ugly Cry'. Oh, look. There it goes again.
I was lucky enough to change schools the next year after being screened for the region's gifted program. My problems didn't end there, by any means, but they subsided for a good while. However, by the time we moved from Aurora to the Midland area, I was good and ready to get the fuck out of there. I never really felt like I belonged there. I don't think my family did either.
You know, a lot of this seems trivial in retrospect. So what? Everybody had bullshit to deal with as a kid. But it kind of fucked with me for a long time. For years I had a difficult time making friend without falling prey to the suspicion that I was being taken for a fool, that I was being set up as part of some grand, Carrie-esque prank and I'd be the girl covered in pig-blood, only instead of wreaking my vengeance all I would be able to do is cry and hate myself a little. I missed out on what could have been some wonderful friendships because I couldn't bring myself to trust. That said, I'm thankful for the few long-standing friendships was able to forge over the years.
I'm not going to lie, I've let these memories color my memories of Aurora with a very dark brush. I think sometimes that I would still like to go back. To fight my way down Yonge Street where everything is so built up now that you can no longer tell there was ever any bordering area between Newmarket and Aurora. I'd like to park at my uncle's house (which was the house where we lived) and walk the neighbourhood as I did when I was a kid - my parents were the free-range kid type.
There are still places I have fond memories of..
I did, you know. Grow up in Aurora, I mean. Aurora, Ontario. Some of those closest to me may be familiar with the sneer of derision that usually comes with mention of the place.
I'm not actually a member of this group (update: I totally lied. I am). My mom is, because she did too. Grow up there. That may be too simplistic. I think my mom merely lived there. It'd be safe to say her actual growing up was done in the neighbouring town of Newmarket, which according to the stories of adolescence I have been regaled with over the years, was a far more rad place than it's neighbour to the south.
A friend of mine who lived in the area for roughly the same period of time (although we didn't meet until years and years later) once remarked that in Aurora, you'd drive down streets where people had paid tens of thousands of dollars on landscaping, only to find nothing but junk inside.
At the time it seemed an apt metaphor.
Gosh, I sound pretty bitter, don't I? Why all the hate, you may ask?
Interesting question, that. I'll get to that.
So yeah, because the Mighty Zuck seems to think everyone needs to see everything that everyone does, I caught a link through this group to a photoblog which had, amongst its many posts, photos of the school I attended from grade 1 to 3, which was shut down a few short years back.
It's a tremendous and beautiful building, having first served as a high school (where my grandfather attended) and later used as a primary school for grades 1 through 6.
Seeing the photos was a bit of a head-trip. I, myself, have not stepped foot inside in over 20 years. When they closed Wells Street, there was an open house to commemorate it's 100 year history. The few photos in this woman's blog brought forth a rush of emotion - first, the visceral reaction I generally get when presented with classical architecture. I'll be the first to admit, I have a bit of an obsession with older buildings.
Second was a flood of memories of the relatively brief but formative time I attended Wells Street Public School.
I was a painfully shy, and oddly intelligent child. A little awkward, a little chubby. More interested in the planets and ocean creatures than Barbies and My Little Ponies. Eager to please, eager for others to like me. A prime target for bullies.
Third grade was when the two 'popular' girls in my class decided that that year was the year I would have no friends, no fun, no joy whatsoever. They began to taunt me, promising friendship then ripping it away, with mocking laughter and cruel, cutting, remarks. They made it well known to all that I was social poison. Not only would they not be my friend, but anyone who did befriend me would also be outcast.
Two of my best friends would whisper when no one was looking that yes, they were still my friend, even if they put up the act of shunning me as well.
I could hardly blame them. I had already saw the devastation these two popular girls had wreaked in my own world. I couldn't let that happen to my friends as well. My third friend managed to escape the social stigma of being my friend simply by benefit of being a boy. The threat of expulsion to loser-land was lost on the boys in my class... they were just happy to join in on the fun.
In the evenings, I would cry inexplicably. I was always crying. My parents would ask how my day was, what was wrong. In a quiet voice I'd insist that my day was fine. Nothing happened. I was okay. In tears, but okay. My sister knew what was going on.. She wrote me letters from the exchange house in Germany where she was staying that winter, telling me she loved me and making empty but appreciated threats to beat the 'little bitches'. My parents continued to wonder why I was upset all the time but refused to open up to them.
I guess that has just never been my way.
I have no recollection, perhaps I've blocked it out, but I've been told that it got to the point where I was skipping school. This was how my parents found out about these girls and how they had been tormenting me for most of the school year. The one girl lived down the street from us, with her grandparents and her mother who was single and worked full-time, relatively unheard of in 1980's Aurora. Her mother was devastated and truly remorseful that her daughter was capable of treating another kid this way, and blamed herself. The other child's mother, who had attended high school with my own mother, simply sneered. She had taught her daughter to be tough.. it wasn't her problem if I was "such a fucking wimp."
I see these pictures of the school and I remember not just its immense empty halls, but I remember walking them, sad, and scared and angry. The staircase in the second photo from the bottom is the same staircase where I would sit after being sent in the hall. Heeding the advice of "ignore it and it will go away", I would close my ears to the whispered taunts until finally I would lash out in anger and frustration, only to be scolded and sent to the hall for causing a disturbance. I'd sit out there and cry and wait until I was sure my face was no longer red and my breathing had returned to normal.
Even then, I had a tendency towards 'The Ugly Cry'. Oh, look. There it goes again.
I was lucky enough to change schools the next year after being screened for the region's gifted program. My problems didn't end there, by any means, but they subsided for a good while. However, by the time we moved from Aurora to the Midland area, I was good and ready to get the fuck out of there. I never really felt like I belonged there. I don't think my family did either.
You know, a lot of this seems trivial in retrospect. So what? Everybody had bullshit to deal with as a kid. But it kind of fucked with me for a long time. For years I had a difficult time making friend without falling prey to the suspicion that I was being taken for a fool, that I was being set up as part of some grand, Carrie-esque prank and I'd be the girl covered in pig-blood, only instead of wreaking my vengeance all I would be able to do is cry and hate myself a little. I missed out on what could have been some wonderful friendships because I couldn't bring myself to trust. That said, I'm thankful for the few long-standing friendships was able to forge over the years.
I'm not going to lie, I've let these memories color my memories of Aurora with a very dark brush. I think sometimes that I would still like to go back. To fight my way down Yonge Street where everything is so built up now that you can no longer tell there was ever any bordering area between Newmarket and Aurora. I'd like to park at my uncle's house (which was the house where we lived) and walk the neighbourhood as I did when I was a kid - my parents were the free-range kid type.
There are still places I have fond memories of..
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
UPDATED: And somehow, when I wasn't looking, I became a grown-up?
I'm a little nervous, I have to admit. This being a grown-up stuff is nerve-wracking.
Last week I called my brother-in-laws 'mortgage guy' because the time is drawing near where I may not have this little dollhouse any longer. It was something I've known was coming for some time, a couple of years even, but even so has managed to sneak up on me.
For the last few years I have been paying down chunks of debt and socking away money in hopes to better my financial situation. I was feeling pretty confident. I had paid down my line of credit, my credit cards and had, through coincidence or divine intervention, managed to divest myself of a $300+ a month car payment and have my insurance payments lowered in the process. All I had left in the way of debt was my student loan payments.
I don't have a full down payment saved but nonetheless I was reasonably sure that I had a good shot at something modest, in the 150K range.
So I called the mortgage guy and after going through my stuff he informed me that although I'm currently on interest relief for my student loans, he'd have to report what I'd be expected to pay once that relief runs out. Which is in the ballpark of what I'd be paying monthly for a mortgage. Hence the continuing applications for interest relief.
What did this mean for me? Basically that if he could even get me approved, it wouldn't be for anything substantial and I'd probably not be able to afford anything that didn't include the word 'Mobile' in the description.
Needless to say, I was pretty devastated. There was a possibility that I could have my loan payments changed so that they were less but that would involve going off interest relief and having thus having to pay every month. So theoretically I'd be more able to afford a house, but realistically I'd be less able to afford it, because my imaginary $600 + payments would change into very real $250 payments that I would have to make, instead of paying what I can, when I can as I am doing now. The other downside of this would be that I would probably be paying my loan for the rest of my natural life.
The other option was getting a co-signer, which is not only hard to come by, but at least if the mortgage is in my name only then I'm the only one that gets fucked if I default.
That day I cried a lot at work and in the evening Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Blog Alias™ helped cheer me up by engaging me in some black humour as we scoured MLS for houses 'in my price range' across Canada. Or more specifically, in the $25,000 and under price range.
It's amusing reading the descriptions and lack thereof of some of the more run-down properties that people are trying to unload. At this point, you know the agents have just given up trying and in some cases, such as this beauty in Thunder Bay (which could be yours for just under $10K), you get the idea that the agents aren't so much trying to entice potential buyers as warn them. Descriptions ranged from your typical "Handyman's Special! Needs TLC!" to "Value is in the land, not the building!" and my personal favorite This-Realtor-Has-Just-Given-Up line -- "It Is What It Is!"
We also discussed the possibility of moving this gorgeous little church from Alberta to Ontario.. I could potentially buy it outright with my down payment money. I'd just need to transport it and find some land to plop it down on. Sounds easy enough, right?
Anyone got a truck, a couple of police convoys and a shit-load of bungee cords?
With a clearer head I decided I would speak directly to my bank, having been a loyal customer for the last 15+ years, while never asking for so much as an overdraft. I came out of the meeting feeling more optimistic, mainly because being a bank and not a broker, they CAN take my interest relief into consideration, so my application will be based on what I am paying now, not what I may theoretically be paying in six months. This is a good thing, potentially. It will be a few days before I hear back from the bank though.
So now, now I play the waiting game.
UPDATE: A) I got the pre-approval! Whoo-Hoo! I can start house-hunting!
B) The link to the Thunder Bay house is dead. This could possibly mean that it *gasp* actually sold, in which case, I want a cut. But I think it's more likely that the place got washed away in the midst of all the flooding. Thoughts are going out to anyone, including my former in-laws, that are in the area. Hope you all are safe.
Last week I called my brother-in-laws 'mortgage guy' because the time is drawing near where I may not have this little dollhouse any longer. It was something I've known was coming for some time, a couple of years even, but even so has managed to sneak up on me.
For the last few years I have been paying down chunks of debt and socking away money in hopes to better my financial situation. I was feeling pretty confident. I had paid down my line of credit, my credit cards and had, through coincidence or divine intervention, managed to divest myself of a $300+ a month car payment and have my insurance payments lowered in the process. All I had left in the way of debt was my student loan payments.
I don't have a full down payment saved but nonetheless I was reasonably sure that I had a good shot at something modest, in the 150K range.
So I called the mortgage guy and after going through my stuff he informed me that although I'm currently on interest relief for my student loans, he'd have to report what I'd be expected to pay once that relief runs out. Which is in the ballpark of what I'd be paying monthly for a mortgage. Hence the continuing applications for interest relief.
What did this mean for me? Basically that if he could even get me approved, it wouldn't be for anything substantial and I'd probably not be able to afford anything that didn't include the word 'Mobile' in the description.
Needless to say, I was pretty devastated. There was a possibility that I could have my loan payments changed so that they were less but that would involve going off interest relief and having thus having to pay every month. So theoretically I'd be more able to afford a house, but realistically I'd be less able to afford it, because my imaginary $600 + payments would change into very real $250 payments that I would have to make, instead of paying what I can, when I can as I am doing now. The other downside of this would be that I would probably be paying my loan for the rest of my natural life.
The other option was getting a co-signer, which is not only hard to come by, but at least if the mortgage is in my name only then I'm the only one that gets fucked if I default.
That day I cried a lot at work and in the evening Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Blog Alias™ helped cheer me up by engaging me in some black humour as we scoured MLS for houses 'in my price range' across Canada. Or more specifically, in the $25,000 and under price range.
It's amusing reading the descriptions and lack thereof of some of the more run-down properties that people are trying to unload. At this point, you know the agents have just given up trying and in some cases, such as this beauty in Thunder Bay (which could be yours for just under $10K), you get the idea that the agents aren't so much trying to entice potential buyers as warn them. Descriptions ranged from your typical "Handyman's Special! Needs TLC!" to "Value is in the land, not the building!" and my personal favorite This-Realtor-Has-Just-Given-Up line -- "It Is What It Is!"
We also discussed the possibility of moving this gorgeous little church from Alberta to Ontario.. I could potentially buy it outright with my down payment money. I'd just need to transport it and find some land to plop it down on. Sounds easy enough, right?
Anyone got a truck, a couple of police convoys and a shit-load of bungee cords?
With a clearer head I decided I would speak directly to my bank, having been a loyal customer for the last 15+ years, while never asking for so much as an overdraft. I came out of the meeting feeling more optimistic, mainly because being a bank and not a broker, they CAN take my interest relief into consideration, so my application will be based on what I am paying now, not what I may theoretically be paying in six months. This is a good thing, potentially. It will be a few days before I hear back from the bank though.
So now, now I play the waiting game.
 |
| "Waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos." - Source |
B) The link to the Thunder Bay house is dead. This could possibly mean that it *gasp* actually sold, in which case, I want a cut. But I think it's more likely that the place got washed away in the midst of all the flooding. Thoughts are going out to anyone, including my former in-laws, that are in the area. Hope you all are safe.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Conversations with my sister's kid: defining masculity
My sister has a giant Newfoundland dog. Giant puppy, actually. So all the playful exuberance of a puppy in a package roughly the size of a mastodon. The kids, I'm sure, love her, but it's pretty safe to say the novelty has worn off.
R: I think when I get my own place I'm going to get a cat, just so I won't be lonely.
R: That's not too gay is it?
*facepalm* (He's a teenager, so I try to have patience, but really?)
Me: No, I'm pretty sure having sex with men makes a guy gay, not owning a cat. Besides, who cares? Are you worried your masculinity is going to be called into question if you live with a cat?
R: Yes, kind of.
Me: Just make sure to give it a really hyper-masculine name.. like Machine Gun Larry. Even if it's a girl.
R (in suavest manner a 16-yr-old can muster): "Hi.. this is my cat, Machine Gun Larry."
In other news, I'm totally making plans for the imaginary cat that my nephew doesn't even own yet.
R: I think when I get my own place I'm going to get a cat, just so I won't be lonely.
R: That's not too gay is it?
*facepalm* (He's a teenager, so I try to have patience, but really?)
Me: No, I'm pretty sure having sex with men makes a guy gay, not owning a cat. Besides, who cares? Are you worried your masculinity is going to be called into question if you live with a cat?
R: Yes, kind of.
Me: Just make sure to give it a really hyper-masculine name.. like Machine Gun Larry. Even if it's a girl.
R (in suavest manner a 16-yr-old can muster): "Hi.. this is my cat, Machine Gun Larry."
In other news, I'm totally making plans for the imaginary cat that my nephew doesn't even own yet.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Birthdays and Blog Awards
My oldest turns 11 tomorrow. She also leaves for an over-nighter with her school tomorrow, so it's a little odd that on her actual, honest-to-Gord birthday I'm only going to see her for an hour or so, most of which will likely be spent kicking both her and her sister's butts into gear, as the little one also has a school trip tomorrow. Not a day one wants to be late for the bell.
A few months ago T approached me about a show on YTV called The Next Star which, to the best of my knowledge is in the Idolesque vein of reality shows, except for the 15-and-under crowd. That's pretty much all I know about it, except that I think the gay kid from Degrassi hosts it. Toronto auditions happened to be the same weekend that we'd be doing her birthday stuff. She begged me to take her to audition so I told her that in lieu of a birthday party this year, she could pick a friend and I would take them and Reegs down to the city for the day so she could try out, and then we'd go out for dinner. That would be her birthday celebration.
I ran into a roadblock when I couldn't get photo ID for T, which was required. Unless you get a passport, there's not a lot of photo ID options for an 11-year-old around here. Ontario Health Cards only have a picture above a certain age, because kids change so damn fast that by the next doctor's appointment they probably look nothing like the picture on the card.
So we just pretend they all look like pretty flowers instead. (Instead of their picture, you get a picture of a white trillium instead. I Google-image-searched the hell out of variations of 'Kids OHIP card' and 'Children's Ontario Health Card' but all I could find were adult versions so if you're outside of Ontario, you're just going to have to take my word for it, as I'm not about to post my OWN kid's OHIP card on here. Don't be silly.)
Also, no elementary schools around here have actual Student Cards. That's just for high school kids.
So I told her this but assured her that we were going to go and that I would try to argue my way out of the photo ID thing. I considered lying and telling the registration people that I had ordered a passport but that it had yet to arrive in the mail.
It was all kind of moot because I didn't foresee that we would actually miss the registration deadline, seeing as I had searched their site for a registration deadline and didn't see one so I had figured they were on all day. We had left later than anticipated (the goal was to leave the house by 8, we got out around 9:30) and by the time we got to Yorkdale mall and caught the subway down to Front Street, it was almost noon, and the people at the Convention Center told us that registration closed at 9:30 that morning. T was a little upset so we found a quiet area so she could have a moment, and so I could figure out for a contingency plan, which came in the form of a bus tour around the city.
Truth be told, the family rate for the bus tour was kind of pricey and at first I had said no, but got to thinking about it and went back and haggled with the guy, explaining that A) the Family rate included two adults and I was only one and that I had travelled with these kids only to have my daughter gravely disappointed ON HER BIRTHDAY NO LESS (not ENTIRELY untrue.. it was her birthday celebration day) and got about 20-25% off the price of the Family pass. The bus tour included a boat tour of the Toronto Harbour, so once we got to the Harbourfront, we wandered around looking for drinks as my kids were ill-dressed for a day in the sun that was supposed to be spent waiting around the air-conditioned Metro Convention Center. I got ripped off by a pop machine that stiffed me roughly four bucks from a $10 bill. Once we had killed enough time we got on the boat for our tour, which turned out to be a relaxing half-hour journey around the Toronto Islands.
After returning to shore, the two older girls wanted to go on a paddle boat ride. Reegs and I went and checked out a free museum nearby, The Power Plant, while they waiting in line but sadly the museum didn't offer much. Call me a Philistine if you will, but sometimes I think 'Contemporary Art' is a fancy-shmancy term for "Weird, and kind of sparse." It took about 15 minutes to go through the whole thing. We took longer in the bathroom. At least I didn't pay to get in, so that's something.
After the paddle boats we headed back to the subway as it was getting too late to hop back on the bus (kind of rendering the bus thing not worth the money... although the kid we saw that kept declaring with tiny fist pumped "I. LOVE. THE BIG RED BUS!" over and over again to his parent's chagrin kind of made it worth it). This was all three girls first time riding the subway and was an interesting and slightly nerve-wracking experience. I guess having walls zoom by a mere inch from your window combined with the sound of steel on steel can be scary for any first timer.
We had dinner at the Rainforest Cafe, which seemed like a good idea for a kids birthday.. kind of somewhere in between fast-food kid-mecca and grown-up sit-down dinner. We ordered one ginormous dessert and between the four of us we still couldn't get through the gobs of brownies and ice cream and whipped cream.
Driving home from the city in the summer on a Sunday is definitely a great thing about living in Cottage Country.. you're almost always guaranteed to be facing the heaviest traffic on your way home, breezing along the Northbound lanes of the 400 while the city folks sit in bumper to bumper traffic on the Southbound.
All in all it was a great day and the thing that was especially nice was that all three girls were very well behaved and appreciative. T and I have been butting heads quite a bit lately as she has entered into a typically self-centered pre-adolescent stage.. it's like pre-teens kind of regress to that toddler-stage where they don't actually realize that other people are people and may have needs and wants that don't revolve around and instantly gratify their own. But even with the disappointment upon our arrival to the City, there was no whining, no fighting with her sister, no complaining and no pushing for more, more, more. It was refreshing and I made sure to let her know that.. I enjoy doing things for them, but I like it even more when I know they appreciate it.
So tomorrow my baby girl turns 11. Time doesn't ever go backwards, does it? Not even for a minute.
A few months ago T approached me about a show on YTV called The Next Star which, to the best of my knowledge is in the Idolesque vein of reality shows, except for the 15-and-under crowd. That's pretty much all I know about it, except that I think the gay kid from Degrassi hosts it. Toronto auditions happened to be the same weekend that we'd be doing her birthday stuff. She begged me to take her to audition so I told her that in lieu of a birthday party this year, she could pick a friend and I would take them and Reegs down to the city for the day so she could try out, and then we'd go out for dinner. That would be her birthday celebration.
I ran into a roadblock when I couldn't get photo ID for T, which was required. Unless you get a passport, there's not a lot of photo ID options for an 11-year-old around here. Ontario Health Cards only have a picture above a certain age, because kids change so damn fast that by the next doctor's appointment they probably look nothing like the picture on the card.
So we just pretend they all look like pretty flowers instead. (Instead of their picture, you get a picture of a white trillium instead. I Google-image-searched the hell out of variations of 'Kids OHIP card' and 'Children's Ontario Health Card' but all I could find were adult versions so if you're outside of Ontario, you're just going to have to take my word for it, as I'm not about to post my OWN kid's OHIP card on here. Don't be silly.)
Also, no elementary schools around here have actual Student Cards. That's just for high school kids.
So I told her this but assured her that we were going to go and that I would try to argue my way out of the photo ID thing. I considered lying and telling the registration people that I had ordered a passport but that it had yet to arrive in the mail.
It was all kind of moot because I didn't foresee that we would actually miss the registration deadline, seeing as I had searched their site for a registration deadline and didn't see one so I had figured they were on all day. We had left later than anticipated (the goal was to leave the house by 8, we got out around 9:30) and by the time we got to Yorkdale mall and caught the subway down to Front Street, it was almost noon, and the people at the Convention Center told us that registration closed at 9:30 that morning. T was a little upset so we found a quiet area so she could have a moment, and so I could figure out for a contingency plan, which came in the form of a bus tour around the city.
Truth be told, the family rate for the bus tour was kind of pricey and at first I had said no, but got to thinking about it and went back and haggled with the guy, explaining that A) the Family rate included two adults and I was only one and that I had travelled with these kids only to have my daughter gravely disappointed ON HER BIRTHDAY NO LESS (not ENTIRELY untrue.. it was her birthday celebration day) and got about 20-25% off the price of the Family pass. The bus tour included a boat tour of the Toronto Harbour, so once we got to the Harbourfront, we wandered around looking for drinks as my kids were ill-dressed for a day in the sun that was supposed to be spent waiting around the air-conditioned Metro Convention Center. I got ripped off by a pop machine that stiffed me roughly four bucks from a $10 bill. Once we had killed enough time we got on the boat for our tour, which turned out to be a relaxing half-hour journey around the Toronto Islands.
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| The Toronto Skyline from my side of the boat. |
After the paddle boats we headed back to the subway as it was getting too late to hop back on the bus (kind of rendering the bus thing not worth the money... although the kid we saw that kept declaring with tiny fist pumped "I. LOVE. THE BIG RED BUS!" over and over again to his parent's chagrin kind of made it worth it). This was all three girls first time riding the subway and was an interesting and slightly nerve-wracking experience. I guess having walls zoom by a mere inch from your window combined with the sound of steel on steel can be scary for any first timer.
We had dinner at the Rainforest Cafe, which seemed like a good idea for a kids birthday.. kind of somewhere in between fast-food kid-mecca and grown-up sit-down dinner. We ordered one ginormous dessert and between the four of us we still couldn't get through the gobs of brownies and ice cream and whipped cream.
Driving home from the city in the summer on a Sunday is definitely a great thing about living in Cottage Country.. you're almost always guaranteed to be facing the heaviest traffic on your way home, breezing along the Northbound lanes of the 400 while the city folks sit in bumper to bumper traffic on the Southbound.
All in all it was a great day and the thing that was especially nice was that all three girls were very well behaved and appreciative. T and I have been butting heads quite a bit lately as she has entered into a typically self-centered pre-adolescent stage.. it's like pre-teens kind of regress to that toddler-stage where they don't actually realize that other people are people and may have needs and wants that don't revolve around and instantly gratify their own. But even with the disappointment upon our arrival to the City, there was no whining, no fighting with her sister, no complaining and no pushing for more, more, more. It was refreshing and I made sure to let her know that.. I enjoy doing things for them, but I like it even more when I know they appreciate it.
So tomorrow my baby girl turns 11. Time doesn't ever go backwards, does it? Not even for a minute.
************************************
So in other news, I've now been awarded three times for the Liebster Award so I'm thinking I better get off my ass and thank the folks who've passed it on to me:
So thanks bunches to:
Crystal at Ideally Speaking, a socially active mom and closet comic geek which is how we initially got talking at work way back in the day.
Vanessa at Five Things About Nothing Important whose blog I really need to check out more
Heidi Millerick at Eight Days A Week, who I've also been lax in checking out.
I may get around to passing this on, but I think for now, I'll just say that if it's in my blog roll over there ---> then it's probably worth taking a peek at. I know others worth reading but I just don't link as they keep a lower profile.
Yeah, it's a total cop-out, I know.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
"Are there no Burger Kings? Are there no No Wal-Marts?"*
Oh, Mr. Flaherty, you've really lost touch with the common Canadian, haven't you?
I can only assume this is the reasoning behind the statements you made today regarding those receiving unemployment benefits and the seeming unwillingness to accept employment that is 'beneath them' or 'too far away'.
Finance Minister Jim Flaherty said Monday new rule changes to define "suitable employment" and "reasonable" efforts at finding work have yet to come down, but as far as he's concerned people should be prepared to take pretty well any available job.
"I was brought up in a certain way. There is no bad job, the only bad job is not having a job," he told reporters. "I drove a taxi, I refereed hockey. You do what you have to do to make a living."
I'm sure on a six-digit government salary it is easy to adopt a boot-strap attitude, seeing as how you, Mr. Flaherty, will likely never be faced with the prospect working two or more minimum wage, part time jobs to put food on the table. The truth is that no, it is not always a case that any job is better than no job.
A family faced with deciding between paying daycare and paying rent because even a full-time minimum wage position doesn't always cover both, especially in cases where there is only one parent, or more than one child. This may not have been an issue if the National Daycare Program had ever come to fruition, but I guess that $100.00 a month bribe to make us forget about it made it ALL WORTH IT.
As far as working out of town, I like how you assume that this is an option for most people. Consider those without cars... That's right. Some people do not own their own vehicle, or may have medical conditions that prevent them from obtaining a drivers licence. Shocking I know. Also, shitty and/or non-existent mass transit systems are also a thing. Let's assume that a vehicle is readily available. Consider the current price of gas, sitting at between 1.27 and 1.35 per Litre in Central Ontario... once again, one falls into the trap of spending a good portion of their wages on fuel, which is aggravating enough when one lives relatively close (my own commute is a decent 10-minute drive) but becomes teeth-clenchingly frustrating when one is earning minimum wage and paying (in fuel) for the privilege to do so. Not to mention, coming back to families, commuting adds time to the workday that ends up covering the cost of.. you guessed it! DAYCARE.
I've known people who have, repeatedly, found themselves in the position of having to decide if a job is even worth taking once expenses such as fuel and daycare are considered. Often, it's not.
As far as the lack of laborers in Alberta and Saskatchewan, well it'd be pretty awesome if everyone on EI benefits had the resources (money, transportation) or the lack of ties to their current geographical area (oh, like schools, family, support systems) combined with the skills for the jobs available out there to relocate for the sake of work. Ideally, anyone should be able to do this if they wish. Here's the thing.. packing up and moving across the country the size of Canada is kind of a BFD, if you read my acronym.
Jim, you make it sound like the unemployed are all simply turning their noses up at jobs deemed 'unworthy' but mostly the need to turn down employment is a simple case of logistics, as illustrated above. Does pride play into it as well? I'll be honest.. as someone who worked their ass off through three years of school earning a Bachelor's degree which was supposed to help me escape a life of convenience store servitude, if today I were to find myself unemployed (she says, knocking on wood), I'd be more than a little fucking hesitant to get behind a counter for 10 bucks an hour while trying to pay off the crippling amount of student debt that BA earned me.
And do you know what, Jimmy? Canadians pay into their EI benefits.. EI is not a government handout. It is a fund that we as workers pay into, and should be able to use to our full advantage. If I pay for auto insurance on a brand new 2012 Lexus and someone rears ends me, the insurance company shouldn't be able to hand me an '84 Chevette and say "Well, any car is better than no car!"
Should people on EI benefits be making a concerted effort to seek employment? Yeah, for sure.. and I am willing to bet that most of them do. But to say that people who have found themselves without work through no fault of their own should be satisfied with any given job offered them is condescending at best, downright insulting at worst.
Some would rather die.*
*is invoking Dickens melodramatic? Maybe a touch. I offer no apologies.
As far as working out of town, I like how you assume that this is an option for most people. Consider those without cars... That's right. Some people do not own their own vehicle, or may have medical conditions that prevent them from obtaining a drivers licence. Shocking I know. Also, shitty and/or non-existent mass transit systems are also a thing. Let's assume that a vehicle is readily available. Consider the current price of gas, sitting at between 1.27 and 1.35 per Litre in Central Ontario... once again, one falls into the trap of spending a good portion of their wages on fuel, which is aggravating enough when one lives relatively close (my own commute is a decent 10-minute drive) but becomes teeth-clenchingly frustrating when one is earning minimum wage and paying (in fuel) for the privilege to do so. Not to mention, coming back to families, commuting adds time to the workday that ends up covering the cost of.. you guessed it! DAYCARE.
I've known people who have, repeatedly, found themselves in the position of having to decide if a job is even worth taking once expenses such as fuel and daycare are considered. Often, it's not.
As far as the lack of laborers in Alberta and Saskatchewan, well it'd be pretty awesome if everyone on EI benefits had the resources (money, transportation) or the lack of ties to their current geographical area (oh, like schools, family, support systems) combined with the skills for the jobs available out there to relocate for the sake of work. Ideally, anyone should be able to do this if they wish. Here's the thing.. packing up and moving across the country the size of Canada is kind of a BFD, if you read my acronym.
Jim, you make it sound like the unemployed are all simply turning their noses up at jobs deemed 'unworthy' but mostly the need to turn down employment is a simple case of logistics, as illustrated above. Does pride play into it as well? I'll be honest.. as someone who worked their ass off through three years of school earning a Bachelor's degree which was supposed to help me escape a life of convenience store servitude, if today I were to find myself unemployed (she says, knocking on wood), I'd be more than a little fucking hesitant to get behind a counter for 10 bucks an hour while trying to pay off the crippling amount of student debt that BA earned me.
And do you know what, Jimmy? Canadians pay into their EI benefits.. EI is not a government handout. It is a fund that we as workers pay into, and should be able to use to our full advantage. If I pay for auto insurance on a brand new 2012 Lexus and someone rears ends me, the insurance company shouldn't be able to hand me an '84 Chevette and say "Well, any car is better than no car!"
Should people on EI benefits be making a concerted effort to seek employment? Yeah, for sure.. and I am willing to bet that most of them do. But to say that people who have found themselves without work through no fault of their own should be satisfied with any given job offered them is condescending at best, downright insulting at worst.
Some would rather die.*
*is invoking Dickens melodramatic? Maybe a touch. I offer no apologies.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Just Hope That She Doesn't Have a Run-In with Magneto
My kid swallowed a marble last night.
Now, since I know you're probably going to ask, no I do NOT have a toddler running around that I've conveniently forgotten to mention.
This was my youngest child who is going to be all of nine years old in a few short months. My supposedly borderline-gifted almost nine-year-old swallowed a silver ball bearing from one of those Magnetix sets because she missed the memo that putting random shit in your mouth for no good reason is the kind of crap you're supposed to stop doing usually around the time you are toilet-trained.
There we were, almost ready for bed and as she was walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the ceiling and then suddenly started screaming, and coughing a bit. But mostly screaming, while clutching her throat.
At least she's not choking, if she can scream like that is my first thought as I run over to see just what the hell happened to make her start wailing like a banshee. In mere seconds she stops, calms down.
“What the hell happened?"
Perfectly calm, she answers “Apparently, I just swallowed a marble."
Awesome right?
I had no idea what to do.
Logically it seemed like the thing to do would be to wait it out, until nature took its course and the marble made it's way out via a route that would possible end up shattering my toilet bowl. On my mom's advice I called Telehealth and after hearing that Reeg's was having some stomach pain, I was advised by the nurses to take her to the ER. Which I did even though I had a feeling it was probably a wasted trip but good old Maternal Guilt™, that fucker, kept telling me that if I DIDN'T take her then I'd regret the hell out of it when said child, now affectionately and somewhat mockingly referred to as Marble Girl, died of a perforated bowel in the middle of the night.
Maternal Guilt™ is a bitch that way. I think he feeds off the souls of the perpetually anxious and insecure.
So sending her sister off to Grammy's, I packed her up and headed to the hospital, making sure to bring a book because fuck wait times. Two and a half hours and one x-ray later, we left Emerg with the sage advice that she would probably pass it and bring her back if she experienced ‘Severe pain'.
Thing is, ‘Severe Pain' is pretty fucking subjective. Especially in a child who doesn't really know how to express gradations of pain other than by using extremities. Which is why we ended up back in the ER again today to basically end up with the same set of sage advice, but from a different set of doctors. Even though the marble had NOT. BUDGED. AN. INCH.
Now, since I know you're probably going to ask, no I do NOT have a toddler running around that I've conveniently forgotten to mention.
This was my youngest child who is going to be all of nine years old in a few short months. My supposedly borderline-gifted almost nine-year-old swallowed a silver ball bearing from one of those Magnetix sets because she missed the memo that putting random shit in your mouth for no good reason is the kind of crap you're supposed to stop doing usually around the time you are toilet-trained.
There we were, almost ready for bed and as she was walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the ceiling and then suddenly started screaming, and coughing a bit. But mostly screaming, while clutching her throat.
At least she's not choking, if she can scream like that is my first thought as I run over to see just what the hell happened to make her start wailing like a banshee. In mere seconds she stops, calms down.
“What the hell happened?"
Perfectly calm, she answers “Apparently, I just swallowed a marble."
Awesome right?
I had no idea what to do.
Logically it seemed like the thing to do would be to wait it out, until nature took its course and the marble made it's way out via a route that would possible end up shattering my toilet bowl. On my mom's advice I called Telehealth and after hearing that Reeg's was having some stomach pain, I was advised by the nurses to take her to the ER. Which I did even though I had a feeling it was probably a wasted trip but good old Maternal Guilt™, that fucker, kept telling me that if I DIDN'T take her then I'd regret the hell out of it when said child, now affectionately and somewhat mockingly referred to as Marble Girl, died of a perforated bowel in the middle of the night.
Maternal Guilt™ is a bitch that way. I think he feeds off the souls of the perpetually anxious and insecure.
So sending her sister off to Grammy's, I packed her up and headed to the hospital, making sure to bring a book because fuck wait times. Two and a half hours and one x-ray later, we left Emerg with the sage advice that she would probably pass it and bring her back if she experienced ‘Severe pain'.
 |
| I feel like I should have cropped out my kids pelvis. That's weird, isn't it? |
 |
| Last Night's Pain. |
 |
| Today's pain, which led to another ER trip. Yeah, that's right. KANYE-SIZED PAIN. |
This time before leaving, I made the doctor specify exactly what kind of pain I should be on the lookout for, none of this vague-descriptors-like-severe bullshit. Vomiting, doubled-over, clutching stomach type pain.
So we play the waiting game, and tomorrow I once again get to take her back to Emerg for another X-Ray because in all likelihood, it would take three weeks to get an appointment with my doctor.
The girls stepmother remarked to me on the phone "I bet she never does this again."
I do too. If the tedious amounts of time we've had to spend in hospitals with SWEET FUCK ALL to do doesn't deter her, the amount of ribbing she has received certainly will. I have thoughts for a Marble Girl comic and possibly a halloween costume and a series of licensed merchandise and action figures.
Conversations with my kids: a history lesson
We're in the parking lot of the arena. The road is being blocked off and there are a bunch of Sea Cadets standing around.
Me: They must be having a parade. Maybe it's for V-E Day.
T: What's V-E Day?
Me: Well, World War Two ended on two different days. V-E means "Victory in Europe", when the war ended in Europe, sometime in May.
T: Probably May 9th, if they're having a parade today.
Me: yeah, probably. The war in Japan, on the other hand, ended on August 14th - my birthday - so that is referred to as V-J Day.
*giggles from back seat*
Me: what?
T: ...nothing. It just sounds... funny.. Veee Jaaay.
Me: what?
R (from backseat): IT SOUNDS LIKE VAJAYJAY!!!
*peals of laughter from both sides*
Me: Oh my God, you guys.
Me: They must be having a parade. Maybe it's for V-E Day.
T: What's V-E Day?
Me: Well, World War Two ended on two different days. V-E means "Victory in Europe", when the war ended in Europe, sometime in May.
T: Probably May 9th, if they're having a parade today.
Me: yeah, probably. The war in Japan, on the other hand, ended on August 14th - my birthday - so that is referred to as V-J Day.
*giggles from back seat*
Me: what?
T: ...nothing. It just sounds... funny.. Veee Jaaay.
Me: what?
R (from backseat): IT SOUNDS LIKE VAJAYJAY!!!
*peals of laughter from both sides*
Me: Oh my God, you guys.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
I'm not here but I am there.
Hey, y'all.
Been crazy busy. Probably only going to get busier. Hopefully will have time to fill you in soon.
Meanwhile, I'm featured today over at So... What Else? where I'll be getting all meta on you and talking about blogging.
I also have another post at Different Paths, Same Destination talking about the various activity I've been up to this week, including my first experience at boot camp.
Tootles for now!
Been crazy busy. Probably only going to get busier. Hopefully will have time to fill you in soon.
Meanwhile, I'm featured today over at So... What Else? where I'll be getting all meta on you and talking about blogging.
I also have another post at Different Paths, Same Destination talking about the various activity I've been up to this week, including my first experience at boot camp.
Tootles for now!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Quick and Dirty Photo Post.. but not actually Dirty Photos.. sorry.
So excuse this moment of vapid attention-whoring, but I got new glasses and I want to show them off. On previous trips to purchase eyewear I was torn between lighter or thicker frames. Last week I went in and there was a sale...
So I got both.
Oh and in case you were wondering, I also got myself a little bit of a giftie.
So I got both.
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| That is, indeed, the newly-detesticled asshole cat on the chair behind me. |
 |
| Pair number two |
 |
| Sexy, right? |
I'm now tasked with the.. uh.. task of giving him/her/zie a name. I haven't even assigned it a gender.. most of my other guitars I've given guy monikers. This one is a little prettier, a little sexier that I'm inclined to lean towards a more feminine signature.
I'm thinking of naming her after a song name. I've always been a little fascinated by 'name-songs' and always a little jealous of people who have songs with their name in the title. At least, I was jealous until I found out that one of my favorite alt-country (I really can't lump them in with regular country, but they're not *quite rock*) bands, Blue Rodeo had a song called Andrea. It's an odd little tune, sung by Greg Keelor, and sounds like some kind of 'My Drug Buddy' type tune.
Andrea I'm so happy that you called
Just to hear your voice
Helped dissolve
The paranoia
Until the drugs wore off
The name Jolene, after the Dolly Parton tune, is jumping out as a possible option. It's a fairly unique name and seems to match the vibe I get from this particular instrument.
What are your favorite "Name-Songs?" Do you share a name with any songs that you know of?
I wanted to upload a video to christen my new whats-her-face, and was inspired as I wrote this post so here you go. Be warned, I hate seeing myself on video, so I haven't watched this. If it's terrible, you have my sincerest apologies.
Isn't that one awesome thumbnail image? I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!!! I need a haircut.
In other news, I went to Guelph yesterday with my friend Tess for her birthday. We loaded up the car with all of our respective children and her SO, and went to see A Suessical Musical along with her sister and grandma. Was a very late night as showtime was 6:30 and Guelph is about three hours away from here. The children were extra "F.U.N." (read: Fucking Unbelievable Nightmare) to get up this morning but all in all it was worth it, a fun time for everyone involved.
One last picture. Although most of the time he's kind of a dick, as I have mentioned, occasionally Simon manages to break out the cute.
I'm thinking of naming her after a song name. I've always been a little fascinated by 'name-songs' and always a little jealous of people who have songs with their name in the title. At least, I was jealous until I found out that one of my favorite alt-country (I really can't lump them in with regular country, but they're not *quite rock*) bands, Blue Rodeo had a song called Andrea. It's an odd little tune, sung by Greg Keelor, and sounds like some kind of 'My Drug Buddy' type tune.
Andrea I'm so happy that you called
Just to hear your voice
Helped dissolve
The paranoia
Until the drugs wore off
The name Jolene, after the Dolly Parton tune, is jumping out as a possible option. It's a fairly unique name and seems to match the vibe I get from this particular instrument.
What are your favorite "Name-Songs?" Do you share a name with any songs that you know of?
I wanted to upload a video to christen my new whats-her-face, and was inspired as I wrote this post so here you go. Be warned, I hate seeing myself on video, so I haven't watched this. If it's terrible, you have my sincerest apologies.
Isn't that one awesome thumbnail image? I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!!! I need a haircut.
In other news, I went to Guelph yesterday with my friend Tess for her birthday. We loaded up the car with all of our respective children and her SO, and went to see A Suessical Musical along with her sister and grandma. Was a very late night as showtime was 6:30 and Guelph is about three hours away from here. The children were extra "F.U.N." (read: Fucking Unbelievable Nightmare) to get up this morning but all in all it was worth it, a fun time for everyone involved.
One last picture. Although most of the time he's kind of a dick, as I have mentioned, occasionally Simon manages to break out the cute.
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| It's like a kitty-vampire coffin. Kind of. If cats were shaped like guitars. |
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