Missing pets . . .

I solved the mystery!!!

More, yes . . . but is it really better?

I had a great childhood. True, there were lots of hand-me-downs, but still a great childhood. Coming from a family with three girls, we had no shortage of dolls in our home. Dolls of all shapes and sizes, different hair colours, different facial expressions but most had the same underlying theme. They did nothing. Not a blessed thing. A few dolls closed their eyes when you would lay them down but that was about it. Apart from my older sister owning a Chatty Cathy doll (and if that commercial doesn't creep you out, not much else will!) and me having a much treasured Thumbelina doll (I didn't realize until just now how much that doll moving looks like a slow motion epileptic fit!), our dolls were totally dependent on our own imaginations. We did a lot of pretending back then - little boys as well as little girls. Play tanks and plastic soldiers didn't shoot so there was a lot of 'pow pow pow!' noises made; we positioned our dolls around little tables and had make believe tea parties. The toys we played with encouraged our imaginations to flourish as we came up with elaborate scenarios where the toys were mere props.

Fast forward to the present day. Nowadays, you can find a doll that will do just about anything. Walking and talking? How passé! Try peeing and pooping - the pooping doll even comes in a diaper or poppy version! (Hmm ... disposable diapers. Tsk tsk tsk!) Then again, what would you expect when the dolls eat and drink? When you gotta go, you gotta go! Even Mattel jumped on the badwagon, pimping our beloved Barbie and Ken - she gets preggers and he shaves! But it seems I can still be amazed after all this time. Introducing ... *insert drumroll sound here* ... the Breastfeeding Doll! Yup, it seems our children aren't growing up fast enough - we now need to have lil girls, who aren't old enough to have breasts of their own, pretending to breastfeed their dolls.

And thus continues the crumbling of civilization ...

Happy Birthday, my Jordan! ♥

Jordan - 2 days

Happy Birthday to my darling Jordan, who hits the limbo year of 20 today. No longer a teen, not quite 21 either. Limbo-land.

Jordan - 9 months

20 years ago today, Jordan came into the world and changed mine. 1991 was a brutal summer, marked by a heatwave not unlike the one we are presently experiencing. That in and of itself would have been hard on a newborn, but in addition to the heat, Jordan developed colic. The only respite his father and I had from his incessant howling was when we held him. And so we did, for what felt like 27 (yes, 27!) hours a day some days. That child was strapped onto my chest in a Snugli to the point where I felt as though he and I were one person. Thanks to Jordan, I learned a great many things back then - I learned how to prepare and eat a meal with one hand, I learned that it's possible to drown out a screaming child if it means you get to grab a 90 second shower for the first time in two days, I learned how to pee with a small human being strapped to my upper torso and I learned that everyone and their brother has a s'posed cure for colic, because after all, I must be doing something if my kid is still breaking the sound barrier with his cries, right? Nothing soothed me more than bringing him in to the pediatrician's for his first month appointment. This woman, who had served as my own pediatrician growing up and had a career spanning at least 40 years + at that point, spent 45 minutes trying to soothe Jordan in her arms before declaring him to be one of THE worst cases of colic she had ever encountered during the course of her medical practice. Jordan's bout of colic went of to last a total of 5 1/2 months, something I still think is a record in the world of newborns. Thankfully, I was already blessed with Kevin, who at only 21 months himself, happily played and didn't demand any extra attention, which unfortunately, I simply did not have to give him at the time. Jordan was not not an easy child by any stretch of the imagination. After colic came the night terrors, episodes where he would wake without waking, not realizing where he was or even who I was. I would rush to his side, try to calm him, get him settled and return to my own bed, only to barely fall asleep before the fun would begin all over again, usually 4-5 times a night. Jordan was about 3 1/2 years old before he actually slept through the night! Because of all the drama of his infancy, I was hard pressed to convince his dad to have the third child we had always planned for. Julia was almost the baby that never was, something that Jordan will probably jokingly tell you he still wishes had happened. In the end, Jordan went from being the child who required the most attention to the one who was the least hands on of my pack of three. Jordan is one of the most 'go with the flow' people I know, fazed by little and adaptable to most every situation I have seen him encounter thus far.

Jordan - 3rd birthday (with big brother Kevin and cousin Gabrielle)

My Jordan has grown into a young man that I'm proud of, who still ends every conversation with 'I love you, Mom', takes out the garbage without being told (most times!), and puts others before himself. If I had one complaint, it would be this - you grew up way too fast, Jordan. I think I actually miss those days of colic ...

Hot-lanta . . . it was peachy!

The summers of my youth were spent in the southern United States, specifically Delaware, Maryland and Virginia. I found there to be a distinct difference between the people of the south and other 'mericans. They seemed friendlier, more polite and the drawl was something I instantly fell in love with. I hadn't realized how much I missed southerners until I was exposed to them again last week.

I got my first drawl fix during my layover in Charlotte, NC. Between airport personnel and all the army boys deploying, there was no yankee accents to be had anywhere! Once I landed in Atlanta, it was obvious why my traveling companion kept referring to the city as 'Hot-lanta'. Stepping outside the airport was like being hit by a truck. A very hot, sticky, wet truck. No matter; in the way that food tastes better when you don't have to be the one cooking, humidity is easier to endure in a room at the Hilton than your own living room. Dinner day 1 was Yeah! Burger, a definite must. If you like  crafting your own burger, from the bun down to the very sauce, this is the place for you. Day 2 found my friend at work and me left to my own devices. I wandered the neighborhood for a bit before heading for Centennnial Olympic Park, making a friend along the way who called me ma'am and Miss Elaine the whole time we strolled. The park is simply gorgeous and I ended up spending more time there than I'd planned. Off to Ray's In The City for dinner, a place that reminded me of old school type restaurants where a great deal of importance is put on service. More roaming around the next day, then back to the hotel to prep for dinner at Chop's. OY! If you know me, you know I'm no steak person. Beef is my choice only as a last resort. Then again, I had never been introduced to kobe beef. I have never finished a steak in my life, but the meat that night never stood a chance! Everything that evening - the ambiance, the meal, the wine but most importantly, the company - was sublime. The next day, departure day, we lunched at The Ellis. The terrace afforded us a terrific view of the goings on beneath us and the shade and breeze made it difficult to leave. Sadly, all good things must come to an end and back to Montreal I headed. I was spoiled by my welcoming committee - Julia, Jack and Philippe, who even brought me a doughnut!

And so the countdown to August continues ...

Welcome one and all . . . NOT!

Today's math lesson:  A night out on the town + screaming babies ≠ music to my ears.

McDain's Restaurant in Monroeville, PA is doing what a great many of us are in total agreement with. This 'fine casual dining' establishment has decided to ban any and all children under the age of 6. To this, I say 'Yes!' and wonder why more restaurants haven't already done the same.

When my family and I moved to Switzerland in 1996, my kids were (almost) 3, 5 and 7. For an entire month while we waited for a boat to deliver all our furniture and other belongings, we ate in restaurants three times a day. And not McDonald's either. Regular sit-down-spend-a-couple-of-hours-eating-and-talking-type restaurants. Thankfully, I had patient kids but I always made sure my purse was loaded with crayons, colouring books, mini games, books and anything else that might entertain my lil ones while we waited for our meals. My kids' butts stayed firmly planted in their seats and no one hollered or in any way disrupted diners around us. Many a time, people actually stopped by the table to comment on how well behaved the kids were despite being so young. But not everyone's kids were the same. I have seen parents gabbing away to each other while their kids literally race from one end of the dining room to the other, screaming at the top of their lungs. Then there are the babies being brought into a restaurant in a baby carrier; the parents eat with one hand while rocking the carrier with the other - the whole while, the baby screams, barely pausing to take a breath. Not exactly Muzak!

True, there are restaurants that will allow orders to be phoned in; you then show up and while you are being seated, your meal is actually being set in front of you. Nice idea but what are you teaching your kids about patience? Life is not delivered to you when you want it and sometimes, you actually have to wait your turn. It's also important to remember that restaurant hostesses are not meant to tend to your kids while you relax at your table. Neither is it a good idea to have your kid crawling on the floor while the wait staff is hauling a tray of piping hot food above his or her head. C'mon, Mom and Dad ... time to connect those brain cells!

I totally understand the idea of going out 'en famille'. But if your family dinners look like Romper Room on steroids, do us all a favour and stay home. Order the restaurant meal as take out. Hire a babysitter. Go to Chucky Cheese or Mickey Dee's. When you consider the price of restaurant meals nowadays, I think we diners have paid the price of admission and do not want to have our nerves frazzled by the fruit of your looms. Try to remember that some of us actually went out to get away from the very thing that you are subjecting us to!

You are sooooooo right, baby . . .

You should . . .

People, there is a distinct difference between giving someone advice and giving someone an order. Advice is a suggestion and does not have to be taken. Especially when no one asked you for your lousy and let me repeat, u-n-s-o-l-i-c-i-t-e-d advice!

I pull into a parking spot at IGA to dash in for some sugar. Opening up the back door, I start to roll up the window while Jack waits for me to clip on his leash. I hear a woman's voice; straightening up, I look over the roof of my car. A woman is calling out to me from her car. Crossing the two empty spots between us, I come to her car where she tells me that I had better move MY car because she also has a dog in her car. Errr ... huh?!? (Two empty spots between us, remember?) Because I don't even want to try to figure of what the hell she's talking about, I explain that I'm taking the dog with me. 'Your dog is much too big to bring into IGA!' I look down at what I'm wearing, wondering if I left the house wearing a t-shirt that might say 'STOOPID' or something of that nature and for reasons that I can't explain, I continue the exchange with this deranged woman. 'I'm not taking him into IGA, I'm going to tie him up in the shade outside IGA,' I explain slowly, enunciating every word. 'You shouldn't do that if you're only going in for a short while - just leave him in the car and roll down all your windows,' she commands. I look up at the blazing sun and back down at her. 'It's too hot to leave a dog in the car on a day like today!' I walk back to my car and retrieve Jack, lock up the car and head to the store. Looking back, I notice she's glaring at me, as though I'd made her eat shit or something. She was still there, still glaring at me when I walked Jack back to the car after making my purchase. (Oh, she must make someone's life SO happy!)  For the record, the high today was 24°C (75°F). Then, factor in the humidity. Then, multiply all that by a hot, stinking car. And that's how I do dog math, stoopid lady!

I was reminded of my children's grandmother, who after bottle feeding 5 children of her own, thought she would teach me how to breastfeed Jordan (the second child I was nursing), who howled incessantly when we would visit every Sunday. She wasn't all too impressed when I didn't take her 'advice'. (For the record, he had a world record setting case of colic that lasted a blessed 5 1/2 month period and it wasn't 'my milk' making him cry. So there, Grandmaman!)

So, to summarize: go easy with the advice, people. It's nice to wait until yours is asked for, and then, be nice about how you offer it. But in the end, it's still advice ... and this being a free world, no one is obliged to take it. If you want to order someone around, get married. (Just make sure you're the wife!  *smirk*)

Time - a healer of nothing . . .

Today is the day my mother would have celebrated her 75th birthday. I say 'would have' because my mom passed away back when she was 48. I too am 48 now and cannot imagine leaving the world at this point in my life.

Back in 1999, I wrote about my mom, sharing it with very few people. I re-read it last night and realized that my sentiments haven't changed. I also decided to share it with you all. Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

I mourn my mother almost every day.

Reading that sentence, you would think her passing had only recently happened. The fact is my mother died way back 15 years ago. Still, there are days when it is as fresh as though it had happened only yesterday.

My mother was an amazing woman. I know most children believe that of their mothers but as an adult, I have come to realize the extent to which she truly was amazing. She was a wonderful daughter, wife, mother and a friend to many. Her involvement in her children's lives went beyond what I saw my friends' mothers do - bake sales, chaperoning all our school trips, helping with hair and make up at my ballet recitals, organizing wonderfully detailed birthday parties - the list goes on and on. My mother taught me a great many things that I have carried on into my adulthood, both through her words and her actions.

My mom was very demonstrative in her love and never needed an excuse to pass along a quick hug or kiss. A hand around your shoulders as she helped with homework or brushing a stray lock of hair from your eyes as she listened to you speak - her touch was everywhere. She was never too busy to help, listen or get involved in whatever required her attention; my mother was a firm believer in leaving the rest of the world to get along on its own because her kids would not be young and around the house forever.

My mother was the one who convinced my father that I was old enough to date and worked out a better curfew for me when my dad thought I should be in earlier than I wanted to be. Never was there a moment when I did not feel as though she was in my corner. Often, I would joke about becoming a mother myself and moving back home with 12 children in tow. My mom would laugh and say she would love it – and somehow I just knew she would have.

Then came the winter my mom was scheduled to be operated on - a routine procedure. My father and sisters and I sat and waited and finally, the doctor came. The news was completely unexpected and horrendous. My father insisted my mother not be told and my sisters and I numbly agreed with him. All the while, I wondered how my mom would look into my eyes and not know the truth.

The medical treatments came and went and my mom only got more and more sick. I went through a stage where I found any excuse to be away from the house - I could not bear to see her that way. Racing out of the house one day, I passed her on the front balcony and bent down for a quick kiss. She smiled and told me it was good that I was going out; that people my age did not need to be hanging around the house all the time. I stopped and our eyes met. I knew at that moment that she knew ... and that she knew that I knew. Nothing more was ever mentioned about it between the two of us.

Despite her illness, she managed to plan my older sister's bridal shower and wedding pretty much single-handedly. Everyone marveled at my mother but I was not surprised. This was my mom doing what my mom always did best, keeping things running smoothly for the rest of us. A good time was had by all and my mother was elated.

In the weeks following the wedding, my mother weakened considerably. Friends paraded through her room, saying their good-byes and my mom consoled each and every one of them. Finally, my father insisted she be allowed to leave the hospital and after obtaining the doctor's consent, she came home. Her final two days are almost a blur to me now - my sisters, father and I slept in shifts because although my mom was semi-comatose, we wanted someone to always be there for her. We did our crying elsewhere in the house, never near my mother. At one point, I lay down beside her - just to be near her as I had so many times before. I watched her sleep, thinking of happier times and without meaning to, I quietly began to cry. Her eyes suddenly opened - clear, focused and alert like they had not been in days. Her arm reached out and with strength I thought she no longer possessed, she pulled me close to her, soothing me as I wept. I fell asleep in her arms and when I awoke, my mom had returned to the way she had earlier been - curled up and seemingly no longer aware of any us.

I was the only one awake the morning she died. As my father lay sleeping at her side, I checked on her, taking her temperature and monitoring her pulse. Noting it was erratic, I pressed my ear to her chest and listened to her heartbeat as it faded, the sound seeming to sink deeper into her chest and farther away from me, until I could hear it no more. In a way, my mother and I had come full circle - she was there for my entrance into the world; I was there for her departure from it. She was finally gone and never before or since have I felt more alone.

With the passing of the years, I have been reminded of her on an almost constant basis - the yearly parade of birthdays, Mother's Days and Christmases all stream by, highlighting her absence; the sharp pang of envy I feel at seeing my friends with their own mothers. I wonder what my mom would think of the woman I’ve become - whether she would be proud, whether she would approve. I watch my own children and have moments of such frustration that my mother never lived to see their faces - especially the granddaughter who carries her name and looks startlingly like my mother.

Life goes on and it is said that time heals. Time heals nothing. Time is simply a space where you try to learn to deal with your pain, your sadness and the gaping hole in your heart. In the years since my mother's passing, I haven't healed from the loss. Instead, I have learned to accept the part of my heart that lies empty and will forever yearn for a few moments more with my best friend.

Oh Canada, our home and native land???

On the night of June 23rd, the eve of 'la St-Jean' (Quebec's national holiday), I was home and listening to the boom of fireworks being set off at various parks and backyards in the neighborhood. The following night, more of the same. This is Repentigny, after all - a city where I can't speak English to my kid at the local IGA without at least a couple of heads turning. Fast forward to the night of June 30th, eve of Canada Day. Silence. The following night, a total of 6 feeble pops. Yeah. Six. Yeah. I counted.

Here's my message to Repentignites (or whatever the hell we're called here): Yes, you're Quebecers. Celebrate it, by all means. But then look around. You're still a part of Canada. You get the freaking day off from work, for pity's sake! That alone should be worth more than a measly 6 lousy pops!!!

My friend, André Seiffert, was right. I should have come up to Parliament Hill to see the show he and his gang put on. I told him it was on my bucket list and after the woeful presentation I was barely privy to this week, I'm thinking next year, he and I will have a date ... well, so to speak! (Hi Leanne!) And the next year, maybe I'll do la St-Jean in Quebec City. In the meantime, belated Happy 24th and 1st (and Happy 4th to my 'merican buds). Happy (and safe!) holidays to everyone  :)

Gary Brownrigg - Stat Transport

Imagine you or your company have some palettes of merchandise, a slew of boxes or a machine that need to be delivered from here to there. Wondering who to call? Well, meet Gary!

I was recently introduced to Gary Brownrigg, yet another RHS alum (class of 1977). Gary has since shown himself to be a very outgoing and funny man; he also happens to be very hardworking and smart as a whip. In addition to all that, Gary owns and operates a transport company, Stat Transport.


After working as a driver for major companies for over 30 years, Gary started his own business in 2006. Given his experience behind the wheel, Gary knows this city like the proverbial back of his hand. While he has had opportunities to expand, he prefers to run and work for the company solo. A man who cares about his clients and their business, he believes in offering his customers a personalized and high quality service, one that covers the greater Montreal area. Stat Transport also operates under the same umbrella along with four other companies, allowing Gary to ensure you a very positive outcome.


Stat Transport is not a courier company. Gary does not deliver envelopes, nor is he the man to call if you're moving. Stat Transport is the company for same day transport service of merchandise ranging from a single palette to 25,000 pounds. Stat Transport offers competitive rates; Gary's prices have remained the same (so far), despite the rising gas prices.


So the next time you need something delivered - delivered safely, promptly and professionally, remember Gary. You'll be satisfied ... and you'll be back!


Gary Brownrigg
Stat Transport
514 702 0282
www.StatTransport.ca