Sucky Santa ...

Think back to the bestest Christmas present you ever received. Everyone has at least one memory like that - I am lucky enough to have several. My childhood was filled with practical gifts like slippers and pj's but there was always that one gift that had danced through my dreams and into my letters to Santa. My treasured Thumbelina doll, my beloved horse statue, new ballet slippers ... all appeared under the tree to thrill me one Christmas after another. When the kids came along, I was rewarded with the most intricately made presents, thanks to their teachers in Switzerland, who had marvelous ideas and school budgets to match! One Christmas, 10-year old Jordan sneaked off to the neighborhood jeweler's with a friend of mine and emptied all but 10 bucks out of his bank account to buy me a gold ring. (I know because he proudly announced the cost to me before I had even torn through the wrapping.) It has never once left my finger in the decade since. A couple of years back, Julia bought me a Swarovski 'Thumper' bunny. She wanted to add to my crystal collection but she also knows how much I adore bunnies. The point here is not about the amount spent; rather, it is about the thought put into the gift. Nothing is worse than the person who pesters you on the day (week, month) before Christmas (birthday, anniversary) to know what you want to receive as a gift. To me, the most thoughtful of gifts is the one that has you wondering, 'How did they know I wanted that?' There is an art in listening to someone, the subtle clues they drop about what they like, collect, saw and drooled over, have wanted but never bought for themselves, etc. People are forever dropping clues, a lot of the time without realizing they are doing just that. The art is in listening and disciphering clues, or just plain noticing what they like.

The opposite side to this coin are the bad gifts. This being the real world, I have received a few doozies in my time. The most recent that jumps to mind is the first Christmas with an ex-boyfriend. He bought me a book and a throw (a blankie). Nice gestures when you consider that I love to read and am usually cold. Not so nice when you consider that he spent a great deal of time at the bookstore buying glorified comics and prolly only saw these items whilst he stood in line to pay for his purchases (yeah, the throw also came from the bookstore). Ok, so maybe I'm being cynical. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and fast forward to our second Christmas together. He bought me a book and a throw. Ok, so it was a different book and a different coloured throw. It still made me feel like an afterthought and vastly lessened the appeal of the gift.

Here is a golden rule: unless she has specifically asked for it, no woman wants to receive a household appliance. I will repeat this because so many guys just don't get it: unless your wife (fiancée, girlfriend, mom, etc) actually come out and tell you that they want a Cuisinart, panini maker, blender, vacuum cleaner or anything else that will require them to expend energy to actually enjoy the 'gift', do not buy it. By extension, anything that is subtlely disguised as a gift for you - a snazzy dazzy shiny BBQ, tickets to a concert to see your favorite artist, massage oil (when everyone knows you will be receiving and not giving!), or anything that eventually gets housed in the workshop (again, unless she specifically asks you for a jigsaw, do not do it!) is not a gift, it is a sad excuse for a gift. And if you're paused at the beauty counter and wondering whether to splurge on some creams, serums, drops and stuff of the like? Two words: 'anti-ageing' guarantees another two words: death wish!

The grey area here is lingerie. Chances are good that we want some. Chances are also good that we will not wear the stuff you want us to wear, since it (more often than not) comes from Frederick's of Hollywood. (And no, the addition of 'Hollywood' doesn't make it classy lingerie, guys!) While I'm no huge fan of gift cards, if this is the route you insist on embarking upon, you might be best to make up a basket with a Visa gift card, a Luther CD, a bottle of wine and a card that suggests that she spend the money on some naughty underbits that the two of you could later appreciate together. But I still maintain that you venture forth at your own peril!

The lesson here? To a woman, it is not the wrapping, the store it came from or even the cost. It is how special your gift makes her feel. It is knowing that you put some thought into it, spent some time thinking about what she would like (and hopefully love), actually listened to what she has said ... and even some of the things she hasn't said. In the end, it is the thought that counts, after all.

So, what is the best and/or worst gift you have ever received? Post your comment below and make me green with envy .... or cringe right along with you!

They call it Long Beach ... because it's a beach ... and it's long ...

It was a short (but very sweet) trip. By extension, here is my short reporting of said trip ...

Long Beach, New York. You should go. And when you do ...

Stay here:  Allegria (and when you do, make sure you make a stop at the L'onda Lounge. And when you do, order either the White Cosmo or Smokey Margarita. And when you do, you shall surely become addicted, as we did!)

Eat here:  Grillfire (a homey restaurant with a side order of karaoke happening in another area of the joint. (Yeah, more karaoke! *eyeroll*) I had the horseradish crusted sirloin meatloaf, a serving almost as big as my head and impossible for me to finish! They also serve soft pretzels instead of bread and they end your meal by bringing you a serving of (wait for it ...) COTTON CANDY!!! Who does that?!? No one! But if you ask me, every restaurant should!) Also, try Sugo Café (and when you do, remember two words: chicken meatballs. (I've been eating meatballs all my life but the bar has definitely been lifted waaaaaaaay up!) The owner is very hands on service-wise without hovering and the food is simply delicious. I'm hoping to pry the chicken meatball recipe from his clutches in the coming weeks ... )

Go here:  Beach 'n boardwalk: the boardwalk spans 2.5 long (built in 1914 with the help of elephants!), while the beach extends an additional mile further. We found clean, white sand complete with crazy surfers braving the 45F temperature. We strolled the beach once, taunting the surf and collecting shells and the boardwalk a couple of times, in the breezy midday and in the drizzly evening ... proof that the weather matters not when the company is amazing.

The area was quaint and I would love to go back when it's busier and warmer. Or for another walk in the drizzle ...

A November to remember ...

It is one thing to have such a good time that you would want to repeat it. The time I had was SO good, that I would put it on a loop, to be able to relive it over and over and over again!

After picking up my man at the airport on a Thursday, we made a beeline to the Aloft, our new favorite getaway. Because we were only going to be in Montreal for about 2 1/2 days, it was a flurry of activity. We squeezed in a trip to Lafleur's (a Montreal boy needs his fix, after all!) and two visits to his babcia. We brought her homemade borscht, which she wolfed down, explaining that the food at the Polish home lacks seasoning. Another evening, we headed to Old Montreal and ended up at Papillon, a sweet little place serving French and Italian food. The food was pretty good but the place was ... well, because my honey and I are hooked on the Food Network's Restaurant Makeover show, we had ample opportunity to 'make over' this restaurant. (Top of the list? Ditch the paper napkins and table covers for cloth and get rid of the individual plastic butter containers too!) That Sunday, we hit the road for Toronto. Never have 5 1/2 hours flown by so quickly or so enjoyably! While I will spare you all most of the details of the rest of our trip (mainly because my kids and my dad read my blog!), here are some of the highlights:

My honey made sure to feed my craving for Chipotle, as he always does. I have come to realize that he is like a drug dealer - first, he gets me hooked on the place and he is now the one who takes care of getting me my fix. (By the way, here is a really cute video that explains the Chipotle ideal.)

Our pizza-and-Rummy-500 night saw me get a promotion; I went from having my first win be an 'isolated incident' to now having my second win be a 'coincidence'. One more win and I become a 'trend' ... and then the Rummy 500 crown will be mine. Mine, I tell you ... all MINE! *insert evil cackle here*

Our trip would not have been complete without seeing my Robbie. Our toothsome threesome took place that evening at Fabbrica, While a little too much time was given discussing the perceived weirdness of the men's washroom (don't ask!), the food was terrific. The guys swarmed over the three types of crostini; I was saving my appetite for my orecchiette with rabbit and rapini. (It was divine!) We laughed and drank and laughed and ate and laughed s'more. Budino di cioccolata (a flourless chocolate cake) and cappuccinos were the perfect ending to a perfect evening.

One of the new loves in my life ... Chocolate Mmmmmmartini!

Time to pull out all the stops (and the high heels!) because it was 'Date Night'. And OH ... EM ... GEE ... what a date night it was! We head to the TD Bank Tower and up to the 54th floor. (I love a good elevator ride, don't you?) As the doors open to Canoe, there seems to be a change in the atmosphere - this place is posh with a capital WOW! We are led to the bar while they ready our table (restaurantspeak for 'please spend money at our bar'). Reading the drink menu, I am tempted by the suggestion of a chocolate martini and order one up. HOLY SMACKAMOLY! Two sips into the delectable concoction, I decide that when I die, I want to be embalmed in this heavenly elixir. Someone needs to expand the English language, because there are no words to describe how succulent this drink is!!! Eventually, we are led to our table where we sink into incredibly comfy club chairs. The view is simply spectacular and we soak it all in as we finish our drinks. Our server appears and we settle on the tasting menu, something my guy and I have both become enamoured with of late because it allows you the chance to sample a wide variety of dishes without become overly stuffed. And because we choose to go all in with the wine accompaniment, we are virtually assured of perfect pairings throughout the meal. Here is what we had (wines are indicated in brackets):

• Amuse Bouche (Izumi Jaja-Uma 'Crazy Horse' Saké, Ontario Spring Water Saké Company, Toronto)
• Qualicum Beach Scallop Ceviche, Apple Cider Seaweed, Horseradish, Fresh and Preserved Apple (Tawse Quarry Road Vineyard Reisling, Vinemount Ridge, Ontario 2010)
• Jerusalem Artichoke Soup, Crispy Artichoke, Sunflower Seed Oil, Maple Braised Pork Belly (Antolino Brongo Cryomalus Iced Apple Cider, St-Joseph-du-Lac, Quebec, 2010)
• Intermezzo (this was a serving of palate cleansing granité, presented in a Japanese soup spoon but I can't remember what flavour the granité was)
• For the main course, I chose to have the Purdy's Deep Water Char, Molasses Glazed Salsify, Cookstown Beets, Cranberry Shallot Compote and Borscht Jus (Keint-He Vineyards Pinot Noir, Prince Edward County, Ontario, 2007) ... my date chose to go with the Green Alder Roasted Venison, Spaghetti Squash, Chestnut Tourtière, Huckleberries (Stratus Cabernet Franc, Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, 2007)
• Caramel Poached Niagara Pears, Birch Caramel, Almond Cookie, Pecan and Wild Flower Ice Cream (Cave Spring Vineyard Reisling Icewine, Beamsville Bench, Ontario, 2008
• Petit Fours

Top all that off with a couple of cappuccinos and we were done! The service is impeccable; everything is presented with understated flourish and described in the greatest of detail. Glasses are refilled without you even noticing and plates seem to magically disappear. We took our sweet time over our dessert and coffee, eventually looking up to notice that we occupied only one of the two tables left busy in the whole place. We had been there for three hours but never made to feel rushed in the slightest. People, if you have a special occasion to celebrate, this is THE place to do it. And if you are a foodie, put this one on your bucket list - it is touted as being one of the best restaurants in all of Canada.

The view from Canoe Restaurant, Toronto, Ontario

At some point during this trip, my guy decided he needed to extend his stay (yay me!) True, it was sort of a working vaykay for us both but I was not at all disappointed to see a 9 day trip turn into 14 days of togetherness. *happy dancing*

Another evening, my guy whisked me off to Unionville, a charming place I definitely want to return to see during the day. We walked through the doors of Il Postino, where we were immediately greeted as though we were family (I love that about Italian restaurants!). The service there is so attentive and friendly, all without being overbearing. From the roasted butternut squash soup (I had to hold myself back from licking the bowl!), to the snow crab ravioli in a lobster cream sauce (it was so scrumptious, I almost licked my plate!) to the (and I quote) 'traditional cheesecake with a touch of maple syrup, served with a warm, wild blueberry compote spiked with a splash of Grand Marnier'. OY! I begged my honey to look away so I could (you guessed it!) lick my plate, but he wanted to watch ... so out of embarrassment, I refrained. *sigh*

On our last evening in TO, we headed out to Al Casale. Located in a home originally owned by an ancestor of today's Rogers family, the restaurant dishes up really good Italian food, served by an older waiter who fawned shamelessly over me and jokingly glared at my date. Veal marsala, a nice bottle of Chianti, cheesecake and cappuccino ... and the greatest dinner companion ever. What else could a gal wish for?

The next day, I popped off my honey at the airport and headed back to Montreal. Amazingly, I didn't snare myself a speeding ticket thanks to my decision to make use of the cruise control. (Be warned: the Ford Edge is VERY sneaky because it makes 140 kms feel like a mere 100!) Before I knew it, I was back in la belle province and reacquainting myself to driving on snow covered roads again.

Comme dit Gilles ... 'Mon pays, ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver.'

Frantic City, Frantic City!

Ahh, October. The beginning of one of my favorite seasons and another reason to jet off ...

Day 1, Tuesday, October 4 - I head off to Dorval to catch a flight to Philly. Arriving earlier than my friend's flight, I have some time to explore this HUGE terminal, staffed by some of the friendliest staff I have ever encountered in an airport. After his flight arrives, we head to the funky Aloft Hotel. Just walking into the reception area, with its hip bar tucked away into a corner of the lobby, tells you this is a different kind of hotel. Walking into the washroom into your room confirms it. Once you wrap your mind around the idea of a sliding bathroom door (?!?), you marvel at the size of the glass and tile shower, which could easily accommodate me, my friend, the bellboy and another two people from room service. (Yeah, don't ask how I know these things, ok?)
Day 2, Wednesday, October 5 - I am treated to lunch at Chipotle, which is only fitting seeing as my friend is the one who got me hooked on the place. That afternoon, we hit the highway for our road trip to AC. Atlantic City, a vacation spot of my childhood; the last time I was there, I lost Jordan (but that is another story for another day!) We check in at Caesar's and get ready for our dinner with Terry and her hubby, Tom. We celebrate Tom's upcoming birthday at Bobby Flay Steak at The Borgata.What a night! Besides getting to see Terry again, finally meeting Tom, we dined like royalty! I start with the lobster-crab cake (a baseball-sized delight) served with a basil vinaigrette and lemon-habanero tartar sauce, then go on to the porterhouse lamb chops, served with a red wine sauce and mint pesto. (My mouth is watering even as I write this!) My date and I share a sweet potato gratin and creamed spinach sides before we battle forks over a key lime pie. Great food and even greater company. It was a terrific evening and one I look forward to repeating again.

Day 3, Thursday, October 6 - We check out and head over to Mickey Dee's to leech off their free Wi-Fi. I overhear some Quebecers speaking French at the next table over ... it really IS a small world! My friend and I head to the boardwalk for a leisurely stroll, making our way to the beach and the water's edge. The water is warmer than I imagined and there were even people surfing! We head back to the car, off to the airport and onto a plane ...
Day 4, Friday, October 7 - Ahh, Montreal. We enjoy a leisurely lunch at Arahova and then cross the street for a mandatory stop at St-Viateur Bagel. Later, we drop in for a visit with my friend's babcia before heading back my my neck of the woods to see Jordan and Julia. We continue eastward and sup at L'Ange Cornu in L'Assomption. (I had the monk fish (which I have since discovered to be THE ugliest fish ever!) on a plate that easily measured a foot long. Deeelicious!)
Day 5, Saturday, October 8 - After lolling around, we head off for another road trip, this time to St-Sauveur. We lunch at the original location of Moe's before continuing onward to Mont-Tremblant. We battle through the traffic, comprised of the entire population of Quebec (because everyone in the province was there that day, I am sure and not doing too brilliantly at all with the roundabouts!) After parking, we hitch a lift halfway up the mountain on one of the gondolas and start to make our way through the village, stopping for a beer on one of the many terraces. Before long, the afternoon sun is fading and it is time to think about dinner. We happen upon Coco Pazzo, a lovely Italian place that is tucked away but doing a healthy business. I pig out on linguini pescatore (spelt flour pasta with shrimps, scallops, clams and mussels in a reduction of white wine, anchovy, garlic and clam broth). Thankfully, there is room for dessert because the torta di cioccolata (a heavenly creation of marbled dark chocolate and white chocolate truffle ganache) is something I would drive up there for daily. On a bicycle. With a flat. While in labour. It was just ... that ... freakin' ... good!
Day 6, Sunday, October 9 - We meet up with friends for lunch at Lawrence. A tiny hole in the wall of a restaurant with a nonstop stream of customers. The wait for a table was 45 minutes but the weather outside was nice and we don't mind. (The owner pops out from time to time with chocolate-filled beignets, which doesn't hurt!) The servings are generous and the food is great. Before too long, it is time to make our way back to the airport for our flight to TO. Dinner that evening is at the Lion and Firkin, which just happens to be hosting a 'Who is the worst karaoke singer?' contest. (Note: everyone was a winner!)
Day 7, Monday, October 10 - After popping by my friend's office for a quick boardroom meeting, we dine on monkey brains at Cynthia's for dinner. The service and presentation at this place are impeccable! Back at the hotel, we watch The King's Speech. (Great, great movie - watch it if you haven't already.)
Day 8, Tuesday, October 11 - Quick lunch at the Sunset Grill and I am stuck with the song in my head for the rest of the afternoon. That evening, we pick up Robbie for dinner and discover Cava, a Spanish tapas restaurant on Yonge Street. We make the wise decision to let the waiter run with the menu; he makes excellent choices for us, a few of which are even brought out by the chef himself. Some of the things we sample: pincho of gamay-poached foie gras with plum mostarda, papas fritas (spicy french fries with sage and rosemary), grilled squid with fingerling potatoes, green onions and romesco, and roast quail filled with chicken and served with moorish chickpea stew. We all dig into a warm, chocolate lava cake and a puffy, clafouti-type dessert. Service is terrific; the waiter appears with my jacket before I can even ask for it!
Day 9, Wednesday, October 12 - We stay in for the evening for our traditional pizza/Rummy 500 night. I win for the first time ever but I think it's because my friend's too sick with a cold to mark the deck.
Day 10, Thursday, October 13 - Quiet day; dinner at the Lion and Firkin, where not a karaoke'er is to be heard.
Day 11, Friday, October 14 - Lunch at Mary Brown's. (Think the Colonel before he started serving everything but the kitchen sink with his chicken ... but better!) Then (sadly), off to the airport and home. (Then again, considering the way I ate on this trip, it was prolly for the best - I'll need a complete wardrobe overhaul at this rate!)

It was a whirlwind of a trip this time around - two states, two provinces, two countries ... and all over too soon ...

My 22 year long love affair ...

Back in 1989, I was as big as a house while carrying the first of the three children I would bear. Most every person I have ever spoken to has always said the same thing - 'Oh, I don't care whether it's a boy or a girl. As long as I have a healthy baby.' I was not at all embarrassed to admit that I was pinning all my hopes on having a boy. While I passed on having the ultrasound technician tell me what she thought I might be having, I spent every waking moment imagining a male infant, surrounded myself with blue objects and generally refused to entertain the idea of having a daughter. Having been raised in a household with 2 sisters, I had longed for a male sibling - but not just a brother, an older brother ... someone who would have protected me when I was little and then supplied me with friends of his that I could have dated when I was older. Mine was not an ordinary pregnancy; my last month of pregnancy was spent in bed under doctor's orders. I was bored to tears and counted the days to my due date. Kevin's father and I watched a lot of TV during that time and Kevin ended up being named after the main character on The Wonder Years.

Kevin made his way into the world a whole 8 days ahead of schedule, taking less than four hours to meet his adoring public. I don't think I slept much that first night in the hospital; I could not stop staring at his beautiful face; the way his little lips were pursed, how his long lashes rested on his round, pink cheeks. I am actually surprised that he managed to sleep, what with me running my fingers over his soft skin, stroking the little bit of hair he had on his head and touching his teeny ears over and over again.

A lot has happened in the 22 years since that evening. He is still beautiful but now he is also all the other things a parent would be proud of in a man. Kevin is living in town, working and has found a terrific young woman I am happy to consider as a friend.

And my love affair continues ...

Kevin Alexandre Sawchuk Brodeur

English 101

Modern technology is a wonderful thing. It has allowed us to reconnect with people from our long ago's and answered many a 'I wonder what happened to so-and-so?'. I have been lucky to find people from my old neighborhood, elementary school, high school and past jobs and it has been great fun catching up with people I thought I would never see again.

Facebook put me back in touch with my grade 10 English teacher. Miss Golfman was a young, pretty and fashionable addition to the group of adults who were put to the task of molding my young mind. I looked forward to her class, knowing it would be interesting and entertaining. While she had a no nonsense approach to the material she presented, you would often find her smile lighting up her face. Miss Golfman, along with a few other beloved English teachers, were the matchmakers that led to my love affair with the written word.

Last Friday, I had the chance to thank Miss Golfman in person. She had messaged me and suggested we meet during her trip to the city; I was only too pleased to accept. We caught up over lunch and I was delighted to see that her smile still makes a regular appearance on a face that has barely changed in the past (dare I say it?) thirty-four years. I was glad for the opportunity to tell Miss Golfman how much I had appreciated her as a teacher. I know I'm not the only one of her students to feel that way.

I drove her to her next engagement and as she hopped out of my car, she clued me in to why she had wanted to see me. I'm holding on to that but she made my day in a big way.

Thanks, Miss Golfman. For everything.  xox

With this ring, I (would) thee wed ...

Marilyn Monroe-Joe DiMaggio wedding ring to hit auction block

Pretty freakin' far!

Just another manic Monday ...

1.  Do some organizing? Check!
2.  Have bananas ripe enough to bake with tomorrow? Check!
3.  Learn that Julia scored a 93% on a psych test? Check!
4.  Have my ex show up on my doorstep and he actually says hi AND bye to me? Check!
5.  Make an EIGHT POUND lasagna? Check!
6.  Discover some new music? Check!
7.  Smack my foot into the coffee table? Check!

So, time for me to attempt some math. Culinary math, so it seems less, umm, icky. Here goes (bear with me!) ...

8 lbs = 3 628.738 96 gms
Most frozen lasagna servings run less than 300 gms and will cost you at least $2.50. (I'll be generous and round up to 300 gms.)
3 628 gms/300 gms = 12 servings
12 servings x $2.50 = $30
(Hmmm ... maybe I'll start charging the kids per serving!)

Oh, by the way ... MY lasagna is four layers high, has 3 types of cheese and a chunky rockin' sauce that my kids eat out of the pot on bread. Suck on that, Stouffer's!

Things I've learned (so far) today ...

1.  It IS possible to hit your own self with a shopping cart. And then to ram your forearm into the shopping cart later. Twice. With the same arm.

(1a.  The biggest threat to me ... is ME!)

2.  It would seem that the posted 30 kms/hr in a school zone applies to everyone but the police. The one I was following whizzed through it doing over 50 kms/hr. (Yeah, so I paced him for a lil while!)

3.  The postman doesn't always ring once (much less twice!) before leaving you a notice of a parcel on your front doorknob. I know this because when I went to pick up the item at the post office, the Canada Post employee there told me that they don't. Nice.

4.  I've also learned that Jack is a canine rock star judging from the attention he gathers wherever we go. I take him on almost all my errands. It's a muggy day today so I have the back windows cranked open all the way. Coming out of the post office, I find him flirting with a two older ladies, who immediately start gushing at what a handsome dog he is, the whole while stroking him under the chin and behind the ears. One even bends down and goes nose to nose with my dog! I accept the compliments on his behalf and start talking to him in English. Both ladies immediately express amazement that he can understand English! *eyeroll* I tell you, if I could train him to sign autographs, I could retire on the profits!

And the day's not over yet ...

My Robbie ♥

Ahhh, Robbie. Recently, I described Robbie to a friend of mine. I told him that Robbie is my 'go to' person - the one I can call at all hours of the night or day, the one who will help me dispose of the bodies without asking any questions, the one I can always go to for advice, knowing it will be blunt and raw and lacking in all candy coating whatsoever. He is my rock and sounding board but he is also my mirror, who instead of reflecting back what I might want to see, reflects back what truly is. Robbie is the place I call when I need a shoulder; I've spent 6 hours driving there, talked his ear off for 4 hours and then driven another 6 hours to come home. He is 'Uncle Robbie' to my children and he has graciously shared his 'Ma' with me - I walk amid his family where I easily feel like one of them.

Ma & Robbie - 31/08/2011

Robbie was in town in late August, giving us a chance to celebrate our birthdays, albeit belatedly. After picking him up at his mom's, where we had an impromptu photo session, we headed to Old Montreal. We roamed the cobbled streets, then explored the Old Port until it was dark before finally settling in at Les 3 Brasseurs for a drink. (I took the advice of our server, Sebastien and had a raspberry beer. Interesting!) We sat and talked and people watched and laughed uproariously (as we usually do) until they started packing up the tables and chairs on the terrace.

Robbie & me - Old Montreal, 31/08/2011

As is always the case when I'm with Robbie, the time flew by way too quickly. I drove him home (he'll maintain that I sped him home but what does he know!) and we may have woken a neighbor or two as we laughed our way through our g'nites. Thankfully, I get to do it all again next month when we wreak havoc on Toronto!

I love you, Robbie!

A day in the life of my 18 year old . . .

My children are pretty self-sufficient. If I were to drop dead today, I know they wouldn't starve, they would continue to have clean clothing and could drive themselves around. But every now and then, they still seem to need me.

Julia is now a full time day student at CEGEP. Her morning routine is back to a flurry of getting ready before I drive her to the express bus for her ride into the city. Typically, I throw her together a lunch of sorts (depending on her schedule and mood), making sure to hang it over the front door's handle, so it's not missed during her exit. This morning, Julia had to make a stop at the ATM. As she's getting back into the car, I look down and ask, 'Where's your lunch?' Julia makes her typical 'oops-sorry-don't-be-mad-you-know-you-love-me-because-I'm-cute' face (which usually works on me) and I start to head back for home. Julia tells me not to bother because she can't be late for this class - she has an important assignment to hand in and the teacher deducts marks off your grade for the assignment if you come in late. We have the time, so we go back and she gets her lunch. After dropping her at the express bus stop, I head to the supermarket to pick up a couple of things. Parking the car, I look down and see the neon orange Koodo bag full of Julia's lunch. I sigh and text her to tell her what an ASS she is. 'Oops', she texts back, complete with a :)  I continue with my shopping and just as I get to the cashier, my phone rings. It's Julia and she forgot her assignment in the car. I offer to drive it to her at the metro and she happily agrees, apologizing profusely. 'But hurry, Mom - I can't be late for this guy's class!' Down the 40 I race, make it to the metro and we do the hand off right there on Sherbrooke Street. I drive away with her 'Thanks, Mom!' ringing in my ears.

Getting back home, I'm making coffee when I get another text. It's from Julia saying the power went out in the metro and she's going to be late despite our best efforts to get her assignment in on time. I suggest she explain it to the teacher and hope for the best. She continues to grumble about him and his rules.

Eventually, another text - 'he said I won't get 10 (marks) off'. Another day, another crisis averted. And this is only the first day of September ... *sigh* ...

Polishing up my Canadian/US relations . . .

(Caution: extended reading required!)

Earlier this month, after a much anticipated evening with some great friends (Sandy, Terri and Gary), I left to board a flight for TO. After lugging my bags through the public transport system of the MUC, I learned a valuable and interesting lesson - the better dressed the business man, the lesser chance you have of them offering to help you with a cumbersome piece of luggage. Give me a guy in jeans and a t-shirt any day, those are the gallant ones!

After arriving in TO, we spent a quiet evening watching Hell's Kitchen and had dinner at The Lion and Firkin. The next day was pretty gloomy and drizzly but that mattered not because I was lunching with my Robbie! I drove into town that morning and after parking in some lot, headed to Indigo. Bought a couple of books (on sale, yay me!) and then went to pick up Robbie. He looked smashing (as usual!) and I had a great time (as usual!) but time went by too quickly (as usual!) and he eventually had to head back to work. I headed back to the underground parking garage, which I easily found. Finding the car? Not so easy. In my excitement to see Robbie, I dashed off and forgot exactly where I had parked my friend's car in the garage! (Of course, it didn't help that for the first 10 minutes or so, my befuddled mind was searching for my raggedy ass ol' silver Civic instead of the snazzy new red Mazda 6 rental!) I found them after about 15 minutes and headed back out of town. That night, I was taken to see 'Midnight in Paris', my very first Woody Allen film. (It was hilarious!) Later, we supped at Koganei - if you're looking for sushi in TO, look no further than this place. The next day was a quiet one - running errands and an evening in with a pizza, bottle of wine and what I believe to be a marked deck of cards, which resulted in me losing yet another Rummy 500 match. (This now concludes the Canadian portion of my summary. Please take a large step to your right straight over the border to continue ... )

Friday, we headed for the airport. I was curious to see how this flight would play out; after all, the last man I flew with was a bit of a tight ass slightly neurotic a tad anal wound really tightly not a lot of fun to fly with. This time around proved completely different. We had the very last seats in the back - I mention the location only because it meant that the flight attendant was buckled in right beside my friend for both take off and landing. She immediately started flirting outrageously chatting him up, despite him offering only short responses to her barrage of questions. She continued to try to engage him in conversation throughout the flight and only spoke to me when she passed with the beverage cart. I was nice; I even complimented her on her earrings but I might as well have been decked out in invisible clothing because her attention was focused solely on my traveling companion. We landed in NYC, where my luggage arrived while his did not. (Personally, I think the flight attendant snuck off with it!) After being promised delivery to our hotel in the next couple of hours, we hopped a cab to the Marriott Marquis, right smack in Times Square.

Click here to see a daytime view of Times Square

Click here to see a nighttime view of Times Square

After dropping off our stuff in the room (33rd floor overlooking Times Square!), we headed out for dinner at Dock's. It was a great meal, topped off with a stupendous Key Lime Pie. We headed back to the hotel, meandering through Times Square. For those of you who have never been, walking through Times Square is like walking on Ste-Catherine Street ... except Ste-Catherine Street is on steroids ... and you've taken a mega hit of LSD ... and so has everyone you come across. Add a healthy dose of neon everywhere and you have Times Square. And because it is Times Square, you inevitably run into the Naked Cowboy. (We saw the newer, younger version; apparently, you can apply for a franchise!) We also came across the *shudder* Naked Cowgirl. A word of advice: pasties, applied to body parts dangling at waist level, are NOT sexy. I'm just saying. (On a related note, we saw the newer, younger version of the Naked Cowgirl the following day - she grinned at my friend but totally ignored me. Serves me right for wearing my invisible clothes again, I guess!)

Day 2 - The errant luggage finally showed up shortly before noon. Lunch at Chipotle, shopping at Macy's, and a stop at Starbucks where I was schooled on how to email my kids from an iPhone. On the way back to the hotel, we passed a huge billboard for the Pompeii exhibition. I mentioned my childhood obsession with Pompeii to my friend and five minutes later, we are standing in line and waiting to buy tickets! What an awesome exhibition! So much to see and no one to rush you through either! A great day ended with a great meal in Little Italy at Pellegrino's, whose wait staff has to be among the most attentive and respectful in the whole city.

Day 3 - Crappy weather, so I didn't venture very far or do very much. But then evening came and we were off to see STOMP! I have wanted longed dreamed of seeing Stomp every since catching a performance on TV back in the 90's. IT ... WAS ... AMAZING! A truly mesmerizing blend of cacophony. Never has an hour and a half passed so quickly! I'm really thankful that the weather spared me a migraine! After the show, we dashed through the drizzle a few buildings over and ducked into the Ukrainian East Village Restaurant (suggested by my friend, Terri). The décor is very reminiscent of every Ukie hall I have ever been in. The food was great and made me wonder if they had some Ukie baba stashed away in their kitchen. Our server was a handsome young Ukie boy, who did a great job. That's the good news. The bad? Watching them haul a pile of full Hefty garbage bags on a dolly from the kitchen right through the dining room, past the diners. Wanting to make a pit stop before heading back to the hotel, we found we had to be buzzed into the stairway leading to the washrooms. Yeah, buzzed in! Exiting the washroom, I invited my friend to come back in with me so he could help to identify the wildlife I had found there. It seems I had met my first live cockroach. In a Ukie restaurant, of all places! *hanging my head in shame*

Day 4 - I explored Manhattan a bit, ending up in Little Korea at one point. It's fascinating to walk around Manhattan but you need to be alert. Yellow cabs are abundant (you can't spit in any direction without hitting at least 2-3 of them!) and their drivers are ruthless in their pursuit of a destination. Pedestrians might have the right of way but someone forgot to tell the cabbies that! You've been warned!

Click here to see the plethora of yellow cabs in NYC!

Headed back to the hotel to get ready for our 'dress up date', a recent tradition. Morimoto is nothing short of phenomenal. The decor is slick and chic. The bathroom alone is well worth a visit. It was so beautiful in there, I could have eaten my meal in there! At the risk of being crass, they heat their toilet seats! (I thought that was really nifty until I related the fact to Julia, who promptly pointed out how gross that would be considering she couldn't be sure if the seat had been heated by the restaurant's system ... or the previous user!) I discovered a new drink - Snapdragon - and I want to be pickled in it after I leave this world. My friend ordered the Omakase, an 8-course tasting menu meant to highlight the chef's cuisine. Whoa! In a nutshell: toro tartare, accompanied by a seasoned soy sauce and five dipping options (wasabi, sour cream, kelp paste, avocado paste and Japanese crackers) ... a lightly seared sashimi of skip jack tuna, served with shimeji mushrooms and micro greens ... assortment of vegetables and tempura liver accompanied by a miso paste served in a warmer ... an oyster and foie gras with teriyaki jus (a warm bite of heaven, in my opinion!) ... a plate of assorted nigiri (Outstanding! My fave was the squid) ... homemade ginger ale (meant to be a palate cleanser, but if they had been selling the stuff by the case, I would have been buying!) ... waguyu beef (kobe beef - it keeps following me around!), set atop potato sticks (fancy french fries) and a lobster tail with garam masala ... tofu cheesecake (not ever having had tofu before, this struck me more as a tofu custard but it was deelish!) I'm certain royalty does not dine better than we did that evening.

Day 5 Our last evening in the Big Apple. Dinner that night was at Frankie and Johnnie's, a no nonsense steakhouse who, judging by the autographed head shots on the wall, sees their share of stars. That night, we saw 1/2 a star. After dinner, we went for a walk and came upon a crowd outside the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, where the Broadway musical production of The Addams Family was playing. We stopped and waited along with everyone else until Brooke Shields and Roger Rees came out. And no snobby star airs either - both stopped to sign autographs, pose for pics and talk with their fans.

Click here to see Brooke Shields

Click here to see Roger Rees

We then stopped in Times Square and sat at the top of the bleachers for a while, taking in the sights and sounds. Another fantastic evening ...

Click here to see a view of Times Square from down below

The next day, we made our way to the airport. After waiting in an enormous line to check my bag, I get to the agent behind the counter and made the mistake of asking the gentleman how he was doing. As though he had been waiting all day for that very question, he launched into a tirade lasting several minutes, leaning on the counter and just complaining about how badly things are run (very badly!), how much longer he had until retirement (ten excruciatingly long months!), how deeply his boss' head was lodged up his ass (pretty deeply!) and the whole while, I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning holes in my back while everyone waits in line. Hey, what can I say? People just seem to like to unload to me! I head off to board the plane and lo and behold, there's the very same flirty flight attendant, who looks right through me, even though she had positively drooled all over my traveling companion a mere five days earlier. Later, during the beverage service, I smiled and complimented her on her earrings ... again. *grin*

My Julia ♥

Julia Kristine Sawchuk Brodeur - 2 1/2 yrs old

I never wanted to know the sex of any of the babies I carried yet I was certain Julia was a girl long before her birth. Everything about my last pregnancy was different - my cravings, my weight gain - I was about to have some competition in my house full of men! I knew I was in for a interesting journey with this kid from the very ride to the hospital; she was intent on bursting into the world while her father seemed determined to observe every red light and speed limit as though they had been handed to him on two stone tablets up on Mount Sinai! At the hospital, Dr B barely had time to snap on his second glove and lean forward before Julia plopped herself into his hands. I didn't realize it then, but her unconventional arrival was to be a trailer for the movie of her life ...

Julia and Dad (March 2 1997)

After poor Jordan's history-making bout with colic, Julia was an almost maintenance-free newborn. She quickly learned to sleep through the pandemonium that underlined Kevin and Jordan's every waking moment. I'm almost ashamed to admit that her father and I went off to bed one night, only to realize that we had left her sleeping in the swing in the middle of the pitch black living room, but she was just that easy a baby ... well, until she started walking, that is! It wasn't enough for Julia to learn to pull herself up by holding on a piece of furniture; no, Julia then had to climb that piece of furniture. Coffee tables, wall units, bookcases - if it had a foothold, Julia was determined to scale the thing. More times than I can remember, I would turn my back on her sitting in her high chair, only to look over my shoulder and see her straddling the tray, impish grin on her face and hands on her teeny hips, looking so proud of herself. A mere week or so after learning to walk, she decided she was tired of that activity and started imitating her brothers as they ran throughout the house. Julia hated being strapped into a stroller, preferring to walk on her own. And I do mean 'on her own', since having her hand held was yet another restraint she did not accept. She was a fearless child - heights, distance, stairs - you name it, she mastered control over it. Julia was not a great rule follower, instead she made them (or broke them). Nothing illustrated this better than one of Julia's favorite stories: In Switzerland one morning, Julia and I walked to her pre-school, a little less than ten minutes away. Once there, she refused my request for a hug or a kiss and skipped off instead to greet her friends. I pretend to pout, waved g'bye and left the schoolyard for home. About a half hour later, I hear a knock at the front door; opening it, I look out, my eyes being pulled downward by the 4 year old standing there. Looking around and not seeing anyone, I incredulously inquire what she was doing home. 'You looked so sad when you left that I came home to give you a kiss and a hug,' she stated simply, ready to return to school on her own. I grabbed for my keys and we returned to l'École Rose, much to the amazement of the teachers there, who told me that no one had ever pulled off a coup like Julia had that day.

Julia and Mom (March 26 1998)

Things have not been sweetness and light every day of Julia's life. She has inherited a very healthy dose of hardheadedness from both her parents, which on the positive side means she is able to easily assert herself but on the negative side, makes for some heated exchanges between parent and daughter. (Julia piercing her own eyebrow at age 14 without parental consent immediately springs to mind ... ) The adorable baby evolved into a beautiful child who has grown into a stunning young woman. Yet somehow, this fact seems lost on my Julia, who goes on about her life completely unassumingly. She is doing well in school, is healthy and happy. As a parent, you cannot ask for much more.


For the record, Julia's father and I were never 'trying for a girl'. The plan all along was to have three children; Fate just happened to make the last one a girl. While I maintained throughout my pregnancy with Julia that a third son would be a welcomed addition to the two we were already raising, I've come to understand the magic in the bond between a mother and daughter. There's an old Irish saying that goes, 'A son is a son until he takes him a wife, a daughter is a daughter all of her life. The older Julia becomes, the more truth I find there to be in that adage.

Julia (Summer 2010)

I'll take what's in the box, Monty . . .

Take something beautiful. A glowing woman swollen with life ... 

 ... the subsequent miracle of birth ... 

... culminating in the arrival of a beautiful newborn.

Now, taint it all with the ever so quaint, recently made popular expression, 'push present'. Just brings a tear to your eye, don't it? A push present, for those of you with inquiring minds (and who haven't already figured this one out for yourselves), is a prezzie that one parent gives the other for birthing the new addition to their family. So, that would be you husbands, boyfriends and significant others of either gender. Now, me being a tad on the dédaigneuse side, I find the expression cringe-worthy. Frankly, I prefer the alternate expression, 'baby bauble'. Besides feeding into my love of alliterations, it clearly spells out what the non-baby-pushing-out parent should be shopping for (which, after popping out three people myself, is the LEAST you should receive by way of thanks, if you ask me!).

There are sites dedicated to the browsing and purchasing of these gifts - Gifts.com have a large assortment and even the parental bible, Parents.com are part of the revolution, offering the baubles no woman would turn down but also smashing ideas like spa treatments and trips! It's almost enough to make me want another baby ... I said ALMOST!

So, welcome to the world of  'push presents', where actress Jessica Alba has requested a $54,000 gold and diamond Frank Muller watch for the  upcoming birth of her second child, stylist Rachel Zoe received a 10-carat (10!) diamond ring and  Marc-Anthony gifted J-Lo with a pair of $2.5 million earrings. (Sure, you're saying, but she had twins! Well, you'd be wrong because he also gave her a $300,000 canary diamond ring! Yowsah!)

What did I get? *snicker* Let's see ... that would be nothing for the births of Kevin and Jordan. When Julia came along, I turned to her father and demanded flowers. I reminded him that this was my third (and last) ride on the delivery table merry-go-round. I reminded him that he had always wanted a daughter and now had one. I reminded him that every other woman on the floor had flowers and by gawd, I was not leaving the hospital until I had MY freakin' bouquet. He came through and in the 14 years we were together, that marked the second (and last) time he ever brought me flowers. But that's a whole other posting for a whole other day! So ... what did YOU get?

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.