By Your Side

Sirens wailing, spinning lights scatter through the blinds. What a weird dream. The sound is closer, almost right next to me. Not a dream.

Opening my eyes, I roll out of bed, cross my arms and walk over to the window. Carefully tweaking apart the slats with the tips of my fingers, not knowing what scene awaits, I peer through the glass.

One, two, three, four … police cars. More screaming sirens. Five, six, seven, eight …another four come up just behind. Finally, in total nine squad cars blocking our usually quiet suburban street. It is 2:05 am.

What is going on? It's as if I'm watching an episode of "Cops" at the end of my driveway. Only it's real. I’m nervous. We are safely ensconced in our home but I am nervous. The kids are still asleep … or they were. First the boy, then the girl, make their way into my room.

“Mommy, what’s happening? What are the lights? I see police cars.”

How do you respond when you don’t know the answers? “Just some police checking to make sure everything is OK. No worries guys.”

The sirens finally stop. I see four police officers escorting a young man to a squad car. His arms behind his back. The cops are so much bigger than he is. He gives them major attitude. They shove him onto the side of one car, and then into the backseat.

I get my kids to snuggle into my bed, but they can feel my concern in the air. “Get into the bed Mommy, things will be okay in the morning”. My boy, my protector when Daddy’s away. His sentiments echoed by my little diva.

*****

Did I ever tell you about our neighbour’s son, who blares the really loud, horrible thump and grind, hit-you-in-the-pit-of-the-stomach ”music” out of his souped-up car on their driveway? Usually perfectly timed to come on just after the bedtime books have been read? The beat is relentless into the early morning hours. Ever tell you about the time that I went over during one of these sessions, yelled over the noise (because I couldn’t hear myself think) to his mother who was standing on her driveway chatting with a friend. Shouting in frustration that I had just gotten my infant daughter and my son to sleep for school the next morning -- and did she not realize it was 9:30 on a Sunday night? We’ve thought about calling the police for noise disturbances several times over the last 8 years. But because it's been more sporadic in recent years, we’ve held off.

His parents are nice people. They gave us some BBQ lamb curry when Ian complimented the lovely aromas coming from their backyard the first summer we moved in. We received a holiday gift from them our first Christmas in the house. Granted it was obviously a re-gift (wolf clock … do we seem like wolf clock type people?) … but it’s the thought. We had trees planted in our yard, and the tractor delivering them squashed their underground sprinkler system. We offered to pay for the repairs … they said no worries. (Mind you, they didn’t share in their part of the fence, so I suppose it’s fair enough). They even invited us to the next LOUD party they had after we complained to them the first time. We couldn’t make it, but we would have if we were free. It looked like it was a blast.

This son, who my own son has noticed on the porch or driveway, often curses away on his cell phone. I myself have even heard snippets of snarling: “… the princess, yeah she gets everything she wants… and bro does nothing wrong ….”

*Faux gangsta* is what we’ve called him to ourselves. Because up until now, it’s really been just extremely loud, annoying music at inappropriate times. A man who refuses to grow up, perhaps.

After that night, perhaps not so *faux*.

Don’t even know for sure if that was him or one of his friends. I still don’t know what happened. But the one thought I had just before I finally fell back asleep? He once was a baby boy, a little boy, their little boy. My heart ached for his parents.

*****

The next morning, the birds were chirping, the sun was shining. It was back to the suburban lull. Almost as if nothing had happened.

You never know what the future holds for your children. You hope you instill in them the core values and beliefs that they can uphold themselves. To be the best that they can be.

But it's a big world out there. And try as you might, there's no way to control that world and how it can affect them. You just do your best. That's all you can really do.

Close Encounters of the Suburban Kind

I woke up yesterday morning to the sound of a lone shovel, scraping against the unwieldy blanket of snow that had buried the driveway next door. A mirror image of my very own driveway. Peering through my window, I watched as our neighbour tackled the impossible task, knee deep in snow under the brilliant shining sun. That glorious sunshine almost mocking him with its intensity, as he stopped to take a rest every couple of minutes. He was making very little headway.

But as he stood taking another break, surveying the remaining terrain he had yet to conquer, a group of three men walked toward him, with shovels in hand and a snowblower in tow. They worked together and had the driveway cleared in about 15 minutes.

*******

After our snow service did the basic clearing of our driveway, being the weird oxymoronic Type A/slob that I am (heavy emphasis on the moronic part), I felt the inexplicable need to kick off every single remaining offending snowflake that still resided on the premises. Or maybe I felt guilty that I had been snowed in, and had pigged out on chips and banana bread with my kids for three days rather than go to the gym. Needed to do something part-way physical. That, and the other inexplicable need to impress my husband by clearing the drive before he arrived home from Belgium, prompted me to head out myself later in the afternoon. The children had decided to stay in, despite my earnest pleas for them to come out and enjoy the sunshine with me.

The problem with the glaring sun in not-so-cold temperatures is that it creates packing snow. Perfect for making snowmen. Not so perfect for shovelling.

During one of my many heavingly-coughing-wheezing (I'm a non-smoker, I swear) resting patches, I witnessed an older woman walking along my quiet street, shopping bag in hand. Can I tell you how unusual that is on the best of days, let alone just after a snowlashing of almost record-breaking proportions? The lady, bless her heart, stopped and commented on what a great job I was doing on my driveway. Humble-me fessed up right away and admitted that I was only cleaning up the remnants left by the dratted works department. But she understood and still plauded my efforts. She agreed that it's better if it's all clean, rather than deal with the sheet of ice that will certainly follow the great melt. And then we had a nice conversation about her grandchildren and their visits with her every summer, staying just around the corner from us. I could feel the curious stares of my children through the front windows as I was chatting.

When I went back inside, the kids jumped on me right away. Who was that, Mommy? Do we know her? Where does she live?

I suppose it is natural for them to be curious, a bit apprehensive perhaps. These types of exchanges don't happen very often in these here 'burbs. And certainly not involving their mother. I'm the posterchild for ISTJ; I'm the neighbour who drives her minivan into the garage right away and shuts the door behind; who you only see occasionally popping out in the spring/summer, maybe in the fall with her kids. The Dad is the one out talking with the neighbours, watering the garden, raking the leaves. Because the black-thumbed Mom is in the house blogging.

*****

These incidents remind me a bit of what it was like to live in the city. That neighbourhood feel that has been eluding us for the few years that we have been up here.

I think things may be looking up a bit in suburbia.

Fashion Friday: For a bad hair day

I've always had this thing about hats. As a fashion item, rather than as a functional article of clothing to protect the main source of heat loss on a cold winter's day. In more recent years, I've found my hat wardrobe to be functional on the most important days of all - bad hair days. And it's been a bit of a challenge because I have a big noggin. But according to Chinese wisdom, that's a good thing, big head=big brain. I don't know about that, but I'll run with it.

I've located a few in my closet from yesteryear that I am loathe to throw out because they bring me back to very significant times in my life. So while I sip on my lovely glass of "Vin d'alsace" de Dopff & Irion (2006- lovely year), I'll share with you some headless hatshots of my bygone eras...

This was one of my first big hat purchases, as in, expensive. A very pretty thing that I wore to the baptism of Liam's godsister (that would be about 14 years ago). But, yes, that is netting on it. It reminds me a bit of those hats that women wear to the Queen's Plate or any such horse race. Just about three feet shorter than most of those headpieces. Horse racing and big hats. An interesting mixed race marriage (groan....).

I'm not sure when I bought this one, to tell you the truth, but it must have been just as expensive as the one above because it has its own hat box. Suede with a velvet band. A nice fall hat.



This is my hippie hat, with a Monet-like painting on it. Purchased at a One-of-a-Kind craft show way back when. I remember it well, because I was wearing it to watch the movie "Ghost". I had no idea what the movie was about, we caught it on the first day. I have NEVER cried at a movie like I bawled at that one. My contacts were threatening to fall out, and my brandnew hat was also slipping off my head quite a bit, because, it was a mite small and SAT on my head, rather than having my skull inhabit it.



Russian/ukranian stage. WTF? No other words.


I bought this cute thing, velvet with bling on the front, at an Old Clothing Show. It's vintage, reminded me of the 40's. I wore it a fair bit in university. I can't imagine what people thought of me, after all I was studying SCIENCE. Didn't go that well with the labcoat.

Do you really want to hurt me, do you really want to make me cry... with this hat on, I'm sure some people did. Liam used to get a big kick out of wearing this at playtime when he was about 3 or so. So there is an afterlife in Hatland.

Now for some more recent additions:

I love this one even though Ian thinks it is tacky. It is tartan-like, you know, respect for Ian's ancestors. If I'd known the clan of the pattern, it could have even fit into L's family box. I'm just happy that it fit my head. And for $15 at Winners, price could not be beat.

The following used to be L's favourite hat, which has now been taken over by his little sister. Look at its honoured place on the bannister.

Did I mention that Tremblant was wickedly COLD?! And I didn't have a very warm hat. So on the girlie village shopping day, little G and I picked up the following two toppers:

I dig purple and grey. The Princess bought the cool red one.

Now, one of my favourite hats ever, I purchased in Iceland for my little girl. Look at this beauty:

If it fit my head, I would be wearing it everywhere! Unfortunately my little G inherited my big head genes. So while she can still pull it on her head, it slips upward most of the time. We can't part with it, no matter how small it gets. We'll probably have to put it on G's dolly's heads from here on in. But here she is wearing it when it fit.



And speaking of hats, heads and thinking ... (well, not really, but I was having a really difficult time finding the perfect segue) I was bestowed a blogging award courtesy of Curiosity Killer, my lovely blogging gal pal currently based in Hong Kong. I didn't really think I'd ever qualify for this one. Maybe CK noticed my big head at lunch this past summer.

Not that I'm NOT thinking all the time (or more appropriately *obsessing*), but sometimes I find that my thoughts never really run that deep. I don't think that I'm exceedingly shallow, at least I hope not (mind you, posts like this might make one wonder) but oft times I find my focus in life is on the trivial, and not so much the very important. Although I do tend to be a bit of a Melancholy Miss. But enough over-analysis before someone decides that I'm really not so deserving...

Happy Weekend everyone.

Freezing Hope

I usually don't post about many controversial topics. Mostly because I'm a Libra - always see two sides of every story. So I manage to talk myself out of anything too controversial. And most of my more "serious" posts don't get a lot of commentary - or maybe people are lurking and don't want to come out.

But when I opened up my regular woman's magazine that arrived in my mail yesterday (with lovely Sandra Oh on the cover, let's hear it for Asian Canadian women!), I had to stop to read this article in depth, "Great eggs-pectations" written by Katrina Onstad. In it, she refers to a medical first, that happened in Canada just this past spring. A mother, Melanie Boivin, had frozen her eggs for her 7 year-old daughter, who suffers from a rare genetic disease called Turner's syndrome which leaves her daughter infertile. By doing so, she is attempting to provide her daughter an option, possibly the only one, for biological motherhood. This latest event is causing even more stir in the hotpot of the assisted reproduction debate.

I really like the way Katrina writes - she presented a fairly balanced view of the issue, and she admits that although she is in favour of reproduction technology the extent of this makes her uncomfortable. But then she also raises the fact that she has never experienced infertility first hand. She is, to those of us who have experienced it, a "fertile". And I don't mean that condescendingly at all; it's just a fact.

The thing that really enraged me was the backlash that Boivin's actions have produced on certain message boards. Child-free message boards. I know that women who have decided they don't want children of their own are certainly entitled to their opinions. And they've probably got the weight of society on their backs, having to defend their decisions, as most people expect women to want children above all else. But I can't believe that someone actually posted that they thought this act would suggest to Boivin's daughter that she is not good enough the way she is. How can that be extrapolated from what I see as an act of pure love?

I must admit, I am biased. Having spent years dealing with unexplained infertility (and you'd be surprised the percentage of cases that are "unexplained"), I understand the heartache, the absolute anguish that women and couples go through in their unsuccessful attempts at parenthood. Aside from the treatments themselves, which are no picnic, there is the even tougher psychological roller coaster of hesitant expectation, dashed hopes and unbelievable frustration that seems neverending as you go from month to month, cycle to cycle, hoping against hope that "IT" will happen.

When you really think about it, there are of course ethical issues. Should her daughter decide to go ahead and have a child with these eggs, they will technically be her half-sibling. Her mother will become grandmother to her own child. Very weird. But this is at the purely biological level. In these circumstances you have to see that the mother would be the one raising and teaching that child. As long as everyone goes into it with open eyes, and above all, the appropriate counselling (including for the child as he/she grows up), there's nothing to say that it shouldn't work- it wouldn't be easy, but then anything worth it rarely is.

Ms. Boivin's daughter may very well think it is too out-there for her. She may decide to adopt; or go with an anonymous donor. Or not have any children at all. But at least she'll have options. Because her mother provided this for her.

We were lucky to be blessed with two beautiful children as a result of advances in reproductive technology. But we also had hope. And you cannot fault Ms. Boivin for keeping that alive for her daughter. Without hope, what do we have?

Please Vote for Me

It's provincial election day today, and in addition to choosing the candidate and their particular party for our local riding, there is a referendum about the voting system itself. I'm not a political animal by any means, but I do feel it is important to vote, as it is our democratic right and a right that much of the world does not have. And if I don't vote, if ever I have an issue with the way things are run, I can't really complain then can I? I haven't been following the election that closely, and the referendum did throw me for a loop.

It was only a couple of weeks ago when I got a flyer in the mail, that I even knew there was a referendum and what the question was. After reading the newspaper on that weekend morning, where they detailed the highlights of the leadership debates, the phone rang and I picked it up. After hearing a very rushed introduction from a very collegiate sounding voice, I decided to give the kid a break and let him have a few minutes of my time to do a survey for this joint university study. A study that was being conducted to see how much Ontarians knew about the upcoming election, what they knew about the referendum, and what they thought about various issues. Probably to judge the effectiveness of the campaigns, media coverage, and accuracy of the polls.

Maybe I'm just a softie because of my work background with clinical studies and experience on the other side when completing my own surveys for university. When he gave me the blurb about consent and confidentiality, he had me hooked. Or maybe I was just in a chatty mood. In any event, my answers were probably all over the map. But I'd like to think that I sounded informed, even if my answers were based on my " Election Referendum for Dummies" speed reading conducted just minutes before. At least I had my husband fooled, as he listened and gestured to me with incredulity. I could see it in his eyes "How do you know all that stuff?". I guess he didn't know what a BS-er his wife could be. Scary.

Which windingly brings me to the original topic of today's post. I saw the cutest film a couple of nights ago, a documentary made in China that was shown at the Toronto International Film Festival just this past September. It's part of a series of films under the umbrella "Why Democracy". The film, called "Please Vote for Me" follows an election of a Hall Monitor in a fairly large school in a Chinese city.



Previously the monitor had always been appointed by the teacher, but this was a lesson in democracy, an emerging concept in China. What made it most interesting and fascinating is that it was a political race between three EIGHT YEAR OLDS and it was quite hilarious, sweet but cut-throat at the same time. The filmmaker followed the three candidates home to see how they coped and prepared for the election, and also how their parents supported and really pressured the kids to well. The process included a talent contest as well as debates between the candidates.

The political antics, backroom agreements, deceit, false promises ... they were all there! You have to see it to believe it! After watching this program, it really gave me a sense of what pressure is to these kids, especially given China's one child policy, and all of the hopes that parents have placed on their only children.

All I can say is after witnessing that, I'm a total softie on my offspring! It also explains some of my mother's interesting childrearing philosophies.

Catch this one if you can, you won't be disappointed.

That's not my grandma

Mommy too old to have a baby?

I read with great interest an article in this month’s Chatelaine magazine, about women having babies when they’re in their 50’s and 60’s. Although I’m all for women making choices and having control over their bodies, I tend to agree with the author. I think that these older women having babies is just too much.

Don’t get me wrong. Having had personal success with the advances of fertility technology, I don’t want to knock that avenue. It can make miracles happen. And now there is technology becoming available to freeze your own eggs for potential use later when a woman decides to have a family. I’m all for that, especially if they are young women with illnesses who may have to undergo medical treatments that may destroy their eggs. They may not be in a relationship or in a position to have children now, but this way they do have the potential when they are fit and able. But let’s get real here -- a 67 year old woman having a set of twins – that’s more than a stretch. With the average life expectancy of a woman these days, the children will be lucky if their mother sees them reach their 16th birthday. And that doesn’t seem right to me.

A doctor was quoted telling a 56 year old woman that she “looked great, had the body of a 30-year-old, so why not?”. What does “looking great” have to do with it? Childbirth is no cakewalk, infertility treatments are no picnic. There is a lot of expense in terms of time and money (we’re talking lots of it). Frankly, it scares me that all these stories of miracle babies give false hope to many women, who see these older women, many of them celebrities, being able to have their babies when convenient for them. They make it look like you can just hold back time, and presto, with a few dollars, a couple of injections, instant family. It’s just not so easy – the statistics are totally stacked against women starting in their late 30s, early 40s. And obviously these older women are post-menopausal, so have used eggs donated by other women. That’s another issue that needs to be addressed, particularly with the children as they get older and have questions as they realize that their mothers are perhaps even older than the grandmothers of their peers. Inevitably they will be raised by single mothers, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but things are usually easier with two parents.

And you’d have to think that the children born in these circumstances must be quite fragile themselves. With the recent infections being spread in major well-known neonatal wards in the city these past few months, some experts think the hospitals are just not keeping up with the technology to care for babies (preemies, multiples) who normally wouldn’t survive or are being brought into the world through fertility treatments.

Having had my kids in my mid and late-30’s, I already feel exhausted most days, and I’m a reasonably fit woman, who looks fairly youthful for my age. Somedays I already feel too old to be their mom. Can you imagine if I had given birth to my little one as a 67 year old spring chicken? That would make me 70 years old this year. Chauffeuring, organizing and hosting playdates, volunteering at the school, potty training, grocery shopping --- ugggghhhh! I don’t think so!

I hope that at 70, I’ll be back in the city with my hubby in a lovely loft condo, enjoying yet again the culture, restaurants and entertainment that we’ve currently parked on the sidelines of our life, once our kids are grown and onto their own lives. And hopefully they’ll be bringing our grandkids down to party with us!

Senior Sex

Okay, I know I'm not quite a SENIOR yet, but the following headline grabbed me the other day:

"Before I turn 67, I would like to have a lot of sex..." quoted from an author who placed an ad in the New York Review of Books. The author, Jane Juska, is presenting at 2007 IdeaCity, an annual meeting of the minds in Toronto coming up in June. She apparently received quite a few responses. Her oldest responder was 84! She's written a book about her erotic adventures at her "advanced" age.

Well, I'm barely in my 40s, and after running after the kids, running the household (to a certain extent) and doing my requisite blogging, who has the time or the energy?! Honestly, I'm taking OC's right now primarily to improve my skin, and not really for the offchance that we might produce further offspring. No offence to my life partner, as we're both doing our darnedest to keep in shape and our marriage is very alive and well. We're not only working out to stay healthy for the kids, but also to maintain some semblance of attractiveness, at least for each other. Let's be realistic, the longer you're together, the harder it is you really should work at staying together. But the best quality couple time we get these days is getting into bed after the kids are tucked in, to read together in the quiet comfort of our king-sized bed. Who knew that all that (cover your ears now, Mom and Dad) hot and heavy pre-marital sex was supposed to last a lifetime?

I have to give kudos to her; senior sex is not exactly a "hot topic" these days. And she attributes it to the fact that most not-old people don't want to think about old people having sex. I know for myself, when we were first trying to conceive and not having much luck, my mom was trying to make me feel better by sharing details of certain positions that were best for trying for a boy, or trying for a girl, or just trying. From her own personal experience. All in the confines of a tiny elevator, while I was squished between her and my father. Yes, I know she was talking about when she was younger, but who really needs to hear and then picture in your mind ... well, it's just unthinkable. Pretty high on the "uncomfortable-o-meter" wouldn't you say?

Well, I have to admit that our relationship hasn't totally hit the platonic plateau and I have the tendency to exaggerate, more than just a little. I suspect that as the kids get older, we'll get more of our mojo back. I hope I feel as confident and can still embrace my womanhood when my kids have their children.

Now it's time for kiddies to cover their ears/eyes: One of my all-time favourite hilarious lines from "Sex and the City" was uttered by the fabulous Samantha Jones, played by Kim Cattrall, when she found her first gray pubic hair. "Nobody wants to f*&k Grandma's p%*sy!" Hopefully one Grandpa will.

The new 20's ...

Happy Birthday to my big boy - Ian. Wow, he's 44 today (I'm sure he's glad I'm announcing it to the world on his behalf). Can't believe that we've known each other and started dating 20 years ago! Now that's history! And our relationship is still surviving with the addition of a very busy 6 year old and bossy 23 month old. I read somewhere that the 60's are the new 40's so it makes sense to me that we're just hitting our 20s.

I look back sometimes and wonder how we got here. Our 20's were a lot of fun, with travel, dining out, going out, drinking probably a bit too much. But I'm sure I was miserable at times, knowing that Ian was such a tough guy to nail down into commitment (ie. marriage). He was fully committed to me, but the marriage thing was a huge cliff that he had to jump off of. I know now though, that he was totally worth the wait.

I don't know if I ever expected to be a suburban mom - I think I still held in my fantasies the concept of living and working downtown. But reality hits when you have kids, and you don't work downtown. Commuting is just the pits, so at least for now north of 7 works.

So today I finalized an article that I will submit to Today's Parent. Did I tell you there's a little blurb on G at 16 months that I sent in and was actually published in the December 2006 issue? Mommy brain-addled, I was flipping through the last pages and noticed G's name, thinking.... "Wow, someone else named their baby G" then proceeded to read about her behaviour in the bath with cups, emptying, filling etc.... "as described by her mother Karen xxx! Yikes - I totally forgot that I had sent that in! Now that I'm a published author (yeah, right) it gave me the added impetus to make a submission. If it's published, I get $200. Won't be too shabby for a couple hours work. Who knows, maybe I might someday make a living at it.

Been toying with the writing thing for eons. But I don't want to become some tortured artist who's living a lie in suburban Toronto. I just think it's fun to capture a lot of what my life is right now, for although it doesn't seem like much I'm sure if I look back it's going to be among the happiest times of my life. How couldn't it be with a husband who loves me and 2 beautiful children?