Tuesday, January 20, 2015


I try to resist gender norms, but seriously, guys with colds are the suckiest, giantest babies of babydom.  Admittedly, the Dotytron doesn't come from strong stock.  He's a delicate flower produced by a parental lineage of delicate flowers.  I've never heard someone complain MORE when they have a case of the sniffles.  It's all boohooing, and dramatic, public neti-pot irrigation, and huddling under blankets and really, I'm like, "the degree to which you are removed from being an immigrant could not be MORE APPARENT right now."  

The world grinds to a standstill.  He was going to take a sick day on Monday, and then our caregiver called in early Monday morning because her friend/roommate was having a baby, and oh yeah, her friend/roommate is here alone (her partner is still in the Philippines) and is of a somewhat advanced maternal age, and this is her FIRST child.  You know what?  THAT lady is going through something.  The Dotytron?  Not so much.  Anyway, I had a big interview on Monday, so I couldn't stay home, which means I heard even more moaning and groaning about HOW HARD it was going to be to be home with the babies all day and "don't expect me to take them to the drop-in centre" and I was luckily distracted from being completely enraged (newsflash: they're YOUR kids, too, remember?!) by my interview to comment that, OH YEAH, THIS WAS EVERY TIME I WAS SICK ON MAT LEAVE, YA DUMMY.   Deal wit it.

This is why white, middle class Canadians haven't accomplished anything of note, like, ever.  Because they are giant baby diapers about regular life.

I am teasing a bit, but I also want to note that I came home to: a disheveled Dotytron trying to put dinner together (dinner which consisted of warming a frozen soup **I** had made in advance, and assembling a mashed squash toast **I** had made in advance), after no less than 3 different phone calls to my cell clarifying things (I had already sent him detailed instructions during the day), in a kitchen that was almost completely upended, and a tiny Quincess placidly hacking away at a D battery on the floor with a phillips head screwdriver.  My Discerning Coyote friend noted on Facebook that the Quincess was probably minutes away from completing his perpetual motion machine, which is probably true, though no less dangerous.

We had dinner at our friends' JJ & S's house last Saturday night, and JJ noted, as the Dotytron and I po-go'd in and out of our seats throughout the night to: feed babies, close the door to the basement, bring babies down from bar stools they had clambered up onto, remove glass jars from baby hands, change diapers, and so on and so forth, "this is the most labour-intensive time in parenting."  I COULDN'T AGREE MORE.  Quincess is full-on walking now, and while Lindsey isn't as keen and loves being carried more than anything, they are irrepressible imps who climb/destroy/reconfigure/disregard anything and everything.  We've started having to be more disciplined with them, which means that I've started to get quite stern with Lindsey.  He likes to chuck his food off of his high chair tray so the other night, I told him quite firmly, no, and if he did it again, he wouldn't be able to eat with us.  He's only 19 months old, so of course he didn't get it, which means I had to turn his high chair away from the table and the Dotytron and I desperately tried not to crack up at the sight of his big, open, Lindsey-Lou-Lou face craning around and being all confused and mildly dismayed.

There have been some very funny Big Yam moments lately.  Like:

The Big Yam, spying my discarded bra on the bed: "I'm going to wear these boobies!"  Puts it on, and then: "it fits perfectly." Strutting around, he pauses, "I'm a...babysitter" (with a tone of wonder).

The other night, while we were debriefing from an evening that featured a bunch of fireside chats, punctuated with time outs and screaming (both).  Me, probing, "Do you think you had a good day?" Big Yam: "No."  "Why?" "I had to do a lot of dealing. With you. About me."

We drove down to visit my sister this past weekend and drove down with my mum in the car.  She was sitting in the back with the Big Yam and as we pulled across the border, asked if we'd seen a show called "Border Security" which shows people trying to smuggle stuff across the border?  I guess?  I don't know, we don't have cable.  She asks us if we've seen the show and is explaining it when the Big Yam replied, "No.  We don't even know what you're talking about."  LOL!  The best is how he answered for all of us.  So good.

The Dotytron hosted an inaugural Bourbon Night two weeks ago.  People (all guys this time) paid a small amount to get pours from 6-7 bottles in his collection, food, beer, and their name entered to win a bottle that was raffled off.  It seemed to be a good time.  Our buddy is a chef at a local barbecue restaurant and HOOKED the Dotytron up.  He served smoked chicken wings, ribs, brisket burnt ends, smoked duck tacos and fixings, barbecued jalepeno poppers, cornbread, pickles, baked beans...it was unreal.  My ex bf came over and had a visit before I made myself scarce and went out.  It's funny reconnecting with people now that I'm a fully realized adult (or something like it.)  I'm just not fussed about stuff any more.  I don't even know why I lost touch with some people.  It really is true that when you hit your prime 30s, you just don't have room in your life for anything extra.  Living is too much of a slog to give into the dramas.

My ex bf reading Lenny a story.

This weekend was fairly chill.  We went down to the States, I got my George Nelson bubble lamp (swoon!) fixture for our basement.  We ate more than we should.  We caught up on movies and played charades.  I attended my niece's hockey scrimmage and complained the ENTIRE TIME about how I don't see the point of sports (a bit of an over exaggeration) and how I could never see myself actually CARING about how my kid's sports team does.  It's just not in me.  Anyway, it was a good time.  The Big Yam loves being with his cousins.

The two cousins off on a mission to Mars.

 Lenny was so pleased with his little cowboy hat that we shelled out $15 in the Cracker Barrel "General Store" to get it.  He loves wearing it and has been chasing it around the house - "hat. Hat. hat."

An osso buco, polenta, gremolata dinner recently.

Freezer wedding soup with a mashed squash toast based on a Smitten recipe.  I used kabocha squash, halved, drizzled with oil and salt and pepper and roasted in an oven until soft.  Then we mashed the flesh with some salt and pepper and spread it on ricotta-smeared toast and topped it with caramelized onions and a drizzle of good balsamic.  This was a BIG hit.  Huge.  All three kids went to town on it.  The key was toasting the toast in a frying pan (oil both sides and then toast over medium heat until crunchy on the outside but still soft-middled).

A recent breakfast - leftover bacon-wrapped smoked jalepeno poppers (spicy!) sliced on top of avocado toast, topped with a fried egg.

Rice cooker soy sauce chicken thigh rice with dried shitakes, Chinese sausage, and garlic sautéed choi on the side.


No comments: