Yo, can you believe that with a demanding job, 3 kids, and many interests and hobbies, that I don't have much time to blog no more??? CAN YOU??? ANSWER ME!!!
Here are some funny bon mots, one-liners, quips, and happenings from our world, lately.
We figured out a decent plan at the last few Micelli Mondays of summer 2016, which entailed going to a different pool (one with a water slide!), doing ridiculous poses on said slide (to the deadpan bemusement of the teenage lifeguards), swimming, then packing up and ensconcing ourselves at one of the picnic tables by the fenced-in playground, and me engaging in protracted negotiations to convince the good people at Domino's Pizza to deliver our pizza order to the closest park intersection, instead of an actual street address. At our very last Micelli of the summer, we were finishing up our pizza, watching the kids play barefoot in the playground, when we heard the P.A. system of the pool click on, followed by:
"UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....ttention, the pool will be closing in five minutes. Repeat: the pool will be closing in five minutes."
We DIED laughing. The kid held the "uhhhhhhh" for SO LONG. The commitment to the gag was pretty advanced. It's the closest I've ever come to a legit Meatballs moment and it was a glorious way to send off summer.
Related, Dr. Rei reminded me the other day that we were referring to hot dogs as "problematic bae" at the cottage. WHY ARE WE SO G-D FUNNY?!?
The Big Yam, after I got shouty and told him to pack up his pencil case off the dining room table, "Why are you always telling me what to do? Why can't you help a man who's six."
For a while there, when the twins didn't like what they were hearing from us/any authority figure/each other, they would say, "Don't speak those words!" (picked up from our caregiver). "I want to watch something" "You can't" "Noooo! Don't speak those words!!!"
Quincess, sitting at the dinner table, being classic daydream believer, "Chickens come from eggs. They come from little eggs. It's vewwwy speshoul." The way his lisping little voice has this faint Brooklyn edge - the way he rounds and extends the O sounds...kills us.
We were driving and passed by one of those houses that pop up in Toronto and are shaped like a barn. Me: "I like those barn houses..."
Lindsay: "I want that barn house, too!"
Me: "Do you have money?"
Lindsay: "Uhhhh..." *spreads hands palms out* "No."
Quincess: "I found money!"
Me: "You did?"
Quincess: "Yeah, it was under the couch, it was golden."
For the Big Yam's birthday, he wanted to play Laser Quest with his family (!!!). So we all posse'd up and went. I just love my family, so damn much. It was so funny. You could hear S-Dawg shouting "DELETED!" each time he hit one of us. Before you go into the game zone proper, there's a holding chamber where they give you the rundown and ask you to recite the pledge. Uncle Rico apparently knelt (a la Kaepernick) during the pledge...just ridiculous, ridiculous stuff like that. This is where I come from.
The bird.
The plate.
The people.
The Big Yam on his birthday (!!!)
This past weekend was my mum's annual hospital fundraising gala. The Dotytron and I don't usually go, but because this was the 20th anniversary, and our CLE fambam was coming up, we did. What I didn't know, was that there was a Star Wars theme in the VIP room, and so, my night consisted of this:
Almost the whole fam, plus the CLE contingent
Finally, out of nowhere, Quincess Leia has started busting out representative pictures of people and the Dotytron and I are gobsmacked. It legit brings us to tears. We became aware of it on Thanksgiving. Q was working on a Magnadoodle, which Lindsay ripped out of his hands, resulting in tears, and Q slapping L upside the head. When we revisited the Magnadoodle later, we saw a picture of a face similar to the one below, and the Dotytron went into high key CSI mode: "WHO DID THIS. WAS IT Q??? NO WAY. JUST TELL ME IF YOU DID IT." Interrogating my niece and nephews...lol! Finally, CHova was like, "No, it was Q. He slapped Lindsay and then went over and drew it, I saw him."
I know it doesn't look like much, but you have to understand that the Big Yam is only doing this level of representation, now.
...when you're hustling like a mofo. Which I am, all the time. It is exhausting and leaves little time for other stuff.
Lots of irons in the fire and I'm seeing some payoff for my preparation and drive, which is good, but it might lead to some hard choices, which is not bad, per se, but fraught.
WAS THAT VAGUE ENOUGH FOR ALL Y'ALL???
The past few weeks and the next few weeks until the end of June are pretty much bananas. But it's okay, I've made my peace with it.
We spent the May 2/4 weekend in Cleveland with H & A and their kid, Danger. We managed a 5+ hour drive there and back without having to resort to screens in the car, but we almost broke down (and by "we" I mean, obviously, "the Dotytron" who is ready to unleash the screens-in-the-car-kraken at the slightest provocation) on the way home. The kids were cranky and overtired and I was driving and it was a bad combination. I just gotta say: when I'm riding shotgun, I KILL the kid distraction game. The Dotytron's methodology is very strange. It involves near-instant capitulation, turning up his own music in the car VERY LOUD, playing one half-hearted game of "Eye Spy" and then asking why we can't turn on Eddie VAN Halen's DVD player. At the end of the day, the point is: we made it. My tips for longish car rides with kids success:
1) PACK SNACKS. SO MANY SNACKS. I have an emergency stash of snacks in the car, and before we go, I pack a snack container of a mix of goodies for each kid. Each kid also has their own bottle of water
2) Try to do the driving around bedtime, if at all possible. We'v gotten burned before thinking that if we leave the city at 3 or 3:30pm, then we'll "beat" rush hour traffic heading out of the city. THAT IS A G-D LIE! All you do is pick up rush hour traffic. Basically, you leave the city by 2pm, or not until 6:30 or 7pm. So, we eat dinner at home, get the kids into their jammies, and then pack up and roll out with the aforementioned snacks.
3) Depending on your kids' interests, pack some appropriate, portable, no small pieces entertainment gear. The Big Yam gets some crayons and markers and a big pad of paper. The twins get to hold a foam sword, conducting baton, or one of those magna doodle boards.
4) Bring music your kids like. We have a Spotify playlist of all their favorite tunes, so when they get tired of being quiet, we play that for an hour until they invariably pass out.
And that's it. We've never driven for longer than 6 hours.
We basically just chilled out, ate some food, hung out with their friends. Went to some playgrounds and their Museum of Natural History. It was very low-key. Some snaps from our time there:
LOL at my cautious Big Yam struggling on this thing.
Three amigos
I made that toffee bundt cake from Baked Occasions but this time put a brown butter glaze on it. It was MURDERATION
They took us to Eddie's Grill, which is this cute, old-timey place that serves chili dogs and fries and hamburgers along lake Erie. I have to say though, Americans have no idea how to cottage. They're clueless.
We tried Michael Symon's new BBQ joint, Mabels. The brisket was delicious. The lamb ribs were way too fatty. The pig's tail was in this super-spicy, vinegary, buffalo-type sauce which was super-addiction. Baked beans and slaw were good. As was the spaetzle side and the beet salad. It was tasty, but kind of expensive. Not sure if I would go back. Portion sizes were kind of weak. Whenever we travel, we always come back and get Vietnamese takeout from our local. It's a tradition. We came back late on Sunday of the long weekend, which meant we had all of Monday to relax. We spent the morning doing chores/laundry, and then grabbed takeout and spent the afternoon at Cherry Beach. It was the perfect long weekend day.
This past weekend was lovely. On Saturday, the Dotytron was at the Discening Coyote's bachelor party, and our caregiver invited my kids to her son's 12th birthday party at her house, I was on my own on Saturday night which was SO NICE. I went shopping for a dress (in a REAL. LIVE. STORE.) for my brother's wedding, and then met up with Lolly and we had dinner at Lamesa, which is a modern Filipino restaurant on Queen West. The irony is not lost on me that my kids were chowing down on home-cooked Filipino food and I was eating an upscale version. The food was delicious, though.
Our appetizers, a crispy pork belly with papaya slaw and sawsawan reduction, and a tuna/avocado poke-type thing with shrimp chips for scooping.
Our mains: octopus and crispy polenta; chicken adobo with garlic rice (so good!); a charred eggplanta caponata thing with creme fraiche; and this DELICIOUS grilled zucchini with coconut zabaglione, and foam and housemade ricotta.
I really loved the vegetable dishes in particular. There's nothing bad about a super-charred eggplant dish and the zucchini was delectable. The coconut was so rich and light and the lightly grilled zucchini played so well with the ricotta. I would definitely go back and it was a fantastic choice for gluten intolerant people. We lucked out because it was a walk-by situation.
Then I came home and had my buddy M over to watch a movie as part of this half-assed Marxist film.
Sunday the Dotytron was pretty wrecked so we took it easy and kept it local. We went to the farmer's market and hung with people we saw there, then came home and had dinner with Momma D, freshly returned from Iceland. I made pizzas on the grill, which were good, but not great. I need to get my grill hotter! I don't know how to do it. They were still tasty, but the pizzas need a minute or two under the broiler to get the top browned (the bottom cooks before the top crust can get really burnished).
In other news, this actually happened to me the other week at lunch with my homies KD and G. We were at Burrito Bandidos and because I'm really making a concerted effort to shape up, I got a "wrapperless" burito bowl. I ate half of it and the rest was in my styrofoam container that I had closed up because I was planning on saving the rest for lunch the next day. While we were sitting there, an indigent man had come into the restaurant, and rifled through the garbage next to our table, looking for something to eat. He came to our table and asked if he could have my container of food. I hesitated, probably longer than was decent (because I really wanted to eat the rest!), but after a pause, I said he could have it. He opened up the container, looked at the mess that was inside (a wrapperless shrimp burrito bowl will never win any plating awards), and then shook his head and handed it back to me. LOL! It was kind of hilarious that he was hungry but not THAT hungry. But also sad. But also good that people maintain their humanity and always have standards?
I've been on this pretty disciplined weight loss regimen for the past two months and I've actually seen results. I'm about 4 lbs off from my pre-twins pregnancy weight. I run about 5km 3 or 4 times a week, getting up buttf**k early in the morning to do so (I'm up and around before 6am, ideally). And I do gross things like start my day with a green smoothie and exercise portion control and log everything I eat. I feel like I do this every summer, but this is the first time I've seen marked results, and I think I can chalk the success down to this: being kind to yourself. That was the breakthrough for me. So, if I have a bad day where I go off the rails on what I eat? It's no biggie. I try again the next day. I don't sweat, or stress, or beat myself up over it. Which means that the shame/guilt spiral of excessive overeating that used to accompany previous lapses doesn't happen. Same with the exercise. If I feel like not doing the full run, I don't do it. I don't beat myself up over it. It's working for me, this whole being kind thing, and I kind of like it. If I know I want to eat ice cream for dessert (which for me, is I KNOW IT), then I just dial back on dinner a bit. Not hating myself for enjoying myself makes a big difference, I've found. It's just easier to dust yourself off and try again (try again).
I can't believe the twins are almost 3! THIS IS UNREAL. They're such little people now. So much talking and being ridiculous between the two of them. I love their little butts so much. This week, Quincess woke up and barfed a few times. He wasn't feeling well. When Lindsay (Twin B) heard, he scuttled down to the basement to get their toy doctor's kit, and was talking to himself the whole time about how he knew what to do. He then struggled to get the doctor's kit up the basement stairs. He was so determined! I was in the kitchen futzing around and Twin A (Quincess) was in his high chair and all I could hear was him screaming, "LEAVE ME ALONE!!! LEAVE!!! ME!!! ALONE!!!" as Twin B advanced on him with a plastic syringe. So cute.
This video shows the cute little gasps that Lindsay does when he's excited about something. He's such an enthusiastic little dervish. He's been all over his "ice lollies" lately (that's a Peppa Pig reference).
Lindsay talking about his "snow cones."
This guy's morning hair
At one of our new favorite playgrounds
Outside all day, erryday.
Twin A is so funny. He has this belly-laugh chortle which is so adorable coming out of his wee little body. He also gives major teenage-style attitude. "Line up your shoes on the mat!" Response: "I diiiiiiiiiid" and then he throws his head back and drags his body around like Paul Rudd in Wet Hot American Summer:
He also gets very teenager-y when he wants something and drags all the words into one moany-sentence. I'm trying to capture it on video. It's so good:
So. Much. 'Tude.
For all my friends who still have the option of avoiding this fate: don't drop off your kids/pick them up at school. I don't have the stomach to watch schoolyard dynamics play out. The other day, I went back to watch the Big Yam surreptitiously from the side after dropping him off. He ran up to a friend of his, and playfully grabbed his friend's baseball cap off his head. His friend whipped around, annoyed, and ripped the hat out of the Big Yam's hands and hit the Big Yam with it. Then the kid turned around and continued talking to this other kid. I watched the Big Yam stand there, kind of chastened, his arms akimbo, all awkward-like, and then you could see him trying to recover, so he asked his friend, "Are you Iron Man?" and his friend ignored him. The Big Yam stood there for a bit more, before running off to play with other kids, and my heart hurt for the rest of the day. I could barely stand it.
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY
I know that I can't protect him. I just don't have the heart to watch this stuff happen. He is a very sweet, gentle, weird kid. He's not great at reading social cues. I mean, he's okay at it, and he likes other kids, but he's also very content to play in his own interior world. Like, if all the other kids are doing a game of hide and go seek, the Big Yam will frequently just go off and do his own thing...he's not the one to succumb to the group propulsion to do what everyone else is doing. These are all beautiful, lovely attributes. I just want him to be safe in who he is.
This sweet little butt.
I also know that a lot of the time the view from outside is way worse. That I'm likely projecting a lot of my adult psychological baggage and nuances onto his social interactions...it doesn't make it easier. Can I just like, never drop him off and pick him up?
I've been gently probing during our dinner time conversations, because I want to know about other stuff happening that might be bothering him. I feel like we don't know very much about what happens during his day. The other night, I asked, "Did anything happen that made you sad, or mad today?" He thought for a moment, and then his whole sweet face brightened up and he said, "Something made me so happy! Our butterflies hatched!" And then he went on a long, rambling description of the butterflies hatching. Never change, Big Yam, you sweet little soul.
Dinners around here lately:
Oven roasted kalbi and bi bim bap rice with fried egg
Leftover almond toffee from making the bundt cake with maple bacon ice cream and mercury espresso ice cream (I have a bit of an ice cream problem at the moment)
Stew oxtail, squash, and spinach with a double
Quickie weeknight meal - brisket in the freezer, King's Hawaiian rolls, and broccoli
Soft shell season! Breaded soft-shell po' boys with bacon and homemade remoulade
A veggie-heavy meal - tater tots (fried, of course), roasted aspargus, poached eggs, proscuitto and hollandaise.
This poor, poor blog! So few posts compared to the halcyon days of yore. And yet, I can't stop won't stop. I won't give up on blogging. Not now, not ever. I will hold true. There is room for the long-form reflective written word and this is my space. You can't supplant it with all the Snapchats and Instas and FBs and Twitters...you just can't.
What have I been up to? ONLY HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE. The weekend before this past one was literally insane in the membrane. That's the technical designation for what I did.
Friday was my day off and I spent the day running around like a maniac. I helped out at the book fair, went back to the Big Yam's school to do sub lunch, did mad errands, and that night I met my friend M in Kensington and then had tortas from Torteria San Cosme which were DELICIOUS. We split the chicken milanese and the cubano, and I also bought a cochinita pibil one for home. The sandwiches are priced at around $9, which is kind of pricey, but they're substantial and so well made and they griddle the bread, which is key. It's a nice touch. I'm of the belief that hot sandwiches should be served on buns that have been kissed with some kind of fat and then burnished on a flat top - it provides a texture barrier and just ups the general ante. Anyway, the space is super-cute - it looks like a little cafeteria lunch counter with excellent floor tile work. I'm a little in love with it.
That Friday was one of the nicest spring days we've had yet, and I was running around in my very ancient, vintage Mexican embroidered shirt that I've had for over 10 years. The moms at the Big Yam's school were going apes**t and one of them asked me if I got it from Anthropologie. There's been a lot about cultural appropriation in the media of late (see: Justin Bieber's dreads) and I was like, damn, am I culturally appropriating? Should I not be wearing this shirt? Then at Torteria San Cosme, one of the Latin American women working the grill (and it was super-amazing that the whole crew behind the counter was women - assuming they also have a say in the means of production), pointed at my shirt and mouthed the words, "I love it." That made me feel a little bit better, but also: am I just being lazy and relying on a "native insider"?!? WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE. The point is, those sandwiches, that I might have zero business in the world eating, were freakin' delicious.
Then we saw a Frida Kahlo documentary that was meh. It was very "classic documentary" which meant long, still shots of the light on a wall and the sound of birds chirping. It was about this Japanese photographer who went to Kahlo's house and took photographs of Kahlo's stuff and then they framed it by also interviewing women in Oaxaca who produce the embroidered clothing (it was just a random coincidence that I wore my shirt that day, I swear) that Kahlo wore. I get what the documentary was trying to accomplish, linking Kahlo's embrace of her Mexican heritage and work as a woman artist with the traditionally female craft work and domesticity, but it was a bit of a slog and the thesis could have been tightened up a bit.
Saturday we played in the Regent Park playground with the Wonder Twins and then followed that up with dinner at Bar Isabel with Dr. Rei and Hanbo. Such a fun time. I love those guys. My mum watched the kids and was hilarious about it.
Sunday was Mother's Day. Mother's Day has been AMPED UP in recent years. My FB exploded with heartfelt and sentimental tributes to all mothers...it was a bit much for me, to be honest, but the Dotytron was lovely and took the kids away for a couple of hours so I could work on a quilt. Then we went on a nature walk, and then Momma D came over and watched the kids so we could have dinner at A3 Napoli (one of my favorite restaurants) with JJ and S and then we went to see the Noma documentary at Hot Docs, Ants on a Shrimp.
This documentary felt like a slog, to be honest. It's ostensibly about the time the chef, Rene Redzepi, packed up the whole restaurant and transplanted Noma to Japan, for a 3 week engagement. What emerges is this slavering fanboy flick that doesn't critique anything. You don't get any sense of the thought processes that go into the dishes, what they're after, how the dishes taste, what the reception of this endeavour was...basically, as a viewer, you're supposed to take it on faith that the stuff tastes good. It was very acritical and all I got out of it was flashbacks of my time on the line. There was also all this hyper-masculine, macho stuff: the film opens with the chef de cuisine and the sous chef charged with conceptualizing the menu, both of whom are heavily tattooed dudes, and are shown in the opening scenes of the film doing weird cross-fit type stuff like pull-ups and working on rowing machine until they get blisters. Just, ew. Get over yourselves, stupid macho kitchen mentality.
The Don is so magical
Comic book nerds are also magical
Some of the awesome stuff I picked up. Love that Prince and Bitch Planet poster!
This weekend we had my friend C64 and his partner over for dinner on Friday, then on Saturday we went for a rainy walk in the Don Valley with the Wonder Twins, and hung with SMckay that night. The Dotytron went to see Lee "Scratch" Perry and on Sunday, SMckay and I hit up the Toronto Comic Arts Festival. I dragged the Big Yam which was, in retrospect, a bit of a mistake. Although I was gazing longingly at some of the other parents who had children, seemingly younger than the Big Yam following them throughout the crowded halls, with their noses buried in comics. Really want to share my nerd interests with my kids, yo.
That being said, the Big Yam has been hilarious. A few week's ago we went to see Peppa Pig at Boston Pizza. They were blasting Peppa Pig on the screens and Peppa came around to all the tables. At a certain point, as she was making her way, the Big Yam craned his neck to see, and announced: "Peppa Pig is coming! ... Jesus." LOL!!! He's so funny. The other night, we had our neighbours over for dinner and were having a big conversation about wants versus needs. I asked him, "So, can you think of something that you really need, versus just want?" and he said, "Ummm...wifi?" Touché. Can't really argue with that, can we?
Some snaps from around here, lately:
Sleepiest bubbies
B-b-b-b-bath time!
These two. Finally starting to get along and be friends. They're doing more collaborating and colluding and are frequently in cahoots. During their increasingly fraught nap times, I'll hear Quincess test the door knob of their room (we have one of those door-knob protectors which means they can't turn the knob), and report back to Twin B, "It's locked." So cute.
Eats around here, lately:
Company dinner: tagliatelle with radicchio and bagna cauda, with a poached egg and crispy croutons
Made a pretty kickin' chicken biryani with green beans thoren. There are some refinements to be made, but it's definitely a good foundation. Next time I might add some plumped raisins and will make some extra rice.
Saw some stunning artichokes so we roasted them, I made chorizo potatoes, and seared some ling cod and served everything with romesco. GAH! Love romesco so damn much.
I’ve had a lot of thoughts this past winter (long, cold, insular winters are conducive to thoughts) on the topic of intensive mothering (long, cold, insular winters when one has three young children and is project managing a renovation and starting a new job are particularly conducive to thoughts on intensive mothering). This concept has been kicking around since 1996, when academic Sharon Hays wrote about it in her book, “The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood” (accompanied by this amazingly dated picture):
What is intensive mothering? Here is a description pulled from the abstract to Hays’ paper: “an ideology that holds the individual mother primarily responsible for child rearing and dictates that the process is to be child-centered, expert-guided, emotionally absorbing, labor-intensive, and financially expensive” (emphasis mine).
Now, almost 20 years later, as my Facebook feed explodes with discussions about vaccines (populated mostly with commentary from women, natch), and as I see the endless stream of weird questions on this “Ladies with Babies” forum on Facebook filled with my cohort (mostly women in their 30s, educated, living in downtown Toronto, newish parents) – “Question: when to give my daughter eggs?” “Felix has a weird speckled rash and mostly runny, green poos that resemble a verdant forest on a Bon Iver album cover - thoughts?”, and after my ill-fated experience on the parent council at the Big Yam’s school, it is evident that intensive mothering is still a pernicious and pervasive ideology - one that is contributing to gendered labour inequities in the domestic sphere and hindering women’s progression in the workforce.
I think we all know intensive mothers. As progressive as I am, it is impossible for me not to fall into a certain trap when it comes to household domestic division of labour. Part of the problem is me – being an insane micro-manager and type A. I know of a few other relationships where the male counterparts in the couple fulfill the role of making sure that everyone is fed, clothed, and happy, but in the intensive mothering sense – which means enrolled in programs, eating organic food, dressed in the proper pediatric-approved shoes - that work still falls to the women. In the vast majority of my experiences and observations though, even if the guys do the laundry and the cooking, the thinking about the kids is disproportionately borne by the “mothers.”
In my own house, this manifests thus: the Dotytron is responsible for packing the Big Yam’s school lunch, but I still take a second look to make sure the Big Yam gets vegetables AND fruit, and I’m the one who manages the grocery list and notes which mini yogurts the Big Yam prefers. I don’t think the Dotytron has ever, in his going on five years as a parent, ever bought our children a stitch of clothing, or expended a nanosecond of time thinking about what season we’re going into and what the kids have to have in their wardrobes to be sartorially prepared. The Dotytron has never scheduled a doctor’s appointment or a specialist’s appointment for our kids. Jobs that he does do, have been assigned to him, by me. Yes, he does the cooking at the end of the day, but it’s from a recipe that I’ve laid out for him, with ingredients that I prepped (by waking up at 5:30am, most days), and from a weekly menu plan that I devised, with groceries that I planned for and stocked.
The bar for fathers is deplorably low. I’m reminded of this as I read through the proofs of my friend JJ’s forthcoming book on the topic of food and femininity. In the introduction, she states: "We demonstrate how the organic child ideal is informed by neoliberal notions of individual responsibility, positioning mothers as personally responsible for shielding their children from the risks of the industrial food system. At the same time, we argue that critics must not dismiss food-focused mothers as neoliberal dupes. Maternal discourse is constituted through neoliberal logics, but is embodied and enacted through food traditions that have deep roots within feminine and maternal identities."
Women are responsible. Do you ever hear of people judging and shaming middle and upper-middle class dads for feeding their kids Gerber baby food (the horror?!)? No. Women are the ones who are guilted and shamed. Just like when I’m at a family event with the kids and older women feel the need to tell me what I should be doing or how I should be raising my kids and what I’m doing wrong. It’s all on the mom, man. It really is. When it comes to “voting with your dollar” on the world you want your kids to inherit, it’s women making those consumer decisions.
It’s a lot of pressure being responsible for waging war on capitalism and the industrial complex on your own. I would LOVE to be a dad – where you get daps for carrying a diaper bag and being able to put your kids to bed. That would be awesome. If that’s all I had to do when I was home, and I didn’t have to spend any time negotiating “work-life balance” and making sure that I had a handle on 4 people’s lives (5, if you include the Dotytron), then I would be freaking Executive Director by now.
I love my partner, but sometimes he has to be reminded that I don’t exist to facilitate his life, which it can sometimes feel like. The pressures put on mothers and working mothers is indeed internalized externalized pressure – we are complicit in an ideology that serves to subjugate us. I could easily just not care. But, I do care and the general tenets of intensive parenting are valid. On the nights when I’m not home and the Dotytron has to pick up the Big Yam from his karate class (as an aside – the first time we watched him at karate class was worth the price of the class alone. It is ridiculously adorable how uncoordinated our eldest is), the Dotytron’s default dinner is a walk-in special (large pepperoni pizza). I don’t want my kids to eat pepperoni pizza and Habitant pea soup (which is what the Dotytron assures me would happen if I ever actually made good on my threat to give up on the menu planning and food prep) every night! That’s gross! What JJ’s research shows is that even when men are the “foodies” in a relationship, it tends to be reserved for the “special” cooking. The entertaining, fussy kind. The everyday cooking and the thinking about nutrition and the like fall on women, more often than not.
I don’t have any easy solution for this problem, but I know that I grew up in a house where my mother was a working mother who categorically did NOT practice intensive mothering. She was largely absent and preoccupied with running her own law firm. My stepdad, Big D, did all the grocery shopping and laundry and dotes on my mum. Cooking was largely hived off to the nannies my mum hired to look after us. I’ve never talked to my mum about it, but I don’t think she’s ever felt an iota of guilt (I’m so sure of this, that it’s why I’ve never talked to her about it - there just isn't a need to confirm what I already know). There are models in my life for an unabashedly career focused mother. I don’t necessarily want to be the mum my mother was, but I don’t think I have to shoulder the burden of the pressures of modern mothering myself. It’s nice to be able to give a form and language to the oppression of intensive mothering – to be able to name that which I am casting off.
It is difficult to be a socially conscious, environmentally driven, health-minded and reflexive person in society. It is extra hard when you’re doing all that, working, and trying to be and create that culture for your children. It’s exceptionally hard when you do all that, and you’re the kind of exacting, psycho, obsessive perfectionist like me. I don’t make it easy for myself, but I can choose to say no. I can choose to not let the state off the hook for collective social action. I can choose to ask for and be gracious in the face of help. I can choose not to do it alone. I’m not sure if the model to aspire to is intensive parenting instead of mothering, but I know that I don`t have to die on the sword of social consciousness on the battleground of my children.
Diversion – how was your weekend? I had a fantastic weekend, starting Thursday night with a lovely dinner in advance of Dr. Rei’s birthday at Sukho Thai. This resulted in the following hilarious exchange when we some Chinese guava candies were presented with our bill –
Me: “You should try one, they’re good, Benoit in my office has a bowl at his desk.”
Dr: “Who?”
Me: “Benoit”
Dr: “Did you say, Benoit???”
Me: “Yes”
Dr: “Wow. Benoit, huh, hmm”
Me “…”
Dr: “Benoit… “
LOL! She was clearly very impressed with Benoit, based solely on his name, the way Jordan Peele’s character is so taken with a Continental breakfast offered at his hotel, because of its Continental-ness:
Then I had book club at my friend Judith’s gorgeous, detached, GIANT house close to Dufferin Grove park. A house on the corner of my street recently listed in the $900s. It had previously sold 2-3 years ago for $640-$700. The house is the same size as mine, but detached, and a corner lot with two parking spots. However, it is next to a rooming house and the back side is subsidized housing. It also faces a main street. The Dotytron has been very quick to quash my dreams of capitalizing on my unseemly willingness to invite chaos into our lives with big renovations and real estate speculation, so I don't think it's in the cards for us, given that I refuse to pay a million dollars FOR MY OWN HOUSE. Basically, if I'm buying a million dollar house, it's going to be for something that is not a detached version of what I'm living in. I definitely would want a significant space upgrade. Dotytron is insisting that Lil' Ugmo is the house they're going to wheel him out of when he's 99, so it is what it is. No real-life Monopoly for me.
J's house was so gorgeous though. It is giant, close to Dufferin Grove park, old and untouched but liveable. There are so many delicious details about it (servants stairs - which are not savory from a supporting-slavery ethical standpoint, but are a lovely architectural detail in a house), stained glass, dark beams on the ceilings.
Anyway, Thursday was a good night. Friday I came home to a Micelli Monday in full swing with Lolls and SMckay and baby Sheaslounge and my gaggle of adorable goofs and it was so nice. I love coming home to a full house. We made a delicious dinner and then hung out and it was delightful.
We watched the Amy Schumer Friday Night Lights spoof on football rape and about died laughing. It is incisive, and funny, and cogent:
Saturday was our usual errand morning - dropping off the Big Yam at Chinese School. Two weekends ago he had a recital that we missed because we had no idea and had made other plans (we are the worst). We felt EXTRA bad when I found out from my neighbour that during the Big Yam's class, a kid PROJECTILE VOMITED on the very last note of the song. It was classic! BEST POSSIBLE KID RECITAL OUTCOME! I saw the video - the kids went screaming off in every direction. It was chaos.
While the Big Yam is at Chinese school we do the grocery shopping and take the babies to a park where they give us multiple heart attacks. Quincess Leia is pretty good, Lindsay is fearless. I caught him mid-step about to go down the fireman pole, completely oblivious, just in the knick of time. He has no self preservation instincts. This makes both babies considerably more sure-footed than the Big Yam (who gives a hard no to anything remotely dangerous - see exhibit A, this photo from his first real roller coaster at Disney), but it also makes for a non-relaxing time at the playground:
Side eye to the MAX.
Quincess has been so sweet and loving lately, it's the best. He throws his arms behind him when he runs and frequently runs into a room, arms behind him, gives us a signature Quincess crinkle cut eyes (his expressions are all about his ability to manipulate and scrunch his eyes suggestively) look of mischief, and then turns on his heels and runs out. He is the sweetest little thing. I was standing in the kitchen the other day and he came up and flung his little arms around my legs and gave me a knee-height full body hug, and then ran away with his arms behind him. He's definitely a mama's boy, which is nice, since as far as Lindsay is concerned, the Dotytron is both baba AND mama (he uses both interchangeably to ask for the Dotytron, inquire about his whereabouts, request cuddles). He's a baba's boy like you wouldn't believe.
Ever since Momma D's birthday party, Joni's "Big Yellow Taxi" has been on heavy rotation. Lindsay's sweet little voice is the best thing.
This is my 4th baby. He is the sweetest little goofball. Look at him! Those eyebrows!? That round little noggin. He kills me.
The Big Yam is so funny and also filled with sweetness. He went to a friend's house the other day and his friend's mom relayed this exchange to me:
Big Yam, upon walking into their house, "Whoa. This house is really small. Hey, we have two cats too! Except one is dead."
Mom: "Oh no! What happened?"
Big Yam: "Um. He just went to the vet and died."
LOL!!!
He has this hilarious friend at school, Frank, and the two of them just constantly make up ridiculous in-jokes and weird sayings. The newest consists of running around singing, "Have a jolly, jolly Christmas!" and then claiming, "Me and Frank made up that song." Also, there's this:
I'm not sure when "Mama Mia" gets employed and under what context, but as a "bit" it's so random, I love it.
We did an escape room with some of our high school buds on Saturday and then had dinner with them after. I can't believe it's been TWENTY YEARS since high school. I was looking around the table at dinner and was kind of floored. So much history there! So many experiences. I still don't feel a day older than I was then. I don't feel like I'm coming up on forty (!!!) at all.
Good friends, good times. Sunday was a visit my Poh Poh, Yummy Market, dinner with my mom day.
This weekend is another good one - dinner and a movie with JJ, the Discerning Coyote, et al tomorrow night, then a friend's birthday party on Saturday, then friends over on Sunday for dinner and more hangs involving cute kids and people I've known forever (girls from my cooking days).
my name is karl lagerfeld. i'm a lucky button, buckshot shorty, and an industrious pig. i write about food, popular culture, film, books, politics, theory, and the ephemera of my life. a can of chinotto once ruined my night. the rest, as they say, is history.
