Baking Bread...

in my sandals.  Full on cankles in effect.  My feet looks like the tree stumps of an elderly Portuguese woman in a house dress and head kerchief walking haltingly up and down the sidewalk with suspicious eyes.  At this point, the twerps' combined weight is more than what the Big Yam weighed when he emerged from betwixt my loins.  AND I STILL HAVE ALMOST FIVE WEEKS TO GO.

Oy vey.  Scratch the lowest gestational moment recounted Wednesday.  Each day allows me to plumb new depths.  To wit: on Wednesday night, I turned to the Dotytron and lifted up my (read: his) shirt (and not a shirt from recent times, when t-shirts have tended towards the more slim cut for men - a t-shirt leftover from the late 90s ravey XXL boxy hip hop days), exposing my belly, and feeling gingerly below the roughly equatorial line implied by my belly button to inquire, "Is that a hernia or a stretch mark?"  (Jury is still out, for the record).

I had a tough morning with the Big Yam, yesterday.  He wasn't being a team player, per se.  Each morning consists of longer and more fraught episodes of what the Dotytron calls "reverse rape" (where you're struggling to get your child INTO clothes), and then endless combinations of threats/taking things away/time outs in order to achieve the most cursory tooth brushing and potty going so that we can get out the door.  Thursday morning was pretty terrible and resulted in the Big Yam asking me, when we finally got outside and I was unfolding the umbrella stroller, "Mama, are you still mad at me?"  At which point, I felt like the most horrible person on the planet.  Like, way worse than the Hitler-lookalike tea-kettle must feel, being an inanimate object that's now inextricably linked to one of history's greatest villains:

Ugh.  I felt SO guilty.  At the time, I put the stroller aside, sat down, took him onto my lap, and explained that I wasn't mad, and that it's hard for me when he's not being a team player.  We talked about what he needs to do in the morning and how we all have to go to work, and we talked about how he would try better tomorrow.  We ended with lots of kisses and hugs, but the Big Yam's question reverberated with me all day. We had a better night that night, but it still sticks with me.  I wasn't my "best self" with him yesterday morning, as Oprah would say (remember Oprah? I don't!)

Another parenting-related issue that I'm grappling with - the whole, if you give your kid one thing in front of other kids, then you have to have enough for all of them, scenario.  To wit: on Wednesday night, as we were winding down from the post-dinner outside play, I offered the Big Yam one of my homemade popsicles as a "special treat" (it's a banana-mango-coconut one).  I brought it out, and these two kids were immediately all up in my grill asking, "What's that?" and "Can I have one?" and I was all like, "Errr..." because I only had 1 other one in the freezer and quite frankly, I wanted it for myself.  But I wasn't sure what the politics/ethics were behind the issue so I put it to the masses on Facebook.  

The responses were mixed - 

"Screw the other kids"

"You don't want to be that lady"

"You can't offer kids food without asking their parents first because of allergies, etc."

"If the kids are playing at YOUR house then yes, you have to have one for everyone, but if it's just a street free-for-all, then no."

and so on and so forth.  

To be honest, I hadn't even considered the allergies dimension of the whole issue - my concerns were wholly (and selfishly) predicated on not wanting to waste my homemade popsicles on the neighbourhood kids, just because they happen to be enjoying public space at the same time as my kid.  And also: the logistics of having to make 10 popsicles each time.  

One of my neighbours weighed in and said that yes, I should have enough for everyone.  And that if her daughter gets a treat and there isn't enough for everyone, she has that treat inside before going out to play.  This to me, seems slightly ludicrous and a sign of the extreme lengths modern, urban, liberal parenting has gone to in the name of "fairness" and "sharing."  

Here are my issues:

1) When the other kids get popsicles, they're like, those frozen, ready-made Mott's juice ones or like, Kisko kids.  Often times, I don't let the Big Yam have one of those, because quite frankly, I consider them disgusting, and I limit his sugar to "special treats."  I don't think it's a big deal for him to experience NOT getting something when "everyone else" is.  To me, that's life in a world with unequally distributed resources.  As I've said before, there's lots of stuff that we have regularly (dessert, alcohol, etc.) that he doesn't get.  That's just life.

2) There's a difference between those popsicles and my popsicles - the labour that goes into mine is more and I don't see why I can't distribute the fruits of my labour as I see fit.  Also, I find it weird to have my interactions in public space policed thus.  So like, if we're eating dinner on the front stoop, we have to make sure there's enough dinner for everyone?  When the Dotytron brings his beer outside while he's watching the kids, he has to offer everyone a beer?  That makes no sense to me.  There is a line between politeness and fostering this weird sense of "everyone gets everything."  That's not the world we live in, people!  As my colleague said when I presented the situation to her: "It can't always be a potluck!"

3) I think the popsicle thing is an extension of the "Mr. Frosty" politics and tension.  Mr. Frosty is the name of the ice cream truck that comes by our street.  When Mr. Frosty comes by, there's always this like, moment when the parents are kind of eyeing each other to see who's going to cave and get something.  If nobody does, then it's easy to say to your kid, "No one is getting Mr. Frosty tonight!" If the majority are getting something, then you hit this tipping point and it seems like everyone acquiesces and gets something.  Then there are the weird, in between times, when I want a wagon wheel and the Dotytron wants his iceberg (which is a magical combination of slushy and vanilla soft serve) and we're the only ones getting and then we have to eat our treats in front of the other kids.  Frankly, I'm fine with this.  IT'S MY G-D MONEY!  I'm not going to self-police my Mr. Frosty consumption based on what other people are doing!  This isn't North Korea, for goodness' sake!  But it's definitely not behavior that you just do.  As we're buying our stuff, we are very aware for a minute or two that we're making things awkward for the other parents and their kids.

Anyway, is it a d**k move for me to give my own kid a homemade popsicle and have like a box of Mott's for the other kids?  Like, why do we have to do our popsicle eating inside on the off-chance that a neighbourhood kid is going to want one?  I don't like the selectiveness of it.  Like, if I was eating tripe stew outside, I don't have to make sure I have enough tripe stew.  It's only because kids are greedy little turds and want the "good" stuff only.  Also, for the record, I OFFERED last summer some of my homemade popsicles and the kids didn't like them.  Also, for the record, there are other times, when I've made a batch of cookies or something, that I bring out a plate of cookies for the street.  Or if everyone is hanging and we're having a snack, then I bring out crackers and cream cheese or baby carrots for everyone or whatever.  It's not like I'm ALWAYS bogarting stuff only for the Yam, it's more like when there's scarcity involved.

I also get asking the parents if their kids have allergies to make sure you don't like, inadvertently kill someone.  But am I not supposed to EVER bring out anything to share if it has nuts or whatever in them?  Isn't it the kid's responsibility to know that the world can't kow-tow to your (probably) made up food intolerances?  I think asking is totally fine to make sure you don't kill someone, but I also know parents of kids with allergies where it's like, you're demonized for having a jar of Jiffy in your home, even if it never sees the light of day.

I'm balking because I feel like it should be my prerogative.  Further, I actually think it's hella rude for some kid to be all like, "Can I have one?" I never did that as a kid.  Like, NEVER, EVER, EVER would I ask a grown-up for something they were eating or distributing.  I always waited until I was offered.  Then again, I never, ever, ever would have screamed the first name of a grown-up as a form of greeting, which I routinely get on my street.  I think the neighbour kids and neighbour parents think it's wack that I make the Big Yam refer to the adults as "Mr. So and So" or "Miss So and So" and some of them have given me the whole, "Ugh, don't call me 'Mr.' - it reminds me of my dad" line.  But I feel like adults are not my kid's peers.  I also think that it's a fine line between referring to adults by their first name and then you end up being Justin Bieber meeting the PM in a pair of denim overalls.  You can't wonder why that happens when you make kids rule the roost, guys.

Last night's dinner - roasted potato, roasted asparagus, bagna cauda, fried haloumi and poached egg salad.

Tonight's dinner: clam linguine with a raw kale ceasar salad.

Fin.

Prime Time of Your Life

Yesterday the Dotytron went with me to Sunnybrook and got to experience first-hand how efficient and organized maternity wards in big teaching hospitals are.  For instance!  We waited the standard 2.5 hours to be seen by an OB.  The OB we did see was not my "regular" OB (who I've interacted with once out of the three times I've been there).  The OB who was covering apparently opted not to read my chart or my file and had no idea why I was there or what the protocols were for my care.  We saw him for about 3 minutes and then he left the room.  Also, he was thoughtful enough to neglect to update my "travelling record" (which is this file I'm supposed to carry around with me on the twerps, and which I've augmented myself to make sure is a complete record).  I had to ask for it to be updated at the reception desk.  If it wasn't for the unusually chatty ultrasound technician, who assured us the doppler on Twin B was fine this time, I wouldn't have known anything.

Anyway, I have one more visit with them in 3 weeks and that will hopefully be the last time I have to be there and I can just deliver with my other OB and my midwives at my local hospital.  I did pack a hospital bag and pull out all the stuff to sterilize and reorganize the kitchen cupboards for the bottle brigade.  We're just putting the finishing touches on the twerps room and then we'll have pretty much knocked through the list.  Phew - and yay!  

This past weekend was very, very lovely.  Bamiyan on Friday was just what the Afghani doctor ordered.  That rice!!!  It's insanely, insanely delicious.  One of the more satisfying Friday Night Takeout Night iterations in recent memory:

Saturday we went to a birthday party for a special lil' lady in Kdubs.  We drove Eddie Van Halen and blew through a million litres of gas, but it was a comfy ride.  It helped that the Dotytron's issue of his professional magazine had come in so we spent a good chunk of time reading the "blue pages" (aka US Magazine for teachers) and alternating between giggling at some of them and being horrified.  A funny one was about a teacher who lived next door to a student.  The (female) student was watching a movie with her boyfriend and heard a rustling.  She went to the window and saw a naked man running away from the house.  She called the police, who arrived, saw the naked man on the property, and the naked man bolted back to his house and was apprehended.  Naked man was the teacher!!!  He claimed he had been sitting in the hot tub and heard a disturbance and came to help but neglected to grab a towel or his trunks.  The police charges against him were dropped, but I think he was fired from the school board he taught in.  LOL!!!  

Then another teacher was accused of using the internet and Facebook to lure a young (elementary aged) student for sexual purposes.  GROSS.  He had his teaching certificate revoked, of course, but the criminal charges were like, 3 months of house arrest and 1 year probation.  SICK.  How the heck does that work?  On Saturday night we had dinner at JJ & S's house.  Discerning Coyote and his gf were there too and we had a long discussion about the death penalty.  The Dotytron was saying that he was fine with killing recidivist pederasts, whereas S was fine with paying their airfare to a desert island.  Everyone but the Dotytron was against the death penalty.  I thought that I could do it but the only way I could kill someone was to get into a car with them and then roll out when the carbon monoxide started to build up.  Ha.  I'm also against the death penalty though, for the record.

Following that discussion and on a recommendation from JJ, we watched Werner Herzog's Into the Abyss: A Tale of Life, A Tale of Death, which is about the aftermath of a 2001 triple homicide but more ostensibly is about the death penalty in general.  Herzog interviews the two convicted of the crime (one of whom is sentenced to the death penalty) as well as the victim's family, a prison chaplain, and other people associated with that particular case.  It's pretty harrowing and depressing and (for me) reinforces my opinion that we shouldn't have state sanctioned murder.  That being said, even though Herzog's fingerprints and editorial viewpoint are all over the film, the film does try to give a forum for those affected by the crime.  What came across above and beyond that for me, is what an extraordinary individual Werner Herzog is.  He is incredibly gifted.  He's truly operating on a higher mode of existence than you or I.  His ability to ask the right questions and to be so neutral towards his subjects is astounding.  He's just so zen.  He allows the world to wash over him in a very pure way.  It's a fascinating state to be in and it makes him an extraordinarily gifted documentary filmmaker.  He's so bada**.

On a lighter note, our dinner at JJ & S's was outstanding.  We had prime rib, I made roasted garlic mash, we had broccoli salad, yorkshire puddings, and a red wine reduction:

Then, because things always get that way when this crew hangs out...we ended up with three desserts (!).  Discerning Coyote and gf brought this bee sting cake (in German, Bienenstich) which is a yeasted cake split and filled with pastry cream and topped with a sticky almond honey topping.  Then JJ & S made this triple chocolate fudge cake.  And I made Thomas Keller Oreos.  BUCKTOWN.  

On Sunday we had Ehmdo over and I made those black bean and spelt burgers with an avocado ranch, that red pepper and feta dip, and my beloved Greek salad:

I also made a rhubarb crisp pie that was near-perfect.  No strawberries, just pure, unadulterated, lightly sweetened rhubarb.  So good.

Monday night's dinner was slow cooker chicken tinga tostadas with lettuce, guacamole, sour cream, and purchased salsa.  I need to concentrate the flavour of the chicken tingas some more.  It was a little weak.

Last night's dinner was buffalo shrimp sandwiches on buttered, toasted hamburger buns with more guacamole.  So tasty.

In other news, I somehow gained 7lbs between last week and this week.  RUH-ROH.  To be honest, I know EXACTLY how it happens.  I start off with an on-the-record day with My Fitness Pal.  Last night, I had a big piece of that triple chocolate fudge cake and a glass of milk (on the record).  Then things went sideways.  And by "sideways" I mean, I then ate a slice of rhubarb pie with an equal volume of whipped cream (off the record), and then I took my piping bag of leftover TKO filling and made these weird Frankenstein oreos by splotching the filling on top of graham crackers and Mr. Christie chocolate wafer cookies (totally off the record).  I concluded the evening by rolling around on the couch and crying about what a whale of a tale I was and trying to make the Dotytron the person responsible for my lack of self-control.  It was me in fine form, folks.

Definitely one of my prouder gestational moments.  Then, probably due to my excesses, I woke up at 2am and couldn't get back to sleep until 3:30am, whereupon I decided to apply myself to looking for a kimono robe on Etsy, because I've decided that it's important for me to have a kimono robe before giving birth - the idea being that I can swan around a hospital and the twerps will have easy access to my chesticular region for skin to skin and feeding, but that I can still feel kind of glam in a Grey Gardens-y kind of way (?)  My priorities are mad jacked up right now, sons.

I had to stay at work late tonight so I called home to see what the Dotytron was making for dinner.  Classic Dotytron dinner - hot dogs and KD. I can hear the Big Yam in the background, chirping something about dinner and then the Dotytron is like, "We're having hot dogs."  And the Big Yam goes, "But HOWWWWWW" and the Dotytron goes, "I don't know! They're in the pan!" So I asked him to make some for me and the Dotytron says, "I'll make you two hot dogs when you get home" and the Big Yam says, "I want five!" Which is all to say that hot dog consumption genetics run strong in my bloodline, apparently.

Fin.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhubarb Crisp Pie

stolen from Martha Stewart

1 9" pastry crust in a pie plate

1 3/4 lbs rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 3/4" pieces

1 cup granulated sugar

2 T. cornstarch

pinch salt

Crisp Topping

3/4 c. all purpose flour

1/3 c. packed brown sugar

3 T. granulated sugar

1/2 t. salt

6 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

- Have your pie crust in the pie plate chilling in the fridge or freezer

- Preheat oven to 400F

- Stir together all the dry ingredients for the crisp topping.  Rub the butter pieces into the dry ingredients until it's all broken up into small pea-sized lumps.  Set aside

- Toss together the rhubarb, sugar, cornstarch and salt in a bowl.  Pile into pie crust.  Top with crisp topping.

- Put the pie crust on parchment lined sheet pan, put in the oven.  Immediately reduce oven temperature to 375F and bake until topping is browned and crust is golden, about 1-1 1/2 hours.

- Let cool and serve warm with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

Friday, Friday, Friday!

This week has felt looooong, sons.  It didn't help that I've been fretting over the twerps and the temperature dropped to arctic levels and it's been rainy and grey.  I am very much looking forward to Friday Night Takeout Night tonight (Bamiyan Afghani Kebab edition!), eating more of those peanut butter and nutella cookies, eating trims from the Thomas Keller Oreos that I'm bringing to a dinner party tomorrow night, and putting my feet up and being cozy on the couch with the Big Yam.

I think we're going to watch My Neighbour Totoro.

Tomorrow is kind of a big day.  Chinese school, grocery shopping, a meet-the-baby/birthday party in KW, then a "Sunday Roast at Grandma's" themed dinner at JJ & S's house immediately following.  Discerning Coyote and his miss will also be there.  I love themed dinners with those guys.  It's the best.  They're doing prime rib, and I'm bringing garlic mashed potatoes, and there's going to be Yorkshire pudding and gravy and S is doing this salad his grandma makes with nuts and mandarin oranges.  There's also going to be some kind of triple-chocolate fudge cake.  HELLO!  Love those guys so hard.

Had a little check-in with the midwife this morning.  I honestly don't know how people with OBs handle life.  Like, now that I've had both experiences, I'm even more determinedly on the whole "midwives rule" train.  What must it be like to not have someone go over your reports and results in detail with you?  To have someone who doesn't book 45 minute appointments so you have plenty of time to ask questions and get answers?  To not be dismissed when you have the temerity to ask about your own health care?  I get that OBs have a great deal of training and I appreciate what they do for the women who need it, but my experience at Sunnybrook has been eye-opening.  I am definitely a second-rate citizen there.  My regular OB is way better, so I don't want to paint all OBs with the same brush.  They have very busy schedules because they're dealing with any number of complex issues related to women's downstairs.  Which is why I think the midwifery model for women who are having "normal" pregnancies makes sense, both from a financial perspective and a proactive health care model approach.

Anyway, she told me that I should sterilize all my pump stuff (!!!) and have a hospital bag ready (!!!).  WHAT THE HECK!?  TOO SOON!   The idea being that if the twerps come early, then she wants me to start pumping ASAP to get them off the formula as rapido as possible.  And that they might come earlier than I had been mentally preparing myself for, especially if twerp B continues to act weird.  I'm trying to be all relaxed about everything and just take comfort in my lists and spreadsheets, but I also know that I'm going to be pretty upset if they have to stay in the hospital for like, 4 weeks if they come super-early.  I'm totally going to be all like, roaming the halls crying out,  "I WANT MY BABBIES!  GIMME MY BABBIES!"  Not to mention that I'm not even close to wrapping up all my work business yet.  BLARGH.  My midwife made a good point - if they are super-early, being in the hospital environment means that a lot of times, you don't feel like they're yours, because they are being attended to by so many people in a foreign environment.  I never thought about that before, but I could totally see that.  I know I'm going to be near-frantic to get them home if they don't sort themselves out in there.

Other interesting news: Twin A has been head down since like 20 weeks (he's obviously the GOOD BABBY - j/k - how bad would it be to already start assigning those characteristics?).  Twin B is breach, but my midwife said that if I deliver vaginally, Twin A comes out first, and then Twin B can be kind of moved around so that he's head down, once there's space for him to be manipulated.

ANYWAY, enough about them, and more about how I want to sink my teeth into juicy tenderloin kebobs and boulagnee (that onion-y, flat-bready thing they serve) and buttery long grain rice, chased with salty, deep dark chocolate cookie trimmings from rolled cookies slathered in a white chocolate enriched cream.  Oh yes, Friday night, I am yours.

Fin.

The VAN Trapps

or Max VAN Sydow, or Gigi VAN Weasel (a real estate agent in our area), or VAN Morrison, or Bran VAN 3000, or...

IS IN THE HOUSE!

Which is all to say that we have begun our Odyssey with an Odyssey.  First we have to settle on a name.  The options are endless!  We went to test drive a vehicle on Monday evening in deep Scarborough.  The Dotytron handled the test driving duties while I handled all the negotiations.  In the end, we got this van for $100 less than the second van we almost closed on (the one that nearly resulted in a Dotytron-Lagerfeld divorce last Saturday).  Saturday van had 68,000km, 1 insurance claim on the Car Proof, but they threw in a set of on-rim snow tires.  This van has no snow tires, but only 50,400km, no insurance claims, and was Filipino owned.  This wasn't a factor I had considered before (ethnicity of previous owners), but our Filipino salesperson made a point of telling us - according to him, Filipino's take good care of their possessions.  When our salesperson went to go call his manager with our offer, I was like, "What's with the Filipino thing?" and the Dotytron said, "I never thought about it before, but now that he's mentioned it, it's true, and I'm glad he brought it up."  LOL!  Who knew that was a thing?!  To corroborate this dubious racially questionable anecdotal evidence, I do have to say that this van was in the best shape of any of the ones we saw.  The interior was immaculate, no scratches or scuffs on the upholstery.  AND I negotiated $500 off the extended Honda plus warranty, which brings us to 2017 or 130,000km.

I feel like I came out a winner.  Mitigating factors: the sales manager was off-site because his dad had just passed away (which I felt really badly about), AND our salesperson was pretty much the most wide-open book of all cracked-spine books in the Library of Congress.  He was NOT cut out for this business.  I felt bad negotiating with him because I could tell he wasn't cut throat at all and was in fact, too honest for his current profession.  I was worried about his future.  This was exacerbated by him telling us about how he wanted to open his own fried chicken restaurant (!!!!!).  The Dotytron and I nearly broke out in tears.  It was not a good scene.  I wanted to do right by our sales guy so the next day I sent an email to the dealership manager and talked about the exemplary buying experience we received and how I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the dealership and our sales guy widely.  When we showed up to pick up the car last night, he thanked me a million times for the email, so I feel like I've balanced out my karma a bit.

This is AFTER I fielded about a million calls from Kumar at another Honda dealership (the one with the snow tires offer), at work.  Kumar's gift as a salesperson is that he gets really, really, really, sad and dejected and mournful whenever you tell him news he doesn't want to hear (in this case, that I was going to test drive the same model, but with lower kilometres and no insurance claims).  He makes you feel really bad for any news you have to relay that puts him in that state.  It's a really cute and disarming technique - even if he DID tell me that those snow tires retail for over $1000 second hand when a cursory Google revealed otherwise.

The point is: we have a secondary people mover!  Huzzah (I think?)!

So of COURSE I've gone completely bonkers setting up my car emergency kit and making sure that I have spare umbrellas and flashlights and notepads and pens and hand sanitzer and lotion and wipes and the like all ready to go.  I can't even TELL you how happy that kind of preparedness makes me.  It's sick.  I also just spent over an hour looking at all season mats and cargo trays and liners for the car - I want to do at least as well as a Filipino when it comes to taking care of my vehicle.

Tonight's dinner was stellar - an open faced flank steak sandwich with blue cheese and baby arugula on roasted garlic-rubbed toasted pugliese bread.  Sided with a big, crunchy, cold, mint-laden Greek salad.  I loves me a Greek salad on a hot day:

Last night's dinner - a Greek style spinach and lemon soup with egg whisked in.  The recipe called for orzo but I used acini de pepe instead (teeny tiny Italian soup pasta) and it worked out really well.  It gave us enough for freezing, so that was hype.  

We ate a quick dinner last night so we could go pick up the car.  The car that the Big Yam promptly baptised with overflow pee from his improperly applied cloth diaper (the Dotytron's fault!).  Whoops.  The Dotytron was incensed, but I took a more zen approach (if you can call wasting two hours of your life looking at OEM car mats a "zen" approach).

Fin.

Ups and Downs

Oof, so many ups and downs this weekend - Mother's Day weekend no less.  I was by turns an impatient mom, a guilty mom, a yelly mom, a stressed-out mom, a spoiled mom, and a mom who needed "mothering" from my partner.

That car that we thought we had bought?  Well, we didn't get it.  Through no fault of our own.  We signed the worksheet the dealership provides you with and paid a $1000 deposit to hold the car.  The next working day, we made arrangements to send it to our mechanic.  Our mechanic thought the car was in dece shape, but was like, "Did you know it came with winter tires?" And I had remembered that this was something that we had discussed with the salesperson, but that had fallen by the wayside through the course of negotiations.   Our mechanic was like, "I don't know what kind of deal you've worked out with them, but you should really make sure the car comes with all seasons."  So I emailed the salesperson and said that our mechanic had "concerns" (without elaborating on what those concerns were) and outlined 3 options:

1) We walk away from the deal and our deposit is returned
2) They sell us the car with a slightly lower price, throw in the all seasons, and we take this $2000 extended warranty (keep in mind: the extended warranty is gravy money for the dealership!)
3) They sell us the car with an even more reduced price, we buy our own all seasons, and we take the extended warranty.

The salesperson called me incensed and said that his manager wanted to see our mechanic's mechanical report.  I said that our mechanic was under no obligation to give it to him.  He then said that we had signed a "contract," the mechanical inspection was NOT grounds to renegotiate the price (which he had said in our face to face), and that our choices were that they either keep the deposit, or we take the car and pay the original negotiated price.  I was all flustered, so I said, "There is no way what we signed was a "contract" - can you send it to my lawyer."  And he got all pissy and told me to "talk to your husband" and then call him back.

So I get all nervous that we're actually ON THE HOOK for this stinking vehicle (which was fine, really, but still, now it was about the principle of the matter) and start Googling and then I find the site for OMVIC - the Ontario Motor Vehicle Industry Council.  Their mandate is: "to maintain a fair, safe and informed marketplace by protecting the rights of consumers, enhancing industry professionalism and ensuring fair, honest, and open competition for registered motor vehicle dealers."  They're kind of like a WSIB for registered dealers and do some buyer-beware stuff for people who choose to do private sales.  So, registered dealers pay OMVIC a fee to be listed as a registered dealer and in return agree to maintain a code of ethics and standards.  You can file complaints with them, etc.  So I call them and explain the situation and the person I spoke to is like, "There's no cooling off period for car sales in Ontario.  But if you didn't sign a bill of sale, then you are entitled to your deposit back."

Now I'm REALLY MAD and I'm getting all Silverman on them. Here's the thing: I did my due diligence - how many poor rubes would be suckered into accepting either a loss of $1000 or a car they weren't completely happy with???  LOTS, I bet.  So I call back the salesperson and tell him that I spoke to OMVIC and that now my real issue is the fact that he wilfully misrepresented what we had signed and said it was a contract when it was in no way legally binding and that according to the LAW they had to return our deposit.  And he gets even MORE RUDE and says, "you want to talk about lawyers, we have lawyers here too, you know!" and also, "I told you that the mechanical inspection is not grounds for renegotiation!"  And I was like, "First of all, that's your PREFERENCE (that the mechanical inspection is not grounds for renegotiation)" and also, "that doesn't change the fact that you are in contravention of the legislation and regulations governing the practice and behavior of registered dealers in Ontario" and tore a strip out of him.  I swear, I nearly went into labour I was so blood-boilingly mad.  Now it's about the principle of the matter!  I told him that our options still stand and to give me a response by end of day.  He opted not to renegotiate, so we didn't have the car.

It was a pisser because we thought we were done, but then I realized I didn't WANT to do business with such a shadesball.  On Saturday we drove to this other Honda dealership in Scarborough - it was HUGE!  The buying experience was much nicer - our salesperson was much more transparent, was very calm, no attempt to upsell us, they have a shuttle service if you drop off your car for servicing, a tuck shop, etc.  Unfortunately, we were too far away from the price. But we did come away learning what a proper worksheet is supposed to look like.  No surprises there.  Then we went to a Toyota dealership but the model of the Sienna we saw is basically a hunk of junk - no features.  Then I sent the Dotytron to check out this one model that had just come into a dealership close to us...we came close to making the deal but then they wanted $600 more and I put my foot down just as the Dotytron was about to sign the papers.  It was stressful and I'm sure pregnancy hormones had a lot to do with me balking.  The Big Yam was frustrated with us being in car mode all day and was whining and crying like a mother effer, the guy we had coming over to quote us on a deck was 2 hours late, I was trying to make a decision about a car over the phone with the Dotytron and trying to get dinner on the table and the dinner wasn't working out - it resulted in a lot of yelling and the Dotytron coming home being super-frustrated and angry at all the wasted time.  It was a bad scene.

Then that night I felt so guilty about being so short with the Big Yam that I spent a good hour sobbing in a giant t-shirt on the couch about how "he's gonna hate me!" and what a bad mum I was.  It was rough.  Everyone has those days.  Everyone.  But when you're having one of "those days" as a parent, it's doubly bad because you feel guilty for messing up one of your only free days (a weekend!) with someone who doesn't get why you're stressed out and tense and is feeding off your energy and reacting and wanting attention that you can't give them.  It was bad and I felt like a terrible parent.  I just felt so guilty for wasting a day.

There's nothing you can do though.  You can't quit this job, so you have your fat, pregnant, hormonal, guilt-ridden cry, eat a billion slices of the cheesecake tart pictured above, fall asleep in a weepy mess watching Veronica Mars on DVD, and then dust yourself off and try again the next day.


The next day was much better.

We had eggs benedict for breakfast and then the Dotytron "treated" me with a morning doing what I like best: checking stuff off the to-do list and doing chores - in this case, it was all about satisfying my nesting impulses and getting the Big Yam's big boy room in order (putting up shelves, putting my FLOR carpet tile design together, tidying, etc.)  It's looking pretty hyphy in there!  I kind of want to swap rooms with him.  Our room is pretty nice too, but his room is amazing right now.  We're missing a light fixture, some accessories, and a print or two, but other than that, it's pretty much done.  I'm in love with it.  The color palette and everything is very Scandinavian modern.  It gets beautiful light and is airy and cozy at the same time.  Also,  I just want to take a minute and big up the $20 roller shades I got from Sears (custom cut to order, yo!)  They're slick!  AND ONLY TWENTY DOLLARS.  I can taste the savings!!!

Then we went to T & T and spent way too much on random stuff.  T&T is like our Shopper's Drug Mart or Costco - no matter what, there's no way we get out of there without spending at least $60, when all we went in for was like, some shrimp.  It's impossible.  For the record: Shopper's Drug Mart and Costco are also our Shopper's Drug Mart and Costco.

Then we came home and the Big Yam napped and I napped a bit and we had some down time watching TV and then the Dotytron made me my big Mother's Day dinner.  Basically, for the entire pregnancy, I've been craving fettucine alfredo.  Like mad.  Years ago, the Dotytron bought me one of those hand-crank pasta making machines that I was an ingrate and never used.  So he vowed to make me fettucine alfredo with HOMEMADE pasta for Mother's Day.  It was a running joke all week.  We even have high-end Italian imported tagliatelle that I was trying to push him on but he was insistent.

He and the Big Yam made the pasta dough and kneaded it.  There was an unfortunate incident where a breach in the well of flour resulted in egg on the floor and the Dotytron was a total neurotic stressball the whole time making dinner and was super into setting the timer to make sure the dough was kneaded for exactly 3 minutes, but this was the end result:

!!!!!

It was basically the cutest thing ever.  Most importantly, it tasted delicious, and I believe this will herald a whole new chapter in homemade raviolis and pastas at Casa Dotytron-Lagerfeld.  It was the best Mother's Day, ever.  The Dotytron done mothered me good.

He has requested for Father's Day that he be left alone.  LOL!  I can do that.  His Father's Day is basically going to consist of eating Asian food (dim sum, Congee Queen) and us staying out of his hair for a good chunk of the day.  

I can't believe I forgot to post a photo of this meal above.  I made us braised shortribs in an Asian influenced sauce of beer, garlic, ginger, and rice vinegar.  It was finished with some hoisin and we had it with soft polenta and it was sooooo freakin' good.

I've posted that cheesecake tart recipe below because it is so delicious.  I've been craving something akin to that Jell-O cheesecake mix thing - like what you used to be able to get at old style cafeteria-type restaurants, usually covered in a goopy blueberry sauce.  This was PERFECT.  So tasty.  We've basically eaten a whole tart in 2-slice-each increments in 3 days.

Fin.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Cheesecake Tart

makes one 9" tart, courtesy of Martha Stewart

Crust:

3 1/2 oz. graham crackers (about 6 - 2.5" x 5" each)

1/3 c. whole blanched almonds

1/4 c. sugar (I might reduce this next time to 2 T)

4 T. unsalted butter, melted

pinch of salt

Filling:

2 8ounce packages of cream cheese

1/2 c. sugar

1/2 c. sour cream

1 large egg

pinch of salt

- preheat oven to 350F

- in a food processor, process almonds, sugar, and graham crackers until finely ground.  Add melted butter and process until moist clumps form.

- press the crust on the bottom and up the sides of a 9" tart pan with a removable bottom.  Set aside to chill in the refrigerator.

- rinse out the food processor bowl and process the cream cheese, sour cream, sugar, and egg until smooth. Pour into crust.

- bake for about 25-35 minutes or until the filling is just set.  Transfer to a rack and cool completely before storing in the fridge.  Unmold from pan before serving.

I served this with a mixed berry compote that I threw together - some berries, a bit of sugar, some lemon juice, cooked together until bubbling and then some raw berries folded in off the heat.

Garfing

As I mentioned Tuesday, the Big Yam made himself puke when I made him try to eat a grape tomato.  For the rest of the day, he kept asking me and the Dotytron, "Remember when I garfed?" and we'd be like, "It's not called garfing, it's called BARFing" and then he'd give us this knowing look and grin and say, "I gaaarrrfffeed."  LOL!

Then, when I was driving us home from the documentary on Sunday evening, close to midnight, and I wasn't aggressive enough and got honked at switching lanes, he somehow roused himself from his slumber enough to give me a hard time and chirp me about my driving AFTER the Dotytron had already yelled at me: "Mama, why the other car honk? The other car honk because the car move honk slow. That's why. Mama driving the car honk."

He's totally hilarious right now - super into talking about tooting and bums and who tooted and cracking up when he toots.  I came home yesterday to the sight of the Big Yam playing Simon Says and freeze tag with all the kids from the neighbourhood and it was one of the cutest things ever - he was grinning from ear to ear and even got to be Simon for a bit, even though he had just learned the game.  Adorable!  Love my street so hard.

In twerps-gestating related news, one of my feet has turned into a ham hock from edema (basically, 3rd trimester water retention).  Edema is common in the 3rd trimester but probably isn't being helped along by me eating a million hot dogs in a sitting.  Oops.  The last ultrasound the twerps scored 8/8 on their Biophysical Profile (BPP) which according to my OB is pretty stellar because it's hard to get a perfect score at their gestational age because they only just started breathing.  So I'm joking that they're already Rhodes scholars.  SOMEBODY HAS TO HAVE THE FUNDS TO KEEP ME IN THE STYLE TO WHICH I'VE BECOME ACCUSTOMED WHEN I'M IN MY DOTAGE!

So...we bought a car.  YIKES!  A 2010 Honda Odyssey with the entertainment package.  It was definitely the best ride out of all the minivans we drove.  We ended up abandoning the caravan when we test drove it and realized that it's basically like driving a truck/SUV.  Not a smooth ride at all!  Plus, the midrange models have NO frills.  For the same price, we could get a slightly used midrange Sienna or Odyssey that has MAD frills - power everything, tinted windows, the stupid entertainment package, built in sunscreens, separate climate controls for each "zone" of the minivan.  It was a pretty hilarious experience buying it.  We went down there with a set price in mind and I'm a little mad that we ended up getting bumped up $500 over what I had set as my limit.  I want another kick at the can because I feel like the Dotytron and I are on a roll with our negotiating skills and with one more chance to refine the personas, we could get a slightly better deal.

The salesperson was all like, "We'll take your offer, but are you going to take the extended warranty? I have to have this to show to head office, so it doesn't look like we took such a loss on the vehicle." And I'm like, "Our price and the extended warranty are TWO SEPARATE THINGS. Go get our offer confirmed and then we'll decide if we want the warranty."  Then he was hounding us to commit to whether or not we wanted financing, and I wasn't going to give that away (they love it when you take financing).  Then he came back with our price but was like, "Guys, I need to know, can you do maybe $300 more?  Then we can close it up and all go home - my manager just wants an extra couple of hundred bucks."  The Dotytron stared at him for almost a full minute, and then said, simply: "No."  LOL!!! It was the best!  We're having our mechanic take a look at it today and I think based on what he comes back with, then I might try to knock down the price a few extra hundred and we're going to take the extra extended bumper-to-bumper warranty.  I called our auto electric people, who are SO NICE.  It's a family shop and they're so cute.  They're the ones who handled all the alternator/battery issues the Captain was having.  Anyway, I explained the situation and was asking her advice on whether we should take the warranty and she said it was a good idea, at the price they were offering.  Then she wanted to know why we were getting a minivan and told me to bring the babies by when they're born because she wanted to see them.  HOW CUTE IS THAT!?  This isn't even our mechanic, this is our AUTO ELECTRIC person.  So adorable!  I love them.

Anyway, I'm still willing to walk away if they won't come down a few hundred, but it's hard once you think you're done the process.  Like, do we really want to spend another night in a car dealership doing the fake back and forth where the salesperson takes your offer to the "manager" for approval and they sit there watching Youtube videos for like, 10 minutes?  Is it really worth the extra $500?  We'll see.  It's just nice to be done.  The Dotytron has already gotten to the point where he's like, "The real question is: what should we name it?  Jean Claude Van Damme?  Van Wilding?  Van Helsing?"  It's good to know someone has their priorities straight.

My Academic Book Club met last week and it turned into a gripe session about the gendered way (all the women in book club are in heterosexual relationships) that domestic/household/administrative work gets divided in members' respective households and how to avoid that.  We're going to be reading that Lean In book next so it was topical - a lot of women felt that their husband's careers were moving forward and that in exchange, the male partners got a pass from doing the domestic work/child rearing stuff.  It always amazes me when I go to Book Club and see that some of these dudes have like, no clue on how to get THEIR OWN CHILDREN down to bed.  I'm like, dude, that's YOUR kid!  What the heck?!?  Just hearing about how some of the women felt they were taking on too much slack or getting into unproductive arguments about domestic division that resulted in them quietly going to clean the kitchen anyway made my blood boil.

I get that in every relationship, the stresses of the day and the distribution of labour (seen on a day-to-day basis) are going to result in arguments.  If the argument is unproductive though, that's balls.  Sometimes, I pick a fight with the Dotytron because all I want to hear is some acknowledgement that yes, I do a lot of invisible labour that makes our lives run smoothly - that menu planning is work.  To his credit, the Dotytron gets it.  So yeah, it might not be a 50-50 split, but I don't necessarily think I want it to be?  I'm too much of a control freak for that and a micro-manager.  In our household, I'm happy to do all the scurrying legwork/research part of the not-fun stuff (car insurance, life insurance, car research, mortgage rates) in exchange for the ability to say to the Dotytron, "clean the bathroom," "clean the litterbox."  I think it's unrealistic to expect both parties in a domestic relationship to care to the same extent about the same things (e.g. people have different definitions of what constitutes "clean" or some people just don't notice crap on the kitchen floor, etc.)  So I'm fine being the noticer and taking on the stuff that super-bugs me (the kitchen floor) as long as the work is distributed equally if you take a long-range view of things.  That being said, I had the good fortune to find a partner who shoulders 50% (if not more) of the parenting/domestic duties with grace and good humour and competence.

Anyway, that's just my little diatribe on the nature of productive arguments and gender domestic labour distribution.

Fin.

Work hard. Play hard.

(Sometimes).

This weekend was life-affirming in so very many ways.  We got so much done and we got to do so much!  It's mind-blowing.  Sometimes I have anxiety that being a parent means the end of all fun but weekends like this past one make all those reservations disappear into the ether.

Friday night takeout night was a Little India blowout.  Somehow we spent $40?!?  The Dotytron bullied me into it.  We went to Bombay Chowpatty - a DVD rental/street snack emporium.  The food was fantastic - we had their paneer kathi, which is scrambled paneer flecked with chilies, rolled up in a flaky, buttery roti.  Ummm...DELICIOUS.  We also got their samosa chat and one of their Indian "burgers" (potato patty).  Obviously, our little Tamil Tiger Big Yam was loving life.  That kind can handle spice like you wouldn't believe.  His face scrunches up and he complains, "Hot!" but then he just goes back for more.  He ate a tonne of food.  The Dotytron was convinced that the snacks I ordered wasn't enough so he got this beef shank curry which was kind of lame - just TWO pieces of beef shank (1.5" cubes) floating in a flavourless, oil-slicked sauce.  Never doing that again (this was from a different place).  He was still worried that we didn't have enough food so then we got kebabs and naan from the Pakistani place on the corner.  Last week Lolly was trying to convince me that we should sell Lil' Ugmo and trade up (which is actually impossible - to get something bigger than our current house in our 'hood, we'd have to pay around 800gs), but when I can have this Indo-Pakistani feast after a 5 minute walk, why would I?  The alternatives are too grim (e.g. moving to a desolate stretch of the East side that borders on Scarborough).  No thanks!

Especially once you consider that we chased the meal with hangs with the neighbs and all the rugrats outside into the early summer evening.  I love my street and I love my 'hood too much.

Saturday morning I woke up at 5am and was UP.   So I banged off a batch of scones so they'd be warm out of the oven when the rest of my household woke up, threw on some laundry, and went to work planning our back deck.  This job was originally one we were going to postpone, but I don't think I can countenance another summer at Lil' Ugmo without the option of entertaining.  Plus, the idea that we'll have three kids with us this summer and the twerps will be so wee just made me dream of filling up a pool of water for the Big Yam and dozing under the shade of the giant tree back there, with a baby in each arm, on a lounge chair, listening to the sound of ice clink in the Dotytron's gin and tonic.  I like the idea that we can just have a day outside in our own home instead of having to pack everyone up to go to the beach (which is like, 5 minutes away, so I don't really know why I'm complaining) or to the pool (which is 2 minutes away, LOL!)  I just miss having people over for big dinners in the summer.  Plus, it'll be a relatively cheap job, I think?  Anyway, I got all the planning and conceptualizing done and was feeling pretty good about life.

We went to the garden centre and picked out our mulch and flowers for the Dotytron's big backyard revitalization project and by that time our babysitter showed up and the Dotytron and I went to see our afternoon documentary.  We saw VH1's Finding the Funk which is produced by Questlove and Nelson George (a prominent author who writes about black modern musics).  This documentary was okay.  It was kind of a primer and didn't really go into any great depth.  The Dotytron knew most of the stuff already so it was kind of a gloss on the genre, but it doesn't make sense because you would think that if you were into funk enough to want to see a documentary, you would already know all the intro stuff.  I think they didn't have the opportunity to clear the rights to the songs, which was kind of a let down, because you didn't get a chance to hear snippets when they referenced particular tracks and so you were kind of working blind.

We went with our friends B & G and then hung out on a patio with them and then split off and went on a failed test-drive mission.  We ended up doing an aimless walk in Little Italy (it is so so so lovely to do an aimless walk with your beau!  It's a treat I rarely get nowadays) and then went to meet Dr. Rei and Hanbo for dinner at this new restaurant, Bar Isabel.  It's opened by someone I used to work with at Canoe and it's a Spanish-influenced tavern-type place.  The vibe is incredible.  I loved the space - it's all moulded wood panels and hanging blown glass lanterns and a beautiful Mosaic tile floor and archways.  As soon as you step foot through the door it's like you've wandered into some European bar - it feels so different from any restaurant in Toronto right now and very uncontrived and entirely original and welcoming.  We ate like pigs!

A sampling of our starts: devilled eggs with blood sausage, salt cod, and hollandaise; the salumi plate; and the boquerones (little teeny tiny boneless marinated fish fillets) - which came with roasted red pepper and thinly sliced pickled chili and with impeccable chips for eating them with.  The boquerones were one of my favorite dishes of the night.  Love little fishes!  

The cheese plate.

Roasted bone marrow - very simply served with salt and grilled bread.  After eating the bone marrow and snails at Porzia, this simple preparation is still delicious, but is missing a little something.

Larger dishes now - fried chicken and sweet eggplant.  The eggplant was like custard and the chicken was moist beyond belief.  The two elements of the dish didn't really harmonize for me, but both components were delicious in their own right.  Just not sure they should be served together.

Octopus (perfectly cooked - so tender), chorizo, and potatoes.  A classic Spanish dish.  All the parts were expertly prepared.  This dish didn't blow my mind, but it's very much a faithful rendition of a Spanish tapas classic.

Tripe with soft boiled egg.

Their "whole fish" ceviche - in this case, it was sea bream, seasoned impeccably with chunks of avocado and served with a tangle of frizzled scallion (I think).  They also fry the fish skeleton for you so that you can pick at cheek meat if you so desire.  I loved the ceviche but found the price a tad steep and also, I'm not used to eating ceviche without some kind of tortilla chip to go along with it.

Overall, I would go back there in a heartbeat.  All that food, 3 cocktails, and 3 or 4 beers came to $242.00, tax included and we were stuffed.  The service was great, the cocktails list was interesting, and my oenophile friends tell me the wine list is equally nice.  My only small quibble is that for certain dishes, like the tripe or the salumi/cheese plate, the server asked if you wanted bread with it.  A side of 5 slices of bread was $4!!!  To me, the tripe and the cheese plate should either come with bread or not.  Don't try to upsell me on the bread!  Jeez.  Even the Olive Garden includes unlimited bread!

Sunday was another lovely day.  I went and grabbed some fresh croissants from Bonjour Brioche - the best croissants in the city, as far as I'm concerned.  Being able to throw on a pair of grubby pants and go braless to bring home amazing pain au chocolat, almond croissants, and croissants (not to mention a superlative baguette) in under 5 minutes by car is one in yet another million reasons why I will never want to leave my 'hood.  We ate them with eggs scrambled with chunks of nduja and shallots:

Then we spent the morning gardening.  Behold, the fruits of my labour:

We splurged on the cacao shell mulch again this year.  Look at how nice and neat everything looks!  Still so much to come - my alliums, my peony, the poppies, the shasta daisies, my echinacea.  

We worked hard and then the Big Yam and I played in the front with the rugrats from the 'hood and they helped "water" the garden and then one of the neighbours distributed freezies and then the Big Yam barfed on my neighbour's steps when I tried to get him to eat a raw whole grape tomato.  Amazing.  After that, the Big Yam and the Dotytron rested and listened to Count Basie while I went to my happy place and assembled the Ikea dresser I had bought for the Big Yam's room.  We were pretty darned productive, I must say, which means we earned our fun that evening - my friend L hosted us at her place in High Park for a Russian Easter feast: guinea fowl eggs, Polish potato salad, roasted potatoes, roasted leg of lamb with gravy, asparagus, grated beet salad, lentils, and an arugula and baby dandelion greens salad (!!!!!)  We started with cocktails and olives on the porch and then moved to the back patio and sat under the shade of a gorgeous tree.  It was lovely - wine and vodka flowing with beautiful, interesting, talented people.  I made two desserts: a flourless chocolate roll cake and that hazelnut brown butter cake with a chocolate ganache.  The Dotytron always forgets to bring wine unless I ask him to, but I feel like if I'm bringing a component of the meal, that I shouldn't have to bring wine on top of it?  Is that weird?  I dunno...I feel like wine as a host present is the default thing you bring when you can't or don't bring anything else.  

We had Hot Docs tickets that night so our friends S & P took the Big Yam back to their place and looked after him so we could see the documentary.  They rule so hard.  P is the youngest of five kids (all sisters) who all have giant broods of their own and S is super-Polish so they are totally comfortable and experienced looking after kids.  It was so nice of them to do!  

We saw a documentary called, Brothers Hypnotic, about the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble.  Here's a link to their song "War" which was featured in the Hunger Games.  No big deal (BIG DEAL!)  We were hipped to them from this Rub mix a couple of years back.  They are all blood brothers and the sons of this musician who used to play with Sun-Ra.  The stuff is amazing.  It was a really interesting look at the family dynamic and their rise to fame.  Their father was really into black empowerment and they grew up kind of poor in Chicago's south side, in a really unconventional, non-nuclear family arrangement.  Two or three mothers gave birth to like, 23 children or something like that (not all the kids are in the ensemble), and two of the three mothers raised all the kids, in a seemingly non-competitive, loving family.  It's kind of awesome, as a model.  The Dotytron's takeaway of an awesome model is that the father started each kid playing on a brass instrument at age 3 or 4.  The kids were indoctrinated and woke up at 5am for practice, which always started with a long tone (the ability to sustain a single tone, in key).  The dad would give a kid a mouthpiece and say that until they could make a sustained tone with the mouthpiece, they wouldn't be allowed an instrument, and the kids were so driven that they would go and practice all day to earn their instrument.  Totally amazing!

This is the tune that the Rub played in their mix (uhh, sorry about the cover photo for the video):

We came home at midnight, completely wrecked, but full of love and gratitude in our hearts.  To be able to do so much in a weekend and thanks to the amazing help from our family of friends, was beyond nice.

This is what we've been eating the past little while:

A fantastic spring bowl: roasted potatoes, roasted asparagus, fried haloumi chunks, all topped with a poached egg and a squeeze of lemon with a pinch of flaky sea salt.

A GIANT oyster po'boy - cornmeal crusted fried oysters on top of a fried green tomato, shredded lettuce, on a buttered toasted bun, slathered in remoulade.  This sandwich was no joke, 5" tall.

Russian dinner courtesy of stuff the Dotytron picked up from this Russian grocery (where the default cashier language is Russian) called Yummy Market.  That potato salad I'm obsessed with (it comes with peas, chunks of pickle, pieces of cooked carrot, and chunks of bologna!), beet salad, sausages we braised with beer and sauerkraut, and perogies we served with sour cream.

Last night we had a simple dinner of cheese tortellini in a sausage rosé sauce with arugula and grape tomato salad.

Fin.

ABC

ALWAYS. BE. CLOSING.  I haven't seen Glengarry Glen Ross but that's all I know about it (that's what I consider a Jeopardy-level knowledge of a topic).  

I had a humdinger of a day yesterday, which stood me in good stead when it came time to visit the car dealership last night to test drive the Dodge Caravan.  The Dotytron was super-hype on his Caravan.  I don't like the look of them, myself (wicked boxy, yo!) and I don't trust the brand - even though our mechanic (who we love more than anything) listed it as his number one minivan.  It was our mechanic's endorsement that totally turned the Dotytron around.  I think he loves our mechanic more than I do.  The Dotytron has a distressing tendency to get really attached to trades if he gets good vibes from them.  As opposed to me, where I prefer working with trades that I get good vibes from and that exhibit craftsmanship and pride in their work, but I will always, always, always, be preoccupied about the bottom line.  

Monday night we were at the Toyota dealership test driving a used minivan and they kept me waiting for like 15 minutes and I basically went ballistic.  I got super-snippy with them.  First of all, aren't you supposed to be "ALWAYS! BE! CLOSING!"???  Do you want my 25gs or not?  You are not my friend, and more importantly, my time is money, especially after work on a Monday when I haven't had my dinner yet.  I am not going to be nice to you.  I don't owe you anything.  But then I turned into good cop when it came time to haggle over the price.  I played up the whole, "Look, I really want a Toyota or a Honda, but my husband is the one who wants the domestic" thing to get a better price.  Last night I got to be bad cop.  We'll see how it goes tonight, when we're test-driving the Honda.  

I have anxieties about becoming a two-car family.  The fuel economy on vans isn't that hot so we might keep the Captain for the Dotytron to drive to and back from work and keep the van as a weekend, me tooting around vehicle.  Ugh...the environmental impact isn't sitting well with me, though.

Nice segue into a documentary I saw as part of Hot Docs on Friday.  The Human Scale is about Jan Gehl and his architectural firm, Gehl Architects, which seeks to redesign cities and urban environments to make them more friendly for people as opposed to cars, which has been the trend, certainly in North America and the developing world, for the past 100 years or so.  Using various examples of Gehl Architect projects and models, they aim to show how if you create public space, humans, as social creatures, will fill those spaces and contribute to a vibrant, urban life.  It's all very Jane Jacobs-y.  The model is Copenhagen (of COURSE it is, never mind the anti-immigrant right wing trends in those favoured Scandinavian models of urban planning) and Gehl started out his career counting people usage patterns in Siena (cut to scene of people lounging happily in the sun in the major, bowl shaped, Piazza de Campo, where Dr. Rei, the Dotytron and I ate a sandwich impregnated with racism that made Dr. Rei very sick and unable to enjoy her meal at Dario Cecchini's restaurant).  At which point, I snorted at my friend B, "Uhh, no one in Siena HAS A JOB."  They also showed some smaller scale projects (reclaiming New York's Times Square for pedestrians over vehicles) and how the World Bank is super-corrupt (no surprise there) and basically loans places like Dhaka, Bangladesh infrastructure money to build car-based projects, even though only 1% of the population there can afford a vehicle and most people get around on rickshaws, which have been outlawed in many areas.  

This is all very well and good.  But I couldn't help but wonder how you address problems in places where the suburban infrastructure is already so entrenched, like the GTA.  How do you make downtown Scarborough a busy thoroughfare, when most people commute into the core or across town to work?  It's a big conundrum.  Like, there didn't seem to be much that was workable for a city of our size.  

I generally scoff at the typical urban, privileged lefty narrow-minded rhetoric of what makes a great city (bikes! Farmer's markets for all! Coffee shops with foam art!), but at the same time, I can't deny that I succumb to it and espouse those values in my day-to-day living.  I believe in the value of vibrant neighbourhoods that have everything you might need.  We had that in our old 'hood, and we have that now.  With the majority of the world's swelling population projected to be living in cities by 2040, then I care about what my corner of the city looks like.  I am lucky, though.  We live somewhere where there are amazing restaurants, green space, beach (!), public recreational facilities, a real feeling of community, and the commercial and retail infrastructure to support modern life all conveniently located within a 30 minute walking radius.  That's a pretty darned big deal, folks.  This is what life is about.  I love those (all too rare, unfortunately) weekend days when we go for aimless walks in the neighbourhood, stopping for a macchiato for the Dotytron, a flaky true croissant for me, a chocolate croissant for the Big Yam, and just poking around at yard sales and the like.  Not having to get into a car is liberating and enriching all at the same time.    

Like, tonight I'm already thinking about walking to pick up ice cream from our local indie film rental place and then sitting on one of the benches that overlooks our park and eating ice cream on one of the first real spring days with the Dotytron and the Big Yam, watching the sun set over the city (we have a pretty view of the CN tower and the downtown skyline).  You can't beat that, folks.

We recently watched Searching for Sugarman.  This film is pure, heart-warming goodness.  It's about this singer, Rodriguez who is based in Detroit and who recorded two albums of folky, songs that didn't do very well in North America.  He subsequently faded into obscurity, but somehow the albums made it into apartheid South Africa where they sold hundreds of thousands of copies and made him a celebrity.  But none of his South African fans knew anything about him and he was rumoured to be dead.  The documentary follows the efforts of two fans to track down and find out what happened to Rodriguez.  This documentary is THE BEST.  First of all, the songs that Rodriguez wrote are like, really good.  He's compared to Bob Dylan (in the sense that he speaks to the urban poor and American disenfranchised) but frankly, his voice and song-writing are better than Dylan's, in my opinion.  We immediately went and bought both his albums.  Just listen to this song.  It's so freakin' catchy.  The production is amazing!  Definitely go see this.

We also watched Sound City, which is this documentary directed by David Grohl, about this pretty legendary recording studio.  Fleetwood Mac's first album was recorded there, and a bunch of Rick Springfield (how is Rick Springfield a thing?) and then Nirvana and a bunch of the grunge guys.  It's a paean to the glory days of analog recording technology and the skill required from engineers.  The documentary drags a bit near the end, but Grohl's enthusiasm for the material is endearing.  As someone else who also fetishizes analog (me and the Dotytron both, really), we were swayed by the position Grohl took - you know, the whole, "Dem kids! They don't make 'em like they used to" bit.

That's what we've been watching in between re-doing Veronica Mars.  

SQUEEE!  One of my top 5 TV scenes, ever.  Because I am a teenaged girl at heart.

Fin.