Catching up

We’ve had a few blasts of warm weather, and while the projected 27 degrees forecast last weekend was making my doomsday-inclined heart palpitate – seriously the California drought is no joke!  How are people not freaking out about this MORE?!?  WHY IS THERE GRASS AT COACHELLA?!?!!!??? – when I’m given to a more superficial frame of mind (often), my thoughts have turned to spring summer style.

This year Lagerfeld is going in a bit of an unexpected direction.  Well, not really that unexpected, more of a return to the silhouette I favored in my rave days of dressing like a boy on the bottom/pocket square on top.  I recently bought a long-sleeve vintage Vision Street Wear t shirt and that’s forming the foundation of the look I’m going for.  Think Stacy Peralta, think Gleaming the Cube, think long shorts, blocky kicks, So-Cal, 80s.  I love me a long, bulky shorts like you wouldn’t believe, my favorite pair being a pair of Canadian army surplus fatiques that I chopped to a mid-calf length about 15 years ago and have been wearing ever since (moving the button on the waistband incrementally from year to year, of course).  I’m going to intersperse this with my usual Mrs. Roper, muumuu, tent dress routine – a habit I can’t shake.  Except now, bike shorts under the dresses are part of my life because my thighs rub together and that’s just the way s**t goes, sons.

If you still stubbornly read a lot of blogs (and I do), there’s a brand that bloggers of a certain ilk go crazy for, and I just don’t get it.  Ace and Jig.  They make $300 jumpsuits that look like tea-towels you find at the cottage.  I don’t get it.  If the patterns were distinctive, it’d be one thing, but they all kind of look like Turkish linen towels to me.  Y’all know I love me a Mexican Oaxacan embroidered dress/top like the next hippie, but something about the type of fabric pattern on the Ace & Jig stuff just doesn’t turn my crank in the least.  They’re like the worst possible serape blankets you could have, but you’re wearing them.  It’s like a faded cactus, wilting in the sun.  

The Wonder Twins do this odd thing where they trade off weeks of being a giant PITA.  Last week, it was Quincess, who was INCONSOLABLE during dinner every night.  Now this week, he’s been the sweetest little dear, happily eating lots of whatever is put in front of him, while Lindsay Lou Lou is a pill and screams for “Ohk!” [yogurt] and then upends everything on his tray when I don’t give him what he wants.  He also wants everything “whole!” and as soon as he’s done eating yells, “SCHIIIIIIDE?!?” [outside] where he puts on a bike helmet (“hat! Haaaaaaat!!!”) that’s 10 sizes too big and stands on a Radio Flyer 3-wheeled scooter, giving everyone cow-eyes until they opt to ruin their backs by bending over and pushing him around.  Quincess’ preferred outside activity is to push around a little baby carriage and then wait for you to turn your attention elsewhere before running into the road and laughing maniacally.  Meanwhile, the Big Yam is off in his own world playing superheroes and screaming that he’s not ready to ride a bike for a million hours.  It’s a really relaxing vibe we’ve cultivated.

Last weekend we had a visit from SMckay and the Dotytron hosted a bourbon night with his teacher friends.  While he was prepping that, SMckay and I gave the kids freezies and took them to the park, which resulted in this line from the Big Yam: “Come in my face, freezie! Come in my face!”  It was kind of awkward.  This tends to happen when SMckay comes for visits.  The last time, she was supervising the Big Yam’s bath and said something like, “No standing in the tub!” and he said, “Yeah, you do, to wash your butt and your wiener.  What’s a wiener?”  SMckay: “Oh dear.” 

Saturday morning I went with her to see the Basquiat exhibit at the AGO.  I’m glad SMckay gets me to the AGO and my art history roots.  The Basquiat exhibit was kind of amazing.  I went to the Alex Colville one and was intellectually into the exhibit because the exhibit was well curated, but I’m not generally into Colville’s style of work.  Basquiat’s work is something I would hang in my home.  Keith Haring is too cartoony for me, but Basquiat’s work is very visceral, and politically charged, and manages to be so on-the-nose, now, 30 some-odd years later.  The audio commentary was wack.  A lot of Toronto beat poets and academics who were simultaneously over-intellectualizing but also missing some of the obvious points in the works.  Commentary on a  piece that counterbalanced the a Native American with an African American man in shackles focused primarily on the very obvious statement about slavery, while failing to pay attention to the very clear parallel being drawn between the oppression of the two peoples, and how their cultures were effaced by white people.

We had my mom and brother and his fiancée over for a Mother’s Day dinner on Saturday and it was fun.  Bruce Wayne’s fiancée got me an awesome mother’s day present in the form of the best dinosaur planter/terrarium ever!  It’s amazing and I love it and love the colour.  That aqua blue/green colour is a favorite of mine and pops up in other things I have:

Mother’s Day was a bit of a gong show.   The original plan had been to keep it low key and chill.  I got an awesome card from the kids (all orchestrated by the state) and the plan had been to go and get dim sum and then to Pacific Mall to get a new iphone case for me.  In my heart of hearts, I should have known that Mother’s Day dimsum would be a gong show, but I quashed those misgivings.  We had gone back and forth on plans to see Momma D on Mother’s Day, and finally called her with our impromptu dim sum plan, planning on being home to put the twins down for their nap so I could work on my quilt and just putter (my favorite thing in the world). 

The plan went horribly, horribly awry.  The first place we went to, had a lineup out the door, and I was #57 for a table (I think they were at 20).  So we packed up and went down the street to some random place, which I think stays in business based solely on taking the overflow from the better place.  There were 4 or 5 groups ahead of me, and so I grabbed a number and told Momma D and the Dotytron to take the kids to a patch of grass by the parking lot while I waited.  Cut to 1 HOUR LATER, to me standing behind the hostessing stand and acting as the hostess, because the restaurant staff were completely inept and were handing out numbers but not managing the restaurant flow.  People were cutting the queue and sitting down at tables as they were being cleared, so as far as the restaurant was concerned, because no one was managing it properly, tables were never available, because it was just a constant flow of unethical people plonking their jerk butts down.  There was no order.  After an hour, with everyone hungry, we left.

Somehow in the process, Lenny had his wrist wrenched and was in pain, so he bawled the whole way back (we called an audible on the whole mission).  There was talk about going to a different dim sum restaurant on the Danforth (a place that does mostly takeout and has maybe 2 tables), but I put my foot down.  Anyone with kids knows that you don’t take hungry, confined kids to a second (sit-down) location.  Poor Dotytron.  Momma D and I are very different in our approaches and I think he felt conflicted by trying to appeal to us both.  I knew though, that if we had gone to the restaurant, it would have been incredibly stressful dealing with a place that in all likelihood has no high chairs or is kid-friendly, when the kids were all on the verge of melting down.  I also know that the bulk of the work managing them would have fallen on me, and while I don’t put stock in Mother’s Day (especially after this one), I do know that I should at least get to decide not to put myself through that.  Instead we went to a park, I got us pizza, and we hung out and watched the kids and it was lovely.

This week has been a monster.  My blood pressure has been skyrocketing at work and I’m feeling kind of tender and sore about it.  I’m looking forward to that extra day.  We have a fun one planned, too – movie night tonight at home, visits with Tillers and Jen tomorrow and their lovely kids, dinner at Momma D’s house (do-over!), fireworks in the park with the neighbours on Sunday, and hopefully a walk at the Scarborough bluffs with Dr. Rei and family.

 [edit: As it now takes me three weeks to write a single post, I’m including the post-Victoria Day weekend wrap-up in this one]

Our long weekend was extremely fun, but also filled with back-breaking BS labour that you have to do when you have a house – ie. sanding and sealing our deck.  That being said, it looks SO DARN GOOD and even though all I wanted was to throw money at the problem, in the end, it only took us about 4-6 hours?  We went with a clear sealant and I’ve never been happier.  The Dotytron was trying to convince me that we have to get a colour on the cedar because otherwise, it’s going to discolour, and that’s what we did 3 years ago, but I’m so glad we went clear – it looks so hype:

Visits with Tillers and Jen were so nice – we went to the park, they brought amazing homemade bread and burrata (!) and I tried to make friends with salad (despite Dotytron’s vocal objections).  The guys went to a new craft brewery in the ‘hood and then we filled up a bucket and let the kids go to town while the young-young ‘uns napped the afternoon away. 

Our planned fireworks on Sunday were a bust.  This was our fourth go-around organizing street fireworks and this is the first year we’ve ever been hassled by the cops.  I think it’s because we’re such a finely tuned machine.  Watermelon slices, blankets, popcorn for the kids, a bucket of sand, about 25 people – we were conspicuous and we got the attention of bike cops who told us we had to shut it down.  We were allowed to set off one more and then had to pack it up.  I was saying that the Dotytron should have lit them all off at once and shouted, “BLACK LIVES MATTER!” which would have been so funny!  Just imagine?  A white guy in Leslieville, holding his fist up and shouting “black lives matter” in response to being told to not light fireworks?!  So good. 

Scarborough bluffs mission was also a bust, but a hilarious one, in the grand tradition of M-R-I-H shenanigans.  At first, we were going to skip the bluffs because Dr. Rei and Dotytron were obviously in the mood to do nothing but sit around and talk about 90s hip hop for eternity.  Then, we opted to go to the beach as an alternative, but it was BUCK (obviously), so we ended up heading to the bluffs anyway.  As we passed a long line of cars snaking seemingly parked bumper-to-bumper on their way OUT of the bluffs, the Dotytron went into doomsday apocalyptica mode (which is the worst Dotytron mode of life) and was all like, “We’re idiots! We should abort!  Each car we’re passing is an hour of our life! Why did we do this?  This is so dumb, etc., etc.,”  We got to the bottom, couldn’t find parking, and realized we should turn tail and head back up, so we did, only to have Hanbo entreating Dr. Rei to at very least, Google a picture of the bluffs to show him, and the Dotytron was still going strong in doomsday mode and was (seriously) trying to convince me that I should call the police, tell them that a thousand people were stuck at the bluffs and needed their help to direct traffic and get out.  LOL!  It was epic.  In the end, it was fine, the line of cars moved relatively quickly and it didn’t break bad like we had thought it might. 

We ate Chino Loco’s at home.  The Big Yam, who had been angling for a brownie all day, couldn’t stomach his dinner and so was all angst-ridden about forfeiting his right to a brownie dessert.  He’s a forward thinking chap, though, and asked what we were eating for dinner on Tuesday.  I said that it was going to be rice and a sauce, similar to the deconstructed burrito he was turning his nose up at.  “AGAIN?!?!!!?” he cried, “COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” which was such a pure expression of supreme disappointment and dismay that the whole table broke down laughing.  “AGAIN?!??? COME ON!!!!!” will never not be funny.  Lately, in the same vein, he’s started shouting, “DARN IT!!!” when he’s frustrated, which is equally hilarious.

Meanwhile, these two little monkeys are routinely flouting doctor’s orders and engaging in mad bed jumping pre/post-nap:

I find this video simultaneously revolting AND compelling

We got a piano!  Best decision we've ever made, best addition to the house (including our children, j/k j/k j/k).  That's Linsday in his shirt from the Apollo Theatre that Momma D bought for him.  Our piano is a Heintzman from the 1930s that we bought for $250.  It's a beautiful piece and I love the way it looks.  It needs a tuning but needs to acclimate to our house first.  The cost of moving was as much as the piano.  

Droopy drawers

"WHOLE!!!" is this guy's eating rallying cry - which basically means that he wanted to eat a pork chop on the bone.

I made Smitten Kitchen's baked chickpeas for dinner a couple of weeks ago, and have since made it a few more times.  It makes the perfect work lunch.  Middle Eastern spiced chickpeas, served with dollops of yogurt tahini dressing, labneh (always labneh), and the classic Middle Eastern tomato-cucumber-red onion-mint-parsley salad, dressed with lemon juice, and mixed with crunchy pita chips - Smitten recommends homemade, but I used Stacy's naked pita chips, which are perfection.  It's like Middle Eastern nachos.  I will say that I think it's not necessary to bake them - I simmered subsequent batches on the stove with the lid ajar until almost all the liquid was evaporated and it worked out just fine.  This is the platonic ideal of summer food.  I love this dish so much.  

Fin.

Intensive Mothering

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).

Fin.

Germane

Germane is the bane of my existence lately, but I will say that getting my work edited is definitely making me a better government writer.  I'm not known for my brevity.  I'm an over-explainer to the max (she says, stating the obvious, in a blog that's been running for almost 8 years, brimming with posts that are decidedly NOT on the short side).  

What follows is the kind of kitchen-sink blog post that is filled with the non-germane.  Jermaine Jackson did NOT sign off on this.  Nor did Jermaine Dupri.  I need another Jermaine to fulfill the rules of 3, but I'm coming up empty.

1) I don't care about Lip Sync Battles.  I find them funny for about .001 second and then I'm over it.  I don't get it.  It's a made-up thing.

2) Shad (the person, not the fish) is another made-up thing.  Like, when the internet and quasi-hipsters (for lack of a better word) on my social media started freaking because he (?) was named the new host of Q, I was like, "...da f**k?"  Shad the fish is legit.  I can get behind that.  Shad the person?  Total made-up thing.

3) When we were in Geneseo, before the Mouse Always Wins Disney Tour 2015 started, the Dotytron was party to a hilarious convo between the Big Yam and Little Little Cuz.

Big Yam: "Baba, how many people have died since people existed?"

Dotytron: "Ummm, I don't know.  A lot.  Like, more than a billion."

Little Little Cuz: "And a police officer at my mom's work.  He died."

Dotytron: "That's sad."

Little Little Cuz: "I was like, whatever." 

LOL!!!  Little Little Cuz is FOUR by the way, and apparently already shows a callous disregard for human life.  

4) This was my Easter:

That smattering of snow (seems so long ago now, after the recent run of two - TWO! - warm, sun-filled spring-like days in a row) really put a damper on the street Easter egg hunt, which usually heralds the beginning of "Norman Rockwell Season" on Lil' Ugmo Avenue.  The Easter egg hunt marks the turning point when the denizens of Lil' Ugmo Avenue emerge from winter hibernation with kids that have suddenly grown a foot taller over the winter.  It's when we start to spend the bulk of our pre-and-post-dinner time outside, chatting while our kids roam between houses like a roving pack of semi-feral beasts.  It's the best.

5)  The other day the Big Yam turned to me and asked, "When I grow up, are you going to marry me and Baba?" We've hit a rather sweet age - 4 is wonderful.  The tumult inside their little bodies seems to quiet a little, and their language acquisition seems to keep pace with the rush of thoughts inside their brains.  We get a lot of unprompted "I love yous" and out of nowhere, I'll turn around and find him planting a soft kiss on my arm.  It's very sweet.  We had to explain to him that the love you feel for your parents (and that we feel for him) is different from the kind of love you feel for the person you marry.  He seemed concerned about wanting to stay a part of our family, so we pitched it as finding someone you want to start a new branch of the family with.

I was kicking around this working thesis that the love you have for your children is beast of a different stripe than the love you have for your partner.  "OBVI" I can hear you muttering.  I had this whole riff on how you don't bring any baggage to the love you have for your kids, and then I realized that was a load of hooey.  Does anyone ever travel without baggage?  I don't think so.  Highly unlikely.  It's different baggage, but the love I have for my kids is coloured by my own upbringing, the way I relate to my parents, my siblings, my sense of self as it was forged in fiery pits of Mordor, I mean, Markham.  

Last weekend we threw a birthday party for Momma D.  The Dotytron and EhmDo put in so much work making the party a success for their mum.  There was a Coronation Street-themed cake and a photo album that had everyone welling up, and they performed a number of Momma D personal favorites.  

Big Yellow Taxi

Landslide

They changed the words to the Beatles' song "You Never Give Me Your Money" to "You Always Give Me Your Money"  - it was a huge hit!

As I sat with Lindsay on my lap, listening to the joy and love elicited by these talented, beautiful people in my life, I had a minor epiphany.  Maybe epiphany is too strong a word.  I was filled with gratitude and inwardly chided myself for taking the musical gifts of my outlaw family for granted sometimes.  I've been known to vocally discourage a career in the arts for my children.  Is it so wrong that I would like some kind of silicon valley venture capitalist?  Fine, maybe not a venture capitalist, but more like a Warren Buffet Berkshire-type.  Someone who will treat their parents right, ya know? Actually, if I really want a career for my kids that will result in them venerating their ma', then I should wish that they become like, Asian-Canadian Drakes or Kanye-types.   I realized as I listened, and as my kids (mainly Lindsay and the Big Yam) have requested Big Yellow Taxi every night a billion times, that I don't want to rob them of this particular form of aesthetic creation/appreciation.    They are so lucky to be steeped in this love for musical expression.  I only hope they can do that and do stupid abstract Singaporean math problems.

I had another thought, as I watched Momma D beaming with pride for her kids' prodigious talent.  I'm always vaguely discomfited by seeing parents demonstrably proud of their children.  It's just not something Chinese people do.  The concept of beaming with pride over your children is pretty foreign to me.  The Chinese way is to talk about your children's accomplishments "Ai ya!  Melody only got into Stanford-ah!  But not Harvard!  It's terrible-ah!  I told her to work harder!" where you're bragging but only in so far as their academic/professional achievements reflect on the parent.  Being proud of your kid's talents in the arts?  Not a thing.  Like, maybe if they're playing Carnegie Hall, but anything less just doesn't compute.  

I'd like to strike some kind of middle ground and break out of my cultural conditioning.  The babies are signed up for a toddler & caregiver art class that our caregiver brings them to.  I'm not proud of them for the work that they do, per se...more I find it hilarious and kind of "Awwwwww" when I see all their "art" and when our caregiver sends us photos of them in their class.  Less overflowing with pride than "what little cute weird butts."  

What we've eaten, lately:

Spicy grain soup and Smitten Kitchen's gruyere and caramelized onion biscuits.  The biscuits were pretty tasty, but not as tasty as the Red Lobster cheddar biscuits I made from the Red Lobster-sanctioned box mix.

A porchetta sandwich and a shrimp sandwich from a new sandwich shop in the 'hood.  I enjoyed these, but found the service incredibly slow, and they were good, but not great.  Unlike Porchetta & Co, where I've been dreaming about their buffalo fried chicken parmesan and porchetta sandwiches for weeks. 

Last time I was in the States, I bought a pack of scrapple, which we pan fried and ate with eggs.

The Texas sheet cake from Baked: Celebrations cook book.  I've had success with 3 of the 4 recipes I've tried.  This is a moist chocolate cake topped with a salted-peanut topped peanut butter and icing sugar frosting.  Deadly tasty.  

Braised veal breast with gremolata and my new favorite side, kung pao brussel sprouts (recipe below).  

Leftover bacon, kale, and squash risotto turned into arancini.  Anything fried topped with aioli = magic.

Freezer chili and cornbread.

Carnitas

A pear and almond tart.  This was delicious.  From Dorie Greenspan's book.  A very simple recipe of sauteed pears baked in a sweet, short crust, topped with a crispy almond-meringue.  I didn't take down the recipe, but it's pretty easy.  I think the topping was just a few egg whites, mixed with confectioner's sugar (I think about 1/2 cup?) and a cup of sliced almonds.

Freezer meatloaf with freezer broccoli cheddar rice casserole.  I love me a broccoli cheddar rice casserole.  I wish I had two more in the freezer.

Bouillabaisse with rouille

Spaghetti and meatballs

Tourtiere with tomato jam and braised red cabbage and appales

The Red Lobster biscuits.  Basically grated cheddar dumped into some kind of biscuit mix, and then brushed with butter mixed with garlic-salt.  So good.

I made my family a porchetta for Easter dinner.  I bought it from my go-to Italian butcher, who gave the Dotytron my pre-ordered meat with the not-so-encouraging, "I've never done this before!" (Really?  A porchetta?  From an Italian butcher that's been in business for 60 years?)  It turned out AMAZING.  So easy!  You just let it go.  I ate leftovers for weeks and weeks.

Trying very hard to resume a more regular posting schedule.  I have so many thoughts and all the feels (as per usual).

Fin.

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Kung Pao Brussels Sprouts

Not adapted at all, really from Bon Appetit

Allegedly serves 6 as a side, but we eat a LOT of brussels sprouts

2 lbs brussels sprouts , stems trimmed and halved 

4 T olive oil

1 T. cornstarch

3 garlic cloves, minced

2 T. peeled ginger, minced

2 T. sambal oelek

1/2 c. soy sauce

1 1/2 T. sugar

2 t. unseasoned rice vinegar

1/2 c. chopped salted peanuts or cashews

- toss the brussels sprouts in 3 T. of the oil and season with salt and pepper.  Roast in a 425F oven until dark and crispy and soft
- meanwhile, heat the remaining 1 T. of oil in a small pan.  Add the minced ginger and garlic to the cold oil and slowly heat.  When the ginger and garlic are fragrant and starting to brown just a bit, add the soy, the sugar, the sambal, the rice vinegar, and 1/2 c. of cold water.  Stir and taste for seasoning (I reduced the sugar from the original recipe, so you might want to add more).
- Take the 1 T. of cornstarch and stir with a 1-2 T. of water to make a thin slurry.  Stir this slurry into your soy mixture and heat to boiling.  When the sauce is thickened, pour over your roasted brussels sprouts and top with the chopped nuts.

*Note: I find this recipe made twice as much sauce as I needed, so I tend to reduce all ingredients by half, but obviously this is a moving target based on your amount of brussels sprouts.

In Like A Lion

I have many, many back posts either half or three-quarters drafted, or spooling around in my head, and yet, only 5 posts in 2015 to speak of.  Time is a bit precious around here, as you can imagine, and March has been a bit of a doozy.

I started a new job.  The process of getting this job was a bit fraught (I'll explain later).  I'm on loan from my regular job for a 9 month secondment with the Ministry of Magic, doing policy work, for which I had to take a pay cut (which smarts).  On the plus side, I've already stretched myself and learned how to do new things (hello, finessing a cost-sharing model in Excel, when you don't have access to Youtube tutorials or the data sets on which the model was based? All the fun!).  I've also felt stupid almost every day that I've been there and there has been more than one occasion where I've been left squirming under the steely gaze of my director, giving me feedback on a briefing note I produced that's been marked up beyond all recognition, as she waits for me to explain why something is "germane" to the paper.  All the fun!  Starting a new job, it's not nothing.  New work environment, new colleagues, new administrative and operational processes (where's the lunch room?  What time do people eat?  Is it okay to leave at 5 when I got there at 8:30?) ALL THE FUN!

It's probably a contributing factor to the eczema flare ups on my face?  Just guessing?  After 8 years at one job, it was easy to be a rock star.  My days were predictable, as were expectations, and I was in a comfortable position.  Having to "fight" (in a sense) again - to figure out my position and how to be good at something requiring a whole new skill set is good for me in the long run, which is why I took this job, even with an inopportunely timed pay cut (did I mention that 3 months into 2015, we are on track to spend FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS on childcare? All the fun!)

So there's that.  Then, Captain Save-A-Ho finally kicked the bucket.  After saving many hoes, true, but also AFTER we spent $500 putting a new muffler on him.  So now we have to buy a new (used) car.  On the same day we made that fateful decision, I was replacing the windshield wipers on Eddie Van Halen, and cracked the windshield and we had to replace that (did I mention I took a pay cut?  And FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS on childcare?)

On that same day (yes, this series of unfortunate events is still going), I took Boddington into the veterinarian because he had been looking unwell, and it turns out we had to put him down. He had lost 7 lbs since his last visit (almost 2 years ago), and the doctor said she would run up a quote for diagnostics (almost $2000), but that there was a likelihood that what she found wasn't going to be treatable.

Imagine how I felt.  Imagine what it feels like that this member of your family (for 12 years!) had gotten so sick and you didn't notice until it was too late.  The vet did her best to make me feel better (cats try to hide illness, it's common for the pet owner not to notice gradual weight loss, etc), but when you're holding that little furry body and they're listless and you're trying to comfort this creature in its last moments, you feel like total hell.

RIP, Boddington.  You were the cat that the Dotytron and I got when we first moved in together.  We called you "Big Nose."  You had already been adopted out and then someone brought you back and for some reason, we decided to take you even knowing that.  You were super affectionate and had a poor sense of boundaries (the Roomie called your signature move "face rape").  You were possibly on the spectrum and you did gross things like obsessively like the back of the toilet, lick the tub scum after a shower, and lick the corner of a window repeatedly until we could hear the squeak of your dry tongue on the dry glass.  You were also endlessly forgiving of the torment of three children over the last years of your life, and you gave Smudge (who loves being a father figure) something to dote over.  You were a greedy goomba who was very particular about how full your food bowl was, and you were riddled with anxiety.  You are missed.

After my second week on the job, we went to Disney World.  With two toddlers.  And a four year old (that's three under 4, if you're keeping track).  Our flight over was direct (from Buffalo).  What I didn't know about flying Southwest is that it's "open seating."  You can't reserve seats and you pay an extra $20/ticket/direction in order to get on in the first grouping to get the best pick of seats.  Families and people who require special assistance are seated between the A group and the B group.  We managed to get all five of us in a 3-seat row (babies were going to be on our laps), but then we found out that we're not allowed to have 5 in a 3 seat row as there's only 4 masks.  Gah!  Our flight attendant was kind enough to occupy the extra seat in the 3 seat row while the Dotytron moved across the aisle with the Quincess.  We ended up having that seat extra so the flight there was pretty smooth, all things considered:

We arrived in the afternoon.  We stayed on-resort (the only way to do it, IMO), and got picked up by the Disney shuttle.  We rented a stroller and picked it up at our hotel and then headed off to our first park, the Animal Kingdom, where we had planned a 1/2 day.  The good thing about staying on-resort is that Disney has special buses to transport you from the hotel, and they'll drop off your luggage at your hotel for you.  All we had to do was pick up our "magic bands" (which is linked to my credit card and has all our itinerary/dining information linked to it) and head off.

The Animal Kingdom is one of the weaker of the various parks within Disney World.  It's pretty much a big zoo.  There's some thrill rides (a roller coaster, a Jurassic-park-type dinosaur experience) that were too intense for our crew, so we went on their wilderness safari, had a Dole whip, and called it a day.  The safari was super fun - The animals are pretty much free to wander around (the docile ones at any point) and we saw cheetahs, wildebeast, giant bull type things (which had Lindsey shouting "PIIIIIIIIIG!" in ecstasy) and lions, zebras, etc.  It's pretty cool and was a nice way to ease into the experience.  

Here's the thing with people who don't stay on resort to save a few bucks - you're honestly better off saving money for a longer period of time, until you can afford to stay on resort.  And get the meal plan!  Paying for food on the park is so expensive!  $12 for a tuna sandwich?!  There are many, many ways to maximize your meal plan credits (and so many blogs from Disney psychos to guide you through the process), that it's well worth it in the end.  Travel from the resorts to the parks, on the Disney buses, can often take 30-45 minutes.  If you had to park your car?!?  And walk to it?  And then had to stay at the park ALL DAY (without a hotel break) to maximize your dollars?!?  Why would you do that to yourself?  YOLO.  

Day 2 was a day at the Magic Kingdom.  Going into this trip, the Dotytron and I made a solemn pact that we WEREN'T GOING TO BE CRAZY.  That meant that we would be chill - whatever happened, happened.  The money was spent - there was no going back, so there was no point stressing about the trip.  Knowing the Big Yam and knowing that he's a bit of a scaredy cat, and also is not into meeting characters, allowed us to book our "fast passes" (which allow you to jump the queue at particular attractions during hour-long blocks of time) in advance, knowing what would give us the best ROI.  We would eat a snack at our hotel, go to the parks as close to opening time as possible, then either go on rides we already had later fast passes for (but that we knew would have a big pay-off for the Big Yam, so he would want to ride it twice, and would be able to with the fast pass) or would have epic line-ups later.  Then we would do our fast pass schedule and hit some things that were more low key, then eat lunch at the park.  We would return back to the hotel for a mid-day swim (when Orlando is at it's most blistering), a nap, and then back out for dinner and a walk before a late bedtime.  It was the best possible way we could have managed things.

We discovered a place that had LOBSTER ROLLS as a counter service meal on our meal plan, and we hit that up (twice).  Other people were using their meal credits for the aforementioned tuna sandwich (why?!).  We obviously had Dole pineapple whips (twice!)

Despite making the best of the trip, it was challenging travelling with this many kids and in this age range.  It is an incredibly overstimulating environment - for them and us.  Then you add the heat, and the disruption of the routine, and the fact that the Dotytron and I hadn't been full-time parents to all three for this duration in months, and it was exhausting.  You don't go to Disney for a break, that's for sure.  I saw parents who seemed to be having a wonderful time and I'd ask how old their kids were and they'd say "12 and 9" - which makes sense.  Two toddlers and a 4 year old?  It's insanity.  We were getting side-eye from like, Mormon families with 12 kids, because all their kids were older.  

Orlando department of transportation says you have to fold up strollers on the buses, which meant every time we went to a park, we would stroll over to the bus stop, then I'd wear a baby, hold another baby while the Dotytron folded up the stroller and grabbed all the crap we had stowed underneath, and I would hustle the Big Yam onto the bus while the Dotytron tried to find a place to put the stroller.  I'd say that 60% of the time, people were kind enough to give up a seat for us or the Big Yam.  The overwhelming obesity problem in the US means that very often, people weren't giving up their seats because they actually needed it more than us (sorta).  I met another woman who was saying that they'd been to Disney about 5 or 6 times and they loved it.  It had apparently gotten to the point where her kids were old enough so that she and her husband went out and had a "nice dinner and a glass of wine" and she was saying how wonderful it was.  I just thought to myself, if you're idea of living it up is a nice dinner and glass of wine at Disney, then lady, you need to expand your definition of travel.

The food is good, FOR DISNEY.  As far as theme parks go, I can say unequivocally that it's the best.  It's so family friendly, and they set up all these smart things to make your trip as nice as possible.  The people they hire are very nice and have the patience of saints, even when they're treated abysmally by the guests.  But would I go there if I didn't have kids?  Hells, no.  We've been there, done that.  It is ONLY worth it for the kids.  Even at that, when the Dotytron and I were tallying things up at the end of the trip, it was only reasonably affordable because we didn't have to pay for the babies' flights/park tickets/most meals.  If we factored that in, we would have spend almost 10K, at which point, I would rather go someplace that's more stimulating for ME.  Picturing Disney as an adult escape is very, very odd to me, even if I did get to eat a cronut!  

Big Yam had no interest in meeting characters, but for some reason, the Dotytron was so enthralled at the fact that we were positioned so close to Belle from Beauty and the Beast that I came back to a camera with more than a few Belle back-side shots.

Look at how haggard having kids has made the Dotytron! 

Sunglasses hide everything!

Quincess turning it on at 10pm for the money shot.

 

Our flight home was a nightmare.  We flew out of Orlando at 6pm to Baltimore.  We'd already had a full day of the Magic Kingdom and the flight straddled baby bed time.  The Quincess dropped a deuce around 7pm and then we hit turbulence so the fasten seatbelt light was on and I couldn't go anywhere and he wailed for a solid hour.  I got some nasty looks from this lady in front of us.  Listen - if you're on a flight with someone with a crying baby, THEY ALREADY FEEL BAD ENOUGH.  Glaring doesn't help!  Also, WE PAID THE EXACT SAME FOR OUR SEATS, YOUR HIGHNESS, so can it.  Then, our connecting flight from Baltimore to Buffalo was delayed by 2+ hours.  We didn't end up arriving in Buffalo until close to 2 in the morning, and we didn't get home to Toronto until around 4am.  It was brutal and made the Dotytron swear off flying anywhere for the next 10 years.

That was my March in a nutshell.  I'm waiting for some out like a lamb action any time soon.

Fin.