breeder.

E chose her own fall shoes this year.

I like to think that she picked them because they look a lot like my running shoes. But let’s be honest, no matter how many times I vow on this blog to commit to a new workout regime, it always seems to fizzle out.  So she really only sees these shoes on the days I am going to the grocery store in sweats, and want to make it look like I am possibly on my way from the gym instead of just lazy.

But I think I need to revisit that first sentence. E chose her own fall shoes this year.  She has never shown any interest in what she wears. I choose her clothes and shoes based on what works for her (and what I’d dress myself in if I were 5.)

I saw a pair of shoes while we were browsing in a store last week. I tried them on her feet while she sat in the cart, and then took them off because they were a size too big. I started to push the cart away and E turned back to the shoes.

She pointed and she yelled. She wanted those shoes. And even though she can’t tell me with words,  ”Mom, I want those shoes,” she told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted those shoes.

So, of course, I ran around the city to find the same pair at another store in her size.

The past couple of months have seen lots of changes in E. She is growing and changing in so many ways.  I have seen her walk up the basement stairs all by herself holding the railing. And I have never seen her smile so proudly.

I have watched her playing with friends and helping me to bake cookies. Giving hugs and kisses to a child who was crying. Making up games and playing with her dog (when he lets her). I am excited to watch her learn and grow and communicate and assert herself more over the next year.

Today my Facebook news feed was flooded with first day of school photos. All the other kids born in 2008 were heading off to the first day of Kindergarten this week.  E headed back for her “bonus year” of preschool. And I know this was the right decision because seeing all those other kids heading off to Kindergarten didn’t make me sad in the least. I don’t feel like I am missing out on anything because I have so many things to smile about.

Sure, the milestones we are celebrating right now are very different from what we had ever expected they would be 5 years ago, but it’s so much fun to work without those expectations looming over us anymore.

I am happy that E has a preschool that is a good fit for her. And I am happy that she can spend the next year making physical, social, communication, and health gains that will help prepare her for her big first day of Kindergarten. And I believe that she will be more ready next year. You better believe there will be tears when I see her off to her first day of Elementary School. But the tears can wait until then.

I always thought this week would be harder for me, watching all the other kids her age head off to school. But instead I just look at her little shoes sitting by the door, the ones this big kid chose herself, and smile.

I am thinking about changing the name of this blog to, “Stuff that makes me cry, and occasionally other things.”

I was watching the news last night with E and for some reason this story kicked me in the gut. I cried. Of course.

Sometimes our local news can seem like an endless stream of the same minor complaints. Road construction is bothering me. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. I don’t like the new anti-bullying law. There’s mosquitos. And on and on.

This guy just put it all into perspective:

We’re here in Canada right now whereby you can sit and sleep. No gunshots. People have peace. They have their freedom.

Something I really feel like I should think about more often.
http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/story/2013/09/03/mb-congo-student-gordon-bell-refugee-war-school-winnipeg.html

It’s really easy to know exactly how to be a perfect parent…before you have kids. I always knew that there was no way that we would be a “princess” household. And it’s been easy to maintain over the past 5 years. E has been interested in Elmo and trucks and buses and airplanes.  She likes Abby Cadabby too, and I’ve always been okay with that. Despite all the pink and frills, there is an entire Sesame Street episode dedicated to teaching Paul Rudd that just because girls dress like princesses doesn’t mean they need to be rescued by a prince. Which is much better than the princesses of my youth: Ariel who literally gives up her voice for a man, and Belle, who chooses the lesser of two evils and remains in an unhealthy relationship.

Last week E met two “real live” princesses. And by that I mean two ladies in princess costumes. I didn’t think she’d much care, but she was immediately fascinated by their long satiny gloves.

That night we were at the store and I saw some princess gloves on the shelf. I asked her, “would you like to try these princess gloves?” Suddenly the kid who has never worn a mitten or glove in her life unless we secured it in a way that made it impossible to remove, was wearing a pair of gloves and giggling.

Of course, I bought her the pink princess gloves. And last night we were playing on the floor and she brought them over to me to put them on her. Her smile was so big that in that moment I would have bought her anything and everything pink and princess. She handed me a baby doll and we gave it hugs and kisses and we had tons of fun. Even if it was stereotypical girly fun.

And so, while I still think I’ll try to balance any princess garbage with readings of The Paper Bag Princess, I have to go back on my original, “no kid of mine will be playing with princesses.”

Because one thing I never realized in my big pre-child parenting plan is how important it would be to me to share the things with her that make her happy too.

I hate skinny jeans.

And not just because I have the type of legs that were once described by a high school crush thusly: “For a skinny girl, you sure have fat calves!” Except now as I have grown older I you could cut out that whole “for a skinny girl” part.

I also am incredibly unfashionable. My wardrobe consists mainly of t-shirts, graphic tees, “military inspired,” sneakers, mary janes, and the colour black. Think “if Courtney Love and Eddie Vedder had a love child.” Or “a female version of Roy from The IT Crowd.”

But now as a mom I feel I have another reason for hating skinny jeans.

I have been trying to stock E’s back to school wardrobe. Even though she will still be at the preschool in September that she was in August, I still love the traditional back to school stocking of the fall wardrobe for September.

I have been easily able to find lots of cute clothes for E. Leggings, t-shirts, and sweaters have all been purchased. The place I am stalled is the Jeans department.

I can’t quite articulate exactly what it is that bothers me so much about it, but everywhere I look I feel I have two choices: Skinny Jeans or Boyfriend Jeans. And it just feels so wrong, in 2013, to be choosing between “skinny” and “boyfriend” for my 5 year old daughter.

I know that I am out of touch when it comes to fashion. And I realize that we no longer make things like “kid jeans” which are just comfortable for playing. Instead have decided we will instead dress our kids like tiny adults. But I just want to find her some comfortable jeans that offer full range of movement for play and don’t have to be labelled “boyfriend.”

Every time I see that label it makes me cringe deeply from within. Even though, I have to admit, I do own some boyfriend jeans myself.  I buy them because they are comfortable and I like them, and heck, I even think they look good.  But why do we have to call them “boyfriend.” Why not “thrift store” jeans? Or “Dad” jeans? (Which I suppose would be incredibly less sexy and more decidedly less marketable than “boyfriend jeans.”) 

It’s on the tip of my tongue and yet I can’t quite articulate exactly why this bothers me so much. But in 2013, when it comes to my 5 year old daughter, I am disappointed that the words “skinny” and “boyfriend” are already in play.

Since returning to reality from a nice little visit to the lake, I have been feeling bombarded by news items that are giving me way too many “I Don’t Want To Live On This Planet Anymore” moments. I thought about discussing some of them here, but instead I’m going to try to reverse this feeling with some positive stories. Here’s a blog I’ve been saving up for a while:

I am certainly not an athlete, and I’m not a huge sports fan either. Except for hockey, The Masters, and curling, I am really not that interested.  And yet, somehow, a good sports documentary or montage will get me bawling like nothing else.  (A perfect example of something I shed a lot of tears to this past winter: this. It’s a bit of a problem.)

So as you can imagine these few videos below filled my heart with happiness and my eyes with tears.  And I felt compelled to share them too. Grab the Kleenex and enjoy.  Happy Tuesday:

Jack’s Heat

Connor and Cayden Long

PS:  It looks like E uses the same bike trailer/jogger as Cayden is using in the second video.  It’s this one and it’s awesome (and Canadian):  Wike Special Needs Bike Trailer

And here is another blog from the past that I wrote with some more video links at the bottom if you are still in need of more smiles and tears.

(Cross-post from my other blog Momma’s Stories)

In my humble opinion, Back to the Future Part II is one of the greatest movies of all time. Back to the Future Part I is good, but Part II is even better.  And Part III…?  I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was no Back to the Future Part III. 

A couple of weeks ago E and I were Skyping with my Dad.  And suddenly it hit me. I am living in the future.  Mind=blown.  Even when I was sitting in front of the TV as a kid, eyes glued to Part II, I still don’t know if I would have believed that when I was a grown up, and my Dad was a Grandpa, that we’d have “video phones.” Or at least the technology to enable easy video communication.

I have already talked a bit about how excited I am about technology. Especially for what it means for E. But I have really been reflecting lately on how exciting it is (or how exciting it really should feel all the time) that the shiny cool future 2015 we were imagining way back in 1989 is essentially here.

Just 13 years ago I was working in a Blockbuster, however briefly.  I still wouldn’t have believed back then that the job would so quickly become obsolete. That video rentals would all so quickly turn virtual.  Even back when E was still a baby I remember waiting eagerly for the mailman to deliver my Netflix DVDs.

Even though I do have to spend my nights quietly watching over E, I have a “magical” tablet that gives me more on-demand television, inter-personal interaction, and “What’s the creepiest thing that ever happened to you” threads than I could ever possibly consume.

So we may not have our hoverboards or food hydrators or flying cars, but I find it pretty cool that “The Future” I am right now living in that very future I was so fascinated by 24 years ago.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go watch the last 2 episodes of a TV show resurrected from cancellation through the pressure of the internet. I will watch it on my big wall-mounted flat TV.  It will be streamed to me seamlessly and on-demand. The future, indeed.

A few things have happened lately that have reminded me that I am in fact getting old.  And yet somehow it almost feels okay.  Here are just a few of my old lady moments from this past week:

1.  I was shopping at Walmart when I came across a Kurt Cobain t-shirt.  On the sale rack. Even second wave Nirvana fans were passing it by.  I couldn’t just leave Kurt there, languishing amidst the Duck Dynasty tees (what the hell is Duck Dynasty anyway?), for only $ 8.  So I picked him up and took scissors to him and turned him into workout gear.  That’s right: I bought a Kurt Cobain t-shirt from Walmart.  I can barely wrap my grunge-brain around it.

2.  I met an old friend for drinks and nachos at the corner of Hipster and Yuppie. At a place I used to love to visit.  On the way home I drove past the apartment building where we went to some really big parties. Back in the day. And the little place where we saw a then-unknown band. Before they got big. On a tip from a film student friend.  (I swear I couldn’t even make this hipster garbage up.)  But what made me feel old was not so much remembering these experiences gone by as the joy I felt to be headed back home for the night at 7pm.  I distinctly remember more than a decade ago asking a friend to “please shoot me” if this ever became my life. Where kid-free nights out had to be scheduled and pre-planned well in advance.  (For the record, I would like to officially and fully retract the invitation to ‘shoot me’ now that I’m living the mom-life.) I still like to party–I just prefer that I get all my drinks in before the sun goes down and make it to bed at a respectable hour.

3.  I realized that Dave Grohl has officially become my favourite guy who was ever in Nirvana.

4.  In a moment of pure stress I sat with an emergency pack of menthol cigarettes in front of me, dressed in my running shoes.  I needed some intense stress relief (grungerobics wasn’t cutting it) either in the form of smoking or running.  And I actually tossed the smokes out and went for a run. Because I am someone’s mom and I have to think about my health and how that impacts her. Certainly not the choice I would have made in the past.

5.  I came across this video on my Facebook feed. And laughed. And it resonated with me. A lot.

It’s apparently a parody of a Taylor Swift song called 22, which I didn’t know because I’m old.

When I watched the Taylor Swift video I had the overwhelming urge to stick a spoon in my eye.  Not because she’s a terrible musician–she’s decent enough, which I feel is a total old-person thing to say–but because I was remembering the feeling of being 22 myself.

My early 20s were like one long awful episode of Girls. Except without the writing or drugs or crazy hipster parties. Basically just angst and insecurity and anxiety and instability and narcissism. The 22 of feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely in the best way” that Taylor Swift is talking about?  I don’t quite recall it so fondly.

I am so glad to be 32.  I feel like I finally really understand who I am. And I can almost appreciate it.  I am brash and loud, opinionated, and self-deprecating.  I am certainly not everyone’s cup of tea.  But I am also happy and positive and really genuinely wish everyone could be happy too.  I have really started to lose my hang-ups and stop worrying so much about what other people think.  Which has the fortunate side-effect of making me slightly less awkward. But only slightly.

There is not enough money in the world that could make me trade 32 back in for 22, even if it meant I could have my old non-Mom body back too.

Today I walked out of the house in faux-Birkenstocks and an oversized John Lennon t-shirt. And I am sitting here in Starbucks typing this wearing same. I have never been very fashionable, but I am pretty sure some past incarnation of myself would be mortified that I am out in public looking like this.

So at 32 I am certainly not as “cool” as I once thought I’d be. My idea of an awesome night involves wearing sweats and drinking wine while watching HBO instead of leaving the house and socializing.  I have been known to quite often bust out my best Liz Lemon “workin’ on my night cheese” while I am, actually, eating cheese at night.

But I’m happy. More so now than ever.

Here’s to 32!

Stay tuned for almost everything: part 2 in which I attempt to address my mortifying high school years, and my obsessive 90s nostalgia. It may take a while for me to get that deep, but it’s coming.