Crazy Parents

Forgive me if I find this sort of development in parenting to be ludicrous.

Allow me to summarize. Parents out there no longer want teenagers watching their children. They want  pediatric nurses and early childhood education teachers. They want to pay $18 per hour for this.

Back in the dark days known as the '90s, I babysat starting from the age of 13 in 1996. I took a babysitting course and my mom promoted me to others, starting with my next-door neighbours. She set my wage at $3 per hour, which was really low, but I guess a green 13-year-old sitter shouldn't command that much income. By the time I was 16, I had three regular families and charged $5 an hour.

I read that teenagers get $8 to $10 per hour now, which I guess keeps up with the cost of living, especially in Toronto. $10 seems sensible for an experience teen babysitter. But a nurse? A teacher? Seriously? Are the lives of these coddled children become so overly scheduled and precious that when parents get the night off to go to the movies, the kids can't just park in front of the TV and chill out too?

Does every moment have to be educational? Are kids so fragile they need nurses to care for them? I mean, wouldn't parents themselves be rather inadequate caregivers if an actual nurse is needed? I mean, most parents have zero medical background. Are they good enough then if another fellow layperson is not? Let's get real here. A few hours of fooling around is not harmful, along with a number of other things about childhood that seem to have gone out of favour for some reason.

I remember seeing a news report about kids in the park playing alone and the reporter was actually saying no 10-year-old child should be left in the park alone unsupervised. Um, what? I was 8 when I was allowed to bike to the park alone. Kids are entering high school as young as 13 and 10 is too young to be allowed to go solo to the park? Where in that meagre three-year gap is independence supposed to develop?

I've complained about pampered kids and hovering parents before, but every now and then I see more and more evidence that parents have lost their collective minds. Employing nurses as babysitters. You've got to be kidding me. I just don't get it.

Patry Hardy, Sicky Icky

I'm sick. The Dude's brother's wedding is done, the Halloween party is over and I've contracted a sore throat bug that's been going around and I can barely swallow. Dude's out getting me some Buckley's in the chill and rain as I write this. God love 'em.

This weekend really kicked my ass, whilst kicking some ass in general. The wedding was a pretty attractive and delicious affair, which every wedding should be if it can be managed. I always get a little teary-eyed during the vows or the dance. Usually only if I have faith in the union. And since I do for this one, I got a little misty while the officiant was reading off the vows and seeing the bride smile at the groom. I love love.

I couldn't help but think of my own upcoming nuptials, though it's a year away. And when the wedding was over I thought of the "now what" part. They're going to continue work on their house and everyone is going to be curious about potential children. Marriage always seems to lead in that direction. Few people get married without wanting kids, and in fact I think a lot of couple choose marriage because they want children and don't want to procreate outside of marriage. I've heard a number of people ask why get married if you're not going to have kids? But some couples just want to be together for life, and share everything sans children. And those marriages charm me in different but equally nice ways.

Honestly, I can see the appeal, too. I think I would regret not having children. I want the joy and challenge of raising them. But I'm not a baby person. Oh, I like babies the way an average human being does. And babies born to people I care about give me a happy feeling. But I don't really respond to them the way I do to kids. Kids, I like. Hell, I feel like I'm on their wavelength sometimes. Kids and I tend to get along.

If I had to adopt in order to be a parent, I'd want to bypass the baby part. I think only my raging maternal post-delivery hormones could induce me to fall in love with and happily care for an infant. But a 3-year-old kid? That would be more my speed.

But here I am digressing from my weekend. McPal and his boyfriend's Halloween party was the very next day and I was the queen of hearts. I kinda spent a little more than usual on my costume this year and I lucked out when a makeup artist friend of mine offered to do my makeup. These two things won me the best costume prize! w00t! It's a big chocolate ball of happiness. When I'm feeling better, I'll dig in and gain 4.2 pounds.

The party itself was bitchin'. What a good time. I love people who dress up. Though I'm sick and don't want to go anywhere or do anything, I'm still kinda bummed it's over.

Ooh, the Dude is back. Time for some relief from my achy sufferings.

Me and the Dude at the party.
I hope I need not point out that is a mask.

Smokey the practice run

I think caring for Smokey sometimes gives me a taste of motherhood. He woke me up several hours early this morning insisting on being fed wet food. I know that's what he was angling for. It's the same bang-your-head-against-the-wall experience every time it's been introduced in this house. He goes bananarama for it, disregards all feeding schedules and every time you so much as shift in your seat, he thinks you're getting up to go to the kitchen to feed him.

Well, he's been on it for a week because of his oral surgery, but enough's enough. I'm out of it and I'm not getting anymore. A week of recovery should be enough, considering I'm still giving him his painkillers. This cat, man. I love him terribly and often I want to throw him out the window.

So he's back on dry food. He's eating it, and I'm not giving in to his whining. I look forward to someday again being able to open the fridge without him losing his shit over it.

So since I couldn't get back to sleep, I made use of my time and cleaned the apartment. As it turns out, I'm very motivated to do grunt work early in the morning. Who knew? I certainly didn't. I can never really get going on work-work until about 10 or so and then I can hit my stride, mostly because if I poke around anymore, I'll have a hard time finishing.

But somehow housework felt like procrastinating at my job, which spurned me on. Wild. Well, no, not really wild. Actually it's just a mediocre coincidence about something mundane. Such is life, and possibly another look into motherhood. Being a parent must really fill you with an incredible amount of love to be able to keep on doing it, because frankly sometimes when I get these whiffs of what it must be like, I start to re-appreciate my vacant uterus.

There is some sort of daycare of sorts a few houses down. I see them in their yard from my top floor deck occasionally. I found them super obnoxious. Not the children, the adults. I watched for awhile and realized everything they did was structured. What ever happened to free play in children? Why don't some adults realize that anything they have to offer in the world of play is pointless compared to what children learn and discover playing freely with other children?

It's like the cornerstone of learning how to connect with your peers. It's a lot of trial and error and roughhousing and conflict and imagination at work. Why take that away? It's so arrogant and unnecessary. It's like they have no faith in these kids to figure it all out. Or they think children should never be bored.

Boredom is awesome. It makes you entertain yourself. It gives you time to think and imagine and reflect. Some of the best time I had as a kid was the time I spent alone, devising my own games, working out my own thoughts, reading, teaching myself to draw. If kids are always being given directions and following instructions for how to play, how are they ever going to figure out who they are, what they really want, or how to relate to their peers on a deeper level?

For all the drudgery that is parenthood, I do look forward to being the kind of mother I'd want my child to have and to provide a childhood I think would be beneficial. Beyond the boring everyday tasks, I think actual parenting would be satisfying.

Lady of the Flies

The Dude and I can be very disorganized and lazy people. Such as getting groceries. We're out and we've been out for awhile. So we order in, and I eat candy for lunch. It's getting a little out of hand. I feel like I'm too old to be like this, and yet here we are.

I recently read an article about being a nerd in high school. It raised an interesting theory on why intelligence gets you so far in real life but not in high school. Basically, it's because high school is not real life, but a prison for teenagers to keep them occupied while grownups do their thing.

In one way I disagreed because I was wondering where getting an education played into all of this. But then I remembered the education I received in school and how little I retained and then I reconsidered the article's point. The only thing I'm using in my life now is my English classes. Mostly the grammar, and looking at today's kids, I guess I was pretty lucky to get any grammatical instruction.

Most of my real education has been from either college, my job or what I seek out myself in various areas of interest. And so many highly successful people have real world experience and did not need a formal education.

So why the constructs of high school, when it means so little? I mean, even once I was in college I looked back and was able to see how meaningless it all had been. In college I was essentially training for a career. In high school I was merely trying to get good grades and remember enough for tests so that I could go to college. It was a means to an end, and that was it.

I had my friends and then I had my real work, which was not school related. I drew. I would draw for hours a day, every day. I rarely did my homework, unless it had to be handed in to be graded. Unless I was getting marked on it, it took too much time away from what was more important to me. And even though I never became a paid artist of any kind, I look back on those years as well spent.

What does a teenager do when they don't have real work of their own to focus on? I think we've all witnessed the answer. They either vie for popularity, try to perfect their school performance, or say fuck it and experiment with drugs or some other such rebellion. All of these things lead to some level of misery. If not the cattiness of the popular crowd, then the shunning or harassment from them on the other end.

I wouldn't be a teenager again for anything. I'm a nerdy person. That didn't go over well in high school. It's doing lovely things for me now, but when I was 16, not so much. The article suggested that people who were popular cared less about being intelligent than well liked. I saw some truth to that. People skills are like anything else that requires a lot of time and effort to get good at. My best friend in high school could have been really popular if she wanted to, but she never bothered. Actually, she both dove into her school work and said fuck it at the same time. Either way, I think she shunned popularity before it started shunning her.

Me? Well, I was in the popular crowd in grades 6-8. Frankly, I'm not so sure how that even happened, considering how oddly I behaved. Then once high school started in grade 9, things went down hill. Being a little weird was a liability.

I got to thinking a bit about this when recently a young man tried to stop me while I was crossing the street. He pointed out to me that I walked funny with my toes out and that it would cause me problems. Well, seeing as I was made fun of for that very thing in school, I was well aware of that fact. And his comments would have been enough to greatly upset me back in the day. Now, with the world wide open and full of things that really matter, and people whose opinions I give a damn about?

Chilly response, cold shoulder and no eye contact.

The things I wish I'd known 10 years ago. But if nothing else, teenage prison builds character, or something like that. And it's not like surviving Lord Of The Flies, though I think that's really what the teachers are there for.

Inquiries

When you're 10, you blow your money on candy and comic books.
When you're 13, you blow your money on candy, comic books, slushies and magazines.
When you're 16, you blow your money on candy, slushies, movies, fast food, and clothes.
When you're 19, you blow your money on booze.
When you're 22, you blow your money on booze, clothes, restaurants, magazines and Starbucks.
When you're 27, you blow your money on kitchen supplies and home decor. And wine.

Which brings me to today, having just gotten home from dance class and a side trip to Kitchen Stuff Plus. I wasn't going to go there, but someone waved a delicious 25% off coupon in my face and suddenly I needed French onion soup bowls. While I was at it, I picked up some stuff to upgrade the sad state of the bathroom. And then all was well.

So I spent the weekend in my hometown yet again, this time for a baby shower. My cousin's wife, who I used to work with back in the day, is seven months pregnant. Back when I found out in November I was jazzed not only for their happiness, but I was sure this bought me some time before the relatives started poking their attention back into my uterus. Ohohoho. No.

"When's your turn?"
"When you take the throne..." (Throne?)
"When will we be seeing you with a belly?"

"When are you going to get pregnant?"
"Oh, I'm waiting till I'm married."
"You don't need to wait."
"Oh, I need to wait."
"Well, when are you getting married?"

"You only have till 30 because your risk of Down's syndrome babies go up." (I dispute this. Pretty sure it's after 35)

And so on in that fashion. Times are a changin' aren't they? Only 50 years ago living together before marriage was a big no-no. These days it's the rare family that are upset about it and no one else sees a scandal. Everyone's doing it. Getting your girlfriend pregnant used to mean you propose. Now? Maybe move in together, see how that goes, no point in marrying just 'cause you've made a baby. Now people are moving in, getting pregnant and figuring to hell with a marriage certificate. Common law status is like a new norm.

It's to the point now that even if you're unmarried, your family still wants you to get pregnant and wouldn't automatically think it must be an accident if you do.

In many ways, I like this relaxation. It's nice to have autonomy and not be bound by social conventions like marriage. It really shouldn't be other people's call if you live with your boyfriend without marrying him first. It makes marriage something you want to do, not something you have to do in order to have the romantic companionship.

But all the same, I'm still traditional enough that I'd prefer my loved ones not assume I'm going to make babies with someone other than my husband, and as I don't have one, I'd rather they not inquire about my future children and why they're not here yet. The reason to me is obvious. It's because I'm not married. And asking me why I'm not married is too private.

I suppose no woman my age is safe from these questions. Though really I think they should be bugging my nearly-40-year-old male cousin about his plans. Guy's still unmarried and keeps dating fertile-aged women to keep his options open. They probably would if only he'd come home more often. Probably keeps away on purpose. Sure would be fun to watch him be peppered with these inquiries.

PS, this is Glee awesomeness.

Reading Rainbow

Tomorrow I'm a lady of leisure. Spa day. I've been looking forward to this for a month. I got a gift certificate for a day at the spa for Valentine's Day and the earliest I could book a Sunday was tomorrow. I'm going to be rubbed, scrubbed and polished. Bliss.

The Dude and I went out on a "date" last night for Indian food and Shutter Island. The movie was pretty damn nifty. Not scary, but psychologically thrilling and the plot and character development was really good.

Between dinner and the movie, we went to Chapter's to browse children's books for a 3-year-old whose birthday is tomorrow. This little girl has a crush on the Dude and wanted to invite him to her birthday party. How can you say no to that? Well, you can't, and we discussed what sort of present to get her.

We settled on a book or two, because you can't go wrong with books for any child ever. I really believe this. Kids can have too many toys or clothes (though some don't have enough, but this child happily doesn't have that problem), but no kid on Earth can ever suffer from having too many books. There just is no such thing.

We perused the kids section of the bookstore and lingered over our childhood favourites. And unaccountably while reading The Giving Tree and The Velveteen Rabbit my eyes welled with tears. Mostly from happy memories of being read to, but also because of the genuine quality of feeling behind the stories.

And I felt the old tug from my uterus aching to have children to read to. And I took stock of all the books I'd read as a kid and had happy thoughts that someday when I become pregnant, my first trip will not be to the doctor, but to a children's bookstore.

I plan on giving my cousin's daughter Goodnight Moon for her first birthday, which is coming up Easter weekend. You just can't go wrong with books. The Dude settled on a collection of Little Mr and Little Miss books. Another classic selection.

Books I will read to my children:
Goodnight Moon
The Giving Tree
The Velveteen Rabbit
The Little Prince
The Bearnstein Bears
The Little Mr and Little Miss books
Where The Wild Things Are
Beatrix Potter
The Little House books
Curious George
Madeline
Robert Munch

Coddled

A couple evenings ago I watched a show on Doc Zone called Hyper Parents & Coddled Kids. Nothing new there. Look around and you'll see spoiled brats everywhere. They show up late, don't pay their dues, are rude and obnoxious to strangers and blast their music in public, careless of whoever else has to hear it. I made a point to watch this show because it's a current and longstanding frustration of mine.

Interesting thing is I was raised with this generation. Somewhere around the early '80s with the self esteem movement is when the awfulness began. And I'm thinking it must have gotten progressively worse as more and more parents have tried to one-up each other in scheduling their child and fixing their problems. I mean, I got a trophy just for showing up to softball. There was self esteem biznass in elementary school. But my mom also let me reap the consequences of my own actions pretty much all the time. I was born in '82.

I grew up with kids being punished, held back and moved forward in grades according to their abilities, failed tests, awards for achievement and discipline in schools for laziness and rudeness. Parents left their kids in the car for a few minutes at the corner store. Kids took the school bus and waited outside for it and it drove away if you weren't there.

All the kids I know minus one or two had one activity, not three or four. Out of my school friends, one did gymnastics, another did figure skating. I took piano lessons. In the summer we played softball. I knew a couple boys took guitar. And then for the rest there were school sports-- which you had to try out for. I never made a team, though I tried.

The kids who I really think have been ruined were born a little later than that, maybe about four or five years later. I first noticed it in high school in my OAC year (That's the old grade 13 for you non-Ontario people). The school was flooded with grade nines, as usual. But this batch was different. They were noisier. They were more obnoxious. They had no regard for seniority.

They did things that my year wouldn't have dreamed of when we were in grade nine. They mouthed off to senior students, blocked them in the hallways, and generally behaved like they owned the place. People were talking about how entitled they were. I didn't know at the time that they were a taste of the new narcissists that had been reared into the world.

Now I'm 27 and high schoolers are ludicrous. And sure, there must be some sort of generation gap... but really? 10 years a generation does not make. I'm not so sure it's a gap. I'm still quite young, not in my 70s and reliving the good old days when people had respect. Frig, people have probably never had respect.

But you hear it all the time. Parents calling the schools to solve their children's problems. I go to belly dance with a swim instructor who can no longer fail children. Yeah. What? I so got my ass handed back to me in Maroon. They failed me and I took it, my mom took it and that was that. Obviously I was not ready to advance. Know what they do now? They changed the system to more levels and if a child can't meet all the requirements, they're labelled "weak swimmer" and moved on. According to the swim instructor, failing the children is not worth what the parents put you through. Like little Timmy won't get into Dartmouth if he fails swim class when he's 8 years old.

When I played softball at 8 years old, we kept score. This is considered in some circles to be too harsh. When I graduated elementary, one award was given to the best overall student. These days all children get a medal or none do. What's wrong with competition? I'm pretty sure these now 20-year-olds are going through life thinking they're pretty awesome without any actual proof.

Another good book to read about this topic is Pregnant Pause. I found the author occasionally obnoxious and judgemental (what does she care if a woman wants a home birth? The stats say it's not dangerous, if you actually read them), but in many other ways she totally hits the mark on what's wrong with raising children in today's world: other parents. She chronicles the BS names her friends and contemporaries are naming their kids, the lax attitudes towards discipline, the fear of the word "no" and the hyper maniacal scheduling and anxiety.

You know, I want children. I really do. And more over, I think more sensible people need to be breeding.

Sex Ed

My job is so strange sometimes. Last week I learned what the euphemism for "tossing a salad" meant. Today I learned how to behave if I encounter a wild bear. Quite a variety of channels at play here. I do so enjoy what I do. Most days anyway.

I bought the new Freakonomics book, SuperFreakonomics, yesterday and it's already as fun and interesting as the first one. I've already finished the chapter on how a prostitute is like a department store Santa. I love books like that, out of the box thinking type books that buck conventional wisdom in favour of a complex yet simplified look at stats and figures.

I want more quiche. This means I will have to make more quiche, as vain though it may be to say it, my quiche that I made this past weekend was the best I've had in my life. In a way, it's probably good I'm a wee lazy in kitchen matters, because that quiche was also loaded in fat. Lots of protein, though. But lots of fat.

I still want another one.

I read an article today that spoke to me about sex ed in schools. I remember my sexual education via the Catholic school system over 10 years ago: Here are the mechanics. Here are the undesirable consequences. DON'T DO IT!!!1! Jesus! Throw in a video of a woman giving birth with some closeups of the crowning head and you're done.

The article was about pleasure-based sex ed, letting girls in particular know that it's supposed to feel good. I can speak for myself that no one ever told me that, and had I known it was supposed to be enjoyable, I don't think I would have allowed certain things to pass when I was a teen. My first boyfriend at 16 would have been dumped promptly for being so inept with his fingers.

I don't think abstinence education makes any sense. Telling people not to do something isn't education. It's issuing orders you don't have the authority to enforce. Parents don't even have the authority to enforce abstinence, not really. A person's sexual autonomy (and age of legal consent) occurs before the age of 18 and there's little that can be done to prevent it.

There's also the creepy idea that teenagers are children. They're not. Teenagers are sexual. Children are not. Teens have pubic hair, sexual urges, developed sex characteristics and an ability to procreate. Children have none of these things. So teens hence are not children. They have differing needs, one of which is a need of information about their sexuality, the type of information that will enable them to act safely in their choices.

I suppose it's hard for parents to be objective about their kids, whom they've diapered and kissed away their boo-boos and taught to ride a bike. I imagine it's hard to acknowledge that your child is not physically a child any longer and has sexual urges and a body that can and wants to act on them. And being unable to view your offspring as sexual may further incline a person to wish to prevent them from having a sex life. It probably feels creepy to even think about.

But that's just not realistic. Parents have a lot of say over what their teen does, but it stops at being able to direct the course of their sex lives. If a teen isn't going to learn from their parents about all things sex, someone's got to tell them, you know, before they get pregnant and infected. As for preventing them from having sex in the first place, if they're not making babies or passing along disease or putting themselves at risk with god knows who, I couldn't be bothered what consenting people do with other consenting people.

One of a kind

Today I am going to the One-Of-A-Kind Craft Show. Score! I've been once before, and I've always wanted to go back. Things I'm hoping to find are gifts for two aunts and possibly some original Christmas cards.

I've been wanting, actually craving to make my own cards this year, but honestly I have no idea how to go about it without winding up with something akin to the type of macaroni on paper shit I made when I was seven. Where do you start? Scissors, glue, paper, envelopes that are pre-made to fit the size of cards you want to make... glitter? Pretty paper? I really have no idea.

I want to make it more Christmas-like around here. I have all of one decoration that I've never taken out of the box. The Dude has found our tree. You can buy it at Urban Outfitters for $20. So there's a plan. I've tried to send out Christmas cards in past years and this time I really want to kick it up a notch.

It's so easy to let it slide, and resort to grabbing a few gifts for those who you're closest to, make travel arrangements and call it a night. I want to feel the season and the spirit of the holiday. The more I think about it, the more important it is to break up the year, which is full of responsibilities, the job, housework, and so on.

I also think a few years ahead when I likely will have children. I don't want Christmas to begin and end with whether or not there are kids present. The Dude feels strongly about that sort of thing, and living vicariously through his nieces and nephews as they get excited about Santa. Me, not so much. Granted, it's sweet and endearing and there's nothing like a wee child putting out milk and cookies before bed, but I don't want the season to be just about whether or not there are kids to make it a valid holiday celebration.

I want the season to be about togetherness, and about the family you do have. I don't have much in the way of an immediate family, and that's something that grieves me. I have my brother, and I wouldn't trade him, but he's in another city and a man of few words. I'm more than blessed in the extended family arena, though. And so that's what Christmas means to me, being with those people who I don't see often enough and counting myself lucky to have them.

And so today is the first day for me where I am going to begin my ascent into the Christmas spirit. Someday I'll have children for whom I'll shop for toys. Until then, I'm enjoying a more adult version of the season. This, of course, shall include alcohol, festively served and loudly appreciated.

Baptismo

I'm trying to get the time off to go to my hometown this month. My cousin is having her new daughter baptized in a couple weeks. So far I've not heard a peep about whether or not I'll be able to go.

I'm pretty jazzed to see the new addition to the family. Out of about 11 grandkids, she's the only one who's procreated, and only one of two who've gotten married. The oldest of us is almost 40 and the youngest is 24. And that 24-year-old up until recently was the youngest member of the family. We're not the most prolific bunch.

Other than my cousin the new mom, I'm the only female on this side. Now, the aunts have teased the eldest cousin, a dude who's pushing 40 and likes to date 'em young, about settling down, but other than his mother, there's not a lot of concern there. He's a man. He has time.

I find there's a lot more concern directed at me about my future family planning. It's not an overwhelming thing, just a slow steady drumbeat of inquiry and questions about my marital plans in the future. This is part of what being a woman is: Fielding questions about the potential for new life.

The Dude's father cautioned him to hold his horses, get settled and secure first. And that's father-son stuff right there. Be a man, provide, offer stability. What women-to-women conversations usually involve is when are you planning to get married? When do you think you'll have kids? I'd feel bad about it, except I understand where it's coming from. It's my uterus, after all.

I wonder what my mom would be telling me. I don't have anyone suggesting I ought to have kids now or be married, only inquiries about when it can be expected. My mom, though, I think she'd have a more invested opinion. She waited. She was almost 32 when she had me. But she also married the wrong man. So who knows.

I like to think she'd be advising me to do exactly what I'm doing: waiting, working, enjoying myself. My cousin is in her 30s for her first. You know, it's entirely possible that she'll have two before I have one. And I'm totally okay with that.

Halloween

Last night I went to McPal's Halloween/birthday party. I was a bee, looking predictably cute-and-not-sexy as I normally do in slutty costumes. Sometimes I wonder how far I can push it, as when you don't have boobage, you can get away with a lot.

The Dude went as an insomniac and spent the evening coming up with back-stories: Kid from Nightmare on Elm street trying to stay awake, first stage of zombie infection, strung out on heroin, Christian Bale in the Machinist, etc... Next year we'll be more organized, though it was fun doing up his face with makeup. When I was done it looked like he'd never slept a day in his life.

I was thinking about the holidays and how some lose their magic when you're no longer a kid. Easter and Christmas being the big two. However, Halloween progressively gets more awesome. This is partly due to having total say in your costume.

When I was young, I wanted to be a genie or a harem girl. I thought they were pretty and had no problem with showing my stomach. Why would I? It was pre-puberty years so the thing was not on my radar and in any case it was flat as my 10-year-old chest. But that was a no-go. My mother was not the type of mom who allowed her "tween" daughter to sexualize herself. A lot of moms these days have no beef with their girls buying thongs and such, but I suppose the early '90s were a more decent time? Sounds ridiculous, but it's true looking back.

Anyhow, on top of modest costumes, being Canadian, trick or treating meant either wearing your snowsuit underneath or over top of your outfit. This one kid from California was in the neighbourhood for Halloween one year and was planning on going out in his T-shirt. We all laughed at him. He learned the hard way that night when he had to go home early.

Once in grade three, I was allowed to wear only a heavy sweater under my angel costume. I came down with pneumonia that year and was out of school for a month. Yeah. It's gotten warmer, though, these years and I haven't seen the snowsuits (or the snow) on Halloween for a long time.

Another reason Halloween has gotten awesome is having your own money, which means buying your own candy of your choosing without having to trick-or-treat for it. It also means having your own place, so partying at your leisure with booze and letting loose. Of course if you have your parents on Facebook and some indiscriminate friends, you may still be in for an earful, but otherwise it's awesomeness.

Finally, adult costumes are the shit. Between better craftsmanship, stronger creativity or plunking down the money on something bitchin', costume parties yield better results. Halloween is truly better when you're grown up.

I have some friends on Facebook who are new parents. The focus was naturally on their children's costumes. And that's to be expected. But it seems to be a circle of life thing, when you're old enough to finally do exactly as you please, you procreate and try to do what your kids want, while preventing them from doing it totally their way. Think I'm going to hang on to my freedom a little longer. There's more fun to be had.

Later

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
I went to London and ate like a pig.
Now I am back, the cats gave no flack
And the Dude's toothache is big.

Heh.

Yes, the Dude has a toothache. He's soaking in the tub with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, absorbing some codeine and generally feeling miserable. Poor soul.

Our Thanksgiving at his brother's house was nice. They made a large dinner and it was great. I ate a quarter of a Mississippi mud pie. I didn't realize it was a whole quarter because I was drunk on wine.

They have a toddler, and one on the way. The little girl is a sweetpea and the Dude loves her to bits. She was sick and a little grumpy, but a good child all the same. And as I get whenever I've spent time with small children, I question whether or not I want them. I still don't know. But I do know the Dude does. That becomes more and more apparent all the time, particularly after he's hung out with his nieces and nephews.

I still want to go to Italy. I want to write and learn things. I'm not naive. Having a child would put almost everything on hold for years. Especially since I'm a type B sort of lump. I'm not a high-energy person. I'm neither efficient or terribly productive most days. I also don't drive. I'd be a TTC mom.

So the internal dialogue goes on. I'm 27 soon. It's not an urgent question, but no longer one I can wave off until an indeterminable "later". It's funny. My clock started ticking last year, and now it's quiet again. How odd.

Gray skies are going to clear up, with red hair colouring

Like I mentioned earlier, the Dude found a gray hair or four on me not long ago. I think this was in retaliation for me finding a small collection of grays on him first. But whatever his motives, evil though they may be, they were there. I've started to go gray. This is ridiculous.

I colour my hair somewhat regularly, so A. I'll be covering it up anyway, and B. it's no wonder it's escaped my notice. Except right after he found the last one, I went to the bathroom and found one right in front of me, just hanging out, all gray and shit, not a care in the world. I'm 26! WTF! And of course I reflected I was almost 27 and I could envision an older me.

There were a few things I thought of that shame me when I saw those gray hairs. One, I'm not married. I'm going gray and I'm in my 20s and I'm unmarried. Two, I have not had children. I'm becoming a white-haired old lady and my uterus is still in factory mint condition.

These were passing thoughts, but damn if they didn't shoot into my head. I don't think this happens to men. They don't have "best-before" dates the way women walk around feeling like they have.

It made me think of some Discovery Channel specials on sex and attraction and how hair was an indicator of health and youth. So my hair is supposed to advertise my fertility and such. Well, it's failing! I mean, come on.

But on the flip side, beyond my hair turning on me and signalling the beginning of the end of times for my womb, I've been wondering if I even want kids. The Dude says it's my call because he could go either way. He doesn't feel any looming timeline and he is unconcerned. But I do have to decide. I wouldn't want to experience pregnancy in my late 30s. The recovery is supposed to be ass as you get older, and the toll it takes on your body is supposed to be worse. I'd also want to space them out, because caring for two small diapered kids is my idea of hell.

I don't really have parents to make happy or unhappy with grandchildren. I like sleeping in. I enjoy travel. I don't drive.

At the ovarian cancer walk, I saw a lot of moms. Tons. I overheard some of them talking and I watched them interact with their kids. It hit me that I find most of them terribly boring. Is this what happens? Do children make you boring? Or is it that a lot of boring people have kids? Is it because a lot of women lack a sense of self and then find identity in their kids and families? Occasionally do I encounter a mother (with kids at home) who I think is vibrant and interesting, in and of herself. They're out there, and they fill me with relief. Why aren't there more of them? Why are the majority mombies (zombie mommies)?

And this is the chain of thoughts spawned by a few gray hairs. Life is funny.