Tale of the Tape: Canada by the Numbers

For those who have never head the pleasure of driving from Chicago to Toronto-ish and back, you should know that it is an extraordinarily boring drive that consists mostly of long stretches of farmland nothingness and abandoned industrial wasteland. Also, Indiana. Car rides with Bruce are routinely boring as well as long as you discount his driving. He doesn't talk much, just stares ahead, occasionally picking at his fingers and likely thinking about ways he could destroy every other car on the road if it were allowed. During our non-radio having Echo days, I developed a coping method (for both the boredom and the driving) of entertaining myself entirely in my head in the nerdiest way possible. With math. I count things. I calculate driving times based on the distance signs posted along the highway. I calculate alternate routes. And in Canada, I mentally convert kilometers to miles and back. In honor of this, I have decided to commemorate our Christmas trip to Bruce's sister's house with a thorough accounting of the visit.

• Approximate distance between Chicago, IL and Cambridge, ON: 465 miles or 748.35 km

• State/provincial cops busting speeders on the highway: 6 (five Michigan, one Ontario)

• Heart stoppingly terrifying massive lake effect snowstorms on the way home: 1

• Roadside deer carcasses along the median in Michigan: 9 up, 8 down. Up wins except #8 down was not exactly deer shaped. It might have been boar or small bear so in that case, down wins.

• Handmade notes crafted by Bruce's niece: Countless

• Times my father-in-law said "Lord love a duck!": 4. Incidentally this is the mildest form of cussing known to mankind. There are Sunday School teachers out there who are comfortable using stronger language than this. The man was in the MILITARY for god's sake.

• Books about whole animal butchery that I received as a gift from my husband: 1

• Decidedly American themed Canadian chain restaurants: 3, East Side Mario's (New York), Boston Pizza (duh) and Shoeless Joe's (Chicago).

• Items of Team Canada Olympic apparel purchased for Calder: Five, one two-piece set, two t-shirt and a baseball cap.

• Teeeeeeeny tiny hockey skates acquired: One pair

• Time spent waiting for said skates to be sharpened: Forever.

• Awkward conversations about how Calder should refer to my in-laws sin Grandma and Grandpa are already apparently taken. My F-i-L was gunning for Pépère, pronounced like saying pepper with a really exaggerated French accent. M-i-L vetoed that as dumb and we settles on Papa and Grammy. I still don't think you can force these things.

• Times I offered to leave Elby in Canada with Bruce sister: Somewhere between 5 and 10

• Calder's viewings of Ice Age 3 on the way home: 4.5

• Presents brought home from Canada for Calder: Way too many

• Presents left in Canada for Bruce's family: Not enough

• Time spent trying to find places for all Calder's new stuff (from both sides): Ongoing

• Gratitude upon our return home from the cats: None

• Time spent trying to cross the damn border: 40 minutes up, an 1.5 hours down. Up could have been longer than it was due to Calder answering "yes" to every question the border guard asked us about carrying various item of contraband. Thankfully she thought he was adorable and let us pass without a full-car search.

• Calder's average bedtime: 10:30 pm. I choose to blame this on the time zone change.

• Occasions where I forgot about the time change and said something very dumb based on t eh CST time shown on the car and computer clocks: 4

• Holiday cheer had by all: Immeasurable

• Times I wish I had written this post down as I composed in in my head on the way home since I immediately forgot what I had planned on writing and thus it took me a week to get it out. Just. Once, dammit.

And that is that. Well, I am sure there was more eloquent prose in my head but it is gone now, left somewhere in Southwestern Michigan where it was replaced by abject terror and the fear of dying without having first cleaned my apartment. Suffice it to say, Christmas was really enjoyable and it's great that Calder got to spend some time with family that he rarely sees. (Seriously, why is no one related to us willing to fly?) It was also nice to take a trip without there being a hockey tournament involved. I think this is my favorite winter with Bruce yet.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!. Now Pass the Presents!

Merry Christmas to yo and yours from Calder and all. his. new. stuff. Next year, I am asking Santa for a much larger apartment. Or a second one. Maybe Santa can buy out the downstairs neighbors. For the holiday we are in the Frozen North, visiting the Canadian half of the family. While we are pretty north, it's not particularly frozen here. In fact, it's raining. I don't know about you but I'm dreaming of a DRY Christmas just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Insert Clever Title Here

And now for the final part of Calder's duos annus natalis round-up: medical stats. The two-year doctor appointment actually took place while Calder was still one but YOU try scheduling a doctor visit for the week of Christmas. Dr. Merens checked the boy out and declared him in good health. She even claimed his ears were in the best condition she had yet to see them. Head, weight and height are all doing well and actually while his weight is still at a middle-of-the-pack 66th percentile 28 lbs, he has shot up like a crazy person and is now 36 inches, putting him at greater than the 97th percentile for height which is a first for Calder. These stats combined with a sincere fondness for cereal makes me wonder if we are going to have another Beaner (My brother, the bean pole, don't ya know. Not a slur. Trust.) on our hands.

What Dr. Merens just could not get over though was Calder's mad verbal skillz. She was amazed as he named all the cool stuff around the office. After remarking on how this was really a surprise due to his prior and frequent battles with ear infections, she asked me if I though he knew 50 words. I wanted to be like, "Lady, this is him being shy. Boyfriend can name fifty ANIMALS. And that's not including individual dinosaurs." Of course I did not say that because I am only a total ass in my mind (most of the time) and probably said something along the lines of "Sure, but it's been a while since I counted?" since that is also true. This was said with a question mark because according to the internets if I do not know these things I AM A BAD MOMMY.

Do people really have these lists for their children? I mean once they start talking ALL THE TIME. Like after the varnish of novelty has worn off, are there parents out there cataloguing ever new turn of phrase that pops out of Junior's mouth?

"Awwww, that was a new one." Writing: "Go to hell, Mom" Age 13.

This seems like a waste of time to me. Yes, we want to record major achievements and developmental milestones for posterity but dithering over ever. single. syllable. that he emits seems like petty Mommy-superiority-competition type stuff and I am not interested in that. It's a good thing I don't hang out that much with other toddler parents because I would likely prematurely end any "Timmy learned how to say 'post transcendentalism' today" conversation with a true Massholian, "Eh, my child is wickedfuckinsmaht" and end up getting kicked out of Gymboree or whatever. While Calder may miss having age appropriate companionship outside of daycare, in terms of his learning social graces and whatnot, it's probably for the best.

Grand Old Party

We had Calder's birthday party on Saturday and I have decided that it was a rousing success. The cake came out ok, Calder liked all his presents and he didn't pop too many of the balloons. We even managed to have another actual kid or three attend to add some legitimacy to it as a child's birthday party as opposed to a Mommy's friends came over and drank beer and watched football party.

Having other kids there posed one problem which I had not previously anticipated, Calder being wholly unprepared to have someone come over and want to touch HIS toys. Poor Gavin showed up with his parents and naturally made an immediate bee-line to Calder's fully loaded play area. How did Calder react? Not well. With hiccuping sobs and wails of "Muh! hah! me!... Tuh! oy! ssssssss!" Calder would snatch away whatever item little Gav laid his chubby hands on. Poor kid just stood there in shock as plaything after plaything was snatched from his grasp. We tried to make Calder play nice but hey, they're two and two-year-olds are consummate assholes. Plus it's not like Gavin wasn't guilty of the same histrionics himself last weekend at his own party. So while this picture may look like two little boys having fun, it's actually capturing a moment where Gavin wants to play with the hockey stuff and Calder wants to beat him senseless with a stick for having the temerity to invade his personal fun sanctuary.

Because I am an overachiever who hates myself I made all the food, including the cake. I must say, this looks better than 100% of the stuff featured on Cake Wrecks so I consider that a bullet dodged.

After a while the kids from downstairs showed up and due to their overwhelming enthusiasm for chaos we are able to negotiate a truce between the two toddlers. Gavin fell in love with the train table and Calder engaged in a ferocious balloon war and everyone was happy.

After the kids stopped trying to kill each other in earnest, it seemed like a good time for presents. Also, Calder and Ian had already started so we all just had to catch up. This took a while. A looooong while. We tried to skype all this momentous fun for US Grandma but failed miserably. Maybe for his next birthday Grandma can skip the clothes and books and buy herself a plane ticket.

And then we got ready for cake. There were many pictures taken. Some where I look like a fat ass. I am not narrating all of them.

Fat ass---------------------^

Cake.

Mmmm, cake.

MILLLLLLLLLK!

Smiling again. I swear. Find out for yourself, ask Calder to say "cheese!" next time you see him. Also ask him about his presents if you have time for a lengthy discussion on the benefits of various plastic dinosaurs.

A Day at the Museum

Among the many dinosaur themed movies currently in rotation at my house (Ice Age 3, Dinosaur, Land Before Time, Ice Age 3, Walking with Dinosaurs, Ice Age 3) is one that may come as a bit of a surprise to people. It's surprising in that it isn't animated or doesn't even really feature than many dinosaurs. Actually, it only has one dinosaur and that dinosaur is an inanimate skeleton for much of the movie. And for the rest of the movie? Well, If you haven't seen Night at the Museum yet I don't want to ruin it for you but let's just say between this and maybe an accidental screening of Jurassic Park or two, Calder may be getting some very confused notions as to the current status of dinosaurs in the world. So for part of Calder's birthday weekend extravaganza (mine was so fun, I decided he deserved the same insane treatment), Calder and I went to the Field Museum of Natural History, the go-to location for dinosaurs in the city of Chicago and not so coincidentally one of my favorite places in the whole world.

I knew at the very least Calder would get some enjoyment from the dinosaur bones but when you throw in the endless maze of taxidermied wonders and the existence of an in-house McDonald's*, that equals "I love Mommy best forever" status.

As soon as I managed to drag Calder and his stroller up the eleventy billion steps of the Museum's main entrance, we headed straight to the dino exhibit. Too bad it's buried within a whole damn history of evolution feature because let me tell you, toddlers do not give one shit about trilobites. For serious. Once we got to t he actual dino bones part of the exhibit, Calder was alternately elated and terrified. Although the T-Rex in the lobby, Sue, gave him an idea of the scale of what we were going to be dealing with, I don't think he was quite mentally prepared for the massiveness of the Apatosaurus and how frightening a Triceratops skull can be.

I managed to finally convince Calder that none of these skeletons were going to spring to life and demand a game of fetch. At least, I think so since he eventually stopped slinking along the walls at the edges of the display. He was particularly pleased to be able to touch one of the bones, a large leg bone that they have set out just for that purpose.

So pleased, in fact, that he hugged it. He also spent all Monday telling people at day care about the bones. "Teewex bones. Touch bones. Tri-tops bones roooooar!"

Calder thought this wall was like those interactive light wall thingies we have seen at a few children's museums and, oddly enough, at the airport. He still liked looking at it once he realized nothing was going to move around no matter how much jumping and thrashing he did in its general direction.


After a brief visit back to Sue and a trip to the good ol' McD's, we headed over into the giant-ass taxidermy exhibit. I don't know from whence they all came, but the Field sure has an extraordinarily large amount of dead animals in it's possession. I counted no less than four and a half rhinos and around one million antelopes of various flavors. Calder liked them all, not sure if he realized they were all dead though.This was his favorite part of his fist Field- trip a year or so ago in the time that I like to think of as BDO (Before Dinosaur Obsession). The boy started to get fed up somewhere around the birds of North America and demanded to be returned to the dinosaur bones.

Once again we blew past the fern imprints and the trilobites (poor guys, they get no love) and headed straight to the good stuff. This time Calder stopped being afraid and started exploring all that the exhibit had to offer. This mainly involved going around and pushing buttons that would tell you how to pronounce the long-ass names of the fossils on display. After his pushing the button some 30-odd times I can now finally say Parasaurolophus correctly on the first try.

This is a dinosaur foot print. And a smile. No seriously, it's a smile.

This is a Mammoth that Calder had me take a picture of so he could look at it later. Along with dinosaurs, Calder likes "mammiffs" quite a bit so I bought him one to go with bunch of plastic dinos that he got for his birthday. He has pretty much carried that badboy around with him ever since. I swear he uses it to act out Ice Age 3 when we refuse to put it on for him. Shortly after the mammoth Calder fell asleep in his stroller, permitting me to go look at the boring anthropology-related stuff like broken clay pots and sparkly, sparkly gems.

I was kind of glad he fell asleep for this part because among the broken pots are a good many bronzes of people from various world cultures, many of which have a non-Western style of dress. Now I am no prude and am not in any way trying to shield my son from the realities of the human body, but the upper gallery is very echo-y which allows a two-year-old's repeated shouts of "Boobs! BOOOOOOBS!" to be amplified and therefore heard by everyone in the relatively empty museum.

*Calder is mildly obsessed with McDonald's. There is one near us with one of those GIGANTIC indoor PlayPlaces that Calder points out all the time yet we have never been to it. In fact, Calder has eaten at McDonald's only a handful of times, pretty much only when we are at an airport of highway rest stop. Since, we, as a family rarely frequent these locations, I have no idea how Calder even knows what McDonald's is.

Happy Birthday Calder!

My how the boy has changed! Happy second birthday to my favorite person ever named after a trophy! I can't wait to see what you have yet to come up with in life.

Little Things

One of the best things about having a nearly two-year-old... he has no idea your original flavor xbox is ridiculously and embarrassingly outdated.

My New Favorite Thing Ever

Is this child safety warning on the new storage tubs I purchased today. Like, I mean, it's inspired.

How to Decorate the Sh*t Out of Your Christmas Tree

If you've been paying attention, you are aware that I take my Christmas Tree very seriously. This is true. I am OBSESSED with Christmas Trees to a degree that is perhaps bordering on some sort of pathology. This should not come as a shock to anyone who has ever met the female members of my immediate family. Between us, we probably own enough ornaments to sink a warship but instead we settle for decorating the shit out of our Christmas Tree(s). (Yes, there are some who have more than one. I am not allowed this privilege. Yet). In this situation however, quantity has got nothing on quality. To me, there are two ways to decorate a Christmas Tree: the wrong way and the right (my) way. Now, I cannot claim the other members of my family will back me on this assertion since verbally acknowledging this level of fanaticism would lead us all down a dismal path of self examination and likely commitment to one of the finer mental health institutions in our respective locales. However, if you ever wanted to have a Christmas Tree that would cause everyone who looked upon its gloriousness to cast their eyes downward in reverence, you should shut the hell up and take a listen for a minute.

Step One: The Tree
A. Get the biggest fucking tree that will fit in your living quarters. I don't care if you have to cut a hole in the landing or take the back door off its hinges to get it inside. You will not get desired level of shock and awe with a puny tree. You will get pity. And then the dog will take the decorations off of his house and magically use them to add thousands of needles to your otherwise pitiful pine. Don't make the dog undecorate! He has Christmas in his heart too, you know.

B. Real trees are imperative. Only they convey that extra authenticity of the olden-tymes when Jesus and his disciples all gathered around some woody perennial to celebrate his birthday with eggnog and familial resentment. Plus, you cannot beat that fresh pine scent for inducing seizure-like levels of Christmas-y cheer. Fake trees are only acceptable in extreme cases such as severe allergies or an infirmity that precludes one from purchasing a real tree and decorating it with the appropriate deference to its magnificence such as being eight months pregnant and there is no goddamn way you are going to hang 10 strands of lights on this goddamn thing and you know your husband won't do it correctly. So, if you must get a fake tree, buy nicest, most expensive (don't forget biggest!) one you can afford because you may be using for years to come. Seriously, have you SEEN those sad trees at Home Depot lately? Pre-lit it also an utmost necessity especially in cases of the aforementioned infirmity and/or husbandly ineptitude.



Step Two: Lights
A. Lights are a must, a necessity, a prerequisite for a properly adorned Christmas Tree. Lights must be white or clear. They must not blink but they may twinkle. What of colored lights, you say? They are fine as long as you don't mind having something as garish as a Times Square hooker camped out in your living room. Painted Ladies are all well and good for San Francisco but they have no place in the Yule Time celebrations.

B. It is imperative to make sure that you use as many strings as allowed by your local fire code. The various strands of lights must not be hung up haphazardly. That would be quite unseemly. Rather the lights should be well integrated into the tree. Start with wrapping a string or two around the trunk up the length of the tree. Then, working from the bottom, add lights to the branches making sure each branch has at least a third of a string to itself. When you have finished this your tree should appear as though it is inhabited by a feral colony of pixies. This is the look you should be going for.


Step Three: Ornaments
A. Base Layer. The base layer serves to give the finished tree some visual depth. It should consist of relatively plain ornaments, I use multi-colored glass balls in two different sizes. These are to be hung on the inside. The base layer compensates for an otherwise scrawny tree or in the case of a fake tree, the fact that the needles stop halfway down the branches.

B. Feature Layer. These are your big guns, the nice ornaments that you paid a lot of money for like Hallmark Keepsakes, Victorian blown-glass finials or ones you have collected on your travels. This is also the time to use all those hokey ones you/your children made in church/school/Girl Scouts ere long ago. However, I strongly caution you: Do not use too many of these homemade charmers. Let's be honest, that pile of popsicle sticks with one brownish cotton ball glued onto it may mean a great deal to you but it is pretty heinous. Sentimentality is for people with ugly trees. The featured ornaments can be hung anywhere on the tree, reserving the most expensive or breakable ones for the top if you live with children/pets/oafish husbands. The can hang on the ends of branches or even a little bit further in if you can still get a clear sight line to it. And that brown cotton ball thing? That goes on the back.

C. Cohesive layer. The final layer. These can be the ornaments you buy in bulk from the grocery store if you like. Try to stick to two or three colors. Distribute the cohesive layer evenly throughout the tree, trying to hit any prominent branches that have been left empty. The point here is to bring all the diverse ornaments of the featured layer together so the Christmas Tree doesn't look like it has been adorned by a paper bag-full of blind, angry voles. I advise two or three colors here because the idea is to bring the look together, NOT be a monochromatic Martha Stewart Collections nightmare. A Christmas Tree is a representation of one's personality. What do you want your tree to say about you, that you are very shimmery blue?


Step Four: Optional Accouterments
These decisions I leave entirely in your now capable hands: Tree skirt vs. nice tree stand. Tinsel, garlands, beads. Go sparkly or go home. A thick application of sparkle can hide even the greatest of Christmas Tree flaws.


I hope all reading this know me well enough to understand that I am full of crap. Have I decorated like this in years past? Hell yes. I pride myself on the fact that the three people who have tried to help me do this since college graduation have either quit in frustration or have been fired for prime suckage. Do I decorate my tree like this now that I have a toddler at home. Fcuk no. Are you crazy? First off I have a fake tree. If you spent the money I did on a fake tree while eight months pregnant and insane you would use it as long as you could too. And this year I really let my standards slip. I very nearly didn't add all those ornaments you see about there, that's almost my entire cohesive layer.


It's a good thing I did finally put those one because really, this christmas tree is practically naked. It doesn't even deserve capital letters.


I still didn't hang the 48 glass balls in that white box there since that much glass on the tree just seemed like an invitation for disaster. Calder's already broken three ornaments, nothing important yet but give him time.


Muuuuuuch better. Still 48 shy of near perfection and my angel is goddamn ugly but what else can I do? All my pocket change goes towards ornaments and diapers and the bulk of my free time is spent extracting various things from the toilet. So there. Now you know how to have the best fucking Christmas Tree on the block. All your friends will have a look of envy in their eyes next time they come over. Envy. Or possible concern that you have finally snapped but who's to say really?

I Had a Dream

That one day, I would have a guest bedroom and last week, that dream came true. Sort of. No, I did not move into a real house with actual guest bedrooms or anything. Instead, I finally managed to convince Bruce to work with what we already had and now I have a guest bed in the office. Therefore I now have a guest bedroom.

But wait!, you say. You have always had that extra bed. True, but it has been utterly and stupidly useless due to its inconvenient location right next to Calder's crib. That's not a particularly viable hosting option. "Welcome to our home. I hope your long trip was enjoyable. Please put your bags here next to the baby. Hopefully he doesn't wake up at 3 am again tonight." Yeah. No wonder no one visits us. Additionally, that bed needed to be extracted from Calder's room due to the appearance of the previously mentioned train table that was due to arrive from Grandma's. True it was a birthday present and we should have probably waited until his actual birthday to give it to him but having those large, heavy, flat boxes propped up again the hallway walls was just asking for Calder to pull them over on himself. The full length mirror last weekend was more than enough for my jangled mother nerves to bear.*

So now, if you ever come to visit for a few days or are just too drunk to drive home that night, you don't have to sleep on the couch anymore. Luxurious, isn't it? I really like the naked mattress with bed skirt look. I don't plan on making the bed until guests are imminent because of Elby's predilection for bleeding all over my damn linens. But trust, if you show up there will be sheets. Possibly clean ones. There is even a door to close if you don't want the cats all sleeping up on your face at night. Hell, I might start sleeping out here.

And Calder now has his train table in his room so all of Choo Choo Thomas and his friends are no longer camped out on my living room floor. I also put the Duplos in the table storage so now this combined with the Great Baby Toy Purge of Late 2009**, means I almost nearly have an adult looking living room as the crap flow from Calder's play area has been greatly staunched.




*True story. Last weekend Calder pulled the free-standing full-length mirror over on top of himself. He emerged without one sing scratch. I on the other hand have been pulling shards of glass out of my feet and ass (It was right next to my side of the bed) for a week. I also have no Idea what I look like from the shoulders down anymore so please tell me if I've done something terrible like forgotten pants. Otherwise, Ill never know.

**They haven't actually been put in storage or anything. They all just been rounded up and put on top of table but that is 100% better than being all over the floor. I wish I could know with certainty about the likelihood of a second child because I don't want to hang onto this crap for five years and be all, "No, I think one is enough for us" and then unload it all, wasting space for half a decade that could have been used for ornaments storage. Of course, this brief reprieve from clutter is all a totally moot point in the next two weeks when it will once again look like Toys R Us has barfed all over the living room. I guess I will just have to enjoy it as along as I possibly can.