So there’s Target in Canada now, which means I finally understand what my American friends have been going on about for years:
“I swear, I only went there to buy Band-Aids and sunscreen … why did I just drop $134 on a new mirror, a Lego set, a pair of flip-flops, frozen cheesecake, a 16GB memory card, four sets of pyjamas and a mini wrench set?”
We finally went to the one nearest my house on an urgent late-afternoon caffeine quest (because the one near my parents’ place has a Starbucks in it, as does our local one, though I didn’t find it on that first visit). I got distracted, and instead of two tall dirty chais I walked out with a tiny pink watering can and a beach pail. For less than the cost of one of those drinks, so suck on that, Corporate (North) America.
“I’m giving up emoticons for Lent. So if you have any difficulties picking up on sarcasm, you might want to give me up for Lent.”
Source: Me, yesterday, on Twitter.
I did it last year — without an announcement — and it was hard enough, and I’m sufficiently annoyed with myself for my chronic reliance on those little yellow moodmen, that I think it merits a repeat. So from now through the end of March, no emoticons for me.
At least once a day I remember my husband. Always at one o’ clock.
For as long as we were together — which was a gobsmacking 47 years, I should add — he was in charge of the clocks.
He’d set them, check them, every couple of days. It never took long, because unless a battery died or an old wound one wound down, they were never wrong.
We don’t do Santa Claus … yet.
The kids are still on the young side for it being a (cultural) necessity; by this time next year, my son will have been in Kindergarten for a few months, so I suppose some combination of both myth-learning and myth-busting will be unavoidable.
If I had my choice, we’d avoid the whole thing entirely.
What can I say that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? By people with a more vested interest (that is to say, gay-actual, not just gay-allied)? By people who can actually (not) eat the dang chicken (no outlets here in Canada)?
I have two kids, aged 33 and 13 months, so children’s television features prominently in our lives. Happily, my kids are fairly discerning when it comes to what they actually want to watch (Toopy and Binoo) versus tolerate as an auditory backdrop (everything else).
As an adult, though, I don’t possess the same filtering skills and am subjected to what I consider to be an awful lot of awful music through these shows. Theme songs are the worst, and these three are the worst of the worst:
I never thought I’d see the day that I’d be quoting an article by David Plotz, being the staunch Dickersonian that I am, but damned if I don’t want to just share the whole damn thing: Yes, I Ignore My Kids To Text and Email.
His piece, in response to a blog that showcases photos of parents neglecting their children in favour of electronic interaction, took on the “better parents” that would have us believe that such diverted attention is the equivalent of abandonment.
Remember that time I came to your house for dinner, and when we were done, I stood up, put my toddler on my chair and whipped out my boob for his digestif?
No, me neither.
So. There’s a movement afoot to put the kaibosh on Mother’s Day.
I saw this crop up a few times, notably in my online mama groups, but I dismissed it as another “I’m wearing a PINK bra!” meme-in-the-ass.
Jaimie brought it to my attention again when she posted about it over at Bad Mommy, No Cookie, and asked if any of us were planning on uncelebrating Mother’s Day. Here’s what I said there: