This Life - A Canadian Mom and Stepmom Blogs About The Complexities of Her Life

Harry Potter - no spoilers ahead

I am so sad that the lives and times of Harry Potter have come to an end. Not so much because of the end of the story of Harry, Ron and Hermione and their adventures at Hogwarts but because of how much fun our family had riding the Potter gravy train. It started with chats about the books. Cupcake and I were always current with the first three and Mlle Jensaispas was working her way through them as well. They were a bit too old for Sir Talksalot and I would try to read to him, but it is difficult to get through such a weighty series when we only see each other a couple of times a week.  Mr. Husband decided to get caught up with the dinner conversation on our honeymoon. He bought, and lost Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone three times in five days. Fortunately we found one of the copies in a used book store so the financial hit wasn't so bad.

A few months after getting married, we bought our first house together which had an unfinished basement with two bedrooms in it. We set those up for the girls and were planning on decorating a room for Sir Talksalot upstairs beside us, but he was determined to live in the closet under the stairs just like Harry Potter.  That crawl space proved a bit too small and too damp, but we did slide his bed into an alcove under the bathroom and hung a curtain around him to simulate the experience as best as we could. He lived there for three years until we renovated and built him a real room with walls and a door.

I believe there was a small marketing hoopla around The Goblet of Fire, but the advanced ordering and lining up for the midnight release began with The Order of the Phoenix. Cupcake and I made sure we had our copies as soon as they were available and generally sequestered ourselves somewhere on the cottage property until we were finished. I occasionally harboured a bit of envy for the young adolescent who did not have to cook dinner, shop for groceries or entertain other children while trying to figure out the secrets of mazes, maps and spells.

Cupcake was at camp and the rest of us were at the cottage when book 6, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was released. We had ordered our advance copies from Indigo but Mr. Husband was coming to the cottage before they would arrive. We were all disappointed that we would have to wait until I discovered that Mable's Fables would be distributing the books by a marina in Port Carling on the Saturday morning. Sir Talksalot and I got up at 7 and arrived at the drop point before the sales people had even arrived. We were joined by two young boys, one of whom looked just like Harry himself. We got our books by 8 and were even given a bunch of book marks and lightening scar tattoos, one of which we put on our diaper-clad gaffer who looked quite magical with her marked forehead. To make our luck complete, it also happened to be visitors day at camp and I am not sure if Cupcake was happier to see us or the big fat book in my hands. This year, our little Cupcake was in England when The Deathly Hallows was released and she got to line up at Blackwell's with the Oxfordonians at midnight and was about half way through the novel by the time we went to bed, eight hours before I could even drive to Brace bridge and buy my own.

We even had great traditions for the films. I snuck the kids out of school for the first 4 films. Each time I gave them no notice. I just showed up, told them they had a dentist appointment we had forgotten about, that Daddy had gotten off work unexpectedly early and wanted to go the cottage, or that Grammie was coming over and we had to get home early. In the appropriate age order, they started to see through my fabrications and expect my arrival at school on the release date. One year, a bunch of my students played hooky in order to see the first showing and ended up sitting right behind me. I was oblivious but they spent most of the show cowered low in their seats. Another year we took our teeny, tiny little Gaffer fresh out of the hospital and she graciously slept all the way through the loudest movie I had ever been to, snuggled deep in her Baby Bjorn. But my favourite part of each ritual was the dawning realization on my step-son’s face that I had duped him again and his assertion that next time he would be ready. I am sure there are grand marketing reasons for the summer release of Order of the Phoenix but I am greatly disappointed that on the heels of the knowledge that there will be no more Harry Potters, there was no chance to try and surprise a twelve year old boy one more time.

I thank JK Rowling for her imagination, her perseverance and her willingness to share Harry and his friends. But mostly I thank her for the family memories her series has brought to us. We have grown up with Harry Potter and our lives have been richer for the experience.

You Go Girl(s)!

I'm not sure if there is some sort of agist tunnel vision or something, but lately it seems that all the women I see around me are in their late thirties, early forties or, maybe even not so early forties. I could chalk it up to the fact that most of the time since I run into other women at the Gaffer's summer programmes that it stands to reason that most of us are in the same age category, but it is also happening quite a bit when I am out on my own, especially when I am exercising.

I am rather spoiled in that I am spending the month at my family's summer cottage in southern Northern Ontario (true Northern Ontarians get offended when you refer to anything south of North Bay as north). I have dedicated the month to me. I figure a more relaxed, healthier me can only benefit everyone around me. I am finally taking to heart that analogy of a mom's life like the oxygen mask in those pre-flight safety videos. It always reminds the passengers to put on their masks first so they will be able to help others. as part of my commitment to taking better care of myself, I have started running more.

I am out on the cottage roads 4 times a week, usually first thing in the morning, which is closer to 9 in the summer than the 6 am of the rest of the year. The first couple of weeks all I saw was pavement as I huffed and puffed and stared down at the tar melting under my feet. But last week I started to lift my head and actually smile and some of the other runners passing me by. That's when I noticed that most of them were women...and most of them were of a certain age. Now one could argue that there are more women in cottage country during the week than men and that would explain everything, but I would then have to tell you that on the weekend, the numbers where higher, but the gender the same. Panting and sweating alongside me, on their bikes or feet, most of my compatriots tackling the not so rolling hills of the Canadian Shield also shared the requisite sports bra and wagging pony tails under the sun  hat.

We are of all shapes and sizes out on the hot dusty road and it seems like whenever I am lagging the exercise gods send another woman by to re-energize me and remind me that I need to keep up my end of the balance. Sunday was an especially great day for me and my new found discovery.  I had the best run I have had in over a year. I ran 10k, very slowly, to the marina where Mr. Husband picked me up in the boat. Later we went for a daylong boat trip and it seemed that every boat we passed had a woman, a real woman, in a bikini top. There were a few rolls exposed and some saggy underarms kept waving long after the flick of the wrist had stopped, but my fellow mamas were out in their glory.

In the late afternoon we stopped for a snack at a lakeside cafe on the edge of a golf course where quite a few women were having drinks at the bar. To my untrained eye, it seemed like some of them may have had some help maintaining their figures at some point or another but I was still pleased to see one woman in a bikini top and shorts low enough to reveal an old-fashioned c-section scar.

The one thing I did notice that most of these women had in common was an aura of confidence. They seemed comfortable in what they were wearing. They all had an energy around them, even the ones running uphill. They make this 40-something club one worth joining.

Update update

I can't believe  I have been blogging for urbanmoms for 6 months! 6 months and I still haven't run out of things to say. People who know me well will not be surprised and neither will my mother!  The urbanmoms readers haven't run out of things to say either and I have amassed a wealth of information and inspiration in the comment sections; but, I have not been very good at keeping in touch with those comments so I thought I would dedicate an entire blog to comments, questions, great quotes and ideas.  I don't know how often readers go back to entries and read the comments and sometimes there is great information provided there so I thought I would share some of it with you.

If there were an award for advice, it would have to go to Jen who has provided these nuggets:

1.   On birthday cakes....Dairy Queen makes wonderful ice milk birthday cakes and will draw whatever picture you would like on them.

2.   On raising children...."I did, however, consult the wisest of wise women (my mom) who assures me every time that I, my children's mother, actually have very little to do with the people my children turn out to be. That as long as I love them they will pretty much be who they are."

Also some great points on mess and clutter from Annemarie who cited a NY Times article :

http://select.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F20E1EFA3B550C728EDDAB0994DE404482
"Studies are piling up that show that messy desks are the vivid signatures of people with creative, limber minds (who reap higher salaries than those with neat “office landscapes”) and that messy closet owners are probably better parents and nicer and cooler than their tidier counterparts. It’s a movement that confirms what you have known, deep down, all along: really neat people are not avatars of the good life; they are humorless and inflexible prigs, and have way too much time on their hands."

and LoriD:

I read once that a good approach to de-cluttering is to make a list of areas that need to be decluttered (e.g. dining room table, bookshelves, etc.) Pick one area a day (or other interval) and deal with just that area. Don't shuffle the mess/junk to another area, but deal with it right away. Then, once the area is done, treat it like it's Penicillin and don't let the mess infect it again. As you make your way down the list, you'll have more and more Penicillin areas and things will start to come together.

A children's book suggestion by Kath, Alice the Fairy and exercise advice in the form of Yoga which I am studiously ignoring although she does refer to it as "soul-and body-regenerating."

Plus a beautiful reminder from Anne about motherhood:

I find adoption an amazing thing. I have always thought that on Mother's Day we should all make a point of some how honoring the women who give up their children for adoption. That may be difficult to do since so many women who choose this option keep the decision secret from people who care about them. Maybe we can all just take a moment to remember them on that day.

What a difficult decision that must be, and what a selfless one. I have a very dear friend who had an unplanned pregnancy early in her life and gave up her child for adoption. Mother's Day is always a bitter sweet day for her.

There have been some great questions, my favourite being from Sandi, a 46 year old mother of a 3 and 6 year old and step-mother to a  14 nd 17 year old who wonders if she is too old to have one more. And of course my answer is NO WAY!...if that is what you really want.

Jen wants to know what the Foundation Year Programme at King's College in Halifax is so I have copied and pasted the explanation from the university itself:

"...a seamless survey of Western civilization from its ancient-world beginnings to contemporary times.

Rather than taking five distinct courses -- and juggling five different assignment lists -- you embark on an interdisciplinary programme which eliminates traditional separations between the subjects of English, history, philosophy and sociology, allowing humanity's ideas and dilemmas to be discussed from many perspectives."

And Ali inquired about a Dear Birth Mother.

When you are going through the process for domestic adoption, prospective adoptive parents prepare what is known as a Dear Birth Mother/Parent letter. This letter is a couple of pages long and includes photos and descriptions of the parents, their values, their lifestyle, and how they plan to raise the child. Birth mothers, the women who place their children in adoptive homes, register with adoption agencies who give them these letters, usually three at a time, and they choose which couple they may want to get to know better.

And there have been some great tidbits of information. An anonymous donor found the youtube site for the Kyle Riabko song I praised after the Canada Walk of Fame show.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbVGk5e2z_c&mode=related&search=

Jen was the first to guess my infatuation with Jim Cuddy and Wendy gets kudos for the most creative comment after the horrible week that followed my Barry Manilow confession.

I made it through the week
I kept my world protected
I made it throught the week
I kept my point of view
I made it through the week
And found myself respected
By the others who
visit urbanmoms too
And made it through

I have really enjoyed this great opportunity that urbanmoms has provided for me as a writer, but I cherish even more, the responses I get from the readers. I can't wait to see what great ideas and topics we can all generate over the next six months.

Adoption Update

First, a disclaimer; parts of this entry may be more judgmental than necessary and even than I actually feel but I'm getting a bit beat up on the whole baby business.

I am a not so closet tabloid junkie.  I became one when the Gaffer spent her first three months in hospitals.  They were easy, mindless, disposable and the nurses loved when I left them behind. Unfortunately, I found it difficult to leave my addiction behind as well and I had to set limits for myself. I decided I can buy them for travel or medical appointments. I stick to those rules for the most part, but during the summer, all bets are off.  I indulge my habit as completely and as often as possible, until today.

Today I got a double whammy and just couldn't bring myself to pick up the rags. There have been more delays and setbacks on the road to adoption for us non-famous normal average married people. I wrote in the winter about our disappointment with the closure of the programme in Vietnam, a month before Angie managed to adopt Pax, as a single woman in a country that does not allow common-law couples to adopt. I guess if you are a celebrity and everyone in the world, except seemingly, the head of the adoption programme in Vietnam knows you live with Brad Pitt and he is going to adopt your newly adopted Vietnamese son when you get back state-side you are still eligible even though happily married Canadian couples who are only famous in their own families are not.

I'm not going to repeat all of that again here, this is supposed to be adoption update, not repeat. After the Vietnam closure, we decided to pursue domestic adoption. It seemed if we were going to run up against government bureaucracy, we may as well deal with our own. We changed our homestudy and began contacting domestic licensees. It costs money to meet with a licensee and then more money to register with them. Many licensees will not accept prospective parents until they have taken a course on open adoption. We found two acceptable courses. One is offered in Kingston and one in Ancaster. They are not offered very often and for a family with two parents who work, a toddler and three step-children, a weekend away for a course is very difficult to co-ordinate. We did eventually do so, only to be told the week before the course was offered that they had over-subscribed and had no room for us. Without the course we could not register with any more agencies and there was not another course offered that we were available to take until late fall. Amid all of this, we were informed that the Ministry may require changes in the course and that would delay the next dates offered.

In the midst of all of this we learned of another international programme that seemed much more stable and organized than Vietnam. We met all of the early eligibility requirements and there was no waiting list. We decided to pursue this avenue as well, hoping somewhere our baby was waiting for us to find him or her.  I rushed around at the end of the school year, marking exams, writing report cards, packing for the cottage and making sure all of our documents were up to date so that our homestudy could go off to the Ministry for the 6-8 week trip it takes for approval as soon as possible.

This morning I got an e-mail letting us know that several of our documents need changes/updates. This is all do-able and possible but it means more delays and more lost time. I was weighing all of this in the check out line at the grocery store when I noticed that the magazine racks that had been empty all weekend were full with the latest Hollywood gossip. I was looking forward to stocking up and drowning my sorrows in the trials and tribulations of others when I noticed that the cover of each tabloid was dedicated to Hollywood pregnancies and babies and Nicole Richie. One magazine had a picture of Nicole pregnant, one of Angelina holding her tummy with a "#5?" on the caption and a comment on Britney's bad parenting skills.

Sheryl Crowe, who I quite like and admire from afar with no personal knowledge of her whatsoever, can adopt a newborn baby boy just one year in remission from breast cancer, yet we cannot even get our documents stamped for approval because the photocopy of Mr. Husband's medical is not clear enough. Nicole Richie can get pregnant in the same year she is pulled over under the influence of both drugs and alcohol and as she prepares for possible jail time. Britney has two sons, spends time in rehab, gets out and gets photographed drinking and changing clothes with friends in bars as though none of this had ever happened, and then gets upset that people are concerned about her parenting skills.

I know how tabloids work. Who knows if what they say about any of these celebrities is true. All I know is that they can have babies and I can't. And if they can't have babies they don't seem to have trouble adopting them.

I'm not rich, famous, or a recovering addict. I'm just a relatively stable, happily-married, hard-working mom and step-mom who lost her uterus before she was finished building her family. How come that's not enough?

Fassing and Rounding

We are not a video-taking family. I'm a bit surprised by this actually because Mr. Husband is such a gadget freak. But he has never shown any interest in taking pictures, let alone video. I, on the other hand, am a picture taker, so we do have some celluloid documentation of our family life. I do not miss the footage that we do not have of Christmas concerts, plays, graduations and play off games, but I do wish we had captured some of the audio that has coloured our lives.

My first longing for audio memories came with Sirtalksalot. He had some of the greatest questions and reasonings. My friends were always warning me to write them down and I was certain I would never forget his gems. Yet, here we are, some years later and I am hard pressed to recall the stories I was sure would never leave my consciousness.

I do remember the "Dad, if you're so smart..." conversations. "Dad, if you're so smart, how come the sky is blue? If you're so smart, how come ice cream melts?" And my personal favourite, delivered with such self-assured gusto, "Dad, if you're so smart, who invented God?" Dad always had an answer and Sirtalksalot always had another question. He still does, hence his blog name.

Now the Gaffer is developing language and sayings that I know she'll outgrow but that I do not ever want to lose. She suffers a bit from malapropitis with some common terms like "paper toilet" "hire fydrant" and "Hocapontas", but it is the terms she has developed this week that have driven me to at least make a written recording of her latest language inventions.

We are at the cottage and she has spent a lot of time fishing off of the end of the dock. She has a toy rod with a plastic fish on the end of it. I hesitate to actually admit to that here in public because anyone who reads this and knows me will know how much it goes against my nature to have a daughter who practices fishing and isn't actually fishing for real. But after a 2006 summer full of worm placements and fish removals, I'm happy to start this season slowly and let her play with the pink, hook-less fish.

The rod has a yellow button that releases the line and for awhile she was happy to release and wind, release and wind, but eventually she turned to me and said, "Mama, can you fass?" You'd think pink and blue fishing rod waving in my face would help, but truly, I had difficulty trying to figure out whether or not I actually could "fass." Would it hurt? Did I have the dexterity? Did I have the strength? Would I like fassing?  While I pondered all of these concerns I was asked again, "Mama, can you fass so I can round?"  I stared for what I thought was a brief moment although the impatient foot-tapping of my three year old would imply otherwise.  "Mama," she said a third time, "You fass my fishie out there and I will round it in." And suddenly I understood. I took her little plastic rod, pressed down on the yellow button cast the pretty pink fishie out into the lake and she happily wound it back in.

We have spent the last few nights, happily fassing and rounding while Mommy and Daddy have a nice cocktail on the dock. I figured these would be our language gems for the summer. That is, until tonight when we went for a pre-dinner swim. The Gaffer put on her Tinkerbell "kini" which has a little top and matching skirted bottom.  Momma put on her tankini which has a very long top and a simple big-butt covering bottom. The Gaffer, who has taken to supervising all of Momma's dressing and undressing declared that she was in an "up-kini" because hers was over her tummy and I was in a "down-kini" because mine went over my belly. When she asked why my 'kini was so long, I told her it was because Momma liked to keep her stomach warm. She thought about that for a while and pointing at my breasts said, "oh I know, it's because of those things." I decided to leave that one alone, but document it here for your enjoyment and her posterity.