Just Breathe

You might remember that I was laid off  from my job a while ago? 

Yeah....That hasn't changed. The excitement has worn off and life is so complicated right now that sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. S is looking for work all over the western provinces, but it's hard to get someone to look at you when you're three thousand kilometers away from a prospective job (that's 1864 miles, for anyone who doesn't speak metric.) I've already put my CV in for consideration for transfer to our western location; we said we'd give it until May, but we feel it is better to get it all on the table now. I haven't heard anything yet.

Our lease ends June 30th, and our landlord has declined to extend it until the end of August (they were nice about it, at least) so we need to be out of our apartment by the end of June. I can't leave my job until August 28th, or I lose the severance deal. I'm sure you see the dilemma. We  have two kids that need to be in school by September 2nd and we don't yet which province we are headed to, much less which city.

No pressure.

I guess it's like labour, I just need to breathe through it....

Hippity Hop Hop, here comes the Easter Bunny

I love holidays - all of them. We celebrate every holiday that we have any connection to in our home - Chinese ones, North American ones, Hungarian ones; and if I knew of any Icelandic holidays, we'd celebrate those too. Nothing makes more sense to me than celebrating life- and nothing makes less sense to me than lining the pockets of corporate interests to do so. We tend to try to keep things small at our house, and for Easter, that always means a whole lot of hard-boiled eggs.

Panda and Pickle, making remarkably little mess.

 It's tradition. We did it with my mom, and  and for all I know she did it with hers. In fact, I did it even before I had kids - before I was even married, with room-mates and whoever else I could coerce into it. (Luckily for me, when almost everyone you know attended art college, it isn't too hard to find people willing to draw on stuff.) So, every year on the night before Easter Sunday, we gather our supplies: Wax crayons (washable ones won't work), egg dye (food colouring, vinegar and boiling water), drop cloth, smocks (in theory -we couldn't find any) and hard boiled eggs. Stickers and temporary tattoos are good too.

Finished product

 Once everyone is in bed, the Easter Bunny comes and hides all the eggs around the house. He brings a basket (well, bucket) for each child as well. Bright and early on Sunday morning, happy little bodies tumble out of bed and rush around screaming in delight and trying one-up each other on how many eggs they have found. When all are accounted for* and several have been breakfasted upon, at last it's time to tuck into the Easter basket; chocolate, jelly beans, and a new spring outfit.

the baskets

And that's it, Easter in an eggshell! Now, does anyone have a recipe that calls for sixteen hardboiled eggs?

*Do not forget to count the eggs before the Easter Bunny hides them. A late night and a glass of Cabernet have a way of turning an overlooked egg into a nasty - and stinky - surprise a few weeks down the road. That's also I lesson I learned from my mother.

Yay for Science!

There isn't much that gets Panda's brain-wheels turning faster than a scientific problem! That kid loves to know exactly how everything works and why, an attitude that will serve her well in her quest to be the first person to travel to the end of the universe and find out what's on the other side, and what the rocks there look like. (Pickle maintains that he is going to be race-car rocket driver, so maybe they can team up.)

So, a few weeks ago we headed out to the science centre to get their brains moving and give Netflix a rest (don't judge, it's been a long cold winter, and there is only so much McDonald's Playland that any one human being can tolerate. Even if they do have palatable coffee nowadays.)

Checking out the displays, and asking a million questions

 There were a thousand things to do there, even though the temporary exhibits were closed (probably a good thing, since we could see that one of the ones coming was a rather racy one about sex and sexuality. Complete with toys. I am not yet ready for that talk with the kids!) They had a blast running from station to station and learning about sound waves,  vacuums, wind tunnels, and hydro electric power. They made roller coasters and steered robots, and learned about density and magnetic force. There was a circular platform which they could stand in the centre of and pull a rope to raise a soapy ring, thus creating a giant bubble around their bodies. Pickle would invariably stick his bum out too far and pop it.

Pickle testing out the rollercoaster building blocks                                    Can you see a Panda hand?                 

There was a computer program which we could use to build a face by choosing from hundreds of different features. It didn't ;end itself well to building children though, so we tried to make ones that would show what Panda and Pickle might look like as adolescents.

They had a marvelous time. Places like this are one of the things I will definitely miss when we move to a small city!

Some of all of the things

Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday. ~ Don Marquis


Or last week. Or for that matter, the last entire month.

Procrastination is something that I am very good at (or bad, depending on your point of view) and a multitude of things are affected by it; Mt. Laundry, filing, unpacking, this blog....

So let me see if I can rectify that - the blog part, anyway. (My propensity to never fully unpack has come in handy, since we've only been in this house three years and we are already moving. So I'm now ahead of the game.)

Also, I've decided not to be so damn paranoid about privacy, so here is a pic or two of the kids, celebrating Panda's 7th birthday. She was pleased as punch with Pickle's gift of a singing Elsa doll, and all we've heard for a week now is "Mama, can I press the button?" followed by the chorus for "Let It Go." She has started using it as a reminder for herself and everyone else not to get upset by the little things - most notably when lil' bro is following her around imitating her. She just 'lets it go.'

Pickle is still working out the whole 'smile for the camera' thing

Finding Home

There is just so much to say about Canada's relationship with her First Nations that it's impossible for me to begin to even address it all here. It is something that S and I are both pretty passionate about though, and something I have been trying to find a way to write about for a while. So here goes - a short primer, a win, and a loss.

A Primer in Parable*

Imagine that you live in a lovely big house, with a clear sweet well and a big garden. It has everything you need to live. You have a pretty large family and while you don't always get along with your cousins, there is generally enough to go around. Life is sometimes hard, but overall it's good.

Then one day a stranger moves in. He doesn't ask permission, he just walks through the front door and decides to stay. He's got quite a few technological gadgets you haven't seen before, and some of them look pretty dangerous, so you cautiously accept him. He graciously offers to let you stay (jerk), but asks that you don't really talk to or come near him and his family. Unless he needs something, of course, like that time the neighbours decided to have a barbeque on your front deck and he wanted your help to chase them off. Or when he didn't know how to get to the attic, but was really curious to see what was up there.

 It all works okay for a little while; not great, but you can manage it. Then you notice that more and more of his family are moving in. It starts to get crowded. Sure, he knows he made a deal with you about who would take which rooms, but the bedroom you are sleeping in has a really nice view. So he one day he bursts in, waves his techie gadgets in your face and tells you to go sleep in the spare room. Which you do- you remember all too well the day that your grandma stood up to him and he turned her into a puddle of green goo. But he still isn't satisfied. Before you know it, his whole family has taken over the best parts of the house, and yet they can't understand why you are complaining about living in the back basement storage room, where there is no bathroom, water, or heat. 

The longer he is there, the worse it gets. He calls you names, and pretends you are stupid. He decides he doesn't like how you raise your children, so he kidnaps most of  them.  You aren't allowed to see them any more, and for all you know may never see them again. You keep getting really ill, too, because he seems to bring every little cold, bug and germ into the house. He gave your wife lung cancer with his relentless smoking, and your little niece died of measles. Not to mention that he wouldn't stop hitting on your sister, and he cornered her more than once in the pantry. She got really scared, so she ran away and now you can't find her. He won't help you look though, he just says it's her own damn fault and whatever happened to her, she probably had it coming. But it's all good, he insists, because, dude, you guys can use his Xbox. Except your family has never owned a gaming system before and now all your one cousin wants to do is sit and play Call of Duty all day - so much so that it cost him his job, his wife, and his health. 

You continually protest this treatment, and your roommate eventually says he's sorry. Which, okay, you hope he might mean it, but nothing changes. You try to get the police and the courts involved, but most of them are his relatives, and they won't do anything to help you. Often it just makes things worse and you are left with a smaller corner to live in than before. In fact, he just moved his garbage can into the storage room where you sleep, the only space you really have left. He says it won't really take up much room, and he'll give you a dollar a month for letting him leave it there.

He thinks that money makes up for everything; for sickening your family and for scattering them, for moving into your home and wrecking it. The place is filthy now, crumbling; the walls full of holes and the appliances missing. The foundation is cracked. The garden has been poisoned and the once-sweet well water catches on fire when it comes out of the tap. He says don't worry, I'll pay for your kids to go to school, because I am such a generous guy. All they need to do is catch the school bus at the corner. But the garbage is so deep on the floors and the rooms so thick with people that your remaining children can't push through to find the way out. He says, I'll give you money for fresh water, for good food - but it's never enough, because he is the one who sells you the food from your own pantry and he's the one who sets the prices. Then when you are cold and hungry, when your children are struggling to read the simplest of books and do the simplest of sums, he blames you. Why can't you be more like me? What is wrong with you? Why does I always have to give you grocery money and buy your clothes -what did you do with the last fifty bucks, buy more Xbox games?

You've both lived like this for long now that he's forgotten whose house this is. He thinks that because he changed the wallpaper and added a chair, it belongs to him. He's forgotten the truth, and his children were never taught it. They are brought up to believe that this has always been their home, and they can't understand why you're so angry. You know he's never going to leave,  but you'd sure as hell like for him to honour the original agreements - you just want your bedroom back. You want him to clean up the garden and get the garbage bin the hell out of the storeroom. Every time you bring it up though, he brushes you off, saying he's misplaced the papers, or that the dog ate them, or that you're clearly crazy because he never said he'd stay out of the living room in the first place. He never listens to you.

A Win and a Loss

Today, a homeless Ojibway woman won the right to live in the small one room home** she had constructed herself on ancestral lands. Not because the Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry thinks she actually has the right to live there, mind you, but because the Crown Counsel for this case felt that "in this case the public expense of a lengthy trial does not appear to be justified when weighed against the gravity of the offence." And on that, my friends, I call bullshit. They just don't want to go up against her in court and lose. A landmark decision in the favour of First Nations rights is not acceptable to Canada's government at any time, and certainly not to the  Harper regime.

So Ms. Necan can live in her house, and that is a win. Hopefully others will draw strength and hope from her victory.  But her win, while important, could represent a larger loss; the loss of a judicial decision that would force a long-over-due recognition of First Nations right to govern their own affairs on their own ancestral land. It'd be a start.

*I apologize if this offends anyone in the First Nations communities; it is a parable  and only meant to illustrate the spirit (if not the history) of the relationship between Canada's government and people and the First Nations people. I don't mean to presume to put words in your mouths or appropriate your experience, this is only my attempt to get the larger public to understand some of the issues by trying to get them to a sympathetic place. Please feel free to contact me with constructive criticisms. For those who think I am going overboard with this parable, I encourage you to read Thomas King. 

**I suppose I don't need to warn you about the comment section, but I will anyway. Remember, don't feed the trolls.

Westward, Ho!

On a cold and snowy Tuesday afternoon several weeks ago, our family got a much-needed and not wholly unwelcome kick in the ass. 

I and all seven of my departmental colleagues were called to an unexpected meeting with the VP. The company had decided to restructure, and our (clearly sales) department would now report to the VP of Logistics. Our entire department would be moved to our American location. The move itself isn't that surprising - they merged with a US company eight years ago and are gradually transferring everything there. The timing, though.... the timing sucks. First, we all thought we had a few more years. Second, they are closing our department at the end of the summer. Because no-one will need to move and no-one has kids starting school then <eye roll>.

My first thought was "I'm free!" My second was that I felt like I was back in high school, at 3:02 on a sunny summer day... "will he just shut up already and let us leave?" But Mr. VP droned on, and on, and on, explaining the reasons that everyone had, just five minutes prior, ceased to give a damn about. He seemed to be looking for absolution.

But see...here's where the silver lining shines.  S and I have been talking about moving west, but we were held here by my job and our daycare situation. We weren't quite ready to leave stable ground and leap into the unknown without a safety net. With my severance package, we have a safety net. We can leap...but leap where?

Our current plan is for S to get a job in his field and I will follow, and we will use my severance for a down payment.. That plan needs to locked down by the end of May, or we need to move to plan B, which is to look into the possibility of my company transferring me to a position out west. It's already been raised to me by two separate managers, so it is a distinct possibility- I'd get a paid move, a job I didn't particularly want, and no severance package. So bye-bye house ownership. Plan C would be to stick a pin in the map, polish our resumés, and rent a moving van.

So...yeah, that's where we are, with every thing up in the air. I HATE it when everything is up in the air. I like to have it all neatly laid out on a colour-coded spreadsheet that I will probably never refer to again once I enter a value in the final cell. Most of my big decisions may be emotionally-driven and somewhat sudden, but I like to trick myself into thinking I am being logical and well-informed. I hate that I can't even start lying to myself about this one until we know where we are going!

Of course, Panda is devastated. She doesn't want to leave her friends, her school, her life here. I don't either - I finally have some fantastic girlfriends and I'd like very much to keep them. Pickle, who's four, might be a little young to process it all, but he definitely doesn't want to go kindergarten next year (here he would have one more year at daycare, in any other province he will start school.) S is pretty excited, I think.

I guess am too. Nervous about the logistics of it all, but excited. We are long overdue for a change, and this will our last upheaval until the kids are grown.

Well, except for that whole foster/adoption thing! 

Imprimatura and Talk-back Tuesday

I'm sorry.

I suck at consistent effort, and if I don't want this little corner of babble to go the way of the dodo, then I need to make some changes. I need to take off the filter and write whatever comes to mind, whether or not I think it will be marginally interesting to others (or even readable.) It's like 'blank canvas fear', sometimes you just have to slap an imprimatura on that sucker and go for it.

I realized last week that my son's year has approximately 260 more days than everyone else's year. He is certain that he sleeps overnight at the daycare every weekday, and nothing we say will convince him that it is just a nap. I would be so much more productive if I had 260 more days in my year! Wait, no I wouldn't. I'd probably just complain that winter was even longer now and spend all my time surfing Netflix and cuddling kids.

(Belated) Gung Hei Fat Choy, everyone! I wish you all a happy and prosperous Year of the Sheep. We bundled the kids up warmly and took them down to Chinatown to watch the lion dance last weekend. I swear that Panda got so close a couple times that she might as well have joined the troupe. She is fascinated by the dancing and drumming, and I love that she gets so into it.

And of course no day in Chinatown in complete without indulging in a huge lunch or wheedling of a cheap toy out of the parents. Pickle chose a Chinese fan, and now he runs around constantly asking everyone if they are too hot, because what else would we be during the frigid February frost? But he loves fanning us all so much that we just go with it and try not to get our noses swiped off while he developed his notion of relative distances between fan and face.  Panda chose Digimon cards, because she so obsessed with that show that she solemnly named our TV cabinet "The Crate of Destiny." (Which is awesome, and it shall henceforth be referred to as such.) I get her point - special, predestined kids without parental oversight who have cute, furry little animal BFFs that talk and kick serious ass, what's not to like? (I mean, besides stilted dialogue and terrible animation.) But I think the aspect that really draws her is the idea that friendship and teamwork triumph over all evils, and that everyone is redeemable. And that just makes me want to hug her sweet little self until she squeaks.

Panda's birthday is approaching, and our gift to her is Frozen on Ice tickets. Her little brother gets to go as well, and she can choose to either have both parents or one friend  - I'd totally choose the friend, but she is big on family outings, so we'll see. She also seems to be having a bit of a hard time deciding which friend to ask. She's narrowing her choices by criterion of who would enjoy it the most, and not by whom she most wants to spend time with- which is a bit worrisome. Don't get me wrong, I love that she is so empathetic. I just worry about the future implications of that when she hits teen-hood.

This will be her third 'no-gifts' birthday party. The rule is she can invite as many friends as she wishes, but they won't bring her gifts (she still gets presents from family.) What do you think? Would you do a giftless party for your child, or do you feel that opening a mound of presents is an integral part of the childhood birthday party experience? Do you feel awkward showing up without a gift, even when it's requested? Talk to me this Tuesday!