In case you ever took me seriously, I now present you with a letter to my cats

 Dear Cats,

I really wish you would at least contribute to the rent. Toronto is an expensive city to live in and we could use the help. Remember when all of you had dental surgery a few years ago? It cost about a billion dollars and you've never even given us a dime. Nothing, you give us nothing.

We took you all in when had nothing but the cold streets of Toronto to stand on. Pomegranate, you were the first one to arrive. Content to live as the only cat, you are now forced to suffer Hille's total, stalker-like obsession. I know its annoying but it's not like you have any other concerns (see above, re: rent). Hille, my dear sweet beast of a cat, Pomegranate is not your mother. Now quit trying to nurse from him and come sit on my feet. They're cold, and since you don't pay rent you could at the very least make us of your girth to warm them up.

Lucy, I don't even know where to start. If you're not locked in a closet, or sleeping in the mittens box, or drinking from my @!#*ing water glass again, you're probably sneaking out of the house to organize a union or bet on horses. I'd probably care less about your goings on except for the fact that you love Matt more than you love me and declare your preferences loudly on the couch while we are trying to watch Sons of Anarchy. For Pete's sake I know he's awesome. Now quiet down, Gemma is about to hit rock bottom and I don't want to miss it.

Can I tell you all something? When I was pregnant I really kind of hated you all. I know that sounds harsh, but I was growing a human being and you just smelled bad. Right up until my morning sickness began I thought you were all awesome, but then I had a change of heart. After Alyce was born and you stopped trying to sit on her head as she nursed (because at least two of us found that particularly irritating), my affections returned all the way up until I was pregnant with Shira. Tricked you! Back we were again, dancing that old dance of you smelling bad and demanding too much of my already-spread thin attention and me just not caring very much.

I'm not pregnant again so you're in luck for the time being. I am mostly fond of you. When we moved to Toronto this summer and you were freed from the lonely basement of my mother's house, I was happy for you. Against my better judgement I let you and your cat hair sleep on bed all day long, that is, if you and your cat hair are not sleeping on the living room chair. And I'm even a bit grateful, especially to you Pomegranate, for having the patience to let Alyce fall in love with you. She loves hard, that one, but conditionally: if you don't let her pet you for at least twenty minutes every day she'll turn on you before you can say best friend forever. But if you sit there, as you do, you warm her heart so much that her entire face glows. Thank you.

I'd like the four of us to reach an agreement. I promise to continue paying your rent and showering you with luxury and you promise to keep doing exactly what you're doing. Because if I actually thought you might change in an attempt to make my life easier, well then I would be as ridiculous as you are.

Yours sincerely,
The Management

P.S. Also, thanks Hille for being awesome at catching mice. And for resembling a walrus. You're my favourite.

P.P.S. You, too, Pomegranante.

P.P.P.S. Did you hear that Lucy? We all make our own choices.

And our move impressed a few others

I'm writing this on the "oh please let that never happen again"side of food poisoning (I made us a lovely dinner last night that I now deeply regret). Both Matt and I woke up over night with the dreaded pains and I won't go into any of the rest. Except to tell you that both parents suffering from food poisoning while attempting to parent a four and two year old is not easy. Matt and I were able to trade off all day, one barely watching The Children while the other collapsed in bed. All I keep wondering now is how single parents do it. How do they do it? We were so sick today and it felt unbearable to do things like make snacks or keep the room from spinning, and all the while I was able to depend on Matt, as sick as he was. So to single parents out there, that's a lot of work.

But enough about how terrible that was today. Let me tell you something exciting: our cats are no longer sequestered to a basement! The best place for the cats at my mum's place was the basement, a rather large and lovely, though still awfully dark, place. They were fine down there, fed and with room to lounge, but these cats are social beasts and they missed us. Matt and I would try to spend a little time each day with them, but it was never enough. Hille, the enormous one, likes to always be within arm's reach, and I think he was a little depressed these past eight months. Poor guy.

But now! They have embraced our new apartment as though it was their dream home. There are windows in which to collapse, rooms filled with bright sunny daylight, and a constant source of companionship, even if most of the time that means Alyce and Shira. It's only been a week but the change in their moods warms my heart, even if they smell of their food wafting through the house today did nothing for my poor stomach. It's been nice remembering why we adopted them in the first place. As truly annoying as they are, they are lovely just the same. It's been a good move all around.

I'm finally back from my move-induced break in posting, so I'll be back here tomorrow with some details about our move. I'll give you a hint: there are still many things to unpack, but boy do I not care. I am so happy to be back in Toronto that I'll take the boxes and the cleaning anytime (or for a week or two, at least).

Make a list. Adopt a cat.

Toronto, 2007

Today there is freezing rain. A lot of freezing rain. The buses were cancelled at Alyce's school, but there would have to be an enormous blizzard of epic proportions for me to keep Alyce home. Two or three days a week the house is quiet and I can actually feel my cells recharging. Shira usually naps for a couple of hours and all is right in the world again. So sorry snow day, it's not going to happen. 

But I can't ignore the freezing rain and snow. It's freezing outside and I'm dreaming of warm sun on my face. The Cats, too, are dreaming of the sun. They are also dreaming of life before we brought home Alyce and Shira. They're good sports about everything for the most part, including the fact that they are living in the (large, furnished) basement of my mum's house while we're here. The rest of us are above ground, but their claws aren't welcome in civilized society. They somehow manage downstairs, what with the couches on which to lounge, the toys to chase around, and our nightly visits. Matt usually watches the basketball game with at least one cat on his lap. Sadly, it usually isn't Hille, who seems to be suffering a bit of depression since we moved here. He's just not his old self.

On this dreary, opposite of Leap Day day, I offer you the following list I made last night in my journal.

Things I want to do but that aren't massively time-sensitive or vital to family security:

• Learn to use imovie and edit some video.
• Master a white bean soup recipe (mine are always just ok).
• Start a morning walk with Shira. We're up at 5:00 am anyway, and now that the light is coming back to the morning, I think we do it. I'll warm up some milk for the road to keep her hands and body warm, pack her into the stroller, and we're good to go.
• Update and organize photos from forever ago. I have a gift card for 70 free prints and I need to seize this opportunity to go through the piles and piles (both digital and hard copies) of photos I've taken in the last year.
• Eat more salads.
• Go on a road trip to visits some friends, just me and The Children.

Do you have such a list? Does it have a catchier title than mine?

P.S. Speaking of cats, just today I stumbled upon the blog of a Toronto photographer who is helping Toronto Cat Rescue, a wonderful volunteer, non-profit cat rescue organization. It was through TRC that we adopted all three of The Cats. Pomegranate, Hillel, and Lucy were all abandoned street kittens who were originally fostered by the kindness of volunteers. So head over there and read about how Sara Lynn Paige is helping out TRC (and check out her other beautiful, non-cat-related images, too).

He enjoys cereal

 So I'm innocently enjoying my bowl of before bed cereal, and Hillel shows up. I'm not all that surprised. He likes cereal. And Doritos. Also, popcorn.

Now he's thinking strategy. Will he reach out one paw, or crane his neck all the way around and just dive head first into my bowl? 

But like everyone else in this family, he ended up distracted by the iphone. I jumped at the opportunity and devoured my cereal before the little thief could regain his focus.

And that, my friends, is how things work at our house. 

P.S. Of course I gave in and offered him a little milk. I'm not a monster.

When not looking for a job

The past few days have felt all-consuming, but really, they wasn't that much going on. Sometimes it feels as though not having a job is a lot of work. I feel as though I ought to be looking for work every second of the day, and since of course I'm not looking for work every second, I am very busy feeling very guilty that I'm not. You following me? Me neither, so yesterday afternoon I went to see a movie. By myself. To cope. Anyway, besides looking for work, my days are filled with the usual things. Like bathing Pomegranate because there was poop stuck to his tail. 

It is indeed a glamorous life.  Pomegranate really needs some professional grooming (Pomegranate, besides sometimes being a bit of a jerk, is also a lazy groomer. A sweet, lazy groomer), but cat grooming is not currently in our budget. He was a good sport about it, and had the full moral support of Hille, who is in love with him. Hille does indeed have a head, but he's too busy trying to lick Pomegranate to worry about camera time.

There was of course more dress-up. This Cinderella costume is her favourite, but it's a bit scratchy and not made of niece material. I'm planning on asking a friend's mother to make a new one for Halloween. Halloween is still a couple of months away, but we're already planning. Alyce will be a princess, I will be a princess, Matt will be a King, and last I heard Shira will be a bee. At least this is what Alyce declared this week. (Liz, if you're reading this, I think that toy in Alyce's mouth is something she swiped from camp this weekend. Sorry about that).

And there was colouring. A lot of colouring. I love watching Shira try so hard to be like her sister. I think she enjoys colouring in her own right, but there is nothing she loves more than to park herself near Alyce in a full-on colouring session. Shira spends a lot of time drawing on herself with markers, and often loses the caps, but most of the time Alyce is happy to have a craft partner, and I foresee years of Alyce passing down her crafty secrets to an eager Shira. Sometimes it will seem more like she's just being bossy, but I like to consider it more in the line of transmitting secret knowledge. Alyce just transmits loudly and firmly.

Wouldn't you like to join with some colouring? We have lots of projects to do this week. Tomorrow is my grandmother's birthday and we'll spend some time making her a card. I also came across these tiny hearts and I'm hoping to make a few over the weekend. There is something so lovely about sending Alyce to school with a little heart in her pocket. Did I mention she starts school next Tuesday? Oh, I'll be mentioning that a lot in the coming week. Because she's GOING TO SCHOOL. What?

Does anyone have a suggestion about things I should do while I'm still unemployed? The only requirement is that it can't cost a lot of money. You know, so we can save for the cat grooming.

Fast friends

Following in the great tradition of pets and children, Lucy and Shira have become fast friends on account of their shared interests: laps, tiny toys, and cheese. Lucy will put up will all kinds of nonsense from Shira if it means some extra food at the end of the day.

P.S. Shira is happily showing off her new big kid table that she shares with her sister. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how cool this is. It's like she woke up from a nap this week having grown leaps and bounds. That her feet still don't quite reach the floor makes me melt all the more.

Ten things I've learned about moving

1. Don't move.

2. Ok, I take that back. We all need to move sometimes, especially if it brings us closer to the people we love, but my feet still hurt, I'm exhausted, my brain is fuzzy, and I'm more than a little bit emotional. So while I can admit that this move was an excellent idea, I'm still a little mad at it.

3. You know that little story about the animal friends, where one works hard to make all the necessary preparations for winter, storing food and good books (probably) for the long, cold season ahead, while the other wastes away his time eating good food, lounging with the paper, and not making any preparations? So we all know that the eager preparer laughs his way through the hard season while the other suffers in his own pathetic procrastination. Are you still with me? Good. I certainly tend to fall in the procrastination camp, but I also like to organize and make lots of lists. Deep down I really want to be prepared. I tried very hard with this move, realizing early on that this move was going to drain all of us (the distance, the details, the immigration, the madness) and I was on a good path to an organized packing job. Then all hell broke loose and two days before the scheduled moving day we had to start all over from the beginning.

4. On a related note, it turns out that I very much dislike customs.

5. Without going into too many details, because I'm trying to heal and move on, I can tell you that it is not easy to reorganize a move in two days. Canceling moving trucks, opening all of the packed boxes in a frantic attempt to decide what to keep (and what will fit in the cars) and what to get rid of, is a little draining. And crazy. In the end we gave away or sold ninety percent of our belongings. Yes, you read that right. All furniture, almost every book, all dishes, Alyce's bed and tricycle, Shira's crib, cosleeper and highchair. When I say almost everything, I mean it. In two days I was desperately sorting our lives into piles of keep and give away, and it wasn't easy. Of course we saved all of our photos and prints (but no frames), clothes, all of Alyce's non-board books, the special toys, and those beautiful things we received at our wedding. And yes, of course I kept my mixer (and all important baking accessories). And my sewing machine. It's all about priorities.

6. Moving is an emotional business, and I knew that already. But this move kicked my emotional ass. It's one thing to purge your house of unused things that do little more than collect dust. It's another thing entirely for your husband to ask you, "Can you wake up Shira and take apart the crib she is currently using so that I can give it away in about twenty minutes?" Yes, we'll get a new crib--Shira won't be forced to sleep in the shed. But it's not easy. We all like our stuff.

7. But in the end it turns out that all you really do need are the people (and cats) you love, a few clothes, a few books, and a mixer.

8. After the chaos of re-moving, Matt and I got in our separate cars and drove 12 hours. Shira, Hille, and Pomegranate drove with Matt, while I partnered up with Alyce and Lucy. Part of me was dreading my first solo-parenting car trip, but things worked out, as they often do in these situations (except at customs), and we had a wonderful drive. Alyce and I had plenty to talk about and here is a sampling of topics:

• I'm not driving fast enough
• I'm driving too fast
• I'm driving the wrong way
• Are we there yet?
• Look at the sunset!
• What's a sunset?
• Is Lucy still in the car?

9. It was a hard few days, probably some of the most difficult we've faced. But we're a good team and we made it in one piece. Hille struggled the most, wanting desperately to be sprawled on a bed instead of stuffed in a box, but even he is recovering, sprawled out on a bed somewhere. Matt and I didn't yell too much, and I only cried twice.

10. Finally, I learned that I have an incredible friend, with incredible sorting-packing-brainstorming-and bringing us lunch-skills. I am so, so grateful for her help and might have plunged into complete despair without her. Sorry for the madness, Dani. We send our biggest hugs.

At Any Given Moment

I am surrounded by babies in milk comas (well, just one baby).


And cats.



Although it's not nearly as much as it was a few months ago, I spend a lot of my time nursing Shira on my bed. And for reasons unknown to me, The Cats join us. Lucky for you I always have my iphone with me to capture these special times.

We have a full day planned here, with bread to make, dates with friends, and lists to work down. Remember that list from last week? Still working on that.

Ten Things I've Learned This Week About Feeding My Children

1. I will always end up being the one crying in the corner. Every time.

Moving on, then.

2. If you join us for dinner, be prepared for Alyce shrieking at the possibility that I've hidden something in her macaroni and cheese. It was pepper, Alyce. PEPPER. Clearly, I've been discovered.

3. Did you know that Shira loves pears? No, wait, she hates them. Nope, she loves them! No, wait, she still hates them. What's that Shira? You NEED them? You needed them five minutes ago? Not anymore? Not ever? Of course. I give up. Again, sobbing.

4. Alyce is such a Nosy Parker that she'll insist on trying anything that's on my plate--even if she's disgusted by it--just in case I tried to sneak a piece of chocolate inside my quinoa.

5. Shira, I'm just not buying the melodrama.




6. When Alyce asks for peanut butter toast she doesn't actually want toast, and if you bring her anything toasted, well, I wouldn't want to be you. What she really wants is peanut butter on a piece of untoasted bread. She'll take some jam, too, if you've got any.

7. The one way to ensure that your child will not like a food is to order it by the case. If anyone needs a case of organic baby oatmeal, you know where to find me.

8. I don't ask much of the cats. The least they could do is eat the cheerios on the floor. Instead they spend all their time circling the table, awaiting their chance to swipe the more desirable yogurt or shredded cheese. Maybe it's time to remind them that I can unsign the adoption papers. Especially Lucy's.

9. Pediatricians, parenting books, and all manner of dinner experts will tell you not to stress over how or how much your child eats. They are probably right, and if I were writing a book on feeding kids (which I'm not), I might suggest the same thing. After all, my husband survived an entire year on olives. But no matter how many times you read about how you shouldn't stress, feeding kids can be really annoying. When you hard-boil eggs, make egg salad, offer it to your child who loves egg salad, and then have it handed back to you as though you handed her a salad of stinging nettles, it drains a person.

10. A three-year-old is a most useful ally in distracting a stubborn baby at the dinner table. I will always be grateful for Alyce's help, whether it is her pterodactyl impression (a reliable laugh, for sure) or her mash-up of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt and ABCs.

Sick Day

It was a sick day at our house. Alyce's sniffles from yesterday turned into a fever and other unpleasantries. Alyce coped with a rare weekday viewing of Alice in Wonderland, some Dora, and, of course, crafts. My favourite thing about her creation this morning is that she wrote out all of our names (Shira, too). If you are having trouble, look closely at the scribbles. You need to squint your eyes a bit. Maybe all the way.

By afternoon Alyce was in fine form, fever gone and fancy free. But all that getting better makes a girl tired, and she passed out before six, with me not far behind her. The cats too.

Good night!

On Making Changes

For the last two days I've been hiding in the house with Shira. She's been battling an evil cold and yesterday she was just too miserable to leave the house. Instead, she decided, she'd rather stay home and explore this box of toys:




Can you blame her?




She also spent some quality time with Hille, who was too busy hunting robins from the window to notice that Shira was within arm's reach from his tail. One day they'll be fast friends.



Today it was snow. Heaping piles of snow. Alyce's preschool was open and Matt, who thinks people take too many days off already--for silly things like pneumonia or national holidays--would never let a little blizzard keep him from the office. Me? I was happy to stay home another day with Shira, who was feeling much better today. I tried to tell her that all that extra sleep she's been getting at night (we've gone from waking eight times a night to twice!) is contributing to her brighter mood, but she just shook her head and went back to eating her sock. It's already clear, at eight months, that Shira has better things to do than pay any attention to my advice. Even though it's good advice, exceptional even. Nevertheless, we enjoyed another day at home.


****

Why am I not at my linguistics class? Because my plans, again, have changed. I'm fighting my natural instinct to feel ashamed and flaky over making more changes to my plans, and instead I am trying to accept that change isn't a bad thing. Just as I learned that I didn't have to finish my doctorate just because ten years ago I had said it was something I'd wanted to do, I am learning that new plans can be changed, too. Or, tweaked.

That's what we've been doing lately--tweaking. Trying to make plans for the future when you have no idea what city (or state) you'll be living in come September is tricky (that's me putting it in happy, sparkly terms). Matt's fellowship at the university is up this summer and he is currently looking for a new job. The reality of job-hunting as an academic is that your new job could be in another time zone. This is how we ended up in Delaware in two and half years ago, and this is how we'll probably leave it. But back to my point: last fall, when I first decided to pursue teaching instead of completing my dissertation, I moved forward with a plan to get my certification to teach in public schools. I thought this would open up the most doors for me. To do so I would need to take some English courses and apply to a graduate program in education that certifies would-be teachers who have previous degrees. Without certification I could only apply to some charter and private schools. It was exciting to make a decision and move forward, and this is how I wound up in Linguistics 101.

I think we moved forward with my plan a little quickly, motivated by excitement and a sense relief that I would no longer be slumped on the couch sobbing through a page of my dissertation research. But reality looks a bit different. In order to take all these classes we need child care for both kids (which is expensive) and would require a financial sacrifice over the next year that we really cannot afford. If following these particular paths were a part of my biggest hopes and dreams we would figure something out, but they are not. Matt and I sat down together and talked about this last week, and we asked ourselves what we really wanted from the next two years. First, a tenure-track job for my brilliant husband. Done and done (or, at least, I have all the confidence in the world that a department will scoop him up in no time). Second, we both want a third child. I know, I know, we'll be outnumbered by cats and children, but it's what we want. Not tomorrow, but in the next year or two.

Having made this clear to ourselves, we can make decisions accordingly. For myself, I still want to be a teacher, but I don't want to return to school (at this point) to make that happen. I will instead look for a place to teach this September, you know, once we know where we will be living. Watch out, children of Texas, you might have a Canadian amongst you soon! I'll get you spelling 'colour' in no time! So for now I am not going to continue in linguistics because it was a credit necessary for a very particular graduate program that I no longer need. I am still taking a course in American Literature in the coming term, because 1) I love reading, 2) it's free, thanks to Matt being faculty, and 3) my future students will only accept so much Margaret Atwood and Mordecai Richler for so long before they rise up and demand someone local.

Stay tuned for more changes. I don't want to overwhelm you all at once.

Anyone else making a big change?

There's a Cat in My Room

Every night we go through the same song and dance. We tuck Alyce into bed (and then get her out of bed for that last trip to the potty, desperate as she is to extend the day just that little bit longer). Then she asks us to leave the door open just a little bit (followed by an important discussion over what exactly constitutes a little bit) and to put up the gate--so that Lucy doesn't bother her.

And then it begins. Usually we've retreated into the kitchen, either making a late dinner for grown-ups, or cleaning up the dishes from an earlier dinner, and we'll hear it: There's a cat in my ro-om. THERE'S A CAT IN MY RO-OM.



We can't figure out why Lucy insists on hopping over the gate into Alyce's room or why it bothers Alyce so much in the first place. Lucy doesn't jump up on Alyce's bed or anything too intrusive, and she often does not even make a sound. But Alyce's keen nighttime vision, determined as she is to keep her eyes open as long as possible, will spot the intruder right away. She seems to like Lucy enough during the day, and will always list Lucy as her favourite among cats (poor Hille is never included), but after dark she seems to take great offense at the thought of sharing her room with a cat. The other cats are not concerned about Alyce's preferences, as they have preferences of their own and at this point in the day are happily asleep on the living room furniture. But Lucy is committed, for reasons unknown, to Alyce's room. I have a few theories, myself. Lucy is by far the most evil of our cats and I expect that her commitment to Alyce's room is motivated by that old-fashioned desire to do whatever it is we're told not to do. Lucy is also the most social of the cats, so her obsession with Alyce's bedtime might be an attempt to weasel out a few extra minutes of attention from Alyce, who unfortunately, according to Lucy, will be prevented from giving pets for the next twelve hours. How sweet of Lucy, really, to recognize that sleep deprives us from giving her attention.




Whatever the reason, all I know is that I had to climb over the gate into Alyce's room six times tonight. Six times I gently picked up Lucy and escorted her out of her room (or something like that). And yes, everyone except Alyce realizes that the best solution to our problem (short of Lucy moving out) would be to close the bedroom door.

But then it would not be open a little bit.

A Little Math to Keep You Warm

Can't write, must multiply fractions and find for x. And then sob in the corner.

Have I mentioned I dislike math? Especially the lonely kind of math you learn all by yourself in preparation for these evil standardized tests. They don't even go easy on you because you're Canadian and didn't grow up writing these kinds of tests. I'll just say it: multiple choice gives me the willies. And in order to cope with these willies, I have consumed more pizza and peanut m&ms than anybody ought to.

Now I must go and study some more. The good news is that I've probably passed my practice tests so far--I say probably because, despite my graduate degree, I can't decipher the cryptic scoring system of the Praxis exams. My study guide offers an explanation something like, "if you get 75% of the questions right you'll likely achieve a score of 678, but sometimes you can achieve this score if you get 65% of the questions right, or if you're writing the test on a Tuesday in June, you might score 783."

Fortunately this weekend was not all about studying. We did some other stuff too:

What is January good for if not a little static electricity. One girl found this very entertaining.

Shira grew a new tooth. That red cheek has been staring us down all week.

The neatest ice cream-eater in the U.S.A. But that neatness comes at a cost: it was the slowest cone in history.

Hille rested.

I also bought this for Shira. The girl likes her sleep sacs, and she's growing out of everything we have. I am a sucker, and I mean sucker, for polka dots.

I hope everyone had a warm weekend inside under blankets. Maybe you read a great book, or studied math?

Wish me luck tomorrow!

A Habit of Writing

Me and Pomegranate, trying to start our day.

I'm never alone. Ever. Even when Alyce has left for preschool with Matt, who then heads off to work for the day, and Shira is napping (finally), and I sit down to work on a post or answer the emails I've avoided since yesterday, I am never alone. Without fail, one of three cats appears, incapable, it seems, to be more than one foot away from us at all times. So I work with it, because as much as I fantasize about it some days, they aren't going anywhere. And so it is that I begin my Tuesday morning writing, supervised by Pomegranate.

(See how I managed to write a post without actually saying anything of value, but still in keeping with my brand new habit of posting every day? I come by it honestly. I remember driving my grade six English teacher crazy with my poems and short stories about absolutely nothing. Poor Mr. Allison was often subjected to limericks about broccoli or a story about my shoe, simply because I liked producing quantity. Maybe even then I realized that developing a consistent writing habit would pay off.

Not likely.)