Here’s Budsie, wearing my pink Afghanistan shirt in support of Anti-Bullying Day. Lucky Budsie – he’s never been the victim of bullying. Unless you count that time, back when he was super wee, when his pacifier kept falling out of his mouth, teasing him something dreadful. But I don’t.

I was never bugged much in school. I ran with a bunch of nerds for most of my childhood (until somewhere around the beginning of high school when I switched to the artsy, smoke-a-lot-of-pot, heavy-on-the angst group) but they were the kind of nerds that no one bothered with. I was teased mercilessly when I cut my hair all off in Grade 8, and that hurt, but it did look ridiculous so what could I do? Oh and I managed to get the nickname ‘Goat’ at some point in middle school and it stuck, most unfortunately. However, by high school it was friends who called me this, not enemies. So while I hated high school, for the limitations placed on my learning, for the asinine behaviour of teenage girls who regularly drew their eyebrows on, and for the absolutely ridiculous teachers I managed to get stuck with, relatively speaking, I did ok. I would never go back – you could not pay me enough to go back – but I did ok.

The same cannot be said for my sister. My sister, the smartest and prettiest girl I know, was bugged A LOT. For her hair, her glasses, her everything. Worse, I had times when people from her grade (she’s two years younger) came to me and asked what was wrong with her/why was she such a dork/etc. To which I said “kindly eff off.” Lady Heather found solace in the band room, thank God, but not enough was done to make her life easier. All this before online bullying was even possible. I cannot even imagine.

Kids can be the most amazing beings, but also the most hurtful. I really hope Budsie doesn’t get bullied, but more than this, I hope he doesn’t bully anyone else. I hope I raise a boy who is good and kind and who helps those who are weaker or less fortunate than he is. I hope he wears pink to school on this day every year and tells people why:

Because bullying isn’t cool.

…cut herself some slack everyone so often. For the first time in weeks, I haven’t written anything except for one guest blog post today and I resolve not to beat myself up over this. I’m having one of those days where I feel like I’m failing as a human being. This has put me in a jerk mood, unsurprisingly, and the good kind of writing does not flow when I am in a jerk mood. Unless of course that jerk mood is fueled by something specific. This mood is not. Just wrong side of the bed. A sunny walk with the Budsie went a long way but now it’s dark out and all I want to do is order pizza and drink a six-pack of beer. Neither of these is a good idea, for both financial and just plain sense making reasons. Sigh.

Days and nights like this, I miss going to the pub with the gals. When I was in grad school, MM, LG and AB and I would go to Mike’s Place every Wednesday. We’d order pint after pint and natter on about the state of feminist politics today and it was just so much fun. I really miss pub nights.

But, on the plus side, I did manage to drink the requisite 8 glasses of water today (my bladder was most confused) and I purchased a plant! Say hello to Edmund the ivy:

Looks chipper enough, eh? Let’s all hope he likes it here on the kitchen table. Partial sunlight and plenty of conversation. Plus a quaint butter dish and some pebble-shaped s+p shakers to keep him company. I have ridiculously high hopes that Edmund will live a long happy life, perhaps accompanying my 8 month old when he heads off to university. Maybe Edmund will live in a dorm with Budsie and live off of beer and Cheetos like the rubber plant I had back in my UVic days. We shall see…

…drink eight glasses of water each day. So that I never again wake up at 3am feeling as though Sleeping Ezmy ate her weight in uber salty popcorn. Ugh. Then you have to have the debate with yourself – is it worth getting up, fumbling all the way upstairs just for a glass of water, or can I ignore this thirst and fall back asleep? I ignored it…and regretted doing so at 7am when I woke up with mouthful of sand. Double Ugh.

I used to be great at getting my liquids in. I usually start each day with dehydrating coffee, sure, but I like to think I recover from this damage with 3 or 4 mugs of lemongrass tea, a few glasses of ice water with dinner and then a mug of some sort of herbal tea at bed. The thing is that lately, with a kid to keep busy and the writing picking up, I seem to be running out of time to get the water in. Worse, I’m drinking way more coffee than I used to (to which those of you who know me will say: how is that possible?). So my face looks like crap as do my hands. My skin, bad at the best of times, has completely abandoned me, leaving in its place a withered old lady face. Pathetic, really.

Thus hydrating has been my focus for today. And I’m doing ok. Back to lemongrass tea with lunch and a glass of water to start the day. I am sipping wine right now but I’ll take a glass of aqua to bed with me, I promise.

An update on previous resolutions: I ran out of bus tickets! Boo. But only temporarily – I have more now. And I haven’t purchased my poor plant yet – that’s for tomorrow. Stupid stores being closed on Family Day. What a ridiculous thing, Family Day. In Ottawa, it was Family Day for, like, two people. Feds don’t have families apparently. Neither do customer service workers in most places. Argh.

One of my favourite things about A. is the random stuff he brings home with him. Some days it’s flowers (heart!). Some days it’s Vogue magazine (double heart!). Some days it’s herb and garlic ‘Bagel Os’ (?). And some days it’s stuffed dogs the size of a large toddler (???).

“Crazy Joe” is a giant stuffed dog that A. rescued from Loblaw’s. He was a steal at $5, apparently. Budsie likes Crazy Joe and so do I. I particularly enjoy hearing A. tell Budsie about Crazy Joe’s sketchy past:

A.: “Hey Mr. Poopyman [A.’s name for our son], meet Crazy Joe! He’s crazy ’cause he was just rescued from life on the streets.”

The Budsie: “dadadadaMAMAMAyaya.” *drool*

A.: “That’s right. Ol’ Crazy Joe sure faced some tough times out on the streets! He was educated in the school of hard knocks, boy.”

The Budsie: “nyyyyyAAAAYAYAYA! mmmmnanana.” *burp* “Pffffffft.”

A.: “I know! And man, does he have some stories. Out on the streets, Crazy Joe used to be the right-hand man to a big German Shepard named Fang. Fang was in charge of a tough street gang of dogs. Crazy Joe helped him carry out his crazy deeds. Out on the streets!”

The Budsie: *Finds piece of leftover French toast in his sleeve. Reacts as though he has found gold. Stares at Daddy* “buhbuhbuhBABABABAyayaya.”

And so on. I really love the weekends.

…buy a plant and keep it alive. Until at least the end of this calendar year, but I’d really like it to be longer.

As I’ve noted a few times on this blog, every time a plant enters my humble abode, this plant becomes incredibly depressed and promptly kills itself. I maintain that it is NOT my fault – I provide a nice, hospitable environment for my leafy friends but either a) they are overcome by grief from being separated from their other leafy friends or b) I don’t understand plant psychology.

The only plant that has survived for any length of time is Lucy, a random vine-y plant purchased by me and A. five years ago. I was going to include a picture of Lucy here, but sadly she passed away over the weekend. She had a good run of it, dear Lucy. Shame too. I thought perhaps a friend (and a shiny new pot that could accommodate her glorious root structure) would perk her up. Although I’m not sure if putting an innocent new plant next to her would have helped my cause of preventing depression in my house plants. I was depressed just looking at her in the final days.

Anyway, house plants everywhere beware! Ezmy and Budsie are heading out today to adopt one of you.

Update on previous resolutions: The bathroom is fixed! It was a two-person job in the end because I’m weak and couldn’t unscrew the previous assembly. But it’s done! Also going well: the no Kraft peanut butter breakfast resolution. I forgot just how much I adore steel cut oats. I could eat them for every meal, I really could. Oh and I didn’t have a Werther’s last night. Instead I had a homemade soy latte at 10pm and was up until 2am…what is wrong with me?

On the outfit front, I’ve had some excellent luck, re-discovering among other items a grey cotton dress that I had purchased right before getting pregnant and haven’t been able to wear since. Paired with burgundy lace tights and a black cardi, this was one hot writing outfit. Not so lucky: a black dress that makes me look like I’m still 8 months pregnant. This little number has been given a one-way ticket to the Salvation Army.

…stop eating Werther’s Originals before going to sleep. Tonight I am going to go downstairs, get into bed, write for an hour or two, read, and go to sleep. Each of these steps will not, NOT, be punctuated with a Werther’s Original.

The Werther’s habit started back in August after our wedding. A. and I had teacup and used book centerpieces and inside the teacups I put a handful of Werther’s because I liked the way the gold wrappers looked in the cups. After the wedding, half of the teacups had been emptied, but the other half were still full so we brought them home. Oh, and I may or may not have purchased way too many Werther’s to begin with. So we had a shopping bagful of these gold gems just lying around the house, waiting to be eaten.

Now. To understand how a Werther’s before bed habit started (instead of a Werther’s after morning coffee or Werther’s after dinner habit), you have to understand our other habit: the watch an episode of something (95% of the time, it’s an episode of The Office) on the laptop in bed before passing out (A.) or writing for a couple of hours (me) habit. This habit started back when A. was on paternity leave and we were up every hour or so with Budsie and really didn’t feel any need to sleep during normal people hours. We don’t have a TV in our bedroom, so we propped the laptop up in bed and chilled out in front of 30 minutes of funny times. And when you’re watching TV, it’s nice to have a nibble-y. And we used to have cookies, then it was Toblerone (far too dangerous as I can eat a jumbo Toblerone by myself in ten minutes flat), and then these treats were replaced with the far healthier (ha!) and, at the time free, Werther’s.

So.

Sometime back at the beginning of November, the Werther’s train ran out. And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. A. brought home a bag, and then I brought home a bag and now we find ourselves completely addicted to the damn things. A. is far more sensible than I am – he has one each night, as a post dinner, pre-sleep treat. I, on the other hand, have five or six each night. Do you have any idea how expensive/sugary bad that habit is? It ain’t good that’s for sure.

So no more. Now, some would argue I should wean myself off slowly, but I know better. Back when I was smoking, the only way to stop was altogether. It’s the same with these I figure. One day at a time though. I have to think of the perks: more money in my pocket and less crinkly gold wrappers in my sheets/pockets/make-up case/glasses case/diaper bin. Here goes!

…fix the downstairs toilet. Because I miss having two bathrooms. For 11 years, I lived perfectly content with one loo. And when we moved into this place, I figured I’d never even use the upstairs ‘guest loo’. What couple with a baby needs two bathrooms?

We do. Rather, I do.

The downstairs toilet is located in the bathroom with all the gear in it – tub, shower, hairdryer, make-up, etc. It busted a few weeks ago (yes, I’m lazy. You should know that by now). It’s a relatively easy fix – I need to replace the float ball assembly because somehow the screw that is used to control the tank water level broke off. I say “somehow” – what really happened was in my panic to stop the toilet from over-flowing one day, I yanked the float ball bar up too hard and snapped off the screw. Oops.

Now, we’ve been doing ok. But I really hate not having a loo in the same room as the other get-ready-for-the-day gear. Also irritating? Getting up in the middle of the night to use the loo, having to fumble around with a few different doors before falling into the hallway, tripping over the cat as I fall up the stairs, and then again as I fall down, trying to block the cat from tearing into our room, failing miserably and then trying to coax her out from under the bed by hissing ‘zoe!’ without waking up the kid at the end of our bed, waking up the kid, and then just giving up altogether and playing Sudoku for an hour while cuddling the kid back to sleep.

I don’t like this.

So today, A. is headed to Canadian Tire to pick up the necessary bits and bobs, and tonight I’m going to fix the toilet. Maybe I’ll bring Budsie in and show him how it’s done. Or how it’s not done, depending on how successful I am…

A typical Friday night conversation between Ezmy and A.:

A. (playing video game): Here’s what I don’t understand. I have parachutes and then I don’t have parachutes. WTF?

Ezmy (writing on the couch):  What?

A.: Parachutes. I mean, where do they go?

Ezmy: Do you use them first?

A.: I use one once, and it goes away. But I also use none nonce, and they still go away.

Ezmy: nonce?

A. (ignoring Ezmy): Like why even have parachutes? I’m not buying parachutes anymore.

Ezmy: You purchased the parachutes?

A.: People don’t just give you parachutes, baby. You gots to buy them.

Ezmy: Oh, I thought maybe you came with parachutes.

A.: What?

Ezmy: You know. Like your guy comes with parachutes.

A.: People don’t come with anything, Ezmy. People are just people. They don’t “come with” parachutes.

Ezmy: Right.

*minutes pass*

A. (points to video game): Look at this guy, strutting around like the cock of nothing.

Ezmy: I love you.

In this world, there are only four things I really, really can’t stand: ridiculous North American liquor laws, intolerance towards others, trying to meet new people, and taking a stroller on the bus.

I can’t do much about the first two except openly mock laws that suggest I can’t control myself unless I drink my Guiness in a confined space during a specified time, and set an example for my son by being accepting of others. But it’s a different story with the second two.

First, trying to meet new people. I really hate doing this because I suck at it. I always clam up around new people. I want to know all the cool people already and not have to think about it. I don’t like small talk, I don’t like social situations where I have to explain my complicated little life and I don’t like awkward silences. The friends I have are largely from high school, the three universities I went to, my time in Toronto when I was a) a lot more confident (some would say horribly cocky, but let’s just say confident shall we?) and b) working in the bar scene, and A.’s work or previous life in Halifax. In each case, I met them in an organic sort of way, you know? Nothing forced – just similar classes, friends, etc. And it’s a big circle and I love them all.

But here’s the thing. Aside from one or two of them, my friends do not have children. And while I don’t mind not knowing people with kids, I think it might be in my kid’s best interests to, you know, have friends. I mean aside from me. The thing is, meeting other mothers scares the ever-loving crap out of me. Seriously. I’d rather start a new job or defend my thesis or eat peas than meet other mothers. Why? Oh for any number of reasons. What if we don’t have anything besides the fact that we can procreate in common? What if they start playing the one-upper game with my kid? What if they just plain suck? What if they think I suck? Etc. etc.

So I avoid other mothers like the plague. At the library, on the bus. I’m terrible. I really must stop doing this. Because it’s a lonely world, SAHM-ing. One that people with kids get, but people without kids don’t (sorry, you don’t). And I’m sure I can solve this. I sense a resolution coming on…

Not today though. Today was for solving the fourth thing that I can’t stand: taking the stroller on the bus. Taking a stroller on the bus is about as fun as stepping on my own foot. Which I actually often do while taking the stroller on the bus. I can hear the collective sighs of the people on the bus when they see I’m about to get on with my reasonably sized stroller. I’ve even heard people whisper things like “why doesn’t she just take her car?” or “ugh, stroller mom”. Jerks. I don’t own a car because I can’t afford a car. Do you think I enjoy taking a stroller on the bus? Lifting it up, trying to squish it into the seats, having to move if a wheelchair comes on because they are the priority, sometimes having to wait for three buses to go by before there is one that can take me, trying to get off the bus when no one will just get the hell out of my way? And god help me if I have shopping. Trust me, if I had other options, I’d be doing them.

But today I temporarily solved this problem. How? By sticking the kid into a spiffy carrier. The weather hasn’t really been carrier-friendly lately, but today it was nice and sunny so I popped a bottle, a diaper, a board book and a toy in my purse and headed on out to explore the world with my bestest little man Budsie strapped to my front:

*pictured here with an unfortunate faux hawk from his glasses. His daddy’s going to go mental. And I’m looking awfully smug. I’m not actually that smug.*

Happy Friday!

…never, EVER, run out of coffee again. I had another resolution all planned out for today but this clearly takes priority. Yesterday Ezmy made herself a pot of coffee yesterday morning and looked into the empty coffee bag and said to herself “don’t worry, you can get more tonight”. Except that she didn’t. Instead, Yesterday Ezmy forgot all about me and my needs, and she went about her day and evening as usual. And this morning, I opened the cupboard and there was no coffee left. Man I hate Yesterday Ezmy. My empty little pumpkin mug hates her too.

I was supposed to finish off an article this morning for a friend’s publication and I was supposed to proofread a different article for a charity organization. Instead, I’m writing this post because I have a raging headache. Now, arguably, I should make a resolution to ween myself off of coffee because clearly I have a drug problem. Pfft. As soon as Budsie wakes up, we’re heading out to pick up some Kicking Horse. I’ve quit smoking, drinking heavily, and drugs of all other kinds. Coffee and Vogue are all I have.