Thursday, 28 November 2013

Careful. Don't pee in the bath.

Last Friday was a good day.

Just like every Friday, we kicked it off with Baby-Mommy Yoga (aka "Baby-Mommy Sitting On A Mat").  This is the highlight of my week due mostly to the lovely moms I get to hang out with and our visit to the coffee shop afterward.

Later that afternoon, I got to experience my favourite part of motherhood - watching her learn.  You see, after a month of plainly sitting in her bouncer and staring at the toys, she finally figured out how to actually bounce. And bounce and bounce and bounce.

When Hubby arrived home, he played with Fraggle while I - wait for for - GOT DRESSED UP AND WENT TO A PARTY.  Yes, that's right.  I curled my ever-decreasing hair, put on a dress and heels, and went to dinner with a room full of adults - adults who spoke to me about adult topics.

(Although I adore talking with my mom friends at a coffee shop following Baby-Mommy Mat Sitting, my conversation earlier that day was primarily centred around the fear of having my nipples bitten off by a teething baby, and the joyous procedure of sucking snot out of her nose.)

Not only did I relish in adult conversation, I also enjoyed belting out K-Os' "The Dog Is Mine" at the highest possible volume on my fancy car stereo, ate a giant steak meal, downed a glass of pinot grigio, and... ATE ICE CREAM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOUR MONTHS.  (Thank you Fraggle for your improved tolerance of dairy in my diet.)

I arrived home a mere two and a half hours later after what felt like a miraculous three days of freedom.  After ranting to Hubby about my joyous solo outing, I headed upstairs for my regular evening bath, Kobo e-reader in hand.

This is where I was unceremoniously reminded of my new parental identity.

I was enjoying my hot bath and e-book, when I suddenly had the urge to pee.  Now, in case you didn't already know, a mother's bladder control is not what it once was, before she pushed a tiny human out of an even tinier hole.  So, the urge to pee is not something that can be ignored.  I jumped out of the tub and in my haste dropped my e-reader directly into the water.

This was precisely my fear four years ago when Momma bought it for me.  Of course the damn thing went sketchy.  Ruined I was sure.

Hubby happened to come up and I begged him, dripping wet and precariously holding my pee, to bring me some rice - because when you accidentally immerse your electronic device in water, burying it in rice helps eliminate the moisture.

That said, I had little hope of saving my Kobo, humbled by my realization that no day is perfect.

It seems, however, that the universe was watching out for me that day, because guess what?  My Kobo works.  Perfectly.

So now I want to thank the people of Kobo for making an e-reader with the durability to survive a new mother, a bathtub, and weak bladder control.  And also Uncle Ben's rice, for supporting its recovery. My only question is if the rice is still edible...

Monday, 11 November 2013

I value that

I've struggled for years to define what Remembrance Day means to me.  Like many, I don't generally support war.  But defining "war" can be just as difficult as defining "peace."  I suppose the point is I would always prefer a diplomatic solution - but wouldn't we all.  Unfortunately, war and peace are far more complicated than that, and I cannot begin to understand all the facets and intricacies.

Ultimately, I think I'm coming to the conclusion that Remembrance Day doesn't have to be about war, or about peace.  It can simply be an opportunity to reflect.

Many military "missions" aren't about fighting, rather about peacekeeping, or protecting, or preventing a larger fight.  Even if they are "war" in the traditional sense, regardless of the macro-level political and social intricacies, I think the individuals who provide their service are doing it with a sense of courage, a sense of loyalty -- I think are are doing it for something.  I value that.

I don't know much about my Papa during WWII, but I know that I couldn't have balloons in his house because the popping sound was too traumatic for him.  I know that he met my Nana there, in Italy I think, while they were both serving, and that they married in three separate countries to make sure it was legal.  I value that.

I know that without a father to do "dad" things with, my uncle let me camp in the backyard in his giant army tent.  I know that I fretted for him when he went to Somalia for peacekeeping when I was eight years old.  I know that it was beyond special to speak to him for one minute of his allotted five minute phone allowance while he was there.  I value that.

I know that Hubby's Gramps, now in his 90s, takes immense pride in his service during WWII.  He is so highly appreciated and respected and has achieved some incredible things in his lifetime.  And he loves his family; he loves my Baby Fraggle.  I value that.

This all means that Remembrance Day doesn't have to be about the wars, or the peace.  For me, it can be about these people who have participated in something bigger than themselves, and how it has impacted them.

Lest we forget that.