Mommy Blogging: My Son Has Strength of Character

My 12-year-old son got scouted by a GTHL single-A team last year after being the top scorer on his house-league all-star team. The Greater Toronto Hockey League made me nervous. It is very competitive, very political, and thought to be corrupt in many ways. So I wasn't too sure about the whole thing.

But they wooed and wooed him and he was all excited and so I agreed: you can play for the team. He had a great year. He made lots of new friends, was the top-scoring rookie and had the most assists on the team this year. And yet the coaches called last week to say that he really shouldn't bother turning out for next season tryouts on the weekend, because he was getting cut. Why? Because two double-A teams had folded and they wanted to go after the bigger double-A kids, and my son is small for his age. Fast, great skater, passer, stickhandler and play-maker, but small, so see you later.

I am not one of THOSE hockey mothers, but I thought this was mean and cruel. These coaches claimed to be unconcerned with winning -- they wanted a nice bunch of kids who played well together and simply for the love of the game. Despite that, the team made it to the semi-finals, beating out teams that had been ahead of them in the standings all year. And yet they ended up turfing all the kids who were small, including some of their best players. My son became fleetingly teary when I broke the news to him, but then I watched in amazement as a steely resolve came over him. OK, he said, then I want to try out for another single-A team.

His father and I said fine, but had to warn him gently: the GTHL is very political, honey, and those coaches don't know you at all, and you may not be able to impress them enough in a short try-out to get them to sign you. We simply have no connections with that team.

He went. He knocked their socks off, dominating the play in all the scrimmages. They were desperate to sign him on the spot. And they did.

I was very proud. I couldn't have done that. I would have cried for a day and quit hockey.

New Favourite Song

I have become obsessed with a Broken Social Scene song entitled Lover's Spit, from the album Bee Hives. Sounds gross, I realize, but it is a beautiful, moving and sad song although what it's about, I cannot be sure.

It certainly contains some interesting lyrics:

"All these people drinking lover's spit
Swallowing words like giving head."

There are two versions of the song -- one with Kevin Drew singing the lead, seen in the YouTube clip, and the other with Feist. The Feist one is truly heartbreaking.

If I have managed to find only one silver lining about being without the man I once loved, it is the freedom to play sad songs at full volume while slightly drunk over and over and over again, singing out loud to them, even though I can't sing (which is among the biggest tragedies of my life because I can assure you, I have the music in me, 24/7). This also brings to mind one of the profound questions from High Fidelity that has haunted me, as a music freak, since I read the book, then saw the movie: "Do I listen to pop music because I'm miserable, or am I miserable because I listen to pop music?" Very good question.

Anyway, try to download this song, especially the Feist version.

My Neighbour Wants to Date Me

So this very nice divorced man who I have known for many years has asked me out. Not just asked me out, but dumped his girlfriend in order to ask me out.

Since my marital breakup, he has been very kind to me and occasionally comes over to watch The Sopranos and Entourage on PVR. He brings beer. We chat about our kids and laugh. We have known one another for years, so it is all very comfortable. He is cute and smart and well-read. My only Seinfeld complaint is that he has wiry hair and a goatee. Do not like facial hair. However, he has a great husky voice and a good body.

But I still love and miss my husband and cannot imagine being with anyone else. But maybe I need to be?

Help!

I Actually Bought This Thing

It's called Tweeze, pronounced Tweez-ie. And I bought it after seeing the infomercial as I lay sobbing in a Montreal hotel room a month ago (you know, the usual ... yada yada yada). As loyal readers to RTK are likely aware, I fear I have a facial hair problem despite those nearest and dearest to me staring intently at every inch of my face when I ask them to and swearing that they don't know what the hell I am talking about. However, I am certain they see nothing because of my obsessive maintenance ritual that involves about 4,ooo pairs of tweezers, various magnifying mirrors placed in sunny windows all over the house and many, many boxes of wax strips in every size.

Since we were talking about moustaches, I thought I'd let loyal RTK readers know that I have sampled an infomercial product that promises a life of easy facial hairlessness. And it doesn't work. I have run the thing over hairy areas and nothing happens. So don't bother. Tweezers and wax work better. Save your cash, moustache-ladies! Don't be fooled!

My hero...

...the link

Public service announcement

Many years ago Tearfree broke a filling crunching on an M and M. She told her dentist it was an apple. The source of her recent problems, however, required no obfuscation. It was a healthy Greek salad, more specifically, an olive therein.

"Ahh," said the dentist. "Olives, a dentist's best friend."

"You have to eat them at the front of your mouth," said the endodontist.

"It's a bit late for that," thought Tearfree as he got out all his needles.

But dear readers, it's not too late for you. Olives, nuts, popcorn, Miss Vicky's potato chips, President's Choice potato chips, please be careful. Eat cautiously!

RTK Blogging Announcement

Tearfree just returned from a root canal. This procedure was preceded last week by having a faulty crown removed. Last night she hardly slept at all due to shooting pains in her chin. She feels okay now because the novocaine is still working. The endodontist told her to take three advil -- all at once -- if she is still in pain later on.

All this coincided with having to mark dozens and dozens of end-of-semester papers. Thankfully Tearfree is 90% finished those, but the final stretch is a killer.

Under the circumstances Tearfree hopes loyal readers will forgive her for not blogging about the Swedish hospital that banned Crocs, the latest softwood lumber troubles, and various Wiped! fiascos.

In the mean time, you can help Tearfree by giving your suggestions about what we should do for RTK's first birthday on May 2.

k-os, Lily Allen Helping to Lift the Dark Cloud of Depression

I have recently gone completely mental over two musicians -- Canada's k-os and Britain's Lily Allen.

I am not quite sure that I understand, since becoming hooked on k-os's latest album, Atlantis: Hymns for Disco, why he is not an international superstar. Sunday Morning and Mirror in the Sky are two exhilaratingly catchy, ska-infused pop songs but there are also great rock songs and a beautiful, moving Marvin Gaye-esque ballad called The Rain. The songs are superb, and he's also got a fantastic voice. I actually think I might be in love. If I go to see him in concert, I fear I will burst into tears of joy just as I did when I saw The Hives in concert a few years ago.

Lily Allen is a young British girl who sings happy, catchy songs with dark and menacing lyrics -- a delightful combination, in my opinion. Try to find Smile if you can. It's a great, sweet-sounding rant about a guy who broke her heart by banging the girl next door. She's got a great voice, English accent fully intact, and combined with, once again, the ska-tinged songs and melodies, her music is irresistible.

But don't take my word for it! I am just a depressed blogger trying to hold herself together for her kids! So read this .... and read this!

I dream so longingly, so desperately for a k-os/Lily Allen collaboration ......

If You Want a Good Laugh, '80s style

Even if you never watched The Young and The Restless in the 1980s, this is the funniest video ever. Brenda Dickson played Jill Abbott through most of the '80s, and was perhaps the campiest, most over-the-top soap star ever. Her diva-like behaviour ended up getting her fired from the show but I honestly never really watched it once she left, because the Jill who replaced her was so boring by comparison. Please, check these out, Parts One and Two. The fashions alone are funny enough, but the outrageous commentary has to be heard to be believed.

You know it's a slow news day when...

... this is the number one story.

Saskatchewan readers and Alberta Rancher, please don't take offense.

Am I The Only Dirty-Minded Viewer Who Sees Something Sexual in That Malteser Commercial?

Is it just me, or is there something not-so-vaguely sexual about the Malteser commercial where the attractive young couple is cuddled up together on the couch watching TV and she asks him to give her a Malteser? He obeys by sucking one out of the bag with a straw, then slowly feeding it into her mouth via the straw. She giggles devilishly after swallowing it down. He actually adjusts his belt buckle and settles back to enjoy the television with a heavy sigh and a very happy, self-satisfied look on his face.

Many people apparently hate this commercial. I find it more intriguing than hateful -- perhaps because in my previous life, I always enjoyed a good romp in front of the TV set. And right now, in fact, having just seen the commercial, I am desperately craving a big bag of Maltesers. Or is it something else I'm craving? Is it warm in here? I may never look at a Malteser in the same way again. Bravo, Malteser people!

Defending Nine Gram Brain

It seems that Rebecca Eckler, author of Wiped! Life with a Pint-Sized Dictator, is dissing the delightful Nine Gram Brain today. So for all of you new visitors joining RTK for the very first time, and in honour of parodists and satirists everywhere, including the admirably anonymous winner of the Most Awesome Rockstar Mummy Blogger Contest, Tearfree offers you a new contest:

Fergie vs. Rebecca Eckler

Fergie: Goes on about her humps in songs and videos
RE: Goes on about her humps in books and newspaper columns

Fergie: Highly questionable musical talent, completely reliant on producers
RE: Highly questionable literary talent, completely reliant on editors

Fergie: Satirized brilliantly by Alanis Morissette
RE: Satirized brilliantly by Nine Gram Brain (who kind of looks like Alanis Morissette)

Fergie: Obsessed with brands, sings in My Humps:

They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ice-ys.
dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and then Donna
Caring, they be sharin'
All their money got me wearin' fly
Brother I ain't askin,
They say they love my ass in
Seven Jeans, True Religion,

RE: Obsessed with brands, writes on her blog:

I realized there were a few things missing, namely a Prada purse, a brand new Roots purse, a pair of Puma sneakers, in the last few weeks...
But then there was a film festival party. I had just bought a new Theory dress two days before this nanny came over.

Fergie: Despite skankiness still admired by weirdo fans
RE: Despite skankiness still admired by weirdo fans

Feel free to add your own categories in the comments

Friday the 13th of April, 2007

April is the cruelest month -- Tearfree

Spinning: How Does One Get Past The Arse Pain?

So I have gone spinning four times in the past two weeks. And still, the pelvic area, front and back, is killing me. I am not talking muscular pain. I am talking bike-seat-grinding-against-the-pelvic bones pain.

Granted, I don't have as much padding as I did four months ago -- I have lost about 15 pounds since my marriage broke up, most of that off my arse. I am now having to buy Size Four pants, which is proof positive that vanity sizing madness has in fact spiralled out of control because on no planet in this universe am I a Size Four. But I digress .... you spinners out there!! Yes, you!!! How much longer will this arse/crotch trauma continue? And what happens when it stops? Does it mean my pelvic area has become calloused? And if so, is that good? I am thinking not if I hope to have carnal relations again anytime soon (although I have ruled that out entirely for the next two years).

Look at that girl up there, the one in the orange T-shirt. She looks buff but you can tell her arse is still hurting. How much longer must she and I suffer this way?

I Am The Baby Whisperer

Tonight I went to dinner at the house of dear friends who had invited other dear friends who recently had twin girls. It was the first time I had seen the darling babies, and they were gorgeous, bright-eyed, delightfully alert and engaging babies. I fell in love. Just one problem: they were relentlessly fussy.

Now I am used to fussy babies -- my daughter, now 16, was the fussiest baby ever. I simply got used to putting her in various holds and going about my business. I could do a load of laundry and wash a sink of dishes while gently bouncing my fussy, whiny baby in the football hold.

Tonight, I soothed two fussy babies effortlessly, despite being aggressively hit on by a single father whose wife recently left him. Despite all the proclamations of: "You are HOT! You are totally HOT! You are going to be single for about nine minutes!" -- I managed to politely brush him off, and focus on totally quieting the babies while drawing pictures for his three-year-old daughter. In short, I impressed myself. Not only did I soothe and calm two colicky, fussy babies, earning accolades as "the baby whisperer,'' I managed to fend off the advances of a handsome and horny, yet certainly desperate, man. I am not going to jump into another relationship. I am going to mourn the one I lost, because it meant the world to me. And why? Because I am an adult. And I have learned. And it feels quite good to be an adult , despite the pain. I soothe fussy babies, not fussy adult, fragile egos. And that is how it should be.

Going postal

What kind of person googles taupe?

And then, what kind of person, having googled taupe, scrolls though four pages of results to get to RTK?


As far as Tearfree is concerned, it could be either a very good thing that they're googling taupe instead of buying guns, or it could be a serious warning sign.

What Goes on in Kitty-Cat Communities?

I have a cat named Wilbur. No, that is not him, that is just a funny cat picture. Anyway, Wilbur is a very independent outdoor cat. He likes to go out a lot and hang out with the other cats in the neighbourhood. While he is a big and manly tabby cat, he is benevolent, and gets along well with the other cats in our 'hood, frequently sitting in the sun with them or sharing the exciting sport of mouse-torturing with them. He is also a reliable cat. If I call him to come in, 10 minutes later he's at the back door.

Not lately. Wilbur is now engaged in some strange turf war with a newcomer to the neighbourhood, some black and white male who just showed up. Wilbur is not a fighter yet when this cat comes around they get into that weird eyeball-to-eyeball growling thing. It goes on for a half hour or so and then they scrap bitterly and angrily until one of them runs off.

When this Sylvester cat is around, Wilbur absolutely will not come in. It's like he's guarding the house. So he is now frequently pulling all-nighters, much to my despair, because A. it's been really cold here and B. I fear he will freeze to death or succumb to some other terrible fate, and then I don't really sleep all night fretting about him and frequently going downstairs to fruitlessly call him in.

I wonder what goes on in kitty-cat communities? Why are some cats viewed as threats while others are treated as dear pals? How do friendships/rivalries form?

My other cat, Coco, is a very sweet, slightly dumb little female cat who wouldn't even know how to get into a fight and has never met another cat she wasn't intrigued and charmed by. And yet another female down the street hates her guts, even though this cat -- Rosie -- is friends with all sorts of other female cats in the 'hood. Why has she chosen Coco to hate? Is she jealous of her beauty? Her closeness to Wilbur? Her silky fur?

I just can't figure out the feline soap operas being played out in the backyards and back alleyways of my hood.

Happy Easter

Belated Happy Passover. And happy any other holiday that I may have forgotten. See you next week.

The Numbing Boringness of Taupe

It may come as no surprise to any regular readers of RTK that I have had a rough few months. Thankfully, I have many dear and wonderful girlfriends who have come out of the woodwork to help me out. Girlfriends from childhood, girlfriends from university, girlfriends from the workplace, girlfriends from cyberspace -- dozens of them, and I think I have wept into most of their bosoms. I don't mind saying all of them well and truly despise my husband right now, even the ones who once adored him. Even knowing about the mistakes I made in the marriage -- and I made some doozies -- they think he has been unspeakably callous, cruel and heartless in letting me know of both his intentions to take up with the woman who was after him for the final year of our marriage and then actually letting me know he had done so in a defiant and nasty way.

In an effort to help me erase all trace of him from my life, there have been many well-meaning suggestions.

Among them:

Rent an apartment in Rome for a week this summer and spend the time on your own, eating pasta, pizza and gelato, wandering the sites, and hopefully banging young Italian men. Pack condoms. Working on it!

Date every man who's asked you out: Nope, can't do that yet. Unfortunately I am still very much in love with the guy my husband used to be, and I am mourning that loving and kind-hearted family man. RIP.

Move out of the house and away from all memories of him: Nope, too scary for the kids, who are still traumatized and fearful of more upheaval.

All righty then, renovate. Nope, no money for that.

All righty then, repaint. Hmmmmmm. That's a possibility.

Now here's where we run into trouble. My one girlfriend who actually enjoys housepainting is urging me to paint everything taupe, oatmeal, beige, bone, etc. She scoffs at me when I express my love of colour. This is a woman who just painted the pretty, buttery yellow walls of her airy turn-of-the-century cottage various shades of taupe. I bit my tongue, but to me she took something that was charming and bright and made it look dingy and dark. The walls simply look like they need a good scrub with Vim.

I have a very bright, sunny and colourful house. My kitchen is blood-red, my living room almost a mustard yellow, there's Benjamin Moore Dill Pickle in the upstairs hallway, the boys' bedroom is sky blue, one of the girl's bedrooms is apple green, the other girl's bedroom is fuschia, one of the bathrooms is a coppery canteloupe colour, my own bedroom is a soft blue-ish green. It may sound hideous, but with pure white trim and lots of similar accent colours running through the house, the rooms all blend beautifully together. I can't imagine replacing any of those wall colours with taupe or beige.

I read just last year that taupe was over, out, etc., and designers were delighted about it. Taupe is so boring and overdone, they said. Even Canada's best gossip columnist, Elaine Lui at laineygossip.com, considers celebrity couple Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner so tedious that she simply refers to them as Taupe.

Give me colour, colour, colour, I say! No, I will not repaint my blood-red kitchen dusty oatmeal! No, I will not! If I repaint, it will be to swap one vibrant, cheery colour with a new one. Down with taupe!

This is terrible news

...I am sick over it.