Love at the Splash Pad

The best thing about having a baby who can finally walk and do stuff is getting out in summer time. PARKS! Splash pad! And soon... wading pool! Every day the weather is nice I take Jack to the park and he loses himself in joy and exploration.

There's donated toys all over that he runs to, other people's things I have to keep him out of, new dogs to squeal over, and the splash pad. I tried one day to get him to run through it in his diaper, but this boy of mine has no interest in being naked. He's never liked it, not even from birth. So I put him back in his clothes and he got drenched, with no spare anything to change into.

So the last time we were there I brought a swim ensemble. Basically swim trunks to go over his diaper and a rash guard. But my goodness did he look cute! Now we were ready to get drenched!

Just bein' awesome.

And once in his suit he had to go over to the metal plumbing cover and play on that. He allowed himself to be briefly sprinkled by some water, but mostly he had already found what he wanted to do. 

However, he was eventually deterred from the mysteries of the dirty metal plank by a ridable toy truck that he'd only ever before dreamed to push. But that day he rode on it. And this is the shit I never understood before having a kid of my own, just how precious something like that could be.

More and more, looking at his little handsome face and getting those spontaneous hugs and hearing his high giggle, seeing all the sweet things he does, I feel like I have the best baby in the world. And that's the best part. Every mother feels that way. That's a mother's love, feeling like you really got something special.

He's my little pumpkin <3

Harder, But Better

Just a tad snowy out.

The snow. Oh gods, the snow! If Jack were older, we could go tobogganing. But since he's a baby and I need a stroller, I be stuck at home because many people do not shovel in front of their homes like they are supposed to. In the interest of buying a compact stroller that does not annoy people on the bus, I did not get an off-road type of contraption. Pushing it through stomped snow and ice is too much damn work.

These are the little things that can make your day feel harder than it really was. I remember when I first had Jack and the weather was a little wet, and then it was summer and I felt it was too hard to get out and do things. Ohohohoho! I was naive.

No outer clothing for me or the baby. I had to pack bottles, no solids. Baby poop was not offensive yet. Jack was not mobile and could be plopped down and left quietly in the car seat while I took care of business setting up outside. The sidewalks were clear. His naps were ongoing and he could be swaddled anywhere and doze off.

Having a 10-month-old in winter, who is mobile and alert and more on a schedule and eating real stuff, well, that's another ball of wax. Also, no more coffee shop dates with moms. I gots to go to baby-centric stuff now because Jack gets antsy and wants to see what the world is made of.

And all the Early Years Centres have narrow time windows that always coincide with nap times. And I ain't missing no naps! Not worth it. You try dealing with Crank Master J when that happens.

I don't even think I've hit the crux of difficulty yet. Jack doesn't protest when we leave a place where he's having fun. He can't walk, which means he cannot run away from me. He cannot say "no." And he will do all these things at a time that overlaps with still being in diapers.

Fear.

But I will not end this post on such a weary note. My boy, he's been doing spiffy stuff. Standing independently is increasingly steadier. He's finding his centre of gravity. He lowers himself with surprising grace as he attempts to balance.

Also, he's started saying "Mmm" after every bite of food. And he claps now. Sometimes he claps while we're feeding him, which is amazing. He likes to listen to the Dude play the guitar and he plucks the strings. He knows Cookie Monster and Big Bird (He has the dolls) and when we ask him where they are, he finds them and brings them to us.

In closing, my son is super adorable. Life's a little harder, but fuck it.

<3

On Being A Baby Person

I find my feelings about babies has undergone a massive shift since having one.

I'm not inherently a baby person. I've never not liked babies. I'm not a psycho. As a human being, I've always appreciated a baby, though I've never ached to hold them or anything. I just enjoyed seeing a cute wee person in little clothes making coos. I'd hold them briefly and give them back when they fussed.

Now? I melt. A baby smiles at me and instead of feeling pleased, I fall in love a little. A baby cries and instead of hearing the noise, I think about the baby's feelings. I hear about bad things happening to babies and instead of feeling upset or indignant, I get a chill down my spine and feel like crying.

And I think it relates entirely to the fact that I consider every baby could be my baby. A baby laughs? Jack laughs! Has a cute outfit? Jack could wear that! Gets lost or abused? Oh God, that could happen to Jack!

Some people say loving a baby is what true love is. Now, I don't think that's so. It's a different kind of love than what you have for a romantic partner or your parents. Actually, and this is going to sound absurd in many ways, but it's sort of like how you love your pet.

Hear me out.

Unconditional love has no place in most relationships. There needs to be something that a person could do to lose the claim they have on your love. No one deserves to be loved by their spouse if they're cheating on and abusing them, for example. It's actually a sad state of affairs to go on loving someone who kicks your dog or calls you names.

But you love your child unconditionally. And, really, you love your pet unconditionally too, that is, if you actually love your pet and are not just keeping one for the hell of it. Because some people do that, and frankly also may have kids for the same reason.

You care for your child and it takes a long time before you get anything back in recognition. You provide for needs, spend your money and your time, worry about them when they're not around and generally do your best to give them a good life. And you do these things for your pet, too.

When people say their dog is like their child, it's a fair enough simile. No, the dog isn't a child, but in many ways it's like one. The caregiving relationship and unconditional love exists and is cherished.

What elevates loving the baby is that you expect the baby to outlive you, the baby will grow into a person who can share a love with you person to person, with words. Imagine if your beloved pet could say, "I love you"? You'd probably die of happiness.

So, I'd say the love comes from the same place, the nurturing, tug-on-the-heartstrings place where it cannot be shaken or broken, and you are fully invested in caregiving. Only it's more, it's lifelong, more involved and more personal. The intensity is greater, but the emotional place it starts from, at least for animal lovers, is the same.

So, for anyone who's ever loved an animal and becomes outraged at animal atrocities, you're really thinking, "That could have been Muffin!" And you get upset, more so than you'd be if dear Muffin never entered into your life. It's a point of reference for pain and love.

When you have a baby, it's just so. Your love for your baby puts you emotionally in other people's shoes, and you experience their joys, fears and sorrows about their babies because you know. And you can't go back to unknowing. You can't go back to where it's only hypothetical for you, where you imagine what it would be like, and then finish imagining and get on with life, because your baby is in your life and you live with that love and all it brings every day all day.

You can't imagine what something is like when it's an all-day, every-day thing. Because as soon as you're done imagining it, you're no longer properly evaluating it's effect on you because in real life there is no stopping, no breaks. Once it's happened, it can't unhappen and your heart, your mind and your life beat to different drums.

Same with pregnancy. You can't fathom constant nausea until you've experienced it because you can only imagine it for so long before you have to do other things, whereas if it's happening to you, it's unending and there is no stepping outside for a break. You live in the experience until it's done.

These are the things people try to explain and never are able to really get across. I think probably because it sounds smug, usually. "Wait till you have kids, then you'll know!" And you hear this and think, "Okay, asshole."

But remember losing your virginity. You can't go back to ignorance. It's not about hymens or anything like that, it's about knowledge and life experience. You can't unknow what you know. And that knowledge changes you. Same as with anything, like falling in love for the first time or losing a parent or nearly dying or being assaulted or saving someone's life. Certain things cause you to grow in certain directions and there's no going back. Becoming a mother is one of those things.

And unexpectedly, still without being a baby person, I'm totally now a baby person. My heart works differently.

Loving a baby means you love when he's ready for bed,
but when he's sleeping you look at pictures of him and miss him.

Sound of love

I've been listening to a lot of classical piano music lately. When I was a child I took piano lessons that fruitlessly led nowhere. I'm not musical. My parents bought me a keyboard when I was 8 and didn't get me lessons until I was 10, the instrument sitting unused all that time collecting dust.  I think my mother was secretly hoping I was some sort of prodigy who would teach herself. I taught myself to draw, but my artistry never strayed from the visual.

But I still appreciate the piano. In fact, I'd say it's my favourite instrument. It always catches my ear and moves my soul. It's enchanting to hear piano live. And symphonic music, oh, how wonderful. I've always wanted to go to see a symphony.

But I've never been much for live rock shows. Honestly, I find them boring and noisy. I hate standing for long periods of time in rooms too loud to hear my own thoughts and ideas. Plus, maybe it's just me, but I rarely can make out the lyrics. I mean, I'm a human being, thus I like music. But I prefer it when I'm comfortably seated and I can allow it to gently enter my ears and enhance the cerebral experience of thinking and feeling. A live rock show makes me feel like I'm being held hostage.

I don't have a favourite band. I rarely ever have. I liked Bush when I was 13, Alanis Morissette when I was 14, Jewel when I was 15, Our Lady Peace when I was 16. But I never gave a hoot about concerts or merch or their personal lives. Meh. I would have claimed those bands as my favourites as a teenager, but really they took up very little mental space in my brain.

I've not spent much time seeking classical music out, even though it truly moves me and I love it. I suppose because it's not widely out there I just don't bother and simply enjoy it when it's around. But lately I've been craving it. Which is funny because food wise I crave nothing. But the relaxing nature of a beautiful piano melody makes me so happy I sometimes cry.

I'm going to need to actually build up a collection of classical music to listen to. It can be hard to know where to start, but I can imagine labouring through something like the song below. It sounds like what I think love feels like.

I'm listening to this now. The baby is kicking. I feel so at peace it hurts.

The Wedding

I'm married. I've had a day and a half to let it sink in, and in small ways it's beginning to. I totally understand the importance of a honeymoon, though. If we were away somewhere, just the two of us, I think it would really give us a chance to absorb our new relationship status. People have called me Mrs. Dude, though I am keeping my name. The Dude's finger has a ring on it, which doesn't look natural yet. Thinking about the future has a slightly different sensation, in a pleasant way.

The day of the wedding, things were calm. I was in a great mood, I was excited and had some adrenaline going, but we all still managed to have a rather calm and charming day.

Lyn and I had breakfast, my maid of honour showed up around 10:00 and hair and makeup began around 11:30ish when my cousin arrived. McPal got there before 1:00 and we watched Bridesmaids. The photographer got there by 2:00 and we had a fun time, still relaxed and yet peppy. My planner got there around the same time, with flowers, and she helped us get ready, keeping us on schedule.

I was feeling really great. I knew I was marrying the right man, I was going to be surrounded by people I loved, my bridal party was supportive and happy for me, and I looked exactly the way I had wanted to.

We did our party shots prior to the wedding, because I didn't want to expose the ladies in their chiffon dresses to the November chill. We did a handful of good shots and the photographer left to shoot the groomsmen at the venue. The limo came not long after, and I don't remember how long the limo ride was. I had to text about our arrival, so people would be ready. It was so weird. I was en route to get married. I was in a wedding dress. Everyone was waiting for us to get there. It was a very surreal moment in time.

We were a little frazzled getting ourselves in order. We were about 10 minute late for the ceremony start, and the Dude's brothers zoomed past us to find their seats. Matt and the groomsmen had already taken their places. Music was starting. My high school friends were strolling down the hall. I was waving wildly at them and they waved back and smiled. I hissed, "Run! Run!" and run they did, clomp, clomp, clomp into the ceremony room, making a ruckus. It was pretty funny. Somehow all the confusion sort of suited me. This was not a perfect moment, it was a real situation that could not be controlled. There was a momentum and people were falling into it.

When it was my turn, my nerves instantly faded. It was a sense of being exactly where I was supposed to be. My fears of all that attention were gone and I felt like I was surrounded by positive energy. It was really warm in there, not in a temperature sense for me, but just very comfortable and natural. Walking myself down the aisle was a very gratifying experience. I felt like a grown woman making an important decision on my own. Which I am, which I was.

I cried, the Dude smiled and his mouth was twitching. He was so nervous and I could tell he couldn't bear to look at all the people. We held eye contact the entire time. My tears and his smile, and our officiant speaking so well and so beautifully. We had two poems, one at the start about the art of marriage, and another at the end about love.

We exchanged the rings we made, we said our vows, which were traditional, and said our "I dos", not in that order. After our kiss and signing the registry, we looked out to the crowd as we were announced as a married couple. The wedding wands were waving in the air, the ribbons flying, the bells jingling softly, and everyone was smiling. We went down the aisle, hand in hand, and I felt so happy, and just so contented.

A makeshift receiving line formed, one we hadn't planned on, but happened naturally as people wanted to congratulate us. It was very sweet and took a short time, as we had only 85 people to greet. Within 10 minutes, we had seen everyone and were ready for pictures.

Of course, my dad wanted his own pictures before the photographer could get in there. Actually, he took me away from other people and other cameras about a dozen times that night. He made something of a bad impression a few times, but otherwise behaved himself. My brother was full of smiles. I was so glad to see him so happy for me.

Outside our photographer, a friend of Matt's, got some lovely shots. I had a cute cardigan to brave the chill and we spent maybe 20 minutes out there. All of our other shots with our party were done, so we spent the rest of the cocktail hour socializing with our guests. It was great.

At 7:00, it was time for dinner, we didn't bother with any sort of special entrance, and things got going shortly. There were some nice speeches, from the Dude's dad, my dad, the Dude's stepbrother and his mom. His mom's speech was epic. I knew it was going to be good. It seriously rocked the room. The Dude capped off the speeches and he did really well. It was short, sweet and charming.

Then our first dance. Oh, I love the song we used, No One's Gonna Love You. It sounds terrible, but the second part of that sentence is, "more than I do." We had wanted people to join us, but my buddy didn't mention that when he announced us, so no one did. I can't recall if I told him about our wishes or not. Whoops. But either way, it happened the way it happened, it was sweet and we enjoyed ourselves.

Then it was dance time. But first my dear little aunt wanted a picture. She had wanted one in the receiving line and I had asked her to wait. So now the whole room waited while she took the moment to get her picture. It was actually kind of funny just how bad her timing was. Once the dance floor opened, it was open and people were on the floor.

The cake was a funny situation. My planner said it was time, and the Dude ran off to find the photographer. They disappeared for five minutes after the cake cutting was announced. It was so awkward and absurd. No one could find them and we were all standing around to background music waiting and waiting. When the Dude ran back in there was some applause and we got down to business. It was a damn fine cake. The fridge is currently housing a ridiculous amount of it.

The wedding went on till 1:00. Two thirds of the guests stayed till the end. The alcohol was flowing and people made good use of it, the dance floor had people up and on their feet, everyone had good things to say about the food, the party in general, my dress. I called a cab company and asked for pretty much every cab. People got going, I wrangled things I needed to get home, tried to make sure people had what they needed and, you know, I'm pretty thankful for daylight saving's time. Instead of getting in bed by 3:00, it was really 2:00.

I didn't drink any alcohol that night. I didn't want to make numerous trips to the bathroom, I didn't want to forget anything, and honestly, I just didn't need it. I couldn't eat much either. I think I was too full of energy, and with the corset on my dress, I just didn't have room. It was too bad, but I'd done the tasting with the Dude so at least I'd had the meal before.

When the Dude woke up the next day, he said, "Good morning, wife." And it was so lovely.

I had exactly the wedding I wanted. I never set out for a perfect day, but somehow that translated into me having a perfect day. I feel so satisfied.

Soul Mates

I'm getting married in 19 days. What the hell.

So I had my bachelorette party the other night, and the Dude had his bachelor party the same evening. My maid of honour set it up, which considering she lives out of town, was a feat. Most of my friends came and we had a really nice meal and drinks.

My MOH also set up a psychic reading for me at the restaurant. I love that shit. I've only been to a psychic once before, coincidentally a few months ago, and both psychics said the same thing. Either I'm super easy to read/gauge for these type of entertainers, or perhaps both are the real deal in some way. I'm open to the concept of mediums, the second sight and other spiritual matters. I'm also cognizant of not taking a reading at literal value.

Both ladies have told me the following:

1. I'm having a baby next year.
2. I'll have three babies total.
3. I'm going on a big trip and that it's going to be lucky/important.

So who knows.

The psychic at my party drew cards from her deck that said "Reflection", "Abundance" and "Love." So that was nice.

She also said the Dude and I were soul mates. Now, I don't believe in soul mates. I think two souls made for each other out in the universe and then finding each other and completing a perfect union is rubbish. Anyone who is holding out for such a magical love is kidding themselves and probably throwing away perfectly good relationships.

But I think two people can become soul mates in a way. Not that it becomes magic and cosmic, but that your love is mature and your communication works, respect goes both ways, your attraction sustains and your compatibility becomes an organic part of who you are as a person.

I feel like I know the Dude better than I know anybody, better than I've ever known anyone in my life. Are we soul mates? I don't worry about that question. I'm too certain of my choice to really consider it. But that doesn't mean it's not sweet to hear.

Thanksgiving

Sometimes I get the amusing sensation that The Sims is a little truer to life than one might think.

I have a lovely bouquet of anniversary flowers sitting on my kitchen table and the room is lovely and clean and newly organized. My mood rises briefly and noticeably as I pass through it en route to the bathroom, just like a Sim character's Environment meter soars when it walks through a room that has some nice art in it. My mood then drops back to normal as I walk through the Dude's makeshift studio.

Flowers are charming and pleasant, aren't they? Some people hate them "because they'll just die anyway," but getting flowers is one of my favourite things. They make the apartment smell and look wonderful and they make me smile for days.

We decided that other than spending our non-family-filled Thanksgiving weekend being useful, we would also spend it eating good food, as life intended. For our five-year-anniversary, we went to the Keg Mansion and gorged on steak. We dressed up (though we were seemingly surrounded by yahoos who looked like they should have gone to Pizza Hut instead, in their ball caps, jerseys, hoodies, ripped jeans and bar tops that split open in the back to reveal a turquoise bra) and had a cozy and romantic evening.

The next night, on actual Thanksgiving, the Dude made a delicious beef stew and I made my first ever pumpkin pie. Both turned out quite nicely and we had McPal and his fiance over to join us. Sharing home-cooked meals with friends has become one of our favourite ways to spend an evening.

It wasn't the first time we've spent a family holiday in an less conventional way, that is away from family. We miss them, but it really brings home the fact that he's my family now. I'm home where the Dude is.

There is a point in a relationship where being together is the priority, and that's a beautiful place to be. It's a feeling of being on a team, of being connected, of being a unit. It's the understanding that on important days we're not going our separate ways to do our own thing. It's the sort of unity I've always wanted. In three and a half weeks, it'll be permanent unity.

Wow. That kind of blows my mind a little.

Home Love

The Dude's been home for a few days and we've been enjoying glorious nothing together. I often enjoy time alone and being out with friends is wonderful. But there's an entirely different social need that he fills, and no it's not just the bow-chica-bow-bow.

It's more of a feeling of home. This apartment with these furnishings and these kittens and myself only create so much home. The rest is the Dude and when we're together I feel like everything's the way it's supposed to be.

The little absences are planned in advance so I know they're coming, they bring home money, they advance the Dude's career, he keeps in touch reliably while he's away, and they're short. So they're bearable. But when he's gone, despite the house being cleaner, it's rather empty feeling.

When he came home Friday night he was a zombie. He had nothing to say, he was sweaty and clammy and his face was that of a man who needed a two-day nap. Now he's energized and we're thinking of small ways to spend the day. We usually only get one day off together per week, and lately we've been lucky to even get that. So this is kind of a gift. It really makes us appreciate each other's company being away from each other so much.

Some couples spend loads of time apart: separate vacations, military families, long distance relationships, jobs that take people overseas. I don't think we're built for that. Not that we couldn't take it, but that we both prefer to go to bed together each night and it just doesn't feel right unless we do.

We're getting married two months from today. It's a cozy thought to think of marrying a man who feels like home.

Jendra In The House

September is upon us. What used to be the new school year and mark the end of vacation has become the start of a new vacation schedule at work. I'm not sure how many days I have accumulated. I know that I get roughly four weeks per year. I also know I don't take as much time as I ought to. I have this nervousness about not having any time off available for god knows what might crop up.

Nothing ever does crop up. Things generally get scheduled around these parts. I'm not sure why I don't just take two weeks and do nothing. Well, I suppose it has to do with the fact the Dude doesn't get paid vacation and I'm not going to travel without him, and that's what I really want to use my holidays for: travel.

I want to go to France. I need to see Italy. I have a desire to visit Iceland. And the cities I very much want to see outside of those countries are Prague and Vienna. So five items of interest. I wish I could take two months and just make it happen. With a bank account to handle such an excursion, of course. Ah, dreams.

I've been mostly alone all week. The Dude has been away for consecutive business trips to help his boss photograph wind farms in small towns that are comprised mostly with truck drivers passing through, eating at diners where food is fried thrice. And now he's a couple hours away doing food shoots. He's home tomorrow.

And my IBS acting up has made me squeamish about leaving the house, and it's made my clothes fit poorly. All home and no people makes Jendra a... well, a hermit I guess, which is nothing new, but I don't like when it's not self-imposed. I miss the Dude. We're going to spend all of Labour Day together doing only things we want to do and generally basking in each other's company.

But for now... sleeping alone stinks.

Mother love

I generally like the concept of Mother's Day. But on a personal level, I find it painful and sad.



I had a dream about my mom last night, one I can't remember. It wasn't a happy or a sad thing. I just know she was there, probably because she's been on my mind.



My mom and I looked a lot alike. Not as much when I was a teenager, when my face was rounder and I resembled my dad more, but very much so now, now that I'm a little older and my baby face is starting to age. Yes, I still have a baby face at 28. Only a couple years ago I was still being carded for lottery tickets.



But as the years go by, more and more I see my mother's face when I look in the mirror or see photos of myself and it's a shock. But it's not a bad thing, just an emotional jolt from time to time. And then I feel good. It's hard to be too critical of my facial features when they remind me of someone I love. It's not exactly a feeling of being beautiful, so much as it's a fondness and affection for the little quirks in my nose that my mom had.



I think she had a little more grace than I do. She was a kook in her own subtle way, but she was more ladylike, more likeable to more people. She was gentle and firm in her opinions, but she listened. She was gullible and a salesperson's dream. She was sometimes naive and ideological, but a strong feminist as well. She knew how to stick to her guns. She was a poor cook, didn't stress about housework, but my brother and I had all the attention from her that we could want. She didn't miss games and recitals. She made me pursue physical activity (Against my nature) and didn't care how well I did, so long as I did it.



She was often blunt with me when I fell short, and warm when I made her proud. She had high expectations, but not so high I couldn't make her happy. The thing that drove her the most crazy about me was my critical words for things I didn't like and my lack of motivation. Though I was very motivated to articulate when I didn't like something.



My mother and I didn't have a friendship. She was the parent. She never lost her temper with me if I wanted to talk to her about serious things, though she got very embarrassed about sexual matters and generally seemed shy and juvenile about them, her tone growing less mature and assured when questioning if I needed a bra, after having let me go many months too long without one, uncertain how to broach the issue.



But when it came to body images and the media, eating disorders, abusive relationships, and many other problems facing women, she had confidence and wisdom and shared her ideas about those things with me often, usually in her bed. Whenever I saw her reading when I was a teenager, I'd crawl into bed with her and talk. It was the sort of dick move teens pull when seeing attention diverted elsewhere from themselves. But she made herself available, eyes always on her book, so I could continue to feel like I was interrupting her while pouring my heart out.



I miss her. I regret a lot of things. Mostly, I wish I could have come of age when she was alive. I could have gotten to know the woman behind the mother. I never reached a point in my life where I could see her through an adult lens and see who she really was. I only saw her as the dependent I was at the time, with my needs and my wants and all my projections of who I thought she was based on my mood that day and whether or not I had gotten my way.



16-year-olds are capable of loving deeply, but they lack the maturity and depth to love selflessly enough to really appreciate another person. I lost my mother during the most selfish era of my life and I never got the chance to grow out of it and be the sort of daughter I wish I could be to her now. I like to think we'd talk often and I be able to ask her all kinds of things about her life. There are a lot of blanks.



All I've got now is my life to live, hopefully in a way she'd be proud of. In the absence of a living mother, this is the best I can do.



Mother's Day hasn't really gotten any easier, to be honest. But that's just because I love my mom and she's gone. There's some comfort in that. Love sometimes hurts.

The Merge

The Dude and I have merged our finances. It just got to a point where it was simply easier.

He's the sort of guy who's more impulsive, likes to spend his money on what I like to call "bubblegum and baseball cards". You know, juvenile foolishness like snacks and figurines and stuff like that. Not that I don't like to spend money on frivolous things, myself, I just happen to be able to say no to things easier and keep in mind my monthly bills, obligations and such. He'll see a few hundred dollars in his account and not think about his future needs.

So now our rent, utilities, cell phones, the Dude's student loan, kitten expenses, food and entertainment all get handled by me with money that we're both putting into one pot. I'll also be able to delegate wedding expenses, savings and the Dude's tax savings (Being freelance, he's got to pay his income taxes all in one go come tax time).

It's a lot of extra work, but I don't care. We'll save more money, I'll be able to manage our long-term plans and we're no longer keeping tabs on who owes the other how much. It's more loving and romantic. And since the Dude needs to be able to blow some cash on his nonsense but doesn't trust himself with large sums, he requested an allowance of sorts. So that's what we're doing.

I personally couldn't handle being on his end, having him manage the money (Probably because it's not his forte), but he's a happy camper, being able to finally not worry about money at all. All he has to do is deposit his cheque and then the rent gets paid, the internet and TV stay on, his cell and student loan get paid, there's always enough for groceries and TTC tokens, we go out to dinners and movies, and he can still spend his own cash without any issues.

I'm not really on a budgeted allowance, myself. In the past, because I was making more reliable money, I'd handle dinners out, movies and little extras. I'd also then get myself things for my own happiness. In the end, the Dude was blowing more of his money on the nonsense, I was taking us out and I was feeling free to buy myself all sorts of loveliness.

Now I'm going to be more restrained because I'm managing our money, not just mine, and from our money I need to also bump up our savings and pay for a wedding.

I never thought I'd feel this way, but honestly, if we want to meet our goals for the future, I don't see a better alternative. Not having the full weight of my personal income to use at my leisure is a loss, yes. But it's a minor loss. I'm not troubled by it and I don't feel the lack of independence I thought I'd feel. I actually feel closer to the Dude. I feel like instead of trying to balance and juggle two separate budgets, I'm now bringing us together. It's not been long at all, but the change in attitude between us has shifted in a positive way.

Kitties for keeps

I will never understand people who don't love animals. Some animals don't lend themselves to love, granted, like reptiles or insects, for example. (Ha! As I was writing this, Sprinkles hopped on my keyboard and deleted my last sentence.) But mammals are inherently loveable. They bond to other mammals and that's endearing as heck. (Speaking of endearing, Sprinkles is now playing with Bea's tail.)

The Dude and I have now put in five weeks with our kittens. They were shy, introverted and skittish. They've really blossomed into sweet kitties who now eat, sleep and play in front of us. They'll now allow us to hold and pet them. They have recently begun to seek out love. That's my favourite part.

It's been an effort. We've essentially been taming them. We've been making them our kittens. They now know and trust us. And now no one in the world loves them like we do. It's not just the cuddles and the hilarity of watching your pets' antics. It's the relationship. It's such a simple one of caretaker and benefactor, but it's rewarding and satisfying. The goal of cat ownership is to make the cat as happy as possible.

Dogs need to know their place in the order of things. Rabbits need security and routine. Parrots need companionship.

Cats need worship. The more you spoil your cat, the better cat you'll have. The more it'll seek you out, rub against your legs, jump on your lap, sleep with you at night. I like that about them. You can't spoil a dog too much or the dog will spoil you (mostly your furniture). You can't spoil a child or you'll create a monster. But any urge you may have to indulge or pamper another living creature can be channelled into a cat and will create a more loving and affectionate kitty. In fact, the less you spoil your cat, the less your cat will want to do with you.

I have a nurture instinct. I want kids, and I don't believe in spoiling children. But the free-for-all in fussing over my kittens is very satisfying. And I'll admit it, it's also a way of having dependent and loving little creatures to care for in the absence of having my own kids. But even after I do have them, my kitties will have their place. When you devote this much time and energy into creating love, it's for keeps.

Sent/Unsent

I recently heard Unsent by Alanis Morissette again for the first time in years. For those in the know, it's a song of short letters to her ex-boyfriends. I loved that song when I first heard it, though I had fewer experiences under my belt to appreciate it fully. Wait, fewer? In 1998, when that song came out, I had practically none. I mentally padded my history by considering unrequited crushes as some sort of past romantic life under the justification that my singular feelings counting for something. Ah, yes. The delusions of teenagers.

I'm just about finished reading I Don't Care About Your Band by Julie Klausner. Now there is a woman with so much experience a song would never do. The book is truly necessary. And damn if it's not a funny book that delights and horrifies me with its witty turns and shocking anecdotes. And that's funny because despite having a wildly different (read less promiscuous, more serially monogamous) romantic history, it's like reading someone whose mind is similar to my own, if my own mind were wired for plenty of experimental sex with men I don't know very well. And I like that. Unbridled and loosely restrained sexuality is very fascinating to me, being a more cautious type of person, myself.

What sorts of things would I tell my exes now? In some cases, I'm still in touch. In others, I wouldn't know where to begin to look. They could be dead for all I know, or in South America, living off lottery wins, or in a cult, or prison or down the street.

The very first boyfriend I ever had was when I was 16. He was... many things, one of which was wrong for me in every single way. I was quite desperate at that time to date a boy, beginning to fear there was something wrong with me. Looking back, I was untouchable at school. Untouchable as in Not To Be Touched. At first there were some guys who found me attractive, but that became a thing of the distant past by the time grade 10 hit. Some people thought I was gay, others found me unfeminine, and everyone thought I was weird.

This guy lived around my neighbourhood, so was unaware of my undateableness. He showed up in the winter at my doorstep without shoes to prove how excited he was to come see me. He was not much of a catch, sad as it is to say. He was not very good looking, nor was he very bright. He seemed to mean well and liked me a good deal, which at the time was enough for me. But he was also socially awkward, smoked constantly and had crass manners. It lasted less than two months. He lied a lot, to me and about me, and misjudged my level self esteem; he thought making fun of me would make me insecure enough to stay. Rather, it made ending things super easy for me.

I was so utterly embarrassed over my association with this character, that I had anxiety of anyone from my school ever meeting him, knowing of him and learning I dated him. But he served an important purpose in my life. I was much happier being sans boyfriend and the inner stigma I carried of never having been wanted or dated was gone.

After him was another neighbourhood boy, a good-looking, tall, kind, intelligent sort of person who was leaps and bounds a better choice than the first poor sap. But having learned how much happier I was being alone than with someone I wasn't into, his superior credentials didn't lure me in longer than a couple weeks. We shared a ridiculously funny kiss, broke up, stayed friends and I have him on Facebook. He's a really decent person. Too bad I hadn't dated him first; I could've avoided dating the other one.

I then dated an adorable boy I met at an anime convention. For a geek like myself, it was pretty much a dream come true. And he turned out to be gay and our relationship was the push he apparently needed to come out of the closet. I'm very happy to have been a part of that for him now, but at the time I was not as jazzed. I wish I knew what became of him. I haven't given him a lot of thought, but I'd still like to know if he's happy, dating anyone special, or a teacher like he planned on being. He was the first boy who ever dumped me, and it's a valuable thing to happen at some point because then you learn you'll get over it and that's a good lesson you happily cannot unknow.

I then entered my first long-term relationship, with B, the kind where you make future plans, meet each other's families and generally are happy. Except for the complete lack of romantic passion. But it's amazing what friendship, comfort, security and trust will do to keep two people together. This guy was a number of firsts for me. We were living together for the last year of our 3.5 year stint. We rarely fought, we communicated well and we genuinely liked each other. But we were like roommates.

I'd ended things before, but nothing so monumental as this. I had realized we were only friends wrongly titled boyfriend and girlfriend. I wanted an actual friendship and knew it was possible I would not get one. Luckily, he wanted the same thing. Not that it wasn't a process, or that a switch was flipped and things were hunky dory. But six years after the fact he's my buddy. Actually, he and the Dude are buddies and hang out; Dude sees B more often than I do.

Shortly after this relationship ended I met this attractive paraplegic, who in many ways was actually more wrong for me than B was. But what I had perceived as missing with B (Passion) was there with wheels, so I dove in. Now, this was another first for me. I'd fallen in love and was all high with the euphoria from it. But when the person you're in love with is wildly different from the sort of person you can be happy with, even if he loves you back, you're basically existing within a cocoon that has an expiration date.

And I learned a ton about myself and what sort of man I needed. This two-year relationship was a pivotal one for me in many ways. I was with someone who couldn't be on time for anything, whether it was dinner, family gatherings, funerals, didn't matter. He was 100% honest, which was awesome until it extended to things that were unnecessary and started to hurt my feelings. He was incredibly generous, very funny and warm. But he was a procrastinator, an idealist, a dreamer, and seemingly afraid of conflicts. We also wanted different things out of life, in the present, in the near future and in the distant future.

Something about him brought out all my neurosis. I became withdrawn as well. I kind of felt like I was a part of The Mr. X Show sometimes. I also knew in my heart he didn't really understand me, and moreover wished I was a different kind of person, which only made me more anxious and unhappy.

He ended it, I saw it coming and more or less severed contact. He wasn't a bad guy, not at all. Just bad for me. And then I found the Dude. He's punctual, and my friend. He drives me crazy when he brings things home he finds on the side of the road, but we communicate well. And there's passion and comfort and shared desires and goals.

#1, I'm sorry I went out with you, but I hope your life is going well. I don't really ever want to see you again, though. We didn't have anything special.
#2, Sorry I didn't give you more of a chance, but only because it probably hurt your feelings, not because it could have worked out. I'm glad we're on good terms.
#3, Where are you? What happened to you? Damn, I'm curious. I hope you're super happy. I wish I knew what you were up to.
B, I'll probably see you soon enough. Glad we're friends. I have nothing left unsaid with you. I think you're great.
My last ex, I probably have the most complex feelings towards you out of all them. I'm glad we were together, I'm glad we're not together now, and I hope you find or found what you're looking for.
Dude, I love you, you crazy bastard.

Money Can't Buy Me Love

Yesterday the Dude and I attended a potluck with friends. Only instead of potluck, we all brought $10 and the hosts used their connections to buy steak, lobster and rum.

It's hard not to enjoy your life when your weekend is spent doing things like eating lobster, seeing friends, sleeping in and being incredibly lazy. Even if you are broke at the moment. The $20 we put in was so worth it, but waiting on some cheques to be paid out, it was a stretch. I sometimes ask the Dude how we'll look back on these early years. He says we'll feel like we paid our dues.

Not like we're po', exactly, but things are a little tight. Such is life when one party is a burgeoning freelancer. There's something romantic about it in its own way. It's sort of a struggle we're sharing together. I always liked listening to settled married couples talk about their first few years of living together. It always involves a story of tight budgets, less than ideal living conditions, some sort of hardship that they had to work on dealing with as a team.

Not that I wouldn't love me some sweet, sweet spacious home ownership or exciting vacations or lots of dinners out. But I've long since developed an appreciation for the things that build character. Knowing how to do without makes the doing with into something fulfilling. It's like a reward instead of a frivolous distraction.

It also makes you love the smaller things. The Dude and I have never travelled together. We've been overnight at his dad's on the lake. That's about it. Take something like going on the rollercoasters together at Canada's Wonderland last Sunday and there's been a happy glow in this apartment all week. When you can only do so much, what you can do feels amazing. And here we are saving and putting away money for a trip to Mexico in November. It's a bit of a burden, but we're making it happen together.

Today we slept in. The Dude made us coffee and we drank it in bed. Then we stayed in bed, ate scones and watched Mad Men all day. And it's the things like that which remind me not having money isn't so bad.

Feels like home

So I switched up the design of ye olde blogge. Obviously, I didn't do the design myself, but I think it's more me.

I got a cheque in the mail for $100. It's an HST apology, more or less. I make under a certain amount so I got a rebate. I immediately and frivolously blew it on a new dress and other such fun items. Sure, I do have a big vet bill to pay off and a Mexican wedding/vacation to pay down, but...

This is for McPal.

So, anyway.

Speaking of McPal, the Dude and I had him and his boyfriend over for dinner a few nights ago for French food. We have really discovered that we enjoy entertaining. I like when people are in my home. It makes me feel good.

Growing up, my house was sort of a central hub for friends in the neighbourhood. Part of it was the central location in the subdivision. But mostly I think it was the atmosphere. My mom was into cozy decorating. You walked into the house and it was like being in a country home. Everything was comfortable and inviting, very few things were precious. The dining room opened up into a covered deck, filled with wicker furniture and items from flea markets.

Friends of my brother and me felt comfortable grabbing a snack from the fridge. People put their feet up. Everyone hung out. The house was always tidy if not perfectly clean. Lived-in would be the word. My mother did housework on the weekends. But she also made time to read and play Tetris. She was a fairly relaxed person, particularly for a single mother, and I think my friends responded to that and felt good about being in her home.

I want a home like that. I love pop-ins, I enjoy people feeling cozy at my place, I want to recreate that feeling. My home doesn't look like it's from the country, but it does have a kitschy quality to it (Thanks in part to the Dude and his predilection for bringing home curb treasure). I think the mishmash of stuff makes the place welcoming. In a way the living room is like the Island of Misfit Toys.

This is the first place the Dude and I have ever bothered to entertain in, and I think it's due to all the effort we've put into making it comfortable and pleasant here. In a way, for the first time in awhile, I feel more at home, rather than in transition. And that's weird because rather than than spending time in one place and growing into my apartment, I've been in constant flux and slowly over time my apartments have been growing into a home, through trial and error, accumulation and removal of furnishings. This place isn't the last destination either.

You know, one of the things that couples tend to have problems with is stuff. And when the Dude moved in, yeah, there were territory issues. But over time our respective tastes have compromised and merged fairly organically. It's a nice feeling to know he's been instrumental in feeling at home. In a way, he kind of is my home.

Good Chickflick vs Bad Chickflick

Remember the chickflick list? Tonight we finally finish it. Yeah. What was supposed to take 30 days has taken half a year. But it's coming to a close with The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Which, for those not in the know, it's a film about mother-daughter relationships, motherhood, friendship that ages through the years and loyalty. It has little to do with romance, which is rare for a movie geared towards women, and I like that.

However, speaking of chickflicks, let me talk about a bad one I saw very recently. The Wedding Planner. If you want to see a movie about a woman who is capable at her job, but too mentally inept to speak up and properly call a man out on his lying bullshit OR too meek and simpering to correct a man who's telling damaging lies about her personal life, then this is the movie for you!

The mere fact I can't fathom anyone, even a stupid person, being this clueless about how to proceed in life tells me the writers who generated this garbage have no business being in business. It's really infuriating.

Set the stage. A woman working in her capacity as a wedding planner, with a couple whose groom failed to mention he was engaged while he was on a date with said planner, experiences an awkward moment. An eccentric man (that her father had set her up with) runs up while she's working and tells everyone in earshot that they're engaged, which they are not.

The wedding planner:
A. Tells the man on no uncertain terms that not only are they not engaged, but he is disrupting her work and that he should leave.
B. Quietly asks security to remove the man, and discreetly mentions to the couple that she is not involved with this man.
C. Goes along with the lie and does not correct the groom while he gives her hell for not being clear she was engaged on their date.

I didn't finish the movie, but I know how it ends. You see, the bride says something that makes her not perfect at one point, so clearly she's not the woman for this sneaky groom. This clears the way for the wedding planner to start a relationship with the liar who dates other women while engaged. And then... she finally gets HER turn for HER special day! Yay!

And sadly, I'm pretty sure now that if I encounter someone who liked this movie, I may just wind up respecting them less for it, much like if I found out they were a Scientologist.

Release the Kraken

Release the Kraken, it's date night! We're going to grab some food and some Clash of the Titans. I love date night. I love the corniess of calling it "date night" when we live together and see each other every day.

When the Dude moved in it was the very start of 2008. He was going back to school, and had moved up to Toronto from our hometown to do it. Since his OSAP would not kick in for at least a month, I offered my place up for him to stay until his monies arrived and he could find his own place.

Then his OSAP was late. Then his school kept him too busy to look for a place. Then when semester two was raring up to begin and he had the time to apartment hunt, I realized I didn't want him to go. Now it's over two years later and I can't remember what living alone was like, even though I did it for almost two years before he got there.

I was so prepped for him to drive me nuts. I'm not terribly easy to live with in general, I've realized. I'm not the worst (This is the worst), but I figured that going from long distance to cohabitation would be retardedly hard. I mean, common sense tells you it's going to be a trainwreck in gongshowland.

Turns out the Dude and I defy common sense. In fact the whole way we became a couple defies common sense, but that's another story. Sometimes two people just work. They may drive each other crazy, and sometimes even on purpose, but what works, works.

And what also works is going out for our favourite thing, dinner and a movie. Classic date night. Also, we've been playing against each other in Age Of Empires. So nerdy, so awesome. Makes me feel like a teenager, but in a good way.

Random: Did you know they're coming out with Hello Kitty wine? Is there anything they won't make? Hello Kitty gas tank. Hello Kitty toothpicks. Hello Kitty pliers. Hello Kitty syringes...

Three Years of the Dude

Today marks three years that the Dude and I have been together. Three years. Well, it's kind of been three years, but the important thing is today was the beginning of what would become this whole deal, this whole relationship thingamagiggy. And I had no idea it would become what it has.

I've been a serial monogamist my whole adult life. Every relationship I've had has started out with me going, okay, this is just for fun. This is probably not going to last that long. Something about that particular attitude has resulted in three relatively long-term boyfriends. And none of it ever started out as a date. I've been on dates. I have a couple good bad-date stories. But the significant men who've been in my life have not come to me through traditional means.

And I like that. The Dude and I evolved as a couple very slowly. If you consider that we met in high school, liked each other then, and neither of us said a word about it till six years later, that's slower than grass growing. If you consider that from October 9, 2006, it took over half a year for us to become a committed item, that's pretty damn leisurely.

And here we are, living together in sin and such, for almost two years. See, the living together came on all sudden-like. That part was fast, unexpected, supposedly temporary. But when something works better than what you were doing before, you keep doing it.

In every major relationship you have it's natural to think about the future, mostly, is there one? In the others, there was always some sort of obstacle. There was doubt. There was too much compromise or not a good enough fit.

With the Dude, there's no doubt. It just works. There's no fireworks in my head or parades in my heart or butterflies in my stomach about it either, like what I thought would signal real love when I was a younger lass. No, it's a calm sense of knowing I'm going to grow old with this mofo, he's going to drive me crazy until I die, and I'm going to love him for it.

As I get older I'm defining love in more practical ways. When I was having a meltdown on the phone with Rogers and switched to Bell for 1.56 minutes, the Dude set it up for me while I composed myself. When I was stressed about the move and all the things I had to do, he sent me off to a party to unwind while he painted the new apartment. When we get heated over decorating issues, he concedes because it'll make me happy.

There's also the acceptance. I'm not easy to live with. I can cause offense. I say weird shit. I'm constantly hypocritical about the small things in life. I rant sometimes. I spontaneously quit paying attention and something in my brain slams the door on who I'm trying to talk to. These are all very agitating qualities. And he goes with it, doesn't try and change it, and even sometimes finds it endearing.

That's my kind of love. Sometimes it feels like we're an old couple. We argue like one. And who knew that's what I would need to be happy? But it is, and I am.