It hit me when the plane was beginning its descent into Vancouver. The dark, coniferous backside of the mountains, like prickly beasts dipping their large heads to drink from the ocean, seemed to pierce my heart with a longing I didn't even know I had. The landscape was so familiar, so part of me. It cleared my head of all other thoughts, swept them out of the way, to make room for that grand, ambiguous concept: home.
Now, if you ever read this blog, you will know that I have been known to diss Victoria. I am not a fan. I have not friended it. To be honest, I was dreading this visit. Not because I don't love all the people, the hordes of family and friends that live there, but because I knew it was going to be two weeks of intense visiting, of dealing with other people's schedules, of putting our lives on hold.
And I am not that social. And it was less expensive to go to Portugal.
But I hadn't been back since that last blog post 2 and a half years ago, and my mother and sister recently moved back and my husband's family was all there and we hadn't had a Christmas with them since we left, so it was time. So I sucked it up, stopped grumbling about it and worked on my breathing techniques. I was going to get through it by remembering that I actually loved these people; that I wanted to see them.
What I wasn't expecting was to feel so strongly about it being home. Because when I was growing up I never felt that way. It wasn't until we arrived in Montreal that I felt we were in a place we really belonged. But this is different. this is a place that is so familiar to me I can walk the streets and feel like I know ever crack in the sidewalk. I have history here. I have family and friends here. I have children who were born around the same time as mine, who I have known since birth and love like they were family here, and in the past two years they have gone from children to teenagers. They are these people that I have to get to know again, and it is bittersweet for me. In fact, I have been on the verge of tears more than once on this visit.
My husband's parents moved out of their house of 35 years and are now living with their daughter. Their old house, the one I have known since I was a teenager; the one where I lived for a time when my husband and I first got together, where a whole bunch of artists had their studios and where we would sit around every Sunday talking about art and philosophy, where some fabulous moments were had, has now been completely gutted. You walk by and you can see right through it. It is now just a skeleton, bare bones without any meaning.
Emotional. That's how I feel. It is a new unpleasant sensation and I wish it would stop.
But I should have known. In Montreal, the thing that defines me, the one thing that I use to explain my crazy ways, is that I am from the Westcoast. I am from Victoria. I say it without thinking about it, as if it is just another fact about me: I have dark hair; I am short; I am from Victoria.
But it wasn't until this visit that the truth of this hit home.
Victoria is home.
Damn.
Note to all family and friends: this does not mean we are moving back, so don't even ask.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Boys already?
I want to talk about the new developments with one of my daughters, but I don’t know how to start. More and more, I am increasingly aware that I am airing my children’s laundry (clean or otherwise) in this blog and that is not my intention at all.
What I really want to do is talk about how these little incidents in their lives, those moments that seem to shout out in bright neon, “ Look at me! I am growing up!” have the same effect on me as the anvil had on coyote: that is, they leave me disoriented with little birdies like a halo around my brain and with a huge emotional goose egg.
But still, I hesitate with this one. Why, you might ask? I’ve already discussed such sensitive subjects as lice, pin worms, puberty. What could possibly be more personal than that?
A first crush, that’s what. There I said it. I won’t say which daughter or who her crush is on, because really, that’s not important. What is important (at least in this forum) is how she came to tell me about it and how I had no answer.
I was making Christmas cookies on Monday night. I had my apron on, the most wonderful apron ever, with huge sunflowers on it and pockets in just the right places. My hands were in the middle of massaging the dough for the shortbread when my daughter plunked herself on the Ikea Bekvam stool and began talking to me.
I was very happy for the company, although a little bit distracted so I didn’t quite catch the gist of the conversation until we were plunked right into the thick of things. Here is a bit of a sample:
Daughter- So, [name of friend who shall remain anonymous] was the only one there after school and it was boring.
Me (reading the recipe)- Why was it boring? Don’t you like [ ]?
D- Yeah, but all she talks about is boys. I mean, that’s all she thinks about! She now has a crush on [ ]. She actually made [ ] and me go ask him to go out with her at lunch today!
Me (remembering the days when “going out” was accomplished simply by asking. One did not need to “go” anywhere with said person. I was wondering if this is what she was talking about and not a little curious that it should be happening so soon.)-Really? So what did he say?
D- Well, it was a little confusing, because she also asked [ ] to ask him and [ ] said that he said yes, but [ ] who went to ask for us said that he said no, so finally she asked the out of school worker to go ask for her and so she did and he said no.
Me (by now I have paused and am trying to get my head around that big chunk of verbal pie)- huh? Does she do that often?
D- Yeah.
And now there is a considerable pause, where the thought dawns on me that this would be a good time- no a perfect time – to ask my daughter oh so casually if she has a crush on anyone.
Me (concentrating very hard on pounding the poor dough and being very careful to avoid eye contact)- So… do you have a crush on anyone?
Pause. I risk a sidelong glance my daughter’s way and notice that she has turned a very lovely shade of fuschia.
D- Well… Yes…I’ve liked someone for a longtime. He’s really nice and…
Me (trying to keep my voice empty of all curiosity and failing miserably)-Who is it?
D (now turning hot pink)- I don’t want to say.
Me (recalling a passing comment from my mother a couple of months ago that I dismissed so conveniently and still trying to sound casual)- Is it [ ]?
D (from afar because she ran away sobbing and slammed the door to her room)- Yesssss.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Drudgery of Parenthood
When my friend, who has a 4 year old and a 1 year old told me she was planning to go have some rescue martinis with a couple of friends and wanted to know if I wanted to come along, I jumped at the chance. First of all, it was on a Monday night, and how crazy is that- going out for drinks on a school night?
Secondly, I need to make a conscious effort to leave the house more for a destination that isn't my work or the children's school or activities. 'Cause mostly I don't wanna. Oh, I like the idea of Monday night martinis, but actually getting my ass out at the time when the kids go to bed and I would be settling comfortably on the couch in my pyjamas with either a good book, or more likely, an episode of the latest show I am watching, well, that's a lot harder to do.
Still, I got over myself and made an effort. I don't see my friend very often and I feel I might be becoming a weird little recluse.
We met two other women, friends of my friend's, both with a toddler and a baby at home. The one woman who instigated the need for some rescue martini action by posting on her facebook account that if she didn't get a good night sleep something dire might happen, arrived late after a fight with her husband. She had the harrassed look of someone who had not had a good night sleep in four years. Which, now that I think about it, is probably a successful torture method.
So 3 mothers with young children and me with my tweens. And don't mistake me. I fully remember those days, when my kids were 3 and 1 and I thought I was going to die of sleep deprivation, or alternately fade away as a sentient person. All that would remain of me would be a lactating breast. So I am fully sympathetic and understanding and supportive of these women needing to get out.
It's just that I had nothing to say. Nothing to bitch about. I spent the evening kind of bored, straining to hear what the other women were saying over the music blasting out of the speaker that happened to be right over our heads. And it wasn't because these women aren't interesting, funny, intelligent people- they are. It is just that at this time of their lives they are the walking milk truck. Although I never got to ask, I think that they are probably the primary caregivers; they are frustrated by their babies not sleeping; by having someone want something from you all the time; by having husbands who mean well but in their ignorance say things that are construed as hurtful. I understand all this. In fact, this is one of the reasons I started this blog: the black hole of parenting, where all that defines you get sucked into the vortex of other people's needs, time and sleep deprivation. The result is, I'm guessing, akin to depression. I remember that feeling well.
But I am just not there anymore. My kids go to sleep on their own when they're tired. Or if they need a gentle reminder, I just say, "time for bed." No more elaborate rituals. No more needing to stick my breast in someone's mouth and then work a Mission Impossible maneuver to get out of the bed. Nope. In fact, I don't need to go out the way these women need to go out. Since my mother left in September, we've been without a babysitter, and I have to say it hasn't been much of a deal. I just don't need to escape the way I used to. Of course, it would be pleasant. Just not necessary.
So all you parents of small children out there: take heart. It will not always be like this. Your kids will grow up. Start to talk and walk and eat solid food. They will even begin to read on their own and ask you questions that you will find interesting and will want to pursue with them. You will no longer have to watch Caillou, Barney, Blue's Clues, Dora and all other toddler forms of adult torture. You will have long conversations about complicated, nuanced subjects. You will remember who you are as a person and begin discovering who they are.
Trust me. It gets better.
Secondly, I need to make a conscious effort to leave the house more for a destination that isn't my work or the children's school or activities. 'Cause mostly I don't wanna. Oh, I like the idea of Monday night martinis, but actually getting my ass out at the time when the kids go to bed and I would be settling comfortably on the couch in my pyjamas with either a good book, or more likely, an episode of the latest show I am watching, well, that's a lot harder to do.
Still, I got over myself and made an effort. I don't see my friend very often and I feel I might be becoming a weird little recluse.
We met two other women, friends of my friend's, both with a toddler and a baby at home. The one woman who instigated the need for some rescue martini action by posting on her facebook account that if she didn't get a good night sleep something dire might happen, arrived late after a fight with her husband. She had the harrassed look of someone who had not had a good night sleep in four years. Which, now that I think about it, is probably a successful torture method.
So 3 mothers with young children and me with my tweens. And don't mistake me. I fully remember those days, when my kids were 3 and 1 and I thought I was going to die of sleep deprivation, or alternately fade away as a sentient person. All that would remain of me would be a lactating breast. So I am fully sympathetic and understanding and supportive of these women needing to get out.
It's just that I had nothing to say. Nothing to bitch about. I spent the evening kind of bored, straining to hear what the other women were saying over the music blasting out of the speaker that happened to be right over our heads. And it wasn't because these women aren't interesting, funny, intelligent people- they are. It is just that at this time of their lives they are the walking milk truck. Although I never got to ask, I think that they are probably the primary caregivers; they are frustrated by their babies not sleeping; by having someone want something from you all the time; by having husbands who mean well but in their ignorance say things that are construed as hurtful. I understand all this. In fact, this is one of the reasons I started this blog: the black hole of parenting, where all that defines you get sucked into the vortex of other people's needs, time and sleep deprivation. The result is, I'm guessing, akin to depression. I remember that feeling well.
But I am just not there anymore. My kids go to sleep on their own when they're tired. Or if they need a gentle reminder, I just say, "time for bed." No more elaborate rituals. No more needing to stick my breast in someone's mouth and then work a Mission Impossible maneuver to get out of the bed. Nope. In fact, I don't need to go out the way these women need to go out. Since my mother left in September, we've been without a babysitter, and I have to say it hasn't been much of a deal. I just don't need to escape the way I used to. Of course, it would be pleasant. Just not necessary.
So all you parents of small children out there: take heart. It will not always be like this. Your kids will grow up. Start to talk and walk and eat solid food. They will even begin to read on their own and ask you questions that you will find interesting and will want to pursue with them. You will no longer have to watch Caillou, Barney, Blue's Clues, Dora and all other toddler forms of adult torture. You will have long conversations about complicated, nuanced subjects. You will remember who you are as a person and begin discovering who they are.
Trust me. It gets better.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Mean Girls
I had a conversation with my daughter a couple of days ago. It was one of those rare moments where we were alone in the house and it was particularly quiet and she felt like talking. I don't even think it started with the usual prodding question, "so how are things going?" ( which, by the way, never works- it is too easy to just say fine in response).
She just started talking about this girl in her class, the one that we, as parents, have already identified and have been monitoring closely. You know the girl. Her allegiances fluctuate daily. She takes offense at the littlest thing, especially if that little thing is you not doing what she wants. She is a foot taller than everybody else and already has breasts. She just talks about boys and has a rotating crush on all of the ones in the class.
She likes to play games like "bitch" where you get to act like a bitch to everyone (just a note here- these are francophone kids and I am giving you the exact name of their game. Yes, they play bitch.) Or "couples" where you pretend that you are boyfriend and girlfriend.
In short, she is manipulative, attention-seeking, and plain old mean. Oh, I am sure she has some good qualities. She just doesn't let anybody see them.
But back to my daughter. She started talking about this one girl, and how she is always fighting with someone and trying to get the others to be mean to the victim of the day. Now, my girl has yet to piss her off so much that she has been targeted, so it wasn't that that was bothering her. I think it was the burgeoning disconnect between knowing deep down that something is wrong but at the same time knowing that if you say something you're liable to draw unwanted attention to yourself. That horrible ethical dilemna of the witness, in short.
Now this dilemna is the defining one of my school days. Because I was a lot like my daughter- never the mean one exactly (I hope- although I am sure I had my little moments) and never the victim. I was stuck in the middle, forced to watch and conflicted about saying anything. And saying something was a big deal, because I was very shy as a child, hyper-conscious of attention and the fact of desperately not wanting it.
Sad to say, I think I failed to overcome my shyness on more than one occasion. I let things pass when I could have stopped them. I felt that pull to say something, but I either couldn't do it or by the time I got up the nerve it was too late.
So when I was talking to my daughter about this, and she was telling me how this girl behaves and how girls she has known for a good 3 years have suddenly changed their behaviour to match this Alpha girl, crying as she spoke, I did what I could: I fed her the moral platitudes.
How totally unsatisfying is that?
I told her what I think is true- that even if it takes a lot of courage, you have to say something. That if you are a witness to something that is clearly wrong that you have to do something or else you are just part of the problem. Blah, blah blah blah.
She looked at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed and just nodded.
Luckily, it was one of those days where we were alone for a couple of hours. We did something else for a while, but the opportunity to talk came again and I asked her a question: Does it help when you talk to papa and me about this?
There was a brief silence and then a recalcitrant, yes...but.
Me- But what? (oh so nonchalantly)
Daughter- It's just that you want me to say something to her, and its hard. I don't know how to do it.
And that is the crux of the matter. It is hard. It never gets any easier. How many times have I been in a situation as an adult where I see bad behaviour either at work, or just people on the streets and have failed to say something? I did get a chance to tell her this though and talk about my experience at school as a child and how sometimes I wasn't able to either. And how it still kind of haunts me.
In the end, I wasn't sure if it helped at all. Probably not, as the course of action I was advocating would be that proverbial "road less travelled", that difficult, gravelly, pothole-riddled road. But one thing is for sure- I know she heard me. And I made her think. Maybe that is all we can ever do as parents.
She just started talking about this girl in her class, the one that we, as parents, have already identified and have been monitoring closely. You know the girl. Her allegiances fluctuate daily. She takes offense at the littlest thing, especially if that little thing is you not doing what she wants. She is a foot taller than everybody else and already has breasts. She just talks about boys and has a rotating crush on all of the ones in the class.
She likes to play games like "bitch" where you get to act like a bitch to everyone (just a note here- these are francophone kids and I am giving you the exact name of their game. Yes, they play bitch.) Or "couples" where you pretend that you are boyfriend and girlfriend.
In short, she is manipulative, attention-seeking, and plain old mean. Oh, I am sure she has some good qualities. She just doesn't let anybody see them.
But back to my daughter. She started talking about this one girl, and how she is always fighting with someone and trying to get the others to be mean to the victim of the day. Now, my girl has yet to piss her off so much that she has been targeted, so it wasn't that that was bothering her. I think it was the burgeoning disconnect between knowing deep down that something is wrong but at the same time knowing that if you say something you're liable to draw unwanted attention to yourself. That horrible ethical dilemna of the witness, in short.
Now this dilemna is the defining one of my school days. Because I was a lot like my daughter- never the mean one exactly (I hope- although I am sure I had my little moments) and never the victim. I was stuck in the middle, forced to watch and conflicted about saying anything. And saying something was a big deal, because I was very shy as a child, hyper-conscious of attention and the fact of desperately not wanting it.
Sad to say, I think I failed to overcome my shyness on more than one occasion. I let things pass when I could have stopped them. I felt that pull to say something, but I either couldn't do it or by the time I got up the nerve it was too late.
So when I was talking to my daughter about this, and she was telling me how this girl behaves and how girls she has known for a good 3 years have suddenly changed their behaviour to match this Alpha girl, crying as she spoke, I did what I could: I fed her the moral platitudes.
How totally unsatisfying is that?
I told her what I think is true- that even if it takes a lot of courage, you have to say something. That if you are a witness to something that is clearly wrong that you have to do something or else you are just part of the problem. Blah, blah blah blah.
She looked at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed and just nodded.
Luckily, it was one of those days where we were alone for a couple of hours. We did something else for a while, but the opportunity to talk came again and I asked her a question: Does it help when you talk to papa and me about this?
There was a brief silence and then a recalcitrant, yes...but.
Me- But what? (oh so nonchalantly)
Daughter- It's just that you want me to say something to her, and its hard. I don't know how to do it.
And that is the crux of the matter. It is hard. It never gets any easier. How many times have I been in a situation as an adult where I see bad behaviour either at work, or just people on the streets and have failed to say something? I did get a chance to tell her this though and talk about my experience at school as a child and how sometimes I wasn't able to either. And how it still kind of haunts me.
In the end, I wasn't sure if it helped at all. Probably not, as the course of action I was advocating would be that proverbial "road less travelled", that difficult, gravelly, pothole-riddled road. But one thing is for sure- I know she heard me. And I made her think. Maybe that is all we can ever do as parents.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Why you should never ignore your blog...
Once again, I have been participating in that favourite November pastime, Nanowrimo, and so have been a little lax in the posting to this blog. It took a call from CBC Daybreak Montreal to wake me up and make me take a minute out of busily writing a crappy first draft to write this.
Because yesterday, I was on the radio! And why, do you think, CBC sought me out, demanded I voice my professional opinion? On what subject did I expound upon? Was it homework hell? Free range parenting? The trials and tribulations of being a working mother? No.
It was on that all-important, life changing issue of whether Buffy is a better role model than Bella Swan. Of course, I was asked to come down on the side of Buffy (because I could not in good conscience defend that suicidal, sulky, simpering, uselessly self-sacrificing little sensation, Bella). How did CBC find me out to ask me this question? Why they googled it and came up with this post I did back in August. They then found me on Twitter, phoned my previous job and finally found me at my desk in my third floor attic library. Cool, hey?
So. How did I do? Did I slay my opponent with the sharp pointy stick of my eloquence?
Umm, not really. I froze. Nancy Wood, the host of Daybreak asked me the pointed question of who was a better role model and I hummed and hawed and then said something really pompous like there were many facets to this question and then I proceeded to NOT say all the things I wanted to say.
In fact, I think you can listen to it here for the next few days. I say think, because I can't get it to work on my computer and to be honest, I don't know if I actually want to relive my lukewarm, inarticulate defense of poor Buffy. She deserved better.
In the car on the way to work after the interview, I was avidly listening to the listener comments and texts from the show. Overwhelmingly, the majority thought it was a waste of precious airtime to talk about something trivial (the other texts were people supporting Buffy-no Bella supporters in sight-probably because they are all 16 and NOT listening to CBC radio). Trivial despite, the fact that the movie New Moon made box office history on Friday at midnight and that the Twilight phenomena has arguably influenced a generation of teens. In light of this, it might behoove us to get off our high horses and take a look at it.
So here is what I wanted to say on the radio, but did not have the presence of mind at the time to do so (consider this an add-on to my Buffy Vs. Bella post)
1. Forget about role model- Buffy is just a more interesting character than Bella
I was thinking about this after I got that momentous phone call- the idea of which is a better role model is purely a condescending adult question, one that I am guilty of perpetrating with my own children. Okay, I'll be honest- saying she is a good role model is a good excuse to get to watch Buffy instead of Hotel for Dogs or High School musical 3 over and over again.
Because we don't read or watch things because they have a high moral fiber content. We watch them because we crave the story. And what makes for a good story? Moral dilemnas, yes, they have a part in it, but it is really the characters that make us want to continue reading, or watching- their flaws, strengths, the complexities and nuances of how they react.
I would argue that Buffy is fuschia pink in the interesting character department, while Bella is eggshell white. Buffy is always confronted with hard situations and sometimes she doesn't always do the right things. She makes jokes, falls on her butt, can't keep a boyfriend, pisses off her friends (who are also a lot more rounded than anybody we see in the Twilight series). Buffy might have super strength, but it is made clear that her real strength is in her power to love and maintain these valuable friendships.
Bella, on the other hand, only wants one thing despite the hurt that it would cause to everyone around her. Nothing changes for an approximate 1200 pages. She does not grow, she does not deviate from her wish to become a vampire and live forever with Edward. And once she does become a vampire (I am sorry- I apparently gave the ending away on air as well, but if you don't know this by now then you are living in a bubble), she doesn't change either. And not to mention the fact that she has no problem with Edward always calling the shots- can't have sex until we're married. You're going to prom whether you like it or not. I am going to leave even if I know that you don't want that. On and on and on and on ad infinitum. Honestly. No growth. Nothing witty to say. Her only agency is her willingness to uselessly leap to her death in a completely melodramatic, 19th century idea of romantic love. Bleh. Interestingly enough, I went to the Montreal salon du livre yesterday and saw a new edition of Wuthering Heights:
Yeah. Case in point. In case you can't read it, the little sticker says, "Bella and Edward's favourite book."
2. Secondary Characters: non-existent in Twilight series
And what about the people around them? Buffy the Vampire slayer is also about Xander and Willow, about Giles and Faith and...all these characters have more nuances, more complexities, more meat than the whole town of Forks put together (with the exception of maybe Bella's dad. I like Bella's dad.) There are comic relief characters like Cordelia and Anya that experience more growth than Bella. I mean,when an ex-demon turned human with a slight bent towards autistic dissection of social situations and an irrational fear of bunnies is more interesting than the main character of your book, you know whose the better writer.
The Cullens? Uninteresting. too beautiful, too proud, too perfect. Bella's friends in Forks? What are their names again? Her mother? Absent for the most part. Her father? Interesting and awkward, but that's about it. The villains? Too easy. There really is only Bella and Edward and all they do for four books is claim their love for each other, try to sacrifice themselves for the other, say how they can't be apart and then leave each other and then get back together, all without learning a damn thing.
Okay. I am done now. Hopefully this mile long post will make up for the missed weeks. Now back to my Nano novel!
Because yesterday, I was on the radio! And why, do you think, CBC sought me out, demanded I voice my professional opinion? On what subject did I expound upon? Was it homework hell? Free range parenting? The trials and tribulations of being a working mother? No.
It was on that all-important, life changing issue of whether Buffy is a better role model than Bella Swan. Of course, I was asked to come down on the side of Buffy (because I could not in good conscience defend that suicidal, sulky, simpering, uselessly self-sacrificing little sensation, Bella). How did CBC find me out to ask me this question? Why they googled it and came up with this post I did back in August. They then found me on Twitter, phoned my previous job and finally found me at my desk in my third floor attic library. Cool, hey?
So. How did I do? Did I slay my opponent with the sharp pointy stick of my eloquence?
Umm, not really. I froze. Nancy Wood, the host of Daybreak asked me the pointed question of who was a better role model and I hummed and hawed and then said something really pompous like there were many facets to this question and then I proceeded to NOT say all the things I wanted to say.
In fact, I think you can listen to it here for the next few days. I say think, because I can't get it to work on my computer and to be honest, I don't know if I actually want to relive my lukewarm, inarticulate defense of poor Buffy. She deserved better.
In the car on the way to work after the interview, I was avidly listening to the listener comments and texts from the show. Overwhelmingly, the majority thought it was a waste of precious airtime to talk about something trivial (the other texts were people supporting Buffy-no Bella supporters in sight-probably because they are all 16 and NOT listening to CBC radio). Trivial despite, the fact that the movie New Moon made box office history on Friday at midnight and that the Twilight phenomena has arguably influenced a generation of teens. In light of this, it might behoove us to get off our high horses and take a look at it.
So here is what I wanted to say on the radio, but did not have the presence of mind at the time to do so (consider this an add-on to my Buffy Vs. Bella post)
1. Forget about role model- Buffy is just a more interesting character than Bella
I was thinking about this after I got that momentous phone call- the idea of which is a better role model is purely a condescending adult question, one that I am guilty of perpetrating with my own children. Okay, I'll be honest- saying she is a good role model is a good excuse to get to watch Buffy instead of Hotel for Dogs or High School musical 3 over and over again.
Because we don't read or watch things because they have a high moral fiber content. We watch them because we crave the story. And what makes for a good story? Moral dilemnas, yes, they have a part in it, but it is really the characters that make us want to continue reading, or watching- their flaws, strengths, the complexities and nuances of how they react.
I would argue that Buffy is fuschia pink in the interesting character department, while Bella is eggshell white. Buffy is always confronted with hard situations and sometimes she doesn't always do the right things. She makes jokes, falls on her butt, can't keep a boyfriend, pisses off her friends (who are also a lot more rounded than anybody we see in the Twilight series). Buffy might have super strength, but it is made clear that her real strength is in her power to love and maintain these valuable friendships.
Bella, on the other hand, only wants one thing despite the hurt that it would cause to everyone around her. Nothing changes for an approximate 1200 pages. She does not grow, she does not deviate from her wish to become a vampire and live forever with Edward. And once she does become a vampire (I am sorry- I apparently gave the ending away on air as well, but if you don't know this by now then you are living in a bubble), she doesn't change either. And not to mention the fact that she has no problem with Edward always calling the shots- can't have sex until we're married. You're going to prom whether you like it or not. I am going to leave even if I know that you don't want that. On and on and on and on ad infinitum. Honestly. No growth. Nothing witty to say. Her only agency is her willingness to uselessly leap to her death in a completely melodramatic, 19th century idea of romantic love. Bleh. Interestingly enough, I went to the Montreal salon du livre yesterday and saw a new edition of Wuthering Heights:
Yeah. Case in point. In case you can't read it, the little sticker says, "Bella and Edward's favourite book."
2. Secondary Characters: non-existent in Twilight series
And what about the people around them? Buffy the Vampire slayer is also about Xander and Willow, about Giles and Faith and...all these characters have more nuances, more complexities, more meat than the whole town of Forks put together (with the exception of maybe Bella's dad. I like Bella's dad.) There are comic relief characters like Cordelia and Anya that experience more growth than Bella. I mean,when an ex-demon turned human with a slight bent towards autistic dissection of social situations and an irrational fear of bunnies is more interesting than the main character of your book, you know whose the better writer.
The Cullens? Uninteresting. too beautiful, too proud, too perfect. Bella's friends in Forks? What are their names again? Her mother? Absent for the most part. Her father? Interesting and awkward, but that's about it. The villains? Too easy. There really is only Bella and Edward and all they do for four books is claim their love for each other, try to sacrifice themselves for the other, say how they can't be apart and then leave each other and then get back together, all without learning a damn thing.
Okay. I am done now. Hopefully this mile long post will make up for the missed weeks. Now back to my Nano novel!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
High School Hell Begins at Age 10
One rainy late August afternoon, after the kids and I had just emerged from the public pool, hair dripping and that kind of relaxed-tired that you get after a good swim, I ran into an acquaintance of ours that just happened to have a daughter the same age as my oldest.
After all the niceties were out of the way, we had this conversation:
Aquaintance: So, have you thought about what high schools you are going to visit?
Me: Wha? Why would I visit high schools? You are clearly insane so please step away slowly from my children. (Okay, that wasn't exactly what I said)
Aquaintance: Well, next year around this time of year you have to register for high school, so you probably want to have an idea of where you want to put your child.
I stopped backing away, because that seemed to make sense. But coming from a place where you just enrolled your kid in the local high school, and where the quality of education was such that you could do that without much hesitation, I had never thought of researching high schools the way one would research Cegep or University.
Me: Shit. (and this, in front of the children). Oldest child, did you know about this?
Oldest child: I was thinking of the Theatre school.
Me: We should do some research when we get home.
Oldest child: Can I do it?
Me: Sure. Make a list.
Acquaintance: Okay, I have wreaked my havoc in your brain now. I am going to go and try to see when swimming lessons registrations are. (and lo and behold, this same lovely acquaintance was the one ahead of me in that registration debacle.)
So my daughter researched schools. I researched schools. I talked to other parents who were cleearly more on the ball than me about this and usurped their list of schools. But all in all, we only visited 3, including the school I work at. I think in our minds we are all decided on one particular one, however, you have to audition to get in and have good enough grades to hack the extra curriculum (it is a theatre school- like her father, she is interested in the production and design side of things). The school I work at was lovely, but even as a staff member I don't think I could afford it. The other school was academically strong but void of all colour, hygiene, and, weirdly enough, teachers. We all hated that one.
So here are some of the issues we have to face when our children reach high school age in Quebec:
1. Private vs. Public? (And apparently there is a big difference in quality.)
2. French public or English public? (And if you want to send your child to English Public you must get a certificate of eligibility which means that one parent has had to have been educated in English in Canada- we can get this, but it will be a pain the butt).
3. French private or English private? I work at an English private school so could get a discount, but even then, apparently the French private schools would still be cheaper. But do I want to send my daughter to private school? Also, there are entrance exams that your child must study for. Apparently, on average, a 6th grade kid applying to private school will write around 4 exams.
4. Regular public or Charter public? There is a whole range out there, with schools focussing on music, theatre, international programs, public schools with uniforms, etc.
Not to mention the fact that I am offended that this is so stressful. She is 10 years old for pete's sake! I feel like those crazy mothers in the Nanny Diaries who are prepping their five year olds to get into the right pre-schools. I feel like this is an instance of mass insanity. I was talking to a coworker who has two kids in private schools. She said that before each of them applied she spent the summer cramming with them, prepping for their entrance test. I so adamantly believe this is wrong on so many levels. It is draconian, and altogether american (no child left behind nightmare) to think that you can measure a child's worth for a test where they make books to show you how to take the test. My coworker's view is that she hates it, doesn't believe in it however, if she didn't do it, her children would suffer by not getting into the best schools and therefore...what? Doomed for failure for their whole life? Destined to be a paper hat wearing hot dog selling person? I think not.
So what will we do? I have no idea. Home school?
After all the niceties were out of the way, we had this conversation:
Aquaintance: So, have you thought about what high schools you are going to visit?
Me: Wha? Why would I visit high schools? You are clearly insane so please step away slowly from my children. (Okay, that wasn't exactly what I said)
Aquaintance: Well, next year around this time of year you have to register for high school, so you probably want to have an idea of where you want to put your child.
I stopped backing away, because that seemed to make sense. But coming from a place where you just enrolled your kid in the local high school, and where the quality of education was such that you could do that without much hesitation, I had never thought of researching high schools the way one would research Cegep or University.
Me: Shit. (and this, in front of the children). Oldest child, did you know about this?
Oldest child: I was thinking of the Theatre school.
Me: We should do some research when we get home.
Oldest child: Can I do it?
Me: Sure. Make a list.
Acquaintance: Okay, I have wreaked my havoc in your brain now. I am going to go and try to see when swimming lessons registrations are. (and lo and behold, this same lovely acquaintance was the one ahead of me in that registration debacle.)
So my daughter researched schools. I researched schools. I talked to other parents who were cleearly more on the ball than me about this and usurped their list of schools. But all in all, we only visited 3, including the school I work at. I think in our minds we are all decided on one particular one, however, you have to audition to get in and have good enough grades to hack the extra curriculum (it is a theatre school- like her father, she is interested in the production and design side of things). The school I work at was lovely, but even as a staff member I don't think I could afford it. The other school was academically strong but void of all colour, hygiene, and, weirdly enough, teachers. We all hated that one.
So here are some of the issues we have to face when our children reach high school age in Quebec:
1. Private vs. Public? (And apparently there is a big difference in quality.)
2. French public or English public? (And if you want to send your child to English Public you must get a certificate of eligibility which means that one parent has had to have been educated in English in Canada- we can get this, but it will be a pain the butt).
3. French private or English private? I work at an English private school so could get a discount, but even then, apparently the French private schools would still be cheaper. But do I want to send my daughter to private school? Also, there are entrance exams that your child must study for. Apparently, on average, a 6th grade kid applying to private school will write around 4 exams.
4. Regular public or Charter public? There is a whole range out there, with schools focussing on music, theatre, international programs, public schools with uniforms, etc.
Not to mention the fact that I am offended that this is so stressful. She is 10 years old for pete's sake! I feel like those crazy mothers in the Nanny Diaries who are prepping their five year olds to get into the right pre-schools. I feel like this is an instance of mass insanity. I was talking to a coworker who has two kids in private schools. She said that before each of them applied she spent the summer cramming with them, prepping for their entrance test. I so adamantly believe this is wrong on so many levels. It is draconian, and altogether american (no child left behind nightmare) to think that you can measure a child's worth for a test where they make books to show you how to take the test. My coworker's view is that she hates it, doesn't believe in it however, if she didn't do it, her children would suffer by not getting into the best schools and therefore...what? Doomed for failure for their whole life? Destined to be a paper hat wearing hot dog selling person? I think not.
So what will we do? I have no idea. Home school?
Friday, October 16, 2009
Discipline, trust annd constant vigilance
I went to a special meeting for my daughter's class last night. After a year's hiatus from the school meeting hell I've decided that I can take it, that I am calmer, more mature. That I can deal with those bloody ^&&*%$^%$%#?! parents that just don't know when to shut up.
Okay, obviously, I have some work to do and much whiskey to consume before the calmness and the maturity actually sets in, but I am determined to be more present and at least get through these ordeals like the good little parental martyr I am.
But my goal for this post is not to complain yet again about school meetings, and the people who do not have the filter in their brain to know when they are talking too much and are wasting everybody's time. No sirree. You see, this was a special meeting, called only a week in advance. A crisis situation meeting.
The crisis? Discipline. Yes, apparently the children have been running amok since the beginning of the year. In a class of grade 3s and 4s, they are getting no work done, because there is a total disregard for teacher (and parental, as many parents come to volunteer at the school) authority.
They do not get ready when they are supposed to. They talk, read, pass notes when the teacher is giving them their instructions. They eat the ingredients for their science experiment and then come back with the "but you didn't tell me that wasn't allowed" defense. On a little more ominous tone, there is also a habit among the boys to proclaim everything stupid, from the work they have to do to the people they have to do it with.
On the whole, not earth shattering, gasp-worthy behaviour. However, it has come to such a pass that they are not getting the work done that they need to do in school. Which means, all the parents in the class were privvy to a nasty surprise the Monday before the meeting in the form of two bright yellow stickers in the agendas of our children saying that they had not finished all this work in class and that they now had to do it at home.
I completely freaked out when I saw those yellow stickers (not realising that the whole class had got them, I thought it was just my daughter pfaffing (is that how you spell it?) off. My daughter goofing around in class? Not doing her work? And let's be honest, in general being a poor ambassador for my parental skills? Unacceptable. Heads rolled. A river of blood streamed through our kitchen.
Well, okay. There was no blood but there was definitely tears and a lot of yelling. Especially since I had been asking said daughter from the beginning of the year if she had any homework. How were things going at school? Is everything okay? Is there anything I should sign? Yes, mom. Everything is fine, mom. There is nothing to sign mom. These are not the droids you're looking for mom.
The problem is, my daughter is more tight-lipped than a Tibetan Monk who has taken a vow of silence. She does not tell me anything. So I have no idea about what's going on until I get to one of these meetings and I hear the other parents talking.
Oh God. Am I just about to make a case for the school meeting? Stop me now. Please.
But it's true. I wouldn't know diddly squat if it weren't for those couple of excruciatingly enlightening hours spent hungry and crammed into my daughter's desk on a Thursday night.
So here are the problems as I see it:
1. How can I get my daughter to actually tell me things without resorting to Bush-like persuasion techniques?
2. How can I trust my daughter to tell me what is really going on? And here I have a bit of a revelation. I can't! That seems harsh, but she has never proven to me that she is responsible enough to do her homework without me looking over her shoulders. We have tried it and it has failed, so now we are going to the Napoleonic code- guilty until proven innocent! Vive la France! She must now prove to me her worthiness. Those are indeed not the droids I am looking for, missy.
3. On a more philosophical note, are our children more unruly these days then they were in our days? Are our lenient, discuss everything reasonably, no yelling at any cost theories inuring our children to adult authority? And if so, is that a good or a bad thing? Talk amongst yourselves...because I sure as hell don't know.
4. Is it the teacher's job to instill values of respect and consideration in our children, or should this be coming from us so that it can manifest outside of the home? Strike that from the record judge- leading the witness. Obviously, I feel like it should be coming from the home. If my daughter is showing such lack of respect I want to to know about it. I want to take steps so that it does not re-occur. And no, I do not mean waterboarding, Mr. Bush.
5. Why can't people formulate their thoughts before they begin spouting inane nonsense? Why do people have to waste everybody's time by proclaiming on topics they know nothing about? Why, in short, are people so stupid and selfish? Don't they have homes to go to? People to feed? Places to drown? They obviously didn't get the memo that TIME IS MONEY. Or at least as scarce. Sorry. I couldn't help myself...Post meeting syndrome- it makes me susceptible to sudden fits of rage...
Anyway, lost of questions no answers and a whole lot of rambling. Two things are for sure though: there is now a lock-down on my youngest and I still really hate school meetings.
Um, the end?
Okay, obviously, I have some work to do and much whiskey to consume before the calmness and the maturity actually sets in, but I am determined to be more present and at least get through these ordeals like the good little parental martyr I am.
But my goal for this post is not to complain yet again about school meetings, and the people who do not have the filter in their brain to know when they are talking too much and are wasting everybody's time. No sirree. You see, this was a special meeting, called only a week in advance. A crisis situation meeting.
The crisis? Discipline. Yes, apparently the children have been running amok since the beginning of the year. In a class of grade 3s and 4s, they are getting no work done, because there is a total disregard for teacher (and parental, as many parents come to volunteer at the school) authority.
They do not get ready when they are supposed to. They talk, read, pass notes when the teacher is giving them their instructions. They eat the ingredients for their science experiment and then come back with the "but you didn't tell me that wasn't allowed" defense. On a little more ominous tone, there is also a habit among the boys to proclaim everything stupid, from the work they have to do to the people they have to do it with.
On the whole, not earth shattering, gasp-worthy behaviour. However, it has come to such a pass that they are not getting the work done that they need to do in school. Which means, all the parents in the class were privvy to a nasty surprise the Monday before the meeting in the form of two bright yellow stickers in the agendas of our children saying that they had not finished all this work in class and that they now had to do it at home.
I completely freaked out when I saw those yellow stickers (not realising that the whole class had got them, I thought it was just my daughter pfaffing (is that how you spell it?) off. My daughter goofing around in class? Not doing her work? And let's be honest, in general being a poor ambassador for my parental skills? Unacceptable. Heads rolled. A river of blood streamed through our kitchen.
Well, okay. There was no blood but there was definitely tears and a lot of yelling. Especially since I had been asking said daughter from the beginning of the year if she had any homework. How were things going at school? Is everything okay? Is there anything I should sign? Yes, mom. Everything is fine, mom. There is nothing to sign mom. These are not the droids you're looking for mom.
The problem is, my daughter is more tight-lipped than a Tibetan Monk who has taken a vow of silence. She does not tell me anything. So I have no idea about what's going on until I get to one of these meetings and I hear the other parents talking.
Oh God. Am I just about to make a case for the school meeting? Stop me now. Please.
But it's true. I wouldn't know diddly squat if it weren't for those couple of excruciatingly enlightening hours spent hungry and crammed into my daughter's desk on a Thursday night.
So here are the problems as I see it:
1. How can I get my daughter to actually tell me things without resorting to Bush-like persuasion techniques?
2. How can I trust my daughter to tell me what is really going on? And here I have a bit of a revelation. I can't! That seems harsh, but she has never proven to me that she is responsible enough to do her homework without me looking over her shoulders. We have tried it and it has failed, so now we are going to the Napoleonic code- guilty until proven innocent! Vive la France! She must now prove to me her worthiness. Those are indeed not the droids I am looking for, missy.
3. On a more philosophical note, are our children more unruly these days then they were in our days? Are our lenient, discuss everything reasonably, no yelling at any cost theories inuring our children to adult authority? And if so, is that a good or a bad thing? Talk amongst yourselves...because I sure as hell don't know.
4. Is it the teacher's job to instill values of respect and consideration in our children, or should this be coming from us so that it can manifest outside of the home? Strike that from the record judge- leading the witness. Obviously, I feel like it should be coming from the home. If my daughter is showing such lack of respect I want to to know about it. I want to take steps so that it does not re-occur. And no, I do not mean waterboarding, Mr. Bush.
5. Why can't people formulate their thoughts before they begin spouting inane nonsense? Why do people have to waste everybody's time by proclaiming on topics they know nothing about? Why, in short, are people so stupid and selfish? Don't they have homes to go to? People to feed? Places to drown? They obviously didn't get the memo that TIME IS MONEY. Or at least as scarce. Sorry. I couldn't help myself...Post meeting syndrome- it makes me susceptible to sudden fits of rage...
Anyway, lost of questions no answers and a whole lot of rambling. Two things are for sure though: there is now a lock-down on my youngest and I still really hate school meetings.
Um, the end?
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