It’s been a rough week. The end of the school year is always a bad patch for me – at its best I just want to sleep 24 hours a day, and at its worse I feel like my life has been a total waste. I’m at that second extreme right now. It’s like the school year puffs up my days full of air, and once that air is gone my life collapses into a new, shrunken state covering the odd, small shapes that lurk below. Every year I wonder how I could have let my life become so impoverished, so flat, so lonely, so boring. For the last few years I’ve also had the feeling that I’m a failure as a mother for not being able to shift into full-time mom mode as gratefully as everyone else seems to. The Boy has been my bulwark against the worst of these feelings for eight years in a row. This year he is gone, never to return, and suddenly that pain is breaking over me in waves that make me feel like this summer will drown me.

It’s pretty dumb stuff, too. This afternoon I dragged myself to the grocery store, and I was overwhelmed with thoughts of every trip we ever took to stock up. Every meal we ever botched in Nova Scotia, every pint of cherries we ever ate on the way home from the farmer’s market, every discovery we ever made in cookbooks and at the houses of friends: I’m the only one with that stuff still sloshing around inside me. From the way the Boy would talk in our last month together, it was pretty clear that he remembered our past as one unbroken stream of unhappiness. I’m the only one on earth left to think about the meals we cooked on our tiny hibachi and remember being in love. Sometimes I feel that the worst part about losing him is that I’ve lost my back up memories, and without my back up, how can I know for sure that I spent those years well? I thought we were happy but look how wrong I was. Why couldn’t I be wrong about everything else?

It was just as bad when I was shopping for Blake’s summer clothes. This is the typical, boring job we would have done together, late in the season and rushed. Every year we got to pick out the clothes we would get to love Blake in this summer. Now I get to pick out the clothes myself and think dismal thoughts about the Boy’s reaction.

Some people who used to be my friends got married this month. I’m in the awkward position of finding out through the internet, which doesn’t make this time any easier to bear. I just hope that they do better than I did. Than we did.

Labels: angst, blake, the boy

Ugh. I am in a shit mood right now. The end of the year always hits me like an emotional tonne of bricks. I always feel like I’ve let all of my students down. They are always more than happy to blame me for their marks, lack of attendance, personal problems, etc. I have felt like shit since the moment that one of my students, in trying to guess my ethnicity, said, “she’s not Swedish. Swedish girls are sexy.”

The problem with that statement is that any way you slice it, including a retraction, it’s either creepy or insulting.

In an effort to boost my mood, I’m trying to make a list of Good Things That Happened Today. If that doesn’t work, I’ll expand my time limits.

1. only one teaching day left, and if it doesn’t rain, I’ll be spending it outside next to a gladiator ring, wearing my World’s Worst Teacher shirt.
2. I bought Mill Street Tankhouse Ale on the way home, smoothing my evening with a single craft-brewed beer.
3. tonight is the lowest stress meal ever: breakfast for dinner night. Yay!
4. after supper, I’m going out to buy 2 ½ yards of fabric and an inflatable pool. Don’t you want to be invited to my parties now?
5. usually Blake does the occasional overnight at Camp Grampa (as much his idea as mine), but as of today Blake is staying with me for the next uninterrupted week. Uninterrupted! Week!
6. this weekend’s going to be awesome.
7. next weekend may involve Drunken Knitting, retro goth dancing and a going-away party for two of the city’s “most beloved chefs.” I only met one last Saturday and I already love her.
8. last night I danced for 2 hours and became the Belly Dance Secretary. Her shimmies are entered into the minutes!
9. my credit card bill for this month was $700 less than it was last month. (There are a couple charges going through soon, including the dinner where I met the chef of #7. Yummmy.)
10. I am two arms into a Cthrocheted Cthulu. Eee!
11. hugs and kisses are mere hours away, waiting in my friends and in the future for our next meeting.

Is good.

Labels: blake, friends, happiness

Battling a low-grade spring cold and a heavy conviction that I won't manage to finish out the teaching year in good form. Two weeks to finish Catcher in the Rye and all I want to do is lie down. With a book that isn't Catcher.

In my last entry I think the emphasis came through in the wrong place. I wasn't so much complaining about my impossible child as I was coming to the realization that I need to make things a lot less tough on myself. It's my stubbornness that makes things so damn hard for both me and Blake. It's this feeling that I'm doing him a disservice if we bring a wagon, or if I buy him an ice cream in the afternoon. I need to stop taking such a hard line about everything and try to be happier, lighter and more present. I need to stop worrying about the future Blake (the soft, spoiled kid I'm afraid of creating) and start enjoying the weird, energetic, sweet boy I have now.

Last night I participated in one of the most fun ideas ever conceived: a blend of Rocky Horror and Pee Wee's Big Adventure called "Pee Wee Herman Picture Show" at the Bloor Theatre. Nic, Mason, Pixie, Pixie's husband and a few hundred others came with me and were transported. Unlike the Rocky Horror Experience, in which you are encouraged to hate the characters on screen, we all love Pee Wee. I know the movie well from my younger days, and I think I scared Mason a little with the depth of recall I could command once the Danny Elfman score started to unspool. By the time we staggered from the theatre, I was voiceless from two hours of laughing, singing, and cheering along. Mason, Nic and I all agreed: if we hadn't had to work today, we'd have turned around and bought a ticket for the second show. I hummed the theme all the way home. Oh, and that this was Pixie's very first time seeing the movie. I couldn't have picked a better way to show her.

And there was something about being in a theatre full of happy people that made it better than Rocky Horror in which you throw contempt along with your toilet paper. Everybody was there for Pee Wee, and a number of them brought their kids to share in the fun. It still makes me grin, just thinking about the screams during the Large Marge scene.

"You have to watch it! You're 30!!" - nic attempts to be sensitive to my anxiety

I had promised Nic Ethiopian food that night, and after listening to his hissy fit when we went to Chippy's before the show, I decided to take him out for some fermented fun after the show. Unfortunately, Nic was a little too sick to enjoy himself, so Mason & I sipped drinks and tried to resuscitate our voices while my brother morosely shoveled food in his pie hole. I went to bed far too late for a school night, but so very happy that I had made it down.

Labels: blake, family, friends, health, outings

An hour ago, Blake & I returned from our annual CF zoo trip. This was my first solo effort, and I'm trying to pinpoint exactly when the day went skidding out of control. Was it when I decided to go alone rather than ask another adult to cough up the registration fee? Was it when I refused to take the umbrella stroller out of the trunk, dooming myself to an eternity of waiting for the world's slowest poke to inch his way up to me on the path? Was it when I decided to optimistically downplay Blake's habit of ignoring all instructions, no matter how unsafe or ridiculous his intended action, despite having to forcibly haul him out of a bouncy castle only yesterday? Or was it when Blake & I decided to walk in the opposite direction from everyone else, therefore ensuring that even the casual support I could expect from the Old Baby Club would be missing?

It was probably all of those things. I was hot, frustrated and exhausted within the first two hours. Even clipping a bag to my belt and knitting a sock as we toured the exhibits didn't help. Blake touched every stroller. If he was pointed in the right direction he dawdled as if he were trying out for the Canadian dawdling team. If there was a direction I pointed out, he ran in the opposite direction. Interesting strangers doing something unsafe? Blake was in there like a shot. Boring exhibit? Blake was lying down in front of it for the maximum amount of time, most likely picking his nose and consuming his gleanings.

There were some lovely moments when I was happy to be there, and happy to be sharing this wonderful place with my lovely son. The elephants, hippos, gorillas, and otters were spectacular. But most of the time I was cursing my own stubbornness and scheming my way to the next animal. No matter what my personal situation, I think I have to face the fact that Blake is a two-adult kid in most situations, and I should not even think about taking him to the zoo on a warm spring Sunday unless I'm prepared to promise one of my friends a pizza trophy if they'll tag along and help with the Beast that is Known as the Blake.

From the day Blake was born, one of the most important kickstarts to my personal growth as a mom was alone time. It was always so easy to be a mom if I has someone to give him to. Once I learned to be a solo mom (back when it was a choice rather than an inevitability), I really started to enjoy that intense one-on-one feeling. I was more present when it was just us. I enjoyed him more. And now I have to face the fact that, without help, I enjoy him less because he completely overwhelms me.

Also, there are no pictures. Not because of the above, but because my batteries died last night and I forgot until Blake was riding an iguana statue. Burn.

I had much more fun with Blake yesterday at Opera Sara's birthday blowout! (The exclamation mark is mandatory.) As with all OS functions, there was plenty of food, plenty of wine, and the assurance that your child had joined a herd that at least one parent was watching at all times. I take shameless advantage of this set-up, so much so that I'm surprised she keeps inviting me back. Especially since I show no hesitation in taking off my socks immediately upon entering, right after I raid the medicine cabinet for the antihistamines I put there two years ago. I'm one classy guest.

Labels: blake, outings

One of the things I forgot to mention about Mother's Day was that I hosted a barbeque for my family. Very low stress; just my parents, Nic & the Blake (who fell asleep before eating his burger). My mom even picked up the food, which was a blessing in my post-party-bus state. It was one of the good nights; Foreman-grilled burgers liberally garnished with tonnes of loud conversation & laughter.

dad: "I thought your feet were bigger."
nic: "what are you implying?"
me: "you know."

In contrast to my other weeks, it's been pretty quiet around here. I took Monday as a sick day, and spent it watching videos and eating salty snacks. My parents took Blake that night, meaning that my triumphant return to work on Tuesday was made as easy as possible. I'm having trouble establishing a consistant night routine, what with all the interruptions in service. Almost every night I spend with Blake includes the inner question, "so, what should I be doing now? And when?" When I can get him bathed and into bed before I pass out, I'm doing real well.

On Wednesday my mom & I went to North Gomorrah to see "My Fair Lady." I like spending time with my mom, and I like going to the theatre and I tend to like musicals. Unfortunately, these were the best parts of Wednesday. Eight p.m. on a school night is not a good time for something to begin, at least in my dozy world. I spent most of yesterday craving my bed, and I couldn't lie down fast enough once I got home. My dad, who was over to fool around with my fence, was incredulous that I would want to lie down. Just because I don't do my lying down in front of a teevee doesn't mean we're not alike, Dad.

This weekend is the first one with Blake in a while. I plan to celebrate with a trip to see the local fair and possibly a quest to the grocery store. I am an exciting single mom! Ka-pow!!

Labels: blake, family, outings

Last night I got on a bus with 13 other teachers, various snacks and a tonne of booze. Destination: Niagara Falls. Purpose of visit: Ladies Night. It was completely unlike me; I was way out of my comfort zone, not to mention wearing a low-cut grey dress and a push-up bra. And yet I had a brilliant time.

Poppy came over to my house early, and we chatted while I did some last-minute tidying that I hadn't done because I was busy recovering from Drunken Knitting. Poppy is such a great friend that she immediately joined in, and between the two of us we had the place sparkling within a half-hour. So completely awesome. Then it was time to put on my owl dress…which wasn't zipping properly…and led to the last minute substitution of the grey dress. So instead of being quirky and childlike, I was busting out of this slinky grey thing. Shit happens, I suppose.

Trixie came to the door when I was in my underwear, so I rushed down to let her in with a dress held over my front. Good thing we take yoga together, and the sight of my granny panties is a familiar one. We quickly primped and prepped and the three of us stepped out the door with our potluck goodies, taking my wedding boa for good luck.

Our cocktail hour was kind of rapacious, as none of us had eaten supper and we fell on the dips and snacks like wolves on the fold. There's nothing quite like a room full of beautiful, ravenous women set loose on a buffet. It's humbling. We also started the night's drinking in earnest, me with Orangina and rum and the others with more grown up drinks. What can I say; Preacher has ruined me for more sophisticated mixed drinks.

By the time the party bus pulled up, we were more than ready to be let loose. The ride to the falls was marked by laughing, dancing & drinking. We made good use of the pole, let me tell you. This was my first real surprise of the night, that I would have so much fun lurching down the highway, dancing and giggling and getting down in a 3" wide aisle. Reminded me of the C*8 improvised punk dance floor, in the best possible way. When you gots to dance, you gots to dance.

Trixie wouldn't let me take my knitting into the casino, so spent a profoundly bored 45 minutes staring at people who looked like they just came from Arby's for a brief stop at the slots. It ain't no fun to be wearing a tight evening dress when you're in a crowd that could be at the mall. Things picked up when we got into the nightclub, which was packed tighter than a rubber brick. I can't even imagine what it would have been like back when they let us smoke indoors; we were asses to elbows (thanks, b-girl!) and I grew desensitised to strangers brushing up on me at all times. In 2 ½ hours of dancing, I didn't recognize a single song, and was tremendously amused to be the only one in the crowd not singing along. I made this comment to a stranger, and he was incredulous. "How can you not know this song?" Because I live under a rock, buddy. Or, more accurately, because I live under a shifting yarn stash. It muffles the sound of your popular music.

I spent a goodly chunk of the night talking to some tall guy in a sweater who kept telling me how innocent I looked. I liked hanging out with him, but I was absolutely blunt. "I'm a single mom. I'm a cynical goth. I'm on a bus with 13 other women. I'm not getting picked up tonight. I like talking to you, but if you want to go find some other girl, I won't be upset." He stuck around for awhile, his arm around my waist, and we yelled minimal conversation in each other's ear. At one point he said that he wanted to kiss me, so I let him. Why? Because he was sweet, and because it wasn't going anywhere, and because I didn't really want to know his name or for him to know mine, and because it was Ladies Night. There was no making out, just a few random kisses, and then he went away.

I heard about it on the way back. "Who were you making out with?" "Nobody," I said, and kept eating chips. That's just as true as anything else I could say.

oh, what a night!

Considering that I saw Blake for a grand total of 4 hours today, it was a pretty damn fine Mother's Day. When the Boy dropped him off for church, Blake held out a five dollar bill. "Happy Mother's Day!" he beamed.

I looked at the Boy and smirked. "You are a class act."

"It's for the spring concert ticket!" he protested, but the damage was done. Highly amusing.

Pixie and Scout dropped him off for supper, waking me from a long nap of doom in the late afternoon. I didn't know that they were coming over, and I was really glad to see them. The Boy has been stiff and uncomfortable this past week, so I'm just as happy to see two friendly faces, especially since I haven't seen Pixie since last summer and I haven't seen Scout since she came by to move over a load of the Boy's stuff.

I'm glad to know that I still have sisters, even if I may not have a husband.

Labels: bat masterson, blake, dancing, family, outfits, outings, the boy

The best part about living on my own is that on mornings like this morning, when I go to do a load of Blake's pee-smirched bedding and find that the dryer and the washer are full of loads I can't remember putting in, there's nowhere for that frustration to go. So it just goes away. Having made the mistake myself, I deal with it and move on. There's a lot to be said for shared chores, but I'm really starting to prefer this total responsibility model.

The worst part about living on my own is that on nights like Thursday, when I'm completely exhausted and want nothing more than to go to sleep early, there is no one to take care of Blake if he doesn't feel like quietly going to bed hours before his bed time. That was a bad night, and not just because he pooped his pants at 5 and peed the bed at 2. I made it worse than it had to be, simply because I was at the end of my tether. He is one of the chores of which it is good to be relieved once in awhile. But I love him madly, and I know that our time together is better simply because I don't have the option of ignoring him. We rub along pretty well most days. I only wish he could be sent out to the movies once or twice a month. At most.

Juuki has decided to take a sabbatical from teaching, so my lesson nights are suddenly free. They wanted to transfer me to another belly dance class, but I don't really want to screw myself up at this stage in the game by trying to absorb another style of bellydance. So I think I'll try to transfer to African dance or Bhangra or something like that. It can only help and totally not confuse, right?

Also, I'm still crafting like mad. I'm trying to figure out a way to consolidate my knitblog with this one so that I can give it the mercy killing it deserves (poor neglected knitblog) (poor audience members who don't like hearing about knitting!). Any ideas are welcome. Especially ideas that involve creating imaginary punk nights with band names that Mason & I made up. Although that might not be helpful with this particular problem, it's still fun!

rocking word 97 like a girl from the suburbs

Labels: blake, dancing, house rich, imaginary bands, on-line diaries

Spider Update, because I know you're keeping track of my kill-rate at home: as of last night, 55. The last one was a gift from another spider, who rushed the poor unfortunate on the ceiling, causing it to tumble down to the floor, where I stepped on it. I told Blake that it was an accident, but it wasn't an accident. At that point, watching 5 spiders on my bathroom ceiling try to figure out how best to kill each other, I would have killed them by any means necessary. I even broke my vacuum protocol and sucked up three victims yesterday, after cleaning up the baking soda on Blake's bed. Choke on pee-impregnated dust, spider bitches!

On Saturday I took Blake to Queen West for some shopping and frolicing in place of the official DKC yarn frolic. We hit Mac Fab (where he refused to get out of his stroller), Fresh Collective (where I picked up my new cupcake t-shirt and exchanged friendly greetings with the clerk, who has seen me every weekend for the past three), Magic Pony (which we had to leave, as Blake couldn't be trusted to stay out of the window display), Kol Kid (where Blake had to be coaxed out of the stroller to play with the jacks-in-the-box), Romni (where Blake refused to leave his stroller), and finally Trinity-Bellwoods Park (where Blake got sandy for the better part of an hour). I made things awkward by toting around my new gorgeous cast iron tea pot, which I needed for my first stop but which quickly became a ghastly millstone as Blake tried to escape and we wore out every welcome we were given. By the time we met Mason at La Ha for dinner, I couldn't speak without gasping and clutching at my shoulder. Since he was the one to give me the teapot, I don't suppose that I looked all that grateful. But I remain in love with it, especially now that it's safely on my bookshelf awaiting a crop of accessories. Like the rug in the Big Lebowski, it's going to tie my whole room together.

After chasing Blake around all of the tables for almost two hours, we loaded him into the car and went to Lettuce Knit for the Big Girl Knit 2 Book Launch (or, as I typed in my photo files, the "Bi Girls Knit Launch." We don't judge). I would have been there anyway, but I was extra excited because

1. my name is on the acknowledgements page
2. there were tiny cupcakes
3. I had a chance to use up the last bottle of my wedding champagne
4. I'm always proud of my knitsibs' outstanding achievements in the field of authorship
5. cupcakes? Did I mention cupcakes?
6. door-prizes! I won Soak.
7. Blake reuniting with Meghan's kids, whom he loved at Christmas
8. the chance to use the assembled knittas as models of Mason's completed wrap sweater

And that was just what I was looking forward to before I got there. Once I got there, I discovered the all-lady folk band, sushi, cool knittas previously unknown to me, and, well, everything. Mason & I took turns chasing Blake, which gave each of us a few minutes to have fun before going back to warning him away from messes and dangers. He had three cupcakes, which is one more than I did, and I suppose I should have been happy that there was no property damage, yarn damage or friendship damage thanks to my sugared-up wildling.

click through for the whole set, including everybody in the world modelling mason's completed wrap sweater

When it was finally time to go home, I said my goodbyes, took Blake's hand, and walked away from the light toward our car. It was only when we were next to the Blue Ruin that I realized I couldn't find my keys. I sat down on the dark curb and emptied out my bag to no avail. There was only one thing for it: take up Blake's hand and lead him back to the party. I could only hope that Michelle had Mason's cell number, as I figured he'd pocketed the keys when he went to the car to get the champagne. When we got back to Lettuce, we were greeted with the expected, "didn't you leave?" I asked if anyone had found keys, and was totally floored when someone described my Wolfvegas key fob. A Big Girl Knits miracle! I went home happy.

Next day I realized that sometime during that long wandery Saturday I had lost a new ball of yarn, the last one I need to finish a striped vest. I checked every place I could think of, but when I remembered the eccentric path we'd followed up and down Queen Street, I despaired of ever finding my last ball. Realizing that I had the same colourway knit up in my stash, I immediately unravelled it and soaked out the kinks, thinking that I was going to finish this damned vest one way or another. Yesterday I decided to check with Lettuce, and was rewarded beyond measure when Meghan confirmed that yes, they had my yarn. A knitter had picked it up from the sidewalk in the dark, and brought it back to the store. She was all ready to keep it, but Meghan decided to hang on to it and give it a chance to be found. So there we have the second Big Girl Knits Miracle! One more and I can break ground on the chapel.

The only other thing of note was my Church Fashion Show. It wasn't as embarassing as I'd feared (although I almost ran away when I saw that Mason had made good on his promise to capture my modeling debut). No, there will be no pictures, as even if I'd liked the way they turned out, they are far too blurry to share. You'll just have to wait for my dance troupe to start performing to see my exhibitionist side.

Labels: blake, friends, house rich, knit, outings

Tonight I was supposed to have a night in with Blake, but he decided to have a sleep-over at Camp Grampa, leaving me free. Then Scherezade called to invite me to a party celebrating the completion of her first semester back at school, which seemed heaven-sent. But by 6, I realized that if I had just drank an entire can of Diet Coke with supper and still felt the urge to crawl into bed and sleep for a year, then driving an hour to get to a party might be a bad idea. So I opened a new bag of sunflower seeds and set up four different books on the back of the couch for when I finished my current novel (Flashman and the Angel of the Lord).

It's been an odd week. As spring rushes upon us, I'm still feeling beat down and ill; there's this charming rattle that sneaks into my laugh whenever I'm really enjoying something, and it makes me sound like my Grandmother. I'm not ezzactly sick, but neither am I ezzactly well, and an early night of pure indulgence seems just about the perfect cure.

Last night at my troupe practice I discovered to my joy that Juuki does not need to be there to rally her troops. I was afraid that with Juuki at the belly dance conference, the rest of us would be too retiring to run an effective practice. Last night may not have been as focussed as it is when Juuki's running the show, but we are far from passive and today I was feeling it in my knee and my arms (who rebelled at the amount of blackboard writing I required of them).

I'm really glad that we are pulling together as a troupe. Even if I'm not the dance dervish everyone teases me about, I don't want to be a star. It's better than awesome to be a part of such an enthusiastic group of ladies.

Today Mason finished the wrap-around sweater he's been knitting for his wife for almost half a year. (Too bad they split up two weeks ago, but it's a hell of a sweater. I'd take it if I were her.)

I was so proud that I took the long ends of Suri yarn and had the cool family studies teacher braid them into my hair. She is used to decorating horses, so this came easily to her. I had an immediate flashback to the Animal Farm musical, and took care to remember that if I were obedient, I'd not feel the whip.

pretty ribbons in my mane…

In other news, it's spring!

Labels: blake, dancing, friends

My weeks just keep getting busier. On Wednesday I was thinking about staying home from Knit Night because - get this - I had too much knitting to do. But I went anyway. "I have to haul ass on this hedgehog," I announced grimly. "That's not a sentence you get to say every day," the ladies observed. It's about as often as I consider avoiding craft night because my crafting schedule has become too intense to allow for the commute.

I went home early, as the next day was Parent-Teacher Night, a.k.a. the day I spend 13 hours in the school. In fancy clothes, no less. I was slightly consoled by the fact that we had a huge standardized test scheduled for the morning, during which I hauled ass on the aforementioned hedgehog. Mason & I went out for dinner to get a break from the building, and we managed to squeeze in a few wee adventures simply by strolling the plaza. I tried to get my engagement ring appraised at Cash Converters, but the line up was too long, so we ended up buying female sword and sorcery complilations from the 1980's. A grand total of 2 interviews in 2 hours rounded out my night. At least I got tonnes of time to play with yarn. And Blake, the poor little guy, wet the bed and had to come in with me at 4. Good times.

By Friday morning I was exhausted. Blake was sick and I wasn't doing too well in that department myself. I staggered though my day, teaching the worst, most inept lesson to my 12's I have ever perpetrated upon them, supervised a test for another two periods, and got home in time to watch Blake fall asleep on the couch 15 minutes before his father's arrival. Nice. Once Blake was carried, protesting, off to spend his weekend with my babydaddy, I quickly devolved into a state of inertia: reading blogs, drinking beer and unwinding a tangled skein of sock yarn.

My Saturday was spent in similar idleness. I don't actually enjoy prolonged periods of sloth and social isolation; but after my last two weekends I really needed to re-introduce my bum to my couch and let the two of them catch up. I also have tonnes and tonnes of knitting deadlines this week and I needed some quiet time to get them in line. In a stroke of brilliant serendipity, the DNTO program was focussed on idleness as a creative act, as a political protest, and as a lifestyle. Beautiful. It reminded me of what I already knew: when I spend an afternoon knitting or crocheting or whatever and I'm not using a teevee to keep my eyes occupied, my brain starts to fire off new and creative ideas through simple relaxation. I got to the point where I needed to keep a notebook on the arm of the sofa to record my inspirations.

I did some laundry and the dishes, but because I wanted to, so it didn't really make a dent in my contemplation. At dinner time my parents came by to pick me up and take me to a church dinner to fund raise for land mine removal. I {heart} church dinners, I really do. My love affair with the church affair began in Wolfvegas and I've never truly lost my desire for the simple potluck.

They dropped me off 20 minutes into Earth Hour, so I found my candelabra by touch, loaded it with new candles, and set up for an even more peaceful hour of candlelit embroidery. (Thanks, Nadia: I haven't had a housewarming gift come in so handy since Sophie's yarn became my fabulous winter hat.)

Sunday was napping, church and more embroidery, punctuated by the making of chicken soup and the joyous arrival of my the Blake. "Mommy, can I have a beautiful cookie?" he beamed. Man, he's happy to be back. Me too.

Today was another slog, as Blake wet the bed at 1 a.m. (he's 2 for 2, considering that he was away for the weekend). Tomorrow is the Harlot's latest book launch, and I don't expect to get near a computer until well into Wednesday. To tide you over, here is the severed head I finished yesterday:

(Yes, it is based on the Boy. He was pretty cool to let me take this picture after he dropped off the separation papers. I gave him a slightly-expired yoghurt for his trouble.)

Labels: bat masterson, blake, knit

My house is obsessed with They Might Be Giants. By "my house" I mean me and Blake and by "They Might Be Giants" I mean the song Ana Ng. Blake listens to that song between 5-10 times a day, usually in sets of at least 4 repeats. And he dances, trying his best to imitate the dance of the Johns. It's too cute. And I don't even mind hearing it over and over because it's a kickass song and I know he gets his obsessive tendencies from me.

(There is also a really cool stop motion animated fan-art version of the video. Really, it's too awesome for words.)

Speaking of things I enjoy, we now move into the realm of jokes I have recently made up that are too obscure for anyone to enjoy but me.

1. A joke brought on by 4 hours of marking 1984 essays. When I started to misread "Room 101" as "Room lol", I knew there had to be a cute picture in there somewhere.

(One of my students suggested "lolrats", but I still think the joke is dead on the table.)

2. I am knitting swatches for Laura, and have decided to call myself Team Swatch You Like A Hurricane. (Here I am!)

3. Dude, I don't even know where this came from.

Labels: blake, books, friends, knit, music

Still feeling a wee bit manic, but not in a destructive way. It's hard to be taken seriously when your manias consist of reading tonnes of Flashman books as quickly as possible and starting new knitting projects. Credit cards remain unmaxed, and although I did do a lot of shopping at Knit-o-matic last Saturday, I used Christmas cash that I found in a drawer which is like just finding yarn in the street as far as my budget is concerned. Plus, it was a cash sale, so I got tonnes and tonnes of yarn for a low low price. Love it. And despite my touch of mania, I'm still not having compulsive anonymous sex with moustachioed gents at the local sports bar, so that's good too.

Tomorrow I'll write about Hestia's birthday and the various body fluids that had to be cleaned up in its aftermath. For today, a little slice of verbal pie. This morning I was having an argument with Blake and he told me to shut up.

"We've talked about why you don't say those words. It's ugly. I want you to stop."

"When I get big I'm going to get my own car and nobody will be in it and I'll say all the words you don't want me to say."

"Fair enough."

Cut to bedtime, and Blake's all over me. "Let's play Belly Bit. I didn't say bitch. I said bit."

"You have got to stop saying those words. Just let them stay inside you. And we'll put it on the list of things you'll say when you get your own car."

"Yeah. Fuck. Bitch. And shut up. We can make a list of these don't-saying words."

Labels: blake

"You do stupid things that I don't like!"
- Blake, this morning, when the rage subsided enough for him to speak

I had a really great entry for Wednesday, but then I thought better of it. As I learned from the great Q & Stacy Rumour Disaster of 2002, sometimes I need to think twice before publishing something on the Internet. It will see the light of day eventually. All we need to say for now is that I cried myself to sleep on Tuesday and made all of my co-workers join my pity party on Wednesday, whether they wished to or not. Everything got better when I made it to my knitsibs, big fat burrito in hand and wool fumes buoying me up. I only had to tell a few people before I was okay again. I even got a phone call, which left me gobsmacked because only one person knew where I was going that night and I thought I was moving renegade, under the cover of the eclipse. Not so much. But being found was pretty terrific, too.

Tonight I pack up the Blake's stuff for the weekend and spend the night making something for Hestia's b-day tomorrow. I love a good kids' party, and between Andrea and Opera Sarah, I've been invited to some of the best lately.

Labels: angst, blake, knit

What a weird week. I don't feel like I'm so busy that I don't have time to write, but here we are. The real problem is bedtime; by the time I get supper cooked and eaten, the dishes washed, the Blake washed, and everyone brushed, medicated and pj'd, the sleepiness is almost unbearable. Reading 2-3 stories to the Blake while snuggled under his giraffe duvet would reduce anyone to quiet somnolence, and now that I'm off Diet Coke for Lent my resistance has dropped even further. It's all I can do to stagger to my own bed before I drop off. I certainly don't feel like going downstairs to write.

Anyway. We're in the eleventh year of this journal, and I started making excuses for not writing by roughly the fourth entry. At this point, you'll take what I give and you'll like it! Or you won't and you'll find someone regular! See if I care.

I continue to get a tremendous kick out of bellydancing, even though I'm still not very good (yet). My yoga class has been on hiatus due to hives (not mine, fortunately). Blake is still a stubborn non-skater, despite regular lessons. The Boy abides apart. And Beryl bloomed!

The most exciting part of our recent days was K8rs' birthday party at the JCC. On Saturday afternoon I picked up Blake from the Casa Nova and took him to the Annex for 2 hours of supervised fun! It was everything a birthday party should be: treats, climbing equipment, a ball pit, story books, cheese pizza, a parachute, cupcakes and tonnes of other little guys running around. K8 seemed to like the amigurumi cupcake, although Simon wasn't too interested in his mug of hot chocolate. Blake kept running up to him and demanding that he accept the gift. Everytime Blake insisted, Simon looked at him and walked away. I love kids.

Blake's favourite part was the princess cake, which may or may not have tasted like real princesses. My favourite part was walking around with him on Queen West, trying to find a birthday card before the party. Unfortunately, all of the cute boutiques were closed, so we were reduced to window shopping and gawking at all the dogs being walked. And that, plus lots of Orangina and Simon eating paint and the car getting stuck in the snow, was our afternoon. When I got home I had to take the rest of the day off. I didn't think that I would need to, but I lay down on the couch for a bit with a book and my knitting and when I felt like getting up, it was bedtime.

Labels: blake, friends, outings

My Grade 12 class has a summative project that involves designing a utopia based on the principles they've absorbed throughout the semester. Then they make a presentation designed to sell us (or more importantly, me) on this idea of utopia. One group last month did a slide show about their institutions of higher learning, and partway through my startled voice proclaimed, "hey! That's my college!" Good old UC. And when they argued, I said, "I know that place. I was up on the roof once." Then they laughed at me.

Happy 11th anniversary, ridiculous Fireball. Happy anniversary random nudity, stolen ice cream and impossible love. It was worth the cigarette burns, the ruined stockings and the pictures in which my underwear was clearly visible. It was all worth it for the view from the top of UC.

Yesterday I offered to drive Mason home because I was going down for Drunken Knitting and we haven't had a chance to hang out since he came back to work this week. I didn't realize that being with a friend would make the handoff of Blake to the Boy that much harder. This is because I couldn't encase myself in the customary ice that cloaks my recent dealings with the Boy. So when the Blake had walked off into the snow with his daddy, I started to cry for the first time in weeks. Sometimes I am terrified by the amount of denial I use to get through the day. Watching the two of them walk around the corner made me realize that on some level, I'm just keeping my life warm for the day the Boy decides to come back.

This week was an especially hard one, because the blessings flowed in and there was no one to share them with. Asked to join a belly dance troupe – wait until work to cautiously tell anyone. Love bombed by Stacy – private and wonderful and no way to share why I'm smiling. Cosmic Pluto wants me to test-knit a pair of socks for her book – wait a day and a half until I can share the news with my knitting protégé Mason. It's really really hard to be missing the person who tried to understand my obscure flashes of joy.

But if emotion is the sickness, Drunken Knitting is the cure. By the time I made it down to the Dick, everything was in full swing. Sophie buttonholed me outside the door and we traded angst (not only are we goths, but we have actual troubles this winter, which makes it easier to mope convincingly.) I ordered food as fast as I could, then spun my head around when Mason, Kristen & Sage walked in. Yay! Between eating and talking and listening and playing pass the Sage and soothe the Zoë, I might have knit 8 tiny rows on my scarf. Maybe. It was one of the good nights, one of the best. I only went home when I was too tired to keep my mouth closed from yawning.

Conversation in the car on the way to K8rs' party:

Blake: I don't love Daddy anymore.
me: Yes you do, sweetie.
B: No. I don't love anyone anymore.
me: I feel like that sometimes.
B: No love for anyone. I'm not going to save anyone from dying.
me: I feel like that sometimes, too.

Labels: angst, blake, friends, knit, nostalgia, outings

The only thing more boring than reading someone's diary is hearing about their dreams. Lucky you! You get both! (Don't even try to click away…)

I remember some of my dreams, others are gone upon waking. One thing I have noticed lately is that when I dream about the Boy, we are still together. Last night was the first post-separation dream I can remember. In it, the Boy & I had a screaming, nasty fight. Oddly enough, when I saw him today to pick up Blake, we had a nasty fight. Who would have guessed?

The only difference is that last night I screamed, "did you enjoy fucking our adopted daughter?" (it made sense in the dream, I swear) and this afternoon my last word was, "keep polishing your halo, jackass."

Today I was home to mark, but a certain someone felt ill enough to stay home from school as well, and instead of marking abysmal senior essays I was a big hot couch for most of the day.

And to make up for a month without a camera, here are some visual aids to help with my rambling entries:

the barometric bamboo

my old houseplant, Beryl & her roommate Spidey

I think Beryl might bloom soon, which would be only the second time since all her original flowers fell off

I am a pony-tailed monster!

Labels: blake, house rich, the boy

The Boy & I continue to bicker about access. It's complicated by the fact that this is the only issue he's bothering to pursue, so all of his energies are focussed on wringing extra minutes from me. Plus it's the only thing he can do and get any sympathy from anyone, so I'm sure it's helping his self-esteem to be as pugnacious as possible. (As pugnacious as he can be without actually paying for a lawyer himself, that is.)

I'm not happy about this for a host of reasons, including but not limited to the strong feeling that this is creating an unstable environment for Blake, the Boy's douchebag attitude, the lack of attention to any other relationship issue, the amount of running around I have to do preparing Blake & driving him around so that the Boy can have a visit, and the loneliness I feel when Blake is away. Everyone I talk to, from my parents to Palaver & Preacher, is aghast that he is demanding so much, which makes me feel worse for every concession I make.

On Friday I fought the rising tide of weekend-related claustrophobia by driving to Parkdale and visiting with my favourite chat-based superhero: Dirk Nightshade. The agenda was typical of a meeting with such a man: excellent dinner, light conversation and perambulation about town. The walking was slightly sullied by the facts that it is wicked cold on the streets and Blake's sidewalk speed is set at "pokey," but we muddled through. And one of the best things about the trip was that it gave Blake a chance to play with Dirk's toddler roommate Ivy, the Gothest Little Girl Of All Time. I often wish for friends in the town where I live, but I have to admit that these nights in Toronto, when every part of my social life come together perfectly for Blake and myself, are all the sweeter for their rarity.

Thanks to the recent thaw, my house is under siege by some of the biggest spiders I've seen since my last B.C. vacation. The most obvious are the four who have claimed my upstairs bathroom, an occupation which means that I need to do a cursory check of my surroundings before taking my clothes off or reaching for a towel. It's especially fun when you're as nearsighted as I.

I generally have a policy of live and let live when it comes to spiders, as they take care of some truly horrid insect roommates. But their sheer numbers are starting to get to me. I mean, how long will it take until they start eating each other? The weather is cold again and I have to think that they've already eaten most of the bugs on offer. To my mind the cannibalism can't come soon enough.

The other neat thing about my house is that my bamboo have become an interesting emotional barometer. Joyce gave me three pretty stalks as a housewarming present, and they are pretty damn hard to kill. That being said, as soon as the Boy left, I noticed that one was…failing. Sure enough, one stalk is now completely withered, while the others go on. I'd take a picture, but I can't find my camera. Bamboo: innocent agent of feng shui or sinister agent of destiny? Mua ha ha ha.

Labels: angst, blake, the boy

Yesterday I got up at 4:45 to mark my final 8 essays (I just go crazy like the good old days). At about 6, I heard a little voice coming from the next bedroom.

"The S is for socks! (clap clap) The S is for socks! (clap clap)"

Hee! Only Blake truly understands why I need to listen to a good Homestar song over and over, because he wants to do the same thing. And in honour of our earworm, I changed the banner.

Things are pretty static around here. The Boy & I have switched to email negotiations, as talking to him in person about anything of importance makes me pretty angry pretty fast. He showed up on Sunday to drop off Blake and he wasn't wearing his wedding ring. As soon as he was gone, mine went into the china hutch. I find myself touching the place it used to be on my finger a lot.

I'm having a hard week. I keep waking up and wondering who I am. I wonder if this is supposed to be my life. I wonder if I'll always feel this dislocated. I wonder how long the Boy was faking it. I wonder if this is for real or if I just have to be patient a little longer. My hands stay in motion, ringless. Busy is all I have.

Labels: angst, blake, the boy

Ugh. I've been feeling crummy all day long, but I'm blessed in that it's not emotional but rather the kind of physical holiday crud that has so far eluded me. I'm sure that my delayed illness was the universe's way of paying me back for the Boy's defection, much like finding a parking spot in less than a minute on Boxing Day and my wallet being returned with all the plastic and a $20 bill still inside. Thanks, impartial sense of justice.

And yet, despite feeling run down I braved the cold cold air to toboggan with the Blake & my dad at a local park. Three times down the hill was enough for us, and we spent the rest of the day putzing around. Mommy likes her lie-downs on days like today. Mommy also likes her new rabbit ears, the ones that allow her to pick up half a dozen UHF channels after a teevee fast of seven months. Somehow feeling like this is more palatable when you can distract the little one with a Reading Rainbow episode.

It's weird how much of my time has been freed up by the Boy's defection. With all of the time that I'm not spending trying to communicate with him, I can spend 2 extra hours in bed in the morning, have a lie down in the afternoon sun, read for almost 2 hours and yet still be reasonably productive. Today was about closets. Blake's room swap is now in the final stages, and I have a pretty cozy craft room. I might just keep the Buzz Lightyear decals, if he lets me.

Labels: blake, health, house rich

The last few days I've been doing stuff, filling the time with wholesome activities. Moving books around so that the gaps are less visible. Skating with my parents & Blake in the pretty pretty snow. Transferring my clothes from the craft room to my bedroom. Making sure that the kitchen is tidy and the laundry up-to-date. Taking Blake to Christmas stitch n' bitch at Lettuce Knit, because I don't even have to mention it to anybody. Keeping busy. Trying to feel good about myself. Distancing myself from the pain by excelling in domesticity.

I keep tripping over things that he left, and they are just as inexplicable as the things he took. Why did he take the Vince Gueraldi Peanuts CD and leave his R2D2 phone? I suppose that I need to be a little less diligent about trying to figure it all out. The lack of logic fits in well with the whole breakdown of the relationship, anyway.

Preacher phoned me a couple of nights ago, and I found it soothing that he was as baffled as I was. Besides, trying to explain it to him meant that I didn't have to try and live with it alone, at least not for that hour. I saw Ian today, and the same applied. I think I crave people who knew me before I started dating the Boy, because they're a link to a time when my whole identity wasn't this relationship. I realized today that I got engaged and dumped within a week. There's something about this season, I guess, something that really and truly makes it the cruellest month for me.

Speaking of wholesome activities and cruel months, I managed to see Sweeney Todd on Boxing Day with Stacy, JimZed & Death. Thank heaven that in my time of need I am given Johnny Depp in a striped bathing suit, Helena Bonham Carter in black corsets and jet upon jet of arterial blood. That, and the snowman tray, made it all worthwhile.

"I eat out of a snowman. Do you eat out of a snowman?"
"I eat out of plates with my family."
"Oh."

I also tried taking Blake to the ROM for the reopened dino exhibits, but it was a bit of a bust. The first part was good: I met Ian as planned, he whisked us in with his employee pass (swank! I'm with the video producer!), and the new galleries are truly dino-tacular. Blake, however, was completely over-stimulated by the swarming crowds that blanketed the fossils, and it was a struggle to keep him with me and focused on the exhibits. The real descent began when we were in the bird displays and I realized that Blake's Buzz Lightyear had been AWOL for some time.

If you ever want to see my kid collapse in grief then you should know that a defecting father isn't going to do it: it takes the disappearance of one of his 8 Buzzes in a public place. He reacted exactly as if there had been a death. First he clung to me, sobbing weakly. Then, when made to move, he marched tragically with a few tears slipping down. He accepted a free granola bar on a street corner, but when he realized that it made him happy, a new fit of tears wracked his little red face. Like so much of my recent life, it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, while leaving me with a pounding stress headache.

Despite this reckoning, I did enjoy getting out to see Ian. He is, as ever, a quirky mix of rockstar privileges and honest integrity, which meant that I could cry my eyes out in the rotunda for free. And his reaction to that will be telling me that he made his sister cry on Christmas, so it's been the Worst Christmas Ever in a few places. That made me feel better. I guess I don't mind being in pain as long as I can be the Queen of Pain. Plus, unlike most of the people I meet in my day, I can say all of the crazy shit that I'm thinking and he'll just return the serve as if it was normal to refer to yourself as "the spores of relationship poison." I miss that.

Labels: angst, blake, friends, outings

Yesterday was hard. Today has been hard. I can't imagine that Monday or Tuesday are going to be anything but hard. Still, I haven't been in the depths of despair since Wednesday night (our last visit with the marriage counsellor), so I believe I'm doing what they call "hanging in there." My worst problem is finding reasons to stay out of bed; although my activity level has been pretty normal, I'm having more trouble than usual in keeping myself busy. The urge to give up is strong.

Yesterday I found out that the Boy has been using my car to make runs over to his new apartment while telling me that he's grocery or Christmas shopping. When confronted, he mumbled something about not wanting to upset me. When that didn't work, he tried telling me that we had a "don't ask, don't tell" policy that I've been unaware of. Refusing to admit that there was anything wrong with what he's been doing, he told me that he'd just load his stereo into the grocery cart and walk it over. Fine, I said. While he was loading up, I sat in the kitchen, eating oranges with Blake.

"Blake, should we drop off your Daddy at his new apartment, or should we let him walk over with his stereo?"

Blake considered. "Let him walk."

I have to say that the Boy's reaction to that judgement was almost worth the argument that preceded it. It actually made me feel sorry for him, and so we loaded up the car and set off to see the new flat. (We'll call it the Casa Nova, after the singles complex Kirk Van Houten moves into where he sleeps in a racecar.) The Casa Nova is about 10 minutes away from the house on foot. It's an ageing building, kind of crummy. The Boy has moved into the 22nd floor, and when I tired of waiting for the elevator, I started walking down the stairs. One landing was entirely full of garbage: half-eaten hotdog, pizza boxes, a bread bag with slices in it. I'm really looking forward to Blake spending his formative weekends in this smelly, stained rattletrap.

On the other hand, I couldn't have picked a better place to contrast a life apart with a life shared with me.

Anyway, the evasiveness continues, unpleasantly. I keep stumbling over things he's done, or getting surprise requests. I have to ask him directly, often repeatedly, when things will be moved out, or where he's going with Blake. It's like living with a war censor, or a particularly mulish teenager. The best part is that when I ask for full details, he starts telling me that he doesn't need to submit itineraries to me for approval. This is such a helpful attitude when coupled with a sudden request to take Blake out for hours, I can't even tell you.

Other than that, Christmas continues, my friends and family are supportive, and Blake is still Blake. Last night I went to a party thrown by NotAnArtist and wallowed in both sympathy and shortbread. Today I learned that Mason has a baby. I'm going to let him pick the pseudonym, but I can say that everything looks a-ok: fingers, toes, and that put-out expression particular to newborns. This year my Christmas present will be snuggling him.

Labels: angst, bat masterson, blake, friends, the boy

Blake's Christmas concert was last night. O Christmas concert of preschool awesomeness, I sing of thee! There were many acts that blew me away. There were the SK's with a girl dressed like a Christmas tree who danced alone the entire song (me: "I want to be her.") There were the Toddlers dressed as snowflakes who stood amazed while their teachers tried to get them to shake glow sticks (except the one kid who cried unremittingly until muffled by a soother). And then there was my son, who helped to introduce his class, and was part of the only introduction not delivered in tragic sing-song. (At one point he forgot his line and just laughed directly into the microphone. It was quite possibly the most infectious laugh I've ever heard - and we all laughed along.) Blake was also the most enthusiastic performer in his class, jumping emphatically, singing loudly, and pulling a classmate into a dance seconds before the others remembered their cue. If I had any doubt that he was related to Pixie, that doubt vanished in the shake of an unlabeled stocking. I don't think I could tell you about anyone else on stage; the tunnel vision was profound. I was overwhelmed.

Of course, my hard candy exterior was already softened before the concert experience itself. I went to see a lawyer yesterday to draft a separation agreement, and the combination of that appointment, two nights of insomnia and a steady parade of happy-seeming families in the audience just about ripped me up. I've been brooding on this today, about what makes a pair decide to stick it out and go on with the first family, and what makes others split up and hope for another chance. My impending single status looms like that ridiculous monolith in 2001, throwing a shadow over these last days of co-habitation. I find myself wondering if I'd really prefer my old, pre-August life. A choice between lonely stability and lonely instability doesn't seem much of a choice. Still, I find myself longing for the chance to be forgiven. Maybe I'd still be here a couple of years down the road, but maybe I wouldn't. All I know now is that my family isn't all that dissimilar from the families I saw last night. It's just pulling apart instead of pushing ahead or pulling together.

Labels: angst, blake, the boy, triumph

I'm having another one of those days. Things are going relatively well; it's just that everything is backgrounded by the thought that I've been awake since 3:30. Blake had a restless night, which didn't help my anxiety & depression-fuelled insomnia. The meds are apparently taking their sweet time about kicking in, which is great, except that if I don't get any damn sleep I'm going to find it hard to maintain even the thin veneer of control I've so far held up in most public situations. Plus, extreme tiredness always makes me feel strangely lucid, and so I've spent most of the day convinced that I understand exactly why my marriage is on the rocks, and how it is all my fault. How much of this insight will survive a good night's sleep and some fresh neurochems is anyone's guess. I suppose I'm just in a martyring mood.

My dad drove me to work today, which was good, because I'll have snow tires by tonight (message to the sky: ok, we get it. You can ease up at any point.) But, my parents being my parents, there was also a hearty dose of Discussions About My Responsibilities. They are, for obvious reasons, preoccupied with my upcoming separation, and I get to reluctantly discuss plans when I'd rather be staring out the window. At the snow. And brooding over wasted opportunities. And wondering if anyone else knows how lucky they are to be loved, and thinking that I probably shouldn't startle them by telling them that out of the blue.

One of the upshots of this morning's decision was a plan to move Blake's bedroom from the downstairs layer to the upstairs layer, into what is now my craft and dressing room. My whole reasoning behind putting him downstairs was to make room for a second baby. I guess I have to face that little slice of reality, too. No Burt. No Una. Just painting my craft room green and feeling like my whole body is made of dense, fragile, imperfectly-fired pottery, waiting for the right impact to shatter once and for all.

Labels: angst, blake, family, the boy

Just had a tremendously disturbing exchange with Blake. We were horsing around on the couch and I asked him for a hug. He refused. When I asked him why, he said, "no hugs for you."

"You'll make me sad," I said, and I started making sad mewing noises.

"Yes," he said, gently touching my leg, "you'll be sad. And you'll cry and you'll go away."

"What?"

"You'll be sad because I don't hug you. Because I don't love you anymore."

"Why don't you love me anymore?"

"Because I'm mad at you."

"Why are you mad at me?"

"Because I'm going to move out."

There you have it, folks. The last week of my life, as narrated by a four year old. Oh yeah, then he bit me and was carried away crying. That part was new.

Saw my new family doctor today. I have to say, I've got a bit of a crush on her. Where my old doc was cold, she's warm. Where my old doc was formidable, she's open to discussion. Plus, she's pregnant and cute. I just hope this new antidep works out; I kind of want to show her a better side than I had on display tonight.

Labels: angst, blake, the boy

Bad, bad conversation about why I need a lawyer and can't depend on the Boy's goodwill (because it's gotten me so far already). Fuck it. I want to talk about the party.

So, despite the fact that I spent the day brooding over the idea that this could be the last party I ever throw in this house, and despite the fact that I was heavy with anxiety and inadequacy...it was a pretty damn good time. Once again I put out the call and it was resoundingly answered by knitters, partners of knitters, knitters with kids, former knitters with kids, spouses of former knitters with kids...and Dirk. With his mom. And because no party is complete without my wacky family, there were also my parents, my grandparents, my brother and my brother's booty call date. It was a loud, hot, yarny good time. The kids ate sugar, ran around and tried their best to make the house explode; and the adults buffered it all.

My favourite memories are all Blake. His excited reaction to all presents, his unprompted "thank you"s, his loud running about with K8 & Hestia, his quieter play with Clara, his insistence on answering the doorbell each and every time, and his attempt to touch the birthday flame. I also tremendously enjoyed Dirk's eleventh