ninepounddictator

The downfalls of having a boy's name...

2008-06-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

So I had a mini-freak out this morning.

The Dictator will be starting camp next week. Full days, bus pick up and drop off, swimming lessons twice a day - the whole nine yards 0 and it hit me! It hit me that THIS is the biggest thing my little girl has ever done.

I freaked out. I called the camp, feeling the need to ask them a ton of questions.

I called the camp, saying my name and my daughter's name. I was put on hold for a l-o-n-g time as they tried to find what group she was in.

Finally, the person came back on the phone saying my daughter, Rowan, was put in a boy's group. I mean, thank god I called. Right?

The good news is that because there was a screw up, she now is in her best friends group, which is good, because now my daughter won't be scared to get on that bus, even though I'm freaking out about her going on a school bus each day.

Then I asked about swimming and if they put life jackets. They said they don't, that they prefer not to, so that these kids can learn to swim.

"But if you're really concerned we will put her in a life jacket," the person told me. "But it's a little pool and extremely well supervised."

I told them I was fine with that, because my daughter loves water. But I also told them that my daughter LIES and tells people she knows how to swim when she definitely does not know how to swim.

Then I was told that a lot of the little "monkeys" - as her group is called - do that. They lie about swimming.

Anyway, I am freaking out about this whole camp experience. I keep looking at the newsletter the camp sent out with all the counsellors names and experience and thinking, "OK, this is their fourth year at this camp," "OK, this is their seventh year being a counselor at this camp," just to reassure myself that these people are going to make sure my child is alive at the end of the day.

I'm going to be like a dog, waiting at home for her everyday at 4:30, by the window. Yes, that's how freaked out I am.

But, hey, at least they know she's a girl now.

Naked?!?

2008-05-22T11:51:00.001-07:00

So I was asked to pose naked a couple weeks ago.

A photographer, who I quite like and who I think is very talented, asked me to pose naked for an art book she's doing on....nudes. (Duh.)

In any case, the first question I asked was, "Will I have to show my Britney?" (If you don't understand this, then ask someone.)

I'm not comfortable showing my Britney. Just not. The photographer said I don't have to, that there are ways for me to cover it.

I've been debating the prose and cons of this.

Pros:

1) It would be an experience. And I like new experiences.

2) My body is only going downhill from here.

3) Ok, I don't have a third.

Cons

1) People will see me naked.

2) People will see me naked.

3) People will see me naked.

I'm leaning towards doing it. And it's a completely strange reason for me doing it.

For the first time in my life, I don't give a shit about my body. I don't work out like crazy. I don't watch what I eat. I'm just well...over it.

And I'm not sure when this happened. Well, I think it happened a couple months ago. Maybe it's my age. Or wisdom. Or maturity.

But I can honestly say I really don't care anymore....and in a good way! In a very healthy way! In fact, I can't believe I have spent 30 (cough-cough) something years spending so much time worrying about my body and body image. I can't believe how much time I wasted being envious of Kate Moss.

I'm so done. And I feel totally free. Which is why, when this request to pose naked was asked, I didn't jump back in horror.

It seemed to have come at a perfect time.

Your thoughts?

Hibernation

2008-04-14T08:36:00.000-07:00

I think I'm out of it. The hibernation, that is. Ah, feels good. Is that sunshine - actual sunshine - I see?

Seriously, it was New Years...and now it's friggen APRIL?!?

When...how...what?

First off, is it just me (I know it's not) but that was the LONGEST winter I can remember. Ever. It was never-ending.

Spent most of it, I think, sleepwalking and dreaming about being in a bikini on a beach....there may have been a couple trips somewhere. Yes, there must have been because I spent 55 minutes the other night taking tiny braids with beads out of my daughter's hair.

I feel like I'm now calling on a friend who I haven't spoken to in months. But in a good way. With the kind of friend that, even if you haven't spoken to in months and months, you can just take off where your last conversation ended.

So, here's the update in my life.

1) The Dictator is now four and a half. And the braids are out of her hair! It took me 3000 times as long to get them out as the woman in Mexico who braided them in in the first place.

2) Toddlers Gone Wild! is now out! Yay! So go to Amazon, or Chapters and order yours now!!

3) Planning a big bash for the book, a Toddlers Gone Wild party, which is all about toddlers. Will be a red carpet and everything...all for the toddlers!

4) My sister-in-law is about to pop. Seriously, any day now (Actually, last Wednesday) she will give birth to my second nephew.

My four-year old daughter now thinks she's pregnant, thanks to my bursting sister-in-law.

I'm like "Whoa! What did you just say?" when my four year old told me she was pregnant.

My daughter yesterday said to me, "Mommy, I need help to get up. You have to grab my hands! I have a baby in my stomach!"

I laughed, and then told her NOT TO TELL ANYONE ELSE THAT! (I don't want her teachers to be like, "Um, let's take your daughter to a therapist. She thinks she has a baby in her stomach. C-r-a-z-y!")

This morning she told me, "The baby is kicking." I told her, "THAT'S OUR SECRET!!"

The only up-side to my four year-old thinking there's a baby in her stomach is that she's now drinking a lot of milk ("I need MORE milk. It's good for the BABY!" she'll say.)

Ah, lots of tales like that in Toddlers Gone Wild! I think you'll enjoy.

It's nice to be back....

xox
R.

Belated New Years...

2008-01-04T22:02:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes, so the long awaited New Year's Resolution.

I only really have one resolution this year. And it's a weird one. I'm not planning to lose weight. I'm not going to obsess about working out. Nope. None of that this year.

My resolution is completely based on my past blog post. (I'm sorry. I will post more of the comments. It's just going to take a while. I have 269 to look through and I haven't turned on my computer in almost two weeks.)

I want to be clear. I did PAY for the apple juice, in case you wondering. And, apparently, a lot of cynics out there assumed that I did not pay for the apple juice. Which kind of hurt. I mean, why do people assume the worst?

Of course I paid for it. Anything my child breaks, I will pay for (I do not take her into china shops for this reason.) However, I will not be shopping in that store again. It was just the way they handled it.

I told another friend about the incident as we walked by the store a week later. I told her I couldn't go in. I was taking a stand, even though she needed to by some Advil.

"They are strange in there," she said. "They always look at you as soon as you walk in as if you're going to steal something."

It was quite interesting to me to read what people thought of customer service. Some thought that I shouldn't have to pay for it - considering I was buying many other items (I didn't end up buying anything but the apple juice.)

I lean too towards customer service. For example, I bought a crap load of Starbucks gift certificates for people for Christmas and while doing so I also ordered a grande non-fat latte. The barista said, "It's on the house."

This is why Starbucks is good with customer service. It was a nice thing to do, totally unnecessary, but completely nice. I will go back to Starbucks.

Once, at Whole Foods, I was buying mini-go yogurts. One of the lids on one of the six yogurts was slightly bashed in. I didn't care. But the dude gave the whole thing to me for free. That's good customer service. It makes me want to go back.

But even more interesting than paying for something versus good customer service it was completely interesting to see how upset some people were that I DIDN'T USE A CART!

Shoot me! I didn't use a cart!

I'm the type of person who believes I can carry everything I need in my two hands (aside from a big grocery shop.)

And even after a big grocery shop, with twelve bags in my trunk, I still believe that I can carry them into my door with ONE TRIP.

And, you know what? I can.

It ain't easy. My arms are usually bruised and the mark on my arms from carrying the bags leave red marks for hours.

But...still...I'm a ONE TRIP kind of gal.

I've always been like that. My mother always used to say, "Make two trips!" And I'd be like, "No. I can do it in one. Trust me."

I'm not lazy. I'm just a person who likes things done efficiently, even if that means my arms are bruised. If I can do something in one trip. I'm going to do it in one trip.

So, my New Year's resolution is to use a damn cart from now on when I go shopping, even if I'm buying a bottle of shampoo. That's it. Interesting huh?

It was also interesting for me to read that some mother's out there don't feed their children in the grocery store while they shop. It may be wrong. But I don't know. I do it all the time. If my child wants a cracker while we're shopping, I will open a box and give her one.

It keeps The Dictator happy, while I can shop for groceries peacefully. And, in case you were wondering, of COURSE I pay for it. What's the difference if she eats a cracker while we're at the check out counter or if we're on the other side. It's going to be paid for.

Other than that, it's been a nice break. We spent a week in Scottsdale with the family. And I took The Dictator to Mexico (again - I'm over my stomach issues.)

I almost cried when I saw that the Dictator can almost swim by herself now. Such joy.

I wish all of you good health and happiness in 2008. And, I promise, I'll use a cart.

Do you have to pay?

2007-12-13T08:38:00.000-08:00

Has your toddler ever broken something in a store? Completely by accident?

Did the store owner/manager make you pay for the accident?

Yesterday, I took the Dictator into a store - let's just say it was NOT Shopper's Drug Mart, but a store like it (Really, it wasn't Shopper's. I'm a Shopper's addict.)

She was thirsty so I grabbed a plastic apple juice bottle from the fridge and handed it to her. My hands were full of other supplies - kid's bandaids, baby shampoo, blah blah....

My daughter dropped the plastic bottle of apple juice and the bottle exploded.

It was completely by accident. AND...AND....AND....

The way the plastic bottle broke wasn't in a way that was her fault. This is kind of hard to explain.

But you know the part around the lid, which is so difficult to rip off, but so you know the bottle hasn't been opened before? The kind that you have to use your teeth to rip open?

Anyway, that's not where the bottle broke. The lid broke in a way that if I had dropped it, the same thing would have happened.

Basically, it was a flawed plastic bottle to begin with. A flawed plastic bottle that my daughter completely by accident dropped.

Now, if you were the store owner, and you saw a mother with a ton of other things she was going to buy and the bottle of apple juice that had completely broken in a way that was clearly the fault of the apple juice company and NOT the child, would you make the person pay the $1.39 for the broken apple juice bottle?

Would you let it go?

I'm not going to say what ended up happening or what I ended up buying or not buying. However I am interested in your stories of your toddlers breaking things in stores and the reactions...

Do tell....

The SO-Early Phone Call...

2007-12-10T05:53:00.000-08:00

It's the funniest thing....

I've always been a walker. I love to walk. People are always, "Why can't we just jump in a cab?" And I'll be like, "But it's only a 20 minute walk!"

Part of the problem is that I'm a really fast walker. And I mean really fast.

But, anyway...

I was walking The Dictator to school everymorning and enjoying it...(Although the looks from strangers, when I was walking back home with her empty stroller, with only a Starbucks cup in the seat, as opposed to an actual toddler or baby, somewhat made me feel a little crazy...)

The weather turned cold. I had to start to drive her to school. Because that wind tunnel at Bloor and Ave is miserable.

And, I tell you, I'm back at home by 8:30 a.m. thanks to this quick drive.

By the time I'm home, I've already gotten three messages on my cell phone.

These, of course, are from my other mommy friends, who have just dropped their kids off from school.

I don't know what it is about these early morning phone calls. But I love them. I had no idea I had it in me to be so gossipy before 9 a.m.

But I do have it in me. And I love these phone calls. You can't really talk to your mother friends in the evenings, once they are with their kids. Or when I'm with mine.

Because mostly my conversations with friends go like this, "Oh she just spilled her juice. I got to go wipe it up....oh now she wants a bandaid....oh now she doesn't like her mushy grape....oh now she has just taken off all her clothes...I think I should just go. Call me tomorrow at 8:35 a.m.!"

Some of my best conversations now happen before 9 a.m.

Oh, wait....my phone is ringing...It's my best friend who just dropped off her kids....It's 9 a.m.

Teachers and presents....

2007-12-02T18:35:00.000-08:00

Again, I need all you mommies out there for some advice.

Yes, it's that time of year again.

I used to be kind of thrilled that I was Jewish and didn't have to go through what seemed like the biggest pain in the ass (according to my friends who celebrate Christmas) when it came to buying gifts. I didn't have to buy X-mas gifts for anyone.

I send flowers to people like certain editors/publishers I like.

But now The Dictator is is full-time school and she has a number of teachers. And I have to buy these teachers X-mas gifts.

She has two main teachers.

But The Dictator also has a music teacher, a gym teacher, a french teacher, a mandarin teacher, and an after-care teacher who sometimes takes care of her when I can't pick her up at three.

Ok, so, my question is, "What the heck do people buy teachers these days?"

First off, her main teacher is a guy. And we all know how difficult it is to buy men presents...anyway. (This is just an added problem.)

Second of all, while I know all her teacher's names, I have no idea what they like to do in their spare time (Would a LCBO gift certificate be appropriate? Because if I had to spend my entire day with 12 toddlers, I'd think that's what I may want.)

I love all her teachers. And The Dictator loves them all too.

So I have to get them something good.

Now, I'm not opposed to gift certificates necessarily. But I would like to get them something a little different, like an actual gift. (That way, they also don't know the exact price of what you spent.)

So, my questions are as follows: What is an appropriate amount to spend on teachers?

What gifts have you given the teachers of your sons/daughters that they seemed to really appreciate?

And, of course, I will be getting a gift for the french/mandarin/music/gym teachers as well. And do they have to be as good as the gifts for the two main teachers?

Please, any suggestions would be greatly appreciated....

A Good Hospital Experience - I know!

2007-11-25T17:36:00.000-08:00

So, a few of you have asked how my trip to Cancun was.

It was great....that is, it WAS great, while I was there.

Then I came home....four days later, I was walking home from Pussateri's when I was hit with awful stomach cramps. An hour later, I had a fever, was shaking, and went to bed, crawled into a fetal position, wishing I could die.

The next three days I barely left my house (aside from dropping off and picking up The Dictator from school.)

I, literally, could not leave my house for longer than ten minutes. I needed to be near a toilet.

Not only did I have awful cramps, not the PMS kind, but the kind of stomach ache that felt like I had just done 3000 sit-ups. And the stomach ache was constant. So were the runs.

I thought it was the flu. Although my daughter was completely fine.

By the fourth day, still with the runs and still with horrendous stomach ache, I headed to the doctor, after my family and friends yelled at me, "GO TO THE DOCTOR ALREADY!"

I thought I just had the flu. What could the doctor tell me, except drink lots of water and eat white toast?

Which is kind of what he told me, when I did finally go see one. But, he said, if it got worse, go to the emergency room.

Now, I'm the type of person who hates going to emergency. I always wonder, "Am I sick enough to bother emergency with this?" "Aren't they so overworked with people who actually really are sick?" "I don't want to bother them if this really isn't an emergency."

But, by Saturday morning, I woke up at 6 a.m. barely able to walk. I hadn't eaten in days. I was so dehydrated that I was lightheaded. The cramps were so bad, I felt nauseaus. I couldn't stand up straight.

I knew it wasn't the flu any longer, because I didn't have any other flu like symtoms. No fever, my muscles (aside from my stomach) felt fine. And my daughter was completely fine. And the flu is only supposed to last a few days.

I called a cab and headed over to Mount Sanai, basically crawling into the taxi. I was in so much pain I gave the driver a $20 and told him to keep the change, even though the ride only cost $7.00.

I checked in saying, "I've been sick for a week with diarrehea - non stop. And I'm in so much pain. I just got back from Mexico."

"Hey, I read your book," said the check in person. "I thought I recognized you."

I was soon taken into a room. The doctor came in shortly and I again said, "I'm in so much pain. I have had the runs non-stop for a week. Sometimes up to 20 times a day. I just got back from Mexico."

"And your daughter isn't sick?" the doctor asked. "I read your book."

Now, I'd love to say that people say, "I read your book," to me all the time. They don't. It rarely happens.

And I can't believe it happened twice to the two people I had just told about my bowel problems, one of which asked that I give a stool sample.

I was mortified (Also, because I was in so much pain, I couldn't get out of my pajamas to go to the hospital, so I looked like I had just walked out of a garbage dump and smelled like it too.)

In any case, much like labor, no one tells you the good stories about giving birth. You only hear the awful birthing stories. The same is true for hospitals. You only hear horror stories about emergency rooms and nurses and doctors.

And, I'm sure, the bad stories far outweigh the good ones. But sometimes there are good stories.

I'd like to say that I had a great hospital experience (as great as you can get being in the hospital, that is, with some Mexican stomach bug.)

All the nurses were nice (and not just to me - I could over hear them talking to the other patients) they went out of their way to make everyone feel comfortable.

And the doctor was amazingly kind.

Perhaps the story is that if you have to go to the emergency room, that 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning is a good time to go.

And, if you know someone who works at Mount Sinai, please tell them what a great job they're doing (At least those who were working Saturday.)

They have hard jobs and probably don't get enough kudos. But I give them kudos. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Keep up the good work!

I feel so much better now, after an IV drip of antibiotic. I just wish I just didn't have to tell the two people who had read my book about my, um, runs.

Eeesh..I'm mortified.

xoxoxo

2007-11-20T11:21:00.000-08:00

Three times in the past week I've dialled the wrong number from my cell.

What can I say? It's hard to press those damn little buttons with gloves on.

Each time, no one picked up and it went straight to their voice mail messages.

I just hung up. I don't leave messages for people I'm not intending to call. I just call the person I had been meaning to call instead.

But, each time, I've gotten a call back from these people I never meant to call in the first place.

"Hello?" they'll say, when I pick up. (Now, as a mother, I usually pick up all calls, just in case it's an "emergency." Even those dreaded "Private" calls, I feel I need to pick up.)

"Hello?" I said back.

"You just called me," they'll say.

I was weirded out the first time.

By the third time I honestly wanted to ask the stranger I had called by mistake why they were calling me back, especially since I didn't leave a message.

Each time, when they called back, I said, "Sorry. I dialled the wrong number."

They all seemed upset about it.

Why do people call you back when they clearly don't know who it was who was calling them in the first place, and the person didn't leave a message?

If a number appears on my phone that I don't recognize, and the person doesn't leave a message, I don't call that number wondering who it was who called me. If it was that important, they would have left a message, I figure.

Maybe I should leave a message after dialling wrong numbers. "Sorry. I didn't mean to call you. Don't worry about calling me back to check."

It's one of those great technology etiquette questions.

My friend just went through another technology-ish question.

"We used to sign our e-mails with 'xoxo,'" she said to me about one of her other friends. "And now she doesn't. And now I didn't in my last e-mail! What does it mean?"

I've been there. A while ago, I started signing off certain e-mails with 'xoxox.'

The 'xoxo' sign-off takes some thought. You can't just sign off an 'xoxo' for everyone.

There are certain people I've written to that I've really wanted to sign off with the 'xoxox' but I couldn't. Mostly these are professional people (my editors) who I also really like as people. Are they friends? Are they editors?

Or other mothers at my daughter's school who send me Thank You e-mails for the gift I've bought for their kid for their birthday. I want to send back, "Your welcome! xoxox R.")

But who knows? Maybe they'd think I was being a little TOO friendly by signing off with a "xoxox."

I also wanted to sign off an 'xoxo' one e-mail with my daughter's teacher, who kindly helped me out with her skates (buying kid's skates is a whole other post.)

I could sign off xoxox because that would cross the teacher/parent code of some sort. Even though I was really grateful.

In any case, once you start using the "xoxox" sign-off, people expect you to continue using it. They read into it, if they don't receive an "xoxox" in all future e-mails.

Once you're in the "xoxox" circuit of e-mails, you're stuck in there. Once you start using them at the end of e-mails, you've got to continue. Or else people will wonder why they're no longer getting the "xoxo" treatment.

Which is why I don't give out my 'xoxox' to just anybody.

Just a couple random thoughts today...

xoxox

C-C-C-Cancun...

2007-11-05T18:43:00.000-08:00

"Toddlers Gone Wild" is almost wrapped up. I have two more days to really finish it.

The dictator has two days off from school next week.

So, instead of sticking around, I planned a last minut Club Med vacation. Yes, I'm taking the dictator to Cancun, where I'll meet up with another mother friend, who is bringing her two toddlers.

(I call it "C-C-C-Cancun," because my daughter was learning the letter 'C' in class and she's come back with this song that goes something like, 'C-C-C-C-C, the sounds of the castinet. C-C-C-Can you click them faster yet."

I've never gone on a vacation just with a girlfriend and our kids.

And I've never done the whole Club Med thing (neither has my friend.)

It all seems a little complicated to me - memership numbers, credit cards for onsite only, everything included. These kind of places sort of freak me out.

I don't like being told to "HAVE FUN!" Andd that's how I sort of picture the staff at a Club Med, always trying to get you to join circus classes and dance classes....but who know? Maybe I will have the time of my life. Maybe at the end of our trip, I'll knnow how to fly on a trapeez.

This Club Med offers all sorts of kid camp programs. For kids it sounds amazingly fun. (I just have to manage to convince my dictator to go to these camps, which I most definitely will convince her to go.)

One friend I know took her kid to a Club Med and barely saw him all day. She dumped her toddler off at the camp at 9 .m., and came back and picked him up at five. She lay on the beach reading books all day. I mean, that doesn't sound so bad.

Mommy needs some rest time, after all.

It's now been more than 2 months getting her up and to school and picking her up from school, all the while trying to meet my deadline of this book, and doing the odd freelance assignment, while taking her to brithday parties, art classes, and more birthday parties.

Yes, while she's at this camp in Cancun Cluub Med - which is included in the package - hopefully mommy will be on the beach, reading my own manuscript. So for me, it's a working vacation.

I may have to work, but I guess at least I get to work in Cancun, which is better than working at my home office. The view will be better, that's for sure.

Still, have any of you been to a Club Med? Thoughts/advice please?

I still can't believe I'm going to a Club Med - "Hands up, baby hands up, give me your heart, gimme gimme your heart." That's all I really know about Club Med.

So, how were your Club Med getaways?

****Also, thank you all who sent me in your cute toddler quotes. I laughed out loud at almost all of them. They are just too cute! And I will try to include as many as possible. You parents are great! So pass along to any friends to send me their cute toddler quotes!

Want your toddler to be a star?

2007-10-25T17:00:00.000-07:00

Or at least a mini-star....or at least have their name in a published book? Or at least have something for the scrapbook?

As some of you know I'm hard at work - ok, I'm at work - on my next book, coming out in late summer, called "Toddlers Gone Wild."

I'm just joking. I mean, I'm joking about the "work" part.

I'm actually really hard at work on it. So hard at work that I haven't been able to blog...or find time to eat (so, yes, dear readers, I've been living on apple juice boxes and animal crackers. You know how it is.)

Without giving too much away, I'm writing essays - some short and sweet, perfect reading before bed, or when you find ten minutes of alone time while raising your toddlers. Other essays will be longer. But you'll all be able to relate with the collection. And laugh along with me (and sometimes "at" me.)

I thought it might be a fun idea to have a page before each essay with something along the lines of, "Quotable Toddler Quotes." Or, "Real Life Conversations with My Toddler."

I have many essays. And many priceless mini-conversations with my own toddler, Rowan. The kind of conversation where you're left shaking your head, thinking "My toddler is a spaz! Seriously, she's a spaz!"

However, I thought it would be even more fun to include my mommy blogger readers/friends.

How?

By getting you to send me your short and priceless conversations with your own toddler(s.)

Here's an example of what I'm looking for:

Rowan: “Daddy has a pee-nuth.”
Me: “Right.”
Rowan: “I don’t have a pee-nuth.”
Me: “No. You have a vagina.”
Rowan: “And you don’t have a pee-nuth.”
Me: “Right.”
Rowan: “I’m going to go look at daddy’s pee-nuth now. Bye!”
Me: “OK. Have fun. See you later.”

Obviously they don't have to be that graphic and maybe that's not my very best example. But you see the length of the conversations I'm looking for and the idea.

And I'll include your child's name and age, and your own name, under the quotes/conversation.

Then, in 12 years, you'll have something to embarass the crap out of your child with! (Just at the same time they're completely embarassed of you.)

And think how proud the grandparents will be to see their grandchild's name in a published book!

And, let's face it, who doesn't love the funny things toddlers say? Honestly, once a day, at least, I find myself telling friends the quotes and conversations I had with my toddler.

So, if you're interested, please send me your "Quotable Toddler Quotes" or "Real Life Conversations" to:

rebeccaeckler@yahoo.com

State clearly that you give me permission to use your full name, and your child's full name (And what your name and your child's name is) and the age when they said what they said, and a contact phone number.

And I'll pick the cutest/funniest/sweetest ones.

And voila! The memory in print forever!

I can't wait to read them!

The Rainforest Cafe...

2007-10-18T19:03:00.000-07:00

Has anyone ever been?

My daughter's actual birthday was on Monday, so of course, after we had her birthday party with the kids, and another family birthday party a day later on the Sunday, we just had to do something on her actual birthday...(Talk about a lot of parties for a four year old.)

ALthough, in truth, I had enough of celebrating her birthday. Planning parties are stressful and emotionally exhausting and I'm just glad not that only kid got out alive, but no kid actually cried. They had a great time, adn that's always what really matters.

(I don't really like plugging places here, but this place called the Groove Dance School, made the most painless party for the 21 kids who showed up. So if you're looking for a new venue for a 3-8 year old, it's a fun place to go.)

But, I know, I know, you do actually have to do something on your own child's birthday because the guilt would kill me....if not the food at the Rainforest cafe.

The food isn't great at the Rainforest cafe. It's not awful either. Which means, I guess, it's the perfect place to take a child.

You know it's a perfect place to take a child because it is THE most unromantic resturant I've ever been to in my entire life.

I wanted to take my daughter to tea at the Four Seasons on her actual birthday. But she can be, um, a wild child after school and I don't think the old ladies, dressed in their very tea best, would appreciate my daughter running around the Four Seasons, runing their relaxing afternoon.

Which is why we ended up at the Rainforest cafe, where a monkey hung over my head and every fifteen minutes would wail monkey sounds. Every fifteen minutes, too, the elephants would start howling elephant sounds. There are lots of never ending loud animal sounds at the Rainforest cafe.

The best? Oh, yes, the sound of a thunderstorm going off every half hour. I get why kids love this place (IF you tell them it's your child's birthday a whole bunch of waitors will come out and sing for them - which they love. Yes, it's that kind of place.)

The people I don't get are the people who don't have kids who actually go to this place. Serious, can someone please explain this to me? Why would anyone, without children, go to this place. But they do! There were lots of tables without kids.

If you've been to the Rainforest Cafe, in Yorkdale mall, what exactly attracts you to the place? Maybe you have good food reccomendations. Maybe the fajitas are the best fajitas in town.

I just don't quite get why anyone would go to such a loud place, with so many kids, elephants ranting, thunderstorms going off, if you don't have any kids with you.

And after all this, I know I'll be going back. Hey, my kid loves the place. Which means I, too, will learn to love the place.

Skool Trips with Good Intentions....

2007-10-15T17:24:00.000-07:00

I had really good intentions. I swear.

The Dictator turned four today.....I can't believe it.

In any case, I really have grown up with her. I know, hardy har. But it's true. I still love her more and more every day.

In fact, when the pamphlet came at the beginning of September from her new school, I actually read the entire thing - cover to cover. Twice!

I made one goal for myself this year. I am going to drop off my daughter every day and pick her up every day. So far, so good. We've never been late. I'm, like, the first parent to pick her up. I'm doing good. And I really get such joy out of doing it.

Even if dropping her off at 9 a.m. and then picking her up at 2:45 p.m. really does cut into the day. I'm not complaining, but it's a fact. If I go to a yoga class at 10 a.m. I get back home at 12:30, eat lunch, and then it's basically time to pick her up.

But I really did want to get more active in her school. Well, not entirely it turns out.

The other day I was standing with another parent, while waiting for school to let out, who is also a friend. She's much more of a jetsetter than I am, flying off to Paris Fashion week, parties out of town every weekend, and she works in PR.

Another woman came up to us and said, "Your children are in JK, right?"

"Right," we said back.

"Well, we're looking for a parent blah blah..." I forget what the word was. Oh, yeah, it was a 'parent class representative."

I looked at my friend and of course did what any other parent who DOES NOT like the sound of being a Parent Class Representative would do. I pointed at my friend and said, "That sounds perfect for you! You'd be great at that!"

My friend said - rather whispered violently into my ear - something like, "I'm going to wrap a rope around your neck and strangle you."

My friend told this other woman that she was a working mother and just has no time.

I, too, am a working mother, and, quite frankly don't want to be the one responsible for calling all the Dictator's classmates if there's a snowstorm to tell them not to go to school.

Parent Class Representative would also be responsible for collection money from other parents and buying the teachers X-mas presents.

I mean, I COULD do that all. But I'm so disorganized that I just KNOW I would end up buying the gift and never collect the money from the other parents. And on stormy days, I don't want to get up and call everyone in her class. I just want to stay in bed.

So I told this woman that I couldn't possibly because I'm a working mother and VERY disorganized. Luckily, my parents also happened to be picking up The Dictator with me that day.

"Ask my mother," I told this woman. "She'll tell you I'm the most disorganized person in the world!"

So my mother said, "Yes, I didn't raise her like that. But it's true. She's the worst. But I didn't raise her like that." (Thanks Mom! Even though it's true, you know, it still hurts when your mother crticizes you in front of, well, anyone....)

I could volunteer for pizza day once a month. But I don't really want to clean up after the kids. I certainly don't want to volunteer on skating days, because it's too friggen cold for me and I quite hate skating. And even more than hating the cold and skating, I hate having to put skates on kids. I mean, I really hate skating.

I could volunteer at the lunch room, but they wanted a one term committment at least once a week, and frankly, I can't commit. Because if I ever want to finish this book, I can't be picking up pieces of noodles off the floor. (Also, you have to sit with the kids and make sure they only talk about non-competitive things....I'm super competitive, so I'm not so sure what is considered competitive between 3 and 4 year olds...)

But this Friday, The Dictator will be going on her first field trip to the Yorkville Fire Station. Now, to me, that sounds like a no-brainer. It;s five minutes away from my house. There will be fireman there. And even ugly firemen are kind of cute. That's the one I wanted to volunteer at. I was excited.

So, the good mother I now am, said to The Dictator's teacher this morning, "I know you're going on a field trip. Do you need extra parents to go along? Because I'll help." (I mean, if I have to volunteer for something, this is the thing I want to volunteer for....firemen...firemen...)

"Thanks so much Rebecca, but we don't need help this one. But there will be a lot in the future that I'll definitely ask you."

Doh! Shit! What did I just get myself into???

See, my intentions were good, but god only knows now that I'll probably have to end up going to some puppet show, on the school bus far away from home in the middle of winter. I just know it.

Or even worse, The Science Centre (Still am traumatized from school trips I was forced to go on as a kid. That stupid thig that makes your hair stand on end???? In fact, I walk into the science centre and I immediately want to take a nap.)

So, what do you all think of going on school trips with your kids? Fun? Funny stories? Share with me please!

I am very sad that I don't get to see the firemen....sigh. And I certainly can't go back to the teacher now telling him THAT was the field trip I wanted to go on....I wanted to see firemen, not puppets! Argh.

Four years ago today, was the happiest moment of my life. Still is.

Oh, where or where....

2007-09-25T06:14:00.000-07:00

does the time go?

I may, in fact, be writing to myself since it's been a couple months since I blogged and it's quite possible no one is out there...Is there anyone out there?

I'm hating myself for being a bad blogger.

But, seriously, where did the summer go?

And how did it get to be almost October? And how is it possible that my daughter is turning four? FOUR!

So, she's in school now full days (9 a.m. to 3 p.m.)

It's a good school. So far, it's a great school. They teach Mandarin and French. Which I think is super smart.

And The Dictator loves telling me the new words she's learned when I picke her up.

Just yesterday in fact she said, "Merci."

And I said, "What's that mean?"

And The Dictator said, "It means 'Thank you' in Mandarin."

Ah, my little genius.

The only problem I see about her learning Mandarin is that I don't know how to speak Mandarin, which means whatever she tells me, I'll have to take as being right.

(Even though the girl thinks that if she climbs on a ladder she can reach the moon.)

As for my life, I can now do a handstand in yoga. I'm working on a new book, called Toddlers Gone Wild.

And just trying to figure out where the time went....

I promise ti be a better blogger now. So "Merci" for being patient. That's 'Thank you' in Mandarin.

My Movie Buddy

2007-07-31T20:39:00.000-07:00

I have a movie buddy. Everyone should have one of these.

A movie buddy is someone, who is a friend, but all you ever do together is see movies. And, I mean, that's ALL we ever do together.

We meet at the theatre, catch up while we're buying tickets and junk food, see the movie, and then catch up a bit more when he drives me home. (If anyone's interested, I had a KFC chicken sandwich, fries, a diet coke and then some glosset peanuts. Yes, I'm one of THOSE annoying people who eat throughout the entire movie.)

My movie buddy's name is Mark. And I only am telling you this because he loves when I mention his name. I thanked him in the acknowledgements of my first book, Knocked Up, and felt so entirely guilty about forgetting to mention him for the second one. But for third book, my movie buddy's name will definitely be included.

Anyway, I haven't seen Mark in ages (being in Calgary and all) But now that I'm back in Toronto, it was definitely time to see Movie Buddy Mark. Because Movie Buddy Mark is the perfect non-date date.

We e-mailed. How about a movie, I wrote....then asked, "What do you want to see."

His response? "We could see that Lohan movie..."

To which I wrote back in response, "OH MY GOD. THAT'S EXACTLY THE MOVIE I WANT TO SEE TOO!!!"

That's the thing about Movie Buddies. They're pretty much the only buddies who are absolutely willing to see anything with you. The worse the movie the better. I honestly could not think of one other person in my life that I could have dragged to "I know who killed me" - even if I offered to pay for the ticket and all the food.

Anyway, we saw the Lohan movie. And it was fucking phenomenal. Well, it was phenomenal it that, "What the hell is going on?" kind of way, and also in that, "Ok, I know this is not a comedy, but I've never laughed so hard in my life" way.

My Movie Buddy and I basically had the greatest evening. All we did was see the movie. And we probably said, um, 50 sentences to each other the entire night. And that's a-okay.

And, get this, the audience was actually quite full. I know! Shocking! But even more shocking was that people clapped at the end of it, and like my Movie Buddy and I, were screaming out, "OSCAR NOMINATON!!!!" at the end. I mean, the entire audience was into how bad this movie was in that "I love this movie because it is so bad" way.

The point is, having a Movie Buddy in your life, one that is eagerly willing to see anything at all with you, is one of the best kind of buddies to have.

I can't wait, in fact, for the next shitty movie to come out. See you then, Mark.

Ashram....

2007-07-25T18:27:00.000-07:00

I know. I know. It's been so long since I've posted. I'm not exactly sure why. I think, basically, I was exausted. And needed a break from everything.

Anyhoo, I'm in Toronto for the summer and it's so strange how the Calgary in me is coming out. Basically, I smile at people. And by people, I mean perfect strangers. And I'm scared to cross the streets here. But, boy, do I love being back at Pusie's (the nickname for Pusateries.) and the fact that I can get a cab in a second.

It's like I'm a whole new woman. A happy person! Maybe Calgary has changed me. The other day, I took The Dictator out to breakfast at Eggs Over Easy on Bloor street. We were walking home (her carrying, no joke, three stuffed animals) when I saw a seeing impaired woman, looking very lost.

Mostly, this was, I thought, because there is so much construction going on everywhere that she had to be super careful. I asked her if she would like me to walk her somewhere. So I walked her all the way to her house, her on one arm, and The Dictator on the other.

And The Dictator was being so good, this woman didn't even know I had a three year old on my other arm, until I told her. Anyway, she was a very nice woman. It turns out she became blind in her twenties. Hopefully, I'll run into this woman again, because she was quite lovely.

And then The Dictator asked why the woman couldn't see. I had no idea how to answer. I think I said something like, "Some people can see, and some people can't." It's hard when your child gets to that age where they ask you questions that you really have no clue how to answer.

I'm also working on my next book. I think I have a good title, which makes me happy, because I'm one of those writers who really has to start at the very beginning. I need the actuall title before I can get into writing the book.

But, right now, I have a new obsession. And, I'm hoping some one out there can help me.

I want to go to an ashram. That's my latest obsession. (And I will admit that a lot of it has to do with the fact that I just read Eat, Pray and Love, which is fantastic. So do pick it up. Or I'm sure you have a friend who has read it and can loan it to you.)

A few months ago, I went with a friend to a spa in Arizona. I worked out three hours a day, ate so friggen healthy I thought I may be in detox mode, because I just do not do well without a chocolate bar in my diet every day, and was in bed by nine o'clock every night.

But now I want to go to an ashram, where I can meditate and clean temple floors and enjoy silence. I do want to find inner peace. Yoga helps. A lot. But I want to take it a step further. But I don't want to go to India. I need some sort of ashram that maybe is in California and for beginners. I can't be half way around the world from the Dictator.

So, please, if any of you out there have been to an ashram, or knows someone who has (Also, I only want to go for maybe a week, as I can't leave The Dictator for longer than that...) please do share where and your experience and any tips....

And I promise to start writing more often....

Hope you are enjoying a wonderful summer!

Stuck - literally...

2007-06-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

So I've been stuck lately.....

I just feel stuck...

I have deadlines piling up and, well, like I said, I just feel stuck....

You know that feeling?

Anyway, I was talking on the phone this morning on the way back from Therapist - started going again a couple weeks ago - after realizing that I had lost a ton of weight, and, well, just felt stuck and anxious....

So I was talking to my friend on the phone about feeling blue, got on the elevator, pushed my office floor and she was going on about how everyone once in a while felt stuck, that she has, and that you just have to take things day by day, or step by step, or something "The Secret" like. I haven't read The Secret, but my friend has.

But I had stopped paying attention because quite literally I was stuck. I've never been stuck in an elevator before, but there I was stuck somewhere between some floor. The elevator just died. Just like that.

I freaked out. "I'm stuck!" I screamed to my friend.

"I know you said that," my friend said.

"No! I'm stuck in the elevator! What do I do? What do I do?"

"Pick up the phone. Isn't there an emergency phone in there?"

There was. But it wasn't working. It just kept going through to some phone company.

I was seriously starting the hyperventalate, and was pushing the emergency button like crazy.

"Ok, I got to get off the phone," I told her. "I don't want my battery to die in case I have to call 911.

I made a last phone call. I know it's sad but I did. I seriously wondered how long I would be in there, if the elevator would go crashing down, and if I would die wearing sweat pants, my fiance's t-shirt and a flouresent pink bra. I even thought how lucky I was to have spent the night sleeping with The Dictator.

Luckily, in the elevator there was a sign posted about the water being shut off tomorrow, and the office number was on the bottom. So I called down to the front desk. "I'm stuck in the elevator and I'm freaking out," I told the woman who picked up.

"We'll send someone right over," she told me.

"Good, because I'm freaking out!"

And she laughed. Now, what kind of person laughs when you're stuck in an elevator? Anyway....

I was rescued, thank god. And then it hit me. What was God trying to tell me?

Yes, I believe in God. And then I started to laugh and called my friend back. "Can you believe I was complaining about feeling stuck and then I was stuck in a fucking elevator?"

And, after being stuck, literally in the elevator, I don't feel so stuck anymore...

Ah, signs from above....got to love them.

A day in the life of me....

2007-06-12T11:16:00.000-07:00

*Some* people have spent way too much time obsessing about me and my life in the last few days. Or so I've heard.

So, I've decided to write about my day yesterday. In fact, I think this could be quite fun for bloggers. Just simply write out what you did yesterday. So here goes and feel free to share your day!

7 a.m. Get up with child. Watch her eat breakfast. Say goodbye to her. She ignores me as she's watching Dora the Explorer while eating rice for breakfast. I tell her I love her. She ignores me. I yell "I love you!" She looks up, finally, and says, "I love you."

7:50 a.m. Arrive at gym. Walk/jog on treadmill for ten minutes.

8 a.m. Meet trainer, also known as Fit Pete, because he's super fit and the meanest trainer I've ever had, which is a good thing. I swear, in between lifting weights, I get a nine second break. NINE SECONDS! That's it!

9 a.m. Finish workout. Fit Pete makes me a protein shake, which are so good. It's one of the main reasons I go see Fit Pete. For the Chocolate/banana protein shake that I get after workout.

9:15 a.m. Wonder if I should go to office or take an "emotional" day off.

9:16 a.m. Decide to go to office.

9:17 a.m. Decide to take "emotional day" off.

9:35 a.m Get back home. Play around with Ruby the Nine Pound dog. Dog Camp picks her up. Kiss her goodbye.

9:45: Talk on phone with friends to catch up, moan about life, listen to them moan about their lives.

10:45 Finish protein shake. My stomach feels like I ate a rock.

11:50 a.m: Daughter comes home from school. We play around with her stuffed animals. Nanny fixes her lunch. I eat a left over wrap from day before.

noon: Check out movie listings. Decide to take daughter to a movie. After all, I have taken an "emotional day" off. Look for movies rated 'G.'

3 p.m. Take daughter to mall, where we hit Chapter's to check out books and buy her a dress up princess dress. (Ahh, the things you can get at Chapters, that aren't books!)

3:45 p.m. Take her to HMV to buy new DVD's because I'm so sick of the ones she has. Realize it's time to get new DVD's when you know all the words to theme songs to Holly Hobby and Strawberry Shortcake.

4:30: Head to movie theatre. We're seeing Surf's Up.

4:40 p.m movie starts. Realize that a child's size popcorn is the perfect amount to eat, without feeling sick after. Feel good that I, at least, learned something today.

6 ish. Movie ends. I loved it. Daughter, I think, liked it. Although half way through movie she tells me, "Mommy, penquins can't surf!" I tell her they can. She says they can't. Wonder if daughter will ever believe in tooth fairy if she already realizes penquins can't surf.

6: 45 at home. Make daughter noodles for dinner. Friend of family comes over. We play around. Daughter puts on new princess dress. We play, "Going to the Ball." I'm the prince (because I'm not wearing a dress so I'm not "allowed" to be a princess.)

7:45 p.m. Get her ready for bed. She screams she doesn't want to wear pull ups anymore. I tell her that's not cool, because the night before we triend the whole "no night time pull up thing" and she screamed at 2:30 a.m. "I'm wet! I'm wet!" And she was, so was her bed. Mommy had to change everything at 2:30 in the friggen morning. So we're back to nighttime pull ups.

8:30: Decide to rewatch ending of Sopranos while eating leftover pizza from two nights before. Because I'm not sure I liked it or not the first time around. The Soprano series finale, that is. Decide I do like it. (the pizza and the Soprano ending.)

(in between watching, I needed to go see daughter upstairs 12 times for various reasons, ranging from "I've got to pee," to, "I don't know what I wanted," to "I fell off the bed.")

Finish Sopranos around 10:30 p.m. beacause of running up and down stairs so many times. Decide I did two work outs, because running up and down stairs twelve times must count as some sort of work out. I eat a kit kat bar. Ok, I ate two kit kat bars, but they were the mini ones, so I only feel slightly bad about it.

11 p.m. get ready for bed. Brush teeth, wash face. change.

Get to bed. Decide I can't sleep. Head downstairs. Decide I am tired. Go back upstairs.

And that was my day. Interesting, huh?

Moving Along....

2007-06-04T10:03:00.000-07:00

So I took the Dictator to a birthday party yesterday afternoon.

It was a great birthday party. A princess fairy birthday party where all the kids got to leave with little fairy wings.

After the party, The Dictator and I were walking along when we ran into a friend of mine, who was heading to a nearby park, with her two kids.

So, The Dictator, wearing her fairy wings, and I decided to go along as well.

Now, my friend's little boy was carrying a fishing rod to the park (Because, as parents, we all know that sometimes our kids just refuse to leave the house without certain things.)

The other day, The Dictator refused to go to the grocery store without carrying her stuffed bunny rabbit, her stuffed cat, and her stuffed pony, plus a chapstick - how exactly do their brains work? - all in this Easter basket. I know. I know.

So, they we were. The Dictator wearing fairy wings and the little boy carrying a fishing rod. I said to my friend, "Can you imagine what people are thinking about us right now?"

The truth is, if you're a parent, you simply understand that sometimes your kids just refuse to take off their costumes and need to carry a fishing rod - even though there's not a lake in sight, and it's not Halloween.

For example, Saturday morning I took the Dictator out for pancakes at Phil's (They make good pancakes - if you live in Calgary, you know what Phil's is.)

A little boy walked past the window, at 8:30 a.m., wearing a superman costume. I was like, "Yup. I get that." I didn't find it strange at all.

Kids will be kids, and sometimes kids just feel like wearing a superman costume out of the house, instead of their clothes.

And, I'm pretty sure, for the next week or so anyway, that my little gal will be wearing her fairy wings wherever we go.

Blogger Drama! Future Journalists watch out!

2007-06-01T10:40:00.000-07:00

Right now, I'm laughing so hard I basically have tears streaming down my face.

That's because I just got off the phone with someone who told me who was behind one of the blogs that is constantly attacking me and my work and me and me and me.

I'm laughing so hard, because of all people, this person is actually a (part-time) journalism "professor!"

Can you fucking believe that?

It's so pathetic, it's funny. I mean, if it were just some weirdo 60 year-old who still lived in his parents basement who made fun of me, that I would get.

But someone who teaches journalism? Give me a fucking break.

THIS IS WHAT JOURNALISM "PROFESSORS" DO IN THEIR SPARE TIME????? Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Shouldn't they be preparing lesson plans, or actually writing stories, or doing - what's that saying - practicing what they preach?

I liked going to journalism school. Sort of. I mean, it was a long four years. But it got me my first job at Pamela Wallin and an internship at the Calgary Herald. All in all, it was a good experience.

And I did meet some wonderful professors, who, I'm quite positive, would not spend their spare time criticizing other journalists on a blog they hide behind.

Yes, future journalists, if you go to this school, you may possibly be taught by a blogger who seems to enjoy spending her spare time behind a fake blog, criticizing other writers bitterly. And not just me.

Now, the question is "Do I out this 'professor?'"

Hmmmmmm.....

I'm quite positive this professor's bosses wouldn't exactly enjoy knowing what this professor does in her spare time.

In fact, I don't think any school would like to have a journalism "teacher" on their staff who does such things - not because legally there's not much you can do about it, but because morally? It's just too pathetic and laughable.

Yes, dear Journalism "Professor," - I know you read me - would you pick on one of your own students who is busy working what you teach them to do - get a job writing? Where's the love?

And, at least, I have my name on my blog. I don't hide under a fake one.

I believe in karma. Trust me, it will come back to bite you in the ass.

In fact, my guess is you won't be teaching at this university next year. Just a guess. Or maybe I know people.

It reminds me of a story I just heard. This guy my friend knows was in line at McDonald's when someone behind him said something truly nasty to him for no reason.

Well, unfortunately for this man who said something so nasty, the guy he said it to had a black belt and is a champion kickboxer to boot. He may look small, but still...

let's just say this man regretted what he said, when he found himself lying on the floor of McDonald's.

The Dictator is Furious...

2007-05-30T16:19:00.000-07:00

at me.

Well, at least she was last night at about midnight. I don't think I've ever had someone that mad at me.

I was super exhausted from attending an evening yoga class (the instructor only called out my name 22 times last night to correct my postures. It was a great class! As a side note, how is it that yoga instructors who have never met you always know your name? Ok, I know they probably watch us sign in our names, but how do they actually remember our names? Anyway...)

I mean going to an evening yoga class was great in the sense that the class ended at 7:45 p.m. which meant I got home at 8 p.m. which meant The Dictator should have been in bed.

It's just been one of those weeks (OK, two weeks) where the Dictator hasn't slept through the night, so again I'm a walking talking zombie. Well, a walking zombie who can almost put together a sentence.

The point is, I was excited that maybe she'd be in bed. When I'm at home, she only lets me put her to bed. But when someone else does it, she seems to go to bed a lot easier and quicker and falls asleep almost immediately.

In any case, I was so exhausted from this so-NOT-a-Level-One yoga class (even though it was, in fact, a level one yoga class) that I was in bed by 10:30 p.m. which is really early for me. I'm a night person. I could watch re-runs of Will and Grace until one in the morning. Ok, now I'm really sounding pathetic, but it's true.

Anyway, I was so fast asleep until I heard my daughter sudden wailing, "Mommee!!! Where are you?? WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU?"

I thought if I ignored her, it might be one of those far and few between lucky times when she'd just fall back asleep.

She so did not fall back asleep. She just kept screaming, "WHERE ARE YOU? YOU HAVE TO SLEEP WITH ME!!!!!"

I trudged to her room and she started screaming at me that I was "NEVER supposed to not sleep with her."

"You are always supposed to sleep with me," she screamed. "You are never supposed to sleep in the other bed. NEVER!"

I mean, the gal was pissed off at me. Truly pissed off.

Because I was half asleep I didn't really want to get into explaining how or why I couldn't always sleep with her. I just wanted to sleep. I also was so not going to beg for forgiveness - "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I promise I'll always sleep with you - because she's three and I'm so not always going to sleep with her. And, really, do you have to beg for forgiveness to a three-year old.

Granted, I do hate when she gets mad at me.

I just got into her bed and slept in a wet patch of diet ginger ale on her Dora the Explorer sheets that are about as comfortable as sleeping on sandpaper.

Yes, diet ginger ale is the drink of choice she goes to bed with these days. She doesn't actually drink it, so much as just hold the cup, so please don't yell at me because I let my child go to bed with a sippy cup of diet Canada Dry, that leaks all over the bed that I ended up sleeping in.

Please, I already have a three year old mad at me.

I love Yogis...

2007-05-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

I am so bad at yoga.

Really. I'm always the worst in every class I attend. I'm pretty sure yoga is the only class where they say "beginner" or "Level one," and no one is ever a beginner or a level one. Never.

But I still love it. It really does help my mental state. I just feel so much better after doing a yoga class.

And I love yoga people. I love them. I want to be one of them. In fact, if I could go back ten years, I'd probably decide to be a yoga teacher, because I've never met a yoga instructor who didn't have a great outlook on life or seem to want the best for you.

For example, the other day I went to my new yoga studio and said to the guy at the front desk, "What is this flow class? I'm really a beginner, so can beginners take this? I really am the worst in every class."

And you know what this guy said to me?

He said, "Don't EVER say that about yourself. Ever! I never want to hear you say something like that about yourself again."

I just thought how nice it would be for this yoga man to follow me around all day, while I'm working, or being a mother, and keep saying that to me, "Never say that about yourself. Never say you're the worst." How great would that be?

And there's just something about being in a yoga class that makes you like everyone around you. At the end of every class at this new studio I've been going to, not only do you bow to the instructor and say, "namaste," you have to bow and say it to everyone around you.

I mean, that's nice. It's so very rare that I find myself in a room full of people where I actually have good thoughts about everyone. But in yoga I do. I like everyone around me.

So yoga has become my new obsession. The one problem is, well, actually, there are a couple of problems.

The first being is that I actually want to become very good at yoga. Which means I get quite competitive. Which, I know, I know, I know, is so not the point of yoga. You are not supposed to care about what the person beside you is doing. Which is so beautiful. It's such a beautiful thought to not worry about the person on the mat next to you.

And, yet, I can't help but look at the person next to me - to see how much better they are than me. So that's one problem.

Yoga is not supposed to be competitive, and yet I am, by nature, a competitive person. So I'll need to get over that. How does one get over that exactly?

Second, yoga takes a lot of time out of your schedule. I mean, the classes are an hour and a half. So, if you take travel time to and from into consideration, and an extra 15 minutes, which I need to get the spot at the back of the class, we're basically talking my entire morning...or entire afternoon.

That's the thing. To fit yoga in regularly is pretty stressful, especially considering I have to edit a draft of a book and am in the middle of writing another one. I mean, I got to work! I have work to do!

Which also goes against the grain of yoga. You're supposed to be relaxed, right? Yoga is supposed to be relaxing. And it is, while I'm in the middle of a class. But not so much while I'm trying to get there, make sure I get my spot, and then thinking, after the class, that I just spent two and a half hours doing yoga (or getting to and from yoga) when I should have been working.

The other problem is, and this is one that I'm not sure how will ever be solved and is totally embarassing, but I do not know my 'left' from 'right.' And in yoga, you need to know 'left' from 'right.' I'm always behind everyone else, because it takes me a few seconds to remember which is my right side and which is my left side, after the instructor is like, "Left foot forward, right foot behind."

But I still love it. Because people who do yoga, at least at this studio I go to, are honest to goodness good people. They're all like, "I'll help you Rebecca. We can get together if you like and I'll show you the moves." And, "Never say anything bad about yourself," and, "Is my mat too close to yours? Are you okay?"

I mean, a monthly unlimited pass at yoga is way cheaper than therapy. And it seems to work a heck of a lot better.

Negotiating Mother's Day...

2007-05-09T13:17:00.000-07:00

So, as most of you know, I'm a big believer in Mother's Day. And gifts. Mostly gifts.

I was, after all, the one who tried to convince The Fiance that I was a Mother while I was four months pregnant, so deserved a Mother's Day gift, even if, at the point, I didn't actually have a baby in my arms as proof yet.

(And yes I still believe that. So all you pregger women out there, get your partners to at least acknowledge Mother's Day...by doing something nice for you!)

Anyway, we had a couple couple friends over for dinner a few nights ago. There were three of us mothers, and three fathers and I literally started a debate about Mother's Day. It turned nasty. Well, not really. But I do want you to see how important this is.

It all started because I casually suggested that mothers should receive two gifts on Mother's Day - one from the father of the child, and one from the child (bought by the father on their behalf.)

So, because The Dictator is only three, I can't expect her to buy me a gift because she doesn't understand the concept of Mother's Day and I can't expect her to understand it either. Plus, when you ask her where "money comes from?" she answers, "The money store."

Also, yesterday I told her it was my birthday on Friday and she said, "No, mommy. It's not your birthday. It's my birthday on Friday." (Her birthday is in October.)

So, needless to say, she doesn't understand the concept of birthdays or Mother's Day.

And, as a side note, I'm like the person who is born on Christmas.

It kind of blows to be born around Mother's Day, because people think they can just wrap both your birthday and Mother's Day into one present. And that's just not right.

And that's where the negotiating gets even worse.

I also expect a present from the fiance for my birthday and one from the Dictator (bought on her behalf by the fiance.) I'm turning 33 for godssake. It's a huge year for me, even though I'm totally lying and turning 34.

Anyway, all the fathers (ahem, men!) at our dinner party were like, "No, you gals get one gift from the child. We have our own mothers to buy gifts for!"

And all the gals (Ahem, women) were like, "No, you have to get us two gifts for Mother's Day!"

Women just like getting gifts. Okay? Deal.

So, I have basically had to negotiate the terms of my birthday/Mother's Day gifts. I used to be all over the surprise gift and put a lot of faith (a.k.a high expectations) in The Fiance picking out something he knew I'd just love. And, you know, he was pretty good at it. He never dissapointed.

Most men, unless you say, "I want that bag that is on the third shelf at this specific store and ask for the saleslady named Sally who has been told what I want," don't really get the hint. So I'm very lucky.

But, this year, I couldn't really think of anything I really wanted so simply said, "Well, I'll just go to Neiman Marcus (I'll be in Arizona for a couple days as of tomorrow) and pick out a couple of things for my birthday and Mother's Day from you and Rowan."

This, of course, turned into me having to argue my point about how many gifts I could buy myself, based on my belief that Mother's Day and birthdays are two seperate celebrations and that I should be getting gifts from both The Fiance and The Dictator for both.

And maybe a gift for myself from myself...for both my birthday and Mother's Day.

Anyway, I don't really expect anything huge or expensive. That's not the point. A homemade card or a roll of toilet paper from The Dictator would be just fine for my birthday/Mother's Day. A gift certificate for a massage would be great.

The real point is, it's too hard to negotiate anything with the fiance, who is a lawyer - a trained negotiator.

All I have on my side is tears - I can cry on cue - and trying to argue about the number of gifts by stamping my feet and hope The fiance will somehow see my side of things.

Which will never happen. Or it might. Stay tuned.

Happy Mother's Day to all you mommies out there!!!

At the very least, you should do something nice for yourself.....I can guarantee I'll be getting at least one gift, even if I have to buy it for myself....from myself.

Women who Love Men Who Love Cars

2007-05-06T11:29:00.000-07:00

So, I got a new car.

My trainer asked me what was new and so I told her.

"I got a new car," I said.

"Really? When?" she asked.

"A few days ago," I answered.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, excitedly.

Here's the thing. I really don't care at all about cars. The first car I ever bought was from a colleague of mine, back when I was working as a producer for Pamela Wallin. She sold it to me for $500. It was like 3000 years old.

At that time, I was living with a guy - who I had to lead my grandparents to believe was a gay man, but that's another story. I didn't think they were ready to hear that their only granddaughter was living with a man - and he chipped in $250 for it and I chipped in the other half.

The car, ironically, died the day we broke up. I swear to god.

Anyway, the car was a piece of shit. My colleague who sold it to me had had a german sheppard dog for years, who always went with her wherever she went, and there was no air conditioning in the car and everytime you turned on the fan, clumps of dog hair would blow in your face and up my nose.

But the point was, it got me from A to B, even if I came out of the car on hot summer days looking like I had just taken a three hour hot bikram yoga class and smelled like a dog.

I do have certain opinions about cars. For example, I don't think I have ever seen a person who drives a Ferrari that I actually would like. I'm sorry to offend anyone out there who is a Ferrari driver, but, and I hate to make sweeping generalizations, but every time I see a Ferrari whip past me, I can't help but think, "God, what an asshole!"

Anyway, my trainer asked me what kind of car I got. So, like a trained dog who plays dead when their owner says "Play dead," I repeated the type of car I now drive, thanks to the fiance who had to remind me what kind of car it is about hundred and twelve times. He picked the car.

I kind of wanted a Prius (Is that how you spell them?) because I do care about the environment, and Brad Pitt drives one, which, I know, isn't the greatest reason to buy a car.

But in a city like Calgary, where everyone eats, drinks, lives and breathes, gas and oil, it was hard to convince the fiance to get a Prius, let alone test drive one.

Plus, the government workers in Calgary drive Prius' and that kind of made me not want to drive one.

The fiance loves my new car. He's the kind of guy who lives, eats, breaths cars. He can talk about cars with his friends for friggen hours. It takes him months and months and months to decide what kind of car he wants, only to change his mind, and then we have to go through months and months and months of more discussions about cars.

It's really hard to live with a man who is obsessed with cars. I know he listens to me moan about, let's say the pimple on my chin, for hours, so I guess the least I can do is listen to him talk about cars endlessly. But the thing is, because I don't care about cars, my opinion about cars doesn't have any impact at all in his decision about what car he wants next. He pretends it does, but it really doesn't.

I think cars are status symbols for many people. For me, not so much. I really do not care at all about cars. I'm not even a good driver. I am, however, very good at getting parking tickets, which is at least sort of about cars.

What is the one thing about your partner that he (or she) is obsessed with that you aren't?

Anyway, I told my trainer that there were a couple cool things about this car (See? I already forget what kind of car it is - I do know there is a xi or a si in the name of it. I think...)

First off, as the car dealer man explained to me, I can put my can of diet coke in the cup container and there's a little air conditioner thing, that keeps my can of diet coke cold. It's completey ridiculous. But so ridiculous, I kind of like knowing I have the option of having a cold can of pop in my car, if I want.

Second, there's this button I can push when it rains and the car somehow knows how hard it is raining and the windshield wipers will move accordingly to the amount of rain.

Third, there is a fin at the top of the car (Is that called a spoiler?) which makes me feel kind of cool.

Fourth (am I allowed a fourth?) it is really friggen fast. I swear to god, I can now get home from my office in six minutes.

Fifth (if I'm allowed a fourth, surely I'm allowed a fifth) it talks to me. My car talks to me. I had to take the Dictator to a party yesterday that was very far from my house. All I had to do is plug in the address and as I was driving, Car Voice Lady would say, "In 500 meters turn right. In 300 meters, turn left."

This is the most useful feature as it will save me from calling the fiance or my friends in Calgary screaming, "I'm somewhere and there's a Seven Eleven on my right and a Macdonald's on my left and how the FUCK do I get home from here!!!!" which happens at least once a week, when I'm in Calgary.

Plus, I loved how the Dictator would ask me, "Why is that woman talking? She said make a left mommy! Make a left!"

And, hey, there are no clumps of dog hair flying in my face. And it gets me from A to B. So I guess I like my new car.

Any bets on how long before I get my first ticket?

Cake or Death....by Heather Mallick

2007-05-02T13:28:00.000-07:00

Heather Mallick is a Canadian writer, for those of you who haven't heard of her - Us journalist types think that everyone has always heard of us - we're so wrong! - who has worked at many newspapers as a writer and editor. She's now writing for Chatelaine and CBC.ca.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago, after my first reading for my book Wiped! Life with a Pint-Size Dictator, it kind of hit me hard - like a slap in the face - that readings are awful things to do as a writer.

It's so awful to walk into a room, see two hundred chairs laid out, realize that your reading is on some big playoff hockey game night (and I couldn't give a rat's ass about hockey) and that it's lucky that 30 people showed up.

So I made a pact with myself that I must support the arts more.

And by supporting the arts, I mean showing up for readings of other authors who come through town. Literally, I will be a seat filler if it does make an author feel better during a reading. Because I've been there, done that, grateful to all those who show up.

At around the same time I heard Mallick was coming to Calgary, she received a brutal review about her book in a newspaper. It was so brutal, in fact, that I was completely intrigued by the book (Maybe it's true that all press is good press?)

I decided that, because of my new pact to go to book readings, and because of this awful review that completely intrigued me to the book, that I would go see Heather Mallick in person (I have never met her before) when she came through Calgary.

One of my writer friends, when I told him I was going to a book reading FOR MY FIRST TIME that night said something like, "Well, bring a pillow you might fall asleep."

Anyway, I was very proud of myself because not only did I make the reading, I forced the fiance to come with me.

I often tape shows on television for the fiance about writers and "The writing life," just so maybe he can understand how hard and depressing and isolating and how insecure all authors are.

I need him to know that writing is not always, or ever, that much fun. And that I'm not completely crazy. I'm just a writer! (What came first, the chicken or the egg? Am I crazy because I'm a writer, or am I writer because I'm crazy?)

The point is, that maybe by bringing the fiance he would see that being an author is hard work.

Anyway, I arrived at the reading, took a seat with the fiance beside me and Heather Mallick (who I was stunned to see looked so cute and petite in person) began to read from her book. She started with one of her essays about why we should have higher taxes.

Immediately, in my head, I was like, "OH MY GOD. DON'T DO IT! DON'T READ THAT!" I mean, this was in Calgary, where everyone and their dog believes that they are already taxed way too much.

I thought the fiance was going to walk out in fact. But he stayed put. (The Fiance and I do have different beliefs when it comes to taxes.)

I have to admit that I never really got Mallick's columns before. I mean, they were certainly good enough for me to read them, from beginning to end (a huge feat for any writer) but I always felt like I was missing the joke.

But, in person, she's probably one of the funniest women I have ever met. I get her now! I get her!

She's friggen odd! And by odd I mean in that great way, in the way that you actually start getting a crush on a person because they are so odd (Kind of like my American Idol boyfriend, Blake Lewis...there's just something about him.)

I swear to god, I haven't laughed that hard in a very long time.

And this is also why people should go to book readings. Because as she was reading her essays or "rants," I completely understood her sense of humour. Now, not only do I have a crush on Mallick, but I'm obsessed with going to more book readings.

When I told this to another male writer friend, he said, "God, you must be really bored!" The thing is, I'm not bored. Heather Mallick was super entertaining. Honestly. She was better than any movie I've seen in the past six months. AND I'M SUPPORTING THE ARTS!

The fiance and I went out for dinner after the reading. As soon as I got home, I cracked open Mallick's book, Cake or Death, and practically read the whole thing in one night.

In fact, I don't understand why she got such a bad review. I don't get it at all. The reviewer, I think, should go see Mallick in person and then maybe she'll get her writing.

The book is laugh-out-loud funny, even if you don't agree with Mallick. I was literally reading lines out of the book to the Fiance, while he was watching the golf channel.

Or maybe I'm just as strange as Mallick is. Who knows? But I do know that she's my new girl crush.