There once was this girl...

So, there was only one time that I can truly remember falling in love with  a girl.
She was younger than me by about 14 years.  Slim, pretty, long flowing brown hair and deep dark eyes. Her glasses gave her character and her clothes looked like her.

 Her hometown of France made her even more lovely than you could imagine.  There was a sweetness to her too.  A special kind of lovely.  Maybe it was her voice.  Or the accent.  Then again it could have been the way she treated me.  To be truthful, it could have been anything.  This girl was a vision and made my life complete.

I adored her for months.  We spent tons of time together.  Wednesdays were always a sure thing.  Saturdays too.  The rest of the week was always up in the air.  Certain things i really loved.
Her ability to cook quiche.  Or crepes.  I'm pretty sure it must be something the French are born to do.  The stuff she cooked was always perfect. And by perfect, I mean seriously flawless.  Once i asked her to prepare fish, and i was stunned by the results.  With precision, she cut the halibut into bit sized chunks and fried them into heavenly perfection. My kids ate every bite.

This girl spoiled me.  Things I'd never dare ask her to do, she'd do.  Never a complaint.  Nor a snide remark.  It was as if she liked making me happy.  And happy I was.  Till I wasn't.

Even my husband became obsessed with her.  He wished that i could be more like her.  Truthfully I had the same wish.  Ines was neat and clean and actually enjoyed tidying.  Yes, i'm pretty sure she enjoyed cleaning?!?

I was continually impressed by her.  Her degree from university.  Her desire to work internationally.  And then one day she blew me away.  I was planning what i hoped to be the party of the century for David.  A Spanish theme complete with Manchego cheese, olives and sangria.  In my mind, I had planned to cater it all myself, and then use a local Kensington market restaurant to fill in the tougher parts.  Stuff like the tortilla Espanola and the padron peppers.  Ines asked if she and her fiancé could do the catering.  I knew she was perfect,  and her fiancé was the male version of her.

We planned for days, and then the evening before my soiree they worked from 5pm till 2am.  I was in awe.  Mussels had been shucked.  Shrimps cleaned and deveined.  Peppers had been chopped within an inch of their lives.  Serrano ham was perfectly arranged on slate platters.  My special cheeses were so expertly presented, that i didn't recognize them.  Honestly, I barely recognized my kitchen.

They worked all night and then came back late afternoon to work again.  It was dreamy.  They had catered the perfect affair.  I was THRILLED>

But anyway, as expected, the party went off without a hitch.  It was amazing and no one could believe the food.  They were thrilled and my love played on.  I was okay with the fact that she was engaged.  We all just felt lucky that she was part of our world.

By we, I mean the kids too.  Ines was not just a lovely girl.  She was the best nanny a family could ever ask for.  When she came over, our home was a happier place.  Laundry wasn't an issue for her and she kept our home in tip top shape.  Nothing was ever out of place.  We were happy.  Well fed and happy.

Since my girl is in French immersion, she was the lucky recipient of tons of French tutoring.  They babbled on and on in a language i didn't understand.  Laughing and giggling in front of me.  I pretended to be jealous, but secretly i was over the moon that my kid was so fluent in such a beautiful language.

Some nights she'd entertain the kids.  They'd cook with her and she'd teach them.  Mostly in french.  To show off, she'd colour her crepes.  Pink and green perfectly cooked crepes.  The kids would swoon.  Sometimes they ask me to cook like her and i cry.  Silently.  To myself.

We loved her food so much that we asked her to make extras.  Stuff we could freeze for days when she wasn't with us.  Sadly, we never dreamed the day would come so soon.

She left us the week after our perfectly orchestrated French party.  I was devastated.  The kids crestfallen.  I'm pretty sure even David shed a tear or two.

I only wanted the best for her, so I supported her choice to move back, but that didn't soften the blow. We still miss her.  It's been 10 months and we still talk about her.  The kids still wonder when she's coming back.  Or when we're going to Montpellier?  It kills me that we have to feel this void, but i feel grateful knowing that she was in our lives at all.  Ines made our world a better place and hopefully one day we'll get those pink and green crepes again.   Till then, we head to Montreal.

Swimming

And just like that Christmas and New Years passed.  It was another year.  365 days had gone by.  Where did the time go?  Sometimes she wondered the same about fat.  Just where did it go when it finally decided to leave.  I mean one day you could fit into a pair of size 6 jeans and the other days you couldn’t pull up the 10’s.  SO just where does the muffin top go?

Something to ponder.  Makes you stop and think.

So it was a new year.  Full of hope and resolution.  Promises to stop smoking.  Start running.  New resolves to give up sugar, give up gluten, give up liquor.  January was always a serious month.  Gym memberships were way up.  Lululemon sales soared.  And then like always, February hits.  People start feeing the cold in their bones.  Trips to the gym fall by the waistside.  Waistlines start to swell.  Lululemon purchases feel excessive.  Hot cocoa feels rights.  So do mashed potatoes and brisket.  So the time drones on.  Depression is everywhere.  Sadness.  Despair.  Desperation.  People  look forward to April.  Those people who weren’t looking to shoot themselves.  Why can’t anyone seem to remember that we always have snow in April.  April Fools, you FOOLS.  We always have snow in April.  But then comes May.  A time to start again, since we know you failed back in January and Febraury.  A time to bust out the spring collection.  Contemplate the white pants.  The Brazilian wax.  The high-heeled TOMS shoes.  Shameless plug, buy another pair of TOMS shoes and support a kid without shoes. It’s the best way to assuage the guilt.  Charity for the rich.  Helps every single time.

So May goes swimmingly.  And then in June there’s swimming.  She did get uber lucky in this respect.  Her neighbor 3 doors down (ON THE SAME SIDE of the street!!) lived in the most luxurious home on the block.  Brand new and sparkly, complete with perfectly temperate backyard pool.  White lounges with grey accents, it was a summer to be spent in heaven.  As so it went.  For the first 4 weeks of the summer.  PEOPLE MAGAZINE, HOUSE & HOME, Architechtural Digest.  They read magazines, they ate guacamole.  Ladies were even brought in to paint their nails.  That was a short lived highlight.  She  painted their feet and chatted for hours.  Ever hear of a manicure that takes over 2 hours?  Not even the shellac type.  Her name was Anika and she drove them mental.  They let her stay, because after all, it was THEIR summer.  The summer of 2012.  She worked cheap and her chatter was numbing.  Numb was what they wanted.  Blurred out the world.  And that was what they needed.  They formed a club.   Their own special club.  So far there were only two members.  Sadly, no one else fit the requirments.  You had to live on their side of the street for starters.  Your name HAD to begin with an “L”.  You had to be lovely.  Quite and utterly lovely.  You had to be invited.  We planned to invite the others.  We just didn’t ever feel like getting up.  After all, our nails were always wet.  

And so they swam.  And again it was a super summer.  Then July hit and quickly good went to awful.  Totally and horrifically awful.

Linked OUT

When did Linkedin become the new facebook? Facebook for those over 35?  It’s funny.  I was informed by their team that my account had been hacked.  Shocking.  So I went about trying to re-create my account.  Sourced a picture.  A decent one, complete with eyelash extensions and a smile.  I got busy adding old friends, colleagues and even a few relatives who held jobs.  In two days I was at 124 connections.  It was addictive.  I’d pour through friends connections and connect myself.  I loved the rush when they accepted.  Blew my mind how quickly I could amass these “friends”.  But there were three hold outs. Strangely in an alphabetized world, their last names all began with C.  Then I saw something devasting.  The word IGNORED.  How hideous is THAT?  I realized that they received and read my request and then still decided to decline.  Horrific.  But telling. Sad and shocking no doubt.  But i digress...

Girly girls???

I definitely don’t consider myself a “girly-girl”.  Sure, I love a good pedicure, and I adore a sexy chick flick, but I’m not really super feminine.  I like to get messy; I can go days without washing my hair (much to my family’s chagrin). I’m most at home in jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops.  My bags don’t match my belts (I don’t even wear belts!) and my underwear never coordinates with my bras.  Admittedly, I was a bit concerned when the 13-week ultrasound revealed a baby girl was on her way.  How was I going to raise a girl? 

How would I cope with the unexpected pressures girls face.  The hair cuts, the mean girls, her first period and of course, the cat- fights? Where would I ever find her clothes that were cute enough (I had a hard enough time with my own wardrobe issues)?  What would I think of her first boyfriend? Her husband? Her mother-in-law?  How would I deal with her asking permission to shave her legs and wax her eyebrows? 

My friends suggested a few books and I quickly dove in.  I figured how else could I learn this stuff.

Without giving too much away, I learned that raising a girl is very different from raising a boy.  Obviously the differences go way beyond finding that perfect layette to come home from the hospital in. It’s not as simple as finding the perfect prom dress.  Girls and boys are treated differently and this treatment starts at birth.  One book even went so far as to say that in North America, families write they are PROUD to announce the birth of their son, while they are THRILLED to annonunce their new daughter.  Who knows, we wrote, “we’re tickled pink to announce our baby girl’s arrival.” I guess that’s as girly as it gets.  I painted her room cotton candy pink and her wardrobe sadly has more pink in it than I care to admit.  I was one of those women who SWORE she’d never put her girl in pink.  I guess I proved myself wrong

While my daughter seems to be pretty girly so far (she can flirt like the best of them), she also loves to get dirty.  She seems to have a deep voice and hopefully, like mommy, she’ll love a good pedicure!  I can’t wait to hit the spa with her!

Me, exposed.

1.    My favorite sound is the clicking into my spin shoes before the music gets going.

2.    I love when my babies say, “mamma, I need you”.  (sometimes I sit at the computer and wait for them to repeat it).

3.    I love kisses and cuddle time with my kids.

4.    Grocery shopping relaxes me.

5.    Ten months of the year I think with more clarity than anyone I know.

6.    2 months out of the year, I can barely string together a sentence.

7.    I love to make soups with everything in the kitchen.

8.    I hate to bake because I’m just not that scientific.

9.    Warm chocolate chip cookies and fall leaves are among my favorite scents.

10. I ran track in high school and played soccer too.  My bad attitude was frowned upon.  It was career limiting.

11. I love the number 2—and I’m not sure why? Three makes me uncomfortable.

12. Dim sum makes me happy.

13. I was a camper forever.  Met my husband age 12 on a camp canoe trip!

14. I admire people who can sing, dance and run.

15. Tennis is my favorite sport, though I like to kayak too.

16. My legs and clavicle are my best features.

17. I cry at commercials and movies.

18. I’m not a fan of TV shows-though I do enjoy big bang theory and 2.5 men.

19. I’m scared of pigeons, squirrels, cats and escalators going down.

20. Reading fifty shades made me blush, but also upset me.

21. I can read forever and forget about people.

22. Saddens me that I didn’t create Face book or Rainbow loom.

23. I feel the most free when I’m onboard an airplane.  I just resign my world to the pilot.

24. I like hot yoga

25. My favorite pleasure is getting my hair blown out and 1.5 hour massage.

26. Watching TRAIN videos on YouTube thrills me.  Love Jason Mraz and Michael Franti too.

Confessions of a closest bottle-feeder

 I admit it.  I had no interest in breast-feeding before my daughter was born.

 Sure I knew it was the “thing to do”, but it just didn’t seem like the “thing” for me.  Secretly I hoped my new baby wouldn’t figure it out.  I dreamed I wouldn’t have adequate milk supply.  I imagined all sorts of scenarios that would give me the easy out and make it OKAY not to nurse my new baby daughter.

Then on December 30^th, my little girl was born and suddenly my world had changed.  In an instant, I was determined that I would breast feed her exclusively and suddenly I had no interest in a bottle or formula.  For those first few days, we struggled and learned together and I had never been happier. I couldn’t believe that she was our creation and I was continually amazed that she depended on me for life.  I was in love.  While I thought I was doing a fine job with the feedings, her second doctor’s visit proved me wrong.  Our little girl was still losing weight and she was very dehydrated.  I was devasted.  My doctor all but threw a can of formula at me and said, “Get this kid on the bottle”!  I was crestfallen.  Tears ran from my eyes.  I was horrified.  I was annoyed.  How could this be?  Things were going so well.  I had spent hours with a private lactation consultant (at $150/hour!!) to help me perfect the feeding routine. 

A few more days of crying for both me and my baby (she was obviously STARVING!) and close to $1000 worth of consultation services later, I was forced to introduce the bottle.  At first I wouldn’t feed her.  I refused to be the one to give my baby this powder and water mixture.  It seemed so unhealthy.  It seemed so unnatural.  Most of all, it seemed so unfair.  Everyone else seemed to be breast-feeding.  Strangely they all appeared to be enjoying it?

So devastated and ashamed, I couldn’t and wouldn’t bottle-feed my daughter in public at the beginning.  I was so fearful that someone would judge me as an inferior mother because I was giving my daughter formula. If I did have to feed her in public, I’d prepare the bottle at home, so that one might think it was pumped breast milk.

It took me about 2 months and a lot of sad and lonely days to get over this insecurity.  I am proud to say that my daughter is nearly 9 years old and now she rarely eats a meal INSIDE of our house.  She snacks at Starbucks, she lunches anywhere from the local park to the Four Seasons’ Studio Café.  My daughter is healthy and thriving and thoroughly enjoyed her bottles of formula (as does her new 4 month old baby brother).  Countless people have enjoyed bonding with them while feeding bottles and this has given me a lot more time and flexibility.  While I support and applaud any mother who breast-feeds her baby, I now know that how you feed your baby is a personal decision.  My babies couldn’t be happier, and neither could I….