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There have been a couple great articles in the last little while summing up the year, the usual best of movies, books, missed great culture, and blah de blah–but the two articles that got me thinking were these: 1) “The Year We Broke the Internet,” and 2) “Generation X is Sick of Your Bullshit,” which was written in response to this article on New York Magazine.

1) So, we’ve broken the internet… for once I’m thankful that a broken lede isn’t referring to the publishing industry, but to how f*#@ed up the internet has become. Referring traffic isn’t so much about driving discovery of great content anymore but damning us all to getting lost in a mess of tangled up wires masking themselves as a website. I’m one to blame–I use social media as a holding ground for all of the articles, notes, photos, thoughts, and bits and bobs of information that I’m trying to keep track of. I don’t read everything I post–I often post it to mark it to read later, because I think the header is interesting, and because I think it might be of interest to people in my circles. I’m doing it fast–scanning headlines and first paragraphs and often entire articles, and not thinking it through in some cases, but forwarding it along because that’s what you do. And every year I try to rid myself of the awful, voyeuristic celebrity gossip sites–but they’ve become an automatic response, something my fingers are doing the minute my mind becomes idle or I’m simply bored and need a distraction. I mean, do I need to know anything about Kim Kardashian? I’ve never seen an episode of her show–could care less about her rock, her fiance, her child, her thoughts on motherhood–and still, I click, and click, and click, and click. And I used to use the internet for good. Built great websites, wrote good content, and here we go again, another habit I need to slow down and look closely at–how to use the internet for good, again.

2) I loved this article so much:

But that’s okay. Generation X is used to being ignored, stuffed between two much larger, much more vocal, demographics. But whatever! Generation X is self-sufficient. It was a latchkey child. Its parents were too busy fulfilling their own personal ambitions to notice any of its trophies-which were admittedly few and far between because they were only awarded for victories, not participation.

But the one thing that struck me about the reply-rant, was the whole, “the first generation not to do better than their parents” refrain. And it’s got me thinking about how we qualify doing “better,” and what it means to be a parent, and the kinds of things that occupy your mind when you’re waiting for the TTC in sub-sub-zero weather. Because, while I’m certainly not monetarily doing better than my parents at my age, I don’t judge my life’s success in that way–my mother had two children by the time she was 24, wanted to go to university but didn’t, and spent her life doing menial jobs–sometimes two or three of them at a time (both she and my father worked all the time). Yes, they did a great job paying off their mortgage but my mother didn’t even have a chance to enjoy any of the benefits of her hard work–her car accident stopping her life short at thirty-four. She sacrificed her freedom, in a sense, so that I could have mine–two degrees, dancing around for while until I hit my own career path, not settling down until I was in my mid-twenties, and not having my own baby until I was much older, and while we haven’t got our house paid off, we lived the hell out of our years before we had kids. My mother was saving it up for later–a later she never got to experience. So, I guess I’m saying that it’s all relative. Money isn’t the guiding focus of our life as it was for my parents–in a sense. It’s not that I want to have an ‘artistic’ life or have been driving to be ‘different,’–but I always knew I didn’t want to live in Mississauga where I grew up (not that being one zip code away in Toronto is all that), that I wanted to travel, meet people, experience things in a way that was only made possible because my mother worked so hard to throw me out into the world and into the person I became. So, I don’t want the “glory” like the kids in the other article, and I’m not so pissed like the Sick of the Bullshit article, but it did get me thinking about what I’ll be leaving for my kid, and how hard I’m working now that it really matters, and one day I might get my house paid off, but I will always love the Beastie Boys, and be thankful my mother got knocked up when she did.

I keep meaning to create a new post. To say something witty. To purport something wise. And then… silence.

 

One of the hardest parts about money management, for me, is finding space in what I consider to be an already stretched and stressed situation. We, like many Canadian families, are working hard to get out of debt. It’s an ever-constant battle to go from paycheque to paycheque, then try to get ahead on top of that when you’ve got a small child in daycare, and the added pressure of working hard to keep one parent at home. There simply isn’t enough money. And then, because it’s so practical, you decide that you need a vacation. The easiest thing would be to jack your credit back up, just say flapjack it, and go… Or not. Coming to terms with having to pay more later would stress me out and end up voiding the whole point of a vacation.

Not this summer, but next, we’ve been planning a trip to Disney World. We all know the pitfalls, the insanity, the cliches, but my sister-in-law really wants to go, and our two families travel exceptionally well together. Plus, my son adores his cousins, and he’ll have way more fun with them there, then if we went on our own, just the three of us. We’re planning on spending a couple of days right in the park, and then a couple more on the outskirts, maybe cramming in some other fun spots–hoping not to completely overwhelm the kids along the way.

Florida in the summer might be exhaustive, but it’s actually a really good thing for us because it gives us a good year, and then some, to save. If you’re like me and find it hard to squeeze additional, “look-ahead,” money into your already tight budget, I find I have to trick myself into saving. The number one rule that I have is that we don’t touch emergency savings (that I’m just trying to build back up now after some legitimate emergencies).

Trick #1: Use the Chatelaine Example

A few months ago, Chatelaine had a great idea for extra savings–start with $1.00 the first week, and add a dollar for every week of the year. At the most you’ll be setting aside in one week is $52.oo, but at the end of a year, it’ll compound to over $1000.00. I’ve been doing this for 14 weeks so far, and it’s starting to add up.

Trick #2: Change in the Change Jar

It’s the oldest trick in the book–not spending your change (especially loonies and toonies). At the end of the day, empty your pockets into a gigantic jar or piggy bank (sealed, locked, away from prying hands), and it’s out of sight/out of mind. Check in every once in a while to roll it up and stash it in the bank in a super-hard-to-get-at bank account, and consider this your spending money.

Trick #3: Right off the Top

The easiest advice is to tuck the money away before you even spend it. The day your paycheque drops into your account, set up an automatic withdrawal, and shorten your budget by the amount. If you can only afford a few dollars, start with a few dollars. It just means you’ve got that much longer to go until you have your vacation stash. The reward will come in the form of a super stress-free holiday because you won’t actually have to pinch your pennies upon your return home.

Trick #4: Buy Your Tickets Early, Shop for the Bargains, Do Your Research

I know this isn’t necessarily related to how to save, but it’s more how to spend your money smartly. You’ll have more to splurge if you’ve done your homework (Butter Beer at Harry Potter’s theme park is expensive, I hear) and found a deal on airline tickets, hotel stays, and other such necessities. Start early. Make lots of notes. Use the internet to your advantage.

All in all, sometimes it’s hard to get started saving. To keep putting it off, to ignore the sage advice to “pay yourself first,” to dig a deeper hole because you need time away… But as someone who used to travel now and pay later, and pay, and pay, and pay, I’m much happier knowing that next summer we’ll be away with Mickey and his crew, and won’t come home to a pile of bills I’ll have absolutely no idea how we’ll pay.

In The Blondes, Emily Schultz has written a terrific, original novel. I think, in my perfect pop culture world, it’s exactly my kind of book. The writing is great, the story is compelling, and it’s fresh in its tone. Hazel, a Phd student in film, embarks upon post-grad work in New York City. She’s left behind a disastrous relationship with her faculty adviser, the aptly renamed Karl Mann (having changed his moniker from Dichlicher [sp]), and has just found out she’s pregnant. Accident or no, finding yourself up the duff at the very moment of an apocalypse, well, it’s not terrific luck.

The epidemic starts with just one or two incidents–blonde women losing it both literally and metaphorically as a result of a virus that soon turns the world into a place where any light-headed person, peroxided or not, could fall victim. Hazel, a natural light-haired red-head, soon finds herself face-to-face with the kinds of situations most familiar to people who have seen and studied Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later.  North America on lockdown, Hazel tries to get home, and she ends up at a government run containment centre with other women who may or may not develop the virus, SHV.

Government officials let her out, eventually. And this part of the book eerily reminded me of Blindness, the moment when the government fully admits that it no longer has control over the situation. She manages to get herself back to Toronto, to see her best friend, but then, from there, it seems that everyone, anyone will do what it takes to survive. I’m making the book feel more Walking Dead than it actually is–there’s great humour here, a lot of laugh out loud, smart revelations by the writer. It’s funny, essentially, the novel is epistolary in format, Hazel’s retelling the story to her unborn child. And she moves back and forth from events deeper into the past and from where she is at the moment–in a cottage owned by her ex-lover and his wife, Grace.

All in all, if you are looking for an intelligent mash up of 28 Days Later without the terrifically horror elements, with a dash of Blindness, as above, with a wholly original, satirical point of view, The Blondes is the book for you. I, for one, would love to see Sarah Polley make this into a movie, because I think it would be great fun on the big screen.

The weather yesterday morning was amazing. Piles of rain collapsed as if someone was actually pouring buckets down from the sky. I love days like that, have always loved the rain. I had a polka dot umbrella. RRBB had his Thomas attire. We stepped outside and walked around the neighbourhood until it was just too cold and we had to come inside.

There’s a moment, and I wish I could pinpoint it, when my son discovers something new–and it’s not even if it’s new truly, it might just be new that day–and he explodes with a sense of wonder that I wish I could emulate. The stairs we’ve gone up and down a hundred times, well, it’s the 101st that really matters. An airplane, awesome. A garbage truck? We might not survive the excitement. And then we come crashing down, clashing a little, the two of us, a temper tantrum, some screaming, dumping of an entire box of organic smoothie on the kitchen floor, and all wonder is lost in an attempt to hold on to your patience and capture just a little bit of understanding.

Because, here’s my biggest lesson this weekend–sometimes your kids will simply not do what you want them to do.

Sometimes they will do the exact opposite of what you want them to do.

Continue reading “Walking in the Rain”

What a goofy self-portrait. I should have turned around so that the ocean was behind me. Walking the boardwalk in Halifax in the spare hour I had in Halifax last week during sales conference, I felt like quite the tourist. Beautiful scenery. Exceptionally touristy shops littering the non-ocean side of the walk, I bought a sweatshirt that says, “Halifax,” and a baseball cap because I forgot to pack one, and revelled for a moment, in being away. Continue reading “Halifax, Homesickness and Sleeplessness”

We spent the first summer weekend as a family up at the cottage, and the weather was glorious. Seems very strange to me not to be batting away blackflies and freezing at night in May–the blazing hot sun felt odd, out-of-place, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. In preparation for a piece of writing that I’ve been working on, I’ve been thinking a lot about the befores and afters of my life. The cottage, like any piece of property that’s been in the family for generations, is full of ‘befores,’ missing furniture, old china, odd artwork, photographs–not so much ghosts haunting but tangible, telling  bits and pieces of the story of our lives up there. And while it might be falling down around us, the cabin we stay in is over sixty years old, it’s still full to the brim of what family and a good childhood and all kinds of other sentimental stuff.

But it’s also a bloody danger zone for a 19-month-old baby. An old sewing machine that doubles as a TV stand is full of needles, string and a 19th century power cord, frayed and just the right strangling size. The cupboards don’t close all the way and are baby-proofless, which means he was in and out of them ALL weekend. I have never worked so hard as I did this long weekend with that baby. Running here, running there, toddling after him, keeping him safe, trying to keep him cool, entertaining him, distracting him, and then finally just giving into his urge to open and close a particular metal cabinet about a thousand times (each time taking out a different spice jar; closing the cabinet; opening the cabinet, taking out another spice jar; closing the cabinet; opening the cabinet–see the pattern, I just about lost my mind). He’s no obsessed with the water, the boat, and chases after them both with the determination as you can see in the above picture.

Before I had the RRBB, I fantasized about what life would be like up at the cottage for my own children. Happy, adventurous, enjoyable, safe–a place to grow not just your body but your interests, your sense of self, important lessons. But, as with anything in life, my memories are mixed up with how I like to spend my time at the cottage. Sitting. Reading. Writing. Playing cards. Watching movies. All things I was so beyond exhausted to do this weekend. In panic mode is not the way I want to spent my parenting years. Trapped by anxiety of his almost-death moments chased by the utter boredom of running around after a little being you can’t remotely converse with at 630AM isn’t ideal–I can romanticize it. I can happily exist in it afterwards. I can laugh, make jokes, and giggle–but when I’m knee-deep in chasing, cajoling, and calming down a baby whose more raw energy source than human, it makes it so hard to relax.

I’m sure I’ll get there.

I’m sure I’ll find a way to be more of myself up north.

I’m sure he’ll be less and less enthralled by all of the bits and pieces he shouldn’t be getting into.

But for now, I am more tired than ever after a weekend up north. How did that happen? What about my Canadian cliche? I want a dock, a beer, the Tragically Hip, and a good book.

I have finally figured it out. Solved all of my problems. Decided to come clean. No, really. I’ve discovered a magical elixir and called it “context.” Here’s the thing… I knew it would come to me, the familiar aches and pains of change, and I’d be able to put it all into perspective.

So. You know that first year of living with someone who isn’t a roommate? How it’s terrifically wonderful and terrifically awkward all rolled up into one? For me, the adjustment to full-time life as a couple wasn’t an easy one — I was not used to having someone else around all the time. It took me months to become accustomed to my RRHB’s ways, and I’m sure it was the same for him. Our cats were fighting. We were fighting. He hated my favourite black bean soup recipe. I really disliked his sheets and pillows. There was an adjustment period. Things got better. We separated the fighting cats. I started to sleep better. We had a fabulous apartment, a terrific social life, and lots of great neighbours. We had a life. Continue reading “Busted On The Bloor Line: It’s All Sorted, Right?”

Every year, it’s the same. I call them “revolutions” to really affect change in my own life. I do well by some and completely fail for others. There’s always a list because I think lists are spectacular and they keep me sane (and I’m not even joking). So let me recap what I think my accomplishments were for 2011:

1. I managed to stay alive. I’m not even being flippant. The meds weren’t working for the disease, I kept getting sicker, and all kinds of complications happened after giving birth. I also kept this baby alive. That is no small accomplishment.

2. I discovered that parenthood is deeply complex, deeply rewarding and nothing at all like what I imagined when I first discovered there was a “fig”-sized baby in my womb.

3. I know what it means to appreciate where you work and the people you work for.

4. Reading has saved my sanity for all of the years I have been on his earth and can remember reading. This year was no exception. Writing has taken a backseat but I am okay with that, for now. I read 89 books (finishing off the year was Ian Rankin’s EXCELLENT thriller, The Impossible Dead. It does what so many crime novels fail to do — absolutely stump me until the very end) this year and dozens upon dozens of children’s books. I am not sure what the total would be if I included the RRBB’s books so let’s just leave it at almost 90. That’s a good solid year of reading for me, for anyone.

5. Prednisone + pregnancy equals a LOT of extra pounds that I would very much like to say goodbye to sooner rather than later. Continue reading “New Year’s Revolutions: 2012 Edition”