Pinballapalooza with The Stratford Festival: Help Break A Guinness World Record

May 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Stratford Festival Pinballapalooza

Stratford Festival Pinballapalooza

 

Are you a Pinball Wizard? The Stratford Festival wants you to think so. Join them this Thursday, May 16th to have fun and help make history! They’re out to break a Guinness Book of World’s Record for the Largest Pinball Play, and they’re inviting YOU to join in. How much fun is that!? Plus, you’ll get a sneak peek at the show, with two special cast performances.

 

What:  One hundred pinball machines will fill the main lobby of First Canadian Place for a Pinball Party to celebrate the Festival’s 2013 production of Tommy.

 

When: Thursday, May 16 between 9 am and 6 pm.

 

The Fun: Play a free pinball game. Enjoy performances by the cast at 12:15 and 1:15 on the Waterfall Stage.

 

Join the conversation – tweet about @stratfest’s Pinballapalooza using hashtag #sfPinball.

 

RSVP on the Facebook event page: HERE

 

Stratford Festival Pinballapalooza

Stratford Festival Pinballapalooza

 

Boo HOO. This event looks so amazing. Unfortunately, I probably won’t be there, because I’ll be AT the Stratford Festival (total coincidence) seeing another big favorite of mine, Fiddler on The Roof. It’s my 20th Anniversary, that day, by the way. And what better way to celebrate than a little Sunrise, Sunset…So, please go, and tweet your pinballing like crazy.

 

 

Filed Under: Brand Experiences, Family, Fun, Kids, things to do with the kids in toronto, toronto deals Tagged With: , , , ,

Shizzle I Can Do Cuz I’m A Mom

May 10, 2013 By 7 Comments
Shizzle I've Learned as a Mom

Shizzle I can Do Cuz I’m a Mom

 

So, I’ve been a Mom a pretty long time now. In fact, if my Mom-ness was a person in the Province of Ontario, it would be able to drive, vote, and buy alcohol. Which is good. Mothering teenagers requires several boxes of wine per quarter. And you have to drive to the liquor store. You don’t want to take your boxes of wine on the bus. Or your cupcakes. They might get squished.

 

Since I’ve been in the game for a while, I’ve learned a few things. Not about motherhood, per se, because motherhood is crafty.

 

The only truth I’ve learned about actual mothering during my tenure is this: As soon as you think you’ve got the skills down pat, those kids change the game. They do something like get older or change who they are, or whatever. And then it’s back to square one. That place otherwise known as ‘Oh crap. What do I do now?’

 

No, what I’ve learned is about me (really, it always boils down to me). It’s been a voyage of self-discovery, this Mom & Pop operation. So, what have I found out in the last 19 (OY!) years besides the fact, as I mentioned, that I don’t really know what I’m doing and yet I seem to be doing it fairly competently (as evidenced by the fact that nobody is flunking out, on drugs, in prison, or banned from anyone’s house.)

 

I’m totally a super-hero. I know things, without even trying to know them. I can fix the most terrible boo boos with cold water, the promise of a rainbow, and a kiss.  I can hear things that are whispered, even when people aren’t at home. I can just sense when something is off-kilter or feelings are hurt. I can also do imaginary things that don’t exist except for the most special of us, like cause dishes to move into and out of the dishwasher, enable the cleaning and folding of clothes, activate the food-in-the-fridge program, and most difficult of all, turn off lights and close doors and cupboards.

 

I can make something from nothing. Well, not really, but it’s un-freaking believable what kinds of feasts I can create with a carrot, milk, some cheese, a few noodles (sprinkled with Mama glitter, of course. Don’t ask why the cupboards are bare, because it’s not that I didn’t have time per se to go grocery shopping, but more  due to the fact that I didn’t actually want to.) I can also procure bristol boards at 10:00 on a Sunday night, make igloos out of glitter glue & some styrofoam, pull kleenex from the air, and make a pair of shorts out of jeans that are too small.

 

I can shape shift. One minute I’m Florence Nightingale (see point #1) and the next I’m a teacher (You said WHAT? to her? No, that’s NOT how you do it. First, you call her up and…), then I’m Mrs. Fix-it (amazing what one can do with duct tape and a pair of dress pants), and a few minutes later I’m Mr. Rogers (Welcome to my neighborhood, won’t you please come in and eat all my food. No problem, I can just buy more…)

 

I’m a super-sleuth. I am all-knowing and can figure out mostly everything with my magical unicorn powers. And, what I don’t know, I can google in the bathroom, on an iPhone, while pretending to pee. I can also find anything, no matter where it is. Even if it’s not there, I can find it, and it doesn’t actually have to exist for it to show up when I cause it to. I don’t even have to twitch my nose or snap my fingers.

 

I can shoot daggers out of my eyes. If I’m mad, I don’t even have to say a word. I can just stare, emitting the most poisonous Jewish-guilt-tipped death rays. These looks are able to pierce even the most unrepentant child’s heart and conscience, and are far more effective than raising the voice, (a fact which has taken me 18 2/3 years to learn.) **Probably my greatest accomplishment as a mother***

 

I can travel time. I’d never have imagined it, but I can be in more than one place at the same time. It’s truly amazing. You know, I can be on a school field trip, the dentist, yoga, and my kitchen–all at once. Sometimes the time-travelling is just in my imagination, often during a particularly long and boring story about someone’s teacher’s sister and their project that..Tahiti…The gym…Adam Levine’s House…And sometimes the time travelling is on the wrong day, like that one time (or was it twice) I took my son to a Bar Mitzvah and it was the next weekend.

 

What else have I learned as a mother? Well, the usual stuff: what true love really is, patience, kindness, and understanding; fear, hope, and that no matter how many kegels you do when you’re pregnant, you’ll still never really be able to jump on a trampoline with confidence.

 

Oh, and also, that no matter how hard you try to keep it from them, your kids will eventually find out what you really were like in high school. They’re smart like that. Really smart.

 

And you? What shizzle can you add to your Mom-sume?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Embarrassing Situations, Family, Humour, Life Lessons, Teenagers Tagged With: , , , ,

That Time When Murphy and His Law Took Over My Vacation: Part 2

January 8, 2013 By
chicken stands at every gas station

Why do they have chicken at every gas station?

 

Wondering what happened after we selected our accommodations for the first night of our vacation?

 

First, I need to tell you about some more VDIs (other than us booking the wrong cruise ship)…

 

  • When our travel agent called Carnival to book the rooms they had on hold, they hadn’t held them and she had to re-book, so we had to take two more expensive rooms (like my kids need a balcony?) and lost a shipboard credit promo
  • When I went to check in online, I found that Carnival’s systems do not work with Mac (how rude), so I had to call and have a human do our check in.  I realized they’d spelled my name wrong, and the rep was happy to fix it. I called later to try and fix the next VDI, and found that they had charged me $50 to fix my name because it was a four letter change and they only do three letter changes for free (I kid you not.)
  • I checked our dining choice and we’d been reassigned from the late seating to the ‘Anytime Dining’ (translate: eat when you want but stand in yet another line and carry a pager around.) When I called to fix the mistake, I was told they couldn’t do it (but they could put me on a waiting list for what I’d booked in the first place), but as a GOODWILL gesture they’d credit me the $50 for the name change (WHAT!? What $50?!)

 

I TOLD you. Vacation Doom Indicators. We should have stayed home. I was warned. I had a feeling…

 

Back to the Red Roof Inn, a savvy choice for travellers on the road, pet-friendly and only $62/night including bars of soap. The foyer looked clean to me, the lady at the desk had a charming Southern Accent even though she couldn’t work the computer, and there was a nice nativity scene in the corner (December 19th) next to the free breakfast (there would be sugary pastries, I was sure of that.)  For some reason we decided to schlep ALL of our luggage, the reason being that I had neglected to order the troops to pack a change of clothing in their carry-on bags. The rooms looked pretty fine, even though we could smell the smoking section (how weird that there are States where you can still smoke indoors).

 

Bravely venturing out into the night, we found that the local Italian closely resembled Breadsticks from Glee (mostly because they served garlic breadsticks with tomato sauce for dipping. How amazing), and that they sold irresistible slices of cake off of rounds that were the size of hatboxes. Particularly delicious was the ‘Everything Cake’ which had 5 different kinds of cake and icing layered one on top of each other (chocolate fudge, cheesecake, red velvet, vanilla, carrot with the appropriate topping).

 

 

Sadly, the gas station sold fried chicken but not wine, because we’d inadvertently stumbled into a dry county (yes, like in Footloose), but you could go to a bar and drink and THEN drive home if your heart desired. We did not, so we went back to the hotel to snuggle up in bed and watch the XFactor Finale on the little tiny TV.

 

That was a bad idea. Or was it? I’ll never know

 

Next morning, we awoke at the crack of dawn or maybe it was earlier, re-zipped our baggage (oh..why did we bring pillows in, open all those closely packed duffles and also throw our coats on the floor…), and schlepped everything back down to the lobby where all the truck drivers and assorted people in trucker hats stared at the six Jews and one tiny dog delicately tasting the grits from the slow-cooker (Dang, but ain’t that a tayny dawg…’ ) We (meaning my husband and two strapping sons) loaded up the car while bestie and I drank coffee and pretended to look useful and the 18-year old daughter maintained a look on her face that scared even the plastic Santa adorning the breakfast bar.

 

We inelegantly crammed ourselves back into that third row (I’m not sure what was more unattractive-two forty something women clambering into a stuffed backseat, or the same two women trying to find their shoes and attepting to get back out) and took off, gazing sadly at the White Castle that we took a pass on for fear that one of us would have diarrhoea on the road. We said goodbye to Kentucky, and said hello to the Carolinas.

 

 

And that was when the real trouble began. For just after one of those gas stations featuring dirty toilets, more fried chicken, and pigs feet in the jar, my right chest began to itch.

 

 

a delicious assortment of southern pickled delicacies

A delicious assortment of southern pickled delicacies

 

By Georgia, my left arm was the same.

 

By 9 pm, we had arrived in Cocoa Beach Florida. My leg had welts, my hand was itchy, and my belly button felt curious. I almost couldn’t enjoy my iHop nutty pancakes, but I managed. We brought our bags (and pillows!) into the nice Hampton Inn, and once again opened up the zippers.

 

But what was I bringing into those sheets?

 

I awoke in the middle of the night dreaming of Benadryl and that goddammed prescription Cortison Cream I’d decided to leave at home.

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Embarrassing Situations, Family, Fun, Humour Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

That One Time When We Took a Vacation (Part 1)

January 7, 2013 By

That One Time When We Took a Vacation

That One Time When We Went on A Road Trip

 

I’m about to share a tale that will make you feel really good about your life. So take out your tiny violins, and get ready to hear What Happened on my long-awaited winter vacation.

 

Forebodingly, or maybe mistakenedly, I gave the trip the hashtag #GriswaldFamilyVacation (yes, I know I spelled Griswold wrong.)

 

Have you heard the expression Man Plans and God Laughs?

 

We’ve planned a trip of some sort or another for several years, but then always found ourselves in cancellation mode when the deposits were due. Once again,with our trip to Israel, we booked, even put deposits down, and then found ourselves wriggling out of the arrangements. I did promise the children a vacation, so we planned an extravaganza which included a 2-day fun-filled drive to Florida, a week long Carnival cruise, 5 days in Ft. Lauderdale with friends, then another exciting, scenic 2-day drive through the American South and upwards.

 

This trip was going to be FANTASTIC, I assured the kids, after booking us on a cruise that many of their friends were also going on. I kept feeling in the back of my mind, though, that something would go wrong. I’m usually a positive person, but I just had a bit of a twitch.

 

There was that, what do you call it…Vacation Doom Indicator (VDI):

 

Ummm…Mom…You booked us on the wrong ship. Everyone is going on the Breeze. And we’re going on the Dream.

 

Oops.

 

It’s ok honey(s). You’ll make new friends on the ship. (They didn’t. Imagine 2 teenage boys walking into a room full of other teenagers and saying, Hey, you look my age. Want to play?)

 

Before we left, I got my car checked out to make sure everything was in working order. I made sure to bring my ziploc full of necessary medical supplies such as bandaids, Advil, Gravol and Benadryl. To make the package smaller, I took out my giant tub of prescription cortisone cream (because why would I need that.) We managed to pack everything into the car. Including my best friend and her tiny dog. Five people in my 6-seat Ford Flex wasn’t enough, I had to fill every seat.

 

We bought 5 duffels on wheels (on sale for $160!), and told the kids that if it didn’t fit in the bag, it wasn’t coming.  I’m an over-packer (thankfully, you’ll see why), and was pleasantly surprised to find how much I could you squeeze into one of those duffels (like 5 pairs of high heels, a pair of converse, many sandals, and almost all of my clothes). The 18-year old girl was similarly gratified, although, to tell you the truth, her things are kind of scanty and squish up really well.

 

We set off on a cool wintry morning at the break of dawn. My bestie & I, relegated to the back seat, were quite happy to mold ourselves in between the bags, content with our Tim Hortons and her tiny dog. We had an iPad, Kindle, Kobo, and data plans so we could Facebook each other from what can’t even be considered the next seat. This drive to Florida was going to be an adventure, we agreed. A real Thelma and Louise time (without Brad Pitt or headscarves, and plus my husband and three children.) One unparallelled in the annals of vacations, in fact, even though the teenagers wouldn’t let us sing, we couldn’t actually move our legs, and the man wouldn’t let us drive (which was fine since there was no way anyone else–well maybe the 13 year old–could, or was willing, to pretzel themselves into that 3rd row. Thank you yoga.)

 

The first day was fun. We giggled, we tried not to snack until we remembered we had black licorice mix, we used our feminine wiles to suggest that it ‘might be time for a pee break.’ We kept the doggie from crawling through the car and trying to sit on the driver’s lap (since he had threatened to hang her out the window if she made it up there).

 

After hours in the car, 10 to be exact, in Kentucky, it was time to call it a night…A Red Roof Inn Kinda night.  And that’s when the REAL fun began…

 

To be continued….

 

 

photo credit: x-ray delta one via photopin cc

Filed Under: Embarrassing Situations, Family, Fun, Holidays, Humour Tagged With: , , ,

Sibling Rivalry Never Ends. And a Spray Tan

December 14, 2012 By
Sibling rivalry never ends

Sibling Rivalry and a Spray Tan
Image source: http://thejennywho.wordpress.com/about/

 

I have a huge family. Like huge. I’m the second eldest of seven siblings. They are not all from the same parents, but I am related to all of them. Confusing, I know. Almost like a family from the bible or something. Some are from this mother, and some are from that one. Some are from that father, while others are from another.

 

Everyone asks me if it’s different between my one, full brother (we share a mother and a father, how unique) and all the rest who are half-siblings. And, while I’m closer to some than others (just like it would be with any siblings), what doesn’t change is how we razz each other. No matter how old we get, our dynamic should be called irritate-the-other-until-she-wants-to-punch-you. My older brother is particularly good at this activity, and enjoys bringing the others in on the fun.

 

And so…this was a conversation we had at one of our Chanukah dinners.

 

My brother, peering closely at me: You look better tonight.

 

Me: What do you mean?

 

Bro: Well, last week when we were at your house, you looked really bad. (The devil with a sparkle in his eye) You had big dark circles, and you looked really tired. You look better tonight. S (that’s our baby sister), didn’t she look really BAD last week? (He’s grinning by now.)

 

Me: You know, I have a disease. And what do you  mean I looked bad. S, did I look bad? (I just have Graves Disease, but try to work it into the conversation whenever I can to engage their sympathy. It obviously doesn’t work.)

 

S: Well, you DO look better tonight…(she peers right into my face) Yes, definitely, an improvement on last week.

 

Me: Thanks sis for the support. You guys are so mean.

 

S: Well, you look much better now. We’re giving you a compliment.

 

I stick my tongue out at her because I’m a very mature 44-year old.

 

Bro: Yeah, what was up last week? (He likes to really rub it in.) SIL (that’s his wife), don’t you think Mara looks so much better this week? Didn’t she look really bad last week?

 

SIL: Can you lift your glasses?

 

So she wants a deeper inspection? OK. I lift my glasses. and she comes up real close. Like close.

SIL: Ahhh, it’s because she’s wearing makeup. Look at all that concealer caked on.

 

She steps back, quite satisfied with herself for solving the mystery of my temporary attractiveness. I stand up, give everyone the finger and walk out of the room.

 

Bro: (calling after me) Where are you going? We were just trying to be nice…

 

And..Cut. That was real, and not a scene from a Jonathan Tropper book

 

A couple of days later I went shopping for a bathing suit. Yes, I’ve stopped crying, but I have to tell you it was horrible. There are parts that I have that are better left wrapped up.

 

The whole bathing suit issue is compounded by the fact that I don’t suntan because I don’t want to get wrinkles. Or more wrinkles. Or sunspots. Or more sunspots. But, one has to wear a bathing suit on a cruise or one looks weird. And one did buy bathing suits two years ago as one’s husband reminded one when encouraging one not to shop (wasted breath), but one bough tankinis which actually make one’s spare tyre looks even more spare and tyre-like.

 

While I was at the but someone suggested that I should have gotten a spray tan before shopping for a bathing suit. And, I considered it. Until I remembered this.

 

 

 

Filed Under: Embarrassing Situations, Family, Fun, Humour Tagged With: , , , ,

My Long Distance Love Story with SPOKEnPHOTO

December 11, 2012 By

A picture may tell a thousand words, but a thousand words makes a photo album even more special.

 

Sometimes Words Make the Picture
Photo source: http://www.pivot-point.com/

 

I like looking at photographs. But, even more than that, I like taking them.

 

I like taking pictures so much that when my daughter was born I took so many rolls of her sleeping in her bassinet that my husband confiscated the camera. I like taking pictures so much that my camera sometimes weeps. I like taking pictures so much that my teenagers and dogs take off running when they see me lifting my iPhone. I like taking pictures so much that….well, you get the picture. Pun intended.

 

The problemo is, I don’t usually do anything with my photos. They either sit in a box, or a hard drive, or a portable hard drive, or even a CD. Put it this way, my daughter is at University, and I still haven’t made her Bat-Mitzvah album.

 

But, sometimes, one gets the impulse to do something with one’s photos. But, making a full ALBUM is so much work, so one gets distracted with butterflies and stuff.

 

But, then, one gets introduced to an EASY way to assemble an album and make it meaningful, and then one is very amenable to the idea.

 

I’m speaking of course about me. And SPOKEnPHOTO Album for iPad.  This app is so amazing. Why? Because it’s an easy way to create and share photo albums.

 

But that’s not all..

 

You can attach voice notes to any photo you want, making viewing the album a uniquely personal experience.

 

But that’s not all…

 

You can send voice requests to other people so THEY can add their voice notes to your photos.

 

But that’s not all…

 

You can send the albums to people who live far away but close in your heart, for viewing online or on their own iPads.

 

 

 

I’m part of the SPOKEnPHOTO Launch Project called ‘Long Distance Love Stories’.

 

 

Are You a Long Distance Lover?
Browse more infographics.

 

My beautiful daughter now lives an hour away. (Leaving me alone in a house with stinky, sweaty men and men-in-training, I might I add.)

 

She is MY long-distance love story.  And, I want her to know that. So, I was excited to try out the new iPad app by SPOKE Technologies called SPOKEnPHOTO. They’re launching December 11, 2012 with ‘Long Distance Love Stories‘ as told by moms just like me.

 

Talking photos fit between photo-sharing and video. They add an extra dimension of personalization and story-telling to photo-sharing, and they don’t require the skill of controlling many variables for a video. 

 

The new SPOKEnPHOTO Album App is the only app that lets you create and share talking photo collections with the look and feel of a real photo album. It lets you give the gift of your voice to long distance loved ones.

 

With the message I can attach to my photos, my girl will know exactly how I feel about her. And, that’s what is so great about these albums-you not only can view the pictures, but you can hear the sender’s voice.  I know that when I was away at University, I would have loved to have an album with personal messages from my parents and brothers and sisters.

 

SPOKEnPHOTO long distance love story

SPOKEnPHOTO Long Distance Love Story

 

You can view my album here. I’m sure with practice, my albums will get way prettier. I could actually see this SPOKEn album thing getting completely out of hand.

 

Also, for iPhonographers like me (aka people who forget where they put their cameras the SPOKEnPHOTO Album app also works together with the SPOKEnPHOTO iPhone app so you can capture talking photo moments and then collect them into memories on your iPad.

 

SPOKEnPHOTO Album for iPad:

  • Free app that lets users create and share talking photo collections that have the look and feel of a real photo album.
  • Drag and drop photos into photo albums: from your iPad, Facebook, or iPhone app
  • Record your voice on your photos
  • Request others to record their stories on photos – Share via Email, Facebook, Twitter
  • Create and manage albums on your Bookshelf and Spoken Photos in your Gallery
  • Recipients can view album online or on iPad app

 

 

You can get the app for yourself here. (I highly recommend it, and am already planning my next SPOKEnPHOTO album but I can’t tell you what it’s for because it’s a secret.)

 

SPOKEnPHOTO_iPad_iOS_icon

SPOKEnPHOTO IPAD icon

 

For more information about SPOKE Technologies, visit their website.

 

 Disclosure:  I am part of a group of social media moms who were selected to participate in the launch of SPOKEnPHOTO and the ‘Long Distance Love Stories’ Album.  I was compensated for my participation in this program. All opinions are my own, and my opinion is that I LOVE it.

 

 

Filed Under: Brand Experiences, Family, Kids, Life, Product Reviews Tagged With: , , , , ,

When You Step in a Pile of Dog Crap, You Make Hummous

October 11, 2012 By

don't let your dog poop in front of my mailbox

 

It’s not every day that you can step in a pile of dog shit and walk away with clean soles.

 

A few days ago, I was wearing my favorite new boots that I bought in last August in New York City. They were marked down to $30 from $599, the only pair like them, and in my size.  If you believe in fate and that some things are meant to be, then you can believe that those distressed brown leather ankle-height riding boots were my beshert.

 

And not meant to be insulted by wayward  dog turds blatantly left in front of my super mailbox. Yep. An inconsiderate jerk let his obviously large dog relieve his or herself right where I’d be likely to step in the mess when picking up my mail in the dark.

 

I felt the squish, and cringed.  My boots were doomed. And then I realized that the grass was still damp from the rain. I had a choice. I could become one with the crap, or risk water damage on my boots.  Without a second thought, I stepped from the pavement into the wet beyond, squished my heel around a few times, and hoped.  When I got under the street light, my heel was clean, but the leather was darkened with water.  But, I didn’t stink of a dog’s dinner anymore. The poop was gone. The next day, thankfully, the leather had dried good as new.

 

It all worked out for the best.

 

A couple of days later, the husband and I reluctantly made the decision to cancel our family trip to Israel. We’d been planning for three years to take the whole family on an epic adventure for our youngest son’s Bar-Mitzvah.

 

He was going to read from the Torah on top of Masada.

 

It was going to be amazing.  Because of a variety of circumstances, we haven’t taken our kids away on many family vacations, and even the 18-year old  been on an airplane just three times in her life.  In fact, this isn’t the first time we’ve booked a getaway and then cancelled it.  They’re almost grown up and they’ve never even been to DisneyWorld for goodness sakes. I’m so tired of disappointing my kids. I’m so tired of being disappointed myself. Time is running out.

 

First world problems, I know, but I was really looking forward to the time together, especially as my girl has gone off to University.

 

When we decided to call the dream trip off, I went through my own version of the Stages of Grief.  These are my defence mechanism, and are well practiced when things don’t go my way.  They are:

 

1.Avoidance (I don’t want to talk about cancelling the trip. It’s not happening. I can’t hear you.)

 

2. Mock cheerfulness accompanied by nonchalance (Oh, whatever. Who cares anyways. I didn’t really want to go anyways. In fact, I’m happy it’s off. Relieved really. Just cancel it. Big smile.)

 

3. Depression (Oh, woe is me. Why do these things always happen to me? I was really looking forward to this. I’m so sad. Nothing is ever going to turn out for me.)

 

4. Apathy (Whatever.  I don’t care about anything. I’m like a shadow moving through the day.)

 

I know, healthy. Right? Especially stages 1-4.

 

Somewhere between depression and apathy, after I dried my tears and before I started to not care about anything, I went to get my mail. That big turd was still laying there. Right in front of my mailbox. With a perfect indent from my boot.

 

Still there. Me stepping in it didn’t make it go away.

 

And that crap didn’t ruin my beautiful boots.

 

Just like this other crap isn’t going to ruin my life.

 

A new addition to my Stages of Grief.

 

5.  Reluctant Acceptance (We’re not going.  We’re not going. We’re not going. There will be other things. Other trips. Other opportunities.)

 

I think I’m a grown-up, even though I’m fighting it.  Shit happens. Literally. Whether you step in it purposefully, or not, that’s just the way it is.  Luckily, this time it was just the cancellation of a longed for vacation.  Everyone in my family is healthy. We have a home. We have food to eat. Other than the luxury of a transatlantic jaunt, my kids are well provided for.

 

This trip was important to me.  But not going on the trip won’t ruin my life. There will be other trips, and we will find another, quieter way to celebrate our son’s Bar Mitzvah.

 

Maybe we’ll fly away to a beach.  Somewhere a little less adventurous.  After all, you don’t need to go to Israel to have a good time. We’ll be together and that’s all that matters.

 

I’ll just make sure the resort serves hummus.

 

PS. I hate. hate. hate. hate. hate. disappointing my children. Did I say hate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Family, Getting Older, Kids, Life Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

To My Son on his 13th Birthday

July 30, 2012 By

image source: http://romero-britto-pop-art-and-hug.blogspot.ca/2011/07/romero-britto-imagenes.html

 

Phew.  Today is the day that you, my baby boy, turn 13.

 

Seriously, I never thought we’d make it this far.  I’m not even kidding. You. As a baby. As a toddler.  As a preschooler. You challenged me.

 

You know what?  We did it.  Together.

 

Before you arrived on the scene, I didn’t feel like our little family was complete. And, after you did, it was.  You were SO wanted.  Never, ever forget that.  The third time is definitely the charm, because you completed our circle of five.

 

When I was first pregnant, I was sure you were a girl.  But, we went to the ultrasound, your sister and I, and you obviously, and the technician asked,

 

Do you want to know the gender?

 

Of course I said yes. I hate surprises, after all.  When she pointed and said, There’s the scrotum, I was shocked.  I answered her with a perplexed,

 

But girls don’t have those.

 

No, they don’t. Nor does anyone have your unique Jonah-ness.   They couldn’t see that magic in the Ultrasound, now could they.

 

You are one of a kind.  If they bottled your energy, they could fill up a whole warehouse of 5Hour Energy drinks.  From the moment you started crawling at three months, I knew I had my work cut out for me.  You kept me running, that’s for sure. That’s when you weren’t laid up with one of your ear infections or other illnesses. You were a brave little guy, going through seven sets of ear tube surgeries, the first when you were only nine months old. I don’t know how someone could have been so happy and smiley when they were sick all the time, but you were.  Luckily you got all of that out of your system, and now, other than the occasional Wednesday-itis, you’re healthy like the proverbial horse.

 

J, your creative naughtiness is legendary.  Singlehandedly, you have dispelled any delusions I had about my mothering skills. You left me breathless, you had me stumped.  Looking at the results of some of your antics I just scratched my head, wondering WHY.  Or HOW.  or even WHEN.  Along the way, though, I’ve learned a lot. About myself, about you, about patience. You taught me to breath. You taught me to look below the surface.  Today, I am who I am because of you.  The bravery and maturity that I see as you own and overcome the challenges that come with your ADHD completely astound me.

 

Today, I apologize.  For not knowing. For not understanding what you needed every day.

 

Your brains.  They are huge. That’s all I can say.  I think you knew more than me when you were 10 years old.  I truly look forward to what the future holds for you. As long as hacking isn’t on the table, I’m fine with whatever you choose to do with your great mind.

 

You are so full of love, even though you keep trying to act all mature and teenager-y. I know you don’t actually think I’m as embarrassing as you say I am.  When I try and hug and kiss you in public, I’m sure that you would like to kiss and hug me back, but you don’t want other people to be jealous of us.  Some of my best nights, in fact, are laying in bed with you reading or watching movies.  I know I cling a bit to you, but you’re our youngest.  I need to keep you small for just a while longer.

 

What can I say to you on your 13th birthday, except that today you are a man.  I can’t wait to see you read the Torah at your Bar Mitzvah, and witness you take your place in the Jewish Community. Even though you say religion is dead, I know one day the pomp and circumstance will mean something to you.  Now, you do it for me. So I can swell with pride as you smile and look toward your future.

 

Kid, you were lucky you were cute when you were little, or we may never have made it to this moment.  But, I’m so glad that we did. And, I’m so happy that we have you in our lives.

 

I am honoured to be your Mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life, Life Lessons, Teenagers Tagged With: , , , , , ,

So, I Got a Tattoo

July 27, 2012 By

Have you ever done something you swore you’d never do?

 

Last Sunday, I did.  This.

 

 

Yep, that’s #13 on my WTHN List.  And, it ain’t temporary.

 

 

As a public service, here’s how it feels to get a tattoo.  (Similarly to childbirth, nobody is ever really completely straightforward about the pain of getting inked.)
Stage 1:  Little scratches. Light and easy.
Stage 2:  Angry scraping. Put some effort into it.
Stage 2a:  Rub skin with a wet cloth.
Stage 3: Take a dull knife and draw circles on tummy. Pay special attention to hipbone. Dig the point in once and a while.
Stage 3a:  Rub increasingly sensitive skin with a wet cloth.
Stage 4:  Take a small chisel.  Apply it and attempt to dig out pieces of skin.
Stage 4a:  Rub extremely sensitive skin with a wet cloth.  Rub again.
Stage 5:  Little scratches. Light and easy.
Stage 5a: Continue to rub raw skin with wet cloth, notwithstanding the signals being sent by a very rigid, yet brave body. Rub with dry cloth. Rub with lotion.  Apply large bandage on very sensitive area with tape. Ensure that  the tape is pulling on any nearby hair.
To summarize, it hurts more than a leg wax, and less than an upper lip wax.  I can’t compare getting tattoo’d to a Brazilian Wax, since I’m rather against the idea of someone putting hot wax on my inner secrets.
Was it worth it? Abso-freaking-lutely.

Why, why, why?  Why would I do that?  Especially because my whole life my Grandfather drilled in to me, ‘Do Not Get A Tattoo.’

 

Ever since my father passed away, the idea of getting a tattoo ‘for him’ has been sitting right behind my voice of reason.  I just couldn’t get the thought of a permanent reminder (not that he needed one), out of my head.  I tried adding a little ‘A’ to my Links of London bracelet, but it just didn’t do the trick.

 

Originally, I thought I’d get a little tiny heart with an A inside it right over my heart. Because, that’s where my Daddy lives.  Forever.  But, then, as I racked my brain for a way to honour a man who was as unique and special as my Dad, an idea came to me.

 

I called my Step-mother and asked her to take a picture of this painting, which still hangs in my Dad’s house.

 

 

 

The lotus flower:  The Lotus flower is symbolic of rebirth, but in addition to its religious meaning, the lotus is also a symbol of all that is true, good and beautiful, representing good fortune, peace and enlightenment.

 


My father was a major collector of black & white photography  and other artworks.  He had an incredible eye for both the beautiful and the interesting.  He never bought a piece because of it’s dollar worth (current or potential).  He chose with his eyes and his heart.  This particular painting never increased in value.  For some reason, the artist never caught on.  But, it had a prominent spot in my Dad’s home. because it’s true value was in the eyes of the beholder.

 

 

His hospital bed was placed right next to it, and as he faded away from this world to the next, those water lilies were his window.

And, so, my lotus flower tattoo commemorates my father.  It’s a reminder to value things that I love, that make me smile, and that I hold dear.  It’s a reminder that dollars aren’t always the most important thing.
It’s a mark that will be with me forever, just like he will.
 Plus, according to my husband, it’s really sexy.
(Can you see the stretch baby love marks on my stomach? They’re well earned..)
Filed Under: Family, Humour, Life Tagged With: , , , , ,

Things My Fathers Taught Me

June 14, 2012 By

For Father’s Day, I thought I’d share Things My Fathers Taught Me.  That ‘s’ at the end of father is no typo.  Technically, I have four fathers.  Good thing I’m a Daddy’s Girl.

 

Let’s break it down.

 

Dad #1, Daddy,  the original, one and only. The FATHER.  Lost but not forgotten December 7, 2010.

Dad: #2, raised me from the age of three.  Took me shopping for my first prom dress & taught me how to drive (both dangerous activities)

Dad #3:  Practice makes perfect. The strong silent type.  Always full of warmth and a big smile.

Father-in-law:  Everyone calls him Grandpa.  Which is good, because for the first 10 years I called him ‘you’. An extraordinary man who walks his own path. Raised the hubs, one of the many things he did right.

 

left to right: daddy, Allan, Grandpa, Dad

right to left: Dad, Grandpa, Allan, Daddy

The Advice:

 

Don’t piss IT away (Daddy).  Nobody was ever  really sure what ‘it’ was, but we took ‘it’ to be anything one was lucky to have such as money, talent, brains, and the like that one should value, treasure, or tread carefully with as opposed to, I guess, pissing away.

 

It’s the people who are important (Daddy).   When I was 12, and trying desperately to hang out with my friends and be cool instead of going out with my Dad for one of our weekend visits, I zingered him with I‘m not coming.  I don’t want to go THERE. or DO THAT. Whatever he wanted to go, I’m sure my rejection hurt his feelings, as he planned all of our outings with the greatest care.  His response to me?  It’s not where you’re going, it’s who you’re with.  And you know what, he was so right.

 

You don’t have to be blood to be family (Dad).  My stepfather took my brother and I to his heart like we were his own children.  From the moment he met my mother, we were his, and he took the responsibility of raising us very seriously.  Even after he and my mother divorced, he remained (and remains) completely and totally in my life.

 

With a little bit of care, you too can look like a movie star (Allan).  My mother’s husband is so fancy and handsome sometimes people can’t believe it. He’s proof positive that if you good care of your things (including your body), it will last forever.  He’s also a walking advertisement for healthy and careful eating, as he’s kept early-stage prostate cancer at bay through diet and exercise.

 

If you’ve got confidence, you can garden in tiny Adidas shorts (Daddy).  My father possessed a pair of shorts that were last seen on that 70s show.  He wore them with a screw you and a devil may care attitude.  In fact, he treated his whole life like those shorts, and was proof positive that if you march to the beat of your own drummer, you can be successful and happy.

 

You can never love your kids too much (Grandpa). My Father-in-Law is a man who loves his family. He is there for them through thick and thin, and never hesitates to share his wisdom or all out support.  He is all father, all the time.

 

Love what you do  (Dad, Daddy).  The only person who loved being a dentist more than my stepfather was my Dad.  Both of my fathers were so passionate about their work. They showed that you can, and should, go to work happy and fulfilled every single day of your life.

 

Laughter is the best medicine (Daddy, Grandpa) These two know (knew) how to tell a dirty joke like nobody’s business. Well, not as much my father, because he would never remember the punchline to any of his jokes. Being around these two always means (meant) that you were giggling (or cringing) most of the time, all the while being winked at and elbowed with ‘did ya get it?’

 

Mostly, my fathers taught me:

Listen to your Fathers.  These four men have guided the lives of of their kids, steps and in-laws.  They have wisdom, and they’ve shared it openly, with love, and of course the occasional unwanted lecture.

 

Live like nobody is watching . My Dads have all walked their own paths and have created their own individual imprints on our world.  Each one totally unique, each one finding the joy in their lives, their kids, grandchildren, work and spouses.

 

 

Explains a lot.

 

Some John Mayer. It’s appropriate.

 

Filed Under: Family, Life, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,
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