You will have noticed that I have temporarily changed the title of my blog. I am writing this from an apartment on Via Aurelia, close to the Vatican wall. For the next month, I will be writing from Rome.
My mother is doing research at the Vatican's Secret Archives, and she and my father have rented an apartment in Rome for one month. I was invited to come along; all I had to pay was my airline ticket. I figured, with no husband at home and having 24 hour charge of our baby, why not do in Rome what I would be doing at home? Except that in Rome, I can dine al fresco at a trattoria, see the Coliseum, climb the Spanish steps, and walk in Piazza San Pietro. In the past three days, I have already done these things, and more.
Before I go on, I would first like to apologize to those among my readers who think I may be bragging. I do not wish to brag. What I would like to do, is take you along with me.
Imagine, if you will, a busy street in Rome, lined with 18th century palaces, the façades of which have been blackened by time, dirt and diesel. Now, take a left turn on a narrow, not-so-busy, cobblestone street, which leads to the small Piazza San'Ignazio. Here it is quiet. Around you stand apartment buildings with shutters on the windows and baskets of flowers hanging on the window sills. A trattoria - pizzeria, where tables and wicker chairs are set under white parasols, quietly awaits the dinner hour. Before you rises a 17th century church, the church of San'Ignazio, imposing in its size, beggin the question of how it manages to be tucked away, seemingly hidden, in this quiet Piazza.
We enter the church and slowly make our way down the nave, admiring the detailed illusionist ceiling, which looks like a dome but was in fact painted on flat canvas. While we stand in silent contemplation, my baby, who is in her stroller playing with her feet, suddenly purses her lips together and emits a very loud fart-like "Pppprrrrrrr" sound.
"Thank you for your opinion," my mother says, and I try not to laugh.
When we once again step outside, I take another look at the buildings surrounding the piazza, at the cobblestone and the trattoria, and I feel that I am really in Rome.
That feeling would very soon fade. After a few minutes' walk, I suddenly found myself in Disneyland.
Actually, it was the Fountain de Trevi. I have read that one can hear the fountain before one sees it. All I could hear, and indeed see, were the crowds. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand, people were piled around the fountain. Wives were being photographed about to throw a coin over their left shoulder with their right hand into the fountain. Teenagers were climbing over and under railings. Romans carrying polaroids were trying to cash in on the fountain's popularity by offering, for a small price, to take tourists' picture as they tossed their coins. Big as well as skinny men dressed as Roman legionnaires charged 3 euro to take a picture with them. Vendors called on the crowd to buy their pictures, jewelry and toys.
As I stood in mute amazement, I suddenly heard three sharp whistle blows. Police men and women were standing guard around the fountain. Apparently not achieving the results they had hoped for, the continued to blow into their whistles, this time with long, drawn-out breaths, making their faces turn purple in the process. Some of the fountain's patrons had decided it would be a good idea to stand on the very slippery, marble edge, over which water tended to run, thus making it very likely that they should slip and fall, thus polluting the work of the Baroque master.
I remember the last time I saw the Fontana di Trevi. It was nearly fifteen years ago. My family and I were the only people standing before the fountain.
In spite of the amusement park crowd, I squeezed my way to the edge of the fountain and threw in my coin. Except I did it wrong and had to find another coin to throw in with my right hand over my left shoulder (and not the other way around).
We left the fountain and made our way to Piazza di Spagna, where we sat on the steps and my daughter made eyes at the two men sitting behind us. Evening was setting in, so we decided to find a place to eat. Along the busy streets leading from the Piazza are innumerable trattorias, where a waiter tries his very best to usher you under one of his parasols and onto a seat. A rotund Italian was trying his luck with me, when my mother, who was a few feet behind, called out to me. The waiter, thinking she wanted me to stop at his trattoria, called out, in imitation of my mother: "Fera!" I laughed, and he was pleased, but the reason my mother had stopped me is because she had spotted a terrace hidden in a quiet nook down a short alleyway. This was perfect. Tables with green and white checkered cloths and wicker chairs sat under a leafy canopy, from which lanterns hung.
This is one of the things I love about Rome. What I believe my daughter loves about Rome, is the endless parade of handsome waiters to flirt with. They pinch her cheeks, wink at her, talk to her in Italian, and she grins and laughs, evidently fully enjoying herself.
Friday 29 April 2011
Friday 22 April 2011
Losing the baby weight (or, Walking until the balls of my feet are touching pavement)
Losing the post-pregnancy baby weight is a challenge nearly every new mom faces. I consider myself one of the lucky moms: I only had ten pounds to lose, post pregnancy. I've heard of women who have gained forty, fifty, even sixty pounds of weight not related to actual "baby fat." They must have had a nasty surprise when stepping on the scale for the first time after coming home from the hospital.
When I took note of the weight I would have to lose, I remember thinking, "Well that's not too bad. It'll probably come off automatically, right?" I reasoned that, with my back-to-normal mobility, the weight that had piled on during pregnancy would just melt off.
I was wrong. Ten months later, I still had not lost a single pound. I knew I had to take action.
My baby is now 13 months old, and I have finally gotten my pre-baby body back. I can fit in my old jeans. I lost ten pounds in three months!
The fact is, I knew all along how to do it. But it was only in February that I decided to go ahead and actually make an effort. It worked.
I suppose some of my readers may be wondering how I did it. Let me first say, that I didn't do any Atkins, Dukan's (a new version of Atkins), South Beach, West Coast, whatever diet. I don't believe in diets, for the very practical reason that they are not sustainable. Ever.
So what, finally, is my secret to losing weight and keeping it off? Drumroll please ...
Eat well and exercise!
Allow me to elaborate:
I used to do Winsor Pilates. But this kind of exercise, as my husband kindly pointed out one day, is practically useless. Instead of working the entire body, one spends twenty minutes focusing on one muscle. And lying on the floor, hoping to get ripped abs, isn't going to burn fat; you'll just end up with hard abs hidden under a layer of flubber. And, if you're like me, you'll also end up feeling bloated. That's why I don't do a lot of abs exercises - just a few effective ones, and I always make sure to suck my belly in when I'm doing them.
My husband, who, as I have before mentioned, is in the military, explained to me that it's really quite simple: the best way to burn fat, get in shape, and most important, feel healthy, is to work on strength and cardio at the same time.
I was at Chapter's one day and I happened to notice a series of Jillian Michaels DVDs for sale. I bought one, thinking I would give it a try. It has two workout levels, 25 mins. each (which usually gives me more than enough time for a workout and shower while my baby naps), and incorporates weights into the workout.
Toward the end of the 25 mins., as I found myself doing jumping squats, feeling like my thigh muscles were going to fall off, sweating profusely, and listening to Jillian telling me I should be "gargling my heart in my throat," I knew I was getting a kick-ass workout. A few weeks later I bought other DVDs - it's important to vary your workout, to prevent your body from reaching a "plateau."
It's not easy finding the motivation to exercise. Instead of calculating how many minutes a week I "should" exercise, I ask myself, "how can I get some exercise today?" If I don't have time, I don't do it. But I always count it among my priorities. Today I spent the late morning, and most of the afternoon with my husband and daughter doing one of my favorite things: walking in downtown Montréal. By the end of the day, I felt like the balls of my feet had dug holes into the bottom of my shoes and were touching pavement. The muscle just above the back of the knee on my left leg felt just plain funky. My toes hurt. And when I got home, I noticed I had gotten a sunburn all over my face. In April. But I felt great! And isn't that what matters? Plus, I never for even one half-a-second felt guilty about the chocolate gelato I had had on rue Mont-Royal. I earned it!
I will finish by pointing out something I realized not too long ago: eating well and exercising shouldn't have an end-goal. In fact, one should never stop doing it. It's a lifestyle. I don't do it just to lose weight. I do it to feel good in my body. And if I do it for that reason, weight loss will naturally follow.
When I took note of the weight I would have to lose, I remember thinking, "Well that's not too bad. It'll probably come off automatically, right?" I reasoned that, with my back-to-normal mobility, the weight that had piled on during pregnancy would just melt off.
I was wrong. Ten months later, I still had not lost a single pound. I knew I had to take action.
My baby is now 13 months old, and I have finally gotten my pre-baby body back. I can fit in my old jeans. I lost ten pounds in three months!
The fact is, I knew all along how to do it. But it was only in February that I decided to go ahead and actually make an effort. It worked.
I suppose some of my readers may be wondering how I did it. Let me first say, that I didn't do any Atkins, Dukan's (a new version of Atkins), South Beach, West Coast, whatever diet. I don't believe in diets, for the very practical reason that they are not sustainable. Ever.
So what, finally, is my secret to losing weight and keeping it off? Drumroll please ...
Eat well and exercise!
Allow me to elaborate:
- Eating well means eating food that is good for you. Whole grain cereal? Good for you. Pop Tart? Not good.
- When I go grocery shopping, the only things I buy that are not part of the perimeter foods (fruits & veggies, bread, milk, eggs, yogurt, etc.) are whole grain cereal, high-fibre granola bars, low-fat pudding (a relatively rare treat), pasta, and spices.
- I listen to my body. I only eat when I'm hungry. When I feel full, I stop. Except in the case of soup for dinner, I never take seconds. The proof that this worked? I managed to shrink my stomach; I'm not as hungry now as I used to be.
- After unsuccessful attempts at trying to stop evening snacking altogether, I compromised: I only allow myself to eat fruit, yogurt, or a low-fat pudding after dinner.
- I eat fruit, yogurt, or a high-fibre granola bar if I'm hungry between meals. Incidentally, I don't force-feed myself raw brocoli for a snack. Gross. Those of you who enjoy it, you just go right ahead and indulge.
- I drink water whenever I'm thirsty. I only have one small glass of juice at breakfast, and a glass of skim milk for dinner.
- I cook at home nearly all the time.
- I read the labels to see what's in the food - instead of focusing on what the food does not contain. When I buy bread or cereal, I look at the ingredients and choose something that begins with whole grains or wheat.
- I never deny myself treats (surprise!) - within reason. Obviously I'm not going to scarf a chocolate cake every night. Fast food is a rare treat. Once every few months is ok. Once a week would make me gain weight. When I have guests, I prepare a dessert that is either healthy (ex: fruit salad), or that doesn't leave leftovers. Think chocolate mousse - it's relatively easy to adjust the recipe for the number of guests. When I am invited over to someone's house for dinner, I am not one of those women who beg for just a tiny sliver of cake. I'll take a regular piece, thank you. And make up for it the next day.
- I love chocolate. I don't believe in denying myself chocolate. I do, however, believe in real chocolate. A kit-kat bar is not chocolate. I allow myself one square of at least 70% chocolate or one low-fat chocolate pudding a day. I once bought myself a Lindt dark chocolate bar that lasted two weeks. And I wasn't the only one eating it.
I used to do Winsor Pilates. But this kind of exercise, as my husband kindly pointed out one day, is practically useless. Instead of working the entire body, one spends twenty minutes focusing on one muscle. And lying on the floor, hoping to get ripped abs, isn't going to burn fat; you'll just end up with hard abs hidden under a layer of flubber. And, if you're like me, you'll also end up feeling bloated. That's why I don't do a lot of abs exercises - just a few effective ones, and I always make sure to suck my belly in when I'm doing them.
My husband, who, as I have before mentioned, is in the military, explained to me that it's really quite simple: the best way to burn fat, get in shape, and most important, feel healthy, is to work on strength and cardio at the same time.
I was at Chapter's one day and I happened to notice a series of Jillian Michaels DVDs for sale. I bought one, thinking I would give it a try. It has two workout levels, 25 mins. each (which usually gives me more than enough time for a workout and shower while my baby naps), and incorporates weights into the workout.
Toward the end of the 25 mins., as I found myself doing jumping squats, feeling like my thigh muscles were going to fall off, sweating profusely, and listening to Jillian telling me I should be "gargling my heart in my throat," I knew I was getting a kick-ass workout. A few weeks later I bought other DVDs - it's important to vary your workout, to prevent your body from reaching a "plateau."
It's not easy finding the motivation to exercise. Instead of calculating how many minutes a week I "should" exercise, I ask myself, "how can I get some exercise today?" If I don't have time, I don't do it. But I always count it among my priorities. Today I spent the late morning, and most of the afternoon with my husband and daughter doing one of my favorite things: walking in downtown Montréal. By the end of the day, I felt like the balls of my feet had dug holes into the bottom of my shoes and were touching pavement. The muscle just above the back of the knee on my left leg felt just plain funky. My toes hurt. And when I got home, I noticed I had gotten a sunburn all over my face. In April. But I felt great! And isn't that what matters? Plus, I never for even one half-a-second felt guilty about the chocolate gelato I had had on rue Mont-Royal. I earned it!
I will finish by pointing out something I realized not too long ago: eating well and exercising shouldn't have an end-goal. In fact, one should never stop doing it. It's a lifestyle. I don't do it just to lose weight. I do it to feel good in my body. And if I do it for that reason, weight loss will naturally follow.
Monday 18 April 2011
Happy baby
My daughter has been very happy (and a bit hyper) lately. No surprises there, for her father is home this week. I also wonder, however, if her grandfather hasn't been secretly giving her a dose of his potent, turkish-style coffee in her sippy cup.
Actually, she's been just a bit more "awake" than usual for the past week. We've only spent the last two days with her grandparents. She's so excited to be here, she lets out these high-pitched sqeaks while rocking her upper body in fast and seemingly uncontrolled motions. I guess she's just a happy baby. And well she should be, for her grandfather spends most of his time carrying her around and playing with her. When he's in the house, she wants nothing to do with her mom, dad, and grandma. But that's ok, because we know she loves us just the same.
Here's a precious parenting moment: the other day, I picked my daughter up at my neighbor's house just before lunch; when she saw me, she said "Maamm!", and proceeded to pump her little fists in the air with so much vehemence she nearly struck herself in the face. It gives a mother such a wonderful feeling, when her baby is so excited to see her she nearly punches herself.
When my daughter gets really excited, she does the strangest things. One of the funniest is her head-banging move. I pick her up, and sometimes this will make her so happy she will rock her head forward and back in a very fast, brisk motion, just like some long-haired 80's rocker. I always have to move my head a bit to the side to make sure our faces don't get into what would be a very painful collision. Another thing she does is her "Ray Charles"; that's when she'll rock her body from side to side while looking up at the ceiling. I ought to put some sunglasses on her face when she does this and take a video.
She also loves to be applauded. Whenever she does something new, we let out a cheer and clap our hands. This makes her so happy, she bounces on her tush while clapping her hands, as though to say: "Look! Aren't I fabulous?" Of course, sometimes she gets carried away, and as one hand misses the other, she comes dangerously close to slapping herself in the face (just like with the fist-pumping thing).
My daughter is a happy baby. And with so many people around her who love her, why wouldn't she be?
Actually, she's been just a bit more "awake" than usual for the past week. We've only spent the last two days with her grandparents. She's so excited to be here, she lets out these high-pitched sqeaks while rocking her upper body in fast and seemingly uncontrolled motions. I guess she's just a happy baby. And well she should be, for her grandfather spends most of his time carrying her around and playing with her. When he's in the house, she wants nothing to do with her mom, dad, and grandma. But that's ok, because we know she loves us just the same.
Here's a precious parenting moment: the other day, I picked my daughter up at my neighbor's house just before lunch; when she saw me, she said "Maamm!", and proceeded to pump her little fists in the air with so much vehemence she nearly struck herself in the face. It gives a mother such a wonderful feeling, when her baby is so excited to see her she nearly punches herself.
When my daughter gets really excited, she does the strangest things. One of the funniest is her head-banging move. I pick her up, and sometimes this will make her so happy she will rock her head forward and back in a very fast, brisk motion, just like some long-haired 80's rocker. I always have to move my head a bit to the side to make sure our faces don't get into what would be a very painful collision. Another thing she does is her "Ray Charles"; that's when she'll rock her body from side to side while looking up at the ceiling. I ought to put some sunglasses on her face when she does this and take a video.
She also loves to be applauded. Whenever she does something new, we let out a cheer and clap our hands. This makes her so happy, she bounces on her tush while clapping her hands, as though to say: "Look! Aren't I fabulous?" Of course, sometimes she gets carried away, and as one hand misses the other, she comes dangerously close to slapping herself in the face (just like with the fist-pumping thing).
My daughter is a happy baby. And with so many people around her who love her, why wouldn't she be?
Sunday 10 April 2011
I Once Had a Dog Named Jip ...
I once had a dog named Jip. Now, it appears, her name is "Chanel." That's what her new owners named her. Oh well. She belongs to them now. But to me she will always be Jip.
I have had Jip for eight years. I adopted her as a pup when I was living and working in China. I guess that very fact should have rung some alarm bells: People who like to travel might want to think twice before getting a dog. Still, I wanted a little Chinese dog, and I got one. For the next eight years we were firm friends. I brought her back to Canada, we lived with my parents for a while, I took her to live with me in an apartment while I worked on my B.Ed., and finally we landed in a suburb outside Montreal, where she learned that a dog will inevitably fall into the background in any family scene where there is a baby.
I suppose it was time for her to begin her retirement. I had been thinking about it for a long time and finally came to a decision.
I found the perfect home for her. A wonderful couple living in a small house in the country. The lady is retired, and both are exceedingly fond of dogs. Jip didn't even seem to mind my leaving her with them. Not even so much as a whimper escaped her as I bent to give her one last kiss on the nose. She seemed content.
Jip was a handfull. It took me a year to train her and even after all that hard work she would occasionally rebel. But I loved her and she proved to be a faithful companion. She also provided me with a lot of laughs. I will therefore share some of the most amusing "Jip stories" I have kept stored in my memory:
In the neighborhood where I now live also lives a tiny black dog named Snoopy. A very ill-behaved dog, as it turns out. One day as I was walking Jip in the park I noticed Snoopy playing with his owners. He wasn't on a leash, which is strictly against the rules. Jip found a shaded spot beneath a tree to do her business. As I waited and Jip squatted, I suddenly heard a man yell: "Snoopy! Snoopy! Here!" Oh no, I thought to myself. I knew what was coming. I had barely time to turn around when out of nowhere came Snoopy, teeth bared and snarling. Jip looked up in time to see Snoopy jump on her back just as she was mid-shit. As I made up my mind not to get involved and just let those two work things out on their own, Snoopy's owner came over, at a very slow pace, to retrieve his dog. "Sorry," he grinned. Sure. How would he like to have someone jump on him while he's sitting on the toilet? The man grabbed Snoopy and tore him off Jip, who by then was livid. I led her away; she no longer seemed interested in finishing her business.
From the first time my husband and I gave our newborn baby her bath, Jip was in the washroom with us. The second or third time, she got a special treat. As I held my baby over the tub while her daddy washed her hair, she suddenly decided to pee all over my hand. It trickled down my arm, onto the counter and down to the floor. Jip immediately pounced on it and drank - as I mopped my hand and cringed.
Only a few weeks after I adopted Jip I changed jobs; I was offered a teaching position at the Taizhou TV college in Jiao Jiang. Soon after we got settled in our new apartment at the teachers' residence, one of my colleagues invited me to her apartment for some tea. She seemed a little shy and embarrassed to be speaking with a foreigner - there were only about six of us in Jiao Jiang at the time, including two young children. I tried to show her that there was nothing scary about me, and eventually she seemed to feel more at ease. It was at this very point that Jip, who I had brought along with me, ran out of my colleagues bathroom, proudly brandishing a very dirty maxi-pad in her mouth that she had obviously just pulled out of the waste-basket. My colleague turned red with mortification and bolted after my dog, trying to grab the pad from her. But Jip was too quick, and I practically had to tackle her before we could relieve her of her treasure. "Bad Jip!" I scolded. My colleague never again invited me over for tea.
The first time I spent the night at my husband's house (he was then my boyfriend), I brought Jip along, as I could not leave her alone at my apartment. The next morning, as we were just waking up, Jip jumped on the bed and proceeded to make the most disgusting hacking and gagging noises. As she let out the last gag, followed by a magnificent cough, my husband said: "yaaah ... you're dog's sexy." He had no idea then that dogs in many ways resemble their owners ...
I will miss you, Jip!
I have had Jip for eight years. I adopted her as a pup when I was living and working in China. I guess that very fact should have rung some alarm bells: People who like to travel might want to think twice before getting a dog. Still, I wanted a little Chinese dog, and I got one. For the next eight years we were firm friends. I brought her back to Canada, we lived with my parents for a while, I took her to live with me in an apartment while I worked on my B.Ed., and finally we landed in a suburb outside Montreal, where she learned that a dog will inevitably fall into the background in any family scene where there is a baby.
I suppose it was time for her to begin her retirement. I had been thinking about it for a long time and finally came to a decision.
I found the perfect home for her. A wonderful couple living in a small house in the country. The lady is retired, and both are exceedingly fond of dogs. Jip didn't even seem to mind my leaving her with them. Not even so much as a whimper escaped her as I bent to give her one last kiss on the nose. She seemed content.
Jip was a handfull. It took me a year to train her and even after all that hard work she would occasionally rebel. But I loved her and she proved to be a faithful companion. She also provided me with a lot of laughs. I will therefore share some of the most amusing "Jip stories" I have kept stored in my memory:
In the neighborhood where I now live also lives a tiny black dog named Snoopy. A very ill-behaved dog, as it turns out. One day as I was walking Jip in the park I noticed Snoopy playing with his owners. He wasn't on a leash, which is strictly against the rules. Jip found a shaded spot beneath a tree to do her business. As I waited and Jip squatted, I suddenly heard a man yell: "Snoopy! Snoopy! Here!" Oh no, I thought to myself. I knew what was coming. I had barely time to turn around when out of nowhere came Snoopy, teeth bared and snarling. Jip looked up in time to see Snoopy jump on her back just as she was mid-shit. As I made up my mind not to get involved and just let those two work things out on their own, Snoopy's owner came over, at a very slow pace, to retrieve his dog. "Sorry," he grinned. Sure. How would he like to have someone jump on him while he's sitting on the toilet? The man grabbed Snoopy and tore him off Jip, who by then was livid. I led her away; she no longer seemed interested in finishing her business.
From the first time my husband and I gave our newborn baby her bath, Jip was in the washroom with us. The second or third time, she got a special treat. As I held my baby over the tub while her daddy washed her hair, she suddenly decided to pee all over my hand. It trickled down my arm, onto the counter and down to the floor. Jip immediately pounced on it and drank - as I mopped my hand and cringed.
Only a few weeks after I adopted Jip I changed jobs; I was offered a teaching position at the Taizhou TV college in Jiao Jiang. Soon after we got settled in our new apartment at the teachers' residence, one of my colleagues invited me to her apartment for some tea. She seemed a little shy and embarrassed to be speaking with a foreigner - there were only about six of us in Jiao Jiang at the time, including two young children. I tried to show her that there was nothing scary about me, and eventually she seemed to feel more at ease. It was at this very point that Jip, who I had brought along with me, ran out of my colleagues bathroom, proudly brandishing a very dirty maxi-pad in her mouth that she had obviously just pulled out of the waste-basket. My colleague turned red with mortification and bolted after my dog, trying to grab the pad from her. But Jip was too quick, and I practically had to tackle her before we could relieve her of her treasure. "Bad Jip!" I scolded. My colleague never again invited me over for tea.
The first time I spent the night at my husband's house (he was then my boyfriend), I brought Jip along, as I could not leave her alone at my apartment. The next morning, as we were just waking up, Jip jumped on the bed and proceeded to make the most disgusting hacking and gagging noises. As she let out the last gag, followed by a magnificent cough, my husband said: "yaaah ... you're dog's sexy." He had no idea then that dogs in many ways resemble their owners ...
I will miss you, Jip!
Tuesday 5 April 2011
A Tribute to Exes
First, I would like to apologize: for those of you who are expecting a post filled with funny baby stories, you will be disappointed. Today's post has nothing to do with being an "at home mom." Tonight I felt like going back a few years, to my pre-marriage and motherhood state. To a time when I was a girl in her twenties who would go from one bad relationship to the next, firmly believing she would never find the right person.
Funny how he just comes along, one day, and everything changes.
I was getting my hair done tonight, and my hairdresser and I somehow got on the subject of ex-boyfriends. We went over a good part of our respective collections, and worked through a long list of men we'd dated, had a relationship with, or briefly met - and laughed heartily at them all. It was amazing to me how two women who don't even know each-other can find so much to talk and laugh about where men are concerned.
Before I go on, I would just like to say to all single women: He's out there.
I know, I didn't believe in that line myself, until I met him. I was sceptical. And well I might be, after the dozen or so men who had plagued my life.
I do not mean to rant. Far from it. My aim in writing this blog is to make people laugh. So here is a short list of amuzing, hilarious or sometimes incredible things I remember about my exes (or guys with whom I've been on very short dates). All I can say is: thank god that part of my life is over with!
I hope, after having read all this, people out there won't think me cold. I really am not. I just like to look at the humourous side of life. With all the crappy dates and relationships we women have to go through, is there any other way to look at it?
Funny how he just comes along, one day, and everything changes.
I was getting my hair done tonight, and my hairdresser and I somehow got on the subject of ex-boyfriends. We went over a good part of our respective collections, and worked through a long list of men we'd dated, had a relationship with, or briefly met - and laughed heartily at them all. It was amazing to me how two women who don't even know each-other can find so much to talk and laugh about where men are concerned.
Before I go on, I would just like to say to all single women: He's out there.
I know, I didn't believe in that line myself, until I met him. I was sceptical. And well I might be, after the dozen or so men who had plagued my life.
I do not mean to rant. Far from it. My aim in writing this blog is to make people laugh. So here is a short list of amuzing, hilarious or sometimes incredible things I remember about my exes (or guys with whom I've been on very short dates). All I can say is: thank god that part of my life is over with!
- In my late teens I dated this guy who was very sweet. Somehow they always are in the beginning. His issue was that he was clingy. And needy. And sometimes jealous. Not jealous of other men - jealous of things that would take my attention away from him. I realized this had become an issue when he threw a water bottle (followed by a tantrum) at the TV as I was watching a Simpsons episode at his house. I guess he wanted my attention.
- My first boyfriend's nickname was Fuji. After some wrestler. Enough said.
- I once met a guy through the internet who turned out to be much older than his picture had suggested. As he approached my table at Starbucks where I was waiting for what I expected would be a tolerably cute guy, I thought: "It's not possible." But I was trapped. There was no running away. So I sat through coffee with him, pretending to be interested in what he was saying, all the while forming a plan in my head that would consist of going to the bathroom, staying there a few minutes, wetting my face just enough to make me look ill, and fake a sudden bout of nausea. I never did do this, but I was seriously considering it.
- I met a guy with whom I went on three dates. After that it became absolutely necessary for me to stop seeing him. Especially as, with a strict adherence to the third date rule, he tried to kiss me. Why did I have to put a stop to it, you may ask? He was perfectly amiable, and we got along superbly from the very start. There was only one slight problem: he bore an uncanny resemblance to my brother. So you see, it was impossible for me to keep seeing him. I mean, from the back, he looked exactly like my brother! Now, that's just disturbing.
- My first proposal was from a guy who decided to buy me a ring instead of paying me back the money he owed me for putting him in the hospital. Ok, I'll explain. I didn't actually put him in the hospital. He had an ulcer, we were in China, and he needed some money to get treatment at the hospital for one week. Being a poor art teacher, he couldn't afford it. So I advanced him the 1,500 yuan. Months later, instead of getting my money back, I get a ring. We had talked about marriage, but I had decided I had had enough of China, and wanted to go home. He still insisted on proposing, and I was forced to turn him down, the poor man. It really was sad. But he insisted I keep the ring. I still have it. I'm also short of 1,500 yuan.
I hope, after having read all this, people out there won't think me cold. I really am not. I just like to look at the humourous side of life. With all the crappy dates and relationships we women have to go through, is there any other way to look at it?
Friday 1 April 2011
Strange reasons why babies cry
Explain to me again: why is she crying?
Newborns cry because they're hungry. Later, babies cry because they're tired or cranky. Crying becomes more and more emotional. But by the time they're a year old, babies can sometimes cry for reasons that just seem weird.
Ok. This first example is a complete mystery to me. I cannot explain it. Then again, I wasn't in the room when it happened.
I am spending two weeks in my hometown. My best friend has come over for a visit. She and my mom are playing with my baby while I am upstairs with my dad, printing something from the computer. Suddenly I hear crying. Shrieking, my-heart's-going-to-break crying. My mother and my friend are making soothing noises, trying to calm my daughter. Then they start laughing.
"What's up?" I ask as I make my way downstairs.
"She was standing, then fell on her bum," my friend explains. "Then your mom picked her up and held her for a minute. She stopped crying ..."
"And then," my mom continued, "we both started talking to her, and she seemed fine, until I told her that they both had the same name" (I gave my friend's name to my daughter for her middle name).
"Then she looked at me," my friend said, "and just started crying! As though she didn't like the idea of having the same name as me. So we both just started laughing."
See? Just plain weird.
The second incident happened yesterday, when my aunt came over for supper. We were all in the living room, and she was playing with my daughter, doing her very best to entertain her. My baby seemed to like my aunt very much, and it was obvious she found her amusing.
My aunt then sat on the sofa, and began playing "horsey" with my daughter's stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear. This is a game my daughter loves - she always laughs when I sit her on my knee and do a soft galloping motion. My aunt wanted to show her that Winnie could gallop too.
Only at one point, she made Winnie gallop very fast, until the bear was thoroughly shaken. We all thought this was cute and funny, and started to laugh. My daughter, who had been watching my aunt through the whole performance, suddenly began crying. The cries quickly turned to shrieks. She was obviously terrified. I suppose it must have been traumatizing, watching her bear's head hit its feet like that. I picked her up and held her, soothing her as best I could while at the same time attempting to stiffle my giggles. After she stopped crying, she turned her head and stared hard at my aunt, her brow set in a determined frown, and her eyes clearly saying: "You're not coming anywhere near me! And you're never touching my bear again either!"
Newborns cry because they're hungry. Later, babies cry because they're tired or cranky. Crying becomes more and more emotional. But by the time they're a year old, babies can sometimes cry for reasons that just seem weird.
Ok. This first example is a complete mystery to me. I cannot explain it. Then again, I wasn't in the room when it happened.
I am spending two weeks in my hometown. My best friend has come over for a visit. She and my mom are playing with my baby while I am upstairs with my dad, printing something from the computer. Suddenly I hear crying. Shrieking, my-heart's-going-to-break crying. My mother and my friend are making soothing noises, trying to calm my daughter. Then they start laughing.
"What's up?" I ask as I make my way downstairs.
"She was standing, then fell on her bum," my friend explains. "Then your mom picked her up and held her for a minute. She stopped crying ..."
"And then," my mom continued, "we both started talking to her, and she seemed fine, until I told her that they both had the same name" (I gave my friend's name to my daughter for her middle name).
"Then she looked at me," my friend said, "and just started crying! As though she didn't like the idea of having the same name as me. So we both just started laughing."
See? Just plain weird.
The second incident happened yesterday, when my aunt came over for supper. We were all in the living room, and she was playing with my daughter, doing her very best to entertain her. My baby seemed to like my aunt very much, and it was obvious she found her amusing.
My aunt then sat on the sofa, and began playing "horsey" with my daughter's stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear. This is a game my daughter loves - she always laughs when I sit her on my knee and do a soft galloping motion. My aunt wanted to show her that Winnie could gallop too.
Only at one point, she made Winnie gallop very fast, until the bear was thoroughly shaken. We all thought this was cute and funny, and started to laugh. My daughter, who had been watching my aunt through the whole performance, suddenly began crying. The cries quickly turned to shrieks. She was obviously terrified. I suppose it must have been traumatizing, watching her bear's head hit its feet like that. I picked her up and held her, soothing her as best I could while at the same time attempting to stiffle my giggles. After she stopped crying, she turned her head and stared hard at my aunt, her brow set in a determined frown, and her eyes clearly saying: "You're not coming anywhere near me! And you're never touching my bear again either!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)