Friday, November 18, 2016

Things I Don't Have to Worry About

I'm going to go ahead and make the bold assertion that I have a more challenging child than most people. I get pretty worn out and depressed, like today because I waited WAY too long to drink coffee. I know. Priorities, Hannah, priorities. But before I become a total downer, there are some things I'm grateful for about my child that other people probably can't say:

I don't have to worry about him getting kidnapped. This is a big one because it's something every parent has thought about. Theo still gets stranger danger and will cling to my leg whenever someone he doesn't know gets too close. This, combined with his lung capacity and his absolute refusal to sit still so we can trim his nails would ensure that even if he did somehow get taken, the kidnapper would be back in five minutes, deaf with a clawed face and a dark soul full of regret.

I don't have to worry about him surviving in the wild. Another big parental fear? I don't know, but if Theo ever gets lost in a forest, he would be found in his preferred state of nudity, squatting and digging in the mud like a feral child. If someone stumbled upon him, they would assume he was raised by animals, which he loves so he would easily make forest friends to have a cuddle puddle with for sleepy times. The dangerous animals would get screamed at and look for lunch elsewhere.

I pretty much don't have to worry about him getting lost anywhere. A few times I've lost sight of him in Whole Foods, but he's usually heading toward the toys, or I can follow the trail of stuffed pigs he's pulled out of the precariously displayed tower of stuffed animals.

I don't have to worry about him being/becoming a psychopath. Should be more of a parental fear I think. Your child could grow up to BE the kidnapper! But not mine. He has more emotions than a room full of teenage girls at a Justin Bieber show.

So there it is. My gratitude list for the day.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

I'm 1% Human and 99% Tahini

I never thought of myself as having an addictive personality but give me a jar of tahini and holy shit, I can NOT stop. I eat spoonful after spoonful until my mouth is so sticky I can barely swallow and then I take a few more bites and that's when I force myself to stop. Sometimes when I'm trying to exercise moderation I'll use a fork so that most of it falls through the holes, but then I spend twice as long trying to get enough to feel satisfied, even though I never quite reach that point, because if I did then it wouldn't be an addiction, would it?

Bryan frequently walks through the kitchen while I'm fork deep in tahini and shames me. He thinks I'm disgusting and have no self-control, which may be true. But at least I'm not the one that chose to live with me. I mean, what's worse, being disgusting or consciously choosing to live with someone that's disgusting? Think about it.

I also use opportunities such as this to remind him of incriminating things he's said or done.  Like the time before we started dating and were just friends grabbing a bite to eat. There was a movie theater across the way and he said, regarding the weird chick with missing teeth that took tickets there, "I'd kind of like to have sex with her, just to see what it would be like."

He gets embarrassed and does that thing where he pretends to wring my neck. "Why do you remember everything?!"

Yeah, I fight shame with shame. Works like a charm.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016


I know Halloween was days ago but who can keep up with writing about things at the seasonally appropriate time? I'm not a holiday person. At all. I hate Christmas, Easter makes me feel oppressed, and July 4th can fuck off. My curmudgeonliness stems from a combination of the Christian agenda revamping all the Pagan celebrations and the fact that people are complete consumerist assholes when holidays roll around. That said, on Halloween I dressed Theo up in a monkey costume that I bought because how adorable, and we went trick or treating on Alberta Street. All the businesses hand out candy and it was a mad house on the sidewalk with stroller traffic and kids on sugar highs running wild in their Mario and Luigi costumes. I can't tell if I kept running into the same kid but I seriously saw a dozen Luigis and it was kind of disorienting.

We started out on the slow end of the street and Theo toddled along next to his girlfriend, a ladybug, with his tail dragging on the ground collecting wet leaves. Then it got crowded and he demanded to be carried. I got real tired of hearing "uppy uppy uppyyyyy!!!" a while ago so I taught him to say "uppy puppy" instead and he says it so tenderly that I don't get irritated at having to constantly pick him up. I carried him for many a block while pushing the stroller and avoiding head on collisions. Eventually we stopped collecting candy and he let me bribe him into his stroller with one of those kiddie Clif bars, the healthiest thing I had. All in all, I guess he had fun, though the concept of trick or treating clearly eluded him.

I was going to use the candy we got to hand out to trick or treaters but Theo ended up taking a late nap and we turned out the lights so no one would knock and wake him up. Afterward he played with some gummy candies because they were in the shape of cats (garbage cans and cats - not the son I thought I'd have) but didn't try to eat it. I'm conflicted about future Halloweens because Bryan and I don't eat candy and I find it ironic that most of the chocolate people hand out to kids to make them happy is made by child slaves. My mother doesn't like when I get on my high horse about these things - "Can't you enjoy anything?!" No, mother, I can't when there is such injustice in the world - but it's true. Now I have a small bowl of candy sitting on the table that I don't know what to do with, a trifecta of artificial flavours, diabetes, and slavery. It probably won't expire for the next fifty years though so I guess I can save it for when my mother comes to visit.