If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

I have a lot of time to think these days, but very little to sit down and write. A newborn is all-consuming, always needing something from me. It delights me, but leaves me mentally drained.

I’ve been trying for months to write something on my battle with breastfeeding, jotting notes down in my phone as I stand off to the edge of the sidewalk, hoping the lack of motion won’t wake the baby.

Tonight, I decided, would be the night I’d finally sit down and turn my gibberish notes into something great. This would be the topic that I’d finally turn into a Facts & Arguments, a goal I’ve been secretly chasing for years, despite barely having written a thing in the last two.

First I had to read a few old essays to re-familiarize myself with the format. Then the guidelines. Then I had to read the F&A my friend Leslie wrote several years ago because I remember it being quite good. It is good, and it makes me self-conscious about what I’ve written so far.

I start to feel the doubt bubbling up inside. I look back and my notes and wonder “do I really know what I’m writing about?”

I sit for a while trying to figure out what my point is. To help, I look at Facebook. Someone has liked a particularly cute photo of my baby and it makes me feel proud – I have no control over how cute she is, but I take credit anyway.

Perhaps what I’m writing needs more research. Instead of writing it’d be best if I googled some history instead.

It’s past my bedtime now. Maybe I’ll write tomorrow.


Strange things done in the midnight sun…

Did you hear the one about the guy who walked into a bar, put $500 down, and swallowed a toe? You probably did. It was everywhere. But now you can read what I had to say about it over on ivillage.ca

ivillage.ca sourtoe cocktail

Guest Post: A little bedbug humour

Bedbugs got you down? It could be worse.  A special guest post — in cartoon form– from my friend “Diablo Loco”

Bedshark Diablo Loco

Bedshark Diablo Loco

Bedshark Diablo Loco

Supplementing Memories

Memory is a funny thing.  Things we might like to forget linger, and memories we’re desperate to recall remain stuck in unreachable places.  (I’ve blogged about my lack of mother memories before.)

In this digital world, our lives are documented.  If I die with young kids like my mum did, will my future children get to know me through blog posts and Twitter updates? (And would I want that?!)

My mum used to do a two minute column on CBC radio.  My father recorded each one from the radio onto a cassette tape.  So I’m going to share some with you so you can meet my mother in the same way I have to.

Here she is ranting about reading to kids and sucky books (keep listening to get a clip of me being super-adorable at age 2.)

Wednesday, April 6, 1988, “Learning to Read” on CBC Yukon’s Yukon Morning
Listen to Lorraine Young \"Reading to Kids\" here


Do Yoga in New Colours

Everyone does yoga (just the other day, Leslie was busy bragging about this move while I was aching).  Everyone but me. I just wear the pants. Until now.

On Monday, Ryan and I went to a class with YouDefined. Afterwards, I wrote to my friend Kelly (a super-seasoned yogateer) to tell her about my experience.  This was her reply:

Keep up the yoga – it get’s worse! 😉

It really does get better

I really like the “It Gets Better” campaign. I know that not everyone does and there may be some validity to that — after all, bandwagons are easy to jump on, and often lead to glossing over of the more complicated issues.  But I really do believe that this campaign will be helpful to kids. At least one kid.

I had a hard time as a kid. I had a hard time in high school – and I wasn’t even gay (though Lizz is awfully close to….)  There was a time when I got picked on, and a time when I probably made other kids’ lives more difficult than they needed to be.  But when I look back, all I can say is “thank God it gets better.”

So maybe it’s oversimplified. Maybe it won’t solve the bigger issues.  But sometimes all you need is a little hope and a little understanding.

Back to School

Back to school! Back to school, to prove to Dad that I’m not a fool! I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don’t get in a fight! Ohhhh, back to school!  – Billy Madison

Snow day in September

I find myself feeling nostalgic this back to school week.  It’s not because I miss school (though my continued enrollment in night classes might make you think differently), but I miss being a part of the end of summer transition.

As a child I was never excited for the “learning” part of back to school, (at least not that I would have admitted) but there’s something exciting about putting an official end to summer – in all its silliness, laziness, and un-coveredness – and starting fresh.  When else in life do we get a fresh start year after year?

With all that said, I don’t actually remember much from the first day of school.  But in typical Canadian style, I remember the weather.

By Labour Day in the Yukon it’s fall.  There’s almost always frost at night, and it has snowed on my birthday at least once.   Those chilly fall mornings turned to freezing winter mornings.  What I remember most is recess on winter days.

The really cold days were organized by colours.  “Blue days” meant we could stand inside the doors every 20 minutes and warm up.  “Red days” were brutally cold (below -30 I think), and we were mostly allowed to stay inside… as long as we walked a lap around the school first.

If you’ve spent any time in -30/40/50 degree weather you know it’s well beyond just cold.   As you breathe in, the air bites your lungs and they ache. It smells different, smells cold. All the other scents in the world have been frozen and all that remains is air.

It’s too cold for clouds on those days too.  What’s left is brilliant sun on the sparking, white snow. The only thing I miss about the North is the sun.  And on those miserable, biting, cold days, there’s sun.

Yukon River at -30 lizzbryce.com
Yukon River at -30