Just a Peek

The night before Christmas, it had started to snow,

Mom said it was time,

To my bed I should go.

With a kiss and a hug, I was tucked in all snug,

Yet I had a plan,

I admit; I was smug.

They thought I would snooze, that I wasn’t a snitch.

I lay there in bed

And started to twitch.

I heard all the stories; rumours I would snatch,

His was the legend,

No one could match.

I had to know more, all I caught was a snippet,

I asked for the truth,

They told me to zip it!

I weighed all my options, this could be a snafu,

Nevertheless,

What would you do?

With slippers on in a snap, I started to sneak.

I said to myself,

It’s just a peek.

I could hear my dad snore as I watched for a snare;

This could be a trap,

Proceed if you dare.

With a snicker I thought, I would witness a snit;

If they knew I was up,

They would really lose it.

A creak on the stairs, I stopped with a sniff,

Then snaked down the rest,

To the hall, in a jiff.

Detour to the kitchen, a bribe? No, a snack,

Don’t worry big guy,

I’ve got your back.

I crept on all fours, followed by my dog’s big wet snout,

But I was getting close,

I had to find out.

So I held back a giggle, this was simply a snag;

I was on the right track,

I saw the red bag.

He’s snazzy, I snorted through my one snaggletooth;

I thought that he saw me,

To tell you the truth.

Then tapping a finger on the side of his schnoz,

He was gone in a flash,

Good old Santa Claus.

Under the tree my new snorkel, yes it pays off to snoop,

I could rest with the knowledge,

I was now in the loop.

My eyelids grew heavy, I moved like a snail,

Off to dreamland I drifted,

The end of my tale.

©2009 by Julie Ann Poirier

Acts of Kindness

I often wonder how our goat is doing, and more importantly, how the family that heifer.org picked to give it to is doing.

Six years ago, my kids opened a beautiful card provided by the non-profit organization that announced their Christmas gift from me that year was a goat that would be given to a needy family in a developing country. It was somewhat anti-climatic given the array of electronic gadgets, chocolates, and power tools that littered the floor around the illuminated fraser fir that morning but I’d like to think that someday the memory will resonate in their minds when they consider how fortunate our family is.

At the time, it took some research to determine which charity tried to do the most with its donations but since then, MoneySense magazine began publishing an annual report that grades charitable organizations in Canada based on various criteria, and although no charity is perfect, some high-profile organizations didn’t fare well (see charitynavigator.org for American charities). Knowing where your fundraising dollars are going is just as important as knowing where your other purchasing dollars are going and some charities need to be held more accountable for the administrative or advertising costs spent on paying CEOs, airing commercials, and running lotteries rather than spending that money on the cause. I am suspicious of corporations trying to embed themselves in our “helping” culture: breast cancer pink symbols on every product imaginable or spending more money telling us how generous they are than the actual amount of the donation. I would also encourage primary schools to consider supporting a wider variety of charities instead of same ones every year, possibly something related directly to children their own age. Since I cannot control where my donation dollar goes, I would rather volunteer my time, or give our winter coats, or fundraise for events which are local. Again, this falls under my parenting philosophy: be well-informed in order to make better decisions; don’t let someone else shape your opinions, get involved and learn the facts. Okay, so I’m not the fun parent in this family.

I do gripe about how I managed to raise two ungrateful children but in reality, I think some messages have sunk in. Let me take a moment to say that I’m a proud parent of kids who are peer mediators, who attend leadership conferences, who receive school board awards for participating in the Gay-Straight Alliance to prevent bullying, who volunteer for VIP programs for drug awareness and reading programs at the library, and who take part in their school Me to We and Students Making a Change clubs which participate in good works such as Halloween for Hunger, flash mobs to collect canned food, bake sales to fundraise for mosquito nets, and the annual Me to We day to raise awareness for Free the Children while becoming better citizens both locally and globally.

The world has its problems, and the thought of how much help is needed can be overwhelming but I hope the lesson learned for my kids is how small acts of kindness add up to make a big difference, not just at Christmas but throughout the year.

What Goes In

I couldn’t imagine killing a wild boar in order to feed myself but ever since reading Michael Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma a few years ago, I've seen this form of hunting in a different light. This month’s Utne Reader excerpted an article from the newsletter Counterpunch which asked progressives in the U.S. to consider the fact that some rural people fear gun restrictions because they need to hunt for food to feed their families in lean months. And I recognize that as a meat and fish eater, an animal had to die for me but being so far removed from that process of the food chain, this point is easy to overlook.
I’ve thought about all food sources differently since reading Michael Pollan’s books, Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and Paul Roberts’ The End of Food, among others. However, fresh baked bread was always calling my name so I figured, even with this newly acquired knowledge of how food gets to my plate, as long as I was consciously choosing ingredients, I could sustain myself without feeling too guilty, or nauseous.

I was all over transfat-free foods long ago and, much to the chagrin of some un-named members of my family who didn’t understand why I chose to interfere with their enjoyment of processed cheese or artificial flavour, I have always restricted certain foods from our household. I’ve made the effort to source local meat, eggs, and greens that are organic or naturally-grown, eat in-season while shopping at farmers’ markets, and support manufacturers of organic and natural products at the store. I buy organic fair-trade coffee beans, refuse to buy garlic grown in China, and try to grow vegetables in pots on my deck in the part shade (to no avail). My next goal is to join a farm co-op where they deliver various vegetables to your door, and maybe then I’ll finally figure out what Swiss chard is.

The biggest change in the kinds of food I was eating happened more recently because I was fed up with a digestive system that was ruling my life and finally found out what was causing all the problems. After months of research, I came across the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, which, in simple terms, explains how certain foods are harder to digest so once I eliminated those foods, I felt more like myself again. Unfortunately, the so-called illegal list consists of my four favourite food groups—pasta, bread, pizza, and chocolate. To be more specific, if I want to feel well, I can’t have any grains, lactose, sugar, or starch.

In order to broaden my meal choices, I’ve had to adapt recipes, make my own yogurt, mayonnaise, sauces, dressings, and bake using walnut flour and almond flour (an expensive commodity, and if I were a betting person, I suspect more people will eat this way in the future so we should all invest in the lucrative almond market right now). What I can eat are fruits and vegetables (except potatoes, sweet potatoes, and corn), seeds and nuts, including peanut butter, lactose-free cheeses and dairy, butter, certain beans, unprocessed meats, eggs, fish, coffee, very dry red wine, and, although no pigs will be harmed by my own hand, a few pieces of crisp, naturally seasoned bacon are permitted. The only sweetener on the allowable list is honey and I keep a jug of it big enough to feed an army; that’s when my family knew I was going whole-hog with this lifestyle change.

After a time, you can slowly introduce more things back into your diet and see if your body chemistry has adjusted itself enough to digest these foods again without unpleasant symptoms. That’s the stage I’m at now and knowing how to help myself means I feel I have control over my well-being again. I would recommend this diet change to anyone experiencing digestive upset, insulin-resistance, or general lethargy because it's the foods in our typical North American diet that may be part of the problem.

We often take food for granted, especially because hunger is a strong instinct, but food has a chemical make-up and its sources have an impact on people and our environment therefore I want to stay aware of what goes in and where it comes from.

Smart Cookies

Have you ever put your shoes on the wrong feet by accident? It takes less than a second for your brain to register a malfunction and alert you to the fact that you’re not paying attention. Your brain is like a computer program that uses cookies to collect information unbeknownst to you. This subconscious data-gathering usually isn’t noticed until something goes awry, such as when you get a cavity filled at the dentist; your tongue has a map of your mouth and when this anomaly shows up, it grabs your attention for a couple days until this new bump assimilates in your brain. Speaking of getting used to new bumps, we’ve finally said goodbye to the original blue bathroom fixtures in our guest bath but I must say, they knew how to design a comfortable toilet seat back in 1960. Our new toilet lid will softly close by itself and you don’t need to workout in order lift it like our hefty blue one but getting used to the feel of the new seat will take some time, and a few new brain cookies.

I also find it interesting how vivid a first impression can be when you’re in a new space or driving through an unfamiliar town, until you spend enough time there and these images become glossed over. Even things which were once annoying or ugly will blend into their surroundings after time and are no longer noticeable. Your mind is still processing these feelings but you have become unaware of it. For instance, I’ve recently spent hours stripping the paint off our hallway door trims. As the old layers were scraped off to reveal the grains of old-growth maple, a weight was lifted off my mind as the visible reminder of previous owners disappeared. It was hard work but I am rewarded on a constant basis because I pass through this section of the house countless times in a day and not only do I feel better about correcting this erroneous decorating decision but there are no lingering negative thoughts toward past occupants of my home (or maybe just less negative thoughts until that purple carpeting is removed from our bedroom, and their bad tile job is replaced in the foyer, and well, we have a ways to go, but we’ll get there, eventually).

One thing my brain loves is to see everything looking neat and tidy in its place and I feel a strong compulsion to correct anything out of order. Also, I often get mixed up when I go to get something where it’s always been even though I know it is somewhere else because I just moved it. And more than once a day, I will walk into a room and completely forget what I was there for and have to backtrack my steps until I figure out what prompted me into action. Apparently my cookies aren’t what they used to be, although, I’ve never had a good short term memory. I think it’s because my brain is too full of important facts to worry about retaining information used only for mundane daily activities. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I don't worry that I’m not hardwired to remember everything. And I don’t know about you but I’m grateful I can’t recall every sad story or disturbing picture I’ve ever seen and I can honestly say that I forgive and forget because I really don’t remember what happened or what was said. My husband, on the other hand, remembers everything (except what I told him five minutes ago) and doesn’t hesitate to remind me about something foolish I mentioned at one time or another in our twenty years together, long since forgotten, that he will pull out of his bag of tricks in order to push my buttons. As a result of his overconfidence in the memory department, he’s the type of person who sees a product manual as an affront to his masculinity. He gets it set in his mind that he knows exactly how to assemble something and lets himself get to an exasperating level of frustration before the job is done. That’s when I pull out the crisp set of directions still neatly folded in the box and casually point out that he missed Step 4. I’m okay with not understanding how to do everything, that’s what instructions are for, and my brain is full.

Taking Stock

I have been reading books about food security, or preparing for a crisis in order to ride out an unforeseen predicament such as severe weather, natural disasters, power outages, and the like. The government has sent out brochures with a list of things to do in case of emergency, directing me to websites I can visit for more information in case I don’t understand the imminent danger I may be in if I don’t have enough canned food and medical supplies on hand. I have tried to heed these instructions but have only prepared half-heartedly. I admire those people living off the grid who will still be able to make toast and watch movies as if nothing has changed, and I will envy those who shop at warehouse stores with their 24-pack of spaghetti sauce and six-month supply of toilet paper. Who will be laughing then? I am much too reliant on a business-as-usual atmosphere that has numbed me into thinking only too little about how I would get along without easy access to utilities and groceries. Right now, a world wide web of information is at my fingertips, light is at a flick of a switch, cool air washes over me in summer while warm air surrounds me when snowflakes are falling outside. Stores are open every day, I can walk or bike easily within my little town, and for the most part, I’m not worried about my personal safety. I may not be living my best life but all signs point to an easy one.

We cleared out a large walk-in closet near the kitchen to use as a pantry and my intention is to store the items we’ll need to sustain ourselves if the time comes. I have an inkling that not many of us are prepared for even a 24-hour crisis by the heavy crowds at the grocery store the day before it closes for a statutory holiday. When non-perishables are on sale, I try to stock up, then use the FIFO method to make sure I don’t poison my family with the bacteria build-up from a long-ago expiry date. Although, I usually don’t have to worry about which foods have been there the longest because we tend to finish off any food in the house long before First In, First Out would take effect.

On my list of things to get are: food-grade pails for bulk storage, a surplus car battery, and a first-aid kit. I imagine water will be our utmost concern. They recommend filling up your tub as soon as an emergency strikes although I’m not sure how desperate I’d have to be to drink from it. We do keep a case of water bottles handy but since they expire after several months, we have to use them up in the privacy of our home so as not to seem environmentally insensitive. 

A loss of electricity would become uncomfortable to say the least. A power loss in winter would make for chilly nights, unless you know someone with a gas fireplace who wouldn’t mind sharing sleeping space with you. Note to self: get a gas fireplace. And did you know your toilets need electricity to operate? After a while, the local water pumping station will lose pressure and you will be unable to flush unless you want to use your precious supply of water to fill the tank manually. I guess there’s always the woods out back.

When our conventional food supply runs out, our weeds will no longer be the bane of my gardening existence, as I’ve written about previously. The pioneers who plagued us with edible non-native plants such as dandelion will seem like geniuses. Note to self: cordon off area for outdoor potty away from lawn. A creek runs through our backyard that we may be able to use as a drinking source if I overlook possible pesticide run-off from upstream. Note to self: get a water-test kit. I could forage for berries in the summer, and although my DVR recording of Know Your Mushrooms won’t be operational, I’ve gleaned enough information to make a go at it, if need be. What I really need is to have a good old-fashioned book with pictures to tell me how to prepare my native plants to make them non-toxic and digestible. The deer feast on them like a buffet every year so I’ll have to finally stand my ground and fend them off.

I’ll regret not listening to my husband when he wanted to buy a generator but we don’t live in the sticks and the only time we’ve lost power for more than an hour was when everyone on the eastern seaboard did in 2003, so on my list of emergency-preparedness priorities, it’s right after getting a Canadian flag to hang upside down while in distress on open water.

If the...you know what...really hits the fan, we’ll use our renovation supplies to seal off the house with 6 mil plastic and duct tape. I’m glad I live in Canada where our cultural tendencies toward politeness and passiveness will keep the peace for a length of time. And my strong husband was always handy for moving furniture but I’ll look at his broad shoulders in a whole new light. Unlike the Americans, we’ll be kicking ourselves for not packing heat all along. Of course, if the chaos got that bad, I may just want to kiss this world good-bye and leave my supply of canned sardines for another sucker.

A Good Investment

There are only two things I’ve ever wanted out of my life: a family and a home to keep them in. What I didn’t know was that these two things come at a price: a price per pound and a price per square foot.

According to Manitoba Agriculture, the national average in Canada for raising a child is $191,665. In the U.S. the cost to raise a child born in 2010 is $226,920 (higher to account for healthcare costs and interestingly, an additional $10,000 is allotted for food expense). This does not include post-secondary education but does include full-time daycare costs for the first twelve years, an expense we didn’t have to incur the full brunt of. The report also claimed a bulk discount for more than one child but, in our experience, we received no discount for two kids in braces at the same time, school pictures every September for two students, or two hockey players every season. Thank goodness for hand-me-downs because we had one girl and one boy so clothes sharing wasn’t as easy but at least they were born far enough apart that we didn’t need double of the same item.

I`m not sure knowing the full cost would deter people from having a kid. There will always be sacrifices when raising children, regardless of your circumstances. It depends on your personality, priorities, and amount of patience. For me, I gave up earning potential but was present for every milestone and fulfilled one of my deepest desires.

As for the home part, we are slow renovators and take our time to build up supplies and collect unique pieces, keeping a clear vision of the final product but incorporating new ideas when brilliance strikes, making it our own—not unlike our parenting style—slowly making it to the finish line, if there is one. It’s easy to be overly optimistic about the outcome. There are always more issues than you planned on tackling behind the walls, the costs will be higher than anticipated, the job is messy and tiring, and mistakes will be made along the way as lessons are learned.

Anything deemed to have potential means it will need work to get there and moving into a fixer-upper has its drawbacks. This lifestyle is not for everyone. You have to mentally block out the stack of tiles bought in fit of optimism that are so heavy they will never be moved from the corner until they finally get installed. I would like to see a law against selling the pink carpet picked out by the previous owners that clashed with the yellow vinyl floor and 60’s orange carpet that worked like a pedicure when you walked over it in bare feet. A little overenthusiastic, I tore off the harvest green felt wallpaper the week we moved in as well as the rest of the wallpaper in the house but, unfortunately the paper was glued directly to unprimed walls so every wall needed to be...or still needs to be... re-drywalled; on the bright side, we can update the R-value while we’re at it, and you must always look on the bright side to keep from pulling your hair out. Misguided updates over the lifespan of our house left wonky ceramic tiles, forest green paint over grass cloth wallpaper, and a deck railing that prevents a window from opening. We knew there would be a day when we no longer had a bathroom with blue fixtures but I didn’t know it would be nine years later, leaving the pink fixtures in our principal bath for the foreseeable future.

I like watching renovation shows but quietly resent the reveals done in TV time with little acknowledgement of how many professionals were behind the scenes. I stopped reading decorating magazines when one revealed the true cost of its featured bathroom: $40,000. I think an entire university education is more important than a fancy showerhead, I’m sure you’d agree. I also couldn’t see another piece of old-growth hardwood painted over in white so that it resembles the MDF anyone could buy at the store. Those designers are taking the easy way out instead of being creative (and then say that you can always change it back...they have obviously never stripped wood before; it’s a time-consuming and detailed job using dangerous chemicals).

The elbow grease needed for every project is an understatement but eventually we`ll have what we`ve always wanted, and in the meantime, have spent as much time as possible with our kids while they’re still living with us. Part of what makes our home a welcoming place is that it’s lived in, if not a little rough around the edges, and it’s about the people inside, not the curb appeal. Overall, I think we`ve made a good investment in our future.

Money Pit

If you have children and own a house, I have no doubt these two words have crossed your mind several times: Money Pit. I need only write these three syllables down as my title on the top of a blank page and a novel can be produced with a list of what our house needs inside, what our house needs outside, and the number of renovation projects that have been started with a footnote at the bottom as to the number that have been completed: two. And, needless to say, the two rooms of the house that have been renovated to completion each belong to members of the family who contribute no income, who show no appreciation for our efforts, who can immediately sniff out a pristine area of the house for immediate destruction, and who don’t hesitate to ask for more.   

Yes, most days I love this house and yes, by law, I’m required to care for these children but I shouldn’t secretly desire a trip to the mental hospital to lessen the number of things driving me crazy in close proximity.

Just like kids, renovation projects start small and then quickly become all-encompassing monsters that wipe your energy and clean out your bank account. It all started with one little project at our first house; we decided to upgrade our kitchen with a discount sink tap we found at a flea market. When we thought about it more, that new faucet was going to make its surroundings look dingy so we decided we might as well change the old laminate countertop from its faux butcher-block pattern to a speckled grey one, still laminate but there was only so much money to go around and this was BK—before kids. The kitchen walls no longer matched the countertop so they needed to be painted, and the curtains were next, and so on. Not long after that, we were given yards and yards of used luxury carpet that we thought would look great in our finished basement, and while we’re at it, we should upgrade the windows and drywall the ceiling...you see where this is going. In addition, just to make one more obvious point, the baby’s room was the first room to be fully finished and decorated in that house, too.

After selling our first house, we banished the illusions of home ownership while we rented a row house in a suburb of Toronto and welcomed a son to our family. We thought we were ahead of the game having already acquired all the necessities we would need for the second child—I now long for the days when diapers were the most expensive thing on our shopping list. As your kids grow,  you send them to school, you enrol them in lessons, you sign them up for activities, and when they are at home you provide on-site entertainment in the form of movies, toys, video games, books, crafts, board games, and sports equipment. Do you want your child to go on the field trip? That’ll be $20. Do you want to watch the hockey game your kid is playing in? That’ll be $3. You don’t want your child’s potential to be squandered, do you? That’ll be $15 for half an hour of music lessons. Do you want one night off this month from cooking? That’ll be $35 for pizza, $70 if you dare go to a restaurant. I would mention the full cost of braces for two children but I may frighten the weak-hearted. Your refrigerator will look like a revolving door, your house will look like a cyclone hit it, and although they purport to be concerned with the environment, they have no regard for the electricity bill. Most of the on-going purchases needed to keep them occupied and fully-supplied, will still be in as-new condition when your kids outgrow them or become bored with them, if they didn’t break within the first 24 hours—at least diapers were well used before you threw them out.

A few years later, when it was time to move on or set up camp, we considered our rental house, built only eight years ago at the time, with its postage stamp-size rooms, flimsy windows and cardboard box walls, and the $210,000 asking price, and said no, thanks. It was at this time, with our memories of the blood, sweat, and tears of home renovation fading, we cheerfully bought another house; the thought process not unlike how we decided to have another kid...well, the first one wasn’t so bad, how much harder could it get?

Although my first impression of our potential home was simply noted on my checklist as scary, we went back for a second look and decided this house had good bones, unique features, a nice location, and, for the right price, was a bargain for the square footage. We wanted this house to raise our kids in, who were seven and three at the time, and we knew we could make a home here.

That was the moment when a black hole formed in our universe and began to suck us dry.

Next month, part 2.

Eating Weeds

Great news! In addition to the food stash we keep in the pantry, we have a bounty of fresh, nutritious food available to us just a few steps away; our survival during a crisis may depend largely on the time of year but it is as close as the backyard—I’m looking at you, dandelion—because instead of being overwhelmed by the tenacious weeds that fill every nook and cranny of our property, I choose to see them as an emergency food source.

And by focusing on the brighter side of things, I can persevere through the days when I’d rather throw in the towel.

From the time he was little, my son was a high energy, non-stop, talkative child who needed constant supervision and an attentive audience. The only break I had was when he slept—or recharged. When he was two, we joined a community play group where, after conquering every climbing structure, he would spend the remaining time running in circles around the perimeter of the gym, impressing the other parents who had their own energetic toddlers. Story time at the library was close to torture for him as he’d rather dig in to the craft materials ready for when the quiet listeners finished the book. And, although I’m sure chairs were available when we visited other people’s houses, I don’t remember ever using one.  

Thankfully, while he was still young, my outlook about his spirited behaviour was transformed when I watched an interview with The Crocodile Hunter’s mom. She talked about how her son, Steve Irwin, was the same animated and vivacious person as a boy. A light bulb went off in my head as I realized that without an over-the-top enthusiasm for life, we wouldn’t have had this captivating man to entertain and educate us. I should be so fortunate to have an amazing kid like that, with all the potential in the world.

It was much easier to raise his older sister, a child who would actually stay on the porch if you asked her not to wander. That is, until three years ago when aliens replaced her with an evil twin. She was more co-operative and level-headed as a toddler than she is as a teenager, and even though she’s an excellent student and role-model, she’s not easy to live with. What I see in her though is a person who thinks for herself and is willing to speak up and not let herself settle; however, these traits are currently emanating as stubbornness and impatience. I need to squeeze out every bright and cheerful thought I can about our daily encounters and try to look upon her determined independence as a good thing but it’s bittersweet.

My inherent gratefulness goes a long way to being able to see the bigger, brighter picture, along with having a short memory and a little luck. I was born in the right country, I married the right guy, I discovered new information at the most opportune time, I noticed a perspective I hadn’t seen before or I just remembered something interesting that I already knew but had forgotten and it makes me smile. Life is not always a bed of roses but it’s not always a bed of nails, either. There are enough good moments to outweigh the bad, far more good people around than bad, and more love, laughter, and learning than I can fit in a day.

                Yes, in every life, a little rain must fall, but judging by the size of the weeds after a good thunderstorm, I’m one lucky girl.

Open Mike

A young adult story.

It’s one thing to be the class clown. It’s entirely different to be funny and get paid for it. At high school, they tell me I’m going nowhere. At the comedy club, on open mike night, they’re going to tell me that I’m a rising star.

No one is worried that I might be throwing away my chances as night clean-up boy at the grocery store to be a comedian. Maybe, if I had a better academic career, they’d be more concerned about my ambitions. As it stands, the guidance counsellor isn’t beating down my door with post-secondary opportunities.

I can’t help it if I’ve got a rapier wit. Mom hears that and sees a future felon in our family tree. But she, more than anyone, should understand my gift. I’ve made her laugh since I was born—I’ve seen the home movies.

So maybe I’m not going to save the world like my older sister, providing clean water by digging wells in African villages. I have something else to offer: an introspective moment of clarity about how the world works and why we are all screwed. I would argue that both are important. Okay, the clean drinking water issue may be a tad higher on the human needs scale, but can you imagine a world with no laughter. I think not.

A smile has no language barriers—this is good stuff—I’m going to use it in the closing statements to my parents to explain why I need to go to a downtown bar on a Wednesday night and how I may be unable to attend school the next morning, depending on what time I get on stage. Parents love it when you give a mature and rational argument for your actions, especially before the infraction. They’re reasonable people; I’m sure they will see my point and commend me for my aspirations and bravery.

Who am I kidding? They were upset when I mentioned that I was going to wait in line for the latest zombie war game released at midnight three weeks ago. I was throwing away my potential, they said. And since that night, they’ve remarked that for the amount of time I’ve spent playing that game, I could have cured cancer. They don’t understand how the creative mind works. I play video games to release my connection to the outside world in order to channel my intuitiveness. They didn’t buy it. I do keep a notebook and pen handy to write down spur of the moment thoughts that I could turn into jokes. And honestly, most of my ideas come to me while killing a soldier, re-awakened from the dead, who I am chasing down with an AK-47. Every blood spatter is a light bulb going off in my head.

Technically, I don’t need their permission. I turned eighteen last month, so it’s sayonara parental consent and bonjour none of their business. Well, let me make a small correction there. I will need room and board for a little while, until my professional career gets booming—a year or two, tops. I could be the Justin Bieber of the comic world. An overnight teenage sensation from a small Canadian town. Then my parents will be falling all over the paparazzi to say they always knew I had it in me. They’ll show pictures of me when I was two, dressed-up as a pirate, the life of the party. It’ll be sweet.

I'm going to use a few anecdotes from my family to open my act, with Dad giving me loads of material like, “One thing’s for sure, if you can be blessed, then you can be cursed” and a gem he lays on me every once in a while: “Shit doesn’t stick to you, it ricochets off your forehead and hits me right in the teeth”, and, a classic piece of fatherly wisdom: “You wipe your ass with the privileges around here.” If only my parents knew how much material they give me, they’d be even less inclined to support me as I share our private moments with the audience.

But it’s going to all pay off when I’m a gazillionaire who can provide clean water for every village in the world. I’d better rehearse again in front of the mirror; underprivileged children everywhere are counting on me.

My Video Gamer

When my son acquires a fulfilling, creative, and high-paying position as a video game designer someday, will I be able to look back at the countless hours spent with a controller in his hand and deem it career training?

He’s a good student, he writes stories, he plays hockey, and he has a great sense of humour but playing video games is his favourite pastime, gobbling up more of his time than I care to think about. We’ve tried to come to a compromise over the years regarding limits, to no avail. Last summer, when I had him think of a project that was screen-free, he drew illustrations of his video game covers; and when I insist that he spend the same amount of time reading as he does gaming, this hardly ever works and I eventually resort to nagging. I’ve settled for reading aloud to him as he plays with the sound off; however, he’ll be a teenager next year so my time is running out with this manoeuvre. He’s had his PlayStation3 for a year now and we have not allowed online access but I can’t avoid it much longer. This isn’t like his pursuit of passing fads such as Pokémon or Webkinz that I was able to put off until he lost interest. There are many good reasons why I’m hesitant to open his little world into a massive one whose scope I can barely appreciate, but my greatest concern is about how much more time he may spend playing video games. And because my son is a good sleeper, going to bed at 9:30 most nights, he’s also an early riser so he can get in an hour of game time before the sun even shines. Most days, I want to throw those game systems out the door. I’m tired of saying, “Take a break.” or asking, “How much longer is this game?” or in my most frustrating moments of the day, “Get off that thing and get ready for school!”

The genre of the game also makes a difference. I’m better with sports games and car racing, but I lost the battle for a gun-free home when the war games became his favourite thing to play. Ne’er a plastic gun has entered our home over his childhood but now he recites a repertoire of weapons and ammunition that he loves to rhyme off as I shake my head. My reluctant acceptance of violent games seeped under my guard in subtle ways over time. It started with cartoon characters carrying pseudo-weapons in games rated E10 for Everyone over Ten. He quickly graduated to war games where he pointed out, “I only kill zombies, Mom.” Now, when I wince at the blood splattered across the screen during war re-enactment games such as Call Of Duty, he rolls his eyes. I’ve watched for changes in his behaviour but honestly, he does not seem to be ill-affected by them. If anything, his focus and concentration resembles meditation and his memory for the exhaustive details is astonishing.

My resolve was officially undermined when I read an article in The Economist from Sept 13, 2010, which cited a study by cognitive scientists at the University of Rochester that suggested video gamers make faster and more accurate decisions. Subjects using fast-moving action games, such as COD, saw improvement in decision-making skills, enhanced sensitivity to their surroundings, and it helped with multitasking, driving, reading small print, navigation, and keeping track of friends in a crowd.

The best I can do is continue to supervise game-playing and expose him to new things, until he is older and his choice of activities is officially beyond my scope of motherly duties.

Update: We granted permission for online playing this week and all my fears came to light within 24 hours when he was invited to play a game by someone named Mr. McNasty. Yes, this is a learning opportunity and I will take it in stride but the world never gives a parent a break! It also looks like I’m among the last parents of his group of friends to come over to the dark side when he brought home a list of online classmates he can play with. I’ll still be adamant about conveying my views on these games because I hope what I think still carries some weight in my son’s development but just like everything else in parenting, I'll look at it as preparing him for the world because I can’t change the world for him.

Face-to-Face

Betty White said a game show like Password wouldn’t make it on TV today because contestants can’t think on their feet anymore. I agree. I’d like to think that I’m getting smarter every year but I would hazard to guess that the Jeopardy questions are less difficult than they used to be. At one time, I would see a show like Cops or America’s Funniest Home Videos, and fear for our future. But now, there is a whole culture of stupid out there. And they’re proud of it, not to mention, well paid. An article in UTNE Reader (Jan.-Feb. 2011), first published in The Humanist, reads, “The belief culture thrives on the false principal that all opinions are equal, even those without a shred of factual data, documentation, or reasoned methodology.” And Homer Simpson said it even better, “Facts are meaningless. You can use facts to prove anything that’s even remotely true.”

This dumbing down of society has brought our below-average members to the surface—of my TV. We are drowning in media personalities who are obnoxious, selfish, fake, and ignorant. From my point-of-view, sitting in front of my television, attractive people are happy, young people are sex fiends, old people need copious amounts of prescription medication, I know more than certain politicians (scary thought), and all your problems can be solved with a prayer and a small donation. We are being deluded into thinking extremeness is normal. Thank goodness for programs like The Daily Show with Jon Stewart to let me know that I’m not the only one looking for a little sanity, a wider perspective, and a good laugh.

Looking around, it appears the cream of the crop who are currently on topic, and worth listening to, are those with a constant Twitter feed, getting updates of their acquaintances on Facebook, while streaming the latest YouTube sensation. I'm all for the internet bringing us closer together and propelling the world forward, but not at the expense of drowning out more important topics.  And you are out of touch with the real world if you’re not connected 24 hours a day, knowing what everyone around you is doing every second, feeding an addiction to the daily minutiae of our existence.

As you may have surmised, I’m not a texter, therefore I am not on the same wave length as someone trying to communicate with their thumbs in as little time as possible; I’m on the side of people worried about the demise of proper punctuation (I can hear the moaning through the computer screen). It’s true, I’m old fashioned, and this method may seem obsolete but it works for me: apart from writing and reading—and I’m not referring to anything penned by authors named Snooki—I use face-to-face communication to feel connected to the world around me.

Admittedly, I usually have my nose stuck in a book at my kids’ practices, but when I do venture into a conversation, I find myself relating to real people. I do have a terrible habit of being so nervous when I talk to someone that I babble on, my inner-voice screaming at me to shut-up, but still I make an attempt because it makes me feel refreshed and energized. As Ms. White reminds us, being able to come up with a coherent thought at a moment’s notice is challenging; it’s a skill that needs to be honed: greeting someone you cross paths with on the sidewalk, speaking up at public meetings, asking questions of a stranger, small talk at a party. Mind you, there are some conversations going on around me that I would rather not be privy to: the gossip and intimate information you overhear people say—even though you, a stranger, are only two seats away—makes me cringe. I must remember, though, that these people are just like me, trying to make a personal connection, only in a less discreet manner.

World's Best Pet

Being nature lovers, we are fortunate to have a backyard that entertains us with an array of creatures. Throughout the year, we watched a mother deer and her twin fawns travel, and eat, their way across our yard, dazzling us from their first spring days on feeble legs, to their effortless jumps over shrubs, fences and our little creek, throughout the summer and fall. Several times a week, our lawn would be graced with their presence, a moment that never lost its thrill.

Many other animals visit or live near our home, located on a forested watershed: weasels, foxes, owls, cranes, groundhogs, opossums, muskrats, rabbits, moles, hawks, chipmunks, and squirrels.

Highlights of our animal encounters include sitting on our steps watching a brood of baby raccoons cross our path, until their mother joined the group and we quickly rid ourselves. Each summer, the mother ducks will often let us get close enough to count the ducklings. Not long after we moved in, we found a gigantic walking stick bug on our deck, and last summer, my daughter noticed a walking stick no bigger than a fingernail. On our butterfly weed plants, three cycles of caterpillars transformed themselves into monarch butterflies, and we wake up to discover elaborate webs strung across our gardens overnight, catching the sun in the dew drops. We marvel at the colour and song of dozens of varieties of birds, including the real Woody Woodpecker, a pileated woodpecker, a prehistoric-looking bird larger than a crow. All this, on just under one acre of land in the middle of our town.

In the summer, there’s another animal you will find in this outdoor menagerie: a bearded dragon.

Riddick, our 3 year old orange bearded dragon, has back legs like a frog, spikes like a dinosaur, and patterned scales like a snake without its slickness. He’s not cuddly, but he is fascinating.

Although his first few weeks in our home were touch and go, he pulled through and has been roaming around with us every since. Literally. He has a terrarium to keep him warm and safe during the night, but his mornings start under a heat lamp on our main floor. From there, he is free to wander; however, you can usually find him sitting near the sidelight windows of the front door catching the early morning sun on his back. In the late afternoon, he will be pacing in front of the sixteen foot sliding glass doors on the opposite side of the house trying to figure out how to get onto the sunny deck.

The lifestyle of a bearded dragon is easily incorporated into a family life. He ate crickets when he first joined us but it was apparent that he abhorred having insects crawl on him, even though he got the ultimate revenge in the end, so now he sustains himself on superworms and bok choy with an occasional strawberry treat. We can leave him in his terrarium when we are away from home, and in an emergency, he could probably be left without food for days at a time; being a resilient and instinctive creature. We don’t worry about him scratching our furniture or biting the neighbours, and apart from the occasional shedding of scales, he doesn’t need to be groomed.

As mentioned, his favourite place to bask in summer is on a knarly branch perched on our lawn, close to the house, where we watch over him. He does scamper but his self-defense mechanism for avoiding danger is to stay still, which he does very well.

The most unusual part of living with our bearded dragon is the brumation period, similar to hibernation. Our baby bearded dragon had been with us only six months when he stopped eating and withdrew into the cold, dark edges of his terrarium. I nursed him through with organic baby food, fed through an eye-dropper, every other day. As a cold-blooded animal, he needed to be warmed up first, then I would give him a lukewarm bath to clean the food off his face. I was a mess when I thought he was going to die a week after we brought him home—I wasn’t going to let that happen again.

One day, four months after it began, I went to check on him, and he was basking under his heat lamp as if nothing was wrong. When this whole process repeated itself the following year, after I had read extensively about this behaviour, I was much less concerned and let him get his rest. He finished his most recent brumation last December, just in time to enjoy climbing our Christmas tree.

Keep your cats and dogs; I take pleasure in the carefree animals of our backyard, and would rather have a lizard living in my house than any other pet.