Category Archives: Not your average writing

I don’t know what to write about. Normally my writing is an outlet for raw emotion, negative emotions, pain. I am so friggin’ happy I feel I have nothing to express. I don’t know how to do happy writing. I can do “how to’s” and “what if’s” but not how to be happy. I guess I would say my writing in this blog is not exactly morose but I find myself lacking in subject matter.

I am a parent, a title which brings me so much pride and honour. I wrote a blog post a few years ago on how I did not want children and how I was offended by people telling me I should have children, that I didn’t know what I was missing. They were right. I have come full circle. The joys of parenthood far outweigh the negatives and people who say they don’t want to have children are just focusing on the negative aspects, such as all-night crying, poopy diapers and temper tantrums. Mind you, my child is only eight-months-old and I haven’t experienced the toddler stage yet. Plus I have a really good baby who rarely cries and sleeps through the night. Colicky-baby parents hate me right now.

From the moment I discovered I was pregnant until the minute I gave birth, I have been feeling pure joy. The harsh kicks during pregnancy made me giggle. Even the brutal, constant heartburn gave me pleasure as it was a reminder of the ebullient little life inside me.  I have to admit, I wanted to get pregnant. I craved a baby at the ripe age of 43. When I was younger, I didn’t crave such things. I craved a good education, a strong career and titles on paper. The poopy diapers and crying don’t phase me. The thought of being responsible for someone for the next twenty years inspires me to live life to the fullest.

The joy also comes from the large toothless smiles and hearty baby belly laughs. He laughs at the simplest things, from saying “Goofy goof goof goof!” to making funny faces, which in turn makes me laugh. He nibbles on my fiance’s ear and grabs his nose at the moment a picture is being taken. He growls like a dog and yells to hear his own voice. He rolls and flops around the floor, always discovering, looking, observing with awe. Watching someone so young embrace life with full force brings the strongest joy of all.

My life is so much better. I feel inspired in so many ways. Since I gave birth I have been more inspired to do a lot more things than just take good care of a baby. I am singing more and have rejoined my choir. Even though I feel I have nothing to write about today, I am writing more for other people. My fiance and I are launching our own business. Everything is coming up roses. It feels like I cannot take the wrong path right now.

When I was pregnant, we wondered how we were going to afford having a child. People came out of the woodwork and donated clothes, toys, diapers and money. I received emotional support from all angles. I discovered several “mommy”groups and a lot of free advice. Bottom line, having a baby was the best thing that every happened to me. There is nothing but positive energy coming my way.

I hope I don’t make any one barf with all this sickening happiness. See? I think happy writing is bad writing.

I wanted to start another blog called “2 Cats and a Baby” but someone beat me to it. She is a writer, and just like me, she went to school for writing but is not a professional writer by day. She said she stopped writing for awhile out of sheer laziness. Same here. She started the blog just to have something to write about, which is what I want to do. I help people with their resumes, but aside from that, I haven’t been writing creatively for quite some time. 

As some of you know, I am expecting a baby. I am five months along. I have 2 cats. One is about 10 months old and the other will be 13 years old this summer. I am worried about the cats interacting with the baby. The older cat hates kids. She hisses at them and if they try to touch her she swats. She almost scratched my niece once, but she was surrounded by children and my niece grabbed her really hard. The younger cat is a brat and likes to scratch people for fun. They currently sleep with my boyfriend and I in the bed.

When the baby comes, I am told by other experienced mothers that baby should come to bed with us while breastfeeding for the first few months. How will I keep the cats off the bed? Should I keep them out of the bedroom completely? This will be tough as they love to sleep with us and everytime we close the bedroom door, they meow, attack the door and scratch the carpet. The older cat has been sleeping with me since she was a kitten.

I love my cats and would never get rid of them. I guess I will have to experiment with keeping them out of the room before the baby comes, which is July 17. I have researched this via Google, and found various tips such as spraying them with water, letting them howl and ignoring them (easier said than done) and purchasing cat repellers.  Some people have said they will be fine as long as you keep them at the foot of the bed. That, again, is easier said than done, plus I am concerned about cat hair. Hmmm.

Continue reading “A blank mind is a dirty mind”

 

You’re a woman of just about any age walking down the street, and a car goes by and you hear the shrill of a high pitched whistle, and then, ”Hey baby, nice ass!”  In fact, wherever you go you here names like “honey,” “baby,” “sweetie,” “cutie,” “beautiful” and “darling.” Sounds kind of like a town in Texas, don’t it? It’s actually the city of London, Ontario, a decent-sized city of just over 368,000 people located in the southwestern part of the province, a two-hour’s drive west of Toronto. As a person of the feminine gender, you are bound to get stared at, smiled at, whistled at, hit on, yelled at and even groped if you’re on a crowded city bus. It actually sounds like any big city, really, but from my experience of being born and raised there for twenty-four years, it happens the most often in London. I’ve lived in Toronto, Calgary and Vancouver, spent time in Montreal, Seattle, Paris, Amsterdam and Brussels. I’ve never been to New York, so I can’t speak for that city.  However, one place in my experience was actually worse:  Cancun, Mexico. I’ve never heard so many “Hey Chiquita!” and marriage proposals during a one-week, all-inclusive vacation.

It’s either demeaning or ego-boosting, depending on the mood you or the person you’re with are in. After awhile, it becomes the norm, occurring at any time of the day in any location from the drug store to the local pub. Every woman can feel quite attractive yet preyed upon, never quite deciding if it offends her or not.

So you want to get away from all the laud attention and feel like a human being of equality and self-respect. Hail the city of Vancouver, British Columbia. Located by the Pacific Ocean, this city is known for its majestic beauty of mountain-lined coasts and valleys of rain forests.  People here love the outdoors and partake in sporting events such as rock-climbing, hiking, sailing, skiing, snowshoeing, golfing and running.

You arrive here and instantly notice how much more peaceful your walks downtown and to the corner store are (only if you can tune out the pandemonium of the death-defying traffic). It’s not just because of the ocean breeze blowing in your ears or the gentle lapping of the waves on the shores.  There’s no one yelling at you (except for the bad drivers), no sideways glances or whispering a demeaning name under his breath as he passes you. You are confident your self-respect has been restored and you actually feel liberated for once in your life.

But this liberation has gone too far. After months of the screaming silence, you notice something else. When you walk down the street, you don’t even get a glance from a man who passes you by. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You say hello to one and he completely ignores you. Either you’ve gotten really ugly over the past few years, or all the men in Vancouver are gay, castrated or just too exhausted from all the outdoor sports. Maybe all the fresh mountain air has blown away all the pheromones and sexual desire. Oh, wait a minute, homeless men talk to me all the time, but they usually want money.

I went to a club once in the downtown core. My friend who is very attractive was wearing a black mini-dress showing good cleavage and pleather high-heeled boots. She looked hot. Not one single guy came up to her. She got a few fleeting glances. The men were literally on one side of the bar and women on the other, like a high school dance.

What is it with the men in Vancouver? I don’t care for the catcalling and shrewd whistling, but being liberated or not, there is still such a thing as attraction and if I’m in the mood to flirt, I’d like to have it reciprocated, even if it’s on the Skytrain. The men all stare at their feet. I know I’m not a supermodel in looks, but I also know I’m reasonably attractive to look at, especially in London.

Welcome to my new blog site about all things green and cultural in Vancouver. The writing from raccooneyes.livejournal.com continues here.