Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Miscellany. Includes stabbing.

Gah. I feel like I might be getting sick again. My husband is already down for the count with some nasty bug, and we hope it doesn't last.

His grandmother's funeral is tomorrow evening, same time as the Ash Wednesday Mass. So I guess I'll go to the morning Mass to repent and get smudged instead, assuming I feel alright.

I've spent the day so far running around delivering magazines. It's grumpy-making work, but hey, I need the money. So many little stops, people to bug to sign new agreements, plastic ribbons to snip and discard, and old copies to load into the trunk and recycle. My damn maternity pants kept falling down, forcing me to yank them up in busy public places like a crack-prone construction worker.

The March issue has a good outlet for my anger; the guy on the cover is someone I'm really mad at. Like too many others, he figures there's no need to hire me if he can get in a bigshot from the States. As I snipped open each bundle of magazines, I had the pleasure of giving him a quick stab between the eyes before trotting the bundle off to the next coffee shop, library, etc.

Only once did I feel teary because I was wasting my brain and education with a $10/hr delivery job. As I type that now, though, I feel my eyes well up again. Never mind. Hormones, I'm sure.

It is so very much a night to curl up, eat soup, watch hockey, and die.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Our son's new toy and name.

Here is a typical communique from my dear family out in B.C. It came with a surprise parcel - not from my aunt or uncle, but from my uncle's sweet, sarcastic and alcoholic brother-in-law Jim. He sent us a teddy bear with relaxing aromatherapeutic qualities and a sleep mask. With its blue PJs and sleep mask in lieu of omnipresent sunglasses, it looks a bit like Jim.

I can picture my family out there getting into their cups, having a few dart games, deciding the fate of our boy's name, and penning their fanciest gift note:

Where would we be without them?

Thursday, February 16, 2006

I could live with this! If if let me sleep.

Ask me anything. I will sleep on it and give you the correct answer in the morning.

For the past few days and nights I have had quite a few "A-ha!" moments, where little questions have been answered, and new ones asked AND answered. Like, "Our choir can't use my church to rehearse on a Friday in March because it's Lent, and they'll be doing Stations of the Cross in the sanctuary!" Yup. Or "That guy in the library who was embarrassed when I mentioned the Liberals' 'beer and popcorn with the Tories' childcare money' gaffe was probably a political type himself, perhaps even a Liberal, known to the head librarian (who covered for the gaffe as well) but not to me!" The more I replay that conversation in my head, the more I know I'm right. And this morning, I thought suddenly, "My cousin must have a weblog. One about politics and cycling that he rarely updates, but he's enough of a geek to attach his real name to it." Yes indeed. I just found it, and it was easy because he does use his real name. I should have thought of that ages ago.

So, I don't know these little fits of clarity are part of Pregnant Brain, some accident of planetary alignment, or what, but it's kinda neat. It makes for rough nights, though - I hate thinking at night. I am usually such a good sleeper, but these damn thoughtses! Furthermore, as soon as a manage to clear them from my mind and drift off to sleep, the kid starts to poke me again.

For all my newfound Pregnant Brilliance, I'm making up for all of it by forgetting to reply to many important emails in a timely manner (er, I'm sure that lovely prof will get his tenure without my endorsement! *blush*), or walking straight into shopping carts at Loblaws when there is enough space to the left of them for an army to get by. Ouch.

Saturday, February 11, 2006


This just cracks me up. Plug your own blog in and watch it work its translating magic, yo.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Beware my brain

Hooray! The Olympic Games no one cares about begin today. I could watch the Winter Olympics until I atrophy; the downhill skiing alone keeps me in a happy glazed stupor for hours. And the one where you ski a while, then shoot stuff, warms the cockles of my heart because my family liked to ski and shoot stuff too. Then there's the hockey. Exciting stuff, but I'm still a little sad that the teams have been comprised of professional players for the past few Games. These guys already make millions in the NHL; they don't need the thrill of going to the Olympics as much as the amateur kids that the Games should still be about.

Ah, well. Hand me the hot chocolate.

Today's random gripe: the Steve Martin Pink Panther film. The reviews are in. If it ain't broke, don't make a bad film in tribute.

The same goes for any pop star who would make a cover record. If you can't do it better than the original or add something compellingly relevant, don't do it! Hello, Madonna, I'm looking at you. Take your American Pie and stuff it up your silly pink leotard. And never sample ABBA. They are the masters. You are so, so very not. They can also sing. And you...

Last night I had a dream from which I awoke in tears, but I don't remember what it was about. I think I might have cried because I lost a can opener.

Wow! This is Gill's pregnant brain before coffee. Oh dear.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

When work gets you down, keep eating.

For an unpleasant portion of last evening, it looked as though my blog had gone tits-up. I tried changing the background, and the whole thing disappeared, replaced by icky "403: You suck" messages. It seems to be back, though. So, pray for me now.

Not that I have anything to say. It's been a weird week, fraught with career crises that I won't bore you with.
But the eatin's been good. The career crisis has left me with more free time than I thought I would have this week, so it was off to the mother-in-laws for delicious Thai curry on Wednesday, an evening stroll in mild weather down to Mr. Greek on Thursday, and pasta with chickpeas and lots of parsley and garlic last night, courtesy of Vegetarian Suppers from Deborah Madison's Kitchen. So simple, so good, and loaded with much-needed fibre for the pregnant gal. I even used herbs from the balcony; the recipe calls for sage, but I used cold-bitten thyme and rosemary instead, and it tasted just fine! We even had parsley that was alive. And green. In February. Some winter this is.

It's an inspiring book, but not full of quick-and-dirty healthy stuff that I would hope for in a "suppers" book. If you Google "dinner" along with "supper" you'll see that there are a gazillion takes on both terms and their differences. In my family, "supper" once meant a meal that was both earlier and lighter than dinner. Now we use the terms pretty much interchangeably, but "supper" is still the beans-and-scrambled-eggs on toast kind of meal, in my wee brain. (Mind you, if I still need a cookbook to inspire me to open a can of beans, make toast and scramble an egg, I'm in trouble.) Whatever. To each his own, as my Googling has proven.

The husband and I have decided that we need to begin weekly meal planning, so I'm not up the creek, heating a can of soup and eating it over the sink ten minutes before I leave for choir two nights a week. We will save time! and money! and cute animals! because we'll be eating a bit less meat without making a big deal of it. Stay tuned for the compelling results.