One

Graham did something last night that made me both incredibly proud and heart-wrenchingly sad.

He played with the cat.

Horace was sleeping in front of the fireplace, oblivious to the fact that Graham had placed around him the wooden giraffes and Inuit carvings we display in the room. Graham was chattering animatedly, showing the cat each figurine and making them dance in front of his unblinking eyes when it hit me.

Graham was no longer a toddler. Graham was a creative and imaginative little boy who was capable of creating fantasy worlds and magical playgrounds that he was anxious to share with a playmate.

And Graham was playing with the cat because he doesn't have a sibling to play with.

For a long time now I have wanted a sibling for Graham to play with. But yesterday was the first time my heart hurt with the yearning and the emptiness.

And with the inadequacy.

This is not where I expected to be. Life has given me many, many blessings to count and yet I did not expect this: that my almost-three-year-old would be reduced to sharing his childhood joys with a cat, even if I have always considered that cat my first baby.

Because he isn't. Of course he isn't.

Graham is my first baby. He is my only baby. And he's not a baby anymore: he's a little boy.

And that makes me both incredibly proud and heart-wrenchingly sad.

Fashionably drunk?

Have you ever attended a work event and ended up a little over-refreshed?

Yeah, me too.

But have you ever been a little over-refreshed at a really important work event, where you're scheduled to make a speech in front of cut-throat colleagues, important clients and the international press?

Yeah, me neither.

But then I'm not Toronto Design Council President Robin Kay who launched Toronto Fashion Week last week with a drunken speech that became a major scandal in the local media and left me pondering whether drinking on the job is ever in style.

Want to continue reading my musing on boozin'? Click on over to my Shooting for Hip column at Better Than A Playdate...

Kicking it old school with Moo and Beans

The thing I have against a lot of television shows and videos aimed at young children is that they're just too good.

And by good I mean slick. A part of me feels nervous about carefully crafted dialogue, seamless pacing and flashy production values. I'm not sure if it's because I fear Graham's developing brain doesn't stand a chance against the onslaught or if I'm simply nostalgic for the bumpy charm and hokeyness of some of the productions I remember loving in the 1970s.

Whatever the reason, when I agreed to review the DVD My Baby A to Z - Come Explore Shapes With Me I fell hard for a couple of guys named Moo and Beans and immediately hoped their homespun antics would strike a chord with Graham.

*Does today's generation fall for retro charm? Would you like to win a DVD? Click on over to Don Mills Diva Recipes and Reviews for all the details.*

Just call me Martha

Cookies?

They're yesterday's news. Having mastered them with such style and, er, grace, we today moved on to cupcakes!



And not just any cupcakes.


Cupcakes with four shades of neon-coloured frosting and an array of gummy toppings.

Which almost made up for the fact that the end result was sickening sweet and, well, kinda disgusting...


But that's just my humble opinion, of course.

*Need cheap cupcakes and lots of them? E-mail me - you won't believe the prices!*

Let freedom ring

Take a moment to consider this photo...

You probably think it's merely a photo of a little boy letting a cat outside, right?

Wrong.

This photo is a powerful symbol of freedom.

Freedom from constantly getting up from my comfortable spot on the couch. Freedom from constant mewling and interruptions.

Freedom from Horace's tyranny.

And you know what makes the freedom even sweeter? Graham loves letting Horace outside. Loves it.

"Horace is my best friend," he says as he runs for the door. "It's for me to do, it's for me to do."

Fine with me. The way I see it, it's a win-win situation. Horace is indulged, Graham is happy.

And mama is free.

Now if I can just convince Graham that yard work, dirty dishes and laundry are also for him to do.

Oh the places he'll go!

I said I would never do it.

Before my son was born I even wrote an essay - Waiting for Graham - in which I acknowledged that not doing it would likely be the hardest part of parenting.

And yet the entire time I was in Vancouver and missing him, I did it.

I spent my entire time away imagining and planning Graham's future for him. Every time I saw a young man I started to idly wonder if he were the kind of man Graham might become and before long I was lost in my thoughts and schemes for Graham's future and worse, my hopes and dreams for myself.

We were barely buckled into the seats in the plane when the sound of the captain's voice started me imagining a future Graham, tall and blond in his pilot's uniform. I missed the entire flight introduction because I was too busy envisioning future versions of Rob and I sitting on a plane (upgraded to first class, natch!) under his command.

Graham would lay out the flight plans for the passengers in a strong confident voice and then acknowledge the presence of a very special passenger: his mother, the woman responsible for introducing him to flying when he was just a baby.

The present-day me got all misty-eyed just thinking about it. In fact, I damn near stood up and started bowing to fellow passengers, who I imagined would be clapping and sighing with deep appreciation over what a wonderful mother I was.

And it just got worse from there.

At the Vancouver aquarium I mused to Rob about how fascinating a field I thought marine biology was. Withing seconds I lost myself in a reverie involving he and I and Graham, some 20 years on.

In my mind's eye the three of us were speeding across a choppy sea in a small boat being expertly commandeered by my handsome son. Shaggy and earnest, Graham raised his voice to be heard above the whipping winds, while Rob and I listened intently, hanging off his every word.

"I'm pretty excited about this new project I've been developing out here, Mom and Dad. I think it's a real breakthrough that will save the lives of thousands of whales."

By the time we left the aquarium that day the whole scenario had been played out countless times in my mind and was so real to me that I couldn't resist smiling magnanimously in the direction of the mother Beluga and her calf and and thinking: "You're welcome, my animal sister, you're welcome."

Clearly I needed a drink, but even the slightly dingy atmosphere of the pub we visited that night couldn't dim the limelight in which I was certain Graham would bask.

Two guys with a guitar and some bongos did such a great job on Like A Rolling Stone that Rob and I got to chatting about how Dylan's introduction of the electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival devastated his followers who saw it as a symbolic declaration of the end of 1960s innocence.

Almost immediately my mind's eye saw a wild-haired future Graham onstage, guitar in hand, ushering in a new era of politics and music to thousands of adoring fans, while I, his manager, sat backstage atop a speaker. "Sure there might be some initial boos", I would acknowledge sagely to the gathering press. "But that's only because it takes time for great genius to be revealed".

If the young musicians in the Gastown pub were alarmed by my enthusiastic standing ovation, they didn't let on.

So, yeah, even though I said I wouldn't confuse Graham's future hopes and dreams with my own, I'm learning that's easier said than done.

I can't help but be excited about the opportunities that Graham has laid out before him, just as I know my parents were excited for me. I can't help but be thrilled by the wide range of choices he will be blessed with and proud that I will help provide them.

I can't help but be inspired by the thought of a blank slate, even if it is not mine upon which to write.

It is fruitless to try and stop fantasising about your child's future, I have determined. So I am not going to even try anymore.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go fetch Graham. He's in the next room tormenting Horace, who clearly doesn't appreciate the boy who will one day become the veterinarian responsible for eliminating all pain and suffering of cats and dogs the world over.

Sunshine and rain

Did I mention it rains a lot in Vancouver?

It does. It rains. A lot.

Luckily for us most of the city's famed aquarium is indoors so, weather be damned, I was able to make the acquaintance of this fine fellow on Friday.


And then, miracle of all miracles, Saturday dawned mercifully clear and we were able squeeze in a forest walk at the Capilano Suspension Bridge...

A bike ride around the seawall at Stanley Park...(hey, that helmet was mandated by law!)...

And some soaking in the sunshine and stunning skyline.

Just got home a few hours ago, in time to put Graham to bed. You'd hardly know that I spent half my time away fantasizing about hugging him and soaking in his sweet sunshine.

But more on that later...

Oh Hai!

Did I mention I'm in Vancouver?


It's true. I flew out here Wednesday on business and spent that afternoon and yesterday meeting with some very smart people who helped my brain grow a little bigger.

Rob's on hiatus from the television series he's working on so he tagged along and we're spending today and tomorrow checking out the sights in this gorgeous city and doing things I have determined Vancouverites do on a regular basis.

Like, you know, pray for it to stop raining.

I like best of all autumn

"I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its tone is mellower, its colours are richer and it is tinged with a little sorrow. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and its content."

The masochism of beauty

No I am not a masochist.

At least I don't think I am, though a logical person might dispute that assertion. I mean, logically, why would I willingly submit to, and spend my hard-earned money on, a painful ritual involving hot wax and tender bits?

You've probably done it too, haven't you? And there's no logic to it. It's the masochism of beauty and it's made a victim of even smart and enlightened women for thousands of years.

Are woman all over the world suffering for beauty and a bigger piece of the economic pie? Muse with me over at Better Than A Playdate...

Little pitchers

Last night, out of the blue, Graham taught me how powerful just a few carefully-chosen words can be.

"Mommy, you are my very best friend."

And I felt my eyes well and my heart swell and I gently kissed his forehead.

"What a nice thing to say sweetie, thank you."

And Graham smiled sweetly in return.

"You're welcome mommy. You are my very best friend because you are really pretty and also, you almost never say damnit."

Oh yes he did.

Last night Graham taught me that Mommy needs to choose her words just a little more carefully.

Creamy, dairy-free salmon chowder

Fall is here and you know what that means...

It's soup time! And even if you're allergic to gluten or lactose intolerant, it doesn't mean you can't enjoy a creamy, fall chowder.

Click on over to Don Mills Diva Recipes and Reviews and check out LeeAnne's yummy recipe for gluten and dairy-free salmon chowder.