I’d made dinner for the kids — Tom had to fly to New York for business. I’d put the KD on the table and called the kids — Kraft Dinner’s their favourite supper, especially when I cut up hot dog weiners and put them in, too, so I wasn’t surprised when Steph and Cody were at the table in a shot. But where was Michael? I called and called to him, but there was no answwer. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t seen him since he got home from school more than two hours earlier, and I remember panicking, thinking “If anything’s happened to him, I can’t imagine the shit-storm I’ll be in.” I mean, there’s the whole bureaucratic/legal stuff, but then there’s Tom, too. He won’t say, but I’m pretty sure Michael is his favourite (yeah, no surprise there), so some serious injury (or worse) would not go down well on the homefront, let me tell you.

Anyway, it was all for naught in the end, but here’s the thing: I found Michael sitting in his underwear in his closet, with a flashlight, looking at the Firefighters of Calgary fundraising calendar I’d bought before Christmas and meant to throw out before we moved to Ottawa.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but it gets worse. I hadn’t really put it together until then, but lately he’s really been into playing dressup… he likes to wear Stephanie’s floral tights and her purple turtleneck, and he loves tromping around the house in a pair of my high heels and nightgown.

So yeah, perhaps my son is a fag. That’s OK with me, it really is, but this is what I’m wondering:  That’s got to be a tough row to hoe, so should I try to discourage it? I mean, I could simply forbid it,  or I could try to shame him out of it, say by making him dress like that when we go for groceries or something. Like I said, I’ve got nothing against queers (and this would sure serve Tom right), but it’s not like anyone would choose to be gay, right?

Any other mommies have a similar experience? If so, what did you do?

And now it’s cold, windy and raining. I don’t know what we’ll do all day.

Gabby.

Busy day today as I went out exploring my new city. It’s a beautiful place, I’m sure, but sadly I spent half the day looking for a used stroller, after discovering that the goddamn moving company that brought all our stuff from Calgary (two days late, but am I bitter? Hell, no) mangled the one we had.

Good news, though … I found one of those old Bugaboo ones with shopping bag hooks on them. I think the company stopped making them after some idiot parent loaded one up too much and cause a rollover or something like that. But really, what are your options? Christ, I remember a couple of years back very nearly crushing Stephanie’s windpipe when the bag from the liquor store I’d put inside the stroller somehow shifted, and one of the Texas mickeys of Grey Goose vodka somehow got lodged up against her throat. Not quite enough, though, as she screamed like a friggin’ banshee, and by the time the mall security tracked me down, well, let’s just say that one way or another, we all got lucky that day.

Nowadays, though, I mostly make her walk. I swear that girl can’t pass a cheese tray without filling her face. I remind her again and again that thighs like that are going to close a lot of doors later in life, but what does a four-year-old know about opportunity? I wonder if there are any pediatricians in Ottawa who also perform that stomach-stapling operation? Maybe if someone knows they could drop me a line.

Maybe after school tomorrow I’ll go sightseeing with the kids.  Although if I can get Tom to hook up the HD TV before he goes to work, I could just park them there for a couple of hours and nap or finally get back to that Nicholas Sparks book I started last Christmas.

Anyway, keep well,

Gabby.

PS: If anyone has a line on a used crib and/or wooden knife block, drop me a note, please.

I’m exhausted.

Still, I take a few minutes of me-time to see if there are any fellow mommy bloggers out there in my new adopted city, and wouldn’t you know it? I find that, what with packing up the house and moving to Ottawa, I’ve once again I missed the North American Mommy Bloggers Alliance (NAMBA) convention — held April 15-17 at the Sherwood Recreation Hall in Charlottetown, PEI this year, after the Best Western claimed their conference hall was unavailable due to renovations (and not, as some suggested,  because of the incessant clucking from that now-famous 2006 debacle, when even the Regina Regents’ boys Atom-B hockey team four floors above complained of the noise and had to be given a free night’s accommodation and breakfast to placate them).

Despite the inconvenience of the unexpected move, though, I hear there were long lineups for the Saturday workshops this year, especially newcomer Trudy Austin’s “Should You For A Moment Consider That Your Kids May One Day Read This?” and Amy Schiffen’s always-popular “Maternal Themes 101: Tried and True Topics.”

At the latter, the results of a recent Ipsos Canada poll were announced, indicating that only 2.6 percent of NAMBA members had not, to date, written at least once on every one of these topics:

1. Boy, What I Wouldn’t Give For A Good Night’s Sleep.

2. Hey, I Was At This Really Important Meeting When I Noticed All This Spit On My Blouse.

3. Sometimes I Swear That The Day-Care Workers Who Shake The Crap Out Of My Kid Nonetheless Do A Better Job Raising Him (Or Her) Than I Ever Could.

4. Hey, Look At What (Insert Non-Identifying Nickname For Child) Stuffed Into The (Insert Electronics Device Or Elderly Relative’s/Stranger’s Name And Orifice).

5. Being A (Insert Either Stay-At-Home Mom Or Working Mom) Can Really Be Frustrating But You Know I Wouldn’t Trade It For The World, Unless The World Included A Handful Of Vicodin And A Fifth Of Gripewater.

6. Honey, Does This Blog Make Me Look Ridiculously Lamentable?

Apart from the fact that I had to stay at home in Calgary to direct the movers I, of course, was unable to attend this year’s convention because Husband Number Three couldn’t lift his lazy arse from the cavity it’s created in the couch since the NHL playoffs began just after Christmas. “Ovechkin’s year,” he swore repeatedly for two weeks, before switching suddenly to talk about “Heatley’s revenge,” whatever that means.

Oh, gosh, look at the time!! Ten-thirty already. I should wake Cody and take him to the bathroom, or else he’ll wet the bed. And I hope Tom isn’t expecting sex again tonight. I swear he’s doing that just to aggravate me.

Anyway, take care.

Gabby.

Gabrielle here. We just moved to Ottawa from Calgary on May 1, and I thought it’d be fun to blog about raising a family in a new city. I have two adorable, beautiful kids — Stephanie and Cody — that I just love to smithereens, and one (Michael) who’s kind of plain but whom I like quite a bit anyway. My husband Tom is a perpetual thorn in my side (long story — maybe some other time) who I largely distrust (shorter story, but the kids are yelling for supper, so it’ll have to wait, too).

Anyway, I love to hear from other mommies in the area.  Drop me a line!

best,

Gabby.