davincis_girl: (Default)
“Mommy*, can I read you ‘The Thirsty Moose’?” said my six year old.
“Alright if I can type this out at the same time,” I replied as I continued to work on this post.


I read—a lot. Usually I go through three novels a week, a few magazines and newspapers, and hours and hours of fan fiction. In a pinch, if I’m bored I’ll read anything, even a car manual. There is no room in my house that you can’t find a book, especially the bathrooms.

“ ‘ Go ahead and try,’ said the big Moose.” The book is turned around to show the picture before going on with the story.

My bathroom has it’s own bookshelf to house all the books I have been reading that month. I set my alarm 45 minutes ahead of everyone else in my house so that I can soak in a hot tub and read undisturbed. It’s worth losing a bit of sleep since it is the only uninterrupted reading time I get every day. All other reading happens while multi-tasking or ignoring music/tv/whatever.

“What is this word, Mommy?” Small finger points at a word.
“Important”


Since I can’t get my computer in the tub with me to read on-line, I buy books. Today it was three television tie-in novels: Torchwood- Almost Perfect; Stargate Atlantis-Angelus, and Stargate Atlantis- Nightfall. Stargate Atlantis novels are usually pretty tame compared to the fan fic.

“Now I’m going to ask you some questions about the book,” she says pressing the open book to her chest so I can't cheat. “What was Big Moose’s problem?”
“I didn’t know there was going to be a test.”


However, get a load of this excerpt from the Torchwood back cover: “Ianto Jones woke up this morning with no memory of last night. He went to work, where he caused amusement, suspicion and a little bit of jealousy. Because Ianto Jones woke up this morning in the body of a woman.”

“Here is my favourite part.”

This is what I love about Torchwood. No matter how crack fan fic gets, Torchwood makes it look like cannon. Ships, check. Slash, check. Time travel, check. AU, check. Hurt/comfort, check. PWP, check. Gender switch, check. Man, I love this show. It has the added bonus of being a conversation starter, to talk to my kids about what the word “gay” really means. Big bi-sexual and hot action hero, check.

“I’m going to go get another book.” Ahh. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She’s bound to be a readaholic too, and maybe a teacher.

* Canadians write this word like Americans and say it like the Brits. Yah, we're weird like that. We do it the other way round with some words, writing them like British English but pronoucing them as American.

davincis_girl: (catbird)
I found out accidentally on a review site that male leads of Supernatural live together in the real world, sharing a house in Vancouver and carpooling to work. The on-line reaction comments to that got me thinking about the fanfiction phenomenon of RPS (writing fiction based on real people not fictional characters).

clicky here for reasons )

If I fall

Apr. 9th, 2009 10:20 pm
davincis_girl: (Default)


I’ve been listening to this one Bare Naked Ladies song as I drive the hour to work every day. It ends, I listen to news radio for a few minutes and then start it back up. In the middle of the album of typical quirky, happy pop songs the BNL are know for is this haunting lyric. It’s a story song about a window washer on a high rise, but it’s more than that. It’s a metaphor for looking at drastic change, maybe death, and being frightened by possible consequences.

.lyrics here )
davincis_girl: (Default)


Today is my son’s birthday. Weeks before I did the mom birthday checklist:
- Weekend party (sleepover) and events the next day….check
- Presents ready for the actual birthday….check and wrapped
- Birthday money…check

I’m thinking that I’ve got it all in the bag today. Just inside the door, my mother-in-law, who also watches my kids while I am work, whispers, “Did you buy a cake?”. Oh shit!

My mother-in-law is a fabulous baker—I’m a championship shopper. Every year we do the same thing. I buy and cake and bring it home to find that she made a cake. Result: two cakes. This year she didn’t because she thought I’d buy one. I didn’t buy one since I though she’d make one.

I call my husband, who is not home yet. He can get one, right? Alas, he’s actually coming home early and is in the driveway right now talking to me on the cell. Supper is in 30 minutes or so.

Hmmm. I live out the boonies of rural Canada. To get to my house you need to say things like, “Go two miles past the apple orchard and turn at the barn with the white fence. Don’t forget to look both ways for deer. Remember they travel in groups.”

So I tag off with my husband in the driveway like a weird relay and start driving ten minutes the closest village. The sweets shop is closed. The bakery is closed. The little grocery is open. However, all the cakes are frozen and need overnight to thaw except the crappy frozen chocolate fluffy thing. I contemplate thawing one of the real cakes in the oven, but the icing will probably melt. OK…crappy frozen thing here we come.

About this time I realize that I have changed from my work clothes into my kick around the house stuff and the girls are swinging free is a rather low cut t-shirt. Arggh! At the cash I spot some M&Ms and that, with ice cream, go into the bag.

Out in the parking lot, I peal the lid off the cake, wedge it between my unbound bosom and the steering wheel and rip open the M&M. I spell out my son’s name and a message in M&Ms. Yes, this is why I have a degree in art and English! At this point, it’s so ridiculous that I’m starting to laugh.

I sneak back in the house with the cake. On with the candles.

My son loved it. He and his sister fought over the candy. Makes me wonder why I ordered special cakes two weeks ahead and spend so much.

Man, I’m glad I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore.
davincis_girl: (Default)
My son's two hamsters died yesterday due to unknown causes. Little Boo was asleep and missed the disposal of the tiny bodies. She is old enough to understand what dead is and really wanted to see them when she learned the next morning. My son spent the day mourning little Russie and Psyco Hamster.

Later, I was listening to talk radio as I was helping six year old Boo clean her room. It was an interview with a palliative care proffessional who worked with children. She saw her job as helping children to die well.

She said that one basic worry no matter how young was that people would forget them. She and the dying child would set up homework for family members. There would be speical days (named for example Chris Day) where it would be the job of that family member to remember the person after he/she died. Say on Chris' birthday, family would wear his favourite colour, have his favourite food for supper, and remember him.

As a person who does not believe in an afterlife, this struck a cord with me, especially with my small daughter bouncing on the bed near me. This is a tangible way to keep some part of the person who is gone. I wanted to write this down so that I would remember this. I would like to start this as a tradition in our family and thought the idea may slip away if I didn't put it to pen, so to speak.

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davincis_girl

September 2010

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