They wouldn’t be invited to my party.

Because the Opening Ceremony hasn't been commented on enough, I thought I'd add my two cents.

I thought it were great. I thought it was beautiful, artistic, representative and diverse, which ultimately, is what our country prides itself on.

I watched comments being posted on Facebook as the ceremony unfolded, and was angered by the number of negative - and ignorant - things being said. I couldn't believe it! I don't understand how someone couldn't watch the Ceremony with an open mind and heart and not be extremely proud. It showcased the varied and outstanding talent that we have in Canada, and it celebrated history and artistic creativity (very Cirque du Soleil) from across Canada.

Here's one of my "favourite" outtakes that I saw on Friday night:

"So so sad…I love the Olympics but yet again, we are embarrassed. Not to mention the 4 big Indian looking penis statues that erupted from the ground in the middle of the stadium!!!".

Right, embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that this person wrote this! The four ABORIGINAL penis looking statues were ice sculpture totem poles that were representative of the four aboriginal host nations. If you ever visited a museum as a child, or made it past grade 4 in the North American school system, you'd know that totem poles are carved from trees. And last time I checked, trees were thin and tall and round. And these penis statues extended their arms (penis' have arms?) to welcome the World to the Games, as the aboriginal communities would have. I mean really, were the drum circle participants going to hug everyone individually?

Here's another ditty:

"After the opening ceremonies anyone who has never been to Canada now things we all live in igloos or are red neck, boy loving, tattooed fiddlers…good job idiots".

Ya, I don't have much PG-rated to say about this statement.

But so this person can sleep at night, I'll let them know that each and every person that I've heard from that does not live in Canada, has had great things to say about the Opening Ceremony. I've heard that the Ceremony was beautifully put together, had amazing effects (the orca's got several shout-outs), that we have a lot of diverse talent, that we're artistic, unique and that we have hot fiddlers. So thanks for the concern but no need to worry about what others think, buddy.

The Ceremony wove together parts of our history, folklore and culture. Fiddling is common across Canada, thanks to the French-Canadian and Acadian cultures. And the fiddling section of the Ceremony (devil in a canoe, to jog your memory) was based on a French-Canadian folktale called La Chasse Gallerie. And if you know anything about Ashley MacIsaac, you know he isn't an angel. Fiddling is as French-Canadian as pea soup!

There was also talk about "why tax dollars were spent on this shit". Yes, my friend, your hard earned tax dollars were spent showcasing Canada to the World. But the Olympics will generate enough (taxable) money that those (borrowed) tax dollars will find there way back into the Receiver General's pocket. So relax, you'll get your refund.

I could go on about this (Facebook is a fantastic source of public opinion), but I won't.

Suffice it to say, I feel sad for those who can't find it in them to support the amazing work that Canadians (and yes, some non-Canadians) did to put the Opening Ceremony together. Who cares if you didn't like parts of it, like the giant Indian looking penis statues. In the end it's about supporting your country and celebrating the great things. Even if everything sucked about the Olympics, we should still be supporting Canada because it's our country.

I wouldn't invite these people to my party.

My favourite part of the ceremony was when poet Shane Koyczan recited his work "We Are More". Man, was he EVER good! His poem was smart, honest and funny. He is an incredible speaker; I was so impressed! And what about KD Lang singing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah? She sent chills down my spine.

I'm really proud right now that my country is centre-stage and being such a great host. A lot of people dream about living in Canada; we're living that.

Enjoy the Games.

A Week in Review

There’s a consensus amongst my close friends that I attract more than the average amount of weird stuff. For instance, random people always talk to me in bathrooms about their problems. Or, when I drive, I’m the one who runs over a rogue lampshade that happens to be flying across Interstate 91, resulting in a $5200 engine repair. Or, the schizophrenic man on acid who wants to take a trip to Montreal decides to move into my ("his") car overnight to prepare for the morning’s departure. Stuff like that.

There’s also a consensus that when I have a bad week, it’s like a bad to the power of four.

Tuesday: I woke up to the equivalent of a CSI crime scene investigation. I walked downstairs with Eva-Mae, bright and early, to find blood everywhere; on the floor, the carpet, the walls. This was a bit surprise and traumatic, as you can imagine. I called the pets, and Atlas didn’t come. I found him in the family room, licking his face, crusty blood on his white fur.

Atlas grew a random lump on the side of his face over the past few months. He was scheduled to have it removed after the holidays ($$$). Apparently this didn’t “work” for Atlas, so he took it upon himself to remove half of it, resulting in the ensuing blood bath.

It wasn’t as bad as it looked, though. I cleaned Atlas up, cleaned the house up, and got myself and Eva-Mae ready for the day. I left Atlas, feeling quite guilty, and made my way to Montessori and then work. Atlas’ vet was very accommodating, and scheduled him for surgery the next morning (the operation, after all, would cover a month of their rent).

At about 3:30 in afternoon, I got a call from Eva-Mae’s school saying she had a very high fever and I needed to come and get her. I dropped everything at work to go and pick her up. It’s possibly one of the most unsettling feelings when you know your baby is sick, and you can’t get to her in two minutes.

When I walked into Eva-Mae’s class, she was lying on the futon wearing only her shirt and diaper because she was so hot and uncomfortable. Her teacher had a cool cloth on her forehead.
This made my heart hurt.

I went over and picked her up, and she snuggled into me and started to cry, I think out of relief. When I tried to get her dressed, she wouldn’t let go: Heartbreaking.

That night, Marc took care of Eva-Mae, and me of Atlas. My little family was sick.

Wednesday: Eva-Mae was feeling much better, which of course lifted my spirits. We got ready, and then just before leaving, I let Atlas out to use the facilities. About five minutes after he came in, I realized he stank like shit. Apparently Atlas had some digestive issues, and because of this I had to give his posterior a bath (i.e. he didn’t just smell like shit). This unfortunately, did not work well with my scheduled timeline because I had to have him dropped off to the vet within 30 minutes.

Again, we were about to leave when I realized something still smelled. Turns out that Eva-Mae had stepped in some of Atlas’ digestive issue residue. So I had to change Eva-Mae.

And of course, as we were finally heading out the door, I couldn’t find my bank card. Why couldn’t I find my bank card? Because I am extremely disorganized when it comes to anything that should be in a wallet. This meant that on our way to the vet, we also had to stop at the bank so I could get a new card, so that I could pay for Atlas’ $1000 plastic surgery.

By the end of the day though, both Atlas and Eva-Mae were home, feeling all kinds of better, running around like the previous 48 hours never happened.

Thursday: On Wednesday night we had quite a bit of snow. So, practical as I am, I wore my snow boots to work. I made a mental note when I pulled them out of the closet NOT to forget my inside boots for work.

Of course, halfway to Montessori, I realized I forgot my boots. This was bittersweet; I had an excuse to buy new boots, but really shouldn’t be thinking this way considering the Atlas Incident. I weighed the pros and cons and decided to get new boots. Until I was able to get out of the office at lunch to buy then, I borrowed my co-worker’s boots which while lovely, were a size 10, not an 8. I think I looked a bit like an elf.

I headed to Rideau Centre to fulfill my footwear fetish, only to bypass the Bay’s shoe department and head to bathroom; I felt like I was going to puke*. Karma’s a bitch, and apparently I wasn’t meant to get new boots. (*No, I am not pregnant, I'm just still getting over the flu/have a new one).

Thursday afternoon was our work holiday party. I was really looking forward to this, because I really like the people I work with, and I really like getting to know them outside of the work environment. And, as predicted, it was fun.

Around 4pm, I headed towards the garage where I’d parked that morning. It wasn’t my usual one, but it was the closest I could find to my work and because I was running late, I parked there. As it turns out they only take credit cards and change at the pay stations. This didn’t work for me because I only had a couple of twenties on me and (because I am not good at keeping track of anything that should go in a wallet) I forgot my credit card at home.

I quickly crossed the street to Starbucks to buy a tea, so that I could get change. Unfortunately (yet predictably), they refused to give me change because it’s “against policy to break larger bills”. Sweet Jesus, the clock was ticking! I went to two restaurants and asked if they could give me change – nope. So I high-tailed it back to our holiday party and asked the bartender to give me change. And oh, how I would have loved to stay for more holiday cheer!

So while I initially “tried” to leave to pick up Meets at 4pm, I ended up pulling out of the $UCKING PARKING GARAGE at 4:45.

I think it was around this point that I felt like I wanted to throw back a bottle of Sambuca and pick a fist fight in a bar.

Friday: The highlight of my week (life) was going to see Eva-Mae’s holiday pageant. She and her infant classmates sang and danced to three songs, dressed as snowflakes. Hearts melted everywhere. I am so proud of my little girl. She makes everything worthwhile. I love her more than anything in the World, and would do absolutely anything for her.

Friday evening I made plans with a friend, so I headed downtown to pick her up. On my way I my mind drifted: Often in my car, this thought pops in my head saying “wow, things are going really well right now”. And then it never fails that just after I get this pleasant yet obtrusive thought, shit hits the fan for a week or two. This is exactly what happened about two weeks ago.

I snapped out of this deep thought when I realized that a cop was following me with his lights on.
I pulled over, put my window down, and reached into my bag for my license. But (because I am not good at keeping track of anything that should go in my wallet) I didn’t have my license. And not only did I not have my license, but I didn’t have my vehicle registration or my insurance. They were in my other bag. Also, I have been delinquent in renewing my registration, even after I got a warning a while (6 months) back. I knew this wasn’t going anywhere good. But by this point in the week, I felt so defeated that I just didn’t care.

So when the cop came to my window and told me “I pulled you over because you turned right on a street that you can’t turn right on from Monday to Friday, from 3:30 – 5:30” I simply said “I wasn’t paying attention”. I followed this by “you’re about to give me a lot of tickets, because I don’t have my licence, registration or insurance papers, and I haven’t updated my registration sticker”. He responded by saying “You look like you’re having a bad day”. Bad day? Dude, you have NO idea.

The cop came back and told me that he appreciated my honesty, and that I had a perfect driving record. And so he let me off with three warnings, downgraded my traffic violation ticket to a bylaw infraction, and gave me a ticket for my delinquent registration. And he wished me a happy holiday.

While getting pulled over sucked, I have to give it to the cop; he let me off pretty easy. If Marc had been pulled over, he would have been cuffed and had his truck towed.

Last night, after getting back from dropping off my friend, I decided that I shouldn’t leave the house this weekend. Perhaps this is how adult onset OCD or paranoia is triggered? That decision worked out nicely though, because this morning I woke up with a nasty cold. Of course.

You know what, as much as this week sucked, it doesn’t even matter. I got to see my little snowflake perform in her first Christmas pageant ever. She sang and she danced and she was happy, and at the end when she saw me in the crowd of over a hundred, she said “MOMMY!” and came running across the stage towards me.

Merry Christmas, Universe. And for God's sake, bring me a wallet for the New Year.

The Big Love

Love is so thrilling. And while people define it differently, we experience it in a similar way: it’s a warm, embracing feeling that lifts our spirits, helps us dream, energizes and strengthens us, challenges us and heals us.

Our ability to feel love is a birthright, but choosing to give love is a most beautiful gift. We can give our love to friends, to family, to pets, to strangers, to our neighbours, even to those make it difficult for us to want to share it. To receive the love of another is something to be appreciated, respected and honoured.

A marriage - however you define it - is an ultimate expression of love. Making an honest promise to love someone as they are, for a lifespan, is a most deep expression of love. It’s the BIG love. It’s about a deep respect for something bigger than yourself. It’s about letting go of selfishness and joining souls with another. It’s about what the other teaches you about the world, what they teach you about their world, and what they teach you about yourself. It’s about having respect for the other and patience. It’s about going to bed some nights scarred of how interconnected you are with another. It’s about waking up the next morning, thankful for the interconnectedness.

How lucky we are that we find a person who we actually want to give our love to, for the rest of our lives, and who we want to stand by and support, for the rest of our lives. We are so lucky that we find comfort and elation in giving and receiving the BIG love.

Being loved is a privilege. Finding someone who promises to love you forever is a gift like no other.

What makes you feel a rush of love? What makes your heart feel warm and drenched in happiness? What makes it sing, and what makes it dance? Take time to celebrate your BIG love. Because chances are, they make your world more wonderful.

I'm Not Sarcastic (insert sarcastic mark)

It’s come up several times over the past couple of weeks that I’m a bit sarcastic. Because I’m not sure how to take this, I’ve thought quite a bit about it.

This is what I’ve come up with.

I like sarcasm. I love reading things that are sarcastic; they make me laugh out loud. Witty sarcasm really saturates my dry sense of humour.

I’m not funny, per say. I’m witty (I like to think), which often translates to sarcasm. I never use sarcasm to hurt others, or to put them down. It’s just an automatic default for me. Perhaps though, this doesn’t always sit very well.

Like many others, I find that humour breaks down barriers. And because I’m not funny, and I think sarcasm is, I use it like others use actual humour.

When I feel uncomfortable, I use sarcasm. When I feel out of place, I use sarcasm. When I feel that I’m being judged, I use sarcasm. When I don’t feel important, I use sarcasm. When I admire someone, I use sarcasm. When I don’t know how to express myself, I use sarcasm.
I think the more I know someone, the less sarcasm I use. So maybe I just don’t know too many people very well.

See, I’m an introvert. And ironically (because I have a blog), I don’t like a lot of people to know me; that would be threatening. I share the things I want people to know, and that I think may benefit others (dig back into my blog about two and a half years). In that way, I’m not selfish.

When I feel like I need to stop sharing, I let a sarcastic remark slip. I’m pretty sure it’s my way of deflecting conversation. And I also use it when I want to tell someone something positive, but I either don’t know them very well, or I feel uncomfortable speaking from the heart.

I in no way think I am unique in how I use sarcasm. Maybe just unique in how much I use it.

Full Circle, Back to Fredericton

It’s funny how things come full circle, without any intentional intervention.

13 years and three months ago (I’m dating myself right now), my Mom, Dad and brother Brent drove me from our family home in Connecticut, to Sackville, New Brunswick. This would be my home for the next four and a half years, while I was going to MtA (or, Mount Allison University).

I had never set foot in the Maritimes prior to this trip. While most people like to visit where they apply to university, I prefered taking the trusted word of my Dad, and signing the “I accept” line on my MtA letter of offer.

On our way to MtA we spent a night in Fredericton. I remember rolling into town late in the evening, and going straight to bed. I remember feeling extremely sick (turned out I had an ear infection and a sinus infection), and therefore not really paying attention to my sourroundings. I do remember, very fondly, eating breakfast on a large deck that was part of the hotel restaurant, facing the what I later found out was the St. Johns River. That particular morning it was very sunny. Fredericton’s warm welcome carried through my entire four and half yearsin the Maritimes.

I think of who I was on that late August day, back in 1996, in Fredericton. I was 18, had just finished high school in Connecticut, had travelled through Europe with my brother, had spent a great time with my family at our cottage, and had a taste of dancing on pedastles and tabletops in bars.

I could tell so many stories, from between now and then. But that’s not the purpose of this.
Rather, the purpose is to say that I ended up back at this hotel, 13 years and three months later for a work conference. My visit was for a different purpose, at a different time in my life. And it was a reminder of how much has happened, and how much I have enjoyed and loved my life and my choices since I last spent a night in this hotel.

This time I flew to Fredericton for work; it wasn’t a stop off while heading to Mount A. This time, I was there with great work colleagues, not with my family. And this time, I wasn’t the daughter, I called my daughter every day, twice a day.

It was that first stop off in Fredericton that brought me to Mount A, which directly resulted in me going back to Fredericton for work. With many stops along the way.

Seamus, Stop Calling It the Swine Flu

While it definitely rolls off the tongue easier than H1N1, calling the virus the “Swine Flu” is seriously crippling the pork industry.seriously crippling the pork industry.

Vegetarian or not, I don’t think anyone wishes financial hardship on those who feed cities. Until a few weeks ago, I worked at our country’s agriculture department, and part of my job was reviewing the public environment (media, popular blogs, social research) for what was being said, and reported on, about agriculture. Hands down, the pork industry was front and centre.

Pork is super cheap at your local grocery store for a reason. Recently, after spending $150 on a load of groceries, I got a gift; a rack of ribs. This was a first. And why? Because, the current market value of pork is significantly below the cost of raising a pig, and some of our largest trade partners have shut their borders to the product. Pork producers are loosing money hand-over-fist.

And you guessed it, this started when the media spread the term ”Swine Flu” faster than the virus spreads in a daycare.

What blows my mind is that national media outlets are refusing to stop using the term “Swine Flu” - even after outcries from industry associations and requests from federal government. Apparently it’s sexier to us Canadians when our favourite news anchor refers to the “Swine Flu”, and not (it’s actual name) H1N1. According to my favourite national news station, H1N1 doesn’t “resonate” with the public as well.

I think it’s pretty unfortunate that the news media is more concerned about turning its viewers on, than the effect their choice of terminology is having on those that provide them their greasy spoon breakfasts. I’m sure the damage is done, but the fact that they won’t jump ship and use the term H1N1 – even symbolically – is really unfortunate.
Seamus, I think it’s sexy when you whisper H1N1.

FOS

I remember saying on many occasions: When you have a kid, your life should only change as much as you let it.

I was so full of shit (FOS).

I only realized this though about 15.5 months into my daughter’s life, during a trip to Newfoundland to a college friend’s wedding.

Until this point, I tried hard to live by my naive words. You see, I’m an extremely stubborn woman, born under the Taurus sign. I like to live by my words. The problem was, I was trying to live by words that I spoke as a relatively responsibility-free, late 20-something that liked to spend as much time downtown as possible.

I did a pretty bang-up job though, considering. Within 11 months I gave birth, packed an entire townhouse, renovated it with the help of my BFR (boyfriend-with-a-ring), moved to a new home, took two university-level courses, planned a wedding, had a wedding, went back to work full-time, and of course, maintained my priority of raising my baby. I did my best to maintain friendships, keep in touch with family, and keep my relationship in check.

By the time I went to Newfoundland, I was spinning. I felt like I wasn’t doing anything well. I felt that all of my time was spoken for. I was trying to be the person I was before I had EM, and that was just not going to be possible.

When I was in Newfoundland, I realized something great: I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I came back to Ottawa with reorganized priorities; I have a new outlook. I can’t really explain it well, but I have a sense of peace knowing that “this” is what I want.
All this to say, I am much more careful with my words now.

A Long Trip

Selling my Jeep was like finding an old dog a new home. I couldn’t just sell it to anyone: the vibe needed to be right, I needed to like the new owners, and they need to love her.

A couple of weeks ago, my Jeep – the bane of my young adult existence, and the love of my life – went to a new home. I found a good owner. I probably sold it for less than I could have, but that doesn’t even matter to me. Knowing that she’ll be loved and well taken care of is more important than change in my pocket.


When I got confirmation that the deal was a go I started to cry. Marc started to laugh (and then he gave me a hug). It’s not as much about the Jeep; it’s about letting go of something concrete and real that represents a chapter of my life (OK, and a bit about the fact that I’m selling my Jeep).


So much happened in my life while I drove my Jeep. Here’s a snapshot:


Gift: She was a gift to me, from my dad. That does not mean that I was spoiled; my brothers and I were very lucky growing up to have parents that taught us beautifully about life, love and responsibility. I don’t even know why my Dad did this, I’ve never asked. I just really appreciate that he helped me out this way.


Long Distance Drives: I drove long distances in my Jeep, and I absolutely loved it. It was a rough, loud ride, but it made me so happy because I loved driving it so much. The longest drive was from Branford, Connecticut, up the east coast through Rhode Island, Mass, New Hampshire, Maine and into New Brunswick where I went to school. It was a solid, and beautiful, 12 hour drive. I drove many times from Ottawa to Connecticut, through Quebec, Vermont, and Mass, and from Ottawa to Connecticut through New York and Mass.


The Cottage: I drove my Jeep countless times from Ottawa to our family cottage in Quebec. This drive is stunning. I particularly love the feeling I get when I leave Gatineau, and I love the part about one hour in, just along the river, especially just after a rainfall. One particular summer was really amazing. It was when Jo, Nikki and I were living together at Nikki’s house, and we’d pack up on Friday nights and go for the weekend. We’d come back into the city on Sunday evenings, tanned and relaxed, we’d BBQ some chicken and sit in Nikki’s backyard and eat and drink wine. On Monday morning we’d email each other about how we longed for the next weekend at the cottage.


It Brought Out the Worst in People: An ex-boyfriend of mine bashed my Jeep (in words) all the time. It made me so sad. Really, I think my Jeep was trying to help me understand what a dick this person was. Because really, his attitude about my Jeep was pretty much his attitude about everything: Nothing was good enough. He tried desperately to convince me to trade her in for a Honda Fit. WHAT A TOOL.


It Brought Out the Best in People: With the exception of the aforementioned, everyone who got in my Jeep, particularly when the top was down, was very, very happy. There’s something about driving around on a beautiful summer day with the sun beaming down on you. How could it not make you happy?


Sex: Yes, I had it in my Jeep.


Subsidized Housing: One night, I left my Jeep downtown in a “monitored” parking lot. My friend Erin was staying across the street while doing a coop term, and so, I crashed there after a particular fun night out (I remember it being extremely cold – the last time I ever waited in a line-up, in the cold, at a bar). The next morning when I went to get my Jeep, and long story short, someone had moved in. NO KIDDING! Someone had thrown it in neutral and moved it to face the opposite direction as I had parked it. They had popped the hood, had removed all of my belongings (such as my skies, which had put on top of my Jeep), and moved their stuff in (some half-eating fruit, a hat, some maps and blueprints, you know, the essentials). I found the guy’s wallet on passenger side seat, took it, and ran back to Erin’s to call the cops. When they arrived they drove us to my Jeep where the new “owner” was found “cleaning” it, prepping it for a ride to Montreal. What really sent me into a tailspin was the construction floodlight that he had pointing under the hood so he could “tune it up”. Turns out this man was schizophrenic, on pcp, and wanted by the cops for uttering death threats and assault. Apparently I was very lucky that he didn’t actually see me take his wallet out of my Jeep (this creeped me out a bit). When the cops asked him what was going on, he said that he ran the plates of the Jeep in the machine, and it told him it was his. He was arrested, but couldn’t be charged because of his illness – which is totally understandable. What was sad was that he was refusing all social assistance. A week or so later, the officer responsible called me to tell me that the man had been arrested again, and this time was admitted to the psychiatric hospital in Brockville. He’d gone to a car dealership and taken one of the used vehicles for a test drive – and didn’t’ come back. They found him about an hour away. Oh, and I almost forgot – he’d taken the plates off my Jeep and hung them in a tree (???). Ya, that was totally weird.


Most Beautiful Destination: The most beautiful place my Jeep drove me to was Bar Harbour.
First Breakdown: I had just come back from a lovely and relaxing vacation in Virginia and North Carolina. I drove directly from the airport to pick up Atlas (about 30 minutes outside of Ottawa). On my way home, my transmission fell out while driving on the Queensway. Yes, that’s right, my transmission FELL out. Unfortunately, my warranty had expired about four months previous. That only cost me $4200. And so it began…


Mont Tremblant: I drove to Tremblant with my soft-top only Jeep on possibly the coldest weekend ever (the high was like -38C). It was so cold that we couldn’t ski. This worked out fine for my friend Chris and I, because we spent the day sleeping and eating. Sunday morning I went to start my Jeep, and of course, it wouldn’t start. Chris and I spent the next three hours running around the village trying to find a tow truck that would give us a boost. We finally found one and they tried to boost it. Nothing. They tried pulling it and starting it. Nothing. So the tow guy suggested pushing it down the mountain (on the road, don’t worry) and have the momentum help jumpstart it. I agreed, and off the guy went in my Jeep, down the mountain. Chris and I looked at each other, both realizing at the same time what just happened. A stranger took my Jeep (and our ride home), our money, our credit cards, our ID and our clothes, and shot himself down the mountain. So we did what anyone would do, and we ran after him. We did find him, and my Jeep had started.


Therapy: Driving is like therapy to me. And during my twenties, God did I need therapy! Driving gave me time to be alone and think through things. I did so much thinking in that Jeep. I made so many decisions, I cried so much in it. And of course, when I was in it, I became a pop star singing to my heart’s content.


I think I could go on all day about my experiences in my Jeep. But let’s leave it at this: My Jeep drove me through my young adulthood, and it brought me to where I am now.


I heart you Jeep.

Brown is more than a colour.

Brown is our cat. His full name is Charlie Brown, but he looks more like a “Brown” than a “Charlie Brown” or “Charlie”. He’s a three (shy of a month) year old Himalayan. He’s a variety of shades of brown – his lovely velvety chocolate feet and ears, I think, are the most parts of his coat. Brown has very beautiful, clear blue eyes and an incredibly small nose (his nostrils are the size of a pinhead – seriously, it’s surprising that air can even fit through them). He sort of looks like an ewok.

If it’s possible that a cat can be eccentric, then Brown is. I can say without hesitation that he is the most unique, odd, fantastic cat ever born. For starters, he has species-identity disorder: He thinks he’s a dog. When someone comes to the door, he runs to it like a dog (and out of our three pets, he’s the first one there – and he actually skids around corners to get there before the real dogs). He knows our schedules, and waits by the door when we should be coming home. When he wants attention, he follows us a around and meows, and if that doesn’t work, he starts to bat us with his paws. Brown even chases his tail – yep, that’s weird, I know. And get this, HE COMES WHEN YOU CALL HIM! What cat does that? He also likes to play with both Eva-Mae’s toys and the dogs’ toys – much to Atlas’ frustration.

Brown’s the most affectionate cat that I have ever come across. He’s the first of the animals to jump up on the couch, and more often than not, cosies himself right up on one of our laps. He also tries to sneak into our bed our bed at night, casually I might add, as if it’s just something that he’s supposed to be doing. And he doesn’t want to sleep on it; he wants to sleep curled up under the covers, in our legs. And while this is very cute, it’s not very conducive to (much needed) slumber.

Brown is also Eva-Mae’s favourite pet of the moment. She LOVES him. Every morning after she wakes up, we do a survey around the house of whose home and who isn’t (it’s a good way of teaching her our pets names and that her daddy’s at work). When we find Brown, she gets a huge grin on her face, her legs start kicking, she starts to babble, and she reaches out for him. Luckily Brown digs Eva-Mae too. He’s always close to her, and cleverly, has learned to stay just out of her reach. She’s definitely thrown him for a loop now that she can crawl – the days of restful, curious watching are over for Brown. He lets her tug at him and pet him; he’s really very good with her.

Brown makes our family just that much happier. He always brightens my day – just by being around. I’m so glad that cats have long lives, because I want this little guy around for a long time.

For my love.

Shortly after we met, you asked me to please talk to you, not just write to you. I did, and I thank you for it. I do feel that in doing so, you missed out on many of my thoughts that while I could have put on paper, was not always able to express.

So tonight I write to you, for fear that I will rob you of the love I feel right now.

My hand feels warm tonight. Finally I have the band of precious metal and stones on my left ring finger. It has surprised me just how much it has made me feel – shocked me really. I'm practical and you are passionate. Or so I think. Even in the face of my practical approach to our wedding day and engagement, you came home tonight, bent down on one knee and asked me to marry you. Tears flowed down my face. These were different though, not nearly as salty as many that you've seen. Tonight I had no choice but to feel passion.

My love, in our short time together, we've conquered odds. People questioned our instant connection. I remember our second date; we had to leave the restaurant because I couldn't stand sitting that far away from you. I picked you up from the airport on January 14th and you never left my house. Our relationship was drenched in love from the very beginning.

I gave my heart to you, and you didn't hurt it.

After only 9 months together, we made a baby. Our lives quickly changed. And while it was hard at times, we were still so in love. And now we have a beautiful baby girl who will hand us our wedding rings on May 30^th.

When you wear your grey hat, the one that makes your eyes so piercing, my heart melts. It reminds me just how strikingly beautiful you are. When you do the chicken walk that makes me laugh so hard, it reminds me of how alive your spirit is. And when you chew on your nightly tea, it reminds me of how fleeting those little annoyances are.

Being with you is the easiest and most peaceful thing.

You treat as if I am so much more precious than this ring. You listen, you love, you hold back, you're my best friend, you hug me, you challenge me, you're the same as me, you're different than me, you support me, you compliment me, you're the best dad. You treat me the way I feel you deserve to be treated by the World.

My heart feels warm like my hand. I am so happy that we are going to spend the rest of our long lives together. I'm so excited about what our future holds; the surprises, the good and the bad.

At the end of my days, you will be the person that I shared the most with – my life with. You will be the only person that truly knows my depths. And nothing makes me happier.