Pretty

When M was just a few weeks old, a strawberry birthmark made itself visible on her right cheek near her eye. My only concern about the birthmark was that, under the skin, they can occasionally interfere with the eye. I took M to the doctor, asked the necessary questions, learned that there was nothing to be concerned about and we went on our way.

Never grow a wishbone, daughter….

FOR MY DAUGHTER

By Sarah McMane

“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.” – Clementine Paddleford

Holla, sista!

I saw this the other day and found it to be very powerful.

This part moved me to tears: “That you feel no solidarity with the women that have no voice, no power, no safety, no light, no freedom to drive a car or walk down the street by themselves at night; no right to protect their own children, maybe you’re not ready.”

They shall dance!

I’ve never been much of a girly-girl. Not really tomboy-ish, but not girly-girl either.

So, when I was pregnant with M and found out she was a girl, I had some thoughts of, “what the heck do I do with a girl?”

Fake boobs

I’m not particularly chesty.

Never have been.

It’s really too bad we don’t have a jet-pack

Overheard this as the kids were getting ready for school this morning…

M: I wish I could walk on the ceiling.

Z: You actually can.

M: How?

Z: All you need to do is put a jet-pack on upside down and then do a hand stand. The jet-pack will shoot you up to the ceiling.

M: No. I mean without  jet-pack. We don’t have a jet-pack.

Z: Oh, then you’d need to have zero gravity.

Conversations overheard

I’ve mentioned before that I love overhearing the conversations that Z and M have while I’m in one room and they’re in another.

This morning’s?

Oppose Motion 312

At 5:30 p.m. today, Canadian MPs will be debating this motion: http://www.stephenwoodworth.ca/canadas-400-year-old-definition-of-human-being/motion-312.

Just be you

I still have it

And by ‘it’ I mean that look in my eye that will make a creepy man outside a bar turn abruptly away from me when he’s about eight feet away, rather than continue to approach.

Before I continue, I realized as I was mulling over this post that there is no way to write this in which I will not either sound arrogant and self-absorbed (good gawd, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m going all “Samantha Brick” or anything) or meek with a low self-esteem (far from it, trust me).