taller than i

My beautiful first born turned 13 yesterday. The cliche is true - it happens in the blink of an eye. He's a good person - smart, creative, caring and funny. We are so proud of the man he is becoming.

fiction: tabloid inspired

A couple of weeks ago, the homework for my writing class was to take a headline from a tabloid and use it as a jumping off point for a more serious short story or poem. I was uninspired by the headlines in my grocery star tabloids ("Brad Gives Angie Ultimatum!" "Jennifer Lopez Fights Eating Disorder!" "Larry King Marries Again!") and decided to go to that old standby - the now sadly defunct Weekly World News. I stole a legendary headline from them. The monologue that follows is all my own.

"Bat Boy Found in West Virginia Cave!" by Bill Creighton, Weekly World News, June 23, 1992

I blame the doctor.

I wanted a baby so badly. The other doctors I'd seen wouldn't help me, so I sought this one out. The office was in a bad part of town and it was dark and smelled a bit funny but he didn't ask me many questions. He said he would help me get pregnant.

And he did. I don't know what the shots were for or what was in the medicine he gave me to drink but I didn't care. I would soon have my baby.

It wasn't a difficult pregnancy. I didn't get too sick. The last few months were hard when I had trouble sleeping but that was it, really. It would have been more fun if there had been someone – anyone - in my life to share in my excitement, throw me a baby shower or help me set up the nursery. But I didn't mind so much. Soon I would have a baby to love. I wouldn't need anyone else.

He was born right on his due date and, from the first, I could tell something was wrong. The first time I held him in my arms I felt not love but revulsion. This was not the child I was meant to have. He was not my baby.

In those first few months he cried a lot. I made sure that he was fed and his diapers were dry but for the most part, I left him in his crib. He was safe there and I did not have to look at him.

As he got older, I continued to cringe at his touch. When he tried to crawl in my lap, I would push him away. When he cried, I left him to it. No one could say that I did not take good care of him. He had food and clothes, I even bought him books and toys. But nothing could make me love him.

I don't feel too guilty about that because it soon became clear that he was a bad kid. The first time he got into trouble in school, I went in to meet with the his teacher. After that, I didn't bother answering her notes or phone calls. If he couldn't get along with the other kids there was really nothing I could do.

The first time he ran away, I called around to the neighbours. The second time, I left the door unlocked so he could come in when he decided to come home. The third time, I locked it.

The first time he was arrested, I went down to the police station right away. The second time, I let him spend the night in jail. The third time – I decided he was the state's problem not mine.

A short time after that, he stole a car from the school parking lot. I haven't heard from him since. This morning I got a call. He was found hiding in a cave in West Virginia. They want me to come to him. But what would be the point?

That child, that particular child, was a mistake. He should never have been born.

I am sad, though. I do feel a loss – not for that child but for the baby I might have had. The mother I might have been.

Maybe I should try again.

This time, I'll go to a different doctor.

not about the Beatles

I don't have the energy to write anything of substance today, so I thought I'd share a little bit of silliness from my writing class last night.

Our teacher instructed us to "write about the Beatles" and this is what happened for me:

"When I think of the Beatles, I think of the Rolling Stones. I was a teenager in the 80s and both groups had already passed into iconic status. Which band was better in my mind? The answer, to my adolescent self anyway, seemed obvious.

Paul was cute. John was smart (and tragic) and I couldn't even imagine what the other two guys looked like. But Mick...Mick was hot. With those eyes, those lips, that hair. And those hips.

I couldn't have told you whose music was better, more complex, which group would have staying power. 

I just knew that the Beatles were pretty but Mick made me feel warm in places this Catholic girl wasn't supposed to think about."

random on a rainy day

There's something about a cold, rainy day that makes me just want to crawl back under the covers. I've resisted that temptation all day but I'm fighting a cold and my brain doesn't seem to want to function, except in fits and starts.

Here are some random thoughts, that I'm posting as a compromise between cogent and nothing at all.

1. All four performances of my son's play went very, very well this week end. I could not be prouder of him. He worked very hard for many months, to learn his lines and his blocking and he got himself to every rehearsal on time. The director gushed about him and said that she'd loved to work with him again. He had a big part and he was brilliant.

2. I thought, as his mother, that I was very restrained. I found myself reacting quite viscerally to the kids and teacher who bullied him on stage (Sacha tells me that they are all very nice people) and had to remind myself that they were actors in a play.

3. I was also very restrained during the after-party at a local pub. We sat in a different room from Sacha, gave him money (hey wait - the community centre paid for dinner and drinks and he still kept our twenty bucks!) and we only went to talk to him when it was absolutely necessary. I did call out "There's my baby!" when he walked in the door but otherwise did my best to embarass him only minimally.

4. The pub did not have a wide selection of food, so I decided to pretend I was a student again and share calamari, antijitos and nachos, washed down with beer. Afterwards, my GERD reminded me that I no longer have the constitution of a student. My GERD is well managed but apparently fried things can knock down the best defenses.

5. My jaw is very sore today. I think I'm going to have to break down and wear my mouthguard. Every time I think of it, I remember Tina Fey and Steve Carell in Date Night. It really is that sexy.

6. I've been editing a book in progress for a friend and loving it. It's made me remember how much I love that kind of work - especially when I'm working with good writing and interesting information (which I definitely am).

7. My skirmish with Zellers ended with them sending me a cheque for $7.48 because they "value my business."

8. This blog post was interrupted when Daniel's school called. He was sent home with a tummy ache. He was fine when he got home. This happens every Monday afternoon. Time for a meeting with the school.

9. Daniel just told me to "stop being so moody."

still ain't satisfied

Yesterday was International Women's Day and I marked it by keeping a therapy appointment and running a bunch of errands for my kids.

In yesterday's paper, Margaret Wente (whose column I avoid like the plague, as it's on the list of things that give me heartburn) wrote a column entitled "For the free, educated and affluent, welcome to the decade of women":

"In the West, International Women’s Day doesn’t mean much any more. It’s little more than a marketing opportunity for businesses, or an excuse for the last remnants of women’s grievance groups to keep griping."

Setting aside the erroneous and offensive assumption that any woman reading the Globe in the western world is "free, educated and affluent", Wente's assertions are just plain untrue.

In "Why International Women's Day Matters", Emma Woolley has written a brilliant rebuttal. Go read it. It will only take a minute and it's very good.

Woolley also posted a video that was circulating yesterday, featuring Daniel Craig and narrated by Dame Judi Dench. I'll share it here as well. It's called Equals and it provides the best rebuttal of all.

On a lighter note, Daniel Craig makes a damned attractive woman and I am crushing on Judi Dench.

coldest January 24th in recorded history

It was -30C (-22F) or -38C (-37F) with the wind chill when I got up this morning. It was that cold yesterday too. I did go out yesterday but I didn't take a picture.

Zoom did, though.

It had warmed up to a balmy -21C (-6F) by the time I went for my run this afternoon. See the frost on my coat?

This is a very boring post. I wish I had something more interesting to say.

riddle me this

I had a very vivid dream last night.

Perhaps you can help me understand it.

I was a participant in a "So You Think You Can Dance" type show and it was time for three "girls" (I know I am long past girlhood but that's how it was worded in my dream) to be voted off by the other contestants.

When it came time for the results to be read, I felt absolutely relaxed. I was very confident that I would not be cut - and yet my name was the second one read out. I was voted off the show.

While I was surprised at this, my disappointment was fleeting and almost immediately replaced by relief. Euphoria even. I wondered to myself if I'd been voted off because I was viewed as a threat but mostly I was just happy to get the hell out of there.

All of this had taken place in a doctor's office waiting room and the three of us who had been ousted were expected to leave right away. 

But it was winter and I had lots of gear to put on and then I couldn't find my mittens (this kind of thing happens to me in dreams a lot). I checked in the closet, under chairs and then finally in the bathroom. As I left, after giving up, I noticed that the show's producer (a bland, balding man with a pocket protector) was looking worried.

I quietly asked if I could help with anything and he said, "Not unless you can defuse a bomb."

To which I replied, "Well, actually I can."

When he looked skeptical, I handed him an invisible business card, which he took from me without hesitating. I told him to call the number on it to confirm that I was indeed an undercover agent.

I went to the guest room (yes, there was a guest room. It had a single bed and and a faded bed spread, carpeting and a big closet) to lie down and await the go ahead. I was visualizing defusing the bomb and mentally preparing himself.

A few minutes later, the producer came in a with a younger, heavily made up woman (as though dressed for success in a high end law firm). She was holding a set of rental car keys and said, with disgust, "The number you gave us was for a car dealership."

I was perplexed but determined to sort things out. I gestured towards the cell phone that the man was carrying and dialled the number on the car keys. The phone rang a couple of times and then an automated female voice said, "You are being connected to Leila."

The call was forwarded to Leila's voice mail and I said, "Leila it's Juno. I'm at the studio and there's a bomb here that needs defusing. I need you to get in touch and give the OK."

And then my alarm went off (in real life) and I woke up, very disappointed that I didn't get to defuse the bomb.

I told T. about the dream. He agreed that it was pretty weird. I instructed him to call me Juno all day today.

Armchair psychologists: I leave it to you. What the heck did this dream mean? What am I trying to tell myself?

happy new year!

In 2010, I:

Made soup.

Started running again and kept at it (in fact, I did the Resolution Run 5K last night before breaking into the wine and fondue).

Started editing my novel. It doesn't really have an ending yet but I don't totally hate what I've written, so that's a start.

Found a writing buddy.

Knit a lot of dish cloths.

Played lots of Scrabble/Lexulous

Had my heartbroken when my dog died.

Went to Florida in the in the summer to get away from a heat wave.

Spent some quality time with girlfriends.

Organized a team for the Run for the Cure, called No Pink for Profit. By run day, we were more than 40 women and we raised more than $20,000.

Fell in love with Twitter.

Finally got a smart phone.

Learned that grief is not a linear process.

Spent a lot of time thinking about community, friends and family. I am very, very lucky.

For 2011, I wish us all love, peace, good health and many wonderful adventures.

speaks to me

Thank you xkcd.

it gets better. and it can get better now, too.

Chances are very good that you've already heard of the It Gets Better Project, which was started in response to a series of suicides. Young people (some as young as 13 years old) are choosing to kill themselves rather than continue to deal with being bullied or shamed.

I love this powerful, touching and often funny series of videos aimed to give hope to young (and older) teens who are feeling depressed or alone because of their real or perceived sexual orientation.

This one from Pixar is the favourite in my house.




A day or two ago, The Maven shared this video on Facebook. These kids are saying that things need to get better now, not just in the future. It's brilliant and I am in awe.

Reteaching Gender and Sexuality from PUT THIS ON THE MAP on Vimeo.

and then my hair got did (final makeover post, i promise)

Of the four women being made over, two of us picked our clothes and shoes in the morning and then had our hair done after lunch. I was grateful to be in the afternoon group and have someone else do the work for a couple of hours.





Actually, I did have to do a bit of work. It took concentration to separate those little papers.





You can't really see all of them, but there are THREE little bowls of colout being applied to my head.





This is my favourite part.











And this is why my hair will never again look the way it did when Tony was finished with it. How does anyone do the back of their own head like that?







Thanks so much to Tony from L'Elégance Salon (they don't have a web site or I'd provide a link), the St. Laurent Centre and the Ottawa Regional Cancer Foundation for making all of this possible.



(All photos by S. Sioufi except the last which was provided by T. Vincent)

and then it got easier

It's not that I don't have anything else to talk about. It's just that life has been really, really busy lately and when I finally get the time to blog, my brain is no longer working.

I thought I'd continue sharing my makeover photo-story with you. Please feel free to move right along if you're bored with this stuff. Let me know in the comments if you've read anything interesting lately.

Meanwhile, the shoe store was more fun than the changing room:

First I had to pretend to be shopping for shoes, so that A Channel could get some footage.

Check out the heels on these babies.


I threw on this dress so that I could be filmed without ruining the surprise. It hadn't even been among the outfits that I considered but I loved it so much that I thought about changing my mind. Or going back a few days later and buying it. But seriously - where would I wear a second fancy outfit? To the dog park? Buying groceries? To parent-teacher interviews?


Can you tell which shoes I came in with?


It just occurred to me that the ones I chose (#53) look a bit like my old Blundstones mated with the those sexy pumps I looked at when I was still wearing the diva dress. Little boots but with a ridiculous heel.

See that crazy grin on my face? I love shopping for shoes.


Here's a better view of the whole ensemble. The St. Laurent Centre even paid to have my top altered. The outfit is hanging in my closet. I may just decide that I will wear it to the dog park.

chronological order

Arrived at the St. Laurent Centre with my friend SS, met the other women and realized that I was going to have an exciting day.


I was impressed with Tony from L'Elegance. He was consultative but had a pretty clear idea of what he wanted to do.


Trying on clothes was hard work. I don't have photos of some of the real duds or I would share (really I would). Finding items that fit and looked good was a real challenge and there were moments when I felt extremely frustrated. There were lots of great helpers, though.


I was determined to be open-minded but this was just too much sparkly for me. I felt like I was wearing a very shiny washboard.

contested irrelevance

I'm going to be quoting this brilliant speech given by my friend Andrea today (I'm doing a talk at Carleton University) and I realized that I have never shared it with you here, even though I found it to be deeply inspiring.

Please watch, and go and leave a comment over at We Can Rebuild Her so that Andrea can know the relevance and resonance of her words. It's a welcome reminder that nothing we do to effect positive change in this world is ever irrelevant.



This talk got a standing ovation at PAB 2010. I've watched it several times and it still gives me shivers.

mind body spirit

Thanks to Andrea for the photo.

I just spent an inspiring (and I don't use that word lightly) week end at Body, Mind, Spirit, 2010: National Conference for Young Women Living with Breast Cancer.

My best parts:

A Friday afternoon workshop: "Take charge of Your Treatment for Women with Metastatic Breast Cancer" with Dr. Maureen Trudeau. Engaging, accessible, interesting, informative and hopeful.

A Saturday afternoon workshop: "Intimacy after Cancer: Rekindling the Flame" with Dr. Sally Kydd. Amusing, motivating, reassuring, helpful and just plain fun.

A Sunday morning workshop: "Living with Metastatic Breast Cancer. Support that Works" with Dr. Tzeporah Cohen. Emotional,moving, cathartic, uniting, strengthening.

Speakers who resonated: Deborah Dubenofsky (Ontario Region Board Chair, Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation) and Carol Ann Cole.

My takeaway message (from Dr. Natasha Zajmalowski, Dr. Rob Rutledge, Dr. Roanne Segal and others)-

When it comes to breast cancer recurrence, it appears that insulin is the root of all evil. Lowering insulin levels improves the odds for a long and healthy life. How to do this:

1. Get at least thirty-five minutes of moderate exercise every day. Hooray! Something I'm already doing right!

2. Maintain a healthy body weight. This has provided the kick in the pants to re-commit to dropping 44lbs by my 44th birthday. Weighing too little isn't good either but that's never been my problem.

3. Eliminate or reduce alcohol and sugar. The insulin explanation is the first one I've understood and accepted re the link between these yummy things and cancer recurrence. To be truthful, not being an "all or nothing" kind of person, I don't see myself promising to never consume booze or sweets again. I can't even say that I haven't partaken since the conference, this being the season of Hallowe'en and pumpkin ale. I can say that I will make a greater effort to hold out for the good stuff and not give in to cravings.

I'm happy to say that although this message was consistent, the speakers seemed to be devoid of judgment. No one was blaming the victim or telling cancer patients that they brought the cancer on themselves.

I still feel that there are greater environmental and medical issues that need to be addressed. But there are just so few things we can control as cancer patients that I appreciate straightforward advice and simple things I can do to increase my odds of being around to see my children grow up.

Thank you so much to the staff (especially Jenn McNeill of the CBCN) and volunteers (especially Andrew, a volunteer from Humber college who helped with my books, kept me company and was enormously supportive during and after my book signing) at the Canadian Breast Cancer Network and the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation for helping me to promote Not Done Yet, and especially for organizing an amazing conference.

Can we do it again next year, please?

sugar hangover

Lots to tell about the conference I just attended but I'm exhausted and it's not just the result of all the sugar that was consumed in our house last night.

Instead of words, I give you some of the coolest kids in the world:



How often does one see a lady bug hanging out with Captain Kirk and the Grim Reaper? Death himself is my adorable offspring. The little trekkie and the bug are his very brave friends.




12 year old S. opted not to go trick or treating for the first time this year. Instead, he and his dad went to an early viewing off a movie that's usually shown at midnight. He's a character from that movie. Can you guess who he is? Those who've been privy to the discussion on Facebook are not allowed to vote!

what i would miss

I just did an interesting writing prompt from Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg:

"Tell me what you will miss when you die."

The instructions were to write for ten minutes without censoring yourself. Here's what I wrote:

My kids

My spouse

My family

My friends

My dog

Beautiful fall days

Walks along the canal with my dog

Getting lost in a book

Taking a nap on a cold afternoon

Knitting with friends

The feeling of euphoria when I write something good

Music

Good food

Laughing

Wondering at art

A hot bath after exercise

Physical intimacy (all kinds)

The happy feeling when I unexpectedly run into someone I like

Learning new things

Aha! moments

Seeing people do good things

Being proud of my children

Noisy gatherings around my dining room table

Doing fun things for the first time

Doing familiar things that make me happy

Connecting creatively or intellectually

Making new friends

Having old friends and family members who 'get' me

Scrabble

Fresh starts

Clean sheets

Small kindnesses

Spectacular acts of bravery

Feeling proud of myself

The way the pavement smells after a summer rain

The possibility of tomorrow

What about you?

omg

more soup

Starring (in order of appearance): olive oil, onions, garlic, garam masala, chipotle powder, water, vegetable stock, brown lentils, tomatoes, yu choy sum (Chinese greens), lemon juice, ground coriander. Served with a dollop of yogurt.

Loosely based on a Lebanese lentil soup recipe from the Toronto Star. I was out of cumin so substituted the garam masala. Ditto on the chipotle powder instead of cayenne. Soup is spicy but very, very good (if I do say so myself).

soup

Starring (in order of appearance): onions, garlic, tumeric, ginger, coriander, cumin, chipotle powder, cabbage, carrots, sweet potatoes, salt.