gross

I'm writing.
There was a rock slide and I can't go and see my parents this weekend. God. I mean, if there were a God, it would be an irritating one.
And some stupid lady in the pool the other day asked if Hugo's name was "ethnic."
And I answered by rambling on about his name and other lame and not-lame baby names, nervously filling the politely racist air.
In said ramble I noted that "People are all over the Old Testament names these days. Which is so weird."
Stupid racist lady said "My son's name is Zachary. "
I said nothing.
"And I'm 38 weeks pregnant. It's a boy. We're naming it Elijah."
Just so you know, she was in the pool and I couldn't see her pregnant self.

Note to self : when someone says "ethnic," excuse myself for an emergency. Like peeing. Or looking at clouds.
Effers.
I don't want to be mean to pregnant people. Even if they deserve it. Did she deserve it? Am I a meanie?

And Hugo's going to be an awesome stripey tiger tomorrow. I bought his costume. Did not make it. Not at all. Yet another surprise of what kind of Momma I am. Cartoons : sure!!! Store bought costume : yahooo!!!!
At least he's back in cloth diapers. Close brush with the convenience of plastic. Ewww. Plastic. Grody gross grodessy grosssss plastic pee diapers.

Dishevelling Writerly Anxiety Hides Behind Ugly Doll

And may I add that although, in yesterday's late-night-posted-photo, I look like a dishevelled ex-hippie-turned-pseudo-indie twentysomething,
I am actually a dishevelled, actual, PhD student turned mother.
And still a PhD student.

And a happy one. I went to the YM/YWCA last night to swim. I swam for half an hour. I sat in the steam room. I sat in the hot tub.
This was perfect.
Today I went back to the Y with Hugo for Baby Splash Time. Hugo loves the water and he isn't afraid at all. He wants to jump in - he wants to dive into the fountains - he wants to do a backstroke across the kid pool.

I know this is boring. Here's the thing : I think of a lot ineresting things to write, and I have odd interesting moments all day. And they are sometimes disturbing, or provocative, or curious. But I'm scared to write them down. Because then they are real - but they are real only in the way that I write about them. My written record of these important events becomes the thing : the thing is no longer itself. My writing is.
And my writing is not up to the task.

hee hee.
photo booth IS hilarious!

Rampage of Cute

Hello friends.
Hugo is asleep. Vita is asleep.
I'm awake and I'm not tired - yahooo!!!
Hugo and I went on a long walk - inspired by autumn, which is my favourite season, and by an interview in the weekend Globe and Mail by a doctor who prescribes things like "drink more water," "get one more hour of sleep a day," or "go for walks." It works. People get better!
And so I feel great after walking with Hugo for a few hours. I did some errands and we went to the playground at the Mission Creek greenway. It's one of my favourite playgrounds.
There are always tons of kids and parents and dogs there, and Hugo likes people and pet watching.
And I am, despitecertain troubles with my family, pretty happy. Life is alright. I have a lot of love, a lot of goodness around me.
I mean, stress is always there, right?
Unless we are lobotomized by TV, scrapbooking or money. Even then, CSI is scary, fancy paper is ridiculous and money : bah!
Hugo's hilarious, and I'm attaching two photos. I'm not that good at blog formatting, so who knows where the pictures will end up. But they are both autumn pictures. One is curious Hugo, sweet and standing up with his cousins. One is Hugo rampaging through our house. A rampage of cute.