Marriage is an ever fascinating topic

Remember Jenny, the lovely bride whose wedding M and I worked on last October? She has a blog which I enjoy reading, and leads me to discover we have a lot in common...

Go over and read her recent post on marriage, it's especially articulate and interesting. She lives here in Montreal and her husband is a Quebecer, but she's from Tennessee, and so her perspective is quite sharp and different.

I love this whole discussion.

Hurry up and have that kid already!

Fertility is a strange thing. When you first become sexually active, and usually for many years after, you are a little obsessed about countering it. This sort of leads you (OK, me) to believe that conception could happen at any time, that it is something you can take for granted. Then one day you are all ready, and excited, and your whole mindset completely shifts in a moment. And thankfully, for a lot of people, it does happen in a relatively short period of time. But for a lot of other people, including us, it’s not exactly optimal.

True/Slant writer Avril Peveteaux (who’s also an editor over at Babble and a FB friend -this is where this discussion was initiated) just posted about a new study stating that women probably lose 90% of their eggs by age 30. Great way to "scare young women into breeding", she points out… But looking around her, she wonders why the dire and recurring alarm, always targeted at women (when you know, fertility problems are clearly not only one-sided). After all, she says (while admitting that anecdotal evidence does not science makes), she conceived two kids easily in her 30s, so did most of her friends, and judging from the parents at her daughter’s school, thirty-somethings certainly can have kids (I would second that, as I don’t think there’s even one parent younger than say, 29 at our 70-kid daycare).

"What I hate about this constant drumbeat, is the message that women can’t have it all so they had better start reproducing now. Then, at the least, you’ll have that prized baby. Which is really all women want anyway, right?," she quips. I couldn’t agree more. Women are born with about 300,000 eggs, which they start steadily losing shortly after. Even if only 30,000 are left at the ripe old age of 30, that is still much, much more than you will even need. So whether your fertility peeks at 27, as I have once read, or 22 as this new evidence seems to suggest, it does not make any difference for most women of childbearing age trying to conceive or getting pregnant every day. After all, you will only have so many opportunities to use the said eggs, with an average of 400 cycles in your entire life. Such studies bring little but unnecessary drama.

Of course the message should not be to lure women into thinking they can wait forever. They can’t and it’s unfair and sometimes heartbreaking, but it’s still the reality. This is one of the areas in which our minds have clearly evolved faster than our good-old homo sapiens bodies. From a purely physical standpoint, we were made to have kids from like 15 to 21 (that’s because, we used to die by 35). However, having kids at that age today is rather 1-catastrophic news in most cases, 2-statistically associated with lotsa problems for the child, and 3-even often the subject of mockery about the alleged inferiority of a certain societal sphere.

I think pressuring women even more about their biological clock is a little useless. The decision to have kids is such a complex one that simply can’t be based on maternal age alone! I’ve been thinking about fertility a lot lately, about how I could have never imagined this working less-than-perfectly, how ironically I probably didn’t need that extreme contraceptive diligence all these years after all, and while knowing that there was no other way (at least not with M), even wondering if I had waited too long and extended my personal window. But, nah. Most women my age get pregnant quickly, a lot of younger ones have some trouble, too, and in fact, whatever challenge we may have would probably been there earlier.

Had I known 10 years ago that I would not be able to get pregnant easily, I still wouldn’t have changed a thing. Obviously I know young parents who were ready and at the right place much before I was (like my dear friend Cate), and you know, great! But I couldn’t have been a mother in my early twenties. I would have been a disaster, and most importantly, any guy I was with wouldn’t have been right (some have since turned out to be great dads of course, but once they were *there*, and with other women). Because as dumb as I could be sometimes then, I had grasped at least one thing correctly: choosing the right person to have kids with is probably the most important decision you will ever make in your life, and the only one you can’t get yourself out of.

This year, even winter has moved South

Weird, weird winter. Since mid-February it has been snowing a little more (and it continues this week), but other than that this is the mildest, strangest, and for me greatest winter ever.

There was basically one small snow storm, on December 7. It has been consistently mild, with no extreme cold whatsoever, and very few precipitations. I don't remember seeing most of our bare yard at this time of year, and we've never seen the family of cardinals that live around our house all through the season either. Minimal disruptions and discomfort. My kind of thing! There has to be winters like these, to compensate for the hellish one we had two years ago.

I work with a lot of people from France, and they are all complaining though, of this season being terrible, of them being unable to do winter sports, etc. Frankly, I will never understand why someone born in Lyon or Marseilles will WILLINGLY move here. We sort of have no choice, but leave a near perfect climate for this? I guess we all long for something we don't have (and don't know well). For me, perfection would be California, and I know with all my heart that I would never grow tired of the weather or take it for granted. For them, it's the Disney-like (a co-worker's analogy) landscapes of glistening, fluttery snow on the evergreens while you glide on your skis or hop in your snow shoes, alone in the cold and blissful silence. I'm not crazy, I also appreciate this kind of beauty, but it happens once or twice in the season, while the downsides makes our life harder all the time.

But the funniest thing is, while Mother Nature is so kind on us this year, people living in much Southern and/or milder latitudes are having a crazy, record-breaking season or cold and snow. I sort of envied my friend Melissa for living in DC, which I always thought was a great four-season, but much less harsh/puzzling/frustrating climate than here... But this year it looks that they have more snow than we do, and a lot of storms! At some point two weeks ago, there was snow on every US state except one (Hawaii, obviously). Crazy and unheard of!

I saw a weather map last week, which explained the oddity (and of course I couldn't find it again to post here). The Jetstream, the moving polar air currents that are basically responsible for the climate, are located much more to the south than usual this year. It was striking to see it in color, with a huge blue stripe (cool/cold air) dragging over western Europe and the Southern-part of the US, and above it, a large yellow/orange area (warmer air) exactly where we are. Just like in Germany, where the southernmost state of Bavaria is where you go for snow, the North is warmer right now.

Will this stick, with climate changes and all? I know a lot of people that would hate that, but it has happened, you know! Once can always dream. I wouldn't mind eventually growing palm trees in my backyard, not at all.

A brunch

I was his first grandchild, born when he was only 43. When I was 12 (and him 55), we flew to Florida together, where we were meeting my grandma. All day during this journey people kept referring to him as my father, and I thought this was ludicrous then, but it doesn’t really seem so now… M is 37, and if we ever have another kid, their age difference will be quite similar to the one I had with him.

He was the greatest grandfather to all of us, and we loved him to bits. We were gold to him, he was immensely proud and happy to show us around, never hesitating to get down on all fours and give us a piggy-back ride. Each Thursday night he would come have dinner with us, and every week I would call him and tell him not to forget the candy! (As if he would have forgotten). Then after closing the store he would show up with three small brown paper bags full of good stuff, all with the same things inside so we wouldn't get jealous.

He’s cheated death so many times, you would never believe it. From cancer to heart attacks to severe pneumonia to triple bypass, he’s always coming close but he's always winning. He’s been through a lot of hardship, not to say that he didn’t cause any, because he did and I’m not blind to his flaws. A lot of them I can see coming from him having been a total bébé gâté (spoiled brat), as the last child of his parents, coming as a surprise when his mom was 45. Not only his mother babied him for the longest time and spared him of everything until he moved out as a newlywed, but he was also, all through his childhood, the little adored doll/pet of all his numerous, older siblings. I think that explains a lot about the personality one then develops.

The last few years have been especially tough on them, his wife and him. We were sad and worried. But now they have put this behind them. Winning again. And so we celebrated as a family. Just a small brunch for us (my favorite meal and way to entertain), but I think a big, happy, symbolic deal to them.

I don’t think there is anything more precious to him than this, having two of his great-grandsons on his lap. He, of course, was quick to point out that not so long ago, we were the little ones, my sister and I, we were the small children he proudly posed with.


They brought LP a small suitcase on wheels. Since then he’s been carrying it around everywhere, all the time. It "sleeps" next to him at night, it is parked in the bathroom when he goes, it is next to him when it eats. I’m so glad LP gets to know him. When he left a voice mail last week and said "c'est votre grand-père" (which means this is your grandfather but plural and inclusive), M smiled. He hasn't had a grandfather in over fifteen years.

I want to remember this forever

Right after we turn off the lights for LP to go to sleep. He stays quiet for a few minutes, then calls for me. He sits on his bed. "I want to talk."

"That little car in Top Gear was sooo funny…," he starts. We watched this hilarious segment of the British show earlier that evening. My boys are Top Gear fanatics. We pay a premium so we can get the BBC on our cable offer, and M tapes it every day. Oh, and I got them matching I am the Stig t-shirts for Christmas. "The guy with the curly hair drove it right into the building, then into the elevator… That makes no sense at all!" He laughs softly. "Maybe we could get a tiny (tout-petit) car like that. For me. I wouldn’t drive it in a building! Just on the road."

Now I’m the one laughing. "You couldn’t do that, mon loup, you don’t have your license… People need a license to drive, I have one, and daddy has one. You’re still too small to get one. You have to wait until you’re 16." "When I’m big, I can drive. I won’t drive our cars, because we’re changing them both soon, right?" (Right.) I offer:"But we will still (presumably) have the Mustang, so you can drive it then, OK?" "Ohhh-kay." He lies down again for a minute. Then he sits back up.

"Can apples make juice?," he asks. Where does he come up with that? "Yes, they do… Almost all fruits, and vegetables I guess, can be turned into juice." "Broccoli…," he says, of course naming his favorite veggie first. "Mhh, I’m not so sure about broccoli, but you can make juice with tomatoes, carrots, er, spinach…" "What’s spinach?" "You know what spinach is… It’s a green vegetable, a little bit like lettuce." "I don’t like it." "Yes you do! You had it not so long ago, when we stopped at this restaurant while coming back from New York. You kept stealing it from my plate and dipping it into ketchup (yuck)." "Which restaurant?" "It was called Ruby Tuesday’s." "But it wasn’t in New York?" No, it was on our way back, actually." "Ohhh-kay."

He continues. "I’m glad we talked," he says. "I am, too." Good thing he can’t see so well in the dark. Despite smiling from ear-to-ear there are big (tenderness) tears running down my face. He extends his hands and starts counting on his fingers. "We talked about: the little car, the Mustang, spinach, and then New York. Wow." He’s now in his fourth finger. That’s efficient conversation in his mind, and he’s proud.

That’s it, I’m laughing and crying at the same time. I stroke his hair. "Je t'aime." His face completely lights up, at at this moment I know that he's aware I really mean it. "Je t’aime moi aussi, maman."

We are sisters

I was about LP’s age when my baby sister was born. I don’t remember much from this time, which is strange since I have plenty of memories from before (like going with my mom to her ob/gyn visit). Daughter number 3 followed suit 15 months later. In a little over a year I had gone from only child to big sister to two.

That’s what I was, the big sister. I always needed to be reasonable and patient, but it was fine because naturally, I was. I could do well on my own, being quiet; I’m actually still like that. As soon as the third one was born, the second one (we’re all Marie-something) starting taking care of her, mothering her, protecting her, taking the food out of her own mouth to feed her. They were inseparable, sharing a room even though we had an extra room available, forming an unbreakable unit, intuitively understanding each other, almost like twins.

So in your family there were two entities: “les filles” (the girls), and me. I was also a girl, but we all knew that when our mother called for that name, she meant the two others, not me.

We played together, roller-skating to the Beatles (my parents’ old LP) in our large basement, since my mom was too afraid to let us do it outside, building forts underneath the staircase (until the day I was simply too big to fit into the narrow opening), spending ALL day in our swimming pool in the summer (sometimes with our beloved yellow Lab Cannelle).

We walked to school together, all in our little telling matching navy blue uniforms. Were we talking a lot? I don’t remember, I was “always in my head” so much, anyway, a bit awkward and anxious. I was a little jealous of the second one, the tomboy, who ran fearlessly, scrapped her knees, climbed in trees, and learned how to ride a bike (a real one, without the little wheels) before she was 3. I was 6 then, and I hadn’t even learned yet, I was just too chicken (it did give me the guts to do it shortly after, though).

We fought a lot, also, and cried and taddle-taled and sulked during time-outs. One time I cut the second one’s hair all crazy. My mom disciplined her, but I’m not sure why, she never gave me in. We would be slapping each other one minute, then kissing each other sloppily and dancing around in the living room holding hands, until we were dizzy and hurting from laughing so much. We were sisters.

And even though we’re not technically the closest I’ve ever seen (we don’t call each other every day or need to see each other all the time), this bond is very special to me. I still sometimes believe that I know exactly how they’re feeling, without a word being said. The thought of life without them is unimaginable.

When I came back from Germany, about 15 people were waiting at the airport. I was exhausted, beyond excited, nearly sick to my stomach about being home, seeing everyone. The second one was working and couldn’t take the day off, but the third one had made the long trip to Montreal. And as soon as I crossed that gate and everyone cheered, in a flash it was only her face that I could see. We fell into each other’s arms, both crying, without me even greeting anyone else. And suddenly, all was well with the world.

Looking back on wedding planning

My co-worker/friend is getting married in December. Since I married after all my friends (except the like two couples who aren’t hitched) and both sisters I pretty much thought I had exited this universe for a while. But it’s fun to find myself indirectly involved again, I want to add especially when it’s not your wedding. She comes to me for advice, reassurance, aesthetic opinion, and, inevitably, venting.

She is a smart, strong, thirty-something woman (and a mom to an adorable toddler girl), and yet most of the time she feels overwhelmed, stressed, and like things are out of control. Weddings often do that to you, it seems: little moments of bliss (she was ecstatic when she picked out her cake/colors –leaf green and fuchsia), laced with a lot of pressure and expectations and compromises and all-over-the-place emotions that take over everyone around you. She is planning the whole shebang in her native country, Peru, and so it basically means that her mother, sister, cousins, and aunts are in charge. And of course she is fine with that for the most part, but I can sense this is not her ideal plan, and she’s torn between knowing she can’t invest too much time in this (on top of a full-time job and her family she also pursues a graduate degree part-time), carrying out her own “dream” vision (she’s Latina, she cares much more about all the traditional little things than I ever did, and that’s just perfectly her –by which I mean, I handled my wedding the way I view life, and she does too. I like that. What baffles me is people whose weddings contradict themselves or fall at the opposite of their personal mindset/perspective), and wanting to make everyone happy. Which, of course, we all know ain’t happening, sadly.

So she’s freaking out and, I’m afraid, viewing the whole thing as a terrible chore, instead of a wonderful project. Obviously, this makes me reflect on our own planning and process last year. And I came to the following conclusions: in the end, I’m glad we only had about two months of “active” planning, because I’m not good with stress and I think I would have really, really gone nuts otherwise. I was a bit of a wreck in the last two weeks, and I’m sure it would have been much worse if the whole thing had dragged on for a long time, and/or had been a whole lot bigger or more elaborate, and/or I had faced a lot of cultural/social/family pressure. She explained to me that over there, contrary to what people do here, you can invite a smaller group of guests (which in South American speak is a very relative 175 people or so), but you simply must invite *everyone* in your circle for the ceremony. This means you need a huge church, and a buffet of finger foods and drinks there, on top of your cocktail and sit-down dinner at the reception, which she told me will not be over until at least 4 or 5 in the morning. I’m not sure if she would like her wedding to be smaller, I’m not even sure she asked herself the question, I think it’s just what it is.

However, it seems pretty obvious to me that this big scale, and this mandatory compliance to all these unspoken “standards” is adding to her stress. And it made me grateful. For sure we have probably upset some people a little through our wedding. I’m aware of that, and it makes me sad. But for the most part, I think we were so lucky to live in a place and be surrounded by people who didn’t pressure us into anything. People who were genuinely happy for us, but never requested anything, and were totally fine with our outside-the-box plan. Even for here, our wedding was not very traditional. But it was how we felt it should be, to reflect us, our beliefs, tastes, personalities and quirkiness, and emphasize the “officialization” of a little family over pulling off the habitual bash because-that's-what-everyone-does. I’m so glad that the circumstances were favorable to me making that choice and doing things my way. I would have been so miserable otherwise...

And finally, I think ditching our New York plan was the best thing we’ve ever done. Even though we got engaged in May 2008, the wedding would still be more than 6 months away! I simply couldn’t bear having waited that long. Instead of still being in the everlasting planning stage, which in the end I’m pretty glad to have graduated from, we’re now just a few months away from our first anniversary.

Die Deutsche Küche

Years ago, I started writing down some notes about German food tidbits and traditions, including recipes but mostly culinary observations, which more often than not are so intertwined with culture itself. I think the idea was to eventually come up with a book, but although I have many pages, I stopped one day and am not even halfway through the original outline I planned (it’s in French). I just re-discovered the file and had a lot of fun reading it. I miss Germany! Here is just a small part of it, translated by moi:

In Germany, egg yolks are a deep, deep orange shade. I guess it seemed even odder to me since in French yolks are called “egg yellows” (jaunes d’oeuf), which after all complements the wording for “egg whites” (blancs d’oeuf).

When you ordered tea, you were presented with two options, a cup or a little pot, Tasse oder Kannchen. It took me a while to figure these out.

Mayonnaise, as well as many other condiments, come in small tubes, not in big tubs. For mayo especially, it seemed like a wise implied message, reminding you that you should only eat the stuff sparingly.

Water de facto meant “carbonated water” (Sprudelwasser). There were so many kinds it sort of blew my mind (there are maybe 4 kinds here, and they’re not very popular). I’ve never seen anyone in Germany drinking regular tap water, although bottles were usually made of glass, which is more easily reusable and less wasteful than plastic. I don’t really mind very carbonated water, say, with a meal, but to cool yourself when it’s hot after a long walk, well that’s another thing.

Yogurt (admittedly one of my favorite foods) is what I miss the most. Ten years ago, there were probably 5 flavors available here, and when I got there it was truly Joghurt heaven: pineapple with cereal, blood orange, passion fruit, guava, green grapes… Even now that the offer here is much better (my organic kind has good stuff like apple/blackberry and pomegranate), it’s still not the same. It was goooood. Yeah, that good.

Try as I might, I don’t think I was able to find celery there, neither in my Tengelman Supermarkt nor in the various farmer’s markets I visited. Its close cousin, the fennel, was however ubiquitous. I thought this was strange because celery is so basic and prevalent here, a bit like onions and garlic.

Bread (along with mouth-watering pastries) is probably what the Germans do best. I dearly miss it too. You only have to look at the words for meals to realize its importance in their culinary culture: breakfast is “Frühstuck”, which literally means “a piece (of bread) early (in the morning)”. Lunch is Mittagsessen (midday meal), and diner is “Abendbrot”, which means “evening bread.” Lunch is traditionally the biggest of the three meals, which I think makes a lot of sense. For digestion but also if only because it usually means that people take a longer, leisurely break in the middle of the day, and case in point, most small shops and stores were simply closed from 12 to 2. There’s even an unspoken custom that went with it, called “Mittagsruhe” (midday calm). You shouldn’t make any loud noises during this time, and my neighbors were very prompt to remind me so! (I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, I was simply unaware.)

Mustard comes in two flavors: suß (sweet) or scharf (strong). Both were really good, but strangely neither were like the two kinds I was used to: the North-American yellow one, and the French Dijon one.

I always wondered why everyone associates sauerkraut with Germany. Except for rotkraut, the red, sweet kind traditionally served with roasted goose for the Holidays, I never really saw any in restaurants or Imbiss (small outside places where you can buy sausage, fries, and such). The only place I saw it was actually in Strasbourg, in the Alsace region of France.

I could actually go on, and on, about all of this…

Red-and-white sweeping over the world!

OK, maybe not. I'm getting a little carried away.

What a fantastic moment it was Sunday night, when moguls freestyler Alexandre Bilodeau snatched the gold in Vancouver (actually Whistler), ending the 34 year-old "Canadian curse," in which we were the only country to have previously hosted the Olympics twice (Montreal, summer 1976 and Calgary, winter 1988) without winning a single gold medal on our own turf.

Montrealer Bilodeau was under quite a bit of pressure but delivered beautifully, beating the (Canadian-born) Australian Dale Begg-Smith, who was the Turin champion. By the way, in contrast with the pure joy and excitement of the two other guys on the podium, he just looked so weird, awkward and a bit of a sore loser, sulking, not smiling once. (Dude, you came in second! If you really don't want to be here, I'm sure a lot of other guys wouldn't mind taking your place. A little Olympic spirit, perhaps?) What's up with that (and snubbing the Canadian media?)

{Right after the results were announced. Guess who's standing besides him?}

Bilodeau was wonderfully modest and inspiring after his win, not taking much credit but rather talking about the great momentum Team Canada seems to have right now, and saying he owns his brother Frederic, who was standing and cheering on the side despite having cerebral palsy, a lot of his success. Congrats also to local boys Vincent Marquis and Pierre-Alexandre Rousseau, who came in 4th and 5th place.

In the same spirit, here is one of my favorite ads at the moment (Air Canada's Go Far campaign, Olympics Special). I especially love the song; I've searched everywhere for credentials but no luck. The French version, which has the same music with translated lyrics, is making me guess that it might not even be a real song, maybe just a jingle created for the occasion. But what an irresistibly catchy one!

And all in one weekend

On the car after his dad picked him up on Friday. M was telling him it was a special weekend, Valentine's Day, and that they should do something for mommy. "Maybe we could go to the toy store?," LP tried. M laughed, replying, "are you sure this would make mommy happy? Would that really be for her or for you?" But LP, determined in his sneakiness, wasn't about to let go. "No, no, it would be for her... We could get her... dolls."

While we watched the Olympics opening ceremonies, and he was asking us to name every country marching on. When we got to Chile (which is Chili in French, just like the dish), he though it was the funniest thing in the world and said, with a very grown-up voice: "Well, that's a strange country!"

In the ladies room with me. "Are you wearing a tampon?" "Er... no...?!" "Why not?", he asked. "Mhhh... (Not wanting to be all prude since it's a natural thing I don't think should be taboo, but still caught short and surprised that such questions came that early.) I don't always need one..." "Oh, I see. Sometimes you need one, sometimes you don't. That's the rule. (C'est ça la consigne)."

Since he's all about his dad right now, he wanted to go run errands with him alone on Saturday. "I don't want you to come. You stay here", he said with all the authority he could, "and... clean the house!" (I guess I should mention I had said that we needed to do that earlier that day, not because we're raising him to be a sexist jerk. But how can you not laugh when your 3 year-old orders you to do that? We all went, of course, in the end. The next day, while I took care of some of my company's accounting, they went sledding together on the little snow we have and had the father-son bonding he seems to currently crave after all.)

Happy Valentine's Day weekend!

I don't really believe in Hallmark holidays, but one thing is for sure... Over time, I have developed the greatest appreciation for the wonderful power brought by someone who truly loves you, no matter what, and "just as you are". Bridget is not alone in having (however unlikely) found her Mark Darcy.

{NYC sidewalk, taken during our last trip over the Holidays}

Why the hell do I even hurt about this in advance?

-I just saw J’ai tué ma mère (I killed my mother), the Quebécois buzzfilm of last year, which reached an iconic status among other things because it was written and directed by an 18 year-old. And I am still haunted by the juxtaposition of mother/son complete bliss Super 8 footage from when the character was little, and their constantly and nastily fighting, utterly broken relationship when the same character is 17.

-I am now reading Nanny Returns, by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. It’s the sequel to Nanny Diaries, which I really enjoyed reading several years ago, among other things because I had fallen in love with the Grayer character, adorable, mischievous 4 year-old boy extraordinaire. Well in the new book, Grayer is a really messed up, always drunk or high, expletive-language using 16 year-old.

-My two co-workers who happen to have teenage kids are now both having a hell of a ride, one that has repercussions on all aspects on their life.

-As a teenager I was, well, very difficult to parent, let’s put it this way.

-I have now officially become so old that I don’t understand teens at all, merely they just:

1- really annoy me (all that self-entitlement!)
2- sort of terrify me (GHB, sexting, gang violence, etc… All kinds of things that make me think that it’s a whole different game these days, and even make one’s losing their virginity at 14 suddenly seem very innocent.)

And lately there’s been this uneasiness, this surprisingly strong sadness, and this kind of genuine heartache when I look at my beautiful little one...

Eat this, not that!

{Disclaimer: yes, there are two fatty burgers on the cover. The book doesn't aim to completely cut people off of bad foods, and granted, the "good" options presented often should rather be described as "the less evil of the two". Of course the idea here is definitely not to eat Big Macs all the time, or even to eat out often. But still, I found this part of the book useful because there will always be times when you find yourself having to eat in these places, and it never hurts to make educated choices in these situations...}

I just bought, and devoured (bad pun intended) that book, which was both really eye-opening and entertaining. It contains tons of valuable nutrition information, but also mostly provides visual comparisons between similar choices you can make in restaurants, at the grocery store, even during special occasions such as holiday dinners. The underlying idea is that by simply making the better choices when you can, you can “save” tons of calories (and saturated fats, and unnecessary bad-for-you processed ingredients), and hence, in the long run, pounds.

I really liked the idea of “caloric cost”, often emphasized throughout the book. We sometimes tend to only think in terms of monetary cost, and we all know that absurdly, bad food is often cheaper… But we should also consider the cost on our body and our health, and this book is full of concrete examples (such as beyond decadent extra-large frosty beverages that will have made you gained nearly a whole pound of body fat if drank entirely, or plausible restaurant meals that deceptively pack the amount of calories, fat and sodium you should be getting over several days)…

The book has also trained me on labels, because after a few hundred pages of comparing food, it becomes kind of a second nature to separate the good from the bad, and recognize what we should be looking for: short list of legible ingredients, good protein/fat ratio, unsaturated vs saturated fats (peanuts and avocados are quite fatty, but you actually want that stuff, in moderation obviously), good fiber intake, relatively low sugars, and acceptable sodium levels. Trans fats should also be checked very carefully, and the general idea to bear in mind is to try to prevent your blood glucose levels from spiking too much throughout the day, which is the case when eating a lot of refined carbs as opposed to lean protein and fiber.

I must say that a lot of the information in this book blew my mind, even though I thought I was quite aware and knowledgeable on the topic. There were still so many things I was doing wrong! For instance, when having breakfast at a fast food restaurant, I would systematically get a muffin (400-500 calories, refined carbs, little fiber, lots of sugar, and possibly trans fats), never for a minute imagining that an egg/cheese/ham/English muffin sandwich was actually a much better choice, with about 300 calories and lots of protein.

Same thing for salads, which I would always gravitate towards… But food chains often have a way of turning even the healthiest ideas into nutritional disasters… And I was horrified to see that the chicken Asian salad I had a couple of months ago at Applebee’s had over a 1,000 calories (portions are massive and the cloying dressing is the biggest culprit)… But with this book in hand, the next time we went I steered clear and ordered into a completely new territory: a grilled chicken and Portobello mushroom burger on a whole wheat bun with tomato sauce, served with fresh fruit for 360 calories (which means there was still some room to satisfy my craving and steal a few fries from M). I’m not that virtuous, it’s just that I find myself feeling so completely, totally awful after eating junk that I just don’t want this feeling again. And that managing to eat good and well for a reasonable nutritional cost has a surprisingly and weirdly satisfactory effect on me. I’m strange like that.

Even though we don’t buy much processed/prepared foods (like cookies, soups, frozen entrees or pizzas, etc.), it would be nearly impossible to completely do without them, and so we still have some in the pantry: crackers, cereal, condiments and such… And again, I misguidedly tended to make all the wrong choices under false perceptions of health: buying “wheat” crackers that in fact still only contained refined flour and partially hydrogenated shortening; Rice Krispies, which are not so much bad as they are nutritionally void –even Lucky Charms actually have 3 times their fiber; or Light Mayo, which is yes, reduced in fat but also much sweeter and made with tons of artificial fillers, not to mention cheap soybean oil…

So here are my resolutions after reading the book:

-Read the labels all the time. I was already pretty good at this, but was still not wary enough, and was sometimes willing to give products a free pass due to perceptions or emotional reasons alone (something that proves to be quite unwise, especially after reading the chapter on Restaurant Industry Secrets).

-Watch LP’s intake too when eating out. Some kiddy meals in restaurants pack as much as 1,400 (unhealthy) calories, which is what he should have for the entire day.

-Get out of my food ruts, which apparently aren’t that healthy anyway!

-Curb the sodium. I’m already mindful of that, probably more so than most people. I am on a reduced-calorie diet right now (close to my goal of losing the chub I had gained since the wedding), and the iPhone app with which I can track my calories also provides information on the nutrients I eat. I am always surprised to see that even considering this, I’m still pretty close to, or even over the recommended daily limit. This is an area where it's really easy to get 5, 6, or 10 times the safe intake in a single day.

-Don’t assume anything. I had always remained under the impression that KFC was one of the worst fast food chains ever, but they apparently now have a range of OK options, while places like Quiznos (sandwiches, healthy, right?), have a very poor score…

-Try to ditch the high-fructose corn syrup once and for all. ‘Nuff said.

Fremdsprache Beratung

Now that the little dude is 3, there's something new on my to-do list: "Book LP's first appointment with dentist". And no, I haven't done it yet, but it somehow made the following decade-old memory resurface...

I had my wisdom teeth removed while I was living in Germany. One got infected, and so things went bad and I ended up going to the hospital every day for three weeks. My dentist had studied in the States, so he spoke English to me (and sounded a lot like the Governator), but he was the only one I interacted with who did. Weeks later, when I received a copy of the bill sent to the insurance company, I thought it was fun to look at it –the health care system here means patients never receive any bills, which leads a lot of people to perceive that these services are free!

Anyway the total was over a 1,000 DM (a good chunk of money), and in a typical structured and organized German fashion, everything was properly itemized and detailed: a piece of gaze that cost 60 pfennigs, for instance, or 50 DM for the four drops of morphine the assistant had once handed out to me in a glass of water because I was crying from not being able to bear that ache (which was much worse than labor). All I remember from my fog of pain is her face coming near mine, telling me “Schmeckt bitter” (which I didn’t have to be perfectly fluent in German to understand), and then I drank and then five seconds later I was in another kind of fog, but the pain had completely disappeared...

The most surprising thing in the list were three separate charges, totaling about a hundred marks, for “Fremdsprache Beratung”. Or: consultation in a foreign language. Yes, you read that right. The dentist had charged me 10% of the bill for speaking English to me.

Is it just me or was that really weird (and somewhat rude)? I mean, couldn’t I at least be informed of this in advance? So I could have had the option of opting out? I would have been able to do this in German, it was simply easier in English. I really wish I would have had the guts to write a letter to them, saying something like: “Given the choice to rate your English myself, I would not have paid more than say 37.65 marks for it, because frankly it needs some brushing up.”

The birthday party

Yesterday LP celebrated his birthday with his cousin and 6 little friends (oh, and while at it, their parents as well as both our families had mimosas and brunch).

We abandoned the idea of visiting the local fire station when LP said it would be too "noisy and loud" (and hence, scary). But we still kept our theme, and the kids seem to have a blast anyway.

The cake turned out great, although my mom deserves most of the credit, because I couldn't have pulled it off without her. LP and I baked a very moist chocolate cake on Saturday morning, and then I made the frosting ahead while he was pulling on my leg to lick the bowl. My mom and I then spent part of the afternoon icing and decorating it, and my brother-in-law made the marzipan shapes (thanks a bunch, wonderful bakers of a family).

{I know it looks small, but that's only because the plate was so big. This was like a cake for 40 people}.

My mom brought seafood and ham quiches, as well as crepes with asparagus and hollandaise sauce. I made two kinds of muffins, small loaves of apple-nut bread, and we had croissants, bacon, sausage, fruit, and cheeses.

{With his girlfriend R}

{That would be my faux-vintage dress standing behind him}

We played some little games, and LP had lots of wonderful presents, including a real firemen costume! Books! Games! Trucks! He saw all of his grandparents at the same time (even my father who made the 10-hour round trip just for the occasion, isn't that nice), which must have felt like Christmas to him. I overindulged, he nibbled all day because he was way too excited to sit down and eat, there's a ton of cake leftover, the house has been run over by a tornado adorable kids, and my boys watched the Superbowl together in a food coma. We now officially have a 3 year-old fireman. And all is good.

And just like that, the pacis were gone

LP always was much of a pacifier baby, and we had no problem with that. I preferred that to him sucking his thumb, and it was really a life-saver (those who know how intense and fussy baby LP was will understand) for us countless times. Like everything else, I figured he’d eventually reach the stage where he wouldn’t need it anymore... At about 17 months we started only giving it to him for sleeping, he did well, and that was a big enough improvement.

That was July 2008. He has grown and progressed so much during this time, but the damn pacis were still there, and he showed no signs of wanting to give them up. We would often need to have 4 or 5 around, kept losing them (especially at 4 AM), absolutely needed to bring them when sleeping somewhere, and over time he became a true pacifier connoisseur and started refusing certain kinds (especially at 4 AM when you couldn’t find the others). The benefits (keeping him smooth on the plane or while waiting at the clinic) really couldn’t hold up to the disadvantages anymore, and we were beginning to be afraid it would wreck his teeth.

A few weeks ago M and I were talking about it, and out of desperation I turned to him and said: "You’re a very big boy now. Big boys don’t need pacifiers! Do you think you’re ready to give them up now?" And much to my surprise, he thought about it for a second, and replied: "Yes. But not now. On my birthday."

So since then I kept repeating to him, "it’ll be your birthday soon… You’ll be a three year-old big boy! The pacifiers will be gone, we’re going to throw them away…" And he kept nodding, although frankly I couldn’t really see it happening. On a Skype video with my mom last week, she talked to him about the "pacifier bunny", who would bring him a surprise when he gave the pacis up. And I thought to myself: mommmm, wth, why are you messing with our thing here, now we’ll have to follow through with this out-of-nowhere silliness!... On Monday night when I put him to bed, I said: "Tonight is your last night with pacifiers…"

And on the morning of his birthday, I asked him if he was ready. He was cheerful and decided. "It was my last night with the pacifier. I’m a big boy now," he repeated. We grabbed the no-less-than 6 pacis we could find in or around his bed, and he marched to the garbage pan. "Give them to me," he said. And one by one, he threw them in the trash. "It’s over. I don’t need them anymore. I’m 3!," he said, while showing us the correct number of little extended fingers. Then, of course, he immediately asked: "Where is the pacifier bunny?"

Trying to think quickly, I pretended I had to check something and ran downstairs where his presents were hidden (in that narrow space behind the couch, shhhh, don’t tell him), and came back with the smallest one, two Thomas the Train coaches. "Look at what the pacifier bunny left for you, to congratulate you on giving up the pacis!" I shouted, not believing how lame that attempt sounded. "Annie and Clarabel! The bunny brought me that?", he asked, slightly dubious. "Mhhh. Yeah." "Niiiiice!," he said (in English), just like a teenager would, and went to fetch his big bin full of Thomas stuff.

And just like that, the last little clinging piece of his babyhood was gone.

Weeknight meal ideas and strategies (Part 2)

Meatless is diverse and yum

Vegetarian doesn’t mean tofu, although we do eat it sometimes (mostly fried in pad Thai or as soy crumbles in chili or pasta sauce). It can simply be eggs, or cheese, or legumes (as long as there is some protein)… Haloumi cheese, for instance, can be grilled and served like steaks with a little lemon squeeze and parsley: delicious.

Speedy fish

Fish cooks really quickly; we buy whatever kind is on sale that week, salmon, catfish, trout, tilapia, tuna, sole, halibut, swordfish, sardines… I could and would eat only fish, but we try to limit ourselves because of poisoning concerns. I have a few recipes, including one in which I steam fillets in tea with ginger and lemon slices, but M is usually the fish person, whipping up glazes, rubs and last minute marinades then putting it under the broiler for 10 or so minutes. This week it was apple cider, slivered almonds, just the tiniest bit of almond essence, lemon juice and a little oil.

The importance of plan Bs

For evenings when something comes up, we get home later than usual, or whatever, I also try to always have a few fall back options, for instance pasta that can be ready very quickly with 5 minutes in the kitchen. I also try to keep some frozen flat breads (Naan, pitas etc.), which, as long as you have some proscuitto (which is usually uncured and nitrate-free), olives and any kind of cheese, can be turned into 20-minute pizza!

I’m not a Nazi here

I am not against using a few shortcuts, although I do check the labels carefully. A few great convenient time-savers that are good nutritional choices:

• bagged, pre-shredded cole slaw veggies (I make my own dressing though)

• frozen steam-and-mash potatoes

• frozen veggies of any kind, which are way better than canned and can be used for instance in a stew, stir-fry or white sauce

• shredded cheese

• jarred, good pasta, bruschetta sauce and salsa
  

• reduced sodium broth in cartons

• instant Chinese noodles (not the fried ones), which you only need to boil for a minute

• boxed mac’n’cheese (although I do buy organic). Don’t laugh, LP loves it (obviously) and when you add steamed broccoli and some extra cheese, it makes for an OK meal…

And last but not least, be realistic

We eat differently now than before we have a kid and didn’t mind sitting down at 8:30… I don’t really do things like spinach/parmesan/bechamel lasagna, chicken parmigiana, “real” macaroni with cheese sauce or other au gratin dishes, clam chowder from scratch, and several others of these meals we used to enjoy. I still love cooking and will sometimes do these or cook a big batch of Bolognese sauce during weekends, but for the most part during weeknights cooking is not a pastime anymore, more a question of optimal efficiency for the best taste and nutrition possible…

Weeknight meal ideas and strategies (Part 1)

In the two years or so I’ve joined back the workforce as a mom, I’ve fine-tuned my routine and came up with strategies for handling our rush hour (i.e. between coming home at the end of the day and putting dinner on the table) a lot. We still have nights where nothing goes right and it’s chaos and I want to bang my head on the counter, but generally, we’re doing great. I came up with a very long post when I wrote it all down, so I decided to span it over two days.

Baseline

We usually eat fish at least once a week (plus sometimes shellfish another time), and go vegetarian at least one other night. We are definitely in the meat-less category of people: we rarely eat red meat, for one thing, and I (try to) favor meats that do not come from industrial sources (I find such poultry at Loblaws, and we bought some pork from an unofficially organic producer in the fall, and still have plenty of it in the freezer).

We all eat together and have the same thing; although there are of course some rare exceptions to that. We rely on processed foods as little as possible, and we cook every night –the little leftovers we have are brought to lunch by M the next day (I usually make myself big salads), and restaurants remain an occasional treat. All of these are VERY important to me.

This is more of our winter routine: in the summer, I don’t use the slow cooker much, we barbecue whenever we can (veggie burgers and soy hot dogs on whole-wheat buns are the easiest thing), and eat more salads.

I know I mostly use "I" in this post: M cooks and helps along, but due to our natural comfort levels and skills, it's just that I am the main food person in the house.

Plan ahead

My most important strategy is to have a general idea of what we’re going to have for the week before shopping for groceries on the weekend before. No need to be completely anal about it, but I find there’s nothing like arriving at home at 5:35 and not having a clue about what we’re going to make for dinner to send the whole evening into disarray. So when grocery shopping, I think in terms of meals, and always decide the night before what we’re going to do the next day, so I can make sure we have everything we need, thaw meat, think about pairings, possibly quickly search for recipe ideas online, etc.

Think outside the oven

On Sunday night, when I have a little bit more time, I usually make something ahead in the slow cooker, so on Monday our dinner is mostly done. I’m not a die-hard fan of the thing, but in terms of practicality, it’s unrivaled. I have my recipes I always come back to, for instance Mexican baked beans, a whole chicken, ham, or roast with some root vegetables, pork chops in sweet and sour sauce, lentil or split pea soup… Then on Monday I only have minimal handling: making mashed potatoes, cooking brown rice/couscous/quinoa, prepping and steaming some veggies etc.

Same with the panini grill/griddle: not only it’s healthier than food cooked in a pan (no oil), but it’s also twice as fast, since there is heat on both sides. We make hot sandwiches, but also meats, sausage, fish, anything in it. Last week we made great extra-lean turkey burgers, simply thawing a few whole wheat ciabatta rolls we buy in bulk at Costco, then adding Swiss cheese and aragula.

Multi-tasking, baby

On a Monday night, I’ll pop 3 chicken breasts in the oven for an hour, then just dump them in the fridge. On Tuesday, we can then have half of them sliced in paninis (with coleslaw), and on Friday, the other half cubed in quesadillas (namely, both panini grill dishes).

Another example: straining, then putting the broth in which the chicken cooked in the fridge, skimming the fat, and using it the next day to make a quick soup (cream of asparagus, leeks, mushrooms, or tomatoes depending on what I have –these are all quicker than say squash or carrots), which we will eat with bread or crackers along with some cheese and pate.

Bonne fête, mon petit loup

{One of my favorite photos of you in the past year, taken by my grandfather at our wedding}

I can’t believe today is your third birthday already. It’s probably annoying and cliché, but it’s nonetheless true: you are growing up way too fast… There were many times, during the last year, when I wanted to say: “OK, please stop now. Please stay just like that.”

You’re like your own little person now. A very opinionated, mood-swingy, slightly irrational person, that is. You play alone for longer stretches, although you only keep getting messier at it. I am still amazed at everything you are now able to do. Sweep the floor at daycare. Decide to come join me in the bathtub, then undress yourself and neatly put your clothes in the hamper. While I never put scissors in your hands, simply grab them and make a perfectly precise and confident snip at the right place… You also turned into daddy’s little guy, crying for him when you hurt yourself, often spontaneously reaching for him when we pick you up.

This year you saw us get married, you were the hand I held right before walking to your father and taking the plunge. I will forever remember your cuteness and joy on that day. You still talk about it sometimes, referring to it as “our” wedding –for sure, in your head, it was your wedding too. We left you for a whole week alone for the first time after that, and although we didn’t how we’d do, it went extremely well; you really enjoyed spending time along with your grandparents, and I’m sure it was the same for them. You loved our little road trip to DC and our vacation to Florida, and often talk about it. Any plane you see on TV is “just like the Airbus 319 we took to Miami!” You’re full of projects, too: when the winter ends we’ll go to NY, you say, and you’ll fly your plane to Papua, and also soon we’ll go to a store where they sell all the toys from Cars. When you’re big, you’ll drive the Mustang, give all the things you’ve outgrown to your cousin (not realizing that he’ll have also grown up), and go to Europe to take the Eurostar.

You’re now diaper-free, a major, major improvement in the whole family’s life. You’ve made some progress with numbers and letters, and are growing impatient towards your own inability to read. You somehow grasp the concept of left and right, as well as time and days of the weeks. You still laugh so hard and loud that you give yourself the hiccups. You sing dozens of song we didn’t necessarily teach you, including some quirky ones that talk about “spiders knitting booties”. We totally take your language skills for granted, and maybe have always treated you like your were a little older than your age due to them. You’ve recently started trying at English, coming up with words on your own, like pointing to fromage in the fridge and saying: “This is called cheese in English, mommy”, or repeating bits of skits you’ve seen on TV or the computer with surprising success. You’re already much more a visual and detail-oriented person than I’ll ever be. You notice the tiniest things, and frankly I never do. When your dad received a mailed offer to subscribe to Sports Illustrated, you immediately cheered: “Football!” after seeing a half-inch wide NFL logo on the envelope, then, when M took out the leaflet inside, you immediately pointed to the Patriots’ logo among all the others, something I couldn’t have done for a million dollars despite M watching every game of the season.

Strangely though, I continue feeling like I can read your mind a lot of times (not in a creepy way, it’s just very instinctive and natural), especially when you freak out and your dad doesn’t understand why. The freak-outs and tantrums and meltdowns have been numerous, by the way in the past year, as your natural intensity has teamed up with an acute phase of self-definition and testing authority. And we hate having to do so much discipline, but can’t help laughing and being sort of proud of your decisiveness, persistence and downright sneakiness.

One of our most hilarious and astonishing parenting moments this year occurred while we were walking in South Beach, and you suddenly started knowingly grooving and shaking your thang to Lady Gaga's Poker Face, even singing to the words a little. Looking at our utterly perplexed faces, you said: "What? That's my song at daycare!" The other day, while sitting on the couch and looking through the window, you called us in to come watch “our” cardinals! And we said, silly, they’re not there, we’ve never seen them out in January!? But we came and they were both on the ground feeding, the male striking red on the snow. We all watched silently, awe-struck.

Our relationship has changed in the last year, as you gradually started not needing me that much anymore. I applaud your autonomy, but also simultaneously sometimes look at you sleep at night and long for the time when we never left each other’s side. It’s all going way too quickly, and I can't quite shake off this impression that we're only just repeating the same good night hug and kiss over and over again, a bit like a scene from Groundhog Day (of course I had to plug it in!) I try to enjoy the present as much as I can, because although I’m not as crazy-hormonal as I was when you were a tiny baby and I spent my days tending to your needs, I can still see it and it still hurts, how I’ll blink and suddenly you’ll be in college.

I love you so fiercely, so wholly, and like you’re a built-in part of my core. Even when I’m exhausted and exasperated, one of your little jokes or cute sayings and I find my happy, relaxed place again. I’m so proud of your achievements, so worried by your struggles, so scared to see you get hurt. I wish we could spend a little more time together (I always come back to that, don’t I?), enjoying life a little more instead of sometimes just running through it. Thank you, again and a thousand times.

Maman xxx

P.S. I kept your funny foodie streak for last… Last year for your birthday we went to McDonalds. So this year we asked you where you wanted to go, anticipating another night of junk food. But thanks to your suggestion, now, we’re looking forward to a nice Vietnamese dinner instead.

Music Monday/Girl Crush

Who could resist this intriguing cutie? Her name is Elisapie Isaac. She's an Inuk, from the Nunavik region, which is on the northernmost tip of Quebec. She's also a filmmaker, and sings in French, English and Inuktitut, the native language.


And no, even though there's a definite fascination on my part, I've never been. Even my hometown, which is 500 km north of here and considered very remote by most people, is still more than a thousand kilometers away, not to mention that there aren't roads to go up there. But (so her promo says), for her the Great North is not the top of the world, rather the center. Ha!

{Google Maps: her village is A. My hometown would be just over the B, and Montreal is under the I... This will certainly make at least a few of you chuckle, but these people call us "Southerners". They do! We are someone's Southerners!}

I'm not sure she has videos, I couldn't find any so I will rather post a link to her record label's page, where the entire album is available for listening. My favorite song is Out of Desperation. Please click along, you'll be glad you did! I read both "Polar pop" and "Arctic electric" as tentative descriptions of her music...