Reference Desk

Pretty busy at the house of Wo with class reunions and thanksgiving and bathroom renovations. YAY new bathrooms! (Bad aren't you glad you are not here?)

In the meanwhile... Kudos on everyone who posted something booberific yesterday, I was with you in spirit. In my defense, I was ahead of the deadline for love of breastfeeding posts in July. Yes, call me an excuse machine.

Also -- did you see the blogs of note today blogspotters? The bookstore tourism blog is a interesting new read in a different direction. Check it out. By the way, I visit libraries and bookstores when I travel, do you like to make literary stops on your holidays or is it all cabana boys and discotheques? Do you even remember when you used to vacation?

I have some new posts in the works and some asstime on my agenda so hopefully I can offer some more timely posting soon. That is all.

ps. If Danny Boyle made the film Blogspotting who would play you?

It ends with dancing

Last friday p-man and I endevoured to endevour to an entertainment! Thanks to the scheduling of the babysitter and the persistence of the opening acts we saw some of it.

Since we're mostly sober persons who no longer take 14 smoke breaks per entertainment event, what would we do with out time? Well, as is so often the case in Vancouver we needed to review the fashion statements or shall I say the deafing measures of fashion silence. Soft old t-shirt. Big sweater. Taiga. Taiga. Taiga. All quite dull as we waiting for the main act.

With each note the music was improving. My eyes did start to drift from the Gaparific splendor of the Commodore Floor. When would the dancing begin? It seemed never. It seems to me that people don't even dance for the main act anymore. We are all too effing ironic or something??? The best that we can hope for is some ameoba like throbbing to break the head bobbing for at least the top 20 hits?

WTF with the end of dancing??

Me. I wanted the dancing. I am weaning my little guy in earnest and those warm moments of physical love are moving into the laughable goosestepping I have patented to sleep my kids. The weird long legged wobbling I do whilst croaking my off-skat version of lullaby and good night is the music I am ensconced in. It is a melancholy end to a three years, more or less, of boob bursting mama love for two babies. All coming to their end in dancing.

I had hoped to hop to a cool beat with a multitude of partners as a mind clearing exercise. But just like breastfeeding these days we prefer to keep our heel kickin' in private?

You are my mother

I have read that LaLeche book on breastfeeding. It introduced me to the phrase, nursing couple. I was startled by that but ultimately took to it like a really taken thing.

My 11 month old is getting ready to break up with me. I can tell. He rolls off early and would rather doze on my shoulder. He skips sessions without a 2nd thought. It will soon be over. For this reason and thoughts I've read lately around these remaining sessions seem to have me deep in thought. Deep in deepness. Blimey.

There is something about those moments of child at my breast that validate me entirely. It has been an activity for me, between the two kids, for nearly 3 years and I am a bit nervous about its end. It is when I look into those blasé faces, they are so attached to me, I think 'you chose me'. You chose me? I can't believe it. You chose me dear child.

I am, immutably, the mother.