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09.16.2008 "Please Don't Tell Me That's My Future"
I went to the Goldfrapp concert last night with Ivan. We had a great time. But there was a weird moment for me in which I feared for my future.

We were standing in front of the stage. Overall the crowd was pretty laid back. But there was one group that stood out from the chilled audience. It was a group of young men and women (probably in their early 20s) and they were pretty enthusiastic. That is to say, they were pissing some of us off. They would aggressively come and go throughout the night, pushing their way through the crowd, spilling their shooters on us as they bustled through, etc. But the worst was when they danced. They totally disregarded the people sardined amongst them. They jumped and punched the air and screamed. One young woman in particular was especially disrespectful and loud. She flung her long hair while she frantically body-slammed her friends and her large shoulder-bag would slam into whoever was in a 2 foot radius. "Look at me!" she seemed to scream, "I'm young and hot and I can do whatever I want."

OMG. Is this going to be my daughter in 20 years, I thought to myself? Cringe. Please don't let me daughter be one of "those" girls. You know what I'm talking about: those young women who are extra loud, extra alpha, and extra obnoxious. But they can be quite attractive and as a result they often get their way. Nooooooo, please don't let this be my future!

But then I decided to stop dwelling on these party enthusiasts and started paying more attention to Goldfrapp. As the lead singer crooned and smiled and seemed to ooze creativity, I found my thoughts wandering in another direction. What if, I thought, in 20 years my daughter is NOT one of those outrageous, manipulative 'girls-gone-wild' and instead she's a thoughtful, respected artist who can captivate audiences around the globe? I admired her curly, blonde locks and pictured my daughter up there on stage but with curly, red hair. When she finished her song, an audience member yelled out fondly, "LOVE you!" And Alison Goldfrapp bowed her head with modesty and slight embarrassment, then turned to the audience with a genuine, beaming grin.

Yes, I decided. Yes, this will be my future....

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09.08.2008 "Oh, the Sweetest Thing"
My young daughter can now ask for kisses. Well, more like she demands them. And she'll only do it when she feels like it. You can not expect her to just dole them out any time. It has to be on her terms. And when she wants a kiss she says "Awk," (a word of Chinese origin from my mother) then presents her open mouth to be kissed. And sometimes she follows the command with "Momma" or "Dada." And every time I see her do it, whether it's to us or friends or family, my hear just melts. Now whenever I'm stressed or thinking too much about work (or other life-draining issues), I just think of Sloane looking at me and asking for a kiss on her baby lips. And my stress just magically vanishes away. It's the sweetest thing ever.

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09.07.2008 "Drunken Politics"
I was at the Whip on Saturday night for a friend's birthday. It was fun - great food, lots of drinks, and a diverse group of people who were there to party for Shane's milestone celebration. The space was getting crowded and a little warm, so when the smokers stepped outside to take a nicotine break I decided to join them for the fresh air.

So there we were at midnight on the sidewalk outside the Whip off Main Street. Some people were a bit tipsy and everyone was talking at the same time, sentences overlapping with lively interjections. Suddenly someone brought up the topic of the upcoming US election. I believe the subject was introduced by, "So, like what's the deal with that Palin - or is it Pallin? - chick? Is she for real? What's going on there?" The responses were colourful, and people were tripping over each other's sentences even more than before. And we were being loud.

I looked up above the establishment and noticed what looked like apartment units above us. How annoying must that be, hanging out in your living room and having to listen to drunken restaurant patrons trying to intellectually discuss politics at the top of their lungs but just slurring and yelling in the process? "Wow, people actually live up there," I commented to the group in general. "It must be so loud."

One of the women with us flicked her cigarette and replied matter-of-factly, "Well, they must have known what they were getting into when they moved in. I mean, come on - living above a restaurant? What did they expect?"

It kind of sounded obnoxious, but at the time it sounded right. At that moment, though, I was really glad that I was not one of those apartment dwellers. I would have been out there on the sidewalk swinging punches. No joke.

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09.03.2008 "Gone Baby Gone"
I had that moment on the weekend, that moment that parents of older children have warned me about. For a brief period of time I lost my child, my first born, my only offspring. And just like those parents had told me, it was a terrifying and horrible experience.

I was at Queen's Park with Sandy and little Tyler on a sunny Saturday afternoon. There were dozens of other children running amongst us, and the number of adults milling around was probably a 2:1 ratio to the number of kids. Sandy and I socialized in between interventions with the kids but my eyes never left my daughter for more than a few seconds at a time. We were talking and I turned to get Sloane back into my field of vision but she was nowhere to be found. How did that happen so quickly?

Sandy got distracted by her son and went off to the rocking horses. I was left standing by the big, wooden truck and I felt like I was in a scene in a movie. The sounds of the kids playing faded to the background and I was the focal point of that 360-degree camera shot where the harried mother looks frantically around her in circles, nervously pushing her hair back over her ears. Every pink jacket caught my eye but none of them was my daughter. Then I looked suspiciously at the adults passing through the playground. How easy would it be to snatch my little girl up and cover her mouth and tuck her under a large jacket? OMG, I started to think I was re-enacting a scene from Gone Baby Gone. Please don't let this be happening, I thought to myself.

I was so close to running up to Sandy and telling her, "I don't know where Sloane is. Please help me." I felt desperate and was getting frantic. But something told me to walk around the big truck even though I didn't see Sloane go in that direction. I could hear my heart in my ears. As I peered around the cab of the truck I saw her pink hat and jacket. She was happily trying to climb up into the back window. I exhaled in relief. I think I had been holding my breath the entire time.

Every experienced parent I know has warned me that this was to be expected sooner or later. But even though you know something WILL happen, sometimes you're never fully prepared for it. For a few seconds I felt sheer helpless, agony and it felt like it went on for much longer than that. Please let that be the last time I feel that way.

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08.30.2008 "The Saddest Sound In the World"
Yet another parenting-related entry....

I'm so happy that my little girl is independent. She never wanted help when she started walking. She tries to dress herself even though she always both feet into one pant leg. And she often tries to console herself after being hurt. But on this last point, something happened recently that was a bit ridiculous and actually quite heartbreaking.

Right before bedtime the other night, Sloane grabbed a hot light bulb. Her chubby face immediately reddened like a tomato and the screams and cries began. It must have been pretty painful so I swooped in right away, scooped her up and hugged her. I rubbed her back and whispered in her ear and cradled her against my shoulder. The piercing screams soon diminished to sniffling sobs but the tears still ran freely down her cheeks. I was surprised that she was still upset (usually she's fully okay only after a few minutes). As I held her compact, little body and felt the intermittent shudders and sniffling I decided to walk her around the house a bit. We ended up in her room which is peaceful and quiet.

She pointed to her crib. "Yes, it's bedtime, but don't you want Mommy to comfort you some more?" I asked her. She shook her head 'No' and whined. Not really believing this would help, I laid her down on her back and covered her with her blanket. Her cheeks were still wet and she was still sniffling. I hovered over her, waiting for her to protest. Then I would be the Mommy saviour again and bundle her up in my arms and console my dear sweet daughter.

"Bye," she said and waved at me, in between heartbreaking sobs. She didn't want me. She wanted to be left alone to console herself, to ride out this painful experience on her own in the darkness of her own bedroom. But that's ridiculous! She should need, and want, her mother! Right? Suddenly my mind rewound to my teenage years when I was going through the typical adolescent growing pains. I remember my mother desperately trying to talk to me, to communicate with her then-distant daughter, to figure out how she could help me. But I would just run to the sanctuary of my bedroom, slam the door shut, put on some Psychedelic Furs or The Smiths and have a good cry by myself.

Yeah, but hang on a second, I thought to myself (back in the present). I was in my teens. Sloane is still a toddler. This is way too early for this type of behaviour, this is killing me. I was still hovering over her little blanketed form, searching for some sign that I was needed. "Bye," she said again and waved again. My heart sank. I turned and left the room. But I couldn't resist. I watched her through the crack of the door. She just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her sobs getting more and more infrequent. I finally decided that if she wanted her own privacy then I should give it to her. So I shut the door and left.

After about 5 minutes of straining to hear any cries coming out from her room I decided to check on her again. I opened her bedroom door and peered over her crib. She was still lying there, but she was no longer crying. "Bye," she whispered one last time. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and this time she was smiling. I told her I loved her then left her alone for good that night.

Her behaviour that night was like listening to the saddest music in the world. As I said before, I'm so happy that she's an independent spirit. But that night gave me a taste of what it will be in the future when my daughter feels real, heart-wrenching, emotional pain and won't want me to help her. I don't think I'll be ready for that, nor will I ever be ready for that. I think I'm the one who will need comforting when that time comes.

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08.28.2008 "Our Own Personal Paparazzi"
We were in Whistler recently walking around the village. Sloane was doing her usual exploring, going up and down stairs, and balancing along the retaining walls. She took a break at one point and sat down with us on the edge of a wall. A group of young women (Japanese tourists) sat down beside us. They were engrossed in their conversations and showed each other their purchases. Of course Sloane was curious and jumped down from the wall and did a couple of walk-bys. The women glanced up briefly, some gave a quick wave or said 'hi' but they remained pre-occupied amongst themselves. Sloane plunked back down beside us.

After a few minutes, the women all stood up to go. Then in the most coordinated fashion they formed a semi-circle around Sloane and whipped out their digital cameras and cell phones. The flashes started, one after the other, as they took dozens of pictures of my little girl. Sloane just sat there, staring at the bright lights, wondering why the sudden onslaught of attention. Then as quickly as it started, it was over. "Bye!" the women sang out as they turned to leave. It was our first paparazzi experience. Hilarious.

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08.05.2008 "What Is This, Alcatraz?"
Sloane loves to eat bread products.  Toast, bagels, croissants, etc.  And she pretty much only drinks water.  We've introduced her to juice but we don't want to give too much of that sugary goodness to her.  And she doesn't like milk.  But we're not complaining - water is a good thing.

So the other morning she was chowing down on a piece of whole wheat bread and gulping back the water.  I thought to myself: What is this, like a prison diet?  Hilarious.

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08.01.2008 "Baby Beat-boxing"
This morning Sloane and I were watching Yo Gabba Gabba!  This episode had a "Biz's Beat of the Day" where rapper Biz Markie teaches the kids how to beat-box in a 30-second segment.  It was awesome.  It was a "Pbooh-ha-ha-hah" kind of beat and of course I needed to practice it with Sloane.

So I was getting ready for work, holding Sloane in one arm, and doing my best "Pbooh-ha-ha-hah" beat-box.  After a few tries I'm looking at Sloane and she's smiling, and then suddenly in a small voice I hear her: "Pbooh-ha-ha-hah"  So quietly and shy-like, not in her usual bold voice.  My little baby was beat-boxing with me.  My heart truly melted at that moment.  Forget about her learning how to talk - she's skipping ahead to beat-boxing and rapping.  I love her and was so incredibly proud of her at that moment.

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07.18.2008 "Backyard Berries" 
I recently recalled something from my childhood.  All the neighbourhood kids used to go around to the various local schoolyards and backyards and pick huckleberries.  And eat them.  Straight off the branches.  It's funny.  I've gone blackberry picking near my current house.  We've driven down to another hood near the skytrain path and armed with our empty ice cream buckets we've picked some blackberries.  But I never thought to dust one off and just pop it in my mouth.  No, we had to go home, rinse them off, soak them, dry them on paper towels.  And only after that would we enjoy them.  Or we would freeze some of them to enjoy at a later date (like in the winter when blackberries sell for $6/lb).  Reading what I just wrote, it almost seems so clinical?

When I was a kid I'd come home sometimes and refuse lunch because I was so full of huckleberries.  It's weird.  Back then it just seemed so natural and safe and normal and spontaneous.  I didn't even think of any dangers or health risks or any ick-factors?  Sigh.  Just another example from when life seemed so much more simple and manageable....

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07.14.2008 "Suggestive Sidewalk Chalk"
Here is another entry which is inspired by Ashley who was inspired by UNphotographable....

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07.05.2008 "Straddling the Bridge On This One"
The city I live in is somewhat bridge-locked..  There are a number of bridges in the lower mainland that are key to commuters depending on where you're traveling to.  Sometimes there are accidents and traffic is delayed.  It's not fun, but it happens.  And then there are incidents that completely shut down the bridge for hours on end.  This is hell, and it happened recently.

I don't want to go into too much details. But the gist of it is this: on our National Holiday, a woman was attempting to jump (to her death) from a main bridge.  Police decided to shut it down so they could negotiate with (and hear) the woman.  Traffic was pretty much disrupted for 6 hours on the stat holiday.  Some people in their cars sat motionless for a couple of hours before being diverted.  Some people were forced to turn around, some people were forced to creep to their destination via another bridge.  As you can imagine, some people were livid and critical of the police's decision here to shut the bridge down.

Then the responses started popping up in the Letters to the Editors of the local papers.  People were blasting these drivers, calling them savages and accused them of being insensitive.  Life is sacred and all efforts must be spent trying to save a soul that desperately needs saving.  "Shame on you commuters," these letters stated, "who cares if you were late?"  You get the idea.

So of course I started to reflect on the situation. As a driver, my initial response was to side with the angry commuters.  A 6 hour disruption in traffic on a holiday?  That's crazy.  Surely there was an alternative to this plan of action?  Ridiculous.

But then I thought: what if that woman up on that bridge contemplating whether to jump was my daughter.  Suddenly it wasn't so black and white.  Of course I'd want the police to do whatever they needed to do to help her.  My heart aches just putting myself in this situation.  I really could not imagine it.

Angry drivers vs. disgusted letter-writers.  Hmmmm.  Whose side was I on?  I thought about it a bit more, and after a little bit another thought popped in my head:  What if (yes, I ask myself these 'what-if' questions all the time) because of this woman's plight and the police's decision to halt traffic for 6 hours there was a family stuck in the jam with a young baby and the scorching weather caused the child to get heat stroke and end up severely ill?  Or, what if someone across town had a heart attack but the ambulance was unable to get there in time to resuscitate him/her due to the brouhaha?  Would the police's actions still be justified?  What if several people had medical emergencies and several ambulances couldn't get to them in time due to the bridge shut down?  Would that still be ok?

I might be going off-topic a bit, but I know where I stand now.  I'm definitely not one of those drivers who would drive past the woman and scream at her to jump because I was frustrated due to traffic delays.  And I feel compassion for the woman - you've got to be pretty messed up to pull a stunt like that.  And I'd like to tell those angry letter writers to think about some what-ifs, and get off their high horses, and realize life isn't just black and white.