Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Push Present


My darling fabulous daughter,

I had a delightful visit a few weeks ago with a dear friend, her daughter - now a new mother, and her two-week-old angel-faced grandbaby. As new mommy was patting the baby’s back I noticed she wore a ring with an unusually large central gemstone that was surrounded by glittering diamonds. I commented on the rather spectacular ring and was told it was a “push present”.

Push present? I’d never heard the term before, but was soon enlightened: it’s a gift a new mother receives from the baby’s father for “pushing out a baby”. Oh how indelicate is modern phraseology! During the tender years of my youth a baby was ‘brought by the stork’ or ‘found in the garden under a cabbage leaf’ - far less visceral evocations than “pushing out a baby”. But, I digress…

After my initial wonder of what kind of money-grubbing concept the jewelry industry would next concoct in efforts to divert savings away from education funds and into its greedy coffers, I conducted a little research on-line. I soon discovered that while push presents are a relatively new phenomenon in North America, there’s a long-standing tradition of giving jewelry to new mothers in other countries.

Soon the gears in my wee brain began churning in a new direction:  being Canadian, and Canada being part of the British Commonwealth, and there being a long-standing tradition in England of jewelry-giving to new mothers, and it being more than a few years since I've received an extravagant gift of jewelry from my husband, the father of my babies … you can see where my thoughts were leading me.

And so it came to be that while working in the yard a few days later, I shared my newfound knowledge of push presents with your father. I described the sound reasoning behind such gifts, occasionally tapping my dilapidated trowel in the air to punctuate salient points, such as the 9 month-long-and-beyond ruination of a once lithe body, the rigors and agonies of protracted labour, etc. Finally, to illustrate my glowing description of the maharani-worthy ring worn by my friend’s lovely daughter, I drew a circle (the gold band) in the air with my wobbly-handled trowel and made a few emphatic stabs where the large gemstone and diamonds were located. Then, with what I supposed to be a winning smile, I suggested that although a few decades had passed since the blessed events, I, myself, would not be adverse to receiving a push present or two.

All too predictably, your father snorted in disgust and said he’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his entire life; that our two gorgeous daughters were presents enough. With a frightful scowl marring his handsome face, he then started his oversized (and overloud) lawn mower and roared around the yard like a demon on a mission until he’d covered the near quarter acre lawn - twice!

Imagine my surprise, then, when the dear man came home the following afternoon and announced he’d bought me a push present. He stood before me like a schoolboy with his hand behind his back, and the expression on his face told me he was exceedingly pleased with himself. With a flourish, he handed me a brand new trowel manufactured from one piece of tough plastic incapable of degenerating to the point of wobbling. “If you don’t like it,” he cheerfully proclaimed, “you can shovel it!”

Friday, June 08, 2012

About lipstick ...


My dear fabulous daughter,

This is actually an open rant to womankind.

You probably own more than one tube of off-coloured lipstick. You know what I’m talking about - that tube you bought when you were thinking it was time to change up the colour of your lips, just for fun, just to add a little pizzazz to your face. After all, when you dabbed the tester on the back of your hand or on the inside of your wrist, it looked pretty good, right?

You got home, swiped the tube over your lips (which, by the way, bear no resemblance whatsoever to the colour of the back of your hand or the inside of your wrist), smiled at yourself in the mirror and … dang … you then daubed on a second coat in hopes it might improve the look. With a flooding sense of disappointment, you wiped the double coating off with a tissue, reapplied a single coat, then brushed some gloss on top to try to tone it down or perk it up… %#$@!! 

Now you own a tube of unsuitable lipstick and you can’t just throw it away - that would be extravagantly wasteful; even if you wiped the barely used edge off with a paper towel, it’s no longer pristine, so your favourite women’s charity won’t accept it – despite your best efforts it has that creepy look inherent to someone else’s used (contaminated) lipstick. You might pass it along to a close girlfriend, or try to return it to the store, but in the meantime it languishes in your cosmetic drawer until one morning you realize you’ve run out of lip balm and use that near-at-hand neglected lipstick instead.

When you sit down at the breakfast table you don’t think about the mixed messages you’re sending your significant other, dressed as you are in your tired old bathrobe with the week-old yoghurt drip on the lapel, with your sleep-tousled hair standing on end, with creases from your pillow case indented on the side of your early-morning-pale face, and your lips sporting a most unbecoming shade of red aptly named Frankly Scarlet. At that point, my dear, you don't give a damn...



Monday, March 17, 2008

Kind, friendly, considerate me

My dear fabulous daughter,

Last week I embarked upon a new phase in my journey through life - I decided to make a sincere effort to be kinder, friendlier, and more considerate to those around me - to family, friends, neighbours, acquaintances, and even perfect strangers (why is it acceptable to refer to a stranger as “perfect” when everyone is taught from a tender age not to talk to them in case they’re evil?) ... as I was saying ... last Monday morning I leapt out of bed with the energy that can only be ascribed to the newly converted. My new mantra, “be more kind, friendly, and considerate”, was pulsing through my brain and I intended to honour my commitment to the best of my abilities. I put on my running shoes, harnessed our wee dog Jaqui and set out the door looking for people with whom to be kind, friendly, and considerate. Round the block we went, stopping here and there to sniff at the new blossoms popping up around the neighbourhood (of course, my four-legged friend was sniffing at other objects, I won’t go on to describe as I’m being kind and considerate to you). Not a soul in sight, so we repeated our walk around the block until, ah-ha, at last, I spotted the neighbour from across the street, pushing her son’s scooter up the hill as she often does on a weekday morning after accompanying him on his daily scoot to school. She was half a block ahead of me, when I called her name and waved vigorously; she turned, waved back rather hesitantly, then continued on her way. I tried to catch up, but she disappeared into her driveway as I rounded the corner onto our street.

The next morning I thought I’d try again - out the door we bounded, looking for someone upon whom to bestow kindness, friendship, and consideration. A few cars drove by, and that was it until I rounded the corner and saw the same neighbour at the foot of her driveway. I called her name and again waved enthusiastically, however she didn’t return my wave, instead she stared at me for a half second and then beat a hasty retreat up her driveway and into her house. Apparently this kind, friendly, considerate thing wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. On the third morning our sweet wee dog and I set out earlier and headed in the opposite direction to wait at top of the hill at the end of the block, to await our neighbour’s scooter-bearing return up the hill.

After a seemingly endless wait, there she was and I walked non-chalantly down the hill toward her. When she looked up and saw me I gave a sort of low-key, oh-there-you-are-again-neighbour-I-hardly-know casual wave and saw her stiffen, then quickly turn the corner a block down the hill - a definitive deviation from her usual route! Clearly she was avoiding kind, friendly, considerate me! During previous months when I’d walked our dog in the mornings we’d passed one another and nodded or exchanged a few formal variations of “good morning” rather awkwardly, however, since I’d begun attempts at overt friendliness, things were clearly heading downhill (pun intended). In fact, I was beginning to sense an atmosphere of negativity in the neighbourhood.

Ever diligent, I set out on the fourth day, planning to out-and-out question my neighbour, as Jaqui and I strode toward the top of the hill my mind became agitated - perhaps my sudden and overt attempts to engage my neighbour had confounded her ... perhaps the loud honk caused by my hitting the alarm button on my car key late every Monday night had ticked her off ... perhaps she was feeling a tad resentful that after a long and pathetic attempt I could find only $4.17 in the recesses of my purse for the $5 box of Girl Guide cookies her daughter had attempted to sell to me ... a moment later I was astounded when I saw my neighbour driving her mini van slowly up the hill and then hit the gas peddle to roar past me and round the corner ... what on Earth?

I turned heel and dejectedly headed home. As Jaqui and I reached the foot of our driveway I saw your sister walking toward us on her return from a walk to the grocery store. I stopped and waved the friendly wave I'd used all week; when she reached me she scowled and said it was gross and disgusting of me to shake a bag of dog poop at her. Oops - I've been avoiding our poor neighbour ever since!

Monday, November 19, 2007

Stagnant Chi

My Dear Fabulous Daughter,

This is just a quick note to tell you about my discovery of an old jumbo coffee can in your father's "collection area" in a corner of the garage; I opened the lid and peered inside and to my great horror discovered the tin was more than half-filled with old batteries of all shapes and sizes - talk about dead energy/stagnant chi!

Love Your Wonderful Mother

Monday, September 10, 2007

Chi-Freeing Continues



My dear fabulous daughter,
As you can see from the photos, I continue to work on freeing chi. These hats were formerly crammed inside a box in the garage where every now and again your dear father could lift the lid, look at the lump of compressed hats (presumably feel happy that yes, they are all still there), choose one of these beauties from the top of the box, then close the lid and trap all sorts of chi within it's deep dark depths. Now your father can enter our bedroom closet, look at his beloved hat collection hanging on the wall (presumably feel happy that yes, they are all still there), then change-up his style of the day with a hat that hasn't seen the light of day for many a year. The chi may now flow freely around these objects in our hertofore useless closet niche, and there's one less box to trip over in the garage.

Love Your Wonderful Mother

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Mother vs. Cats


MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

Whilst your sister and father were recently away on vacation it was my misfortune to be left to deal with our two cats and their odorous litter boxes. I was feeling rather annoyed with this less than pleasurable duty and as I grimaced and emptied the boxes a memory suddenly popped into my head. As you know, cats are not my favourite animals, and upon more than one occasion I have experienced overwhelming spasms of disgust when dealing with their boxes, the dead creatures they leave as gifts at various unsuitable locations around the house, and the hair they shed in copious amounts that manage to attach to my best clothing just as I set out for an evening out with cat-less friends in perfectly immaculate cat-hair-free outfits. On the other hand, your dear father adores the cats, takes great pride in their expertise as hunters and will not hear of our sending them packing.

Several years ago while cleaning up a nasty "message" one of the cats had left on the carpet I muttered under my breath that I had had enough of the cats and either they were leaving once and for all or I was. Apparently I had proclaimed my threat louder than I'd thought and, unbeknownst to me, your sister stood just behind me. At the sound of her bursting into tears I spun around and asked her what was wrong. After several moments of loud wails followed by much gasping, sniffling and snuffling, she was able to blurt out - But Mommy, I'm going to miss you so much!

Priorities ...

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Sunday, July 08, 2007

An E-Mail From Your Ever Charming Father

Hello my fabulous daughter,

I do believe your dear father, currently in Hawaii with your sister, is missing me much more that I'd anticipated: below is the e-mail I received from him this morning:

"While sitting in the local brew house waiting for my ale I realized that I was pretty much the only person over 12 years old that was not sporting some kind of body art. Well today I succumbed to the social pressure and had a large fish hook (8" from from eye to point ) tattooed on the back of my left calve. On my right calve is an image of your face Barbara with some text above each. Now when I stand with my legs together the fish hook looks as though it is in your mouth and the text reads "I'M HOOKED ON YOU BARB." Now that i conform to the new culture of the Big Island of Hawaii I am starting to fit in. When I walk down the street I get the hang loose signal, people call me bro, and I generally feel like more of an individual. Love Garth"

Of course, I am hoping your father is joking ...

Love your wonderful mother