Don't You Wish You Were in My Shoes?

The weekend before leaving for BlogHer, David had his wallet stollen from our car late Saturday night/early Sunday morning.

There's nothing worse than having your wallet taken with $200 and all your ID including your Birth Certificate and health card in it. It's not just the time, expense, and PIA of replacing all your ID and credit cards. It's not just worrying about someone selling your identity and the ensuing worry about identity theft. It's the pure violation of knowing someone went into your possessions, took your things. Because they felt like it. For whatever reason.

Sitting in the airport on the way to San Francisco, we got a phone call from someone who had found David's driver's licence and birth certificate. Apparently the thief just wanted the money, and pieces of David's wallet are scattered, somewhere, in the bushes around North Vancouver.

Ever since then, however, I have had panic-attack moments of, "Where's my wallet??!!!" And somehow that slippery green leather, filled to bursting, god I need to clean this thing out, offending item keeps momentarily disappearing from sight. Sending me into a mad, throw everything including the baby up into the air until I find it, frenzy.

This morning, around 4:00 am, I woke up and realized, "I didn't see my wallet when we were packing up from the Ulty game last night." (Yes, one trimester down and still running around an Ulty field.)

I let this thought gnaw at me until 4:45 am, alternating between, "I'm sure it's fine and it'll be at the bottom of the backpack," and, "Argghh! I'm going to have to spend all day tomorrow replacing everything in there!" when I decided to get up and look for it.

And ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod it wasn't in the kids' toy bag or our backpack.

Maybe it was in the bottom of the stroller in the car. Shit.

I ran out into the pouring rain and opened the trunk of the car accidentally setting off the car alarm. Shit, double shit.

Not in there either.

I dashed back into the house to find David, holding the baby, and Nate all standing, blinking in the light.

"What are you doing?"

"Ohmigod, I couldn't find my wallet and I looked in the car and it's not in the stroller, and sorry about the car alarm, and what if I left the wallet on the field or on top of the car after paying for the parking stub, and oh no. This sucks."

David leaned down into the kids' bag and pulled out my wallet, which was resting almost right on top. "This wallet?"

Gotta love being pregnant. Only 29 more weeks to go.

An Oops

It's been hard the last two months to find the energy to sit and write on my blog. I've not had a lot of get-up-and-go and, mentally, I think I've got the IQ of a carrot. This was not the best way to go to BlogHer, feeling a bit under the weather and ready for bed every night at 8pm.

If I add to the equation the nausea and inability to fit into my regular clothes very well, you can probably put 1 and 2 together and guess that I am pregnant.

Yes! Whoo hoo!

I think.

I mean, I know I will be glad to have another child, but right now, it seems like a bit of an ambush.

I have a million questions and concerns swirling around in my head. Jake will only be 18 months when the next one arrives. How will he react? How will I cope with two such little ones?

And, Jake will now be a middle child. Are any of you out there middle children? Are you permanently warped because of it?

What about all the wine I drank when I didn't know I was pregnant?

I will only be back at work for 5, maybe 6 months and then I will be off again. Will I go insane? How will we afford both kids in daycare while I am at home with no salary? (Taking them out is not an issue as we would never get them back in again... yes, daycare in Vancouver is brutally hard to find.)

How long a mat leave do I take? 6 months? A year?

What if we have 3 boys? Who in their right minds has 3 boys? How will I even begin to feed them all when they are teenagers. Our grocery bills are bad enough now with all the organic I try to buy, I can't even imagine what they will skyrocket to in 10 to 13 years. Maybe I can sell a kidney.

More importantly, where are all my maternity clothes and I'm so sick of them, can someone please send me some cute, fashionable ones which I don't dread dragging on?

So there you have it. That's the big news around here. I had a dating ultrasound this past Wednesday and the baby didn't stop moving once. Yikes.

Yikes.

Yikes.

Excuse me while I go pull some hair out.

South of the Border

As David and I were sitting in San Francisco's Lori's Dinner having breakfast with the boys, I came up with one of my usual, brilliant observations. I know that all of my observations are brilliant, but this one was particularly so.

"You know," I mumbled through a mouthful of French toast, "don't take this the wrong way or anything, but Americans have way better customer service than Canadians do."

...

Okay, I gave you the above ellipse to allow enough time for spluttered protests about the local watering hole you frequent that has the friendliest, best service on the planet. Or, enough time to recall the surly hostess who snubbed you during your last visit to New York City. Got it all out?

It's not like I'm qualified to speak authoritatively on the subject, but given all my anecdotal and completely personally-based experiences, I would have to say that Americans have good service down pat. Unlike most of our Canadian dining experiences, every restaurant we went to saw immediate drink, menu and general comfort attention. Here, we routinely expect to sit aimlessly at our table or booth for 5 to 15 minutes before even getting so much as a "Howdy do?".

Later that same day, we wandered into an art gallery near Ghiradelli's Square (mmmmm... chocolate) because we wanted to see if they really did have Picasso's, Chagall's and Dali's. Even dressed down as we were, with two kids in tow, we were given pleasant prompt service that was neither condescending nor obsequious. If we'd had $98,000 to spare, we would've bought the Chagall we both loved, dammit.

The next day, as we were checking out of the Westin St Francis, a minor inconvenience/confusion over our extra night's stay prompted them (completely unsolicited on our part as we hadn't voiced any complaint) to give us a complimentary night's stay. $300 was written off our bill. Ka-ching!

Maybe San Francisco is some sort of weird anomaly. If you're American, feel free to weigh in on this post. However, I would just like to say that for as "nice" as Canadians are, and are billed world-wide, I have to say, the Yanks are giving us a real run for the label... at least with regards to customer service.

Now having said all that, tomorrow let me tell you about United Airlines and why you should never fly with them...

Photo Walk: BlogHer08

By far my favourite two sessions from BlogHer'08 were the photography one with Me Ra Koh and the Shutter Sisters' photo walk around the city. My group hit Chinatown, and here are a few of the images I took today.

BlogHer08: My First Session

I'm so excited to be here at BlogHer '08. I actually made it through last night's and this am's meet and greet. I am very shy in public settings full of strangers, and usually rely on David to get me through the event. Fortunately, Shawn helped me last night, and I managed to branch out on my own this morning. I've met some of my favourite blog writers, even those who were busy hosting parties!

This morning, I met a lot of fascinating women and I can't wait to check out their blogs. More on that later. However, now I am sitting in my first breakout session beside Kelly whom, after I searched for in vain, magically appeared before me in the hotel foyer.

The discussion on hand in this session: Is Mommy Blogging a Radical Act. In my own opinion, I'm not sure writing about families is a radical act. Haven't women (and men) written about families in a variety of formats for hundreds of years? What makes blogging considered radical? The different format? The "real life" vs "fictional life" aspects? Perhaps it's the honesty and candor with which some women write.

... An interesting point that has been raised is the "truthiness" in blogs. Raising the veil on the reality of raising kids and the joys and pitfalls that go along with it is what makes the genre radical.

... The current discussion, can you be radical and court advertisers and promoters? Since I'm not really in the blogworld to make money, I've never really considered this question. Some people wonder if there's a certain amount of self-censoring in order to attract those people.

... I've just discovered that I am not a good live-blogger. I get too caught up in the conversation and forget to type. What follows is a post-discussion summary.

One thoughtful question about pandering to one's readers is an issue I find personally relevant. Does the authenticity of a writer's voice become compromised when the author becomes concerned about her readers and what they come to expect? As a "transparent" blogger, I think I have faced this issue before. After all, my friends and family read this column. In the end, I think I treat my space as a place for a light, enjoyable read. It is not really a place where I feel comfortable venting or exposing deeper issues in my life. Given that, I definitely self-censor. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to blog anonymously, but in the end, I don't think it's my style. At least where my family is concerned. That's not to say though, that I don't enjoy and admire writers who use their blogs in all sorts of different manners.

Liz from Mom101 raised an interesting point which was touched on by other audience members too. The "radical-ness" of blogging should be that there is room for everyone and different voices and reasons for being in the blogging space. If anyone can do it, I think that mommy bloggers, that women bloggers are the place where we can be less divisive. I would like to think that it's the place where everyone can co-exist in the community. Obviously, our community has a ways to go, but maybe it will be the first to get to that inclusive, inviting place.

While these are just some of the many interesting thoughts from this conference, I can't write any more as there is a lunch to catch before the next set of sessions.

Off to BlogHer

Well, I'm still packing and the house is in disarray, but theoretically I'll be on an airplane tomorrow to San Francisco.

See you online (or in person)!

Googling Myself

I read Shawn's and Catherine's posts about Googling yourself and I thought, oh what the heck.

Some of the things that came up about me were the expected and the mundane: my Facebook profile, my Classmates.com profile. I think LinkedIn popped up too.

But here are a few more interesting things I found buried on the backpages of the Google search.

Under Amanda Eagles (my maiden name):

1. Did you know that I ran the Vancouver Marathon? Here's proof of it.... hahahahaha. What happened was my ambitious friend Leah was supposed to sign me up for a the half marathon and instead (unbeknownst to me) signed me up for the full one. With all the partying we were doing, it was hard to get the full training hours in, and, well, short story even longer, we never ran it.
2. When I lived in Thailand, I went (two times) on a biking tour of Chiang Mai's surrounding mountains/countryside. Let's just say that biking up steep hills in 100+ degree heat was a good way to sweat off 20 pounds in three days. The expat who ran the business asked me to write a short article. I wrote one, and to my surprise, what I wrote was not what was subsequently published under my name. Let's just say that about three sentences of my own remain.
   

Under Mandy Eagles there is a myriad of links to posts related to my job at Donat Group Enterprises.

And as Mandy Gratton? Well, beyond the bloggy stuff, apparently I own a villa in Turkey that my husband John and I are trying to rent out.

I think there used to be more interesting stuff about me out there. Good god, I've gotten old and boring.

See ya'll at blogger!

Rockin' the Village

Edgemont Village, easy walking distance from our house, is a quaint five block area of local businesses including fruit sellers, a grocers, a butchers, a coffee house, a couple book stores, gift stores, gardening stores, etc. The kids and I go at least once or twice a week to the bakery (ummmm chocolate croissants) and the library.

During July and August they block off the streets and put on a free music conference, supported by the local businesses. This past Friday's event was jazz, hosted by Delaney's and TD/CanadaTrust (a bank).

David and I trucked the kids down in their strollers, not sure quite what to expect. It was a very festive atmosphere as it had all the key ingredients for pre-schooler approval: balloons, free popcorn, and music.

Here's Nate attached to his bank-logo'ed balloon. (True to banking trends of late, the over-inflated helium wonder stagnated overnight and deflated by mid afternoon.)



And David hit up the local ice cream parlour for a treat. Nate's flavour: bubblegum. Tastes about as appetizing as it looks.



As the band was playing, they encouraged the crowd to do some swing dancing: side, side, step back. Side, side step back.

Here's David busting a move:



And here's Nate doing the side, side, step back:







And Jake? Well, he was just happy to be out past his bedtime.

Yesterday We Won the Lottery

Yesterday I professed my undying love to Emily.

I don't know Emily's last name. I don't know anything about her family, her usual haunts, or her favourite ice cream.

But it doesn't matter.

Because yesterday, Emily called to tell me that Jake had a spot for August in one of North Vancouver's top daycares.

How we lucked in, I'll never know. There are hundreds of infants on the waitlist, which is done by age of birth vs enrollment date on the waitlist. This ensures that the infants will be staggered enough in age to make it into the toddler room when they hit 18 months. (If they all turn 18 months at the same time, there won't be enough room to accommodate them and then someone gets kicked out of the daycare.)

Anyway, I think I was the first live person who answered the phone when Emily was going down her list. I think I proposed to her. I don't remember the details.

Suffice it to say, Jake is in daycare. And I am thrilled.

Wordless-ish Wednesday

Yesterday Nathan was playing with orange sidewalk chalk.

He covered:

• the deck
• his pants
• Jacob's arms and face

He told me Jacob asked him to.

Right.

My Life as a Cashier

When I was a teenager, I had a job with all of my girlfriends in a store called Consumers Distributing. What store manager in his right mind hires 9 teenage girls who are all friends? It's probably no wonder that the chain has long since gone belly up. I have lots of fodder from working at that store, but the long and the short of it is that I learned how to use a cash register, swipe Visa, Amex, and Mastercards, and even process personal cheques which had to pass the "Do NOT accept Mr/Mrs/Ms X's cheque under any circumstance" binder list.

But I'm not here to tell you about my days as a clerk. They are long over. Or so I thought until a recent visit to Home Depot.

A trip to Home Depot with Nate and Jake in tow is never an easy feat. Nate fancies himself a bit of a Bob the Builder type. Which means that tools, all tools, any tools fascinate him. As do the BBQs, the lawn furniture, the mowers, battery displays and basically anything else with shiny potential. I spend the entire time trying to herd him to the section of the store I need to visit, all the while putting off questions like, "We should get this, mom?" or, "We need more batteries," and, "Brian has a green screwdriver. Can we get one too?"

Jake is no better. Although he is strapped into the shopping cart, he is small, wriggly and wants to be where his brother is. In this case, NOT in the cart. So I steer with one hand, have the other hand on Jake and try to use the cart to nudge Nate in the right direction.

It's a lot of fun. You should join us sometime.

Anyway, yesterday, I finally gathered my purchases and I was standing in line, happy to be second. I steadfastly ignored the chipper young 16 year old at the far end of the check out counters saying, "Ma'am! Ma'am! I can help you over here! Ma'am! Yoohoo!"

Going over there would have involved walking Nate past a ton of chewing gum and a revolving battery display. No way.

But then the clerk in my line got on the phone. She got into a long conversation on the phone. Something about the man in front of me and his purchase. I couldn't ignore the chirpy teen any longer. And frankly it didn't look like my clerk was getting off that phone anytime soon.

So I herded us all over there only to realize that chirpy teen was standing next to the "Self Check Out" counter.

Now, I've paid my dues as a clerk in a store. Granted, we didn't have swiper thingies to read the barcodes with, but the principle is the same. Tally up the items, put them in a bag, get payment.

I used to get paid to do this.

And Home Depot wants me to do it for myself.

I figure I should get a discount for checking myself out, all the while dealing with chirpy teen leaning over my shoulder SUPERVISING me through the check out process. Good grief! Where is my discount for doing the store's work for them? Oh, wait, I know. It's going to pay chirpy teen to stand there and WATCH ME DO HER JOB!

I was not in a good mood when I left. It was made even worse by the fact that I was halfway out the door before I realized I had lost Nate to the battery display on the way over. And didn't even have time to notice because I was too busy with the scanner.

I should've left a third party, twice endorsed cheque as payment.

Maybe next time.

Gratton Gluttony

Last Wednesday, David asked me how I felt about going to Calgary for the long weekend to see his parents. It was their 45th wedding anniversary and he thought it would be a nice surprise. I readily agreed until he suggested we drive.

10 hours.

Each way.

With a toddler and a baby.

I looked under the couch for the crack pipe I was sure he was using right before making that suggestion.

We Googled the cost of the flights and determined that we would save about $1,200 (even with today's current gas prices) if we drove.

Cheapness Frugality won out over common sense.

So we embarked on our journey early Friday morning and what do you know, but the kids were awesome. Jake cried for 10 minutes on two occasions. That was it. Of course, we had them glued to the portable DVD screens, but who says that endless Thomas the Tank and Blues Clues aren't good for you?

With the one hour time shift, it was 8pm when we arrived in Calgary. We sent Nate to the ring the doorbell, but the house looked suspiciously empty. Could they be out? No way, I thought. My in-laws never go out.

They were out.

We tried our only other option, Aunt Kathy's (my MIL's sister) and whaddya know, they were all there, whooping it up with another set of surprise guests, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Jim (my MIL's brother). The following day, Aunt Pauline (my FIL's sister) and Uncle Len showed up. They were the only expected guests.

Now any get together with the Grattons involves lots of good food and wine. My mother-in-law is the kind of person who, when expecting 10 guests, cooks for 20. This weekend was no exception. We spent four solid days eating, drinking and swatting at mosquitoes. (Boy am I glad I live in Vancouver where we have very few bugs.)

Ron and Claudia renewed their vows at church on Sunday. No offense to the Catholics out there, but holy crow. Talk about up down, up down, up down. I felt like a yo-yo. All I can say is that repeatedly standing up prevents any chance of a prolonged nap during the Mass.

Kidding. Kidding.

To celebrate the weekend, I tried to take as many food pictures as I could. I missed a few meals, including David's now Gratton-famous crab cake eggs bennie, the tenderloin roast, BBQ'ed salmon, and some phenomenal desserts. Ah well, you'll just have to use your imagination.

Cappuccinos to start the day:

Simple snacks like blended blue cheese with candied nuts and fruit, drizzled with honey:

A light dinner of Asian noodle soup and homemade Vietnamese spring rolls:

Snack time to beat the heat. Jake's first popsicle:

To die for (from scratch) desserts for the grown ups:

A few healthy salads. There were about 15 salads, but I got tired and stopped shooting:

Lest you think we contributed nothing, we made sure that Nate engaged in conversation about current events (here with Uncle Len):

And Jake helped with the cleaning up:

Now I'm off to do the same:

Sticky Goodness

There was a reason for my absence, but I couldn't have told you ahead of time, as it would have ruined the surprise.

I'll fill you in tomorrow.

Here are some photos from this afternoon... hot and sticky in Vancouver. Nate took it upon himself to share his popsicle with Jake.