This past weekend, members of the Canadian Bar Association came from across Canada and descended upon Name-of-Town-Withheld for its annual Mid-Winter Meeting. This meeting was last held here about a decade ago, and one of the favourite events was the "At-Home" Dinner on Friday night. This is exactly as it sounds - a small number of conference delegates, none of whom you are likely to know, arrive at your home around 7:00 p.m. for an intimate dinner party.
For those of us who, like me, are members of both the Failed Mommies Club and the Failed Wives Club, this is a huge social risk. Nevertheless, despite being kept awake to the wee hours of the morning wondering whether or not the guests will be offended by the gerbils running around in the bathtub, or if their children would prefer Kraft Dinner or re-heated pizza, I signed up. I'm not a bad cook, after all, and I just renovated my house. I could do it. I asked for delegates who would be bringing their children with them, since I knew that locking my own kids in the closet whilst a group of adults dined might be frowned upon. I would make some kind of up-scale, yet kid-friendly, dish for the children, and perhaps something pretty and interesting, like sukiyaki, for the adults. I was actually quite excited.
The day approached. I received an e-mail with details about the guests. I was hosting two families, both of which were bringing their kids, who were close in age to mine. They had adventurous palates, so I could be adventurous with dinner.
Then Arnold told me he was going out of town on duty travel, the morning of the dinner, for the weekend. I immediately scaled back my dinner plans. No sukiyaki. It would be too much chopping and fiddling. For the kids, maybe pasta. Maybe I would serve pasta to everyone. Spaghetti and store-bought meat balls. I considered backing out entirely. I couldn't possibly clean the house, cook and be calm in time. On the other hand, I thought of these poor families, expecting dinner and being stood up. I couldn't back out. Fortunately, Arnold came up with Plan "B", and it didn't require me to drink a bunch of wine before the guests arrived to keep calm. He would make muskox stew for me the night before. I had some homemade bread to serve with it, and I could make real macaroni and cheese for the kids. I was sick about it, but I could do it. Basically, I just had to cut bread, shred cheese and turn on a burner on the stove.
As the day approached, I grew more confident, but then was somewhat intimidated by the impressive plans I heard about from others. Some were having practice nights - trying the dishes to ensure that they were as delicious as the pictures promise. Some were having the event catered. One fellow had place cards for his guests. I was serving mac and cheese to the kids and stew to the adult. We would dine off of Corel, using my mismatched university-days cutlery, and drink moderately-priced wine from various types of glasses. I couldn't help feeling somewhat inferior, but it was too late. I reminded myself that these folks didn't live here, and, in all likelihood, I would never see them again. I wondered fleetingly if they had my name already, or if I could use an alias for the purposes of the "At-Home" Dinner.
Dinner-time came and my guests arrived. The kids played. They were loud, but very cheerful. We all ate and the parents drank wine. We laughed and shared stories about kids, schools, daycares, dance classes, soccer and the like. Before I knew it, it was 11:00 p.m. I had an absolutely wonderful time. What surprised me is that I had so much in common with my guests, these strangers from different ends of the country. We were all struggling to balance work and life, and to overcome our fear of being judged. We all saw the value in not sweating the small stuff, and stopping to smell the roses every once in awhile. I didn't just "make it through" the evening. Instead, I wound up making new friends and feeling better about myself and where I am as a lawyer and as mother. Maybe everyone should invite a stranger to dinner now and then.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Yet More Awkward Moments
A few months ago, at a polite and innocuous dinner party, I was advised that a couple we know are swingers. When I first heard their names in the same sentence as "swingers" I thought maybe my dinner companions were simply trying to tell me that this couple had installed shag carpet in their condo. Or maybe they meant that that these folks were just really "modern".
Stupidly, and without realizing the long-term consequences of my question, I probed further.
"What do you mean?"
"You know," came the response. "They have sex with other people. In a group."
Actually, I didn't know and it certainly never crossed my mind - at least not with respect to these folks. For one thing, they're both well into middle age. Moreover, they're both a bit tubby and, well, not particularly attractive. I don't know a lot about the swinger life-style, but I did see a show on the Documentary Channel once about a swinger couple, and they kept stressing that it was a fairly elite club into which only fit, good-looking people are admitted. That actually makes a great deal of sense.
It seems that I was one of the last people in Name-of-Town-Withheld to know.
Despite my initial shock, I had a good giggle and left it at that.
It was about a week later when I realized the impact of this new secret upon me. Hubby and I were out for a glass of wine at a popular spot in Name-of-Town-Withheld and we ran into the allegedly swinging duo. As they approached our table, my mouth went dry. Why didn't they just wave? Were they coming over to invite us over to their place? Would they ask us to go on some kind of swinger date? I shuddered, for many reasons. Fortunately, we just exchanged pleasantries, but all the while I kept trying to shake the image of him walking around some swinger party in a pair of men's bikini underwear and gold chains, or his wife looking like Jon Voight's first "client" in Midnight Cowboy.
I have been taken to new heights in awkward moments by this revelation. Running into either of them on the street evokes images that are downright comical, but which can nevertheless be hard to take at certain times of the day (like before I've had my coffee). I've learned a lesson about being too curious. Next time, I'll just stick with my theory about shag carpets and decline to seek the truth!
Stupidly, and without realizing the long-term consequences of my question, I probed further.
"What do you mean?"
"You know," came the response. "They have sex with other people. In a group."
Actually, I didn't know and it certainly never crossed my mind - at least not with respect to these folks. For one thing, they're both well into middle age. Moreover, they're both a bit tubby and, well, not particularly attractive. I don't know a lot about the swinger life-style, but I did see a show on the Documentary Channel once about a swinger couple, and they kept stressing that it was a fairly elite club into which only fit, good-looking people are admitted. That actually makes a great deal of sense.
It seems that I was one of the last people in Name-of-Town-Withheld to know.
Despite my initial shock, I had a good giggle and left it at that.
It was about a week later when I realized the impact of this new secret upon me. Hubby and I were out for a glass of wine at a popular spot in Name-of-Town-Withheld and we ran into the allegedly swinging duo. As they approached our table, my mouth went dry. Why didn't they just wave? Were they coming over to invite us over to their place? Would they ask us to go on some kind of swinger date? I shuddered, for many reasons. Fortunately, we just exchanged pleasantries, but all the while I kept trying to shake the image of him walking around some swinger party in a pair of men's bikini underwear and gold chains, or his wife looking like Jon Voight's first "client" in Midnight Cowboy.
I have been taken to new heights in awkward moments by this revelation. Running into either of them on the street evokes images that are downright comical, but which can nevertheless be hard to take at certain times of the day (like before I've had my coffee). I've learned a lesson about being too curious. Next time, I'll just stick with my theory about shag carpets and decline to seek the truth!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Guilty Pleasures of Failed Mommies
Sharing living space necessarily involves compromises. In some homes, cups are placed in the cupboard all open-end-up, and in others, all open-end-down, but there is no mixing of style. As old as it may seem, where to squeeze the toothpaste tube is also something that must be consistent for domestic harmony to be maintained, along with the manner of placing toilet paper on the roller.
In our house, we have arrived at a common understanding on many of these things only after some conflict. The knife block is a perfect example. It seems that Arnold read or heard somewhere that the knives are to be placed into the knife block with the blades facing outward. I hadn't really thought about it, but I do recall that when I purchased the knife block (during the practice marriage) it came with knives already placed in it, and the blades were facing inward. So, that's how I placed them in the block until we had a particularly heated discussion one day, stemming from something completely unrelated to knives. Arnold's views on placement of knives in the knife block was nothing short of passionate and I knew that I would never be able to move him from his position. Despite the fact that I viewed his position as being completely without merit and, more precisely, incorrect, I knew that one of us had to compromise. I also didn't care all that much, but he obviously did. I relented, and now I place the knives in the block with the blades facing outward. Domestic bliss prevails.
At a recent dinner gathering of the Failed Mommies, the conversation turned to the kinds of things we do when our spouses, or spousal equivalents, as the case may be, are not around, and I discovered something interesting. Like me, my friends are usually prepared to give in on some things to appease the poor guys, but in many cases, they remain unconvinced of the logic behind their techniques. When hubby's out of the picture, even for a short while, we do things the way that they should be done.
One described how she and and her husband take clothes out of the washer and hang them to dry, and then use the dryer for "touch-ups." Sure, the argument goes, it's a lot more work, but it conserves so much energy and that, in turn, saves money.
When he's out of town, everything goes into the dryer.
Another friend of mine, whose husband is a nutrition Nazi, feeds her kids McDonalds, Kraft Dinner and hot dogs whenever he is out of town or even working late. Even funnier is that she hides the evidence in the neighbour's garbage bin so that he doesn't find it, and the kids are sworn to secrecy. It isn't that she would be in any trouble if he found out, but she just doesn't have the energy or inclination to listen to a lecture on the evils of convenience foods after spending her day catering to the needs of her three little kids.
When I'm holding down the fort, I consider myself the Sheriff and I do things my way. My guilty pleasure is putting everything into the dishwasher, even if it means doing two loads in a row. Pots and pans, knives (other than wooden handled ones), plastic containers, cookie sheets, you name it. Truth be told, Arnold and I have never really discussed it, but based on his approach to kitchen duty, I know he would not approve.
Is it a form of rebellion? Do we have a need to flex our independence muscles? Or are we simply wild women? Perhaps it's none of the above, but instead just our own little holiday from our domestic routine.
In our house, we have arrived at a common understanding on many of these things only after some conflict. The knife block is a perfect example. It seems that Arnold read or heard somewhere that the knives are to be placed into the knife block with the blades facing outward. I hadn't really thought about it, but I do recall that when I purchased the knife block (during the practice marriage) it came with knives already placed in it, and the blades were facing inward. So, that's how I placed them in the block until we had a particularly heated discussion one day, stemming from something completely unrelated to knives. Arnold's views on placement of knives in the knife block was nothing short of passionate and I knew that I would never be able to move him from his position. Despite the fact that I viewed his position as being completely without merit and, more precisely, incorrect, I knew that one of us had to compromise. I also didn't care all that much, but he obviously did. I relented, and now I place the knives in the block with the blades facing outward. Domestic bliss prevails.
At a recent dinner gathering of the Failed Mommies, the conversation turned to the kinds of things we do when our spouses, or spousal equivalents, as the case may be, are not around, and I discovered something interesting. Like me, my friends are usually prepared to give in on some things to appease the poor guys, but in many cases, they remain unconvinced of the logic behind their techniques. When hubby's out of the picture, even for a short while, we do things the way that they should be done.
One described how she and and her husband take clothes out of the washer and hang them to dry, and then use the dryer for "touch-ups." Sure, the argument goes, it's a lot more work, but it conserves so much energy and that, in turn, saves money.
When he's out of town, everything goes into the dryer.
Another friend of mine, whose husband is a nutrition Nazi, feeds her kids McDonalds, Kraft Dinner and hot dogs whenever he is out of town or even working late. Even funnier is that she hides the evidence in the neighbour's garbage bin so that he doesn't find it, and the kids are sworn to secrecy. It isn't that she would be in any trouble if he found out, but she just doesn't have the energy or inclination to listen to a lecture on the evils of convenience foods after spending her day catering to the needs of her three little kids.
When I'm holding down the fort, I consider myself the Sheriff and I do things my way. My guilty pleasure is putting everything into the dishwasher, even if it means doing two loads in a row. Pots and pans, knives (other than wooden handled ones), plastic containers, cookie sheets, you name it. Truth be told, Arnold and I have never really discussed it, but based on his approach to kitchen duty, I know he would not approve.
Is it a form of rebellion? Do we have a need to flex our independence muscles? Or are we simply wild women? Perhaps it's none of the above, but instead just our own little holiday from our domestic routine.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
There Oughta Be a Law
During the "deep freeze" here last week, we had a couple of power outages. Those can be serious things in a place like Name-of-Town-Withheld, because plumbing freezes up fairly quickly when the circulation pumps and furnaces aren't working. Later in the week, businesses were asked to conserve power, so our building was fairly dark. Then on Friday, the Power Corporation issued a public statement indicating that we were on back-up diesel power. It asked that we conserve what we could by, among other things, not doing laundry and not running dishwashers or other appliances over the coming weekend. We were asked to avoid using the oven and to cook meals in the microwave or on the stovetop instead. It was all sort of frightening. After all, it's cold, dark and we're isolated.
Then my friend, Sandy, put a different spin on it. This was not just an ordinary request to conserve power. Indeed, this represented a unique moment in history. This was an official order to feed your family convenience foods and not do housework!
Sandy had opened up a whole new world of weekend possibilities, and I saw it stretch out before me. There would be no leaping from bed early Saturday morning to get the laundry done and cook a big breakfast, and then head into other chores in between activities and birthday parties. The pieces of lint on the bedroom carpet would have to stay put for another few days, and, for that matter, Arnold's socks could stay where they were, too. There's no point in moving them if I can't vacuum underneath them anyway.
Washing the floors and scrubbing the toilets had to be put off. It would mean using hot water, and flushing, unnecessarily.
There was really no need to do much grocery shopping, since we couldn't cook much. The weekend menu would include a lot of cold cereal, Kraft Dinner and assorted Chef Boyardee products.
The weekend was awesome. We went bowling, swimming and skating. We had a game night at Megan and Steve's house. It seemed like I had all kinds of time and I didn't care about the piles of laundry or dust bunnies all over the house. I ignored the hot chocolate on the living room wall and the pieces of spaghetti on the floor on the dining room table. I gave up caring that the bathrooms were starting to look like grimy service station restrooms. I went back to work feeling rested and relaxed, and I'm sure I'm not the only gal who did.
Then my friend, Sandy, put a different spin on it. This was not just an ordinary request to conserve power. Indeed, this represented a unique moment in history. This was an official order to feed your family convenience foods and not do housework!
Sandy had opened up a whole new world of weekend possibilities, and I saw it stretch out before me. There would be no leaping from bed early Saturday morning to get the laundry done and cook a big breakfast, and then head into other chores in between activities and birthday parties. The pieces of lint on the bedroom carpet would have to stay put for another few days, and, for that matter, Arnold's socks could stay where they were, too. There's no point in moving them if I can't vacuum underneath them anyway.
Washing the floors and scrubbing the toilets had to be put off. It would mean using hot water, and flushing, unnecessarily.
There was really no need to do much grocery shopping, since we couldn't cook much. The weekend menu would include a lot of cold cereal, Kraft Dinner and assorted Chef Boyardee products.
The weekend was awesome. We went bowling, swimming and skating. We had a game night at Megan and Steve's house. It seemed like I had all kinds of time and I didn't care about the piles of laundry or dust bunnies all over the house. I ignored the hot chocolate on the living room wall and the pieces of spaghetti on the floor on the dining room table. I gave up caring that the bathrooms were starting to look like grimy service station restrooms. I went back to work feeling rested and relaxed, and I'm sure I'm not the only gal who did.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Ice Fog
This is ice fog, as seen from my door step this morning. Last night, we dipped to -48. You can also see some interesting pics from yesterday, on Megan's site.
But, it's a dry cold . . .
But, it's a dry cold . . .
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