she's got Huge... tracts of land!

My 11 yr old daughter keeps trying to get me to try on clothes with her when we go shopping for her. I've explained a couple of times that I'd love to, but they don't have my size in the store. I have to go to the Fat Chick Stores. I'm at the upper end of Regular sized so I can occasionally find something that will fit, but the accompanying frustration with finding that something just ain't worth it. I'm in the smallest size of the fat chicks usually, and sometimes I'm in the No (wo)Man's Land inbetween. That imaginary line in the sand... Beyond Here There Be Dragons!! (for sure!)

Anyway, where was I...? Oh yes, my daughter: shopping with.

A little while ago, while I was explaining this size segregation to her she stopped flicking through a rack, looked over at me, puzzlement on her face, and said "why?". As in "why aren't there all kinds of sizes in this store??!"

And for a split second I saw it through her eyes. Just learning how to shop for clothes and other yummies, judging what would be a good colour and whether or not she can run around during recess in it (ie Cartwheel Coverage) ... I saw past the judgement and discrimination and thought 'Yeah! Why aren't there all kinds of sizes in this store...?!? We humans come in all sizes and shapes... why isn't there more variety??'

It was nice. A brief respite from the pressure, that constant Not One of Us feeling that I carry with me whenever I go into a Regular-sized store with her.

And then I thought "ooohh, something to blog about!" and went back to my real life.


Dear Ms Mazda MPV,

We were both sitting, waiting patiently at the red light. You were behind me. As soon as the light changed, we both accelerated... me actually driving my car by changing gears, you by pushing down on a pedal. Just after we cleared the intersection I guess you decided that I wasn't accerlerating fast enough because you started to pull out over a solid yellow line going around a blind curve.

I must admit at first I was busy driving my car (please see above) and didn't comprehend just what you were attempting. When I did, I stopped accelerating. Why? Well, you needed to come back into my lane... back over that solid yellow line while we're now going around that blind curve.

Then... I. slowed. down. For you.

Now, don't think for a minute that you are justified in passing me in such a dangerous way because I was obviously going too slowly... I slowed down for you. And yes, I leaned on my horn.

Maybe it sounded indignant? or perhaps a bit pissed? Sorry... that's cuz I was a little bit. But mostly I was incredulous. And then when you'd been allowed back into the proper lane and stole a look in your rearview mirror I mouthed a big 'NOooo' and shook my head...? That's because what you did was beyond wrong. It was just plain stupid. Why would you - a minivan driving Mom - do something so crazy?! Because by the next set of lights you were only two cars ahead of me!! Yeah, I know... endangering at least two whole families for 20 metres!

And then at the next lights too... only 20 metres gained. And then you turned right, down towards a school very close to my kids' school... ahhh, that's why. You were late to pick up your kids...

So was I. (I mean, the picking up my kids part). Weird, huh? We're both Moms, on our way to pick up our kids from school. You could be me! I could be you!

So let me say this, from one Mom to another:

WRONG. and
you're welcome


probably permanently puzzled

I don't recall where I heard about this book, but it was recently and hopefully it'll come to me some day. I'd like to remember what sparked the interest in this book. It seems like that should be remembered. Anyway, I can't seem to put it down. It's funny, and well written. Even if it didn't 'speak' to you, it'd be a great read. But it's made even better because it is so very very relevant to me and my story. Frighteningly, reassuringly so. Frighteningly may be obvious: the first half dozen pages gave me the willies there was so much similarity with my childhood experiences. Reasussuringly may not be so obvious.

At one time I thought that my family's dysfuntions were unique. When I discovered that not only was that not so, but there were worse situations out there I was afraid and so very saddened. Afraid because that meant that there was so much more nastiness in the world than I had previously realized. Saddened because I knew what it was like. At least my less nasty version...

I now find reading about this whole topic reassuring. I'm not alone. There are more people just as messed up as me, travelling along the same path. Some, with a great sense of humour. Like hers.

And then - as often happens with my life - some other angle on the current topic is illuminated by another source. I heard an article on the radio about epigenetics. About how earlier, childhood experiences (even more so than later adult ones) can actually cause changes in one's genetic mechanism. How certain genes can be regulated by either your physical environment, or even your social surroundings and experiences.

I believe I was raised by an Iron Monkey (from Harry Harlow's attachment experiments with infant Rhesus monkeys). She tried her best I believe now with what she was given (or, I'm choosing to believe this because the alternative is just too ugly). We've never discussed this to any depth or degree. When I open this topic up, it is shut down with a dismissive flick of her wrist and a 'oh, Yvonne... you only remember the bad things' type of comment. End of discussion.

So what? So what if I was raised in an environment that was physically undemonstrative and emotionally cold? (there are worse situations... 'it could have been worse you know Yvonne'. Yes, I know.)

Well, what if? Maybe, just maybe... my genetic expression was trained to deal with higher levels of... oh, I don't know... cortisol. Or learn to live in a bath of anxiety-produced body chemicals...? What would that do to one's genes?

I don't know. But I also don't know how I can maintain such a large body, such a high weight on what I eat and how I live. It doesn't make sense, doesn't add up. So maybe this is another piece of my puzzle.



In re-reading recents posts, I noticed that I've published ones that document how busy/insane/busy my life is right now. I don't want these posts to read as complaints, rather as disbelief. I mean, just how can I possibly be that busy...? I'm a SAHM for goodness sake! What the hellelse am I doing exactly??

That's what my inner voice exclaims. Well, one of my inner voices. No, not United States of Tara-esque or nuthin, just one of my thoughts, expressed as slightly judgemental.

In order to combat recent posts, let me list many happy things that happen. Many of which occur daily.


walks at the dog park, during which I make a point of looking up at the sky. Because it's usually changing, and usually beautiful and always calming.
I Wish in the morning, driving the kids to school
Three Sisters, hot in a mug. Oh, and bacon.

huh. those are all in the morning...
okay then,

having more floor space now
not obsessing over yarn, but feeling my creativity take off in other directions. Unknown.
chocolate (little too obvious?)
quiet evenings all to me. otherwise known as Staying Up Far Too Late For My Own Good

a nice, quaint, Jane Austen movie every once in a while
having two children who read too much. Like recently at a restaurant I was the only one who didn't bring any reading material and I was kinda lonely. But it's difficult to utter the words "stop reading so much!". I can, and have, uttered 'put down that book' but that's because their attention is needed elsewhere.
playing tug-of-war with the dog

and blogging.