Windsor Pride

This weekend was Windsor Pride. Its always hard as someone who is not actually gay to attend an event the purpose of which is to be proud of being gay. I mean - I would if I could but I can't. Not really. And its not like I'm a PFLAG Mom. I'm just an old fashioned Fag Hag with gay friends coming out my asshole - which is somewhat appropriate - don't you think?
My Mother, back in the day, hypothesized that there should be no gay pride day/week/parade until there was a straight pride. I disagree. No one ever got the shit kicked out of them for being heterosexual.
So what's it like? Like being invited to a party bringing all the food and being asked to enter by the back way.
What was this pride like?
It was okay. Just okay. There was a lot of shit flying through the air and some stuck and some didn't. Too vague?
Okay - Friday at the Armouries broke my heart. Dinner before was brilliant - I was allowed to indulge my Dan mojo - for those of you playing along I remain smitten by this boys charm and like oh - psyche sparkle - its pathetic really. I allowed my worlds to collide introducing new friends to old - and amazingly no one died. What broke my heart was that my friend Rick had worked so incredibly hard to put this thing on and the place was deserted. It was very sad.
Sometimes when we promote Pride events we need to branch out people and just promote the fucking event as an event that will be amazing even if you aren't gay. Gheesh.
Saturday was incredibly cool as we were recruited to pick up the evening's host - a gorgeous Drag Queen named Miss Conception. But when we picked him up at the train - he was Kevin.
Kevin and his fiance Daniel were incredibly nice - we clicked right away. We had an amazing day and just enjoyed his company so very much. He put on a fantastic show - I was so impressed!
The highlight of my night was the incredible Carole Pope. I idolize Carole - Rough Trade was insane and she did not disappoint at all in spite of being sick. I had my photo taken with Carole and friends and I am so sick with excitement to see it - she does look about 1000 years old but what the fuck - some day we all will! She totally rocked the house - Diva Bitch she was! And I got her autograph on my copy of Anti Diva! Holy crap.
Oh - not that I forgot - Dan read an incredibly smart poem to the super enhused crowd. I was just purple with pride - not for gay pride but for my FRIEND. How amazingly talented this guy is. Hearing poetry is totally different from reading it people - its the difference between hearing a song sung and reading lyrics on an album liner- it changes everything.
Sunday was Sunday. Too much pride crap and I hit the wall - way too much for one weekend. And, as sad ass as this is - it would had been better if I had been drunk. But I wasn't.
I'm not sure that I want to talk about it here - I know I don't in fact and I won't (if its that important for you to know - email me your questions!) - but it was a weird day for me. I had issues with people place and circumstance. Crap happened. Enough said.
Thank holyshitjesuschrist its over (I stole that from a book I just read - and I intend on continuing to steal it).
So Windsor - home of my future - I enjoyed your Pride - now fuck off and forget about the whole weekend. Okay?

Little Children

I've often felt like I was having a Kate Winslet moment - you know the one - from the amazingly brilliant movie "Little Children" where she is sitting in the park - both pretending to watch her kids, pretending to read and not quite pretending to interract with the other mothers.

That scene is so brilliant because it is so true to life. I always am the Mom on the side, the one that forgot to bring a healthy and nutritous snack containing all of the essential food groups needed for healthy growing children. My kids don't want to wear the right clothes or say the right things - and damnit if I can make them. I figure part of growing kids with healthy self esteem and stong minds is allowing them the tenacity to make their own pig headed decisions. Whether I'm going to like it or not.

While Kate doesn't enjoy these other women - she might want them to like her - although doing anything about it would be against her nature. Their permapress coordinated outfits and soccer Mom hair isn't wrong it just isn't her. I understand this. If I am going to all the trouble to put on lipstick - it won't be to wear it to the park.

In this movie, we are given the horrifying news that her lover doesn't think that she's beautiful - he prefers his skinnier more polished working wife. Where, in reality, isn't Kate Winslet - normal sized girl - just beautiful? Wouldn't any of us give our left arm to be as beautiful as Kate? So, what does that say about how we feel about our own appearance every day? Do we imagine that the permapress soccer moms and their working counterparts are not only more together and on the ball than we are but that they are also better mothers and more beautiful than we are as well?

All of these questions came to me while I was sitting on a park bench yesterday. I was surrounded by gaggles of Moms watching even bigger gaggles of kids.

The Indian Moms all stick together and mutter in a language the rest of us can't understand. I don't want to think this but, I always imagine they are laughing at me or talking about me - the same as I imagine when I go to the nail salon and Amy the Vietnamese nail goddess smiles at me and laughs with the other nail goddesses. The Indian Moms always seem to have extra children more than they would normally be able to fit into the tiny townhouses on our street.

Then there are the baby sitters - who also tend to congregate together. These are the Moms so superior to you and me that they get to look after other people's kids and get paid for it. The have menus and activity plans. They walk every where (because they care for more than the legal number of kids and can't fit them all in a minivan) and are therefore far more fit and capable than I could ever be.

The other suburban Moms have been coming to the park at this time of day on this day for eons. Far longer than I who have only begun as unemployment dictated. And - by the way - I am far too disorganized to go anywhere everyday at a certain time. They are the ones who look pityingly in our direction as I failed to produce even a peice of gum for my kid who was both hungry and thirsty. My "we live 2 minutes from here - lets just go home" even got a little shake of the head from one of them.

But I kept thinking of Kate Winslet. Because in the movie she got the super cute guy (if only for a little while) and in real life she got nominated for an Oscar. Who will be laughing when that happens to me, I ask silently to the super competant Moms? Who will be laughing then?

Six reasons why Facebook is Weird by Sandra

Facebook is weird - and these are the six reasons why I think that. Lets start out by saying, my friends on facebook are people I actually know. Like my cousins. And my old neighbours. And people from highschool. And my actual friends.

1. My husband has a facebook and is friends with my friends. As George would say "worlds collide". Just makes me a little nuts. Especially when I say something to one of my friends and they reply - "oh I know, Wayne told me. we're friends - facebook friends!" Of COURSE it was a lie! Of course - but it was mighty disturbing anyway!

2. My old neighbour's husband facebooked me and added me as a friend - I couldn't see how I could say no. Now I see his updates about going home to "get on the right end of a fatty" and I worry more about what a terrible father he is to his 4 kids then I used to. Then I see his "notes" where he talks about what a terrible father he is and how his whole life is falling apart. And so now I worry about his wife - my friend. Am I allowed to call her and ask if everything is okay? Or is that cheating? Is it spying on people - if they come right out and SAY that they are upset and hurt to cross over from facebook friend to real friend and try to call them and see if you can help???? Where is the line people?

3. I'm friends with my cousin - who on facebook lists her interests as "women". Now we have long suspected she may in fact be a lesbian but do I now know that she is? Am I allowed to acknowledge it as if she has TOLD me that she is? Can I come out and say - I love you no matter what and if you need support - I'm here for you - or is that crossing the line from facebook reality to regular reality? Do I have to pretend not to know until she tells me?

4. I'm friends with my friends in real life on facebook. I don't live in the same city with them. I don't live in their pockets. Yet, I don't have to ask them what they are doing -- because there are events and they have signed up saying they are going.....and status updates tell me their every move. Is she on vacation? Is he in the garden? Is he at work? Is he at home faking sick while eating corn chips and masturbating? I KNOW this info whether I want to or not.

5. My sister in law is a facebook friend. She is still my sister in law as she and my brother are not yet divorced. Its nice - lets me see pictures of the kids and all.....but - then there was the update to her relationship status! "Tracy is in a relationship". Okay - with WHO? Can I ask that? Can I send her an email saying "yay for you!" Where is the line? Or do I do what I did and just pretend to have my hands over my ears and sing lallalalalalalala....

6. Facebook put me in touch with an old boyfriend. My first boyfriend. My first kiss. Pretty weird to reconnect after 25 years. Tonight I got a message from him apologizing for taking advantage of me - in a good way - he said that he was sorry for not appreciating that I wanted to be with him because now he finally sees "what a gift that was"- and sorry for the way things ended. He was happy I found someone better than him.
Now people, that shouldn't REALLY happen. That kind of shit - that full circle tie up loose ends shit - that happend in books. Not in real life. But, thanks to facebook - I have a novel ending to that horrific chapter in my life. Its probably a good thing for my self esteem but frankly it doesn't make it any less WEIRD!

And those are my reasons.

Its all about the story

Its always to me been all about telling a good story. Not matter what, make the life you're living good enough that when you tell the story later, and you will, its a good story.

My favourite good story moment of the last few years happened at gay pride in the early 2000s. I can't remember specificially what year - it seems they have all blended in to one. Before I start the story - apologies to those who appear in the story who may not like their roles or the descriptions there of. Its MY story afterall.

This particular year I attended with a different bunch of folks then I normally do. I therefore expected a varying degree of fun - and before everyone gets their panties in a knot - I was WRONG.

It started with brunch at an all you can eat breakfast buffet. No bad can come from a day fuelled with BACON. Natures most heavenliest of foods. If it were not for bacon I would be a vegetarian today. But I can't give it up - its like a drug! If they could make something that tastes and smells JUST like bacon and was calorie free - they could make it out of old tires, I wouldn't even care - I would LOVE that. Just yum. But already by brunch two of our attendees had already punked out.

One of the cancellers was my cancelling out friend - EVERYONE has at least one cancelling out friend - think about it. The person that says they will be there - can't wait - sounds great! Then the week before the event has a tickle in their throat (this is what we call the pre-complaining stage) and you say "hmmm I understand". And then the day before - ooooh - its questionable if they can attend - malaria, period pains, gastrointestinal distress - etc. Then the day of, you get a call, email or text and unfortunately they can't make it. But, since its the cancelling out friend and you did have a week to prepare and you usually don't count on them anyway, its all good.

The second canceller was one of those people who just is so busy with work that they can't seem to have time to fit in life - and we all expect it - and its all okay. Soooo.... we're down to 4.

Erica - who I worked with, her friend Scott, and my friend Doug. We finished brunch, pushed our way through THRONGS of people and found ourselves a nice place on the parade route. The parade fuelled by Erica's giant bottle of strawberry wine masquerading as pink gatorade was boring as it normally is.

So we escaped to the Alexandra parkette to see what music was happening and hit the beer tent. Who do we find there? Cancelling friend number 2 who was supposed to be working. Whatever. He was suitably uncomfortable which made me happy. I'm often not as happy with revenge as I am with subtle guilt and the ability to be superior - just for a minute.

We left and went to the 501 beer garden - continuing our sad debaucery withoutScott. Somewhere in the afternoon Erica and Doug began discussing their mutual nipple peircings - a conversation I couldn't participate in not having one of my own. Then it started to rain. (It rarely rains on Pride day to eliminate the inevitable singing of "its raining men". )

Erica took off her shirt and so did Doug and the two of them danced shirtless in the rain. I took pictures. Of course I did. I felt it was my duty to record the day. And what I told each of them was - When I tell this story - and I will - you were both NAKED. That's it - dancing naked in the rain.

Monday rolled around and I took in the photos to be developed at my local grocery store - where I always get them developed. I went back end of the week to pick up the naked rain dancing photos and opened them up in the store - I couldn't wait to see what they looked like! I opened the photos and there were the pictures - of a baby shower. Who's baby shower? How the fuck should I know? I rushed back to the photo counter - and panicking asked the little stupid photo boy what had happened to my photos. Long story short - after much hullaballo - turns out that 5 people had their photos mixed up - someone got my naked rain dance photos and I got someone else's babyshower photos.....

The whole thing is - the story of dancing naked in the rain wasn't nearly as good until the photos showing the REAL version ended up with some nice polite suburban family looking for baby pictures with Uncle Fred. That's what MADE the story fun. Good enough fun to be a good story. And its all about the good story - isn't it?

You can't go home again

I went home today - to Stratford and it brought back all kinds of stuff. Stuff. Just stuff.
Back in the day - I left home immediately after high school to move to Toronto - I couldn't wait to get free. So much so that I graduated high school a year early. I can't say just what it was that pushed me out or enticed me away but there was something and it was urgent and important.
When I lived in Toronto I would come home on the train. As the train got closer and closer to Stratford - closer and closer to home - I would get more and more nervous. I would leave my seat and make my way to the train washroom and check my makeup - make sure that everything was just right. Toronto Sandra needed to cover up what needed to be covered up and fluff what needed fluffing. I always freaked out about my clothing and worried that I was dressed right - making sure that I looked my very best.
It wasn't that I was trying to impress anyone in particular - mostly I was just trying to make sure that I had all my chutzpah before I landed at home. I needed to be Toronto Sandra before I got there so I could hold it together. Stratford Sandra held nothing together.
Stratford Sandra was different than Toronto Sandra.
Stratford Sandra remembered the summer between grade 13 and University when I had an interview to work at Kmart. The lady that interviewed me actually told me that she couldn't hire me because I wouldn't fit into the uniform - which at that time was a horrid polyester overblouse with gabardine pants. Because of my gigantic girth I couldn't be a cashier at Kmart. There went my career plans.
Today - as I drove towards Stratford two decades later - I actually put on lipstick while drive 100km/h on the highway. And strangely it brought all that junk flooding back. I had that panic again today - that I'm not good enough - I'm too ugly - too fat - too stupid - MUST get out....must be Toronto Sandra because the uniform doesn't fit Stratford Sandra.
What would have happened if I'd stayed?
As I sat at the Erie Drive In waiting for my battered mushroom lunch I looked at the giant mouth breather amish-looking guy - waiting for his fish burger - and driving away in his big man pick up truck. I bet I could have gotten some guy like that to knock me up. I could have been his dutiful wife popping out babies and keeping a decent (although not likely clean!) home and making my family jams and preserves. We would have gone camping every summer and it would have been just what I wanted.
Or - conversely I could have been a great single mom - living in the city housing out by the old drive-in - watching as my kids ran shoeless across the parking lot towards the broken down playground. I could have whipped up nutrient rich meals with my cunning use of condensed milk, bologna and frozen veggies. I could be the teller with a heart of gold just working my ass off to make a living for my poor fatherless brood, hanging out at Classics on a Saturday night trying to find them another daddy.
Or I could have gone back home - taken that University degree that I never finished and got myself a good job as a paralegal. I could have scrimped and saved and bought myself a nice decent townhouse in the good part of town behind the new fire station. I would have tastefully decorated with a pleasant mixture of innovative paint techniques and figurines. On Saturday nights my old friend and I would sit with popcorn and big glasses of gin and tonic and watch sad girl movies sobbing out our eyes for the loves we never found and the boys that never felt us up.
But none of those things happened. None of those Sandras materialized. Not that I'm saying that Toronto Sandra is any great shake. She has her share of ups and downs and her life certainly never turned out like a plan or a novel that anyone would purposely make. She still makes the effort though to pretend to rise above the rats ass girl she left behind.
Stratford makes me slightly nuts. I'm a mix of emotions the whole time I'm there - full of memories and regrets and insecurities. I like to keep the visits short. Very short.

I read the news today - oh boy.

Its funny isn't it - how news comes to us.
Today I got many emails, a couple of phone calls - some IMs and some posts on facebook and read a few messages on myspace. Lots of news. Lots of people in my life- its funny how they come and go.
I love when you sign on to email and it says there is a new message. Even if its just Amazon saything that my order has shipped - it shippped! WOW.
But, more than that, I love the blip of IM. That sound - that prescious sound - telling you someone is saying something to you - RIGHT NOW. Whether its written or spoken its conversation and isn't it amazing?
Today I got an email from a friend on the other side of the universe saying that his mother is dying. She has inoperable brain cancer and 3 months to get her affairs in order. I felt so awful for him. So awful for his mom.
How hard was it for him to write this email? Was it as hard as it was for me to read it?
It took me a while to write back - what do you say to that?
What I said was this:
You poor thing. I'm so sorry for you - your family and your Mom to have your time together cut short. Its cruel. I've been through one of the doctor count downs with my Dad and it sucks. They gave you a gift. They have given you time - and don't waste it. Do your mother a favour and tell her whenever you can how much she means to you - how much you've learned from her and how much you love her. Don't wait until its "the end". Life isn't like tv - sometimes there isn't a big farewell scene where everyone makes their peace. Use your time wisely and love her a lot - you won't get another chance. If you need me - want me - or help - please call.
I've done both deaths with my parents - the long drawn out 6 month farwell where I did just as I said there - told my dad all that I could and showed him how much he meant to me. And I did the sudden death - where I regret each day not telling my Mom that she was the best Mom ever and the perfect Mom for me. Both were awful.
Its important to us all to tell everyone that we care about how much we care for them whenever we have the chance and to value people as our life happens. Life IS NOT tv. There are no Gilmour Girls wordy protestations of love - you just have to take your chances as the moments come.
When the email beeps and the IM makes its blip - I'm excited. Because these people are people that I care about - okay - maybe not Amazon - but still. Thank you for emailing me people - even those f-ing chain emails are okay with me.
And I'm sorry so so sorry for my friend and for his Mom - I hope they use their time wisely.

Several hours - I've been writing blogs for hours and hours and hours - and publishing none of them - blah. And I just can't make it come out - somehow something isn't quite ready.

I had a nice weekend full of fun fun family Fletcher things. Which, after the week we had, I wasn't sure was possible.

Whoever tells you that being unemployed, staying home and taking care of a family is easy work is full of crap. Absolute complete crap.

My sons are 6 and 9. The six year old has attitude and a slight speech impediment and YELLS absolutely everything all the time. I think its so he can be better understood.

My 9 year old has a quick temper and the attitude of someone of the ripe old age of 12. Both hate everything and are likely bored already before anything has even had the possibility of starting.
Now, I don't profess to have ever been a model child. I was boring to the nth degree. As a matter of fact, when I was a teenager my mother took me aside and said that if I didn't go out and get into some trouble that I was doomed to never have any fun at all.

I had that same attitude they have and I too was perpetually bored. But nowadays kids are multi-tasking boredom.

My kids like to flip through a magazine while they play their gameboys and watch cartoons. They listen to music while they read a book. They swim and use their waterguns while the gameboy charges. They call their friends and talk on the phone about pokemon while they battle each other real time on line. Its near impossible to keep them entertained.

By Friday afternoon this week I was ready to duct tape them to the wall until they withered up and died.

I could do no right. No one would pick up after themselves. The food I made was boring, their lives were a misery and it was all my fault.

But saturday, things seemed to change. We went to karate like normal, then mini-putt, the batting cages, had a dinner that everyone one ate(!), went night swimming in the little backyard pool, lit the tiki torches and watched a movie that we ALL enjoyed. My husband made me mixed rum pomegranite cocktails that we drank outside watching the kids and we talked - really talked about the future.

It was really really nice.

No one fought - no one tried to kill anyone!

I know, I was shocked too!

Today even...we had baseball practice in the rain - and it was fun and no one complained. Everyone made their own lunch (!) and even cleared their area afterwards. Ben graduated from yellow belt to orange at karate and although the ceremony and display were painfully long and exceedingly dull - we all got through it. We even went to Dairy Queen afterwards like a normal family.

Today we went to the farm market near home and bought corn on the cob, tomatoes (both hot house no doubt but who cares!) and peas, radishes and baby potatoes. We had fresh veggies with herbs from my herb garden and beer can chicken. It smelled so good that even I had a bite of the chicken (and then I remembered it was chicken and ew).

It sounds so mundane writing it down but these are the kind of weekends that I aspire to. Where not much happens. We laugh. No one tries to beat anyone with a shovel - simple things (not that that EVER happened!)

I hope that these are the weekends that the kids remember.

I remember weekends like that with my parents.

I remember driving out to Pletch's farm on the highway with my Mom. She would be wearing her bathing suit (we had an inground pool) and wouldn't get out of the car - so I had to! And I would get 3-4 DOZEN corn on the cob and a basket of tomatoes. And that is what we would have for dinner in the dead of summer.

My mom had this thing she did for the corn - see if you can follow these instructions. Wash out one miracle whip jar - it must be miracle whip because the mouth of the jar needs to be big enough. Place one pound of butter in the miracle whip jar. Cover the butter with boiling water.

Dip your corn into the butter/water sludge. Butter should adhere to the corn. Devour. This mix can be remicrowaved for future use but in our house it barely lasted the one meal!

Family and fun isn't all about food - but to me it is intertwined.

One of the things that I want for my little family is to have big extended family. Oops. My family lives a million miles from here. I think I need to build one from friends. You can do that you know.

Up my ass

The world is up my ass today with its petty frustrations - so I'm going to share them, get them off my chest, and move on. Yes, clear my brain of world cookies and get on with it!

I went to the doctor today fearing bad news. And what did I get? The run around. I am being sent to yet another doctor - another specialist. Its in the same fucking place - why couldn't I just go today? I'm already there - its Toronto people - like 45 minutes from where I live! And why did I have to wait in line for 15 minutes for them to tell me that I have to come back next week? Seriously? Why?

I bought sushi today. Vegetarian sushi cause, ew, fish is gross. Apparently to the sushi people, eggs are vegetables. COLD eggs. EW EW EW EW. The 2 egg ones were icky - removed the egg and all was good. But come on people. Eggs do not GROW out of the ground. Gheesh.

I have job placement assistance for one month from the day of my dismissal - which for those of you playing the Sandra Home Game was May 31st. Um - hello - thanks for finally returning my bloody call last WEEK! So, she says, send me your resume and I will revamp it and make it spectacular. Okay. Its a human resources company that I worked for so I trust you. I got back a 1970s version of my resume stripped down with an Objective (does ANYONE use those anymore? seriously!) It was horrible. She even changed my font to something boring and antiquated. What the fuck is the point of offering people who find people employment assistance in finding employment????????

I have $12 left in my overdraft at the bank. Seriously. Okay, my husband gets paid tomorrow but DAMN - where the friggin hell is my EI? Or the money that I earned (and oh boy did I earn it!) working at the school??? I'm dying here. Tonight I had to buy milk and it left me with 47 cents in my wallet. Seriously Canada - help me out here!

I have sent out over 40 resumes in the last month and gotten ZERO replies. How much do I suck? What the fuck is wrong with me/my resume?? Surely to holy crapping hannah somebody somewhere needs me to do something. I'm good - I swear!

Alright. Air is cleared. I feel much better. Thanks.

Before they tell me

My doctor rocks. I don't want to give the impression that I don't think that the sun shines out of his ass because I totally do. He's just anal retentive enough to worry about the right things but he is irreverant enough to tell me when I'm being insane.
Case and point - I showed up all teary and horrible. I'd been having panic attacks - he gave me tranquillizers which I dutifully carried around in my purse and never took. Still had the panic attacks - I just liked to know that I had the tranquillizers available....just in case. So I'm in his office - crying that the blubbering puke you all know I am - and I say through my tears "am I crazy?" and he says in his no nonsense way "no. actually you are psychotic." Strangely it made me feel better.
Then there was the time that Wayne dropped Ben - who was about 4 months old - on his head in the Toys R Us parking lot - just slipped and fell. The doctor told me his story....seems he and his wife (who is my gynecologist if anyone is keeping score out there) were giving their new baby a bath. Naked babies are slippery and they dropped their son head first into the toilet. He said, when you've done something THAT stupid - then we will talk about guilt!
He's pretty cool.
He's also on vacation in Europe with his wife and kids (neither of whom have brain damage) from June 21 to Septemeber 8th. Ack.
So instead of leaving my final diagnosis/prognosis/treatment plan to a locum, he referred me to his wife's boss - the head of gyne at Sunnybrook (big Toronto Hospital). Tomorrow afternoon, she decides what happens to me. Do I go to an oncologist? More tests? Chemo? Radiation? Are we done? Just starting? If there is a 90% recurrance rate - WTF? Where is that primary cancer anyway? Could I really be so lucky?
I wish my Doctor was here. I could use the irreverence. I could use a friend there with me really. I'm scared putrid to be totally honest. I imagine the doctor would say, as he has before "we're all going to die stupid, its just a question of when". And ironically that would make me feel better.

Higher Education

Last week was report card week for my kids. I did one of those dreadful Mom type things and actually cried while reading my kid's report cards. Sad but true.

I protest too much and constantly feel the need to tell people I'm a good Mom. I'm not sure exactly what I'm trying to prove and to whom but, again, I swear to you, I'm a good Mom. Unconventional maybe but good.

I force my kids to do their homework every day. If they do their homework at the babysitters house before I pick them up, they can play video games all night if they want. I am convinced that Pokemon has taught them math and strategic thinking. Seriously. If a Chimchar has 25HP fights a Turtwig with 25HP and both are level 5 a Chimchar will win because fire beats grass. Duh. (BTW I didn't make that up, I asked my 6 year old.)

Then, when my kids get good marks - and I mean over 90, I bribe them again. Over 90 gets $5 and 100% you get $10. Ben saved his money and bought a nintendo DS system for $149 - not bad for a 9 year old - a 9 year old that got a B, 3 As and an A+ in math this year. My point is, I pay for it now as a reward or I use the money later to bail them out of prison.

I've found out what motivates my kids and I've used it to get the best from them.

So, 2 report cards - and all As and Bs with the exception of one mark - a D in Drama and Dance for Ben. Obviously the teacher gave him some other kid's mark by mistake - cause he is the most dramatic kid that I've ever met. He gets it from me. Seriously.

But yes, I want them to continue to be those kids. Its not easy - its hard to say to your kids "all the cool hip kids are getting As in Science - un hun."

I want to be a good Mom - and have well rounded smart funny kids. They are smart - and they are hysterically funny. The other day, we were discussing Sammy's speech problems. Ben said that Sammy pronounced things with a "british" accent. I said - give me an example of what you say that is British - and Sammy - who you will remember is ONLY 6 said in his best Little Britain Daffyd "gay gay homosexual gay!" They are funny kids.

But, are they sociable? Not really. They also get that from me. They don't make friends easily. Sammy is popular and Ben is awkward. I'm working on it. I am. Because I TRY to be a good Mom. I try really really hard.

Pride

I was sitting in Union station - waiting for the GO train home to suburbia last weekend after a fun fun fun day of pride filled activities with my friends. Approaching me from accross the station was a little gay child about 19 or 20 or so. He sat down beside me and we started chatting. He told me this was his very first pride - and we talked about what he had seen and how he had enjoyed himself. And in my head, I'm thinking - HOW THE HELL does he know that its okay to just come up to me - middle aged woman with kids and start chatting about his gay-ness and fun homo fueled activities? I know I have quite the most developed gaydar on the planet but how the hell could he tell that from accross Union station at midnight?

Oh. Right. I'm wearing a bright pink "its okay for me to drink at pride" bracelet. Well, that explains a lot right there!

Ali and I continued our chat on the train ride home. We talked about art, photography and his struggle to come out - apparently its not easy being a gay Muslim.

About half way to suburbia, he said to me: Are you a fag hag?

I had a conversation with my friend earlier that day about the role of the fag hag and how it has changed throughout the years. Back in the 1980s fag hags were essential to the inner sanctum of any group of gay men. We were your wedding dates, prom dates and accompanied you to all things where you needed to hide your homosexuality (i.e. work christmas parties and family reunions). As the years progressed, with the "will and grace"-ing of American and more importantly Canada, covering up became a mute point. Why cover up?

As gay right progressed and the country grew to accept the gay couple down the street with their kids and two cars, as the second cup steps were torn down and homosexuals were allowed to marry, there no longer was a need to hide. You could be out at work, at home and with your family. The role of fag hag ostensibly disappeared.

But Ali wanted to know if I was one - so I asked back - "why would you ask me that?" And he replied "well, you were at pride, you don't look like a dyke, you're wearing a wedding ring and you're fat."

All of these are very valid points and totally true. If that is the criteria he is using for someone to be a fag hag then yes. Yes I am. I wonder though - to him was fag hag less about being a "beard" and more about being a fat hetero girl with gay friends? Perhaps now adays a fag hag still exists but she has a different purpose or meaning. I can't say because I don't know.

I said good bye to Ali on the train and went my merry way into my own suburban hell. No matter what role I had that day, I had a good time.