31 December 2013

All my life, I have wanted to be pretty.  Pretty hot, pretty smart, pretty cool, pretty popular, pretty successful, pretty, pretty, pretty.  I have alternately starved myself, painted myself, frozen in too little clothing, dumbed myself down for mass consumption and lost myself to depression in the search for the elusive pretty nod.  And I saw nothing wrong with it.  What's especially sad is these falsifications of myself weren't considered particularly unacceptable by those around me either.  There was, of course, a handful (frontlined by my mother in most cases) who knew I could be "better".

The problem is, for a girl raised on "pretty", better is synonymous.  I just had to be prettier.  I didn't equate better with having a healthier self esteem, social life or relationships.  I saw better as an attainment of status I had failed to achieve. 

Enter my daughter.  Elodie.  Perfect upon arrival, special.  I loved her always, and all ways, but my favourite was when she was calm, watching us with those hazy grey-blue baby eyes.  She had such soft skin and mile long lashes and beautiful rosebud lips that would firmly press together as she contemplated the world around her.  

And the pretty started to flow.  What a pretty baby!  Such a pretty darling!  What a pretty little doll!  Look at how pretty she is!  As if this was affirming that I was a good parent already because I had produced pretty offspring.  

As I became aware of it, so I caught myself doing it, too.  The pretties rolled off my tongue to fall not only on my daughter, but the babies at the store, the daughters of my friends, dropping like shiny cut glass, completely worthless and useless and pretty.  

And those pretties became limits in my mind.  My daughter isn't pretty smart.  She is smart.  She is not pretty funny.  She is funny.  Elodie is not pretty good at making friends.  She is good at making friends.  She is not pretty.  She is.  It was quite a wakeup call.  As someone who had never considered myself sexist or a feminist, I was shocked how unintentionally yet overtly we limit the women in our own society by flinging pretty, pretty, pretty at them over and over.  The word has pervaded until, like the word "um", it is used as a filler and our girls hear it constantly.  And our boys hear it, too, and they in turn grow up limiting our girls' worth, unintentionally, overtly, with two vapid syllables.  

I now make a conscious effort to avoid the word pretty unless I'm referring to an animal or an inanimate object.  My daughter, and indeed all women, are so much more. 

6 December 2013

His name is Aero.  He and we have had a very eventful day. 

I had taken the day off as a means to having a day of relaxation.  That, however, didn't happen.  Elodie stayed home from school, at my insistence, because it's negative 28, but -40 with the wind chill.  Skin freezes on exposure, so screw that.  If I don't want to leave the house, she doesn't have to.

The next big difference (read: NOT RELAXING) came around 11:00.  I was sitting in my bed, petting Arrow, when lo and behold, I feel a "skin tag".  Being a chronic picker--just ask Robbie--I pulled off said "skin tag" only to find a LOUSE in my hand!  I booked an appointment with the vet, washed ALL THE THINGS, and felt very itchy.

Thankfully, lice are pretty species-specific, and there is no concern of the cats or us being infested.  The vet confirmed Aero is a walking louse farm, and prescribed a shampoo and medication for both he and Apollo.  Both were administered, and with luck, our home will be louse free in 14 days. 

Asher is finally warming up to the puppy, which is a relief.  Robbie loves him.  Elodie and I are smitten.  Luna tolerates him, Pan swats him, and Apollo has started playing with him.  

Besides pet drama, our home is moving steadily forward.  Elodie's reading and writing is improving.  Asher develops a stronger will with every passing meal it seems, and Robbie is almost done his master's.  My job is busy, but good.  Our life is content.  

I'm looking forward to Christmas and a wonderful holiday with our family. 

3 December 2013

Today we welcomed a new family member into our home!  As of yet, the puppy is simply known as "puppy" or "hey you", but he is settling in quite nicely.  So far, two accidents in the house, both of the solid variety.  No pee, though, so I think he has the general idea in mind, though lacks the practise.

We are unsure of the breed.  He is obviously a mix, what is lovingly referred to as an "Alberta special", or a mix of husky, shepherd and several others.  This type of breeding tends to take place on the reservations, and many dog rescues centre their efforts on these reservations. 

Sadly, it is only treating the symptoms of a diseased systemic failure.  There is little to no education on proper care of dogs or any pets, and virtually no spaying or neutering, let alone vaccinations.  Packs of wild dogs roam, animals starve to death on a regular basis, and puppies are traded like baseball cards.  

All this means that resources are wrapped up in saving the animals condemned to a neglected existence, leaving nothing to direct at the root cause.  All this to say our dog was rescued off a reserve, whichi s notorious for its poor living conditions for man and beast alike. 

He is extremely sweet.  Quite laid back, and he loves Elodie.  As soon as he is house trained, I think he will be an ideal dog.  He already has learned sit, and we are working on lay down.  I'm so very glad to have found him!