Blog awards

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Except for the sleeping until nearly noon, it was a farm wife on the little prairie day. Rob rescued our pitiful potato crop on Friday and they needed to be turned into delicious meals before they rotted.

I began the process yesterday afternoon with stock pot full of potato soup. I outdid myself. It was soup for which to die. However, I put barely a dent in the potato stash and so determined to make another pot today for the freezer and turn the rest into delicious breadstuffs.

It’s not fun. Gardening, harvesting or transforming. I am left with little doubt as to why women abandoned the kitchen and cooking in droves as soon as technology, cultural norms and the fast food industry made it possible for them to do so. I am fortunate that I have a husband who doesn’t believe that all things drudgery is women’s work. I experimented with a new soup recipe yesterday and found a way to turned mashed potatoes into tasty buns today, and he dug in, peeled and diced while I made everything else “so”. We are a team like that. Slightly awesome to behold if I do say so.

Before we started, a trip to town was necessary. Hard as it is for me to wrap my mind around, we don’t have enough Tupperware for freezing.

“Canadian Tire or Walmart?” I asked.

Unless we make for the edges of the city or the city itself, our shopping venues are quite limited in The Fort, which is the one thing I don’t like about it. I have no idea why the town council thinks young families would want to settle a place with overpriced, poorly constructed home and zero convenience and ease of shopping when they could find better, cheaper options closer to the heart of the city? But I digress and will leave the puzzlement of the town’s management for another day.

“I guess we should patronize Canadian businesses,” he said and so Canadian Tire it was.

Known generally as Crappy Tire, it has its niche in automotive parts and sporting goods, but it’s no Target.

I haven’t been in since the remodel, which consists of mainly rearranging where is what – something that doesn’t endear a store to me in the slightest. They did nothing about the faded worn feel of the place or to fix the fact that even with a dozen easy to access employees walking around, no one has the any idea what you are talking about when you ask them questions and fewer of them know where specific stock is housed without needing to contact a supervisor.

Tupperware, a new bread maker and Christmas decorations later, we were on our way to tea, slushies and home. Seldom do we indulge in the North America Sunday consuming rituals, so it’s a novelty when we do.

I am not done with the wifery. There is bread to make tomorrow. I am okay with baking. It’s not the worst thing about being a homemaker. That would be cleaning. Not the daily tidy up, but the deep sanitizing/dusting stuff. Baking does shoot your day to shit however, but the oven time part does facilitate writing pretty well.

The day ends with Rob on his knees grouting. The kitchen is about three steps away from done done, which makes this Prairie wife’s day.



* Just five more days of this mom blog contest thing. I’m precariously perched in the 6th spot and honestly, to get the maximum mileage out of being linked in the list – I need to be in the top five. When the site promotes the list, it only shows the top five and you have to click-through to see the others, which I am guessing doesn’t happen a lot. So to get to the fifth spot – I need more votes. 25 or so to catch or just overtake her. If you care to help out, click here. Remember you can vote daily and more than once if you have a smart phone and a work computer. Thanks!

With titty concern month behind us, we turn our attention to the less nether regions of the male anatomy and steel ourselves for grocery store clerks to panhandle for


Image by marymuses via Flickr

the prostate and endure local media celebrities’ attempts to grow facial hair in support of their other hairy area. Heavy, heavy sigh. And this on the heels of yet another study pointing out that cancer screenings for both breasts and prostates are not the panaceas they are touted to be. Not that anyone who’s done even the slightest bit of actual research or even paid attention to the fine print in the annual two month assaults press doesn’t already know.

But November is not just sweaty ball sacks and mustaches, it’s all a month of words. Lots and lots of them as the hobbyists and the real writers man up to their keyboards to pump out the volume. It’s quantity over quality month. NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo are back, baby. Worry about the polish in December and churn out those posts; pound out those daily word counts.

Because I haven’t enough real work to avoid, I decided – last night – to give NaBloPoMo another shot. They’ve found a new home at BlogHer though sadly not a better blogging tool.

BlogHer is even ponying up incentives like syndicating the worthy on the main site and handing out passes for BlogHer 12 in NYC next summer, providing the world hasn’t imploded before that as I hear the Greeks are looking nags in the mouth today.

So, check out my first day’s effort, and leave a comment. Comments are like gold stars and like most D-list bloggers, I get precious few of those. And if you are inclined, please click over and vote for this blog at the Top 25 Canadian Mom Blogs list. I am steadily dropping out of the top 10 due to lack of votes. I am annoyed enough with the constant vote whoring I have to do to not feel too honored with being nominated anymore. It’s like receiving a birthday gift that requires you to take up a hobby you wouldn’t have sought out on your own.

Oh, and happy All Soul’s Day. Decades ago in my Catholic school girl days, today would have found me bobbing up and down at an all school mass. I can’t recall if there are any rituals unique to the day. It’s not a throat blessing with candle-sticks sort of thing (which was disconcerting because Father stood up on the steps of the altar and it didn’t matter how tall you were, he still managed to jam the cross-section of the candles snug up to you throat and pinch your jaws til you choked). I do remember that most of my classmates had candy to share but not until after communion. God forbid that anyone take a wafer on a tongue coated with red dye number whatever.

It’s November. Grow a ‘stache. Feel up your balls or someone else’s. And then don’t forget to write about it.


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Quite unexpectedly I received word informing me that I had been nominated for Circle of Moms, Top 25 Canadian Mom Blogs list. Having never been recognized by an actual award that wasn’t a product of someone’s considerable skill at badge making, I was stunned.

I am still stunned.

That people read me at all is a thrill that just never gets old. Ever.

To be nominated for blogging though surpasses that thrill, which is saying a lot.

Truth be told, I am still not all that comfortable with being known as a “mommy blogger”. My relationship with my uterus is ambivalent during the best of times, and there is a part of me that wishes the webosphere afforded me other options than leading with my womb. If you are mom and you blog – you are a mommy blogger. If you are a childless woman – you are a militant feminist blogger (which is kind of like being a cat lady only virtually). If you are over 55, well, you’ve ceased to matter regardless even in this projected reality where men pose as women and have more popular blogs than actual real women do.

The reality of these “topper most of the poppermost” lists roots itself firmly in our high school pasts when we voted for Prom Queens and courts or Student Council members based on their flawless looks, coolness and the perception that somehow the world could only be safe and orderly if we contributed willing to the rigid social caste system that enslaved us.

So one of the things a nominee must do is inspire the troops – and by troops I mean you, dear readers, to click on over and vote for me. Daily.

The rules are as follows: Only one vote per IP address daily and the voting is open until November 17th. I can’t vote for myself, but only because my husband has claimed the right to use our IP address to fanatically vote for me daily himself. Which is awesome and why he is the best husband ever.

Realistically, I know you all have lives and more important things to do than help me stuff a ballot box, and really, I doubt I can win, but I would like to avoid coming in last or worse, not making the Top 25 at all. If you could vote just once, right now, I would be very grateful. Just click this link. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Thanks! I’ll keep you posted on the results as they roll in.