Culture

Being bad

/ smithei / 2 Comments

Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice would have rather been a penniless spinster relying on the charity of her relatives than to marry a man she didn’t love.  How much more bad-ass can you get?  Fully aware that she would be bored out of her mind embroidering cushions for the rest of her life, she preferred that to having to spend tedious evening after tedious evening with someone she couldn’t respect.  A feminist in the documentary Forbidden love describes how so many people kept defining her behaviour as being deviant because of her sexual orientation.  One day she just decided to go with it and thought “fine, I’m bad.  But I’m a good bad because I’m smart.”  I think I would put Lizzy Bennett in this same category because she understands that not many men would consider her intelligence to be an asset in being a “good wife.”  Her financial circumstances also place her at a disadvantage.  But she frankly does not care.  She believes that she is a full-human being and interacts with her world boldly.  She not only played the game but owned it.  You know she’s boss when she married not just a wealthy man, but a “filthy rich” one as her mother would so tactfully put it.  He was also beautiful.  This is equivalent to her becoming a CEO in her time period when the only employment option for women of a certain standing was marriage.  So, lets take a moment to give pause to this literary figure and the woman who brought her into existence.

We should all be so lucky to have more Elizabeth Bennetts in the world.  I believe that the novel is still so well-loved because we hope that it could happen now.  That you could transcend, class, racial and other lines that prevent so many partnerships from beginning.  I once asked my late grandmother what she thought of my relationship.  I did this because she used to tease me that she had some wealthy, educated and kind Burmese men who were “export quality.”  She was joking but I did wonder if she had reservations about me getting involved with someone outside of my race.  She replied that 40-50 years ago it just would not have happened.  Even if we had feelings they would not be enough to endure the social and emotional hardships.  People often forget that in the 50s inter-racial couples could not get married.  It was against the law.  Commonalities make everything easier and social interactions go more smoothly.  Rationally, you can understand why relationships with those of a similar background would be alluring.  But when many of us read this novel it’s not just romantic but it gives us hope for better days.  Many of us want to see a future where we return to the humanity that joins us, for us to see through the socially constructed barriers.

In that historical context, Elizabeth Bennett’s wit will serve her well within Darcy’s circle but lets keep it real, she gets her credentials from what he thinks of her.  His world is one that she never would have been able to attain on her own.  But because he thinks so highly of her and is willing to overlook the huge divide in class, she is automatically placed at his level.  Every reader will praise Elizabeth but Darcy is pretty bad-ass too.

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Work

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Whenever I want really nice things my husband quotes a Britney Spears song: “you better work, bitch.”  Expletive included.  Andrew, well really no one, is allowed to speak to me this way, but for the sake of art and Britney’s meaning from the word, I allow it.  I figure she’s a survivor, if anyone’s able to call me a bitch it’s Britney.  Because it’s valid you know, the majority of us have to earn those dolla dolla bills to have the finer things in life.  I’ve never been ashamed of loving beautiful things, in fact I’m very much inspired by them.  I understand the satisfaction that is fostered from seeing your blood, sweat and tears translated into something good.  My immigrant parents have always instilled in me that there is no secret formula, it’s just hard work.  That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love for some pale blue boxes in white bows to show up at my front door.

My best friend K and I once casually mulled over how great it would be to have an allowance from our husbands and to not have to work.  Several feminists are rolling their eyes as I write these words, literally saying, “are you kidding me?”  I should be more precise, Second Wave feminists are frustrated at having marched with placards on the streets for me to utter such a statement, and Third Wave feminists allow me to feel whatever the hell I want.  Nonetheless, they are probably all rolling their eyes a little.  But the question is, who doesn’t want to have an unlimited amount of disposable income and choose how they spend their days?  Just because we would occasionally be “ladies who lunch” doesn’t mean that we are also not achieving meaningful goals.  It also doesn’t diminish our degrees from those fine educational institutions.  There’s always a price to pay for the allowance anyways, because every single thing has a cost.  Whether it comes in the form of never seeing your investment banker husband, having to report how exactly you spent his hard-earned money or having to mitigate the consequences of something not being good enough, the debt collector just arrives on different days.  That life of leisure is not valued in society.  We are unpaid and reduced to doing “nothing” and that’s not right either.  I’m pretty sure that choice is a fundamental aspect of the politics I signed up for.

Therefore, I kind of appreciate that my husband wants me to work.  I mean that’s what I ask for when I’m demanding some form of equality right?  With that employment also comes a power, however small the paycheque, that no one can take away.  It’s a form of leverage in the relationship.  I just want all forms of work that we women perform to be counted.

Some people buy jewelry to signify that they’ve achieved their aspirations, other invest it in real estate.  I’m planning on slowly but surely putting aside a portion of my income each month to buy a Celine purse.  Lets ignore the fact that the Kardashians love them because if we held everything to that standard we wouldn’t be able to purchase a thing.  The Celine baggage tote is truly beautiful, so well designed and constructed.  The best part is that it’s relatively accessible, well, compared to Dior or Chanel anyways.  I know that my husband would kill me in my sleep if I spent 5-10 thousand dollars on an accessory, so Celine it is.  When I was recently in Paris I saw one in the department store Printemps and got actual heart palpitations.  Andrew asked if I was going to touch it and I said no.  I don’t feel it appropriate to touch anything at that level till I am good and ready to produce my credit card shortly thereafter.  Just like you don’t enter a Chanel boutique in rubber flip flops, I’m willing to wait and work for it.

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The rebound

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Like death and taxes, failure is a constant part of life.  These disappointments, however painful, are completely necessary because those upswings wouldn’t be nearly as sweet without these lows.  I picture what I call the “craptastic” moments to be very much like the rebound in basketball, when you don’t score the points but the ball makes contact and there is potential for it to go in many different directions.  The challenge is to not get lost in the self-doubt.

Failure makes you feel very small but after you have a drink or twenty, kiss a couple of boys and stay in bed for a few days, it’s time to just get on with it.  This is the point when I start to retrace my steps.  I evaluate my actions and try to find the point when it began to go awry.  Funnily enough, the feeling of shock from falling on your face starts to lessen precisely when you wonder how you didn’t see it coming.  This also helps to contextualize it as a part of your history, literally a blip on the radar when things weren’t so great.  It is here that you have to put the feelings of lack or worthlessness aside because you are neither of those things.  Failure is not an inherent part of who you are, it’s just a part of the story.

Plus, we garner hope in the fact that there is always something to do.  Whether it’s getting yourself out of your pajamas or building up the courage to start on your next endeavour, they are steps to healing and preparing to try again.  Writer Calvin Trillin always emphasizes that faltering is an inevitable part of being human.  It’s the grace with which you pull yourself together that matters.  When you get past all of the Vince Vaughan and vegas, baby, vegas, the film Swingers  actually suggests a similar approach to returning to the living.  Jon Favreau is mourning the end of a long-term relationship and when Ron Livingston comes to visit he not only brings him a sandwich but some advice.  You want to feel it?  Sure, go right ahead.  But with every day that passes, the hurt will marginally shrink till one day it will be gone.  It’s true you know, time is everyone’s contingency plan.  Better luck next time.  No, seriously, you might have better luck next time.

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Flying solo

/ smithei / 2 Comments

Traveling alone is one of the best things you can do as a woman.  It’s almost as if the positives and negatives go hand in hand.  You have to consider your safety but that mindfulness forces you to build some character.  Not having anyone to rely on, you learn to do things that you normally would have relegated to your partner, friend or mother.  For example, I used to be awful at giving directions and it was a better option to ask a stranger on the street rather than have me read a map.  Now, I am quite proficient at orienting us when we travel because I was forced to practice.  I learnt to navigate street names and intersections because I had to find my way around in a strange place, often in the dark, slightly intoxicated and alone.  The other benefit is that you challenge your preconceived notions about who you give the time of day.  Being in a foreign country bonds individuals from different backgrounds together and it’s from these friendship that you recognize how distinctions enrich your life.

Being on my own also gave me the freedom to call all of the shots.  I no longer had to consult another person and make concessions on film choices or the plans for an evening.  Having been in a relationship since the age of 16 it was quite liberating.  I ate alone and did not feel like a loser.  But with all of that freedom from familial obligations came a whole lot of time and at some points boredom.  Just like nothing good happens after 2 am nothing good comes from being idle.  Lets just say that I went looking for some drama when it didn’t come a knocking.  After I got that out of my system, I read a lot of books, drank some coffee, and sat in some air conditioned theatres to fill up the spaces and silences.

Within this context I spent many hours on my own.  I still had my family of close friends with whom I connected with on a regular basis but this didn’t account for when I was traveling from site to site, researching and writing.  Reflecting on it now there were several instances where I could have easily disappeared to never again see the light of day.  But like with anything in life we roll the dice and hope for the good outcomes.  I even took a romantic trip to Bali solo and ate breakfast in bed every single day.  All of this is fine and good till several months into my time abroad I started preferring this state of solitude.  The upside is that it’s rather peaceful to go days at a time not speaking to anyone.  It was a whole lot less work that’s for sure.  But when I started to view human interaction as a source of fatigue I knew I was on the precipice of some not so healthy tendencies.  But there is a middle-ground between the extremes.  There’s nothing worse than someone who cannot be fulfilled without some sort of social affirmation.  The balance is just hard to achieve.

Please let me demonstrate the dangers of a hundred years of solitude.  I recently saw a documentary called Guys and Dolls about men who buy life-size love dolls to serve as their companions.  They speak to them, shower them with affection, perform sex acts and buy children’s clothes to dress them up.  So, basically Lars and the real girl without Ryan Gosling to take the edge off.  Now, there’s a politically correct reaction and a more honest one that I felt.  Why don’t I give you both.  PC: “well, that’s interesting.”  Honest: “that’s some weird shit.”  I have no problem with men owning dolls and I’m even fine with them assigning personality traits like meek, standoffish or traditional to them.  We all have desires and enact them in various ways.  Truly, I believe that as long as you’re not disrespecting or physically harming anyone there’s enough room for all of us.  I am more uncomfortable with the motivations behind the ownership.  Research indicates that many of these men have not been rejected by women and could probably have actual relationships, they would rather have a woman who will not speak back and whom they can fully control.  They can’t achieve this with actual human beings with their flaws and multiplicities.  I think that’s when your fantasies cross over to the slightly delusional and unhealthy side.  When the uncertainty of life is a source of fear rather than excitement it might be time to ask yourself a few pertinent questions.  In this life you cannot make anyone reciprocate your feelings or remain in love with you.  Yes, people do leave but when this debilitates you it becomes kind of sad.

These stories are not be fetishized or gawked at.  It’s a reality that we are continually becoming more disconnected and feelings of alienation can isolate the best of us.  But perhaps instead of withdrawing completely to material cultures to cope it might be more fulfilling to try to make some contact.  Join a drum circle, Amnesty international, a house league.  Anything, just open the door and step outside.

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Paris

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I hope that if I am a very good person I will be reborn as a Parisian.  Seriously though, how does anyone get anything done in that city?  If I was living there I would be too busy choosing my next outfit or kissing the beautiful, beautiful French men to do normal, mundane things like holding down a job or filing my taxes.  My girl-crush began about a year ago when I started reading travel accounts, parenting and fashion guides by those lucky enough to call Paris their home.  I’ve assigned the place a gender because I imagine her as a tall, willowy woman who does not give anyone the time of day.  When we bought our tickets to visit, I told Andrew that my obsession with French culture had come full circle and that I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I know that when you like and want someone so much, it always ends badly.  Surprisingly my expectations were not shattered and I fell even harder.  As if that’s even possible. I’ve put off writing this post for a long time because I find it difficult to articulate my affection for a place that mostly makes me see feelings and colours.  So here is my attempt to express my love for a city where I will never ever belong.

The care and consideration that the French assign to their food is inspiring.  It’s not just their emphasis on eating fresh, locally grown products but also in their practice of consumption.  Many Parisians are trying to maintain a healthy weight because really, their exceptionally cut clothes would not fall the same way otherwise.  As a result their portions are smaller but very flavourful.  It’s as if they know that the first taste is the most enjoyable and what remains on your plate is filler.  By introducing various dishes to their palate throughout the course of a meal, the process becomes much more of a sacred ritual, rather than to fulfill the caloric intake for the day.  And surprisingly for someone whose weakness lies in sweets and pastries I did not eat them every hour.  Perhaps it was because it was plentiful and ever-present, they became almost banal and I did not desire it as much.

Their relationship to material and sartorial cultures is equally as meticulous.  Much of the clothing in Paris is fairly expensive, with sales only occurring a few times a year, so I wondered how there were still so many well-dressed individuals on the street.  It’s because they do not take trends at face-value but rather invest in good-quality but classic pieces that plays on their strengths.  This also goes hand in hand with being within a certain weight range because you cannot buy a new wardrobe annually.  I’m pretty sure that you would go bankrupt.  There also seems to be a social expectation to be well-groomed when entering society, not just to respect those around you but yourself.

Having produced some of the most influential theorists like Foucault, De Beauvoir, Derrida and Bourdieu engagement with the cultural and social milieu is encouraged.  Now here comes my problem with Paris, one that I hope to address prior to returning to live there for an extended period of time.  You need the language to even stand a chance.  Every account I’ve read has detailed how difficult it is to breakthrough socially but at least by speaking broken French there is still the potential for encounters and perhaps friendship.  Why do you think I want to reincarnated as Parisian and not just immigrate there?  I’ve never felt more powerless than when I was stringing together nouns and verbs, and the only impression I gleaned was that they were being rude to me.  Please, you find impolite people everywhere and they’re not worth wasting your mental energy over.  Still, I wish I could know how annoying they find us “Americans.”  But overall, Paris is a lovely place with some kind, considerate and fascinating souls.  Truly, you do not disappoint and what is more seductive than a city that makes you want to put your best version forward, a community that makes you want to be better?

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Becoming Kate

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I hate having such an unusual name.  It’s a pain in the ass.  Even at the age of 32 it is still a source of anxiety and it’s one that I can’t escape because it literally allows me to exist.  This is the marker that signifies your relationship to the state through your citizenship, rights and privileges.  It also impacts your personal life.

Having an identifier that is difficult to pronounce and spell has meant that I’ve never been able to graduate without whispering its correct pronunciation to the proctor.  This name has further heightened the already existing tension of meeting new people and building networks.  When I lived in Thailand for a year, many of the social interactions took place in bars.  Most of my friends were expats but do you know how awkward it is to yell over the loud music and repeat my name for the umpteenth time?  Then the questions about my background and the origins of the name begin, which yes can bring forth some great conversation, but it gets a bit old the twentieth time around.

All of these experiences influenced my decision to change it up a bit.  A few years ago I was in a dressing room at Lululemon and they asked for my name to be written on the door.  I replied “Kate” and with that the sales person smiled, spelt it correctly and told me to call her if I needed any assistance.  There were no questions, no switching of letters, she was just on her merry way.  For the first time I understood what the Jennifers of the world always get to feel.  I was riding on a wave of ease and it was addictive.  So I did it again.  Over and over, at Starbucks, The Gap, Club Monaco, basically in any establishment which required this form of interaction.

The best way to rile up a graduate student is to bring up the word “normativity.”  It is this process that people go on and on about for hundreds of pages trying to understand and challenge.  We are trained to feel that there is nothing worse than to fall into the normative trap or to prescribe this existence for others.  The creation of hard boundaries and characterizing individuals as deviants gets you kicked off the team.  I’m just kidding, inclusivity is at the core of critical studies.  You just get shamed and then kicked off the team.  Obviously these theories are extremely important.  I mean the world would still be unbearable without these contentions and the brave souls who are trying to slowly destabilize these systems.  But you know what, it is also so incredibly appealing to be “normal.”  The safety and comfort of fitting in is a situation that is hard to pull yourself out of.  It’s hard to resurface.  But who says everything has to be so difficult all of the time?  If I’m going to fake it and pretend I might as well enjoy it.  There is a threshold to all of this fun anyways because it is not possible to make this a legal reality.  There would be far too many friends to tell, identification cards to change, aspects of my life to dismantle.  I can never actually become Kate because I’m already someone else.  That’s alright though.  You can always play innocent games whenever you want.

Why the name Kate you might ask?  What other name can make you think of fashionable, talented and interesting women in 5 seconds flat?  Winslet, Bosworth, Mara, Middleton.  They also have an air about them that is a bit reserved, calm and composed.  I am not and will never be one of the Kate Hudsons of the world.  You see, when I play dress-up I always use beautiful clothes.

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View from above

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P.K. Subban is a player in the National Hockey League and is of African-American descent.  When he scored the winning goal against the Boston Bruins on May 1, allowing his team to advance in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, people threw garbage at him and called him the n-word on Twitter.  When asked by journalist Chris Johnston to comment on these events his response was: “I don’t know.  It doesn’t even matter.”  My gut reaction to this is, but P.K., it does matter.

This reminds me of a scene in the Mira Nair film The Reluctant Fundamentalist, which chronicles the pursuit and eventual disenfranchisement with the American dream for a South Asian man.  The book is brilliant but unfortunately its merits didn’t quite translate very well on screen.  Really, you couldn’t put one more light in the Islamabad scenes which are predominantly set in the restaurant?  I can barely see their faces and it’s veering dangerously close to the problematic “Heart of Darkness” imagery.  The saving grace is Riz Ahmed and his charisma, talent and bone-structure.  As an Oxford-educated British actor and musician, Ahmed is definitely contributing to his craft in very interesting ways.  To return to the film, I want to discuss its most poignant scene because it relates to what life is like for all of us at the margins.  The protagonist named Changez is interviewing for a very competitive position with a prestigious bank.  The interviewer (Kiefer Sutherland) will eventually become his mentor and biggest supporter but in this instance he mainly discusses where Changez is “from” and how the scholarships must have really helped him attend Princeton.  God forbid that a racialized man would come from a family of means and social standing.  Finally he questions him on why he just didn’t attend school in Pakistan, I mean that’s where he belongs right?  To this Changez replies, “Because in America you can win.  And I will win whether you give me the job or not.”  That’s it, with that moment right there I feel like he summed up how we, the marginalized, are conditioned to think.  It’s like we constantly say, “What, you’re not going to let me earn it in one step?  That’s fine, whether it takes 5 or 25 steps I will get there.”  We learn to get the job done.

So perhaps P.K. Subban is right and it doesn’t matter.  I don’t know his story but I can imagine what it was like to try to breakthrough in a sport made up of predominantly middle-class White boys whose parents can afford the lessons and equipment.  I’m not suggesting that the Subban family could not, I just bet that the locker rooms weren’t always the easiest places to be.  What P.K. Subban is saying is that he will not be defined by people’s ignorance or the labels they are forcing on him.  His identity won’t be reduced to the colour of his skin.  He won’t be put in his place.  There’s poetic justice in it right?  In rising above?

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Good enough

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I’m going to keep this one short and sweet.  For every article out there written by women sharing their experiences, I promise you that there are 10 to 1000 individuals making fun of it.  Constructive criticism is not the same as ridicule.

 

Practices like that caused women to hide their gender to publish.  It made women keep their mouth shut for decades because they felt that their stories didn’t matter.  It’s for people like you that post-colonial writers integrate words from their language and not provide a translation.

 

My question is do you think any of these individuals would have the guts to lay their joys, fears and flaws bare to help demonstrate the complexities of the human condition?  Doubtful.  Yes entitlement is a problem and no, not everything is great or special, but that doesn’t make it any less of a contribution to the dialogue.

 

Dear haters: be better.

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Smut

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Being a full one month older than my husband, I feel that it qualifies me to give him sage advice on a regular basis.  For example “it’s the cold ones that you have to worry about because they won’t think twice before rolling you over with their car.”  Or, “no one likes getting divorced unless they have a lover to go to within the hour.”  Clearly I’m being facetious but these thoughts come from years of observation.  People fascinate me, how they primp, perform, revel and rebound from setbacks.

This interest is taken to another level through my inability to mind my own business.  It’s a problem.  I’ve tried going cold-turkey, offering myself rewards but nothing has satiated that hunger and I return once more.  I figure we all have our vices and although it’s gross there are worse things.  Maybe it’s cultural.  From my experience with the Burmese community, diasporic or not, people are constantly talking about each other.  It’s rarely malicious and they are just having a bit of fun.  So I follow that same principle with my love of gossip—I keep it light.  I could care less who is getting divorced or even who’s having babies I just like the beginnings.  I cannot help it with the love stories.

But here is where it gets interesting.  There is always the song and dance of the denial.  We have a very “special” relationship, he’s my best friend, that’s ridiculous.  Then they just start appearing in public together and after an appropriate time it’s just common knowledge that they are a partnership.  In Hollywood every couple is a brand, especially the very famous ones, so you never want to seem like you’re seeking the attention, that you’re not cool.  I would say this is the same for many public figures.  This is where I feel slightly guilty for my fascination.  In our age of social media it’s very difficult for celebrities to maintain their privacy and everyone is entitled to a private life.  With a tweet, instagram or Facebook, it’s suddenly within the public realm for consumption.  People judge you and your partner, the state of your relationship, your body, everything from that 20 second soundbyte or blurry picture.  No wonder they want to keep some things to themselves and I feel badly for prying.

It doesn’t help that I’m good at research and am an observant person.  I was born with a natural curiosity that is a source of pride and trouble all at the same time.  When someone’s behaviour does not match their public representation in the media I look for more information, I build my case and I’m usually right.  My favourite gossip queen and media personality Elaine Lui or Lainey calls this the “smutty tingles.”  Trust, I was right about Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart (I choose to believe that they were not a showmance in the “buffet that is gossip” as Lainey would say) and I’m pretty sure I’m right about my current one.  If I’m not, well I’ll eat my words and my hat.  The allure of it all is widespread, I mean there are whole fandoms out there.  After always observing the public show I sometimes wish that I was a representative for a public figure.  I would love to manage their image and cultivate interest.  Maybe next lifetime.

UPDATE: I was probably wrong.  I don’t know, they are confusing but I’m beyond caring.

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Raising a man

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I have no qualms admitting that I’ve always thought that I was better suited to raise a daughter.  For my entire life I’ve just related more easily to women and it’s not surprising.  My parents are both one of 5 children and all but one had daughters.  So basically, I was amongst an army of girls and empowered, smart girls at that.  Men, well at least men I’m attracted to, always turn me into gobbley goop.  In fact I’m even surprised that I managed to get married and if I wasn’t, the dating world would have eaten me alive.

So, when I found out that I was having a son, a part of me was a bit nervous.  God, I didn’t even know how to shop for his clothes.  Me.  Not knowing how to shop for clothes.  Well, it’s two years later, I’ve figured all that stuff out and I feel like the luckiest person in the world to have C. in my life.  I would never say that he is easy.  When he was in the womb the doctor always marvelled at how strong and fast his heart was.  Well, he came running into the world, ready to live and know everything.  I think he practices the concept of “joie de vivre” better than most people.  But with that strong will comes frustration.  Thankfully, he gets frustrated less easily now because he has the language to articulate his questions, opinions and charm.  To me he’s smart, lovely and at times my everything.  But I am conscious of all the pressures and expectations that he’ll face in his life.  Therefore, I try my best to prepare him for it all, to have the solid foundation of his parents to turn to when he’s finding a place for himself in this world.

I once told one of Andrew’s colleagues that I’ve always wanted a daughter because of my politics and feminist beliefs.  She said something to me then that made so much sense.  A mother of two sons herself she said, “I want to raise kind, good men because I think that’s important too.”  And it’s so true.  We can always use more men who are secure enough to not be intimidated or slighted by strong women.  We need men who love women and themselves, not their ego.  He definitely has a great role model in his father.  My husband has never been afraid to take chances and to find a path that reflects his wants and wishes.  He is secure enough in himself that very few things bother him.

Unfortunately, so much of the performance of masculinity is based on disrespecting others.  So that’s what I’m trying to counter.  In truth, I will be the first to sign him up for hockey, soccer, golf and ski lessons.  It’s not necessarily because I expect him to act a certain way, I just want him to be around driven people and to be inspired by them.  What’s wrong with expecting excellence in yourself?  People speak so much of the negativity of pressure but there are positives to competition too.  I will try to teach him to acknowledge his fears but to overcome them.  Because lets face it, growing up as a male in North America he will be taught soon enough that he can’t fear anything.  There are always rewards to performing a certain type of masculinity and I want him to find himself amongst all of that but to strive for more.  So he’ll play the piano, learn to appreciate art and what makes the world beautiful and worthwhile.  I hope that he will understand his privilege and the different (not lesser) state of others in the world.

Because there’s going to be a point when my job will be done and he’s going to have to decide what is right or wrong for him.  I’m just trying to equip him with the empathy, morals and values to influence those choices.  That’s when I hope our relationship will change.  Where we are there for him as parents but that he will have his own life and privacy, much like we have ours.  This is when we can’t and won’t really judge his decisions anymore.  I’ve always told my husband that I’ll know that we’ve done a good job if he wants to vacation with us, to spend time with us.  But at the moment he’s my snuggle monster and that’s my favourite part of the day.  It’s when we’re lounging in bed, when he’s in my arms telling me about his friends, toys and snacks at daycare.  You, me and Freud know that this won’t last forever but I hope that he’ll grow up not being afraid to treat others well, that it doesn’t make him a lesser person.  Knowing that love does not make him weak.

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