I'm reading a book called "a complicated kindness" by Miriam Toews. I'm half way through.

Maybe it's me, but I just don't get the book. Well perhaps I get it, but I don't particularly enjoy it. And I feel a little guilty because it's supposed to be a good book. It says so on the inside cover. It says "a work of fierce originality and brilliance". I mean it doesn't suck, but it's all about a Mennonite girl growing up and wondering about the outside world. And so far that's it.

There's nothing really 'happening' and I keep waiting for it to get more exciting. It had better... it's due back at the library tomorrow and I have another book in the wings.

I bought this new book on impulse today. All because of the back cover:

"This is what it means to be a mother, I realized. It had nothing to do with being old enough of knowing everything or keeping to a strict schedule. It had to do with loving someone with a love so huge, the rest of the world became insignificant by comparison. No fear I felt would ever amount to anything, compared to what I felt for my child. No task would ever be too hard for me. No one would ever be able to make me feel small. I was The Mama. You don't get any bigger than that."

So there in the middle of the bookstore I was getting all teary eyed and I knew I had to buy the book. It's called "No Mountain High Enough: Raising Lance, Raising Me" by Linda Armstrong Kelly, the mother of Lance Armstrong.

It seems she too was a single mother.

So this other book has another night to get interesting or I'm going to do something I hate to do to any author's baby... just put it back on the shelf.

No worries, I'm not going to abandon this blog, but I've created a second blog for my newest adventure RUNNING.

I feel like I should be more than I am. I feel that I'm missing the boat and I can't find the sea.

Each evening - and sometimes each morning - I read a bevy of blogs that are written by people way more... together... than I am. They have Things To Say and Words of Wisdom. They have the coveted Focus and the elusive Goal.

I do not.

I feel a desire to make busy work so that I don't have to worry about it all.

I think I'm bored with myself.

I am bitchy. People all around me are irritating me by just breathing and I don't like it. Not the breathing, but the them. I cannot pinpoint where my irritation stems from other than just plain old PMS. That good old curse that Eve stuck us with. Eve, by the way, was not a good apple. She started off as a good apple but then fell to the bottom rather quickly. But I digress, I need some serious venting today.

I feel surrounded by people with verbal diarrhea. They just talk and bitch and whine and do nothing about their situation except examine it from the inside like some pre-pubescent frog. Stamping their feet and being mad but refusing to look outside their environment for any sort of clue. Of course that clue might be that the are freaking morons and should be told so.

Sometimes I watch in an odd train-wreck sort of way. Waiting for the crashing and the burning and the wailing... but then I realize that they have strapped me into their little pity party train and what they are doing is affecting me and I want them to STOP BEING STUPID.
Ok. I think that's enough of a rant.

I need to dissect MY problems here so I can fix them and not be bitchy. Life is too short for bitchy.

1. I have baby fever. I fully admit it. I need to rush out and buy me a puppy for a bandaid.

2. I am feeling sorry for myself because I have dreams that cost too much. There are things I want to do and I can do, but the minute my inner cheerleader pops up and starts waving her freaking pom-poms in my face and yelling Go! Go! Go! I want to bitchslap her into reality and reminder her that we are MOTHERS and we sometimes make CHOICES that are right rather than choices that FEEL GOOD.

3. I have dreams that are unfocused. I need to do something at this moment to help me to shape and focus my dreams because the currently have the spine of limp spaghetti.

4. I am craving permanence and solid walls and a ring on my finger and a white picket fence and the peace of not being the one in charge all the time. That last statement most of all. I am much more comfortable in the supporting role.

That's it. Thank you for listening.

Kira was blogging about her son and his expression of being 'mad'. It reminded me very much of my own son.

M. isn't one to remain very silent when he's mad. Sure he has the pout down pat, he can brood once in a while. But he has come up with the Greatest Insult that he can imagine and he uses it at will.

"NO, you cannot have more cookies," I tell him after he's eaten about 5 of the yummy cookies that the fabbo boyfriend made.

"Yeeeesssss, I wannanuther one!" He looks heartbroken, I have earned another notch on the Evil Mother tally sheet. When he sees that I have made up my mind and will not cave, he looks straight at me and says: "Well. I am NOT your bes'frien' then. I am not Randy's bes'frien', I am not Justin's bes'frien', I am not Mark's bes'frien' and I'm not gramma's bes'frien'."

And off he goes, feeling justified that he is not ANYONE's bes'frien'.

He get's about ten feet away, turns on his heels and asks: "Are you sad?"

Just to make sure that the insult has done it's job.

There are really only three emotions for him at the moment. Happy, Sad, Mean.

Happy is what we strive for. Sad is when we don't get our way. And Mean is anything not happy or sad. The best thing about vocal almost four year olds is that they will tell you how they feel, you don't even have to consult a manual.

"Mommy? Do you know why I am mean?"

"No, honey, why are you mean?"

"Because I wanna cookie and you won't give me one."

"I understand."

"Don't say dat! Unnerstan is a BAD word."

Everything placating is a bad word, by the way. Every word that comes after NO is a bad word too. Mothering is SO FUN!

I like cyber-tag.. when one blogger tags another to write about something specific. Paperback Writer tagged 'everyone' in regards to the last books they've bought or read.

Ok, recent purchases/reads:

Fiction:
The Bitch Posse by Martha O'Connor (not yet read)
gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson (read)
Something Rising (Light and Swift) by Haven Kimmel (not yet read)

Non-Fiction:
The Canadian Press Stylebook (ongoing read)
The Sport Psych Handbook (ongoing, for research)
The Art of the Book Proposal by Eric Maisel

But, honestly? I have more books than I have time to read. I have said it before, I'm a book addict. But even worse, I'm a book buying addict. I admit, it makes me feel good to buy a book... but I have books on my shelf that I haven't read. Is this bad? I think so.

I feel as though I've held these poor books hostage from other, more willing, readers. Yet here they sit, unused.

I just don't seem to have the time or the focus to read. I can turn off the entire world and my brain will wander mid-page with almost every book. It has been years since I've been able to tune out the world and read a book in one big gulp. I get distracted, my mind wanders... and the books I read are GOOD books.

My plans include one day staying home with my son and writing. Although I know I could do it now, I like my job and the freedom it provides. But maybe later - if I'm ever not a single mom - I will be able to stay at home. Will I have more reading time? I sure hope so, I miss the heady, heartracing, almost breathless feeling of reading a good book.

That reminded me... the BEST book series I've ever read has been the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. At the start of the second book I actually - ACTUALLY - burst into tears. BURST, I say.. I BURSTED. It was great. Fab. But you want to know why? I was absolutely in love with the main male character. He was so wonderful, with great faults and he was damn sexy too... in fact, he reminded me of a guy I once dated. He really did. They were created from the same cloth and it was almost erie to read him on a page.

And about a year later I called up that ex-boyfriend and I'm now dating him. So how's that for a good book story?

And a great thing about Diana Gabaldon... she emails you back when you email her!

Guess where I was last night. Guess. No, really. Guess. You won't get it... I found myself with two tickets to the SOLD OUT Green Day concert!! The bf and I went and I have to say it was freaking awesome!

I've loved Green Day, like, forever... sorry, I slipped into Teen there for a second. My high school grad song was a Green Day song. So here I was jumping up and down, bopping right along side 15 and 16 year olds to songs I bopped to ten years ago. With a few new songs thrown in.

I don't much care for Green Day's political views, but they are entitled to them just as I am... however they made some anti-American comments and the crowd cheered. It's pretty safe for them to do so up in Canada I suppose. The thing that irritates me was all the cheering from the crowd. These kids have no idea why they are cheering. Hey, let's hate the US because this uber-cool guy hates them too. F***, Yeah! All I could think was that this lead singer is just a sad, sad person if he thinks that he's getting support from the crowd. No, he's getting idol worship and he knows it. Leading the dumb isn't really leading, it's directing.

So, other than the commentary, it was a wicked concert. Many songs brought back memories from high school. Some good, some bad.

I set the alarm early this morning with all the intentions of getting up to run. But of course I did not tell anyone I was going to do that (so if I didn't, no one would know I failed) and so I didn't actually get out of bed to run.

I did, however, get up a half hour earlier to do some yoga, stretching and sit-ups. So GO ME.

I'm also taking some walking shoes and shorts and stuff to work so I can go for a little walk with a couple of co-workers. I'm forever harassing them about not taking me with them on their jaunty-jaunts, but of course I'm always wearing silly heels or something.

And because I have a few extra minutes, I'm now blogging. GO ME AGAIN.

I think sometimes that I'm going to blog on and on, wax poetic and all that... I'd love to blog about the Whore that Crossed the Floor. But for some reason the wind is a bit out of my sails when it comes to rants. I just don't have the energy, nor do I care to rant about what stupid people do anymore!

And now it's time for a shower anyways!

I would like to be one of those people who is good at trying new things... and if we are talking about strange Japanese food or a new spa treatment or flying first class rather than coach - well, I'm all about the trying of the new things.

But hurtful things have happened when I've gone out on a limb and tried new things.

(Let me define 'new things': things that are out of my comfort zone. My comfort zone includes thinking with my heart, writing, horses, books, talking, listening... all normal soft girl things, I think.)

And I've taken risks, don't get me wrong. I moved to a new country for a job when I was 18. That was a new thing - but it involved horses, so it was still considered my comfort zone.

Anyhoo... there's a point around here somewhere. Oh right, going out on a limb outside the comfort zone....

Excercize is not in my comfort zone. I have never been athletic. Let me catalogue...

Canada Fitness Standards Test. Guess who always got the 'Participaction' Ribbon (thanks for playing but you couldn't do enough sit ups and push ups, nor could you run fast enough in a set period of time. Go have another donut lardass.)

Hiking and biking with the family. There's a quote here somewhere, oh yeah "try keep up... you're fat and need to lose your baby fat". Side bar: 120 pounds at 5 foot 2 is not fat.

Running. I think one person somewhere told me that I ran funny. Yet over the years, and thanks to the 'negative talk tapes' than run through just about every woman's head - 457 people could have said it. I'm a self conscious runner.

Riding. Yep, I think I'm pretty good at riding. But I've never been the skinniest gal in the barn and let's face it - Wrangler jeans are not forgiving.

Junior High Gym Class. Do I need to go further?

So today I realized something.

I'm getting ready to start exercising with the boyfriend (as soon as neither of us are sick and hacking like 40 year smokers) and I realize that I have never worked out with anyone before. Certainly, definitely, not a guy.

I have this incredibly heavy feeling that I'm going to TRY and he is going to laugh at me.

Note: he will NOT, I know this in my logical brain, he would not do that.

Because if I TRY to exercise, if I give it my all and get all sweaty - I will not be in control. I have jiggly thighs and bouncey boobs. I will get all pink cheeked and wheezy after a block of running. I will hack and cough all night from the intake of too much oxygen, I'll have bouncing booty all up and down the street and heaven help me but he can't run behind me or he'll see it, and he can't run in front of me because he'll hear my wheezing out of shape gasping.

What am I going to do?

Note: BF is the most supportive person around. He is encouraging and wants me to do what I want - for me.

I think I might try.

Kira tagged me! And now I have to answer ALL OF THESE QUESTIONS!

If I could be a scientist I would create an automatic orgasm button that would be given to every woman on her 18th birthday. (Dad, you did not read that... this is just a dream...)

If I could be a farmer I would create double decker farms that would allow more food to be produced for third world countries.

If I could be a psychologist I would figure out why when I say 'I'd like you to stop that' my son hears 'I am an evil mother and want to squash your independence' and reacts in a related manner.

If I could be a librarian I'd relish the silence.

If I could be an inn-keeper I'd write a book about all the illicit affairs of local politicians, never publish it an rake in the blackmail cheques.

If I could be a professor I'd be a not very cool one who actually expects the students to work.

If I could be a writer.... wait ... I AM A WRITER. I like saying that!

If I could be a llama-rider then that better be a big llama to hold up this booty-licious body.

If I could be a bonnie pirate... somewhere out there is a Ms. Bonnie Pirate who gets made fun of a lot - I don't think I want to be her.

If I could be an astronaut I'd shoot up to the moon, that would be the fastest way to find you really soon... oh wait, that's a line from one of my son's books....

If I could be a world famous blogger I'd say wonderful things and make everyone spit coffee on their keyboards and nod their heads in astonished agreement while thinking 'she is SO smart'.

If I could be a justice on any one court in the world it would be the court of public opinion, so I could make everyone thing the right way, instead of the WRONG way on things like same-sex marriage, war and drug use.

If I could be married to any current famous political figure it would be Prime Minister Paul Martin so that I could figure out WHAT THE HELL THAT MAN SMOKES.

I guess I found Mother's Day a little anti-climactic this year. I don't know what I was expecting. I tried to organize a Mother's Day Brunch at mom's house. There were about a dozen family members there.

But like always happens at these gatherings - I feel like I float around on the outer edges, not really a part of anything at all.

I know it's me and not them. I no longer find card games amusing - probably because I'm not that good at them. And no one really seems interested in me. Isn't that terribly selfish of me? See, I know it is. But no one really goes beyond "how are you doing?" and I hate to be bringing up things that are happening without being asked because it feels very intrusive.

I spent a lot of my childhood trying to be the centre of attention. So often when I get in the midst of family now, I hug the edges of the room in a form of apology.

I have the wonder boy - he does my job now of being the centre of attention. Soon other children will appear on the familial scene I'm sure, but for now - he's it.

M. made a cute little card at day care for Mother's Day. It's a keeper ... with his hand traced in it and everything. And he also planted a little seed in a yogurt cup.

I can't wait to see him, or the flower, bloom.

I think I am seeing the end of the sickness. For about a week and a half I've been battling the head cold from hell. It came from day care of course, my son has had it for about the same amount of time. But, thankfully, he's only had one night of fever and I've only been called to pick him up at day care once.

Speaking of that, I went to pick him up at day care in the middle of the afternoon because they called to say he wasn't himself and he had a fever. Lucky for me I have the Understanding Boss that every single mom wants. So I picked him up.

He seemed a little flushed.

Since the BF was also at home sick, I decided a trip to Wal-Mart would be in order because it had been at least 11 days since the last sickness in the house and I was all out of NeoCitran and good wonderful druggy drugs.

My child RAN up and down the store, talked a mile a minute and generally LOOKED AND ACTED PERFECTLY FINE. I will have to have a word with day care on Monday. Yes, I'm one of the moms that will pick her child up from day care if he has the slightest fever - but I'm not into picking up a completely healthy child from day care just because.

AND. Here's another day care gem.

Dropping the 3 year and 9 month old wonder boy off at day care this past week, I was treated to this: (I apologize in advance)

M.> "mommy, Fuck is a bad word"

Me.> "uhhhhhhhhhhhhh...heh....uhhhh"

M.> Blank and obviously innocent stare

Me.> "Yes, that is a very, very bad word. Even worse than Shut Up."

WHERE did he get this? I do. not. say that word. Maybe I did, way back in the day when he was in utero, or for that matter still an egg nestled in an ovary... but not recently.

Ok. There was that time we were almost hit in the cross walk. I DID say that word.

However, the child then qualified that statement with the point that his friend Justin said the word. Right. Justin.

This poor boy, Justin, is one of the 'Day Care Kids' that you worry about all day care kids turning into. He has good weeks and bad weeks. His good weeks are when he's at his dad's house and his bad weeks are when he's at his mom's house. He has bad Mondays after he's had to return to his dad's house from free-wheeling mommy's house. He's the typical kid stuck in a divorce gone wrong. (Like divorces really go right?)

Anyways, I informed the suitable parties and went on my way. We haven't heard the word since.

At least he can't really use it in a sentance.