Six Of One, Half Dozen Of The Other
Date: Thursday May 15, 2008Posted in: Blogging, Family, Random thoughts, Sundry, domestic bliss
I did not mean to leave the poop post up for so long, but what do you know? My life has been busy outside of the Internet. The long weekend is coming and I have a lot to do to prepare for company. I’m also working (DEADLINES!), had Boot Camp last night, and am trying to get outside as much as possible. SUMMER HAS FINALLY ARRIVED!
The lovely Ali (Who also has a Miss Emily) from Cheaper Than Therapy tagged me with a “six random things” meme. I normally shun the memes (I have done a TON of them!), but I was having a hard time deciding how to follow in the footsteps of poop. Miss Ali to the rescue!
Here goes:
1. I love to bake. I really, really do. Honey loves chocolate. He really, really does. I bake copious amounts of sweet treats for him. For many women trying to keep their weight in check this might be a problem, but it’s not for me. I prefer cookie dough/brownie batter to the finished product, and while fresh baking is lovely, I can take it or leave it. Come the next day? I like it even less.
Chips, however, are a totally different story…
2. My middle name is Dian, which is Diane without the “e”. I share it with my Momma. For the first twenty-eight or so years of my life, I thought it was pronounced “Dee-Anne”. BOY WAS I SHOCKED when I found out that was not the case. How smart am I? I did not even know MY OWN NAME. And they let me teach University graduates…
3. I don’t like beer. It tastes like urine. Not that I have ever tasted urine, but beer is what I imagine urine would taste like.
4. Even though I am Canadian, I have to consciously add the letter “u” to words such as “favourite”, “colour”, and “favour”. I hesitate every. single. time. I would ditch it, but us Canadians are a proud folk. Plus, my fellow Canucks would probably hold a lynching. That would suck.
5. As for the whole pound vs. kilo, inches vs. centimetres, Celsius vs. Fahrenheit, mile vs. kilometre differences, I am a mixed bag. I don’t get Fahrenheit. At all. Zero is Freezing, 100 is boiling. Celsuis makes sense to me. As does the kilometre. When it comes to weight, however, kilos confuse me. I need to Google the conversion every time. I know my weight in pounds, but have NO IDEA what I weigh in kilos. I also uses inches instead of centimetres when it comes to measuring. Except when giving birth. I am pretty happy that we do not dilate ten inches. COULD YOU IMAGINE?
6. Speaking of child birth…Before ever having kids, I was convinced that I wanted FOUR of them. After having Nathan a mere twenty months after Graham, I was sure that TWO was the magic number. A little over a year later, Matthew and I knew we wanted one more. Just one. For a total of three. I think it is the perfect number for us right now. Together we have created three perfectly healthy, happy, and gorgeous children. See?
If we ever do want a fourth, we can always adopt. I am DONE being pregnant. And in case you were wondering if an “oops” would ever happen, it is now medically impossible for us to get pregnant. Huzzah!
That’s six things. I am going to tag six people who I *think* would like to play. If not, no worries. I also think they are a pretty neat group of peeps. Check ‘em out.
Kami, Hannah, Kristabella, The Over Thinker, Hillary (with 2 l’s!) and Mrs. Wilson.
This weekend is a busy one. In laws and siblings and a day away, oh my! I doubt I will be posting, though stranger things have happened. Let me get an early start on wishing you a super May long weekend (in Canada, at least). Doing anything fun?
I am a Caucasian woman, or “White” as it were. I have always found the term “White” mildly amusing. My skin is not actually white. It is more of a pink/peach hybrid. Except for in the dead of winter. Then I am the whitest and pastiest person that you ever did see.
My friend Kelly over at Mocha Momma (She is beautiful, no?) wrote an interesting post about race and people of colour. In email/Twitter conversations, I told her that I was befuddled at the whole “racism” thing (Hello! It’s 2008, you ignoramuses!), and that I had been stewing on a post about it. I promised her I would write one, so here I go.
As I stated above, I am White. Fair skin and blue eyes. I have brown hair, so I am not as pale as some white folks.
(Side note: Organizations that exclude people (and torment people) based on their skin colour? “In the name of God“? MAKE NO SENSE. Jesus (Son of God) was a Jewish man. No blonde hair or blue eyes to be seen. Maybe read the Bible that you claim to be doing things in the name of.)
Based on the white skin and blue eyes, I have never felt the brunt of racism. I have felt excluded from social circles due to the fact that I was chubby, and brainy, and a little clumsy, but never due to the colour of my skin.
I had friends, however, who did go through this unjustifiable judgment.
I grew up in Small Town BC (Small Town = Small Minds? Sometimes. At least in my experience). I was one who would befriend anyone who would hang out with my awkward self. In my youth I heard racial slurs against people in our community who came from a wide array of backgrounds. Native Indians (First Nations), Portuguese, East Indians, African Americans (African Canadians?). I did not partake of such slurs, but did not really stand up against them either. Which makes me just as guilty.
As I grew up, I met God (Lover of ALL), and distanced myself from people who spewed racial crap. My good friends in high school were a collection of beautiful people, with an large spectrum of different family heritages. I did not pick my friends based on the colour of their skin. I picked them based on the character of their heart.
In my early twenties I headed to Ontario to visit with extended family. Shortly after I was born (in Ontario), my parents moved to BC. My cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents were all Back East. I spent a week or so at my aunt’s house, then headed out to visit my Nana and Papa.
Nana and Papa were Good People. Always encouraging, always supportive, always full of love for me. They are no longer living, so I mean them no disrespect when I say that they were Racist with a capital R. It was how they were raised, I supposed. What was “normal” to them.
In the few short days that I spent with them, racial slurs and derogatory comments rolled off of their tongues as easily as their encouraging comments about their pride in me did. I will not relay what they actually said, as I do not think those phrases and terms need repeating. I was young, and naive, and stupid. I also had not seen them in ten years, and was really just getting to know them.
All I could do when they made such comments?
Was *blink* in shock that they actually said what they just had.
One point that I think is safe to share has a bit of irony to it. My Papa was from England. He was gruff, and LOUD, and had a rowdy English accent. He would get all riled up about “the immigrants”.
Um. He was from ENGLAND. WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM AN IMMIGRANT.
Seriously.
I spent the first half of my twenties in Vancouver, which is a great melting pot of cultures. Before meeting Matthew, I went on dates with guys from various backgrounds. Some were white, many were not. My criteria was simple. 1) Do they have a great heart? and 2) Are they HAWT?
I am so deep.
I guess what I am trying to say is that skin colour does not really register with me. I am not “legally” colour blind so I (of course) notice what the skin colour is of people I meet. Just as I notice their eye colour, their hair colour (and style!) and the shade of their lips. Also? Their shoes.
The external pieces all come together to form the unique and beautiful PERSON who is made up of all those parts.
I think the world would be a better place if people where no longer judged based on the colour of their skin, but rather judged on the character of their heart.
Don’t you?
I am sure that each and every one of you read Whoorl and her Hair Thursdays. The girl was in the NEW YORK TIMES last week! I am so very, very proud of her.
When she first posed the question as to whether or not she should start the series, I fully encouraged her. I did not, however, sign up.
This had nothing to do with what I thought of her ability to choose hairstyles. She is gifted in that regard.
The issue is my hair. I am limited with my options.
Let me show you.
We are getting all “environmental” over here.
It is not that we have ignored our part in the past to be “green”. Matthew and I have big bins that we put all of our recycling in. Once they become an eyesore for our neighbours (2 acres away), we (meaning he) head off to the recycling depot. If I told you how much money we make from recycling our pop bottles and cans, you would probably organize an intervention for me. There is no need to do so, as I think that my Diet Coke consumption is entirely within acceptable limits.
*twitches*
My intent was (and still is) to keep the laptop shut more than I usually do in order to do some non-Internet related activities like playing with pretty paper and having extra tickle-fights with my children.
The sight that I awoke to this morning made me grab my camera and log in to share the craziness that is going on around here. First, I will give you the back story.
Last weekend was warm. In the mid-twenties (Celsius). I was in short sleeves and flip flops, and the kids were jacket-free. The rest of the week was back to cooler-than-average temperatures (Global warming? Hmmm…), but we have still been spending the majority of our days outside.
After supper last night, Honey unloaded the trailer-full of cow dung he had purchased for the garden (Dude is all about the poop lately) while I played with the kids. We played tag, duck-duck-goose, and then they played in the sandbox.
