By George, I Think He's Got It!

Our second-to-last class began on a dramatic note, some good news that fellow classmates Haig and Larissa had their twins--two boys!

For the rest of the evening, Nadia presided a crash course in the hands-on stuff: changing nappies, bathing, basic holding/cradling (as an avid action figure enthusiast, I guess you could make the obvious jibe that I've had a lot of practice playing with plastic dolls--but these didn't have capes or light sabers).

And here's Lidia, who beat my time, but I'm gonna blame my left-handedness as my handicap...as a matter of fact, that's probably not a bad crutch to lean for the next...oh, four years or so?

We discussed brain development and Nadia dismissed the notion that you could "spoil" a baby with too much attention, tips for preventing injury and nasty subjects like SIDS, ideal sleep positions (we've since retired the "sleep positioner" from the baby registry), and were told to memorize the mantra "when in doubt, check it out!" (which reminds us--we've still gotta find a pediatrician!).

Next week, our final session, with real live parental units coming in (with Jack Hanna?) to field our questions and prep us for the Great Unknown...

Make Room! Make Room!

Quick: what's harder than moving? How about moving within your own house?

Somehow, I've got to redistribute the entire contents of my office to...well...somewhere else. The computer goes to a tiny desk wedged into the corner of the basement (yet to be purchased, and I'm not convinced the internet router signal will hold up, but that's a problem for another day). The comic book art can stay on the walls--this'll soon be the boys' room, after all!

The two shelves are easy enough to clear--mostly old books and collectibles that can go into storage, but there's 20+ years of my freelance film/illustration career boxed and stacked in the closet. Those files will go into storage, too, but I sure hope I don't get a sudden last minute request for my old art--ala my 12-year old storyboards for this summer's Del Toro exhibition--or I'll be scooting out to Mississauga to haul it all back. I wish I could afford a personal assistant to scan and catalogue all this stuff for me, but I'd probably have to pay him/her more than I was actually paid to create most of this stuff in the first place!

I've decided the comics will stay--six back-breaking boxes will be stacked in my clothes closet in the bedroom. Those original, bagged issues of Frank Miller's 'The Dark Knight Returns" might be the most valuable things we own!

Saying goodbye to sleep

Nadia was back to lead class again Thursday, and after covering the wonderful process called labour and all its ancillary delights, now we're facing the real challenge: what the heck's going to happen when we get the l'il things home. And basically, this is it: they will sleep, we will not.

Men and women were divided in class, told to lay out a 12-hour schedule from 6am to 6pm of what we thought a typical day within the first week home would be. And yes, the little princes will have their every whim catered to because, well, they just can't do it themselves yet. They'll be fed every three hours -- 8 times in a 24-hour period -- and burped/changed/bathed accordingly. Somewhere in between is time for laundry, our own nutritional requirements, and cat naps (I'll have to rely on Maggie and Minnie to teach me a thing or two about those). We all seem to agree that signing up for Grocery Gateway is a good idea at least for the first month or so, so we can have decent food and not keep ordering in pizza and Chinese. Since our little ones are gracing us with their presence during the dead of winter, having food brought to the house is just fine with me.

Here's hoping the co-sleeper we plan to purchase (which will find its home attached to the side of our bed) will help make things easier in those dark early days, and I can figure out the best way to just lift one or the other out and breastfeed in bed... well, that would be the ideal. But as all parents know, ideals are rarely achieved. Nadia did give us one glimmer of hope: apparently at about one month, they may give us one five-hour stretch of uninterrupted rest. It just may not be at night.

STUFF!!!

A gorgeous Thanksgiving weekend--temps near 30 degrees C, a vista of autumnal hues, warm sunshine--so what better way to celebrate the extende summer than to hit a mall!? Actually, we had a good excuse: my parents came down to visit (an annual Thanksgiving tradition) and my grandmother, fully recovered from her scary bit of business this past summer, felt well enough to make the trip. It was everyone's last chance to see us before the boyos arrive, so we were suitably pampered and fussed over.

Lidia and I ventured with my mom and grandmother to the nearby Zellers, and were treated to a load of must-have items (and a few vain indulgences) that are sure to make our lives, and pocketbooks, just a little bit easier when the guys bound upon the stage in December/January.

In a happy coincidence, we met a young couple with twins shopping in the same section of Zellers. They were in good spirits and fine physical form, considering their adorable youngsters were only a few months old. This short, chance meeting made it all seem just a wee bit more doable--considering I live in constant, daily fear that I'm not up to the task and will somehow screw it all up--with TWICE the collateral damage.

Back at Wendy's house, the bags and boxes just kept on coming (somehow, it eclipsed the original event of the day--my nephew Thomas' 14 birthday!). The boys are gonna be well-fed, well-dressed, and well-played-out...I got tired just photographing the spectacle...and realized we've got to get moving on making some room for not only two new lives, but the truckload of stuff that'll accompany them.

By the time the weekend was over we'd filled the Mazda with onesies, diapers, blankets, socks, booties, and some always-welcome cash. I even took the wheel (I hate driving) back to the city, on the highway, at night. I didn't screw it up--I got us both home safe and sound. Maybe I can do this thing after all...

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Mmmmm.... druuuuuugs....

Just an addendum to Robert's little account of our last class, I must say I feel much better about labour and giving birth knowing that the pharmaceutical industry is firmly on my side.

First stage pain? How about some Demerol? No thanks, the last time I was given that I puked like a co-ed on a bender. Morphine? Now that's more like it!

Pain getting worse? Here dear, have some nitrous oxide. Actually, no -- the lovely Win told us that the wonderful stuff you get at the dentist's, otherwise known as laughing gas, isn't really used in the course of labour anymore. Too bad -- I was thinking that it might be fun to run off my favourite Dennis Hopper lines from "Blue Velvet," since I'll probably be swearing up a storm anyway.

Then there's the ultimate: the epidural. A little tube into your spinal area (not the cord per se, but the epidural space nearby) that will completely numb from the waist down. Yes, I'll be bedridden. No, I won't feel the contractions and I'll have to be told when to push. Yes, I'll have to have a catheter inserted so my bladder can be kept emptied. But... no pain! And at the most intense time! I'm positively giddy with anticipation. Remember people, I gotta do all that stuff twice in a row, if indeed we are going to deliver the old-fashioned way, so yes. Please give me drugs. I won't object. Do it as soon as you think it's necessary. Thanks!

This Class Brought To You By The Letter "C"

...as in "C-Section", since multiples are 50% more likely to require said procedure, although no one at this point can say for sure (apparently, our youngsters are in prime positions for a natural birth, so who knows?). Nadia was still off with back problems, so tonight's session was presided over by the delightful Win (as in "Winifred"), a registered nurse nearing retirement after a career of helping deliver over 3000 babies (amazingly, she still seems to get genuinely excited over our excitement as first-time parents, with nary a trace of "been there/done that"). She also covered breathing exercises, and the variety of drug options available to Mom (Dad will have to make due with sneaking shots of scotch from within the janitors' closet). All in all, another informative and illuminating session, and one of the many reasons I'm glad the worst thing I'll have to do is cut the cord (although depending on the circumstance, I may not be allowed to do that either!)...

Babies' Second Concert: Lindsey Buckingham

27 weeks along, and already, our boys are showing refined and eclectic musical tastes. Tonight, we attended what will probably be our last concert in a good long time: Lindsey Buckingham, live at the Danforth Music Hall.

Buckingham isn't exactly a household name, but just about everyone knows at least a handful of his songs. Who hasn't hummed along to the catchy rockabilly riff of "Holiday Road" throughout "National Lampoon's Vacation"? But he's best known as the on-again/off-again frontman for the superstar rock band Fleetwood Mac, whose 1977 classic "Rumours" was once the best-selling album of all time. The guy singing "Go Your Own Way", one of their rare hits not performed by Stevie Nicks? That's him.

Lidia says the boyos were kicking it up big time from the second song, the catchy "Love Runs Deeper", and again during the lengthy "World Turning". Could this merry evening have inspired guitarists and drummers in our future? Glad these townhouses have concrete walls...

Class 3: Relax--They're Just Props!

Tonight's prenatal class--Week 3--was a bit of a schedule change, with Nadia away due to a back injury. So instead of exploring "C Sections", we talked "breastfeeding" with our guest instructor, Margaret. Well, more than "talk" actually, as you'll see from the photo. Lidia got to practice prep for her upcoming...er..."maternal duty" with two fake plastic infinks (while I hummed Radiohead out of frame--is that too obscure a reference?).

Too bad, though, that I didn't bring along my totally awesome Shazam and Superman action figures so I could practice my "paternal duty", as in "hey, Dad, who would win in a fight...?"

Week 26: No Photos Please...

Week 26 ultrasound and followup consultation with Dr. Thomas today at the Bloomberg clinic--not a lot to report, I'm happy to say, because everything's going fabulously. The babies once again played camera-shy, given their respective positions, it was hard to get a straight-on look at either one. But we could see them in fleeting glimpses, fidgeting merrily.

The otherwise fine afternoon took a depressing turn when Lidia got the annoying run-around when Dr. Thomas suggested she should have her diabetes test immediately, only to report to the lab, be made to wait, and then told that it was too late and she'd have to reschedule.

It's one thing to have to take a number, quite another to be treated like one...

Happy Birthday 42nd, Lidia

After years of passing it by every day on my way to-and-from work, we finally got a chance to sample the fine French fare at the Amuse- Bouche restaurant, literally just minutes around the corner from us on Tecumseth. Here's Lidia--in an admittedly horrid cameraphone pic--midway through her very tasty main course of lobster and scallops (and her first glass of red wine since last spring, to wash down her appetizer of foie gras and creme brulee for dessert), while I had some wildly inventive beef variation. From now on, it's burnt breakfast-in-bed and homemade birthday cards. But really, what could be better?...

Class 2: The Grand Tour

Tonight's class began with a tour of Mt. Sinai--specifically, the 7th and 10th floors where it's all gonna go down come December. Nadia also suggested that I scope out the area around the hospital and find the best spots to dump the car in event of an emergency.

Triage is on the 7th, post-partum on the 10th (where our classes are being held). Wheelchairs are available at the Murray Street entrance. And there's a Tim Horton's in the hospital--somewhere.

On D(delivery)-Day, we can expect a shortage of private rooms, no matter what we're willing to pay, so it's going to be a bit of a luck of the draw--and I'm confident to realize that I certainly haven't used up all of my luck on lotto winnings, so fingers-crossed. Semi-privates are in steady supply, but I'm such a misanthrope that I can't even stand to have strangers near me in a movie lineup--how the hell will I ever cope with someone else's crying brat and boorish relatives in the same room?

I also learned what a doula is, and that we can't afford it.

Prenatal Classes Begin

Tonight we attended our first prenatal class at Mt. Sinai Hospital, the esteemed medical institution that will host our youngsters' arrivals. It's a special class for expectant parents of "multiples", and of the ten couples enrolled, all but one are expecting twins (that lucky duo will hatch triplets!).

Our instructor is the wonderful Nadia Prendergast--who also works at the hospital and who is a mother herself. As couples slowly shuffled in (what's with the 6 PM start time? The era of the 9-5er is long gone), Nadia kicked off the eight-week session on an informal note by simply having us introduce ourselves, chat about our excitements and fears (about the subject of parenting--otherwise I would've gone on about the Hadron Collider, the impending financial crisis, and giant coconut crabs), and any specific subjects/queries we'd like to see addressed.

As expected, we're all pretty much on the same page, alternately worried about doing too much or too little, privy to too much information and much of it inaccurate or inconclusive, wondering what to buy and what to rent, and just wondering, in general, what the hell we're supposed to do once these little mysteries arrive and we're discharged to the cold Murray Street parking lot...

The women in the class--stuck with the bulk of the work, obviously--spent much of the evening communally sharing their strange behaviors and various bodily manifestations while the men couldn't really do much else but nod sympathetically. However, I did have a lively conversation with the triplets-people. I was blathering on and casually mentioned our cats, and they jumped right in. Seems most of us in the class are wondering what to do with our four-legged friends. I guess that sooner-than-later we'll have to kick Maggie and Minnie out of their cozy spots in the bedroom--for a few months anyway--and condition them to stay out of the babies' room unattended. Yeah, like that's gonna work--to them, a crib will be a cool new box to play in, and think of the fun they'll have with the mobiles and all those ssoft blankets! So instead of trying to train them now--really, who on this earth outside of the Moscow Cat Circus has ever trained a feline to do anything?--I figure I'll just save my strength and deal with it then as needed...unless anyone reading this has any ideas, of course.

The first class ended with a touchy-feely video on the stages of delivery, all very polite and Oprah-friendly.

A short drive and we were home with McDonalds drive-thru right on time to take in the second episode of the new sci-fi/horror series "Fringe", which began with a baby that grew into adulthood and died of old age in four hours. Weird coincidence maybe--but I thought the video in the class was scarier...

The Boys' First Story! (98 3/4% Approved)

The boys now have their first story, and it's a classic: Dr. Seuss' Oh, Baby, The Places You'll Go. It's a variation on Oh The Places You'll Go, of course, adapted by Tish Rabe, to be read in utero! Perfectly-timed, too, since at this point--23 weeks--BabyCentre informs us that the boyos are beginning to discern sounds, although I'm sure my vocal stylings sound more like Charlie Brown's parents than Morgan Freeman.

I wasn't familiar with this one--by the time the original was published in 1990 (Dr. Seuss' last, too), I was well out of its intended demographic, although I loved almost all of Mr. Geisel's 50s and 60s classics as a youngster--who of us of a certain age didn't thrill to the annual broadcasts of How The Grinch Stole Christmas or Horton Hears A Who? Places is every bit as timeless and wonderful, and I'm glad to have discovered it, even if I didn't have children on the way!

A(n original) Song For The Twins!

The first part's a timely screed about the Iraq War, but stick throught it: the Buffalo-Springfield-of-felt offer up an original song composed exclusively for our dynamic duo! Not even born yet, and already, they're the stuff of Queen Street West history...

Growing, kicking, charming all the ladies...

Wednesday, September 10 saw the latest visit to 700 University Ave. for a new ultrasound and quick visit with the doctor. I was lucky enough to get to see the boys throughout this time, wriggling about, swallowing fluid, and generally being silly. The technician commented several times on how active they are -- well, I know that already and all too well. Sometimes it feels like I have the entire Brazilian soccer team in my belly, although usually the kicks come from one at a time. Baby A on the left tends to go during the day (hence his new nickname, "The Day Shift") while Baby B is usually on "The Night Shift" taking evenings. Ultimately, my fluid's good, my cervix is holding up (making it less likely that I'll go into premature labour) and all continues to be well.

After the ultrasound we hiked it over to Dr. Thomas's office for the weigh-in (I'm 70 kilos now!) and the requisite peeing on a stick (for blood sugar and proteins, so far so good) but Dr. T was nowhere in sight as she was called to the labour ward at the hospital. So we had a chat with another doctor (whose name escapes me now) who promptly declared the little guys "beautiful", growing equally and normally with no concerns whatsoever. I will never get tired of hearing that.

I then battled a bit of a traffic jam (thanks, crazy Toronto drivers) to visit my dad in the hospital (Trillium Health Centre Mississauga) to show him the latest and greatest ultrasound printouts. Baby A was a bit camera shy this time, turning down, but the shot is still cool, as you can see his spine, ribs, and his little legs curled up. Baby B was definitely performing, as it looks quite distinctly like he's blowing bubbles. Dad's face lit up like a spotlight hit it, and as he continues his recovery he's sure to keep those images in his head. Mom and their friend Lidia (one of only two other people I know who share my name and its spelling) showed up and also fell in love with those little black and white blobs, amazed at the detail that ultrasounds render these days. Lidia has twin grandchildren too, a boy and a girl. She told me her daughter-in-law got so big she couldn't wrap her arms around her belly, and that she endured a 60 hour (!) labour. Note to self: tell Dr. Thomas I'm not really interested in three days' worth of pain.

On a side note, Robert and I have been doing our usual annual cinematic pilgrimage all the way to downtown Toronto for the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) and it looks like the little guys are joining in. Seems that the louder and more action-oriented the scenes, the more they let me know they're there. So the 80s heavy metal that populates Darren Aronofsky's "The Wrestler" got them going, as did the power chord soundtrack of the Australian B-movie documentary "Not Quite Hollywood," as well as the scares of "Sauna" from Finland and "The Burrowers" from the US. Wonder how that'll translate when they're born? Will I have to play Quiet Riot to get them to stop crying? Hmmmm....

Parenting Manuals, Or, Really Obvious Stuff You Should Already Know

Had some time to kill between TIFF screenings today at The Manulife Centre, where most of the press/industry screenings are held, so I skulked around the "Parenting" section of the Indigo bookstore for something of a bit more substance than of the "For Dummies"/insta-book variety. What an exercise in futility that was--there's certainly no shortage of touchy-feely tomes for moms-to-be, but my cursory browse revealed that 99% of books on the subject of fatherhood are inane and condescending--I took a casual flip through the few meager offerings and found countless references to having to skip watching "the Big Game" and jokes of the "Home Improvement" variety and felt like I'd be better off reading "The Road" again, which despite its bleak setting and nihilistic world view is, at its heart, a moving tale of a father's love for his son, and not a collection of obvious "to-do" lists ("bring lots of snacks!", "don't tell her she's fat!") aimed squarely at an audience whose lips move when--if?-- they read.

I decided on "The Expectant Father"--second edition--by Armin A. Brott ("America’s most trusted Dad™"!!!) and Jennifer Ash, which came highly recommended by not only Family Circle but also Sesame Street Parents magazines! Nothing terribly revelatory here, and providing more food-for-thought than anything else, as most of the resources offered and financial advice pertained to Americans, it left me with some subjects to pursue, like education funds, the safety of ultrasound and 4D imaging, consumer safety reports on items like car seats and strollers, and what to expect the first few weeks at home with the newborns. Straightforward and light-hearted without being too cutesy, it was worthy read after all, and I'll probably follow up with the duo's "The New Father: A Dad's Guide To The First Year".

And The Beats Go On...

Met with Dr. Thomas this morning at 8:45 am (well, more like 9:30) for a meet n' greet and to measure Lidia's vitals at Week 21, and of course, another chance to hear the twins' heartbeats, which I think if broadcast from orbiting satellites, would resolve centuries-old conflicts within seconds. Straight-talkin' Dr. Thomas gave us the low-down on the "listeria" scare (those reading this in the future, or having recently crawled out from under a rock, have been spared the current hysteria over tainted meat from the once-trusted Canadian institution Maple Leaf Foods), and was impressed with the numbers on the recent anatomy scans. "You have beautiful babies", she assured us. Hear that, guys? Already breaking hearts with the ladies. A successful medical practitioner, too--a habit both of you would do well to keep up into adult life.

Lidia sez the boyos are kicking around in there like a couple of Brazilian soccer players, reacting to her voice, music, the cats' purrs, and the ambience of our oh-so-trendy neighborhood, but personally, it's because they find my arcane pop culture references and cheap puns hys-terical!

No News Is Good News, Sure, But A Call Wouldn't Have Hurt...

Checked back with Dr. Grotell this morning to see if my three-months of daily vitamin B-12 doses did its Osmosis Jones magic on my red blood cell count. After a miserable 75 minute wait at the lab--standing in a crowded hallway so jam-packed that I could barely hold my cellphone in front of my face to place Tetris--I finally saw a technician who did my blood work in about 30 whole seconds. Excuse me, but what's the definition of "third world" these days, exactly?

"No news is good news" is my doc's motto, so now that a week has gone by without a followup call, I'll assume I'll live to see peace in the Middle East, a man on Mars, or at the very least, one or both of the boys attempt to wear their diaper as a hat.

Unless of course, the receptionist was sick that day and...

The Other Side Of The Booth: An Adventure In Minor Celebrity

I've been attending the annual Fan Expo at the Metro Convention Centre for about eight years straight, although certainly, I'm no stranger to comic book conventions, most of which have been modest meet-n-greets between local merchants and fans. But this event has exploded into an overstuffed pageant of PR and hoopla spanning film, television, video games, role-playing, and somewhere in the midst of the madness, the very thing that spawned the event in the first place.

Ordinarily, I dutifully attend to get a few photos or books signed, pick up some discounted trades and a cool t-shirt or two, and muster up some inspiration to finally pursue a career in a medium I've long-loved and fantasized working within, but for various reasons--most of them fear-based--never took the plunge. It's been hard enough to make a living in the thankless trenches of film and television--why pursue misery when I've got a full plate, thankyouverymuch?

This year was different. Thanks to my association with Bootcamp Comics, spearheaded by noted Marvel and DC artist/writer Ty Templeton, one of my many still-unrealized dreams became a bit more possible, as I was enlisted to work the Mr. Comics booth (right next to the Hoverboy Museum, and kitty corner to the heavy-hitters at Marvel) promoting our upcoming anthology. It was a soft launch as I pretty much expected, as I sketched for hours on a time for fans who were a little reluctant to approach--let alone embrace--new talent but seemed appreciative of the free sketches (which were pretty damned good if I can blow my own horn for a minute) all the same.

It was definitely odd, though, to have complete strangers ask me for autographs and even take my photo, even though I'm not even at footnote status at this point in my burgeoning comics career. Still, who knows? This year's unknown is next year's breakthrough overnight success, right? I sure hope so, because sketching for free is fun, but you know what's better? Getting paid for it!

Once And Future Grandparents

When I say my folks are great grandparents, I don't mean great-grandparents...my nephew and niece are far too young for such shenanigans (or is that "tomfoolery"? Never could figure out "horseplay") , and that fact that I've waited until my near-mid-40s to sire children pretty much secures that deal...although according to what I've read--or, at least, the PowerPoint show my financial advisor shows me to get me to put more money into my retirement fund--we're all going to live a lot longer than previous generations, so who knows what's possible in this crazy world?

With my nephew and niece, my mother and father have eschewed the comforts of "middle age" and indulged in nausea-inducing carnival rides, endured many a dubious film (such as the perennial holiday classics "Digimon" and "Sweet Sea", certainly the finest rip-off "The Little Mermaid" ever produced), and braved every possible element with outdoor skating, tobogganing, paddle boats, and white-water rafting. So there's no excuse for me sitting these things out when I'm their age. Greeeeeeeeeeat--thanks for sentencing me to the horrors of "The Drop Zone" when I'm 55.

Since renouncing apartment living for our humble little townhouse in the fashionable King West Village, we've hosted a visit from my mother and father every August, which affords me the chance to explore the city as a tourist-in-my-own-backyard, since I work nearby and rarely venture out of the neighbourhood other than to attend the Toronto International Film Festival and hit the malls each Christmas shopping season. Through the eyes of visitors, Toronto The Dull is a pretty cool place...hell, even the transit runs on time when they're here...

Having endured the big power blackout a few summers back, almost any new drama pales in comparison. But this week, my mom somehow ended up a cat wrangler and risked tooth and claw, as our neighbour's bratty cat "Merlin" decided to burrow into our hedges and wouldn't budge. While I fetched Pounce Treats for a bribe, my mom somehow grabbed hold of this pint-sized panther to the relief of the panicked babysitter who was in charge of making sure he didn't get out. Reputations were saved, cats fed--without injury to my mother, thankfully, who's a lot braver than I am--and as result, we've gained a regular visitor who's taken quite an interest in our adorable Maggie.

Licensed To Ill

Today's my birthday--yeah, thanks--and if it wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the fact that I've now outlived Elvis Presley, I had to get my driver's license renewed, complete with updated photo. I dunno why--I haven't changed much since the last one (or so I keep telling myself)...but such is the law and despite my subversive world view I believe in being a law-abiding citizen. The last thing my youngsters need is their dad in the big house because he forgot to renew a sticker before he sped off to an all-night Shoppers in search of spare Huggies.

The fact is, eventually, I'm going to have to start driving more, even though I utterly hate it--I loathe driving so much, in fact, that even in the videogame "Grand Theft Auto", I have my character take cabs to his assorted criminal activities...

So I wandered up to the vehicle bureau on College Street with my mother and father, and, incredibly, I was in-and-out in about five minutes. Thought about getting some vanity plates while I was waiting (and thought I may have hallucinated the price--$500!?)...any suggestions for a father-to-be? PRD PAPA? BG DDDY? DADDYO? GEEK DAD (I like that one...although PASS ME might be more appropriate to the poor citizens of this province...)

Happy B-Day For A Dad-2-B

It's another sweltering, rainy August, so you know what that means: the TIFF ticket selection rigamarole gets increasingly more byzantine and frustrating, the Fan Expo caps the month, and your humble narrator celebrates a birthday. Ordinarily, I'd say "dreads", but this year, it feels different, so my 44th toast was to accelerating the clock, instead of wishing it would slow down. There'll be so much to do once the boys are here, I can't wait to get started. But I'll conserve my energy for now--I'm gonna need it--so here I am on the patio of the nearby Foggy Dew with Lidia, my mother, and father, on a rare day where we weren't attacked by wasps or accosted by beggars while seated perilously close to our colourful downtown sidewalks. Next year, we'll see if I'm still smiling--I'm sure I will be, even if it's on the inside...

Week 19: And They're--

Today we reached Week 19, and had our most significant ultrasound to date at the usual joint (the Bloomberg something-something-clinic in the Ontario Hydro Building at University and College, etc. etc.). The test results revealed the growing infinks to be "normal" across the board, after thorough examinations that read like a crash course in Gray's Anatomy (or, "Drawing The Human Body" by Giovanni Civardi, an essential reference I highly recommend to all serious artists). I'll cut right to the chase this time, because the suspense is surely killing everyone and the bookies are no doubt eager to collect. Let's first give a major shout-out to my coworker Vera Heim, who called it based upon the heart-rates (147 and 149):

They're TWO BOYS!

Lawdy Miss Clawdy, am I going to have mucho f-u-n for the foreseeable future!

A pregnancy milestone reached

Yes, things are changing. As my pregnancy becomes more apparent, the rest of the world seems to be catching up. Today I reached a very important milestone.

Today I was offered a seat on the subway.

Heading home at an already too-late 6:15 pm, I was huddled by the door, as usual, trying to ignore the crowd around me and patiently wait for Bathurst station, where I get off to take the streetcar home. At Spadina (one stop before) I felt a tap on my shoulder. "You can have that seat if you want," said a woman, pointing to the middle seat of a set of 3 along the side of the car. I would have had to fight my way through five people to get to it. I said it was OK, I'm off at the next stop. But just the fact that she noticed me, and offered the seat, was very sweet.

Yes, I am showing. Now everybody knows.

Aquabellies! or, who knew it was so hard to exercise in the water?

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not much of a workout freak. Exercise comes to me in fits and starts and rarely becomes habit. But that doesn't mean I won't give it a shot once in a while.

My workplace offers a free yoga class twice a week, but I rarely have the time during the day to attend. So, when one of the regular waitresses at our watering hole, The Foggy Dew, visited with her brand new daughter and found out I was pregnant, she suggested I try looking up Baby and Me Fitness, which offers pre and post natal exercise classes. She had taken Aquabellies and loved it, and since swimming is one of the few physical activities I really love -- cycling being the other -- I investigated and quickly joined up.

So Thursday after work I headed to the Miles Nadal Jewish Community Centre (JCC) at Bloor and Spadina for my first class. We chatted about our plans for maternity leave for about a half hour, then to change for class. After wrestling with the cheapo combination lock I bought from Shoppers Drug Mart I managed to stow my stuff and slip into the JCC's lovely, warm saltwater pool. Cool, I thought as I jumped around to some sort of mix that turned "Hot In Herre" into "Hollaback Girl", with about 20 other women at various stages of pregnancy.

But what seemed like a fun romp soon turned into a real workout, as various flotation devices served as additional resistance. Somehow, kicking and holding a flutterboard in front of you seemed so much easier when I was seven years old.

My favourites, though, were the water weights. Not real weights; they were shaped like little dumbbells, and outside of the water they were light as air (being made of styrofoam and all). But get them under the surface, with a hyper instructor telling you to push down, and suddenly it feels like you're bench pressing 50 pounds. In the end, I think my arms and shoulders got more of a workout than my legs and tummy.

Oh well, one down, nine more to go...

Whew...

Some urgent news from home this evening: while I was working on an art project this afternoon--instead of sitting outside and enjoying the sun on a rare rain-free day like any other normal human being--I noticed on my Facebook "status" list that my niece, visiting her grandparents/my folks up north, mentioned that she was "visiting Nanny in the hospital". Immediately, panic flooded in--my grandmother was in the hospital and I didn't know about it?!

Turns out she'd been feeling ill the previous evening and once my mother took her to the hospital, she found out she'd suffered a minor heart attack. I spoke with her today and she's not terribly happy to be stuck in ICU on nitro and and IV. And it's not over yet: she'll be shuttled off to Ottawa for some tests and perhaps a bit of surgery, but thankfully, everything seems to be on the mend. This is her first serious health scare I'm aware of--Nanny's an amazing 85 but you'd never know it--so I guess she's entitled to one. With our two youngsters on the way, she's got even more motivation to stick around--someone's gotta knit all those booties and nobody does it better...

Heartbeat--It's a Love Beat...

This morning, Lidia and I had our second meeting with Dr. Jackie Thomas at The Bloomberg Clinic at Mt. Sinai. Compared to last time, it was a breeze--promptly at 9 am, Lidia had a blood pressure test (impressive results: 120/73--woo hoo!). Then, we got to listen to each of their hearbeats! "Baby A" was at 147, and "Baby B" outdoing the competition at 149--their little "thump/thumps" sounding a bit like dolphin songs.

Of course, I planned to walk back to work with a spring in my step and got promptly drenched.

Our next ultrasound is booked for August 15 (just days before my birthday) and should the youngsters cooperate, we should be able to tell the gender of each. Get yer betting pools up and running now, true believers.

Those ebullient little heartbeats resonated with me all day (and it was a lousy day, even by work standards)...everything is starting to feel a bit more "real" and more than ever I can't wait until they're here!

What Scares Us This Week...Pt. 1

I've managed to get through four-plus decades of my life and can honestly say that I've payed zero attention to anything in the media (or car rides, party chat, and lunch table round-robins) related to infants and child-rearing--I've long subscribed to the old adage that "there's nothing more interesting than your own kids and nothing less interesting than everybody else's". Although I thought "Mr. Mom" was pretty funny back in its day. But of course, with our own double-helping of unbridled infant instinct on the way by year's end, my antenna's a bit more tuned in to the subject than usual.

What I've happened upon is a 24-7 emergency broadcast frequency masquerading as nightly-news offering a glut of manufactured doom and gloom that rivals that montage of apocalyptic fear mongering that Michael Moore cut together to hilarious effect in "Farenheit 9/11" (if killer bees don't get you, killer escalators will!)--and my inner Howard Beale isn't terribly happy about it.

Earlier today, CityNews sent roving "health specialist" Laura DiBattista out into the urban wilds to unearth the latest threat to our comfortable, middle-class lives, and subject and timing couldn't have been more apt: Ultrasound! Specifically, the relatively new process of 3-D medical imaging, which Lidia and I were planning to do once the infants were farther along in their development.

Harmful? Health Canada, the story goes, has posted a warning about the use of ultrasound for "commercial and non-medical purposes". But while the President Of The Nova Scotia Association Of Radiologists admits that "there really has been no proven harm", he's quick to add a "who knows?" The operator of one private imaging service offered: ""There is nothing that shows in 40 years of studies that it's harmful to the fetus or the mom. But just to be on the safe side, I suppose Health Canada put that (warning) out."

So what the hell, exactly, was the point? It doesn't seem to be harmful, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be? So's taking a walk--damn it, if you're gonna terrify me, give me something I can use...

OPKs (Or, Ode To Thargas Anvilmar...)

Let's face it, it's not that hard to win the affections of Other Peoples' Kids (OPKs): the real parents get saddled with all the hard stuff (like preparing meals, housecleaning, filling up the SUV weekend in/weekend out, cramming into those silly little school desks on "Meet The Teacher" night) while you show up once in a blue moon armed with gifts to MC some special trip to a mall or museum or theme park, gorge on junk food, take in a matinee or two, and engineer a few extra hours of overcaffeinated frivolty past their usual bedtime because, y'know, your presence is special...like a visit from Willy Wonka or a reunion of The Eagles (on second thought...).

I think I did a pretty good job carousing--dareIsay corrupting?--with my nephew and niece for a good part of the Clinton era (and the early Dubya years), each of whom were once enchanted with my various interests and indulgences and saw me as an escape from the Stalinesque rule of their parents' regime.

This weekend, we hooked up with Robin, one of Lidia's long-time friends, whom I had not seen since her wedding a good decade ago. She brought along her son Simon, who at the age of eight is already brimming with imagination, intelligence, and even a sardonic wit that instantly endeared him to me (and, no doubt, anyone else he meets!).

We introduced him to our personable felines, Maggie and Minnie, and then I showed off my sizeable collection of "cool stuff": autographed movie posters, my impressive DVD library, comic book collection, and smattering of limited edition statues scattered about my office and the TV lounge here and there. He seemed most impressed by my bust of "Hellboy", considering he was pumped for that afternoon's downtown trip and matinee: "Hellboy 2: The Golden Army" (let me take a moment to reference, once-again, the fact that I worked on Guillermo Del Toro's second feature, "Mimic", too long ago now). Parents, take note: cool statues always work...anybody can pick up a cheap plastic action figure at Wal-Mart...

The weather held out (for a change) and made for a gorgeous summer afternoon for our leisurely stroll along Queen Street West to the new AMC digital theatre complex at Yonge/Dundas. Of course, we had to make a detour into Mecca--aka "The Silver Snail"--where Simon got a glimpse of what wonders his future could hold the instant he starts pocketing a steady paycheque--for instance, those collectible statues. Alas, the array of ridiculous choices brought about the day's first--and welcomely, only--dilemma: whither Hellboy 2, or World Of Warcraft? That is, which was the superior action figure to purchase: the one-time Anung un Rama, or Thargas Anvilmar, armoured dwarf berserker?

Thargas won, but thankfully, Hellboy delivered on the cinematic front. Del Toro delivered a dazzling, superior sequel, which everyone enjoyed. Back at our place, over dinner, our kitchen table became a battle arena as Thargas took on Shaun Of The Dead, Bill from "Kill Bill", and a tag-team of Superman and Captain Marvel from my collection. Krypton's only survivor won the melee by throwing Thargas into the sun. These Warcraft thugs sure are impressive, but they're no match for the Golden Age Of Superheroes. OPKs--meet the DCU.

Lazin' on a sunny afternoon... in the summertime...

It’s a fine Sunday here in Toronto, sunny and warm, and for once Bob and I have a day for ourselves; nowhere to be, nothing that has to be done, just a day of sheer laziness. In a word, bliss.

Well, not exactly. Once upon a time, before getting knocked up, this would be the type of day when I would crack open a bottle of Plymouth Gin, pour a couple of ounces over some ice in my cocktail shaker, swirl some vermouth in a glass (and pour the excess back into the bottle), drop in a bit of lemon rind and pour the chilled spirit over top. There, I just gave you the recipe for my ideal martini, which I am missing like gangbusters today.

I have been, in the AA vernacular, properly clean and sober since the little window of my Clear Blue pregnancy tester showed that little plus sign. Most of the time I’m fine with it, since it’s a very small sacrifice to ensure the health of our Dynamic Duo, but it brings to mind some of the other things I’ve been instructed to lay off of as the kids get ready to make their auspicious debut.

Take, for instance, steaks. I am the type of person who loves her steaks rare. Yes, seared on the outside, practically raw on the inside. I find well done steaks – a staple of my childhood in deference to my parents’ preferences – rubbery and tasteless. Well, now supposedly I’ve got to make sure it’s all cooked to death. So I’ll compromise and go to medium territory, and I’ll probably just stick to having them at home where I can ensure it’s done to order. Sorry, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” there just has to be some pink inside that meat for me.

And while I was happy to learn I wouldn’t have to cut shellfish out of my diet – shrimp and scallops are particular favourites – I am missing fish in the raw. Yes, sushi is officially out, those lovely little bite-sized morsels of rice and seafood made complete by garnishes of ginger and wasabi. Sayonara until the new year!

Oddly, my least favourite sacrifice at the moment is not being able to take Advil. It was, pre-pregnancy, the pain reliever of choice, easily taking care of headaches and backaches and even sore throats. Last weekend the atmosphere was leading up to a huge thunderboomer that eventually arrived Tuesday; through Saturday, Sunday and Monday I groggily worked through a migraine that a couple of Liquigels would have beaten down in no time. But since Advil is a blood thinner, and our little bundles of joy-to-be need my blood to be thick and iron-rich, it’s a no-no.

That said, other restrictions I’ve heard about from other mothers seem to be OK now. For example, I can have one caffeinated beverage a day, so I don’t have to give up my morning Tim’s (which, as a client of our ad agency, is generously provided for free in our kitchen, complete with official Bunn coffee maker just like in the stores). And while one friend was told anything herbal, including chamomile tea and herbs used in cooking like sage and oregano and such were out, when I asked Dr. Thomas about this she just rolled her eyes and said no, that’s all just hooey. So if anyone out there reading this is pregnant and feeling ill, go ahead – have your chamomile!

So for now I’ll just stick to Perrier (the current beverage of choice), keeping the diet balanced and healthy, and finally, learning other ways of dealing with headaches besides popping pills (cold washcloths seem to be the best alternative at the moment). And when the kids are finally citizens of the world, being cooed over by proud grandparents, family and friends, I’ll have a little celebration of my own: order in a little sushi, have a glass of Chianti Ruffino, and enjoy.
LF

Spawn Of Brangelina

So the world's most beautiful, talented, altruistic couple have finally given birth to their long-awaited twins--no, we're not due until Dec/January, remember? Rather, Brad and Angelina welcomed Knox and Vivienne into the world today from a seaside hospital in Nice, on the French Riviera. A C-section was required, and the twins were born a minute apart. As expected, there's already an insane bidding war amongst the tabloid dirtbags on who will claim the first snapshots of the youngsters--but have no fear, loyal readers: our photos will be frequent and many, and won't cost you a dime...

14 Weeks In Lanugo

Today, Lidia got her weekly alert from the ever-reliable babycentre.ca. The little ones are now 14 weeks along in their journey, which means that they're now growing hair (and if they take after me, they'll have a lot of it--I've made it past 43 without losing a strand, but those little gray numbers are increasing)--on the head, brows, all over. They're also covered in something called lanugo, an ultrafine down that'll disappear before birth. Some muscles are starting to work--the youngsters can grasp, squint, frown, grimace and even suck their thumb, if so inclined. Lidia thinks she can start to feel them moving around, and with that, I'm making more of an effort to talk to them on a regular basis. But right now, I'm sure their favorite sounds are Minnie and Maggie's purrs...how can I compete with that?

Another Road Trip?!

While technically not a long weekend (Canada Day lands on a Tuesday this year--thank yeeew British North America Act), we thought we'd make another quickie jaunt to the Ottawa Valley since by the time the next official LW comes around (the August "civic holiday"---yawn) Lidia will be a lot "farther along" as they say, and cramming her and the youngsters in an automobile in the blazing hot sun doesn't seem like the smartest or safest idea. Everyone's just gonna have to get used to coming down our way a lot more often after this one.

So, with Minnie and Maggie left once again in the capable care of Donald from VIP Sitters, we loaded up our "little green turtle" and embarked, for the second time in under a month, to brave the indignities of the Oshawa 401 bottleneck, and then along the snaking 37/7/41 blacktop to Pembroke (that's "Minnie Road", near Eganville).

We were able to properly celebrate my grandmother's 85th birthday (you'd never know it--I do hope I've inherited her DNA!), catch up on a few movies ("Get Smart", "Wanted") and unload some books and CDs on various takers.

A pleasant trip all around, and not terribly eventful (in a good way): I tossed a baseball around with my nephew and didn't throw out a hip (although running up and down Everett Street in leather dress shoes didn't do much for my inner Willie Mays), and decided, somewhat reluctantly, to return the snazzy little Jazz HD camera to Canadian Tire (for a full refund) because its memory card transfer was screwing up suspiciously on the drive up.

Just about everyone I ran into knew about the twins and seemed genuinely happy for us--which was very nice, because it's been an awfully long time since I lived at home. The only person I missed was a former coworker from my high school years, when I worked after school and weekends at The West End Mall. According to my grandmother, he asks about me all the time whenever he sees her. Which is encouraging, because last month, he won a million dollars in the lottery.

You know, naming rights are still available...

Meeting Dr. Thomas

Today's return to Mt. Sinai went much better--that is, I arrived on time (thanks to Co-Op Cabs) at least. Lidia and I had a 10:30 appointment to meet Dr. Jacqueline Thomas, MD--our official OBGYN/caretaker who will be looking after us until the youngsters arrive. Of course, given the state of the Ontario medical system, and the fact that Dr. Thomas had to be called away for an undisclosed emergency, we sat for nearly two hours in the waiting area.

The wait was worth it, though, as Dr. Thomas turns out to be friendly, funny, and frank. What's more: she's thrilled with "our numbers"--a euphemism for the battery of tests to which Lidia must be subjected to rule out a variety of potential "difficulties"--and suggested that Lidia cancel her scheduled amniocentesis(which, among other things, increases the risk of miscarriage).

She also declared that there's no way our babies are going to wait until January (specifically, the revised delivery date of January 4th, 2009, according to the friendly nurse who first saw us and worked it all out with some unusual, Nostradamus-y, wheel-y chart/thing) to bound out onto the world stage, and that we should plan for a much earlier arrival.

Our next appointment with Dr. Thomas is July 30. And our next look at the youngsters is August 15th, four days before my birthday!

Peas In A Pod: Week 11

And here they are: Baby "A" and Baby "B", who really know how to work the lens at any resolution. Always one with the film references, I can't help but think they're starting to look like little star children from "2001"--think of what they could tell us! Lidia said that "B" is revealing him/her self to be the bratty one--restless and wiggling about, while "A" slept soundly (ultra-soundly? Rimshot!) Something tells me we'd better start getting our rest now...

"Can't Get There From Here" (Continuing the REM theme...)

Today we were supposed to meet up for our first appointment at the Lawrence And Frances Bloomberg Department Of Obstetrics And Gynecology (or, the "LAFBDOOAG" to the kids) in the Ontario Power Generation Building at Mt. Sinai Hospital. Got that? The marble-mouthed address should have been an omen of the ordeal it was going to take me to get there. Rather than hail a cab like any sensible human being would in downtown Toronto on a weekday afternoon, I decided to entrust my journey to "the better way" (thanks to Nilesh's Metropass) and of course, the TTC screwed me, true to form. Figuring I'd get to the intersection of University and College early enough to grab something at Tim's or from the street vendors, I left about 50 minutes before the appointment from my workplace at King/Bathurst, trusty Jazz HD cam and iPod in tow.

One HOUR later, I arrived at the clinic. It took fifteen minutes for a streetcar to come, almost as long to travel a straight line to the St. Andrew subway station, and about as long again for a train to arrive and lurch along the northbound line to the Queens' Park subway station. Breathless and in a panic, I finally met up with Lidia in the waiting room on the third floor, only to find out that the ultrasound appointment wouldn't happen until 3:30 PM, almost two hours later than we were told. Of course, I had to get back to work--there's no way I could disappear for more than three hours and not be missed, and left heartbroken that I had to miss this latest chance--only our third--to see the babies again.

I'll spare everyone a rant about the TTC--everyone knows it's a woefully inefficient, corrupt, and contemptible organization that just plain sucks on the best of days. What in the name of hell was I thinking? I've lived here almost 25 years now--I must've been punch-drunk on all this newfound sunshine, and won't make that mistake again.

(For what it's worth: I walked back to work from Mt. Sinai. Total travel time: 25 minutes, including a stop for a spicy Italian sausage...)

A Grand Day Out

We were away last weekend, so today it was time to do the responsible thing and resume the house-hunt. Two listings for the College Street area came up--a primo location for sure--and since it was a beautiful sunny day, we took a stroll to Little Italy to check 'em out.

Both were, simply, dumps--laughably overpriced and each a House Of Usher in vast need of repair for various reasons (at least one realtor was honest, alerting us on the specs sheet to termite infestation and ancient wiring that wouldn't be insured!). I think my first basement apartment in Scarborough was safer...

More than a tad discouraged, we were able to chuck the domestic dolldrums soon enough with a stroll around the Queen West 'hood to check out the local oddities like the anime shop The Magic Pony, and the latest renderings from Banksys-in-training. I dunno, the more I think about, the more I feel this is all happening too fast with too much at stake and perhaps we should stay here a bit longer. There's so much to offer kids in terms of stimulation, recreation, access to health services...but there'll be other places, I'm sure...

We capped off the day with an evening jaunt to the Yonge/Dundas area for dinner (once again, we weren't able to get into Baton Rouge, where we last dined about two years ago, but not for lack of trying) and to check out Scottish comedian and late-night talk show host Craig Ferguson at Massey Hall. That's me doodling on the table at the new Jack Astors in the "Toronto Life Building", which right now is a massive AMC, a Future Shop, and arid food court. I doodled my favorite subjects, of course: Maggie and Minnie.

One of the waiters liked my sketch of "The Hulk" so much that he darted off to fetch me a green crayon when I found my table didn't have one. Now that's service...

Despite the fact that I know of almost no one--other than myself--who watches his show (he's on right after David Letterman), the venue was packed top to bottom. We scored decent seats on the first balcony, just a few rows back. Ferguson was energetic, topical, and above all, hilarious.

Will our infinks retain any memory of a boisterous, foul-mouthed Scotsman? Hopefully, their little barely-formed ears are still ringing after R.E.M., although I'm not sure a preference for Ferguson or even Billy Connelly over, say, The Wiggles would necessarily be a bad thing, either...

Real Estate & Reality

Cripes, we're not even back 24 hours and already, the phone's ringing off the hook and the emails are collapsing the ISP server with the zero-to-sixty resurrection of the house-hunt rigamarole.

Just up Bathurst and off College--near Kensington Market--there's a very nice townhouse on the market that more or less replicates what we're living in now, with an extra bedroom, larger dining room, sweet back patio, and much-needed storage space. It's not perfect--the paint job and hardwood floors need a little polish, and the parking spot's outdoors--but we can certainly see ourselves living there with minimal fuss.

But somehow, in less than 24 hours, we're supposed to come up with a bid, clear time from our work schedules for a pricey house inspection ($400!), and show up with a down payment "good-will-offering" in the form of a bank draft for 5% of the price of the home. Riiiiight--let me just scoot across the road to Top Variety and hit up their "Lazercash" ATM for $20 grand! (someone coulda mentioned this at some point during our marathon conversations about various ancillary topics. I'm surprised we're expecting to show up with an envelope of cash, like we're buying a used car off of Kijiji...).

After an evening of more telephone ping-ponging than the climax of "Fail Safe", Lidia and I agreed that this hysteria was all just too much, too soon, and resigned ourselves to losing the property. It's early in the game...we've really just stuck our toes in...and despite the current state of the housing market, we'll remain steadfast in our conviction (delusion?) that there'll be other prospects of equal-or-better features.

Worst case scenario: if times run out and this isn't sorted out by the fall, we'll stay in our current residence for another year and do this all again next summer, toddlers in tow...after all, this is all for them!

Babies' First Concert: REM

We had to speed back to the city from Pembroke today, in order to make it in time to catch Athens, GA's favorite sons, R.E.M., live in concert to promote their "return-to-form" album, "Accelerate". Best of all, Modest Mouse opened (along with a fine young band named "The National") and brought along its newest member, the legendary Johnny Marr of "The Smiths", on guitar. It was our first time back at the Molson Amphitheatre since the Weezer/Pixies double bill in 2005.

The show kicked off with a barnstorming "These Days" from "Life's Rich Pageant", which was somehow appropriate, considering it was almost 22 years ago that I saw the band at Massey Hall to promote that then-new album (their fourth) for the modest sum of $14 (which was a lot of cash to a starving York University Fine Arts major at the time).

Despite a typically (for Toronto, this summer) relentless downpour, we were under the roof so we stayed dry (and an atypically sedate crowd for the Amphitheatre--no flying beer cups) and were later afforded a view of a splendid rainbow that was one of the most vibrant we've seen since our trip back from The Highlights Tour in Costa Rica back in 2006.

I wonder if the youngsters--now just forming (and according to Lidia, about the size of her lipstick tube)--will retain any memories of Mike Mills' throbbing baselines or the audience sing-a-long to the encore of "The One I Love"? There are worse things in this world if we'd end up having to play anything from "Automatic For The People" to sooth the infants to sleep...

Road Trip

It's a route we could each probably drive with our eyes closed, which now that I think of it, might be the perfect antidote to combat its unnerving but admittedly-scenic tediousness: the 401 east to Highway 37 at Belleville, then exit to 7 for a brief jaunt to 41, all the way to my folks' house in Pembroke, Ontario, deep in the heart of The Ottawa Valley.

After nearly two decades of cursing the 'shawa bottleneck, the steady onslaught of 18-wheelers that allow me to experience the frissons of Spielberg's "Duel", and obliviot Durham County rubberneckers (people, it's just a guy with a flat...and CAA's probably got it covered...), I still get white-knuckled at the steering wheel as I must snake along the narrow roads of Land O' Lakes country, have yet to figure out the mystery behind the existence of the curiously tiny town of Khartum (you can nearly throw a stone from one end of the city limits to the other), and always silently correct the signage at Cobourg trumpeting "The World's Biggest Apple" (it is, of course, a "replica" of an apple--and I suspect possibly not the world's largest...but I digress). But with twin iPods fully-loaded with cool stuff and choice classics, warmer-than-usual temps (30 degrees C--whew), and sparse traffic, 'twas an enjoyable endeavour indeed-y.

Lidia, I'm sure, was elated that I took the wheel for the entire trip (although it might have been because my pasty white thighs were glued to the melting car seat), instead of the usual switcheroo at Tweed (where the fire hydrants are whimsically painted--pirates, soldiers, and dalmations, oh my!--with the one in front of the Tim Horton's notably sporting the colours of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Funny, this far north, you'd think it'd be the Sens...).

Ordinarily, we confined this 5-6 hour sojourn to Canada Day (and, sometimes, Simcoe Day), but this time we had to manufacture a long weekend as my cousin Ashton--now, amazingly, 24 years young--was tying the knot on the afternoon of Saturday, June 4, 2008 at 3PM.

It was great to see Ash again, whom I bounced on my knee when he was just a toddler, and did my best to corrupt during his childhood and teen years with my insidious influences. Plus, his sisters Kayla and Melanie, as well as my folks, grandmother, sister and her family (whew)--I believe this was my nephew and niece's first encounter with "The Bird Dance". Despite having few spare hours, I managed to pick up a cheapie HD camcorder at Canadian Tire, and ran into a high school pal, although not necessarily in that order...

We left early Sunday morning to speed to ensure making it back on time for the R.E.M. concert at the Molson Amphitheatre. Pity the ride back on the flip side didn't even out my sunburn--as of this writing, I'm still baked lobster red on the left only--just like Richard Dreyfuss in "Close Encounters Of The Third Kind" (and that's two Spielberg references in a single email...).