It Really IS an Honour Just to be Nominated

On the ‘Links I Like’ section of this blog, I have listed one of my absolute favourites - Suburban Turmoil. I can’t remember, exactly, how I happened upon this blog but it has turned out to be one of those I visit at least half a dozen times a day, hoping for a new entry. Lindsay, the blogger extraordinaire, makes me howl with laughter with her wit and wry observations on being a stay-at-home-mom. One day, I hope my blog grows up to be just like hers.

Last week she had an entry about bizarre kids’ names. She wanted people to write in with the most annoying name they’ve ever heard and I couldn’t resist. You see, in the apartment building we used to live in, there was a kid named – wait for it - Frobisher. While I’m sure the name is near and dear to his parents, Frobisher’s mom may as well dress him in an ascot and send him off to school for his daily beating.

Anyhow, Frobisher isn’t the only one with problems in the name department. Lindsay’s loyal readers came through with over 300 entries, ranging from unusual to cruel. She would narrow them down to the best (or, in this case, the worst) and then have her readers choose a winner.

Well, whaddya know, Frobisher made the list! And while it wasn’t chosen as the worst name (that distinction went to twins called Sharon and Notsharon), it was still an honour just to be nominated.

And to Frobisher and his parents…thank you.

(Check out an article Lindsay wrote on the surprisingly common practice of naming kids some pretty bizarre things. Frobisher starts to look pretty lame tame in comparison).

I’d Like a Hairstyle to Complement My Tiara Please

I can’t really update on my new ’do because it is still looking all salon-y. Wait until I wash it and try to style it myself before I can accurately say if I like it or if I will have to go into hiding until it grows out. But even if I don’t like it, I will probably go back to the salon just for the people-watching.

It was good entertainment, especially since there was a big society soiree taking place that very evening. Apparently, Ottawa socialites had descended on the salon en masse. At first glance I felt like I wouldn’t fit in, what with all the big hair (on both the society mavens and the poodles in their laps).

But once Leticia Moneybags and Babs Trophywife returned to their Rockcliffe mansions, I realized that the stylists could produce more than just the ‘old money look’, much to my relief.

Forget Hospital Wait Times. What About Hairdresser Wait Times?!

I had an appointment for this Saturday to get my hair coloured and hi-lighted. I’d booked it almost three months ago, during my last visit, so needless to say I kind of forgot that the appointment was going to clash with my Japanese lessons.

I called today to reschedule. I told the receptionist that I need a Saturday afternoon or weekday evening so Hubby the Great will be available to look after The Wee Man. She said that my hairdresser is “booked until Christmas”. CHRISTMAS! But I’ve got faded hi-lights and split ends now! (Much whining).

I’ve had one too many bad experiences with hairdressers in this town to want to find someone else, but what is a girl to do? My “beauty” regimen has really taken a hit since having a baby but there is only so much I’m willing to neglect – and only for so long.

Thinking this hairdresser's wait-time could be an industry-wide epidemic, I decided I had better get over the fear and book with someone else. So this Saturday afternoon I’m booked into a new salon. Should I have taken it as a clue that I didn’t have to wait until the New Year to see one of their stylists? Guess I’ll find out this weekend.

IKEA – Swedish for Husband Hell

We'll try for the summit in the morning

This past Saturday we visited IKEA for the first time in a long, long time. We only needed shelving, but the thought of even the briefest visit gets my normally laid-back spouse agitated.

It all starts in the parking lot, where the only spot you can find will be so far away from the entrance to the store that you may as well pack provisions and prepare to set up base camp.

Once we reached the front of the store, Hubby the Great noticed the parking stalls “reserved” for families. Of course, they were all taken. I was tempted to inspect the cars to see which ones had car seats (as opposed to those who take “Family Parking” to mean a dad and his 30-year old son), but knowing that Hubby the Great’s blood pressure was rising, I decided to forgo my vigilantism.

We fought our way through the throng and got to the shelving. They were completely sold out of the one we needed – natch. Go figure, after I finally built up enough nerve to visit IKEA on a Saturday afternoon (of a long weekend no less), and convinced Hubby the Great that it really wouldn’t be like lighting his eyeballs on fire, they didn’t have what we came for.

Clearly, we weren’t going to be repeating this adventure anytime soon, so I had to settle for my second choice rather than risk suggesting we try again some other weekend.

With second runner-up shelf in hand, we made our way to the check-out where we gathered with similarly harassed-looking customers. That’s where it hit me. I know what IKEA really needs. Forget the cheap Swedish meatballs, IKEA should be serving liquor!

Perhaps they can implement my little suggestion in time for me to convince Hubby the Great to return to Satan’s Scandinavian lair (probably this time next year).

Greenhouse Gas Bag

Recently I was lined up to register for more Japanese lessons (I suspect this will be fertile ground for blog entries – stay tuned). I was standing behind this non-Japanese guy who was there to register his four year old half-Japanese son (who is no doubt operating at a much higher level than I am on the foreign-language front). He also had his other son, about one, in tow.

I kind of zoned out, as one does when one is standing in a line moving at glacier-like speed. At first I wasn’t really paying attention to the guy talking until I realized that he wanted me to hear what he had to say.

Guy (to woman near back of line): Oh hi – how are you?

Woman: Good. Where’s your wife today, she didn’t bring your sons to register?

Guy: She works on Saturday.

Woman: I see.

Guy (to his four year old son): That was Mayumi. Do you remember her from the organic market we went to a couple of weeks ago?

Son: Hmmm…

Guy (to his four year old son): You know, the organic market we went to?

Guy (to his one year old son): Do you see Mayumi over there? We saw her at the organic market.

One year old: ????

Guy (to four year old son): Mayumi brought her son to the organic market. Maybe he will be in your class.

Okay already. We all get it. You go to organic markets. Good for you.

You know, go to your organic markets, drive your Smart Cars, compost your dog’s doo doo, but try, please just try, to be less smug and sanctimonious about it. People like him are less about being environmentally friendly and more about trying to make sure everyone knows that they are morally superior to you and me by pointing out all their efforts to “out-green” the next person. It might be good for the planet, but bad for those of us stuck in line behind you.

Canada's Best Kept Secret

Hubby the Great and I love our adopted hometown of Ottawa. We’ve been here six years, first as singles, then newly-marrieds, and now as parents. This city has been a perfect fit for all three of those stages.

Ottawa gets an undeserved bad rap for being a boring government town. So not true. There is such an excellent quality of life here. We have discovered a beautiful and elegant city full of history. People are friendly here and the crime rate is surprisingly low for a city of this size. The housing prices haven’t gone berserk like Toronto, Vancouver, or Calgary and commuting times are still comparatively reasonable. Ottawa has an abundance of quality restaurants and no end of amazing festivals, historic sites, and museums. It is a dynamic city with a young population that has come from every corner of Canada. There is always something to do and see here.

Yes, the winters can be miserably cold, but this is Canada after all. Good luck trying to avoid snow unless you live on the west coast (and even they got DUMPED ON last year). And, yes, the best place for shopping in Ottawa is still Montreal. But, that too is changing (a shout out to the shops on Sussex Drive).

Everyone who comes to visit us from out of town is pleasantly surprised over how much Ottawa is different from their expectations. They all leave being as enchanted with the city as we are.

So it was with such pride (and a bit of smug validation) that I saw this survey ranking Ottawa as Canada ’s Best Place to Live 2007. I know these things are always highly subjective but it still warms my heart to see others coming around to our point of view.

Milk On The Rocks, Please

We went out for dinner last night to one of our favourite restaurants. We love it for the great food and great service but also because they are cool with babies (it helps that we now do our fine dining at 5 p.m.).

I swear, the following picture was not staged. He opened the cocktail menu himself and found his reading material to be of the utmost fascination. I have no idea who he takes after.