What was that????

Back to church. Little B behaved marvelously: he stood when it was time to stand; he sat when it was time to sit; he knelt when it was time to kneel. He even practised clasping his hands palm together and fingers interlaced to find out which position suited him best. The interlaced fingers seem to please him. Then to crown his outstanding achievement, he began repeating the words he heard intoned from the parishioners.
When it came time to shake hands and wish our neighbours peace, little B jumped right in there with both feet. He raced around the church, shaking hands and smiling with charm. He returned to his mother and shook her hand.
"Piss piss with you," he intoned solemnly.
Thank goodness most of the people present were elderly and hard of hearing...

Les cours de natation

La fillette de 12 ans a du cran. Malgré quelques ennuis techniques, elle a persévéré et la voici. Elle a presque terminé son cours de natation. Non seulement elle nage mieux mais elle a cessé de faire ce qui l'avait empêché de réussir les niveaux précédent. Par exemple, elle ne se bouche plus le nez quand elle saute à l'eau ni quand elle nage. Il faut dire que ça gênait!
Vive la persévérance!

How about pushing the on button?

The 19 year old was beside himself with excitement. For nearly a month, he'd gone without a laptop. He'd hemmed and hawed and deliberated ad nauseum. What features should he get on his new Windows based laptop?

"Why don't you get a Mac?" Suggested Simone.

"Macs are for chicks because they do everything for you," the 19 year old replied caustically.

Simone handed him her Mac laptop. "Try this," she said.

And so it came to pass that the 19 year old ordered himself a Mac. He joyfully unpacked it and plugged it in. As it "charged" he opened the instruction manual and proceeded to read.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," growled Simone flipping open the laptop. "Just press the on button."

"No! I haven't loaded any of the programs!" Protested the 19 year old, clearly horrified by Simone's cavalier attitude.

"Goodnight," said Simone. "I'm going to bed."

As she headed up to her room, she heard the 19 year old mutter. "It's working already. I can't believe it's working already. It's like a dream come true!"

Je ne vais plus pouvoir nager!

"Au secours, j'ai mes règles!" Et ce le quatrième jour du cours de natation, donc pas question d'obtenir de remboursement.

Ceci fut suivi d'une journée complète à essayer ceci et cela pour insérer un tampon là où il le fallait.

"Il faut s'asseoir, pas se tenir debout. Il faut s'assurer que l'angle soit vers le bas du dos et non le nombril. Il faut par-dessus tout être relaxe au max!"

Rien à faire. L'opération tampon a échoué sur tous les plans. C'est pas drôle d'être une femme. Dès un très jeune âge, on apprend à dire, "À partir de maintenant, cinq jours par mois, je serai incapable de..."

I can't HEAR you!

Little B filled up the measuring cup and poured it into the blue and red pail at Simone's feet.

"Have some tea," he said to his mother.


"Yum! Thank-you," replied Simone politely.

Little B ran off to the fountain and filled his cup again. He raced back and poured the water on Simone's bag.

"Hey!" She protested.

Little B threw his measuring cup in the air. It landed at his feet and he kicked it away gently, his fingers inserted in his ears. He risked a glance back, jumped when Simone waved a finger at him, and continued on his way.

Gotta love kids...

Primo, ils sont tous habillés!

Simone eut bien du mal à réprimer un soupir lorsqu'elle ouvrit la porte. Encore les témoins de Jéhovah. Elle savait qu'il faudrait, encore une fois, se mordre la langue à plusieurs reprises.

"Regardez cette image," disait la dame d'un certain âge.

Il y avait des enfants et des adultes de toutes les races et de toutes les couleurs dehors en train de lire ou encore de se parler ou bien de jouer au ballon. Idyllique, quoi.

"C'est une image du paradis," ajouta la dame.

Simone sourcilla et se mordit la langue très fort. Car si tout le monde semblait bien s'entendre dans l'image, n'empêche qu'ils étaient tous habillés et qu'à ce que Simone en sache, au Paradis, on se promène à poil.

Sans doute encouragée par le silence plus ou moins concilliant de Simone, la dame sortit une autre revue de son sac. "Et là, nous avons la réponse à la question de ce qui va arriver pour que Dieu nous ramène au Paradis. Savez-vous ce qu'il faudra faire?"

Le petit B commençait à s'impatienter et tenta de fermer la porte au nez de la dame.

"Arrête, petit B," dit Simone. "Pour retourner au Paradis, il faudra que Dieu remette tout à neuf."

"Et oui," de dire la dame. "Comme avec Noë, tous les méchants vont périr et le reste de nous vivrons en paix avec assez de nourriture et tout ce qu'il nous faut."

Simone se mordit la langue une deuxième fois car elle ne voulait surtout pas prolonger la discussion. Le petit B venait de donner un coup de tête dans le ventre de la dame.

... et puis l'intolérance, ça ne prime pas.

Surtout que Simone se disait que Dieu, s'il venait à faire le ménage chez les humains, risquait fort de se débarrasser de Simone au début de sa journée. Et puis le Paradis marcherait hyper bien - sans humains.

On the question of beauty...

It started with a photo posted on facebook. The picture showed a startingly beautiful young woman, her face profiled and her arm upraised to show an an unshaved underarm.
A discussion ensued, the commments copied below. The wisdom does not belong in any part to Simone but to the young woman who courageously posted her photo. Courageous not because she dared post something ugly. On the contrary: the picture showed beauty pure and simple, regardless of conventional standards. No, she was courageous because she bucked the trends and proved that beauty... is.

So imagine the photo. Because the photo was beautiful and what needs to change isn't the picture or the woman but YOUR thoughts. You need to imagine in your head and imagine how beautiful a woman who hasn't shaved her armpits is. Do it. Because beauty is NOT measured in the size of your girth. Beauty is.

Here is the conversation:

Friend: Do you know how much I adore this photo? It has to the best one of you yet. Here's to breaking the mold & giving society's conventions the one-finger salute.

Beautiful woman: It's not necessarily about giving the middle finger to society or their "rules" regarding beauty. That's just a tired rebellion I'd much rather avoid; it's moreso about doing (and being!) what I find comfortable for myself. This isn't a political statement, merely an opinion. :)

Man: bodyhair on women is a huge turn-on

Man: BECAUSE IT BELONGS THERE

Beautiful Woman: I still shave my legs, though, because some habits die hard. Or maybe I just really like the way they feel underneath clean sheets.

Friend 2: Fair enough that you don't shave your body hair, but you're hardly bucking a whole lot of conventional standards of beauty as a very thin, white, conventionally beautiful female!

Beautiful Woman: The female body, in whatever shape or condition, has unfortunately become society's easiest targeted battleground. Instead of forming strong bonds through shared intimacies that every woman can relate to, there are groups who yell, "Eat a b...(tharr be more)urger!" to thinner women;.and vice versa: there are just as many skinny women who lash out and make despicable comments about larger women. This petty insecurity they harbor about their lack of curves or about not being skinny enough, is given fuel through useless jealousy. It is horrible, hurtful, and utterly poisonous.

Give me a society that makes companies put health and acceptance before profit-making, and funds literacy classes so young women could learn from appropriate ages to see through/look beyond society's constant barrage of subliminal horse shit referred to as "ideal beauty."

Friend 3: amen

Simone: Thanks, Beautiful Woman. For the picture and your very balanced explanation.
The messages society sends about beauty have become so distorted in my mind that the other day I found myself yelling at my daughter, "I know I'm ugly. You don't need to ...(tharr be more)tell me!"
... and this when so many people tell me they wish they looked like me, had a shape like mine.
Every time I look in the mirror, I think, "Ugh!"
lol
I need to be more like you :-)

Beautiful Woman: I'll be the first one to admit to a laundry list of insecurities that have kept me hostage in my own skin for longer than I care to remember. I struggle with a few of them daily (especially since I have an OCD that largely affects ...(tharr be more)my appearance), but they aren't nearly as center-stage in my brain as they were a few years ago. A great percentage of my youth and adulthood was centered on self-doubt, constant comparisons, and criticism (from myself and others); and to know that I spent so much time fussing and cussing over this body, this thing that works so hard to keep me functioning on a daily basis, makes me rather ill.

Yes, there is a certain way I would like to look. Does society influence that? It's almost impossible for it not to, in some ways. But at the end of the day, it's not about conforming to cut-and-paste ideals of beauty, but rather, a personal aesthetic I would like to achieve for myself. If I can look at myself in the mirror, without grievance or harsh judgment and say, "Yeah, I look good today!" and actually feel comfortable and confident after saying such things, then that is a huge deal. Also, having someone in my orbit who loves and cares about me and reinforces these positive thoughts is never a bad thing. ;)

Humans are flexible creatures. The skin tears, the muscles weaken, the body softens. But instead of trying to hide or prevent these things to such severe degrees, we should be learning to embrace these inevitable changes as they happen, without worry or prejudice. xo.

Le vilain petit canard!

Le petit B n'était pas content. Sa maman lui demandait de ranger un jouet avec lequel il comptait jouer. Il se mit à crier. Comme il criait pour la énième fois ce jour-là, Simone le prit par la main et lui dit qu'il était grand temps de quitter le Coin des petits. Loin de calmer l'enfant, cette déclaration ne fit qu'enflammer sa mauvaise humeur.
Bientôt, il lançait des coups de pied à sa mère qui tentait de lui faire enfiler ses sandales. Exténuée, elle le prit dans les bras et l'apporta dehors où sa voiture était garée. L'enfant se démena si fort que Simone le posa par terre et lui dit, "Et bien marche! Sans sandales sur le sol brulant. Vas-y!"
Une fois dans la voiture, Simone essaya d'attacher le petit B dans son siège auto mais celui-ci lançait tant de coups de poing qu'elle avait un mal fou à faire quoi que ce soit.
"Ça suffit!" s'écria-t-elle finalement. Elle réussi alors à boucler la ceinture. "Tu arrêtes ton cirque. On rentre à la maison et tu passeras tout le temps qu'il faudra sur le fauteuil pour que tu te calmes."
Arrivés à la maison, elle ouvrit la portière du petit B. "Allez. Directement sur le fauteuil."
Le petit B, ses mains crispées au-dessus des ses yeux tellement il avait honte fit quelques pas. Malheureusement, comme il n'y voyait rien, il se cogna contre la porte de la voiture.
Simone se garda bien de rire. "Allez. Au fauteuil."
Et le petit B de s'installer, le visage enfoui entre deux coussins et les fesses en l'air.
Vingt minutes plus tard, le calme régnait dans la maison et Simone avait réussi à se calmer. Elle alla voir ce que faisait son rejeton. Il n'avait pas bougè: il était toujours là, ses fesses en l'air.
Simone se rapprocha. En fait, l'enfant ronflait...
Et il dormit pendant 4 heures!

Pizza?

"Oooh! A snowflake!" The three year old pointed to the twelve year old's t-shirt.

The 12 year old laughed. "It's not a snowflake - it's a peace sign."

The 3 year old frowned and cocked his head to the right, considering the design on his sister's shirt. "I like pizza," he said at last and, grabbing a handful of cloth from the front of the t-shirt, tried to stuff it in his mouth.

Je veux des croustilles!!!

Cette fois-ci, à la messe, le petit B savait à quoi s'en tenir.

"Tiens, Naan-naan, chante," dit-il. Il avait ouvert le livre de chants pour le poser sur les genoux de sa mère.

"Est-ce qu'on prie maintenant?" Demanda-t-il, agenouillé et les paumes de ses mains ensembles. "Est-ce qu'on peut se mettre debout?"

Visiblement ennuyé, il se promena à quatre pattes sous les bancs. "Beurk!" fit-il tout à coup. La dégustation de miettes trouvées sous un banc laissait à redire. Il observa donc la ligne d'attente devant le prêtre avec grand intérêt.

"On y va?" Demanda-t-il à sa mère.

Celle-ci secoua sa tête, convaincue que ce serait bien pire s'il faisait une crise devant le prêtre.

"Mais c'est pas juste," s'écria-t-il. "Je veux des croustilles! Tout le monde à droit aux croustilles sauf moi!"

Le pauvre, privé de "croustille" - surtout après avoir mangé des miettes pas trop fraiches!

Scissors?

Little B had a hole in his shirt. He frowned at it.

"Did you want to fix it now?" Simone asked.

Little B nodded, wriggling out of the t-shirt.

Simone climbed up the ladder and reached for her sewing box - it's full of sharp bits so it's kept out of the four year old's grasp. "Did you want to help me fix the t-shirt?" Simone asked little B.

He nodded, eyeing the needles and scissors with suspicion. Simone threaded the needle and asked little B to help her cut the thread. Just as she finished sewing up the very small hole, little B announced, "I cut my hair!"

And sure enough, the little guy who is terrified of salons and hairdresers and scissors had cut a lock off his head. With a pair of very sharp scissors!

"Little B!" Admonished Simone. "I thought you didn't like getting your hair cut."

"It's okay," he chopped off another lock and Simone retrieved the scissors. "I cut my own hair."

Can you say recipe for disaster?

Simone has hidden all the scissors in the house.

Un collier ÉNORME!!!

Le petit B s'ennuyait.

"Allons voir dans ma boite aux trésors," suggéra Simone.

"Tu as un coffre aux trésors?" S'étonna le petit homme.

"Et oui. Viens avec moi." Suite à quelques minutes de fouilles, Simone sortait deux sacs. "Ça t'amuserais de fabriquer un collier?"

"Oh oui!"

"Tu voudrais le sac avec les perles en forme de fleur ou bien celles qui ressemblent à des pâtes?"

"Les fleurs," dit petit B comme si c'était évident.

Et il passa presque 2 heures à fabriquer un collier...

Red is Best

Recently, little B became acquainted with the Canadian classic, "Red Is Best".

When a Monday afternoon revealed itself to be particularly wet and rainy, Simone asked little B what he wanted to do.

"Paint!" He exclaimed enthusiastically.

"What colours would you like to use?" Simone asked.

"Red," he answered.

"That's it? No yellow? No blue?"

"Red," repeated little B.

He painted a red heart, a red little B, a red alphabet and a red happy face. He even painted his hand red, his leg red and the top of both feet red. Why? Because red is best!

Un gâteau au caramel...

Simone avait faim. Très faim. Elle se décida donc à faire un gâteau au caramel.

Mais maintenant elle a un délicieux gâteau au caramel tellement frais qu'il est encore chaud et elle n'a plus faim. Et en plus, il n'y a personne à la maison pour en profiter...

Y aurait-il des intéressés? Ce serait dommage de ne pas manger un si bon gâteau...

It's a GRANDPA!!!!

Little B and Simone were frolicking in the hot tub.

Little B pitched a blue starfish to the bottom of the tub. "Dive, Naan-naan!" he commanded.

Simone gave him the evil eye.

Little B sighed. "Pwease?"

Simone dove and gave the starfish to little B.

"Hey, there's a chipmunk racing around the base of your hot tub," called the neighbour behind them from his deck where he must have a perfect view of Simone's yard.

Simone smiled, knowing that the chipmunk was a regular visitor.

"That's a grandpa," said little B, pointing to the father of five children, aged three to 14.

"Uh, no," whispered Simone. "That's a Daddy."

Little B gave his mother a disbelieving glare. "It's a grandpa," he repeated forcefully.

"Hush!" Admonished Simone. "Its a daddy - he has a little boy who is the same age as you."

"It's a GRANDPA!" Yelled little B.

The neighbour disappeared into his house. Oh boy. Etiquette lessons for the three year old are next!

Les fesses

Sans y penser, Simone enleva ses vêtements pour enfiler son pyjama. Le petit B l'observait et, tel un serpent qui frappe, il se précipita vers sa mère.

"T'as de belles fesses," dit-il, sa main manifestement tendues vers le cul de sa maman.

"Ah, non!" S'exclama Simone. Elle s'empressa de s'asseoir pour enfiler le pantalon de pyjama. "Pas touche!" Bon, d'accord, Simone a connu les enfants qui, rendus à un certain âge, lui disait "Ne te déshabille pas devant moi!" Mais là, c'est quand même un peu trop. L'enfant n'a même pas quatre ans.

De toutes évidences, c'est la faute du père.

I done!

Little B went to church with Simone. Weekday masses are short and moderately attended. A perfect time to go with the little one, thought Simone. That way, he'll make less of a disturbance.

As they entered the church, Simone tried to explain all the various rituals and little made a credible impression of someone listening. Then he opened the psalm book and studied it.

"Nice songs," he declared, sliding the book back in its place. "What you doing?"

"I am kneeling," whispered Simone. "And then I put my palms together like this and I pray. Do you want to try praying too?"

Little B nodded and kneeled next to Simone, the fingers of each hand interlaced. He lasted a few seconds before fidgetting.

"Okay," he announced loudly. "I done praying, Naan-naan!"

La messe

Simone était à l'église avec sa belle-mère et le petit B. Comme il était midi, que le soleil brillait à son plein ce mardi là, il n'y avait presque personne dans l'église. Une cinquantaine de personne - une bagatelle!

Le petit B a trouvé la messe fascinante. "Oh, regarde Maman! La lettre T!"

"Euh, non, ça c'est la croix."

"Oh! J'aime les cloches! C'est pour faire quoi les cloches? Je peux aller jouer avec les cloches?"

"Ah non. Ce sont les jouets du prêtre, les cloches."

"Bon," bougonna le petit B. Une fois la messe terminée, il se précipita vers le hall sans attendre sa mère. Simone le rattrapa juste à temps pour l'empêcher de souffler une troisième bougie.

La paix avec un enfant de presque quatre ans semblait bien loin ce jour-là...

Circadian rhythms

Simone received an unexpected call from her aunt. Although by age standards, Simone's aunt could be considered elderly, she has somehow managed to drag her spirit intact and kicking through the decades. Her body, nursed through yoga and medidation as well as a vegetarian diet well before either became in style, is not far behind her spirit.


"So what's new?" Asked Aunt J.

"We've been eating a vegan diet," Simone said. "Plus we're getting up really early - at 3 am. I get lots of things done in the wee hours."

There was a silence on the line. "Three am? But dear, that's all wrong. Your circadian clock dictates that at 3 am, your bladder empties. You must be lying down for this to happen. Please stay in bed until 5 am."

Oh?

Oh.

On parle de quoi aujourd'hui

Ça y est! Le petit B commence à maitriser l'art de la conversation. Je parle, tu parles mais nous ne parlons pas en même temps.

Dans l'auto, il a réussi à discuter avec Simone pendant près de cinq minutes à propos du même sujet. Ce sujet mystérieux? Les motocyclettes. Et oui. Le petit B a décidé d'attribuer une moto à chaque personne avec lui dans la voiture. Grand-maman a eu droit à la moto noire. Papa avait une moto bleue. Simone avait une moto rose et le petit B conduirait une moto verte. Bien sur, tout le monde avait un casque assorti aux couleurs de leur moto.

Et le meilleur? Pas besoin d'attendre d'être en age. Le petit B était convaincu que s'il voulait faire de la moto, il en était parfaitement capable.

Il n'a sans doute pas tort...