Yesterday I was reading Tudor’s blog post about her guilty secrets, one of which is that she actually likes the fall time change, and the way it makes the mornings much brighter and sunnier. At the end, she asked what our unpopular opinions are, and I thought about it, and here’s mine:

I actually like it that Christmas season starts November 1.

Okay, I can see that the current argument, that it should wait until at least after Remembrance Day, has some merit. But in general I’m happy to celebrate the season for as long as they’ll let me. I love hearing tinkly Christmas music in the stores, and seeing all the pretty decorations. I love the sound of the mall Santa’s Ho Ho Hos and the way every kid starts looking around with stars in their eyes, dreaming of treats and goodies and warm, happy times.

I love making lists, lots of lists, of gifts and cards and recipes to make – it makes me think about all the people I love, and what they are like, and what kinds of things they like, and all they bring to my life. Christmas is a very busy time for me – I always do too much! – but it never feels like a burden. It’s fun, and I like it.

(Remind me I said that on December 15 or so when I’m knee deep in baking, wrapping, and daily Christmas crafts with the kids.)

I’m better now with winter than I used to be, but November and December can still seem like a very sad time of year, with the dark nights and gloomy grey weather and dying gardens. We know we’re going into bleak days of cold and minimal sunlight.

So Christmas, to me, is a bright light in the middle, something to look forward to, but also something to just enjoy for the whole season. Around here we have a rule: no Christmas music, decorations, or talk about gift shopping until at LEAST after November 18, which is my birthday. But in truth, my lists are already started, and I’m already humming Sleigh Ride when I see the seasonal aisle at the Superstore, and I’m already stocking up on chocolate chips and icing sugar.

I’ll take the cheer for as many weeks as I can.

Like a lot of the country, I got wrapped up in the coverage yesterday of Justin Trudeau’s swearing in ceremony, and his walk about at Rideau Hall with the new cabinet. I thought about going down personally – one of the perks of living in Ottawa is that you can actually be there for these kinds of things – but in the end decided to just listen to the coverage on CBC Radio, and then watch a bunch of video on the CBC news that night.

I find I am very surprised at a lot of things.

I’m surprised at how likable he is. In Justin’s interviews (may I call you Justin?), he seems genuine and really, really nice. He’s warm and caring in a way that we haven’t seen – maybe ever, in a PM. He’s always hugging someone – his wife, his kids, his new cabinet ministers. It’s adorable.

I’m surprised at how important this moment in history seems. Many people in the crowd at Rideau Hall said they wanted to be there for the moment when Trudeau became PM – like they expect it to live on as a key moment for Canada. I don’t remember ever caring this much when the other Prime Ministers were sworn in. I certainly have never, ever watched a cabinet dissection for hours and hours, like I did last night. I’m hoping for change, but it’s not like we’ve been living in some sort of oppressive dark ages – it’s just time for some new points of view and new approaches – and yet this does seem, somehow, like the dawning of a new age.

I’m surprised at how hopeful I feel. It made me feel so emotional seeing a picture of the new cabinet – especially compared to Harper’s cabinets which were mostly old, white men. And I swoon a little bit every time Trudeau makes a Facebook post, talking directly to Canadians and inviting the press and public to call him out on any issues we have. There’s an openness here, a welcoming feeling that makes me weirdly teary-eyed when I think about it.

And lastly, I’m surprised at how much I care. I mean, I obviously care about Canada and what happens here and I’m passionate about voting and staying informed about the issues. But I mean I care on a personal level about Trudeau, and how he performs. Of the Prime Ministers that have been around since I’ve been able to vote – Mulroney, Campbell, Chretien, Martin, and Harper – some I’ve admired, some I’ve feared, some I’ve been indifferent to. But certainly, all have been just another politician – not someone who gets treated like a rock star when he shows up at public events. Don’t get me wrong, though, I like that – he’s our Obama, as my husband says – and I like that he’s young, and dynamic, and enthusiastic, and ready to listen.

I really like Canada today – and that says a lot. Welcome to the office, Mister Prime Minister.

I got this in the mail yesterday:

A formula sample and a “welcome to the Similac club!”. I suppose they do have a good point – these puppies aren’t so much with the milk production anymore, so perhaps it’s time to look at substitutes. I’m sure my 12, 11, and 8 year olds will be most receptive to the idea of sitting on my lap while I give them a sample bottle for dinner.

(Actually, possibly yes, depending on what’s on the menu for tonight’s meal. Sigh.)

I’ve stopped wearing my Fitbit, after two solid years of clipping it on every day. I have one of bright pink ones with the clip, and the clip broke a while back. I called Fitbit up and they kindly replaced it, but then it broke again and I felt like I’d used up all my good karma so I paid to order a new one, which was surprisingly pricey. Now the clip is broken for a third time and I’m not sure it’s worth it to me to pay to replace it.

I did like checking my stats each day. I did not like sharing those stats with others – apologies if you asked to be my Fitbit friend online and I ignored you. I have a very low steps count daily and on days when I crossed the 5000 mark, I liked to feel good about that, like hey, you did a good job today FOR YOU, and I just could not bear the discouraging thought of being online friends with people who were getting 10 000+ steps a day. I know myself, and that would have been enough right there for me to stop wearing it immediately. I guess instead of a competitive streak, I have more of a roll-over-and-give-up kind of streak.

But although I did feel good about it when I got a high (for me) number of steps in a day, it never did really encourage me to work harder, or try harder. I just went about my business and at the end of the day the Fitbit gave me a mark and on days when I managed a B+ it was like a little bonus prize. Nice to have, but not something I expected or worked towards.

Now that I’m Fitbit free and surrounded by bowls and bowls of Halloween candy, I can find my daily prizes elsewhere. Yum!

I’m thinking about trying to get some writing mojo back by doing NaBloPoMo this month. It’s been years since I blogged every day in November but it really brought be joy when I did it in the past. No promises, and no quality guarantees, either. We’ll see how it goes.

I’ve been having some very odd dreams lately – and actually sleepwalking, something I’ve never done before. Both times I sleepwalked, I got up and went to the dresser in our room and started to take out clothes to get dressed. I realized it was the middle of the night and that I was awake-but-not-awake but couldn’t seem to stop myself. The sudden need for proper underwear and pants was overwhelming.

Last night I dreamed the guys who sing the song Renegades showed up and tried to explain the lyrics to me. They were very kind and earnest but I just could not get it. Also I was confused by their name – are they literally Ex-ambassadors? Or are they like, X Ambassadors, as in ambassadors for cool alternative stuff?

I think the time change is messing with my mind.

Driving in the car yesterday, out of the blue, my middle daughter (aged 11) says this to my son (aged 12):

“By the way, if you ever fall in love and buy that girl a heart-shaped box of chocolates, be sure to TAKE OFF THE PRICE TAG.”

Watch out, Dr. Phil.

I feel like I’ve kind of lost my blogging mojo lately, mostly because life has been insanely busy, but also because of the fruit flies. We have been under a vicious plague of fruit flies since Thanksgiving, and I’m beginning to believe that they are zombie fruit flies sent to suck all the creative juices out of my body, and damn, they are doing a good job of wearing me out.

I mean, I have put a ban on all counter fruits, and haven’t bought bananas in weeks. And we’ve tried the glass of wine/balsamic vinegar/orange juice on the counter with the saran wrap/baggie on top, and the trap does catch them, but no matter how many end up in the cup, there’s always three or four floating lazily around the kitchen, or flying right into my face when I’m watching TV, or gathering for a party in the upstairs bathroom. At Thanksgiving itself, poor FameThrowa and Mr. Chatty had to practically chug their red wine, because the moment they set their glasses down they each had three drowned fruit flies in there, and my nephew killed at few dozen by squishing them against the patio door screen, yet still they come. And come. And come. Actually, I’m not convinced I’m seeing new generations here – these fruit flies are oddly slow-moving and larger than usual and definitely give off the vibe of the undead.

Here’s a creepy story: the other day I was heating up a cup of water in the microwave for hot chocolate and a fruit fly happened to fly into the microwave when the door was open, and I didn’t feel like waiting for him to get out so I just shut the door. And a minute later, on high, I open the door and out he floats like, no big deal.

So I think the zombie fruit fly thing is fully confirmed, don’t you?

I am convinced now that we have a piece of rotting fruit somewhere in this house, like in the bowels of the storage room or maybe in some kid’s backpack or possibly inside the kitchen drain, and it will continue to feed the zombie hoard for years to come. Guess our house will be popular on Halloween, at least.

I had quite a lovely trip to the mall this morning. I went because a local toy store has the entire store on sale, for 20% off, and I picked up a couple of board games I had been planning to buy as Christmas presents. I have now officially Christmas shopped in October, and I am now officially my mother. QED.

While there I helped one lady find the way out to the parking garage, and one older gentleman behind the wheel of his car find the exit ramp for the parking garage. Memo to Bayshore: your new parking garage is very confusing. However, it did result in me feeling pretty good about my totally wicked mall navigation skills. Plus, I also helped a lady order coffee at the Starbucks, something I barely feel able to do myself, but we muddled through in a we’re-all-in-this-together kind of way and everyone ended up with caffeine so it was all good.

Out front at the toy store they were running a Mommy And Baby yoga class. About 20 young moms were there, each with a babe-in-arms less than six months old – most looked to me like they were barely two months old. They all were trying to stand, in an unsteady stork pose, holding their baby – except the ones who were walking and rocking the fussers, and a couple who were sitting down trying to get a good latch on. The babies were all just so tiny – you know the way they are when their heads still loll about, unsupported, and they lie like bags of potatoes in your arms, eyes wildly looking everywhere and nowhere at once. I just cannot imagine we were ever like that, that my oldest was ever so small and helpless.

Later I overheard a few of them, chatting at the Starbucks while I was waiting for my order. They were having a very passionate discussion of nighttime diaper changes, the quality of poop, and legendary blow-outs. I can remember having similar conversations, I remember when my whole days were a constant running loop of who-has-pooped-when, interspersed with who-has-eaten-when, but it’s hazy, like looking through gauzy curtains. Those new moms seemed like a different age from me, although I’m sure they’re no more than 10 years behind where I am now. I wonder what I seem like to them. Personally, I don’t remember noticing very many other people when out with my babies.

That’s okay though – I’m happy for them, and I’m happy to be where I am now. I took my latte and my board games and went home to a quiet house, where soon I’ll make dinner and help my kids with their homework and maybe think about the rest of my Christmas list, and then I’ll go to bed and sleep all night long in peace. That’s a good thing.

I’m really excited and proud to say that an essay I wrote was selected for inclusion in Home At Sea, a special episode of the Write Along Radio podcast.

Write Along Radio is a great podcast run by two Ottawa authors, Catherine Brunelle and Kevin T. Johns, and it’s a must-listen if you’re an author, or interested in being a writer of any kind.

The Home At Sea episode is a series of stories, excerpts, and poems all about the ocean. It was made in concert with the WWF to help raise awareness and interest in preserving our oceans.

My story is about our trip a couple of summers back to PEI, and how the ocean affected us. I was honoured to be included, but listening to the actual podcast now, I’m really surprised at how moved I am. My piece was read by one of the hosts, Kevin, and he did an incredible job. Hearing my own words out loud was a strange and wonderful experience – I felt really just so grateful and happy and ugh, I know, it’s a SOUP of sentimentalism, but there you go.

If you’d like to have a listen, here’s the link. All of the pieces are good, but if you’re short on time you can skip ahead to about the 24 minute mark to hear my entry, which is about five minutes long.

Big Sister, reading a science facts book out loud: Some caterpillars have 12 eyes.

Little Sister: Ew!!

Big Sister: So do you still want one for a pet?

Little Sister: YES.

Big Sister: I know, right?

Obviously.

Photo by coniferconifer on Flickr Creative Commons.